by Tony Roberts
Jorqel gritted his teeth. “How is it that every time we try to make matters better here, a Duras works as hard to undo it? What foul powers are protecting those krolls? So they are in Tybar lands?”
Kiros nodded, lacing his fingers. “The Tybar do not have the manpower to guard their frontiers effectively, so these – irregulars – do the job satisfactorily. My belief is that the Tybar tribes are busy further west and north in Amria and beyond Izaras. There is something disturbing them further west. What that is I do not know, but the people I spoke to expressed a real fear of whatever it was.”
Jorqel looked thoughtful. “Something the Tybar fear? You are sure you have heard nothing as to what that may be?”
Louk shook his head. “They would not mention it, but it is a genuine fear of something out there. They have no fear of Kastania or any other power here, and believe we are too weak to trouble them. Tobralus is theirs as are the lands all the way to the Great Western Mountains. But as I said, something out there is troubling them.”
Jorqel drummed his fingers on the arm rests. The west had always been a source of legends and fables, and a long-standing legend that only evil could come out of the west. Most dismissed them as stories designed to frighten children, but in the back of the mind of every Kastanian doubt lingered. “We need to know what that is, Louk. I need to know. Also I need more information on what Nikos Duras is doing and where these brigand outposts are. How many men does he have, what their capabilities are, how are they armed and so on.”
“I will need money,” Louk said.
“I shall provide it, as you well know. Go and find out and send me the information as soon as you can.”
“It will take time. I will need to travel to their capital.”
“Very well. It would be useful to know the situation there, too. It’s been nearly a generation since Imakum was lost to the Tybar. What is it they call it?”
“Kumal,” Kiros said.
“Kumal – an abomination. It is Imakum and will always be!”
“Indeed,” the spy said neutrally.
Jorqel eyed the spy irritably. “Of course, you never have an opinion on anything!”
Louk smiled, revealing stained teeth. “If I did I would not be good at my job.”
Jorqel grunted and heaved himself up. “I shall pay you tomorrow. Be at the sea gate first thing. I shall send an agent to pay you. I presume you have a ship?”
“I am to sail on the next merchantman to leave port on the high tide.”
“Very well. I trust you shall be successful.”
Kiros Louk nodded and Jorqel left him, knowing that he would be gone in moments without being seen, a wraith half imagined. He went two doors along the passageway and entered his own quarters, throwing off his armour and smelly underclothes. Two servants sprang to his assistance, picking up the discarded clothing and placing them on a small table ready to be seen to. “My bath,” he said with a sigh.
“Sire,” the younger of the two, a male, Romosian by birth, bowed and backed away to the bathing room, ready to boil the large metal vessel of water over a fire. The older of the two, a woman of advanced years, took the clothing off to be washed. Jorqel sat in a chair and leaned back, shutting his eyes, half listening to the activity of the two servants. It relaxed him. People working away while he sat doing nothing always did. It was not that he was lazy, for he worked as hard as anyone in his position, but it was at times like this when the day’s work was done, he could allow the tensions that had built up to dribble away, and it was doubly true when others around him were still doing their job.
He supposed it was a little indulgent but he could allow himself that. He was satisfied he was doing what was expected of him. Sannia would berate him if he did not, anyway. He allowed his mind to drift for a few moments before the male servant announced his bath was ready.
Jorqel draped a towel over himself and nodded. He dismissed the servant and waited. A few moments later Sannia entered the chamber and looked at him. “Bath time, darling?” she smiled.
Jorqel stood up and began to slowly remove his wife’s garments. Sannia stood still, allowing herself to be stripped naked, then he took her by the hand and led her into the bathing chamber. He got into the oval-shaped bath and sat down. “The water’s perfect,” he said.
Sannia stepped in gently, then picked up a cloth hanging over one side and wet it. She knelt, her knees either side of his thighs, and began wiping his body, her breathing getting harder as she did so. She washed his chest, shoulders, arms and then leaned forward to wipe his back, guiding him forward so she could so do. She gasped as his lips closed over her nipples. She closed her eyes and absently carried on washing his back, but she wasn’t really concentrating on that.
