by Tony Roberts
“Will it be long, now?” Amne asked, hugging herself.
“Not long,” Lalaas said. His eyes were constantly moving, checking on the enemy, counting them. There were twenty-six of them, and as long as he kept them all in sight, he could be certain that nobody was sneaking up from behind. “Night is coming. That’s when they’ll strike.”
“Lalaas…” Amne’s voice caught. “I-I’m sorry.”
The hunter turned and looked at her for a long moment before he returned his attention to the front. “There’s nothing to apologise about, Amne.”
“Oh, there is! If I hadn’t been so hard-headed and single-minded about coming out here, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Lalaas – I’m really so sorry to have put you in this position.”
The hunter checked on the distant riders once more before taking one pace towards the princess. “Don’t apologise; I’m not sorry I met you, and I’m not sorry I’m here with you now. I wouldn’t swap this for anything. It’s a pleasure to be with you.”
Amne bit her lip. “But you could have had such a good long life. I’ve ruined that!”
“Rubbish. You’ve ruined nothing. Don’t go beating yourself up. Nothing is certain; those rogues out there haven’t done for us yet, and it may well end up with them failing in their task. We’ve been in bad situations before, and we’ll somehow find a solution to this. Remember that village in Valchia where we sheltered in the rain, and they wanted to take us as slaves?”
Amne nodded. “You got us out of that mess; but this is different! I mean, there’s so many of them!"
Lalaas checked on the riders once more and noted that the light was beginning to fade. He kept the dismay out of his face as he looked at the princess again. “I would not trade my place with anyone, ever. If I am to die then I would wish it to be with you.”
Amne held her breath. “Oh, Lalaas, that’s the sweetest thing anyone could say! Even if I’m bossy? Even if I’m a she-canine?”
“Even if.” He grinned. “Just promise me one thing if we do get out of this mess.”
“Anything!”
“Go easy on poor Vosgaris; the man’s going through sleepless nights because he’s fantasising about you. He can hardly do his job because he’s so tight with frustration. You’d have him crawling on all fours barking if you commanded him, you know.”
Amne’s face was becoming hard to read with the fading light, but he thought she smiled slightly. “Very well; mother’s sweet on him anyway. I can do without the rivalry.”
“Ha!” Lalaas said, “that’s another issue I must try to solve. Between the two of you he’s virtually in a frenzy. Did you see him almost drowning in his supper yesterday when you were bent over tending young Argan? I almost fell over his tongue.”
Amne fought back a laugh. “Yes, yes, Lalaas, I promise! Oh, it’s almost dark!”
Lalaas sighed and looked back at the riders. He could hardly see them now. “Ah, well, it’s almost time.”
Amne’s hand touched his and they laced fingers. He looked at her, and she came up close to him, her head tilted back, her lips parted. Her eyes gazed into his, drawing him into her. Lalaas pressed against the princess, looking down at her smooth face, her red lips, the slightly upturned nose, the wide blue eyes, the tumbling fair hair. Imperceptibly, they edged closer. His lips closed towards her’s.
A thundering sound alerted them and they jerked away from each other, Lalaas reaching for an arrow. Amne edged deeper into the shadows, her eyes wide and fearful. She wanted to touch her guardian but the fear of what was coming overrode that wish. Lalaas squinted into the gathering gloom. Vague figures were moving ahead, but they were not coming towards them. There were certainly equines moving about, but the sound that reached him was not of an attack, but of manoeuvring. Shouts came to his ears and he stepped forward one pace, trying to make out what was happening. There were more riders out there than there had been before, and now a few torches were being lit.
Three equines came closer, riding across his line of vision and he gaped. Three mounted archers, dressed in the livery of the Imperial Kastanian Army, galloped past, aiming their weapons ahead of them. Even as he looked, they loosed off, whooping with delight. “What?”
Amne came up to him. “What is it?”
“I think that’s Deran’s men! You know, those kids with those small bows who practice in the yard.”
“Oh! How did they find us?”
