by Tony Roberts
“Report back here when you get back, Captain. I’d like to be kept informed of what you find out.”
Vosgaris nodded, bowed again and left. Metila rose to her feet and leaned over Thetos’ desk, lifting her skirt. She was not wearing anything underneath. “You slap me, hard.” It wasn’t a plea, it was a command. Both knew it, and both knew who led the relationship. Thetos didn’t mind, he was getting all he wanted from the diminutive girl, and she, too, was getting what she wanted, in more ways than one.
He raised his palm, then brought it down on her behind, a sharp, loud sound that filled the room. Metila gasped and closed her eyes. “Yes – many times, then I love you hard.”
Thetos stood up and cleared his throat. To the four winds with the paperwork, he wouldn’t be doing anything else for quite some time.
Vosgaris paused in walking away along the corridor and cocked his ear for a moment. The two guards outside the room stood stoically, staring ahead. The captain guessed they wouldn’t allow anyone past while the governor and his slave girl were busy. He wondered just how the relationship worked, then gave up and returned to his room to prepare for the ride to the Anglis estate. He’d need to read up some more on the family’s history before he went, just to be sure.
The following day was wet, and the rain pattered down from a leaden sky. A stiff breeze blew the clouds across the sky from west to east, off the Balq Sea. The three riders rode, hunched, capes across shoulders and wide-brimmed helmets deflecting the worst of the rain away from their faces and necks.
The Anglis estate was a couple of watch’s ride south-east of Turslenka, off from the Storma Valley. Their estate ended close to the valley’s eastern edge, but didn’t quite reach it. The valley was imperial crown lands and nobody save the emperor owned that. A single rutted dirt road led up to the estate’s entrance and Vosgaris led his two guards through the arched boundary marker. A lodge stood to one side and the keeper emerged, squinting up at the three sodden figures on equineback.
“State your business at the Anglis estate, good sirs,” he greeted them, a sword clearly visible in its sheath hanging from a wide leather belt. He looked quite fit and was a little older than Vosgaris. Probably a former soldier by the look of him.
Vosgaris told him who he was and that Lord Anglis was expecting him. After that they were allowed to pass, and were directed to the front of the main house, just visible in the distance through a grove of trees. The road led underneath the canopies and they emerged to see a wide vista of house, stables and farmland.
A stableboy appeared and took all three equines, and a house servant waited under the canopy by the main door. Vosgaris was relieved to be out of the persistent rain and shook the excess water from him, cursing under his breath. Behind him Arkanin and Hendros endured the rain until the servant led them all through the door into the entry porch. “My master shall be with you shortly,” the servant advised them. He led them to a room with no door, wide, airy and light. “Please make yourselves comfortable for a moment.”
He went and Vosgaris ditched his cape, throwing it in disgust onto the floor. His hat followed, accompanied with a fair amount of rainwater. “I hope the rain eases for the homeward journey,” he said with feeling. “I don’t fancy staying this wet for the rest of the day!”
Hendros and Arkanin grinned, discarding their wet outer garments too. A few moments later the same servant appeared holding a tray. He offered the two men a selection of fruits and cheeses along with a bottle of some unidentifiable drink, and then told Vosgaris that Lord Anglis was waiting for him, and led him along the passageway to a grand iron banded door with an ornate knocker shaped into the head of a hunting feline.
Vosgaris acknowledged the wealth displayed, on show without being vulgar. Class. He was shown in and the servant closed the door, leaving the captain to face Lord Slavis Anglis, the tall, silver-haired man who was the head of the House.
“Welcome, Captain, not the most agreeable of days, but one cannot go against the will of the gods when they send weather to test the resolve, what?”
Vosgaris bowed. “Captain Vosgaris Taboz, representing the emperor.”
Lord Anglis showed Vosgaris a comfortable chair, lined with the hide of a herd beast, the best leather one could get. “Yes, Captain, I’m aware of your lineage and your social position.”
