by Tony Roberts
“Drawer, bedside.” The milita officer hung his head and shook all over.
Thetos nodded to Kerrin. The boy looked at Argan who signalled he could comply.
“Do I take any guards with me?” Kerrin asked by the door.
“No – I don’t trust any of them. Who knows how far the rot has spread?” Thetos leaned over Blek. “How many others are like you, traitors?”
“I-I don’t know… I didn’t know of any others, honestly!”
“So how did you join this movement and why?” Argan asked, still shaken at the tactics used on the bound man.
Blek looked at him with dull eyes, all resistance gone from them. “Promises of senior military position, something I’ll never get under him,” he jerked his head at the governor. “The witch would be burned, something we all agree on. She’s an abomination. This regime is evil and has to be swept away, and if the emperor won’t do it then we will. I was told Slavis will submit to the imperial rule on a promise no action would be taken against him or any of us who joined the rebellion.”
Thetos lifted the man’s head by pushing Blek’s chin up with the flat of his hook. “Now you listen to me you damned fool, Slavis doesn’t care a jot about what I do or Metila does, he just wants the power here and will use imbeciles like you to get what he wants. Once he does that he’ll march in and remove and replace you with his own men.”
Argan stepped aside. “Governor, I must talk with you later.”
Thetos released Blek’s chin and sighed. “Very well, sire. This cretin doesn’t seem to understand if I get removed, you would be either held captive or put to the sword too. Either way, the emperor would be down here with the Army of the East in no time, battering down the walls.” He looked at Blek. “Do you really think the emperor would spare any of you for endangering his son here?”
“The Prince here would have been released as a gesture of goodwill.”
Thetos snorted in disbelief. Kerrin opened the door at that moment, holding a letter. He passed it to Argan first, making sure Thetos knew who he looked to first. Argan read it, then passed it to Thetos. “Thanks Kerrin. Keep guard of him while I go make sure Metila is alright.”
Argan went over to her room and knocked. He got a muffled reply to enter and did so, finding Metila hanging up a big bunch of some plant cuttings, tied together by string. “Metila, is everything alright?”
She stopped and looked at him in surprise. “Yes, Lakhani. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I thought you might be upset about what went on out there.”
She shook her head. “No, we got him to talk, as expected. The fool didn’t know we were bluffing. I’m not upset, I am merely the slave of the governor, after all.”
“That makes no difference to me,” Argan said. “Everyone to me is important. I know you have feelings just like anyone else and I wouldn’t want you to be in here upset on your own.”
Metila came over to him, wiping her hands together. “Lakhani, you do not need to concern yourself over me unduly. I’m stronger than you realise.”
“Even so, I care for you and wanted to know you were alright.”
Metila smiled slightly. “Thank you Lakhani. I shall be out soon. I must tend my plants.”
Reassured, Argan returned to the main room, shutting Metila’s door. Thetos was eyeing Blek thoughtfully. “She’s alright, sire, she’s a tough one. This rotten fruit here,” he gestured in contempt at Blek, “was supposed to recruit as many men as possible to the cause before Slavis made his move.”
“I would guess Slavis knows what goes on inside here, Governor, given the fact he’s recruited him plus at least one other. We can’t assume that’s all there is to it.”
Thetos agreed. “I hate to admit it sire, but you’re right. I’ve a good mind to hand him over to Metila for her to suck every last portion of what he knows out of his head.”
Argan shook his head. “I doubt he’s got anything more to tell us, and that letter there gives us as much as we need to know.”
“It doesn’t tell us where Slavis is, though, sire.”
Argan took the letter back and held it up to the window. “Parchment. Quite distinctively made. Plants that grow along the Storma River are the best to make parchment, aren’t they?”
“Indeed sire. Your education is quite comprehensive.”
Argan grinned. “Father and mother made sure I got the best. Metila knows plants, and I’m willing to stake my title that she’s capable of determining which plants precisely have gone to make this parchment. Then all we have to do is to find out when they were harvested and who harvested them, and then it’s a logical step to find out who turned them into parchment and where their parchment went.”
