by Tony Roberts
“But – Turslenka? Why so far?”
Vosgaris sighed. “It may well have started down there – in fact it did. I need to go straight to the probable source, and there’s two I need to check out. Once I get that sorted out properly, my task back here should be much easier.”
“Are we in danger? I mean, if this someone wishes us harm, will my life be in danger?”
“Oh no, nothing like that. Its intrigue. Certain people use swords, others words. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything untoward. Oh, another thing, poor old General Teduskis won’t be taking my place. I’ll have to assign someone else.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m afraid the poor general is becoming unwell and I doubt he’ll be able to cope with the job. I’ve got to see the emperor about that. Right,” he stood up, kissing her again. “Must be about my duties. No rest for the wicked!”
Alenna smiled and waved him out. She then looked back at the parchments and frowned. A list of people who were in the keep yesterday? She knew most of them, and began dipping her feathered quill into her pot of writing ink and scratched the names down on the parchment. Then she searched through the roster and list of visitors for the day and added them to the list.
When she had finished she studied it, deep in thought, then began looking through the records for written documents from these people. She found twelve, and was quite pleased with herself.
She just hoped it would help her husband.
CHAPTER FIVE
The celebrations to mark the eighth anniversary of the reign of Astiras had been a little more muted in Kastan City. Elas had overseen the preparations and as a result they had been less colourful than perhaps people had hoped for. The palace itself made a token gesture but Elas had been occupied with other more pressing matters than something he clearly had little time for. Amne however did her bit, leading a procession from the palace to the gates, cheered on by many citizens. Lalaas had made sure of the security and provided a reasonable escort.
Now Amne happily sat in her quarters speaking with her eldest daughter, Kola. The girl, now two and a half years of age, was chatting away quite brightly. The nurse, Benitia, sat on the corner of the richly patterned rug that had been made further west in Izaras, occupying the much younger Stana, who was learning to walk.
Since the affair with Dragan Purfin had begun, things had become strained between Elas and Amne and the prince had decided not to entertain or be entertained by Amne in his chamber. Amne often slept alone, although sometimes one or both of her daughters needed settling down and slept with her. Amne was happy enough with that, and it gave her a feeling of being wanted.
There was, however, the feeling of emptiness in her marriage. She had hoped that after her visit to Zofela and before she had fallen pregnant for the first time, Elas was warming to her. There had, to be sure, been a thawing between them in that period, and even after Kola’s birth, they had shared a bed on many occasions, and Stana had followed soon afterwards.
It was only after that birth that things had begun to go wrong again. Dragan Purfin had been the cause, without a doubt, and Amne had all too easily fallen for the handsome man. The nobleman had clearly wanted to use Amne to gain information on the palace and imperial dispositions in Frasia. Lalaas discovered the affair pretty quickly and had warned Amne off him, citing the likely dangers and ambition of the rebel. Amne had reacted predictably at first. It was when Lalaas had spoken to her at length and pleaded with her not to destroy her children’s future, that sense had come to her.
Lalaas had pointed out that Elas could threaten to lock her up and take her children away from her unless she stopped, and then had come evidence of Dragan’s treachery and betrayal of what she had seen as his love for her. Dragan’s plans had been overheard by one of Lalaas’ spies in Kastan City after a drunken orgy in the tavern where the rebel nobleman often visited and met his shady contacts. Lalaas had planted a buxom female agent there to get precisely what he had hoped for; information from Dragan, and his agent had slept with the nobleman on many occasions.
Amne had been furious, and had agreed to act out her part thereafter. The good thing with that was she was getting plenty of physical love from him, which was what she wanted. Lalaas was not happy about it but had been forced to agree when Amne pointed out that Dragan Purfin was under the firm belief Amne was betraying Elas in favour of him. Now all that was required was the date, time and place that Dragan was going to raise his army to take power in the city.
