by Tony Roberts
“I don’t know – it’s no poison I’m familiar with if it is one. It may be something else.”
Isbel thanked him. “Is there any of the liquid left?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Then keep it secure and sealed. I may have to send for someone who might know what it is.”
He backed out, bowing. Isbel got up and went to Astiras. He was lying in his bed, secured, thrashing his head from side to side. Somebody had got at him, clearly, and had administered something to him, probably over a long period of time, if his slow descent from his normal behaviour was anything to go by. Perhaps the last half year or so. She put a hand on his forehead. It was hot.
Damn it! She had fallen for Vosgaris, believing Astiras didn’t care for her anymore, but now it seemed this was down to someone drugging or poisoning him. Another security breach in the castle. She made her mind up. There was only one person she could think of who could help in this case.
Metila.
A person she had vowed never to speak to ever again, or see. The irony of it. She shook her head in resignation, and went to the office to compose yet another letter. An imperial summons would bring her swiftly enough.
____
Niake. Vosgaris slowly rode up to the gates and stopped. Two guards stepped forward, militiamen. Vosgaris appraised them critically. A bit sloppy, and not very competent in their questioning. That would have to change. He presented his imperial edict, sealed and tied with purple ribbon. “Commander Vosgaris Taboz, taking up a new command appointment in Niake.”
“Sir,” the first militiaman snapped to attention. “Welcome to Niake, sir.”
“Thank you.” He glanced up at the gatehouse. No guard stood near the portcullis winch. He could see that much. He shook his head. Sloppy, sloppy. He felt irritated by the entire thing. “Smarten up!” he barked suddenly, startling the two men. “What if I were a Tybar spy?”
“Sir?”
“What is your procedure in handling a visiting military official whom you do not know?”
“Uh, sir. Fetch the guard sergeant.”
“Then do so. I will not have this slack attitude. I am the new military commander here and you will do things correctly. Is that clear?”
“Sir!” the two chorused. The second ducked into the guardroom hurriedly while the first remained in a guard position, pointing his spear at the commander’s body. Correct, but clearly incapable of dealing with him if Vosgaris decided to strike out.
The sergeant came stumbling out, his surcoat stained, no helmet on, the remains of a meal smeared over his chin. “What’s this?” he demanded, blinking in the sun.
“Sergeant – who?” Vosgaris asked, eyeing the man in disgust.
“Mendik, sir.” Mendik eyed the imperial edict and decided it was best to play it safe.
“Sergeant Mendik. You are a disgrace to your uniform. You do not eat on duty. You will wear your helmet. You do not soil the Imperial Uniform you wear. You are not a hill bandit from the borderlands. You are – supposedly – a non-commissioned officer in the Bathenian Militia. Now begin setting an example to your incredibly sloppy soldiers in how a soldier should act. I will be carrying out a full review of the military here in the next few days and you can bet every furim you have that if I find anyone – anyone – not fit to wear the uniform, then they will not be wearing it any longer. Got it?”
“Sir!” Mendik stood up straight, a globule of some unidentifiable food dropping off his soiled surcoat to the ground between his feet.
Vosgaris eyed it, then slowly ran his eyes up the trembling figure of the sergeant. “You’re out of condition, Sergeant. Tomorrow morning you will report to me at the Governor’s residence with full uniform. We will exercise you in the courtyard there until you throw up. Clear?”
Mendik tried to stand even straighter, endangering his spine. Vosgaris slipped the scroll back under the saddle and gestured to the portcullis. “You know standing orders. Two men to be on duty at all times manning that in case of a surprise attack. Where are the two men supposed to be up there?”
“Ah, sir, they – ah, are temporarily absent.”
“Doing what?”
Mendik looked to the two guards, and when he got no help, muttered something, looking at the ground.
“Where? What?” Vosgaris leaned forward in his saddle. “Gods’ teeth, man, aren’t you able to command a squad of eight men?”
“Ah six, sir,” Mendik corrected the officer.
“Six? Six? Imperial military rules state no less than eight men, and in fact, in time of war there are to be twelve. Well?”
