Prince of Wrath

by Tony Roberts

  Alenna put her hand to her mouth. Tears came to her eyes and she shook her head in despair. “Oh, no, I beg of you, Lord, please do not do that! What-what shall we do if we have nothing?”

  “I may reconsider should you assist me in finding Lady Sannia,” Jorqel said, looking at her intently. “I am Prince Jorqel, heir to the throne. I have absolute power in the west, as bestowed upon me by my father, the Emperor. Who can argue against my will?”

  “Please, Lord, I honestly do not know anything! My father would not include me or involve me in any of his dealings. He and my brothers ran the family affairs, all mother and I did was to manage the accounts….”

  Alenna’s voice trailed off and the blood drained from her face. Jorqel shot to his feet. “Reptac – the accounts!”

  “Sire we found nothing.”

  Jorqel loomed over the wide-eyed Alenna. “Where are your family ledgers?”

  “I-I…”

  The Prince ignored her stammering and pointed a finger at his senior retainer. “Get outside and search the grounds again! Anyone with a fire is to be immediately checked, do you hear? Now go!”

  Reptac ran out of the room, leaving Jorqel looking down at Alenna. “To save what is left of what little chance you have of ever seeing the sun again, what is in those accounts? Speak, Alenna, or I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your days hacking away at the marble mines in Pelponia.”

  She burst out crying. “Please! Father made me swear on the house gods never to speak of them to anyone! I cannot!”

  “Or will not,” he added harshly. “Your days of hoping to marry a nobleman are over. You have no future.” He sat back down and ignored the sobbing woman. He had no time to allow pity or other feelings of sympathy to get in the way of what needed to be done. She was involved in some way with something wrong here at the Duras household, and he had to find out what it was. It may be connected to the abduction of Sannia, and if that were the case, he must show no weakness at all. The Duras were great exploiters of weakness, and only by showing a determined sense of purpose and unyielding force towards them would they be overcome.

  He resumed writing, but now he was writing a new order. He was aware of the pressing of time against him and he desperately needed to solve his problems here before crossing over to Kastan City and attending his sister’s wedding. That was getting ever closer and he would have to leave fairly soon if he were to get there in time. The Duras had made a right mess of his plans and he was not inclined to be charitable to any of their family.

  He had to go to Niake first and see the governor there before making the crossing. Gavan was there at the moment, or so he hoped, but Gavan had only a limited amount of authority. If the governor decided to ignore Gavan then there was nothing that his bodyguard could do. A prince was something else, and the governor would do as he was ordered. The trouble was, as Jorqel well knew, that Evas Extonos was famed for prevarication and procrastination, and would inevitably give in to a show of force. If Lombert Soul happened upon Niake with a large army there was no guarantee Extonos would hold out. If the Duras or any of their allies accompanied the rebels, Extonos may well surrender to them.

  Therefore he had to pin this order on Extonos’ chest, giving him no opportunity to even think of siding with the rebellion. As time was becoming short, he may well have to go to Niake straight after this business was completed and leave Reptac to return to Slenna with the prisoners. Gavan would join him there later and Jorqel was confident that between them they would run things until he returned. The only problem was Lombert Soul. Would he choose to move while he was in Kastan City? It would be the perfect time to act. Therefore, Jorqel decided, he must use a little subterfuge to make people believe he was still in Slenna.

  He pondered on the eight men with him. His build and shape was similar to two. Perhaps a switch in attire, making people think from a distance that the prince was returning to Slenna while he rode on to Niake alone? A risky business, but with a rebel army somewhere nearby, it might be the only way they could be fooled into thinking he was still in the west.

  The wedding would take up about seven days of his time in Kastan, plus the travelling. He would be away for twenty days or so. He finished his order to Extonos and grabbed a new sheet. He dipped his feathered writing stick in the ink and began scribing new orders, this time to the castellan of Slenna.

  Alenna looked up from her hands, her eyes red and puffy. “Please, no more! I’ll tell you!”