Lalaas was well aware of the so-called secret network of contacts Dragan was using to pass messages to Amne, and that day the suspected contact was seen making his way surreptitiously up the stairs towards the bedrooms. He was one of the cleaning staff, but not supposed to go upstairs. His area was the ground floor. Lalaas had, however, told the guards to let him up as long as they kept an eye on him.
The contact slipped along the corridor of the imperial sleeping chambers. Two guards were on duty and they noted the contact approaching. “Lost, are we?” one of them challenged him, stepping into the middle of the corridor.
“No – I have something you might like.”
“Oh? What’s that, then?” The other guard peered with interest at the servant, a brown-haired man with bad skin.
“Something to pass the evenings in pleasure. See?” he held out his left hand and resting in the palm were a few dull coloured pieces of something. The two guards eyed one another in puzzlement.
“What’s that?”
“Ah, it’s a plant extract – makes you feel really good, you know. Almost as good as sex.”
The two guards chuckled. “Oh, trying to sell us something like the leaf, eh? That’s going to get you into deep trouble, friend. Like to spend a few evenings in the dungeon explaining this to the interrogators? They’d love to find out who gave you this, I’m sure.”
The servant went to put the small stone-like objects away but dropped them over the floor. He swore and went down on his hands and knees. The two guards smiled and shook their heads. As the contact scrabbled about, he slipped a letter he had in his tunic under the door. Sighing, he stood up, the stones in his hand which he slipped into his pocket. “I won’t bother you then. You’ve missed out a treat, believe me.”
“Go home and melt your mind, cretin,” the first guard growled. “We prefer to retain ours and not become a mindless plant. Now hoppit before I try out my volgar on you.”
The servant bowed and backed away.
“Well, he was as classy as a Turslenkan whore,” the second one commented. “Think we ought to alert the captain?”
“Yeah. Dunno what was in that letter but think we should let him know else we get it in the neck.”
The second guard grunted and walked off to find Lalaas. Meanwhile, in the room, Benitia brought the sealed letter to Amne who, curious, opened it.
It was from Dragan Purfin and it was a curt summons to his house in the affluent quarter of Kastan City. Amne’s heart began to beat and she stood up, a slight flush to her features. “I’m going to be gone for a while. I should be back before dark. Make sure the girls are changed and fed by the late afternoon watch.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Anne went to see Lalaas. She showed him the letter. “I must go, Lalaas, but I want you to come with me and escort me through the streets.”
Lalaas was already dressed, having been forewarned by his guard. “I agree, Amne, I wouldn’t have you wandering the streets alone. You must be disguised, though. Look at me, no insignia, no sign of who I am or where I come from.”
Amne looked at his dark, nondescript apparel. A cloak dropped from his wide shoulders. His hair was uncovered and fell to his collar. He had dark leggings and under the cloak a brown coloured tunic with iron studs, a poor standard of armour but often worn by those citizens on the lowest rung of the financial ladder. “Are you armed?”
Lalaas smiled and slipped his cloak aside. Buckled to his wide leather waist belt was his sword.
He lifted his right leg and tucked into his calf-length boot was a dagger. Another knife was snugly fitted to a sheath in his belt on the opposite side to his sword.
“Ah, good,” Amne nodded. “What of me? I can’t roam Kastan’s streets in my best dress!”
Lalaas rubbed his chin. “Aye, you have a point. You need a cloak, hood, rough type of dress, simple belt. I think we might have something in our cloak room. We get a regular supply of clothes from staff, families and so on. I’m sure we have something to fit you. Hold on. Stay out of sight,” he nodded towards the back of the room. He left, seeking out one of the staff responsible for the laundry. A palace had to have an organised cleaning system, and Kastan’s was no different.
In no time Lalaas was returning with a hooded cloak and a dress, and a small simple belt. He shut the door behind him and Amne came out from the recess with relief. She looked at the dress. “Will I fit that?” she asked dubiously.
“Well, in most places, yes,” Lalaas said. “I’m not entirely sure about – on top,” he said, eyeing her chest, “but the cloak will be fine.”