“Don’t know, but they’ve saved us, for sure.” Lalaas lowered his bow and waited. To go running out would be folly; he could be mistaken for an enemy in the darkness. Just then a single figure rode slowly towards them, a tall shape on a larger beast. Lalaas raised his bow once more.
“Lower your bow, Hunter,” Elas’ voice came to him.
Lalaas exhaled noisily and complied. “Lord Pelgion.”
Amne bit off an exclamation and rushed forward, reaching the side of Elas and looking up at her husband-to-be. “Elas! Oh am I glad to see you!”
“Get your equine,” he snapped. “And then you will follow me back to Kastan. You have a lot of explaining to do!”
Amne’s delight vanished. Her shoulders slumped. Lalaas stepped forward. “Sire, your arrival was timely.”
“Indeed,” Elas regarded the hunter for a moment. “You appear to have taken a good account of yourself, though you should not have been put in this situation in the first place. I thought you possessed more sense and awareness than this!”
Lalaas said nothing. He remained facing the annoyed Elas while, behind him, the mounted archers galloped hither, shouting in excitement. Lalaas breathed out deeply as Amne passed him, her face wet with tears. “I’ll go fetch my equine, Lord Pelgion.”
“Indeed. You will follow us back to Kastan City.”
Lalaas went back to his mount. Amne was standing by her’s, silent, her back to everyone. He stepped alongside and saw she was crying. “Strength, Princess,” he said softly, surreptitiously squeezing her arm. “We live to fight another day.”
Amne nodded and smiled through her tears. She wiped them away and both of them walked their equines out into the night, under the severe gaze of Elas. The mounted archers were coming to him in ones and two, talking excitedly amongst themselves. Their captain, Deran, waved them into order and Elas looked at him. “Report.”
“Sire. Rebels fled. We killed four, wounded three more. They are our prisoners.”
“Did you indeed?” Elas sounded interested. “Bring them to me.”
Deran flashed a toothy smiled and waved curtly to his men to fetch the three prisoners. They were roped to one of the equines and were tugged forward roughly. One had a bloodied shoulder, another a head wound and the third was limping badly.
Elas waved for Amne to mount up. He left Lalaas to do so without telling him. He assumed the hunter knew what to do. At least, if he knew his place he would. If he didn’t he wouldn’t last long in his household. The nobleman slowly walked his steed up to the three uncomfortable men roped in a line. “To whom do you work for?”
The men said nothing; they merely looked at the ground and clutched their wounds. Elas waited a few heartbeats, then repeated his question. Again, they said nothing.
“Very well,” Elas said. “Hang the first.”
Amne gasped and the three hirelings looked surprised. Deran chuckled and waved to his men to arrange a rope from one of the projecting charred beams that protruded into the sky. The first man was grabbed and separated from the others, and dragged to the noose now hanging in mid-air. An equine was provided and the man, his hands tied behind his back, forced up onto the back of the animal. The noose was looped over his head and tightened.
Elas slowly walked to the rear of the equine and raised his hand above its rump. “I’ll ask you one last time, peasant. To whom do you work for?”
The man shook his head. Elas’ expression didn’t change, and he slapped the equine which leaped forward, leaving the man dangling from the noose, kicking thin air. He struggled for
a few moments, feeling his neck stretch, a pain knifing through his spinal cord like a red hot poker. His bowels turned to water and his body shook, heat burning through every nerve fibre, then he jerked once more and fell limp, his face contorted.
Amne looked away, a sick feeling in her stomach. Lalaas watched stone-faced, alongside her. He placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed again.
Elas returned to the other two. “I’ll ask you once more,” he addressed the second man. “Or you’ll share his fate.”
“Lord,” the man said, his voice shaking, “I would die if I told you!”
“From whom?” Elas asked. “Your paymaster? I do not see him here, so how could he kill you? You shall certainly die if you do not tell me this instant.”
The man looked at the third behind him. “He’ll tell. Kill him and I’ll tell you everything!”
The third man’s face twisted into a mask of fury. “Traitorous filth! You shut your mouth!”