  Jorqel continued writing, but his heart jumped. “Consider your words carefully Lady Alenna, or should I merely address you by your name without any title, as that is what you will be unless your information has value to me.”

  Alenna bit back a sob. His observations of her at the ball in Slenna when he’d chosen his bride to be had concluded she was a snob, and stripping her of her title and privileges had hit her hard. “There-there are entries for payments to smugglers.”

  Jorqel paused and looked up. “Smugglers? Of what?”

  Alenna bit her lip. Jorqel shrugged and resumed writing, ignoring her. Smugglers? This was something new. The Duras smuggling something. Another charge against them. Smuggling in his administered territory was something he would have to do something about.

  “I-I don’t know the details of what is going on, but our estate has paid money to a Tybar tribe recently, and received payment from others for slaves sent there.”

  “Let me get this right; your father sent some of the people enslaved here on this estate to Tybar territories for payment, and used this money to pay a Tybar tribe for goods?”

  Alenna nodded, her head going down in shame. Shame for betraying her father. Jorqel thought for a moment. “So what are these goods? If they are smuggled goods they must be illegal.”

  “Please, Lord, I don’t know! The goods came in three nights ago and passed through here without mother or myself being allowed to see!”

  Jorqel stood up again. He ordered his remaining guard to fetch Reptac. Things were beginning to go out of control; he had a feeling of something huge engulfing him. He considered Alenna while he waited; she was distraught and looked at him with pleading eyes.

  Reptac returned, sweating and looking harassed. “Sire?”

  “Any luck?”

  “No sire, but we found one of the household servants stoking a fire underneath the house here and he looked guilty. I think he’s destroyed the ledgers.”

  Jorqel bit off a curse. “Get the information out of him. I don’t care how you do it, but don’t tell me. You haven’t much time so be direct.”

  Reptac smiled grimly. “My pleasure, sire.”

  While they waited, and the sun passed overhead, Jorqel summoned Lady Duras back and most of his men gathered in the room, having rescued most of the enslaved people on the estate. Their stories tallied. They had generally been in the same situation; refugees fleeing their homes further west, they had been rounded up by armed retainers of the Duras and brought to the estate, and there they had been separated into men, women and children. Families had been forcibly torn apart and a few who had protested had been mercilessly butchered on the spot. That had ensured the rest didn’t resist, and they had been there ever since, working on the estate as slaves, for years.

  Jorqel had ordered them all to be escorted to Slenna, and the bodyguard were to go after they had finished their business here. Reptac and two others were still interrogating the servant they had caught burning the books, and the tension built in the room. Lady Duras maintained an icy silence, and sat alone, apart from her daughter. She had shot her one filthy look and then ignored her. Alenna was miserably huddled in her chair next to Jorqel.

  The orders had been written and passed to his subordinates to be enforced. His mind had been made up now to go to Niake after sleeping over here in the Duras estate. He would take one other with him, for a lone rider was vulnerable to anyone. Two heavily armoured soldiers was double the protection, and would make any potential brigand pause before deciding wheth
er to attack or not. He’d also need someone to take back to Slenna any new orders he thought up whilst in Niake.

  Reptac returned, looking worn out. His face was strained and covered in sweat. The two others who had been with him took up their posts by the door. Jorqel decided to ignore the streaks of blood on their armour. They would know to wipe it off after duty. Blood corroded.

  “Report,” Jorqel said.

  Reptac saluted, thumping his chest. “Sire. The household servant talked. It took a little persuasion but before he died he informed us that the contract was with Tybar tribesmen to the west who had harvested a large amount of the Leaf. They supplied ten times the amount normally smuggled in every year from Amria. It appears the Tybar are raiding into that province and have discovered the Leaf areas. They have given the Duras all they had harvested for ten thousand furims.”

  “Ten thousand!” Jorqel was stunned. “That’s five times the annual budget for the Empire! Where on Kastania did they get that amount?” He turned on Lady Duras. “Talk.”

  “I shall not,” she said icily and stared at him defiantly.

