by Tony Roberts
“Panat Afos. We have given serious consideration to your position here in the palace as trainer to the young Prince. Since the unfortunate incident which resulted in his injury we have weighed in our minds your previous service to our House and have decided to retain you as personal trainer to Prince Argan.”
Panat bowed gravely. He had known all along that he would be retained; his previous service with Astiras ensured that. He had done nothing wrong and his son Kerrin had been innocent of any wrongdoing. The Empress had over reacted, a fact clear to everyone. However Panat had to play the game correctly and not antagonise her unduly. In time things would have worked out, something he had kept on telling his distraught son.
Kerrin looked up at his father in hope. Did this mean he was forgiven?
“But I must point out,” Isbel went on, “that in future your son Kerrin and Prince Argan are not to be permitted to venture anywhere unattended. I understand that boys will be boys,” she looked at Vosgaris who had said the very same thing to her some time ago, “but this incident could so easily have resulted in Prince Argan’s death.”
Argan shuffled uncomfortably. He still had lots of pain from his injuries and wondered whether he would be ever able to ride. He couldn’t yet train with a sword because of his leg, but he was told that in a short while his leg would heal and he would be able to walk normally. His head was another matter; his headaches were still bad and his nosebleeds frequent. They made him very tired.
Isbel folded her hands together on the desk and regarded both father and son. “As from this moment you are to resume your posts in the palace.”
“Your majesty is gracious,” Panat bowed. He tugged at Kerrin’s arm to follow suit and the boy did with alacrity.
Argan smiled. He nudged Kerrin and the boy grinned back at him. “I think this calls for a sweet pastry!” he said.
“Which will be provided from the kitchens and eaten in the dining room,” Isbel added severely, staring down her son. “No running off on your own into places a prince should not be seen in, yes?”
“Yes, mother,” Argan said, sighing.
“Yes, your majesty,” Isbel corrected him. “You are addressing the Empress in public. Remember.”
Argan bowed. His tutoring from Mr. Sen came back to him. Even though she was his mother, he had to observe the correct – what was the right word? – protocol. Yes, that was it, protocol. It sounded like a name. He wondered whether there was a captain called Protocol somewhere. Maybe somewhere distant, like Zipria. Perhaps one day he’d go to Zipria and see if Captain Protocol served there. Would he be correct? “Yes, your majesty,” he said gravely, gripping his crutch tightly. It had been made to his precise height, but it was beginning to feel a little short, and he wondered why. Was he wearing it out? Did these walking stick-things get shorter as time went on? He would have to measure it against his door. There were marks there to note how fast he was growing up, something his mother had started for fun. Argan was fascinated by the marks. Some that had been at his eye level a little while back were now below his chin. Was someone moving them or was he growing? He didn’t feel he was. Maybe at night when he slept he grew, or maybe his feet got stuck and stretched as he wriggled in his sleep.
“Very well. Time to go to your duties. Argan, I believe you are to go to Mr. Sen now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And Kerrin, you’re to study in the main hall? What is it you’re reading up on today?”
“Ma’am,” Kerrin said awkwardly. “Riding formations in battle. My correct position towards my charge.” Kerrin was training to be a bodyguard, a position his father had occupied before his injury in battle. Panat wished Kerrin to follow in his footsteps and had pushed Kerrin remorselessly. The boy had been happy to do so, since he wanted to be Argan’s personal guard. Argan in his turn had wanted Kerrin as his bodyguard, so Isbel was happy to allow this to go on. Normally the best man would be put into that position, but the bond the two boys had forged was something that might bring the best possible result in time. If not, then Isbel would merely assign one of the best warriors of the nobility to protect her son once he reached the age of service, normally sixteen years of age.
As the group turned to go, Isbel caught Vosgaris’ attention. He remained behind, wondering what the Empress wanted with him now. He stood rigidly to attention.
“Relax, Captain,” Isbel said once the door had shut. “I wanted to speak to you on a couple of items. The first concerns the forthcoming marriage ceremony of Amne and Evas. You know that the Emperor and Prince Jorqel are coming, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Isbel handed a parchment to him. “To have all the ruling House in one place is a potential security headache. Judging by what happened to Amne yesterday, it would seem there are people around who still are actively trying to kill us all. It’s your job to find out if there are any plots to do something stupid or horrid at this ceremony. I’d be foolish to think nothing is being planned, since this opportunity may never happen again. All the Koros in one place. What a juicy target, eh, Captain?”