“Kill him!” the second man screamed as the third stepped towards him.
Elas nodded to one of the archers. An arrow speared the third through the throat, and he sank to the ground, blood dribbling out of his mouth. “Now, to save your miserable life, tell me.”
“The-the Fokis. We were paid to kill the Princess there. Once that was done we were to ride back to our base and await further instructions. That’s all I know, honestly!”
Elas regarded the man for a moment. “Very well. You shall accompany us back to Kastan City where you will be questioned further. If what you say has value, your pathetic life shall be spared.” He gestured for the man to be put on equineback and then escorted by three of the archers. He then motioned for Amne to ride alongside him. “We rode hard to get here in time. It will take some time to return. I do not wish you to stray from my side in that time.” He looked at Lalaas. “As for you, start acting like a hunter and scout. Ride out ahead and guide us back to the city. I shall ponder on what I shall tell the Empress during our ride back about the two of you.”
“But Elas...” Amne began.
“Enough! You have caused me enough trouble as it is without testing my patience further. There is no excuse, no explanation necessary. I do not wish to discuss this matter any further. Ride on!”
The group began their journey back to the capital, Lalaas leading them, Amne silent and wondering what awaited her back in the palace.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Night had fallen in the camp, but the flickering lights from the many fires and torches illuminated most of the clearing. Zonis sat on the rudimentary stool quietly smoking in the centre of the camp, watching as the men went about their routines. Standing by his side was Kimel, a sort of trustee who had been appointed to look over him. Kimel was a short, dark haired man with long unruly hair and a pale complexion. Zonis didn’t mind being guarded in this manner; he was not going to make any break for ‘freedom’. In any event, Clora would then be left alone and he wasn’t going to abandon her.
She wasn’t with him anymore. Her ‘services’ had been good enough to move her into the quarters of the scar-faced guard captain and she spent her days there, pleasuring him or doing the domestics in his quarters. He had seen her a few times and they had exchanged a few words but the guard captain, a man called Wottek, was particularly jealous and didn’t want her speaking to anyone unless he was there, but since his duties were onerous and many, he was rarely around. Lombert Soul was fiercely insistent that security was watertight and Wottek had his hands full ensuring the guards knew their jobs at all times.
Zonis had been let out of the cage on the second day and told to behave, or else. Nobody took him seriously, since he was to all appearances an old, washed up former soldier, addicted to the painkillers he smoked. Not that Lombert Soul or Wottek were going to let him roam free anyway; Kimel had been introduced to him on the day he was allowed out by the guards, and he’d been told that he would not be allowed to go anywhere unless Kimel was with him. Kimel, in turn, was told never to leave ‘Sinoz’s’ side no matter what.
Zonis had yet not caught sight of the rebel leader, but he was talked of frequently by many. It seemed they were pinning a lot of faith in the commoner-turned-general to overturn the Koros regime in Niake. Nobody had much good to say about the Niakian militia or the governor, and common consensus was that they had to merely march on the city and it would be surrendered to them.
So Zonis sat on his stool, watching, smoking, taking note. The one good thing was that his furnishings had been returned to him and placed in the draughty cave assigned to him as his quarters. It was open to the clearing but he was told to put up and shut up. At least he had a shelter over his head and the days were getting warmer. Nobody envisaged them being there when winter came; they would be in Niake enjoying the fleshpots.
“What’s that, Kimel?” Zonis asked, jabbing the stem of his pipe towards a line of beasts of burden entering the clearing, fully laden with canvas covered goods. He couldn’t see what they were but there was plenty of things underneath their coverings.
“Dunno,” Kimel said, his rich, country accent rolling his syllables. “Bizarre.”
Zonis had come to know the limited range of diction possessed by the former farmer. He seemed to get by with about five stock phrases that covered most of life’s necessities. ‘Bizarre’ was one, ‘scarey’ another. ‘Fair shout’, ‘nightmare scenario’ and ‘don’t need it’ the others. From what Zonis had been able to learn, Kimel had fallen on hard times, lost his farm, and then got into some dark and dirty dealings that had ended up with him addicted to the leaf and he’d almost lost his mind. Fortunately he’d lost his money first and went through torment coming off the addiction, but he’d emerged with half of his mind and little prospects of getting a job, so he’d drifted into Lombert’s growing anti-governmental movement and had been given the simple jobs around camp.