Vosgaris smiled to himself. It didn’t hurt pointing out from time to time that he was a nobleman, too, rather than just a mere army officer with no social rank. The nobility of Kastania played a careful game of alliances and power blocs. The Taboz were firmly in the ‘Koros’ camp therefore Vosgaris, although lower than the Anglis in standing, had powerful allies and was not to be treated dismissively. He hadn’t bothered to do that with the Mirrodan, since they were lower than he on the ladder and as such had little influence. “Lord Anglis,” he began, “as you know from what happened at the recent Council meeting in Zofela, the emperor has a delicate matter to resolve, that of the business of his affair with the slave girl.”
Lord Anglis smiled mirthlessly. “A social blunder that will cost him and his family a fair few favours, I may point out.”
Vosgaris knew what he meant. The Koros would be forced to grant concessions, either in land or trade, to retain the ‘loyalty’ of the Houses currently backing them. Those Houses that were not in the Koros camp knew it would be a waste of time asking for favours, therefore they would not be considered. Instead they would most likely court the favours of those Houses in opposition, hoping to sway them from the Koros and perhaps form a powerful enough alliance against them to force an abdication.
The captain knew Astiras wouldn’t go down without a fight, neither would Jorqel. It would probably lead to more conflict, if the other Houses could gain enough support. It all depended on the governors of Niake and Turslenka, and Thetos was definitely a man of Astiras, but he could be ejected by a city revolt; apart from his personal retinue, the local guard were prone to local influences and could feasibly be persuaded to go over to the rebellion, given enough incentives.
Evas Extonos in Niake was much more likely to switch sides if he was sufficiently threatened. That would cause a problem in the west and might open out an opportunity for an outside force to intervene on behalf of the rebels, then take land as a reward. It had happened before.
“I know, sire,” Vosgaris nodded. “However, that is for the emperor to arrange with those who will profit from remaining in his favour.”
Lord Anglis inclined his head, accepting the veiled reference to a reward if he remained loyal. “So what is it I can assist you with, Captain?”
“The emperor is concerned that a member of his household is supplying delicate and sensitive information to those who would wish to bring us back to the dark days of the Fokis and Duras. Since your son is currently serving there, I was wondering whether he had mentioned to you during your visit to him of any suspicions.”
“None, I’m afraid, Captain,” Lord Anglis replied. “I hardly saw him, in fact, just once and that was to exchange pleasantries and family news. He didn’t mention anything about what he did or had heard in Court, I’m sorry.”
Vosgaris had expected that. “No matter, sire, it was just a hopeful line of enquiry. Tell me, what is your opinion of Lord Mirrodan?”
“Mirrodan? Why ask about him?”
“Oh, just wondering because the two of you must have shared talk on your journeys up to and back from Zofela.”
Lord Anglis snorted. “He wasn’t invited to the Council! He’s hardly worth the trouble, vulgar uncouth man. I’ve not seen him for a long time, thankfully.”
“So he wasn’t at Zofela, sire?”
“No, and frankly I doubt he could have contributed anything of value anyway. Cheap useless goods, bullying the local traders into surrendering their businesses to him. Pah.”
“I have spoken to the governor about that – he says he has no proof nor anyone making a complaint.”
“I have proof, or at least the aggri
eved words of those ousted by him and his odious henchmen. No doubt the people in Turslenka are too frightened to speak up, and Governor Olskan is far too reliant on the words of the Guild to take notice of a few individuals.”
“The Guild, sire?”
“Yes! The Guild of Merchants in Turslenka. Run by the local tradesmen, they’ve been paid a fat bribe to look the other way by Mirrodan. You won’t get any help from them, and as long as they tell the governor all’s well then you won’t get him looking into any problem, since as far as they are concerned, nothing is wrong.”
“Thank you, Lord Anglis, you’ve been very helpful,” Vosgaris said, placing his hands on the arm rests of his chair. He wasn’t looking forward to the journey home.
Lord Anglis sensed his discomfort. “While you’re here, young man, perhaps we can talk business.”