“Ah, sir, we’re not at war.”
Vosgaris tightened his jaw. “Venn invaded Bragal a moon ago, man. What do you think they were going to do? Blow us kisses? I was there – I saw the battle. Twelve men. Who decided six?”
“Ah – the governor’s office sir. Cutbacks, saving money.”
Vosgaris exhaled noisily. “Stand aside, Sergeant, and smarten this disgraceful unit up. I’ll have you cleaning out the sewers for a sevenday if I find such indolence again. Clear?”
Mendik saluted and watched as the new commander rode slowly past them, his eyes taking in the weeds growing in the stonework, the rubbish blowing about the gatehouse and the pile of soiled cloth left in a doorway. He puffed out his cheeks. “Right you lazy lot,” he growled once all was clear, “I want this place smartened up. If it isn’t, then I promise you that should I be disciplined for it being a rodent’s nest, then you’ll go down with me.”
Vosgaris made his way through the streets, watching the people making their way to and fro, here and there. Some looked at him in curiosity, then went about their business. The main square was not far and he entered it, spotting the residence immediately. The opposite side was a mass of traders’ stalls and business looked brisk.
Turning the head of his equine towards the residence, Vosgaris walked his beast towards the gates. Two militiamen stood by these, looking very bored. He flicked a quick glance at the edifice of the residence. Some windows were open, the front door ajar and unguarded. He came to a halt by the gates and peered down at the two men. “Where is the duty officer?” he demanded.
“Ah, sir, inside the main door.” The guard looked alarmed.
“Then go fetch him.” Vosgaris was tired, hot, irritable. He hadn’t wanted this post, but now he was here, he could see that it needed someone to shake things up. The governor seemed not to have much of a grasp on things.
“Good afternoon, Commander,” a warm confident voice sounded close to his left elbow.
Vosgaris looked round and saw a rich, smartly dressed man with smooth suntanned skin and a ready smile. “You have the advantage of me, Mr?”
“Kalfas. Demtro Kalfas, merchant.”
“Ah, yes, I was told about you. Well met, Demtro. I’m…”
“Commander Vosgaris Taboz, yes. Welcome to Niake.”
“You seem more informed – and coherent – than the militia. Why the poor state of the militia?”
“You’ll have to speak to our glorious governor Evas Extonos about that, Commander. May I tag along? I’m keen to listen in.”
Vosgaris hesitated, then shrugged. Isbel had told him in her last letter that Demtro was the only man in Niake he could trust implicitly. There hadn’t been room for any explanation, but in time no doubt that would be forthcoming. He dismounted and tugged off his riding gauntlets. He shook the merchant’s hand. “The empress speaks highly of you. I may need your assistance over the next few days. This place needs a kick up the rear end.”
“And so does the governor, if I may be so irreverent.”
Vosgaris grunted. It would so appear, judging by his observations thus far. The guard returned with the duty officer, a smooth-faced beautifully manicured sub-commander with not a spot of dirt on his uniform. He had a look of irritation on his face, as if being summoned to the gates was beneath him. He took one look at the dusty, sweating and unshaven new arrival and a flicker of distaste
flashed across his features.
“Do you have a problem, Sub-Commander?” Vosgaris asked, eyeing the two bands on his helmet. Vosgaris had four, and coloured purple, which indicated the regular army, whereas the Sub-commander’s was blue, denoting a militia position. There was a definite pecking order amongst the military, and the militia stood below the regulars. Quite some way in some of the regulars’ minds.
“Ah, no, Commander,” the young officer said, raising himself to full height. The haughty contempt that oozed from him washed over the new arrival.
Vosgaris turned away from the militia officer and looked at Demtro. The merchant grinned. Vosgaris slowly turned back. “Then where’s your damned salute, you disrespectful kivok!”
The officer hastily thumped his chest. Vosgaris switched his attention to the two guards who snapped smartly to attention. “Bloody disgraceful, all of you,” he growled. “You couldn’t guard a chamber pot. I’ll have you tightened up by the end of the sevenday.”