Thetos slapped his thigh and laughed. “Sire, you’re marvellous! Of course! What a mistake to make. And the ink – I will have her do a comparison on it if she’s capable – and we can find out what that is made of and where that is available. Great thundering hoofs, we’ll snare the moklar yet! Oh, begging your pardon, sire.”
Argan made a conciliatory gesture. “Granted but please moderate your language in future – I don’t want Kerrin picking up bad habits,” he grinned.
Kerrin’s lips twitched and Thetos chuckled.
“Governor, a word please in private, over here,” he beckoned Thetos to follow him to the far corner, away from Kerrin and the limp Blek. He spoke softly so as not to be overheard. “Governor, I would appreciate it if you went a little easier on the officers here. They are not all bad or useless, but they feel as if you are treating them like the lowest ruffians of society and it is making them resentful. Blek here no doubt is the worst example of them, but if one can be persuaded to change sides, then others may follow. It may well be frustrating sometimes to deal with people who cannot or will not see things the way you do or wish them to, but treat them as people and not animals. Please? You do not need to humiliate them; use your position of command to order them appropriately.”
Thetos regarded the teenage prince for a moment, then nodded curtly. “Very well, sire, I shall do my best.”
Argan gripped his upper arm in gratitude. “You’re doing a magnificent job here, Governor, and I am learning so much from you, but there are perhaps one or two things I may be able to teach you.”
Thetos smiled ruefully. “Indeed, sire. I forget sometimes you are a prince of the imperial family; you’re so young.”
“But learning all the time. So, Governor, shall we put this unfortunate in the cells below, and begin our plan to find where this parchment came from?”
Thetos agreed and they strode back to the middle of the room, the governor calling Metila to rejoin them. Argan felt a thrill run through him, this was something worth getting involved with.
It did, however, take a while to get the results, and autumn was beginning to change towards the early stages of winter. The Storma Valley was usually free of frost due to its temperate climate and geographical location, and Metila rode out with Argan and Kerrin and a squad of tough looking soldiers to search the reed beds along the river banks. Metila took her time, excitedly picking a plant at random and chattering about its properties, sticking it in a small bag and then putting it in turn into her saddlebags. She was renewing her stock of some of her medicines and potions.
“Lakhani, look,” she pointed to a clump of thin but jagged stalks protruding from a grassy bank near a large tree. “Healing bark.”
“Healing bark?” Argan echoed, translating from Bragalese to Kastanian in his head. The Bragalese word had been zugalam. Zu was the word for bark, galam the word for healing.
“Yes, I used some of that to cure you when you were gravely ill.” She dismounted and broke off a few sticks, snapped them into small lengths and slipped them into a bag. “Very strong medicine, but dangerous if you have too much. Poisonous. I have to mix it with other herbs to make it digestible.”
Argan shook his head. “How do you know all this? It would take a lifetime to learn!”
“I was brought up learning all this from my own personal healing tutor, like you learn from your Mr. Sen. I have used plants all my life,” she said, looking around at the falling leaves from the trees, “and this is my classroom.”
“But – all that knowledge, it’ll be lost once you go.”
Metila shrugged. “Others in Bragal know. People outside Bragal fear our knowledge and seek to destroy it.”
“That is because witches use bad magic,” Kerrin said in his halting Bragalese.
Metila pointed at Argan. “He is a prince, there have been bad princes, there have been good princes, but people do not destroy all princes. So why destroy all witches because of the actions of a few? You want to destroy a bad witch, get another witch to do it. You destroy all good witches, who then can fight a bad witch? There will always be witches.”
Kerrin glanced at Argan; he hadn’t expected Metila to use such logic on him. Argan nodded thoughtfully. “Can you give some of your wisdom to Amal?”
“I am already,” Metila said, “but carefully; she is not naturally Okloka. The more powerful potions I will not teach her, but when I come out to collect plants, she will come with me and I will teach her what to seek and why.”