“Business, Lord Anglis?”
“Why yes,” the older man beamed. “The Taboz are a respected House, and we both know of your current favour in the eyes of the emperor. Maybe your House and mine can strike up a deal, shall we say? Your father is a very respected merchant, and always strikes an honourable deal.”
“Thank you, sire, you are very kind. Yes, he is honest, and I think that sometimes that has cost him a few deals and – alliances?”
Lord Anglis grunted in agreement. “No doubt, but today maybe, I can propose a business deal that he may be in favour of?”
___
The border highlands in between the provinces of Lodria and Kaprenia formed the frontier between Kastania and the Tybar. It wasn’t set, and neither side knew exactly where their land ended and their neighbour began, so a large tract of land had gradually become a sort of wild frontier, bereft of law and order. No large settlement existed in this region which was just as well. Kastania claimed more land than they could actually physically hold, and the Tybar tribes believed their conquests extended far beyond the limit of where their patrols could reach without needing a supply point in this zone.
As a consequence, each side had conveniently decided not to mention it or pursue it. The treaty that existed between the two only referred to the former imperial provinces, something the Tybar didn’t recognise, for Kaprenia meant nothing to them. To them, the land was for grazing or settling on, and whatever tribe did so first had a rightful claim to it. All tribes paid fealty to the chieftain, who currently resided in the city known to the Kastanians as Imakum, but what they called Kumal, a much easier name on their palates, the Tybarian version of Imakum.
Much of the Tybar army was involved in pacifying and converting the lands to both north and south-west of Kumal, and many tribal leaders were busy enlarging their own lands within the conquered territories and setting up their own tribal administrations, what they called Tribedoms. If one tribe became powerful, the chief might consider challenging the current chieftain for the overall control of the tribes, so the chieftain made sure that none got too big, often nudging neighbours to note that the tribe concerned was getting too powerful; no other tribe wished to suffer rule by a more powerful one – they jealously guarded their autonomy within the loose federation of tribes.
When other tribes banded together to block another from getting too powerful, the chieftain often had to reward the victors with land taken from the losers. Again it was a fine balancing act.
One result was that the chieftain’s central army couldn’t be too far from the chieftain, and they acted as his police force, enforcing his rule against reluctant or rebellious tribes. The tribes formed the bulk of the Tybar army, and as a result the chieftain had to make sure the campaign was of benefit to all, or he ran the risk of defections or desertions. It all made the prosecution of a war a time consuming and risky venture.
Currently the chieftain was happy not to have Kastania at war with him. He was sure that the empire was too weak to challenge his tribes and lay prostrate, ready for when the war would resume. It looked likely that the imperial forces were too weak in the west to resist the full Tybar army. But what was needed was a defensive force to police and patrol the borderlands, and therefore he had solved a vexing issue as to what to do with the more unruly and anarchistic elements in his society. He had thrown in some dispossessed soldiers from the conquered lands too, informing the former Kastanians that they could live how they liked off the land provided they fight against any invader from imperial lands.
Both groups of people had readily agreed to this; the ex-Kastanians because they had escaped slavery and possible beheading, and they had no love for their former rulers, proving that they had been unfit to defend their lands, and the unruly Tybar were equally happy because they resented being ruled by anyone and were equally happy fighting each other as they were non-Tybar people. The chieftain was pleased to be rid of both groups, giving them the highlands to settle down in.
The only danger was that someone might finally unite this disparate group of people and turn them into a third power. However if that looked like happening the Tybar army would move in to stop that. In any event, that would probably take a number of years and by the time that was likely, the Tybar would be ready to move east once more.
The people concerned had formed loose groups, united by a common desire to find a place to live and be able to survive, and some hadn’t made it. Others had picked on and wiped out others, or had assimilated them into their band. Women had either gone with them or had been taken as captives for one reason or other. Over the past five years they had begun to settle in areas, having children but always looking to raid and plunder, or to defend what they had.