She was also aware of something else, and she moved up slightly and then slowly sank down, gasping as he slipped into her. She took hold of his head and looked into his eyes. He had deep blue eyes, a dark thick head of hair and a neatly clipped beard. His features were symmetrical and regular and that, on top of his muscular physique, was her idea of the perfect specimen. “I think we’ll both need a wash after this,” she smiled.
“I’m not complaining,” Jorqel replied, and leaned forward to kiss her. They embraced and kissed passionately for what Sannia thought was a very long time, then she broke it and began moving back and forth, sucking in her lower lip in pleasure.
The water slopped up and splashed over the side onto the floor. “The servants will have to clean this all up,” she gasped.
“So? That’s their job,” her husband said, holding her by the waist. He marvelled at her body – even after three children she had managed to retain her slim waist. She was more rounded now on the hips but Jorqel reassured her after she had criticised the extra padding that he found it even more attractive.
The bathroom echoed to the sound of their lovemaking.
CHAPTER THREE
Kastan City. The capital of the empire, the beating heart of the Kastanian people. Dusk was falling over the roofs and the main streets were being lit by the militia, lighting the lamps hanging from the arched poles by the roadsides. None of the smaller roads had them, since they were too narrow and the risk of fire was too great. Only the main roads were patrolled, too, but anyone walking the narrow side streets knew to do so after dark was to take a risk, unless they were those the rest were wary of.
People began to return to their homes, their days at an end. The main square of the city started to empty, leaving only a few to walk through or to patrol. One side of the square was the palace of the emperors, a railed-off huge construction with two storeyed wings and towers topped with domed roofs. It was easily the grandest and largest building in the city. Guards regularly walked back and forth along the three sides that were bordered by streets, and more stood on duty inside the railings.
The main entrance was accessible via a series of wide stone steps leading up to a pair of tall wooden doors. These were shut after dark. Once that happened, only the smaller back entrance could be used, and this was heavily guarded and led to the courtyard where the newest arm of the military forces of Kastania practiced and were stabled, the mounted archers of the Kastanian Imperial Mounted Militia, or the KIMM as it was called for short.
The soldiers who rode in the KIMM were mostly young men, for many of the traditionalists mocked the innovation, citing it to be copying their enemies and not being an honourable way to fight. But years of military setbacks and disasters had forced the Koros to consider new tactics and they had decided to use the very weapon that had caused them so much misery.
Youngsters were much more open to new ideas and a change to tradition, and so it was that eighty soldiers and their nimble mounts were barracked to the rear of the palace. Nobody would be senseless enough to try to break in there.
There was another doorway, a single door, mostly secret, used by a few and never unless they wished to come and go in secret. It was towards the rear, by the side of the barracks, and led to a
garden that separated the palace from the buildings that stood beyond. There were no doors or windows along the façade of these buildings facing the garden, so it was not overlooked.
The single figure that made its way through the garden did so unseen as a result. It glided softly along the curving path and took a side route, a seldom used route judging by its half overgrown state, and walked up to a wall twice the height of a man, topped by a wide peaked set of coping stones. A small door was set in this wall and the figure stood by it for a moment and listened.
There came a knock and the figure drew back a bolt and pulled the door open. Another dark figure slipped in and the door was shut and bolted once more. The two figures embraced and kissed, then they both half-ran through the garden to the rear where a series of sheds and storage spaces stood. To one side stood a stone bench and the figure who had opened the gate was spun round and the second figure wrenched open the cloak it was wearing to reveal a lithe, voluptuous female body, dominated by a pair of large breasts.