“Not seen them before, then?”
Kimel shook his head. “Supplies, I’d say.”
“From where? They look like expensive beasts of burden, and the coverings are decent quality. I’d like to look them over. Any chance?”
Kimel looked worried. “Out of bounds; they don’t let me near any of them. Daren’t risk it, it’d be a nightmare scenario.”
Zonis nodded. He expected that sort of reply. He stood up and stretched. The smoke had eased the fire in his lungs. He’d asked about more supplies of the painkiller and had been told there may be some in camp. That was a surprise, as it wasn’t that easily available. People tended to frown on its use in public because of the addictive nature of the plant, and the smell was very distinctive. He slipped on his cloth mask, covering his mouth and nose. Only his eyes were visible. “Well, time to visit the conveniences.”
Kimel looked concerned. “Best wait till they’ve passed – you’d have to go through them.”
“Can’t wait. Get to my age and once you need to go, you need to go. Don’t want an accident, hey?”
“Don’t need it,” Kimel said automatically. He paused, confused, then set off after Zonis who was striding purposefully over towards the supply train, which was passing across the clearing towards the far end where the offices and leaders were. Zonis’ cave was on the other side of the animals, and he pushed quickly in front of one animal which was being pulled along by its drover. A guard put out a hand to grab him but Zonis was already past. Kimel stopped, cut off by the animals and stood helplessly, with Zonis out of his line of sight.
The former Kastanian army general stumbled as he jumped out of the way of the next pack animal and his hand reached out, grasping the canvas. The contents underneath rustled and gave way easily. Zonis corrected his stumble and released his grip, resuming his route towards his cave. Two guards closed in on him, their expressions stern, their poled blades threatening, but Zonis was already walking away, seemingly unconcerned, so they relaxed and resumed their trek.
Zonis sniffed his hand as he got to the cave and his eyes widened. He turned and regarded the supply
train and counted. As the last crossed from right to left, Kimel skipped round the back and came running. “That was a nightmare scenario!” he panted. “Nearly got done there!”
“Relax,” Zonis said. “Emergency averted.”
“Fair shout.”
Zonis rolled his eyes. “Think I’ll turn in for the night. It’s been a tiring day and I need to catch up on sleep.”
“Fair shout.” Kimel had a berth in the same cavern. He had been given specific instructions not to allow the newcomer to go anywhere without him, so he’d set up his bed in the same place.
Zonis prepared his bed, set at the rear of the cavern, masked from the clearing by his furnishings and a cloth screen, and lay awake for a while, staring up at the rock ceiling above him. He’d not expected Lombert Soul to dabble in drug supplies, but the evidence was there. Where they had managed to get hold of such a large consignment of the Leaf was anyone’s guess, but he needed to get a message to Niake fast. If what he suspected was going on, then the rebels intended to flood Bathenia and maybe even the rest of the Empire with the highly addictive plant which would create havoc. He’d never seen so much in one place before, even in his time in the backstreets of Niake, and the difficulty in getting it to Kastanian lands from Adnea and the distance involved usually meant only a small amount found its way to the streets, which made the price high.
He felt chilled. The amount he guessed was underneath those canvas coverings was immense. It would bring the price crashing down and anyone – anyone – would be able to get hold of it. Kastanian society would be reduced to mindless zombies en masse.
The next morning he woke, tired. He’d not had a good night. His mind had been full of worries and fears, and it had only been after a long time he’d drifted off, but his dreams had been bad. He splashed water from the bucket by his bed over his face, grabbed his knife, sharpened it, then scraped off his stubble. He had to look presentable. He was due to present himself that morning to the guard captain Wottek who no doubt had some work for him. If he had no value to the rebels he was sure he’d been dragged off somewhere by now and knifed to death.