“Sir, I must protest!”
“Evidently,” Vosgaris said, slapping both gauntlets in his palm. “But I don’t give a damn. Your protests mean nothing to me. I’m the new military commander for this region, and that means I’m equal to one of the gods as far as you’re concerned. When I say jump, you will ask me ‘how high, sir’. Do I make myself clear?”
The sub-commander sweated, standing stiffly to attention. “Sir – the governor holds the command of the military in Bathenia.”
Vosgaris pulled out the scroll and waved it under the officer’s nose. “This,” he said softly, “says otherwise. It is signed by Emperor Astiras Koros himself personally.” He proceeded to tap the officer around the face with the scroll with every word. “Who-commands-the-military-in-Bathenia?”
“Uhh…. Y-you, sir!”
“Very good. That means I own your sorry arse you pompous effete wastrel. I have ridden from a bloodbath of a battle in Bragal, fought off an army of flies, ridden hundreds of leagues, to arrive here hot, sweaty and tired, and I find you arguing my right to run this region’s army. Take my equine to the stables and wash it down.”
“M-Me, sir? But-but…”
“Yes, such things are beneath you. I bet you’ve never even dressed yourself. You look like one of these privileged nobles whose idea of hard work is unfastening your breeches prior to having a shit. Now get going before I risk losing my foot up your tight arse!”
Shocked, the young officer took the reins and led the beast off to one side, towards the rear entrance where the stables stood. “And bring my equipment to the governor’s room!” Vosgaris called after him. He turned and looked at the smirking guards. “Something funny?”
The guards’ amusement vanished. “No sir!”
“Then show me to the damned governor immediately!”
Demtro followed at a leisurely pace, fighting off an urge to laugh out loud. This new arrival promised to be an interesting addition to the city.
Vosgaris was shown in very quickly once his position and rank had been understood. The militiamen in the residence hurried him along, not wanting to be around this tough looking regular.
Evas was standing by his desk when Vosgaris, and Demtro, were shown in. Evas’ expression clouded over when he saw the merchant. Demtro grinned and waved briefly which didn’t help Evas’ look at all. “Welcome, Commander, I’ve been expecting you for a couple of days now. What is he doing here?”
Vosgaris looked at Demtro. “He’s here with my blessing. Appears to know more than your moronic guardsmen. What a sorry crowd they are, Governor. What a terrible lack of discipline. They need tightening up immediately.” He looked at the man next to Evas. “This is whom?”
“Ah, my advisor, Prelek.”
Vosgaris grunted and ignored the advisor. He threw the scroll onto Evas’ desk. “There, read it.”
Evas slowly unfastened the ribbon. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the contents. The seal was definitely from the emperor, and the governor’s heart sank. The seal was broken, the scroll opened and read. Evas slowly sank into his chair. He looked up at Vosgaris. “I am to hand over all military affairs and command to you with immediate effect. You are autonomous and separate from all civil matters, over which I retain control.”
“Correct, Governor. I answer only to a member of the Koros dynasty. That makes me the de-facto warlord of Bathenia. I want this city to become the hub of an efficient military machine. Currently it looks broken down and tired. You’re responsible and that’s unforgiveable.”
Evas slowly waved his head from side to side. It made him look like he was denying what he was hearing, and what he had read. Prelek peered at the scroll, trying to find fault with it, but it was unambiguous. “So – what do you want from me, Commander?”
“Right now? A suite of rooms. I don’t care where it is, but I want quarters appropriate to my position. I have held rank of Captain of the Palace Guard in Kastan City, Captain of the Zofela Garrison and now Commander of Bathenia. I have the fullest confidence of the emperor and empress. I need a bath, my equipment brought to my new quarters, a pair of guards put on my door at all times, and a servant.”
“A servant?”
“I have the right as a member of the House of Taboz, of which I am a member. So not only am I the chief military officer in this province, but I am also a nobleman.”
Evas rolled his eyes.