  “Sire, much of the money raised was through selling refugees to the Tybar. The Duras have negotiated a deal with the Governor of Imakum to sell a hundred slaves each season for ten furims per slave.”

  Jorqel glared at Lady Duras. “So in two and a half years the money spent on buying the Leaf will be recouped.” He gathered his thoughts. “Ten times the annual smuggled amount? That will flood the Empire! Who will be able to afford that, though? It’s very expensive.”

  “Not if they flood the market, sire. A monopoly will be created, with the Duras controlling the supply. Even peasants will be able to buy it.”

  “And we have a disaster on our hands,” Jorqel muttered. He looked at Lady Duras. “You will hang for this in Slenna. Your execution is assured.”

  Lady Duras went pale but said nothing.

  “And as for you,” he turned to Alenna, “you will hang beside your mother.”

  “Please – no! I can tell you where the supply has gone!”

  “Alenna, you will say nothing!” Lady Duras stood up, her fists clenched.

  “Sit down!” Jorqel barked, looming over her. “You will say nothing!”

  Alenna shrank from her mother. “I don’t want to hang! Please, will you promise to spare me if I tell you?”

  “Alenna!” Lady Duras shrieked, her hands forming claws. She took two steps towards her daughter, her face transformed into a hideous mask of evil, her mouth dragged down, revealing her yellowed teeth, bared and threatening. Alenna screamed and dived off her chair, just as her mother’s hand swiped at her.

  Jorqel was moving. His hand swung and caught the furious woman’s wrist. Lady Duras writhed and tugged, but could not pull free. Reptac grabbed her other arm and the two men wrestled the snarling, growling woman to the ground. “Tie her!” Jorqel said, standing up. He’d had enough. “Bind her securely. Nobody is to come close to her. She’s out of her mind.”

  Two men dragged her off to the far end of the room and bound her to a stout chair. Jorqel gently led Alenna to the chair and sat her down. “Now listen to me, Alenna. I do swear upon my family’s honour that you shall not be sent to the gallows if you tell me where this evil consignment has been sent. You must understand the danger it represents to the Empire. Hundreds of lives will be destroyed if this is allowed to be sold in the market places and street corners. Families will be torn asunder. For the sake of all these lives, please tell me.”

  “And-and you won’t send me to the mines?”

  Jorqel breathed in deeply. “Very well, I so swear.”

  Alenna nodded, trembling. “The ledgers said the trade caravan was to go to Lombert Soul’s camp in the Bathenian Woodlands. The rest was down to my father and my brothers to arrange with their contacts in Niake. This is all I know, I swear.”

  Jorqel leaned back and looked into Alenna’s eyes. There was no deception he saw there. He nodded slowly and leaned forward again, taking her head in both hands. Gently he kissed her forehead. “Thank you, Alenna. You are from this day henceforth in my household. I will see to it you are looked after.”

  Alenna began weeping. Jorqel held her hands as she broke down. It had all been too much for her. Betraying her family to a man she’d been taught was as bad an enemy as there could ever be, but the recent events had shown her that it was her own who were the enemy. She’d been shocked at the depths to what they were prepared to do to destroy the Koros. Kastania was nothing. Kastania was merely a prize to fight over or destroy, just so that the Koros were defeated.

  “I must go to Niake on the morrow,” Jorqel said to Reptac. “Arrange for Stormak to change as we discussed. I shall travel with Maddick to Niake. The rest of you are to return to Slenna. Lady Duras is to be locked up ready for her hanging. She will be hung upon my return. I will personally oversee her trial and execution.”

  Lady Duras, still in earshot, mumbled furiously against her gag. Jorqel looked across the room to her. “I want two men on guard with her at all times. I shall take Alenna here with me. From now on she serves me.”

  “Is that wise, sire? I mean, she’s a Duras.”

  Jorqel smiled at Alenna who smiled weakly back. “I think Alenna here has had a change of heart. Her own mother will kill her if she has the chance, and I believe her father would do the same. Go spread the word that the Duras are enemies of Kastania and are to be hunted down to death. There is no place for them in our Empire now.”

  Reptac saluted.