The woman was pushed roughly onto the bench and exposed naked, her legs spread, and the other flung off his cloak and garments, to show a youthful and well-built man, and he stepped up and knelt between her legs and roughly penetrated her. He went at her hard, and she moaned and tossed her head from side to side, lost in pleasure. The man moved harder and faster until he groaned and climaxed, holding her tight to him.
Afterwards he stepped away and began wiping himself down with a cloth he had brought just for that purpose.
“What about me, Dragan?” the woman asked, sitting up, her fair hair catching the first beams of the larger moon that was beginning to rise.
“What about you?” the man asked, staring at her, wiping himself.
“I need to be cleaned. As a princess, I command you to clean me!”
Dragan chuckled and threw the soiled cloth at her. “Clean yourself; I’m no lackey or slave. I’m a noble of the House of Purfin and bow to nobody, not even Princess Amne Pelgion of the House of Koros,” he said sarcastically, bowing ironically to her.
“You beast,” she said, and began to wipe herself. “I don’t know why I bother with you. You’ve no romantic feelings at all.”
Dragan Purfin stepped up to her and pinned her hard, forcing his mouth onto hers. Amne made a muffled sound, then kissed him back, the two locked in a passionate kiss for a long time, then he jerked away and sucked his lips. “That’s why, Princess. You can’t resist me. You’d rather I share your bed than that fool of a husband of yours.”
Amne threw the cloth at him petulantly. “I hate you! I need to be loved and Elas does not know the meaning of the word. Don’t you love me, Dragan?”
“What do you think? You’re the way to power, and I’m not going to stop until I get it. Your husband is in my way. Once I defeat and kill him, you will marry me and together we’ll rule this region. Your father will have no choice but to go along with it or the empire will fall into civil war. I have many supporters, and with your backing our control of Frasia and Kastan City will be assured. Do you want to carry on with Elas Pelgion or do you want me to satisfy you at night? Mmmm?” He held the princess’s gaze until she tossed her head and began redressing.
“You think you’ll be ordering me about? I’ll want a share of the power, Dragan, don’t forget that, or you can forget our arrangement! I want my children to grow up with a father figure who will love them, someone they can respect and who has strength and power. They won’t get any of that with Elas!”
Dragan smiled confidently. “You want one thing only, Amne, and that’s this,” and he took hold of her, ripped her cloak off, spun her round and pinned her to the bench face down. He forced her legs apart and held her tight. Amne swore and struggled, but Dragan grabbed his belt and pushed it into her mouth, riding a slap to his face. He kept hold of the belt, now wrapped round her neck, and entered her roughly. He thrust into her without mercy, and Amne made muffled sounds through the leather belt, her saliva dripping from it to the bench. She couldn’t help herself; she climaxed repeatedly and her body shook, delighting Dragan, who eventually did so himself. He withdrew harshly and pulled her head back by her hair, reclaimed his belt and once more began dressing.
Amne slowly turned round, breathing hard. “You horrible example of a man,” she panted. “I ought to have you executed for that! You take far too many liberties with me!”
“And then you’d have to rely on that passionless eunuch for your pleasures,” Dragan sniggered. “Oh, Amne, you’re a slave to your desires and cannot resist me; we both know that, so stop that nonsense and accept I’m your dream man. The sooner I’m married to you the better, then we can do this all night long without concealment.”
Amne licked her lips. The leather left a sharp taste in her mouth. “You’re an arrogant bastard, aren’t you?”
“Only because I know how to pleasure you. I’m right, as I always am, and I’m no fool like the Duras or Fokis. I have no ambitions to rule Kastania – your father can have it, but I want to be governor of Frasia, a small part of the empire. All I need is your support and that will be enough once I kill Elas.”
“When are you going to do that?” Amne asked, easing her cloak over her still engorged nipples. They rubbed and got sore unless she took care. She still wanted him, her body craved it. “Don’t take any longer than you need to.”
“Soon. Within a season. I go now to finalise my plans.” He kissed her hard once more and then pushed her aside and strode to the door, unbolting it and leaving without so much as a backward glance.