Amne ran her hands over her breasts, smoothing her dress so they were firmly outlined. “Yes, I’m so big up there! They can be so troublesome you know, clothes have to be re-sewn so many times after fitting.”
“Don’t knock them,” Lalaas advised.
“Heh, typical man. Anyway, I thought you weren’t interested in them,” she said, a challenge in her eyes. She peeled off her dress and placed her hands on her hips, swaying one way, then the other.
“Try the dress on Amne,” Lalaas said, chuckling. “Or I’ll go all formal on you.”
“Oh, perish the thought! I’ve got enough with The Corpse being like that with me. He’d kill me if he knew I was seeing Dragan.”
“I’ve got to tell him about the information,” Lalaas said. “He thinks I’ve got a spy in Dragan Purfin’s household.”
“Oh? What sort of spy?”
“A lusty servant,” Lalaas grinned.
Amne grunted, struggling with the dress. “Oh, this hardly fits! Have you got another dress at all?”
“It’s only your chest, and if it’s straining there I doubt Dragan will be looking elsewhere.”
“My hips, too,” Amne said in exasperation. “Gods, I’m as big as a fantor!” she ran her hands down the tight dress.
“Nonsense. You’ve just got a voluptuous figure, and a great one. Nobody would think you’d had two kids.”
“Oh, you always say the right thing, Lalaas. Marry me. I’ll divorce The Corpse.”
“You know my answer to that, Amne. You’d cause a civil war.”
“Aren’t I worth fighting over, then?” she asked, stepping close to him, looking up at the captain. “Would you go to war over me?”
Lalaas sighed. “Absolutely, but your father would roast me on a spit and your husband would call out the guard to have both of us arrested. We’d have no chance.”
Amne pouted. “Where’s the belt?” she fumbled it on and tied it about her stomach. “Hmm, well, yes at least that’s flat. You have no idea how hard it is to keep that in shape after children. You men have it so easy!”
Lalaas rolled his eyes and passed her the hooded cloak. “Best hide your hair and face, you’re so recognisable. We’ll leave by the back gate. We’ll go arm in arm, like a pair of lovers.”
“Oooh, yes please,” Amne coo-ed. “Can we practice that now, so I can get into the role properly?”
“Ma’am,” Lalaas wagged a warning finger at her.
“I’m a princess, I could command you to make love to me,” Amne said.
“And I would have to decline. I don’t think you’d want me arrested for that sort of thing.”
Amne huffed and slid the hood over her head. “You’d best watch out for the day I do get my hands on you. You won’t be able to move for days.”
Lalaas smiled and held out his arm. She took it. “Come on, Amne, let’s sneak out before Elas comes looking for you.”
“He never bothers with me so that’s not likely. We’re married only in name.”
Lalaas kept silent on that – he didn’t know what to say to her. To say the two were ill-matched was an understatement. Elas wasn’t actively unpleasant towards Amne, it was just he had an emotionless approach to everything. Amne, on the other hand, was as emotional as anyone could be. Her volatile mood swings left Elas baffled and mystified, and so he steered clear of her and stuck to what he knew best; how to run the palace, city and province. He was efficient, but there was no joy or fun in it.
They walked along the long corridor that led to the main entry hallway but turned off before they got there and passed through a small door that led to the servants’ wing. There was little décor here and everything was functional and stark. The lighting was much reduced and the windows few and far between. Amne kept her head in the folds of the hood and bowed, so that nobody who passed could see who she was.
There was a long passageway off from which doors to the kitchens and stores led, but they passed all of these and went to the very end and a locked door. Lalaas had the key and unlocked it, albeit with some effort. He peered out and, satisfied all was clear, ushered the princess out and then locked the door behind them.
They were in a far corner of the courtyard, close to the stables, and made their way along the front of these to the big doors that led out to the streets. Two guards were on duty and Lalaas nodded to them. They looked curiously at his companion, huddled in a commoner’s outfit. “No word, lads. Just some – ah – entertainment someone had last night,” he grinned.