Argan smiled gratefully. Kerrin frowned and switched to Kastanian. “But won’t that make her life hazardous? Others could be frightened of someone they see as a witch and – well, burn her!”
Argan shook his head and kept speaking in Bragalese. “Not if we remain quiet about it, and I can’t see any of us telling anyone, can you?”
Metila nodded in agreement. “It will be done very carefully, and I will only have her for another year or two before you are sent elsewhere so she will not know a great deal, but I will show her how to heal and keep you healthy.”
“Thank you, Metila, you’re wonderful.” Argan beamed at the witch who bowed in response. Kerrin looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the entire conversation. Metila’s expression changed as she switched her attention to Kerrin. One last look at Argan and she sighed and remounted.
The search went on and finally, on the third day, they discovered a swathe of cut reeds. It was the fourth patch they came to that Metila finally looked satisfied with. “Yes, these are the ones. Same blue veins in that pattern that is in the parchment of the message from Slavis. Very distinctive pattern as you can see,” she flicked her fingernail at the stub by the water’s edge.
Argan swung round in the saddle. “So who owns this patch of land?” he asked of the official from the Turslenkan council offices who was with them.
The man consulted a thick bound book, a ledger, that he had brought with him. After a few moments of careful examining, he looked up at a collection of houses on the top of the right hand slope leading away from the valley floor. “Sire, there is a parchment seller living up there who has the cutting rights leased from the imperial crown who owns this land. His family has harvested the reeds for generations.”
Argan made a sound of triumph. “Then there is where we shall go immediately. Come on, up!”
They rode up, all thirty of them, galloping around the small village, making sure nobody got in or out. Argan, Kerrin, Metila, the official and four men made their way to the house the official identified and one of the guards got off his mount and hammered on the door. “Open up in the name of Prince Argan Koros!”
Argan grinned at the title, then composed himself. A woman opened the door hesitantly, looking at the figures before her, more than a little fearfully. It was markedly colder up in this spot, halfway up the slope on the level patch of land the village was sited on. A small brook trickled through it before plunging down to the valley in a small but picturesque waterfall. Mud lay about, a residue of the people making their way from their homes to places of work or to places where they grew their food. Animals shuffled about in pens to the rear of the the properties and the smell of them permeated about.
Higher up just before the rim of the valley there could be seen a frost on the ground. Up there the wind cut across the top.
“Yes?” the woman asked, “who, did you say?”
Argan dismounted and stepped into her line of sight. “I am Prince Argan Koros. I wish to speak with the parchment maker.”
“Oh, your majesty! He is inside – do you wish to come in?”
“No, I shall speak with him here. We shall not intrude into your home, good lady.”
The woman curtseyed awkwardly, and vanished. They heard a loud voice and an answering one, and a man of middle age appeared, a slightly scared look in his eyes. “M-Majesty?”
“You are the reed cutter and parchment maker Alnar Wykas?”
Wykas asserted he was. Kerrin came to stand alongside Argan, while the guards stood back, two still mounted, with the official and Metila in between them.
“You sold this autumn’s parchment already?”
“Sire,” Wykas bowed. “Is there something wrong?”
“To whom?”
“Uh, most of them to the council in Turslenka, sire. A few were purchased by the local nobility for their use. The rest, apart from a few I use myself, went to locals here, sire.”
Argan handed a torn off portion of the message that had been sent to Blek. There was no writing on this section. “This is one of yours?”
Wykas examined it critically in the light of the late autumn day. “Hmmm, yes. This is the best quality. The council in Turslenka had this.”
“Are you absolutely sure of this? This is very important.”
Wykas pondered for a moment. “Sire, I am absolutely certain of this.”
Argan took the torn parchment back. “Thank you. Kerrin, throw him a coin for his trouble. You will tell nobody about this, of course.”
“No sire, and thank you!” he took the coin Kerrin tossed him.