“Bastard!” Amne breathed, then walked stiffly to the door, shut it and bolted it. She adjusted her clothing and made her way through the garden, guided by the moonlight. After two turns she came to the main pathway and was now in full view of the looming palace beyond. A few lights were on, as was normal. She reached the end of the gardens and crossed the courtyard, a silent and darker area. A few guards could be seen vaguely making their rounds, and she got to the palace without bumping into any.
A dark shadow was standing by the doorway, tall, broad and armed. “So, how did it go?” he asked.
“Do you need to ask, Lalaas?” Amne said, a defiant tone in her voice.
“Not really,” Lalaas said. “I was merely making conversation.”
“Well don’t!” Amne snapped, then she put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, I’m just not liking this at all.”
Lalaas, her confidant, friend and the Captain of the Palace Guard, sighed. “I’d rather you didn’t see that man; he’s a very ambitious and dangerous fellow. You know my feelings about it all.”
“Oh don’t be a bore,” Amne said, holding his arm and guiding him into the passageway beyond the door. They were on the ground floor of the servant’s wing, and they made their way through it towards the plusher areas. “I only agreed to this so I could at least get some enjoyment out of it! He is a desirable man, after all!”
“You’ll come unstuck one of these days, Amne,” Lalaas observed. “Your passion will be your undoing one of these days.”
“Jealous; you just want me yourself.”
Lalaas smiled. They both knew he would never have her as long as she was married to Prince Elas. “What shall I tell the Prince?”
“Oh, that Dragan is making his final plans. I think he’s going to make his move very soon. He thinks I can’t live without him and will sacrifice my marriage and endanger my children just for one part of his anatomy!”
They were now by the door that opened onto the residential part of the palace. Beyond were plusher corridors. Lalaas kept his voice quiet. “I just wish you’d not gain the information that way, ma’am.”
Amne made an exasperated noise. “Lalaas, if I can’t enjoy what I’m doing, then there’s no point in me doing it! I can’t see Dragan conspiring with anyone else in the palace, can you? He thinks I can’t resist him and will do whatever he wishes. He’s such a naïve man – and egotistical. He thinks he’s using me.” She giggled against Lalaa
s who enjoyed the feeling. “Yet all the time I’m using him. Yes, I’m enjoying it – he is good at that, after all, and my darling corpse of a husband gives me no pleasure at all. I have to get my pleasures from somewhere, after all. You won’t do the deed so I’ve got to find someone! Just imagine what I’d be like without it for a moon. I’d be climbing the walls in frustration.”
“Do you need it that much, Amne?”
Amne nodded. “I can’t help it. I have such an urge. You don’t hate me for that, do you?”
Lalaas shook his head slowly. “No – I may disapprove of some things you do but it doesn’t mean I dislike you. You’re someone I care for very much.”
Amne put her head on his shoulder, and he stroked her hair for a moment. Amne made a soft sighing sound. “Oh, Lalaas – if only…..”
He placed a finger against her lips, and she kissed it. He opened the door quietly and peered along the corridor left and right. He allowed Amne to precede him through the door and he shut it after he followed. Amne smiled at him and then walked along to the left towards the great hall and the staircase that led up to the bedrooms while Lalaas went the other way towards the offices. Although it was now night, Prince Elas, Amne’s husband, would still be hard at work administering the province and the city.
Elas, a stern, sharp-faced man, was indeed in his office, guarded by two of the elite palace guard, armed with their fearsome looking pole-arm weapons, the volgar. Elas looked up at Lalaas as he came in. “Ah, Captain, you have news, I trust?”
“Indeed sire. It would appear the rebel Dragan Purfin is close to making his move. He has been told that your wife is fully behind him in getting rid of you, and he is now gathering a small force to back his coup.”
Elas leaned back and regarded Lalaas coolly. “Then the traitor will be executed. I shall shortly go and plan how to crush this attempted coup. We now need to finalise a plan to take this Purfin.”