The land was hard, rocky, stony, lacking in many cases a source of water, so settlements were few and far between, making it easier to keep the competing bands apart. Theft and banditry was still rife, and anyone passing through was fair game to being attacked. There were two roads through the region and both were patrolled by guards from the chieftain in Kaprenia, and eventually as the land began to fall down towards the coastal plain, the developing imperial commands in Slenna and Niake took over. However the cautious Kastanian governor in Niake, Evas Extonos, did not push his troops too far into the uplands so this left a large tract of territory, claimed by the empire, unguarded and open to brigandage.
The Slennan authorities were a little more aggressive and frequent patrols made sure the road on the imperial side there at least was watched. As a result, the area under this collection of outlaws was greater on the Bathenian side of the border.
Many of these outlaw bands set up their base in circular camps, protected by a perimeter of wooden stockades and a few raised platforms that served as lookout posts. Some bases had more sophisticated wooden walls, and one of these, just over the border from Lodria’s moorlands, was being viewed from a nearby hill by two men lying side by side.
One of these was Jorqel’s spy, Kiros Louk. He shaded his eyes from the sunlight which was coming from almost overhead and studied the layout of the camp silently. His companion was a younger man, slight of build and possessed an unkempt hairstyle, thick and roughly hacked at shoulder level. His light brown eyes were intelligent and he, too, remained quiet.
Louk had discovered him a few sevendays previously living off petty thievery, and had got into a fix when two angry brigands had cornered him, after chasing him from their settlement, and only Louk’s timely intervention had stopped the youth from being disembowelled. The two brigands had been left to drain their lifeblood into the dusty soil.
Since then the youth, a curious mixture of Kastanian and Tybar, had attached himself to Louk, being a useful guide and thief. The boy had told of a life growing up alone in a small village away from the cities. His mother had been Kastanian, one of those raped by Tybar soldiers in the conquest. As a half-breed, he had been shunned by both groups and the mother, a poor village girl, had struggled to bring him up the best she could, living off a wretched existence and charity.
Finally, the youth, called Beshin, had left home, having grown too boisterous for his mother. She had t
ried to stop him going but he had had enough, and being the butt of comments from the other villagers, calling him ‘filthy Tybar’ and ‘over cooked’, a particularly nasty reference to his darker skin. Two years living off his wits had sharpened his skills, but not quite well enough as Louk had pointed out.
Beshin wanted to see more of the world. He had no particular love for Kastanians, and not much for the Tybar either. Louk, though, had saved his life and had accepted him immediately, not calling him names. When Beshin had finally asked why, Louk had shrugged and said he wasn’t bothered by what anyone looked like. It was what they were as a person that shaped his attitude towards them.
Louk himself wasn’t too sociable which suited Beshin, and told the youth that he was spying on the new settlements to see if any of them were worth either stealing from or living in. Beshin decided to come along and show the taciturn man what he knew of the area already. What Louk quickly found was that the renegade Nikos Duras was here, posing as a dispossessed ‘Duke’, promising the rebels huge rewards if they backed his quest to regain his lost inheritance.
There were very few who knew who Nikos was, and even fewer who had actually seen him. None of these lived up in the borderlands, although a few had heard of the Duras, and recognised the name as being nobility, which helped give credence to Nikos’ totally fictitious tale. That was the one thing the Duras nobleman was actually good at; fabricating plausible stories to further his own ends. It was fortunate, Kiros mused to himself, that he was so bad at leading soldiers. The gods had given him the gift of a silver tongue, but had balanced that by taking away any tactical ability he may have had.
It was typical of the man to have taken refuge in the biggest of the settlements, attaching himself to one of the meanest brigands, someone whom Beshin called Vazil the Ruthless. The name Vazil was Kastanian, so perhaps he was a former imperial officer or soldier who had been separated from his unit in the years recently gone. He was said to be a tough, bad-tempered individual, not adverse to inflicting painful punishments on people who transgressed his laws.