“Ah, right, sir. No word.” One guard opened a small portal in the bigger gates and the two slipped out into the cobbled street beyond.
As the door shut Amne leaned towards Lalaas’ ear. “Did you tell them I was some sort of whore?”
Lalaas shrugged. “All I could think of. Sorry.”
Amne shook her head but smiled. “You must think I am one.”
“No I don’t.”
“I can’t help it, Lalaas. You must hate taking me to a traitor who’ll be doing it to me in a short while. And I’m looking forward to it, too!”
“Amne, don’t speak of it. You’re using what means you have to get information from him to help defeat the rebel cause. Come on, let’s go, and keep your head down.”
They emerged onto the main street that led to the east gate, the so-called Turslenka Gate. The richer properties were along this thoroughfare, and Dragan Purfin’s city home was close by, just one street away. It was unremarkable but looked well-maintained and was clean and tidy which spoke of maintenance and occupation.
Lalaas released her on the other side of the street. “I’ll be close by. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Amne whispered, almost too nervous to speak. She was trembling, partly through apprehension, partly through suppressed excitement. She was tingling with the thought of Dragan making love to her, and the memories of previous occasions heightened her anticipation. Her nipples hardened and she tried to ease the rubbing from the coarse fabric of her garments but it was no good.
She knocked on the black painted wooden door and looked up and down the street. A few people were making their way along it, but nobody was close.
The door opened. A male servant stood there. “Yes? What business do you have?”
“I am here to see Dragan Purfin – he sent for me.”
“Did he? What business is that?”
Amne fought the urge to strike the insolent man. She kept her face half-hidden. “Tell him his contact has arrived.”
The servant’s lips twisted, then he allowed her entry. “Wait here,” he said, pointing to the ground. Amne stood in the entry vestibule and looked round to pass the time. In a short while footsteps came to her and she turned to see Dragan approaching. He took one look at her figure, grunted in amusement and gestured for her to follow him. He led her up a flight of wide wooden steps to the next floor and into a room at the end. It was well-li
t with wide windows. It was a bedroom.
Amne stood by the bed, hardly daring to breathe. She watched as Dragan pulled the shutters to on the windows, lit a single candle, then came up to her. He threw the hood back, revealing her familiar features. “Nice touch, the disguise. You got much on underneath?”
“A little,” she said, trembling.
Dragan smiled and unfastened the cloak which fell to the ground, then eyed her bursting dress. “Nice. Good choice of clothing. Do I rip it off you or what?”
Amne unfastened the belt, then tugged her dress up, forcing it off her hips. Her breasts fought against being freed but eventually, with Dragan’s assistance, it was off and he threw it into a far corner. Now she had her undergarments on view and he unfastened them, revealing Amne in her full glory. “That’s better.”
Amne grabbed his tunic and began unbuttoning it. “I want you,” she breathed, perspiration beginning to appear on her body, a growing warmth threatening to engulf her. He stood and allowed his clothing to be taken off. Once he was naked he took hold of her and pushed her down onto the bed.
“I see you’re not going to be of much use to me until you’ve been satisfied,” he grunted. “Well, so be it.” He thrust deeply into her without further ado. Amne gasped, her eyes going wide, then the waves of pleasure rippled throughout her body. Her arms and legs came round his body, holding him to her.
Dragan went at her hard, not even waiting to get into a rhythm. Amne shut her eyes, turned her head to one side and groaned. It had been a few days since she’d enjoyed him, and that was too long, especially in her loveless marriage. Her body was tingling all over and a warm feeling was rising within her that got bigger and hotter as Dragan continued to ravish her. “Ohhh!” she couldn’t keep the feeling of pleasure hidden. Even as she writhed underneath the man, her mind went to Lalaas, and she imagined it was him on top of her. That only served to increase her euphoria and the rising feeling became intolerable.