Argan mounted up, followed by Kerrin and the two guards. They turned away and made their way out to the edge of the village where the others were waiting. The other guards dutifully fell in behind the two fifteen year olds and the foreign witch. They were regulars, professional armoured cavalrymen, the elite of the Kastanian armed forces, and loyal to the House of Koros. They had been ‘loaned’ to Argan but it was almost accepted that they would continue to serve under him with Kerrin as their commander for the rest of their serving lives, which in the empire was generally twenty years, with another fifteen after that voluntarily if they both survived and wished to go on.
Kerrin was now training with these men full time, getting to know them and their tactics. They knew their duty was to ensure the young warrior knew how to command and lead them by the time he reached sixteen. He was progressing, but not as fast as he would have liked. Argan was already comfortable giving commands to the group; they were faithful, strong and knew their art which helped a lot. Argan would flesh out their numbers once he reached his sixteenth birthday which was still most part of a year away.
“We return to Turslenka,” he said, “and continue our search there. We should reach it by nightfall if we are swift enough. Let’s ride,” he said, waving them to follow.
Metila kept close to the young prince. She leaned over towards him as they got to the valley bottom. “You command well, Lakhani.”
He looked over to her and grinned. “Like Thetos?”
“Hah! You are not yet that comfortable. A few years and yes, but you must still grow into your role.”
She said little else on the way back, and as Argan had promised, they reached the Eprosian Gate by nightfall. The guards saluted smartly as they thundered past, then the gates were closed as per regulations. Kastania was at war and all town and city gates were to be closed at night.
Thetos was waiting as they arrived at the residence, the guards going to their quarters, and to see to their mounts. Argan, Metila, Kerrin and the official were shown into Thetos’ quarters, still wearing their riding clothes. Drinks were called for and chairs found, dragged out from obscure alcoves or from under piles of papers. Thetos was not known for his tidy office.
>
There was little room around his desk but Amal managed to weave herself around those seated and deposit mugs on surfaces without spilling anything. She then stood uncertainly by Argan, almost getting in the way of Kerrin and the prince. “Amal, thank you,” Thetos said. “You may go.”
She curtseyed and turned to go, but Argan took hold of her arm. “I hear from the Governor you were asking about me every day?”
“Yes, my lord. I was anxious as to your wellbeing.”
Thetos snorted. “Hah! She was climbing the walls with worry, I can tell you! I’m as glad to see you for that reason as any other.” He pulled Metila onto his lap. “This is a better reason.” The two exchanged smiles.
Argan, not wishing to be outdone, pulled Amal onto his. She squealed in surprise, then happily settled on his lap. Kerrin looked at them with disapproval and Argan gestured to Thetos and Metila. “I outrank him, so if he can do that, why not I?”
“Well said, sire,” Thetos said approvingly. “And space was tight with you all there together. But I’d caution against you doing that in other places with other company. You may cause a scandal. So, what did you discover?”
Argan nodded to the official who was sitting quietly with his ledger and paperwork. “You may advise the Governor.”
“Sire. The reeds were on land owned by the Crown, but leased to a Makenian family business who regularly supply the Council here. From what Metila here had said, it would appear the message came from that very supply, sent to our offices a mere moon’s phase ago.”
“As recently as that? Careless,” Thetos said, his hand out of sight, stroking Metila between her legs. She was pushing against his fingers, eyes shut, biting her lower lip. She was oblivious of most of what was being said. If Thetos was not careful she would drag him to her room and rape him.
“Careless, Governor?” Kerrin asked, not entirely comfortable with the familiarity being shown between the two pairs.
“Someone must have taken a new batch and used one of those sheets to send the message. It’ll be a simple case of finding out who was working that day in a section that received the new parchment sheets. Then we’ve got him. Hah! Nobody outside this room is to know – and you will keep your mouth shut. In fact, I’m assigning you termporarily to this very room to process the paperwork for this little task,” he waved his hook in the direction of the official.