“Governor, your reputation is well-known in imperial circles. I’m not surprised to find the guards slack, indolent, undisciplined and with low or no morale. That can only come from you, a man who takes little interest outside your own narrow self-interest, which chiefly, so it seems, is to retain your position by sucking up to whoever is in charge in Kastan City. Therefore, the emperor has decided to relieve you of all military responsibility and put me in charge to make this province defensible. Currently it is not.”
“This is an insult to my position!”
Nothing compared to what I’ve had, Vosgaris thought acidly. He leaned over Evas, his balled fists on the desk top. “Listen to me, Governor. I have witnessed a merciless battle no more than thirty days ago in Bragal where Mazag defeated Venn. We are at war, and the emperor wants all regions able to defend themselves should war come to them. Your preoccupation with sitting in that chair until you die has blinded yourself to the faults in the army units here. I am going to carry out a full inspection of all units tomorrow morning in the courtyard at the rear of this building. Pass on the word to all the unit officers. They are to be there the first watch after daybreak.”
Evas nodded, intimidated by the smell of the unwashed man more than anything else. Prelek folded his arms and leaned back, unnerved by the presence of this man. “Are you intending to usurp the Governor’s position here, Commander?”
“No, I wouldn’t have his job for all the furims in Kastania. His position will be decided not by me, but by the emperor, and maybe in a few years’ time by Prince Argan.”
“Prince Argan? How so?”
“He is the Prince of the West, or do you not know that, Advisor? He will take up his post here or in Slenna when he is old enough, and the Governor here may well find he is redundant. He certainly will if he continues to do nothing!” Vosgaris’ fist smashed into the desk top, making Evas jump. “Rest assured, Governor, I will not be following your example of sitting on my fat arse doing nothing other than counting the furims I’ve siphoned from the treasury by cutting the defenders of this city, yet continuing to inform Kastan City that I have the necessary numbers as dictated by regulations. How many soldiers have you laid off these past two years? Fifty? A hundred?”
Evas’s face drained. “What? What is this?” he stood up, shocked. He turned to Prelek. “What is this reduction in the garrison?”
Prelek took on a hunted look. “Ah, there may be a slip up in the administration with numbers….” His voice trailed off at the expression on the others’ faces.
Vosgaris pushed his face into Prelek’s. “You will suddenly
find that these people whom you have ‘released’ from their positions are too badly missed and that they are recalled to their former posts, and moreover that their pay is handed to them for the period they were – ah – shall we say, absent?”
Prelek clenched his fists. “You cannot come barging in here making these accusations and demands! This is outrageous!”
“No more outrageous than stealing from the treasury and making people financially crippled by terminating their jobs for no reason other than by making oneself rich! Governor Extonos, you will arrange for that money to be returned to the provincial treasury and you will pay these soldiers their back pay when they resume their employment.”
Evas’ mouth worked but no noise came out. Finally he found his voice. “Commander – I honestly never knew about this, you must believe me! Prelek here took care of the paperwork…. I …. I was … busy.” The last word was almost a squeak.
Demtro chuckled from the back of the room. “Well, well, Governor, I am full of admiration! I thought you too feckless and spineless to do such a thing – unless of course it really was that piece of dirt Prelek there who did it… yes, I think maybe it was.”
Vosgaris straightened and glared at the frightened advisor. “And what exactly, is your role here? Advising the Governor to do what? Steal?”
“We-we needed to cut overheads – costs were getting too high – you’ve got to believe me! Those troops had to go!”
“But surely Governor Extonos would have then had to cut the funding to the provincial treasury for the reduction of the number of troops employed. You know how it works, Prelek. The province notifies central treasury of the number of troops it has, and central treasury sends the requisite amount of furims to the provincial treasury in order to pay for them. Now if you cut Bathenia’s troop numbers by a hundred, then Kastan City must be advised, and two things will then happen; one, the treasury cuts the military funding to Bathenia by the cost of a hundred troops, and secondly you will get the emperor asking why your military force is down by a hundred. I do not recall any conversation in Zofela with the emperor speaking of this. Shall I go ask Prince Elas in Kastan City of the number of troops Bathenia has declared these past two years?”