  Jorqel grunted and wondered if he was doing the right thing. Alenna may be frightened now, but once removed from her mother, would she revert? He hoped he’d made the correct decision.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Being Empress of an empire was not an easy thing. Isbel Koros, wife of Astiras I of Kastania, knew just how hard it was having to run the lands of Kastania. So many problems to meet head-on, so many different wishes, desires, appeals and pleas from a multitude of people. So many factions to smooth over, so many considerations to factor into any decision. What money to spend on repairs? What to spend on new projects? Who to favour, who to decide against? And why?

  Everyone wanted to be part of the ruling elite but there was just so many one could favour. People climbed the ladder, others fell. And throughout all these machinations, one had to listen hard, listen to the whispers and the inflexions of speech, and the rumours and the messages to try to see a pattern that may or may not be there. For to miss something could be fatal; someone could be scheming behind one’s back to gain power by deception, by betrayal. She had her select circle of advisors and confidants, but could they all be absolutely trusted if and when the time of a severe test came their way?

  Isbel had the usual collection of parchments and messages scattered across her desk that day. Her office, a room on the ground floor of the palace in Kastan City, was big enough for her, her desk, two more desks for the major domo, Pepil, and a senior scribe, plus room for about a dozen people to stand before her. Two guards usually stood by the only door, their fearsome looking volgar polearms firmly gripped in their hands.

  The day so far had been a typical mixed day of good and not so good things. There had been the fall-out from Amne’s outing with Lalaas with a full-blown argument in this very room between her and Elas Pelgion. Isbel had tried to keep order but the couple were simply not in the mood to listen. Elas had accused Amne of recklessness while Amne had countered accusing Elas of over-interference and over-reacting.

  At the bottom of the entire argument was of course Amne’s resentment against being placed into a box and kept there like some toy that was brought out for special occasions. The girl insisted that she was as important as any other in the House and as a result should be honoured accordingly and allowed free reign to go where she pleased. Elas had not agreed, stating that she was no warrior and therefore was vulnerable and if not for his intervention, both she and Lalaas would have died. The couple were as stubborn as each
other, neither willing to back down, and in view of the fact they were scheduled to marry not too far in the future, Isbel had desperately tried to calm matters, but it had been a futile attempt.

  The only thing that had stopped the affair from becoming even more unpleasant was the sudden appearance of a messenger from Bragal, bringing news of the victory at Zofela. The messenger had apologised for the lateness of the message but he’d been held up by unseasonable weather in the low mountains on the Bragal-Frasian border. Isbel had gratefully seized the news as a pretext to dissolve the argument and announce a holiday in the city. Both Amne and Elas had then gone to their respective homes, Elas to his estates outside the city, Amne to her quarters upstairs. She had looked exhausted with dark rings under her eyes, and Isbel knew better than to reproach her. She would have a word with Lalaas first when he recovered. The hunter had gone to his bed on arrival and would not be up for a little while.

  Elas didn’t seem affected by the night ride, but he was like that. He never looked ruffled, even when arguing with the mercurial Amne. It was the calm and matter-of-fact way he put forward his side of the argument that probably infuriated Amne even more.

  Once they had both gone Isbel had taken the time to read the dispatches from Zofela, from her husband. She missed him and wished he was back. The letters were a mixture of good and bad. She was heartened by the ending of the war and the capture of Zofela, and more so by his assertion that he would be in Kastan City soon, partly for Amne’s wedding, and partly to be with Isbel. However, there was a sting in the tail, when he berated her for suspending Panat Afos. She shook at the strong words, knowing just how much feeling he would have put into them, and had resolved to put that issue right there and then.

  So it was that now before her stood Panat, the grizzled, scarred former bodyguard to Astiras, lately trainer of Argan in combat skills. Next to him stood his son Kerrin, the boy who Isbel had seen as the cause of Argan’s injury. Next to Kerrin was Argan himself, propping himself up with a crutch. He looked pale but was there nonetheless; he had insisted on being there. Next to Argan stood Vosgaris, the Guard Captain.