“Ma’am. I’ll send out my agents. I’m still looking into the incident of yesterday. The Fokis have vanished, of course, but if what was said is true, then they must be responsible, and will be planning something for the wedding. I’ll give this my fullest attention.”
“Remember, Captain, I will be one of their targets.”
Vosgaris nodded. “Fear not, ma’am, I will do everything possible to make the ceremony the safest in Kastan’s history.” He caught the Empress’ eye and he thought he caught a slight twinkle there. “Is there something else you wanted, ma’am?”
Isbel nodded. “I understand that it is your birthday tomorrow, Captain. Are you planning anything?”
“Oh, uh, no ma’am. I was thinking of returning home but my duties here are much more important. My mother and father understand that serving you and your family is the best thing I could do, and the honour of this position keeps me from visiting them.”
“You could be released for a few days, Captain, I wouldn’t keep you from seeing your family for that short while.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but my place is here. I don’t want to delay the security measures being put in place. I think Lalaas has got a quiet evening planned in any event.”
“Oh? Well, Captain, I authorise the day off duty for you. You may relax for the day, you understand?”
“Ah, yes thank you ma’am,” Vosgaris stood straighter.
“And I do appreciate all you’ve done for us these past few years. Thank you, Captain.”
Vosgaris smiled, his face tinging red.
Isbel fought to hide her smile but failed. Just then there came a knock on the door. When Isbel gave her permission for entry, a guard came in, his face wide with surprise. “Ma’am,” he bowed, “Captain. There’s a crowd gathering outside in the square.”
Isbel stood up, concern on her face. “A crowd?”
The guard nodded. “A large one, ma’am.”
Vosgaris slipped his helmet on. “I shall go see ma’am. The Guard will do their duty.” He marched out of the room, followed by the guard and one other who had been waiting in the corridor. Vosgaris wanted details as they made their way towards the front entrance. The people had suddenly turned up, a few at first, then greater numbers, from all directions. They hadn’t seemed angry, and were calling out the name of the Koros family.
The captain went out into the late afternoon air. It was touched with a faint chill, but early spring was like that. In a few sevendays it would be much warmer. The gates at the end of the enclosure were shut, and beyond them gathered the crowd. Vosgaris whistled through his lips. It was a huge one, and getting bigger by the minute. He remained at the top of the entry steps and looked across the sea of heads. He could hear the chants of ‘Koros, Koros’, and saw that, indeed, they were not in a hostile mood. He barked a brief sound of amusement, and turned round. “Stay on duty, lads,” he said, “but I don
’t think you’re going to get much trouble. They’re in good humour.” He returned to Isbel who was waiting in the corridor. She had been joined by Amne who had come down, having heard of the commotion outside. Lalaas stood in the background.
“Well, Captain?” Isbel asked, her voice strained. “Are we about to be attacked?”
“No ma’am. Princess,” he touched his chest by way of a salute. “I think they’re here to salute the victory at Zofela. They’re calling your names out. I think a public appearance up on the balcony might be in order?”
“Really?” Isbel looked surprised. “A victory salute?”
Vosgaris bowed.
“Well, Amne, shall we? It’s a long time since we were cheered. Four years in fact, remember?”
Amne remembered. “It seems so long ago. I could do with cheering up, mother. Lead on.”
Vosgaris stepped in line with Lalaas as they followed the women up the stairs, Vosgaris hypnotised by the swaying of both women’s behinds as they went. Lalaas nudged Vosgaris and shook his head in reproach. The captain puffed out his cheeks and looked at the steps, mindful of the trailing cloth from the dresses. Lalaas shook his head sadly. He hoped his plans for that evening would work.
In the balcony room, where four years ago Astiras and his family had taken the crowd’s adulation at taking power, the two women stopped for a moment, gathering their breath. The curtained window-doors concealed them from outside view, but they would hear the voices of the crowd nonetheless. Vosgaris and Lalaas went to the windows and unlatched them, pulling them backwards, opening them into the room. The sound swelled, both as the doors were now open, and the crowd got more excited as they sensed an appearance.
Amne’s heart beat faster. “Oh, I’m so nervous!”
Isbel clutched her step-daughter’s arm. “Me, too, but don’t let them see it! Come on, let’s do it.”
Amne smiled, her lips shaking slightly. She’d once done this before, the evening they had taken over in the palace, but at that time she was much younger and there had been other things on her mind. Now, having had four years of being a princess and having changed a great deal, she was more focussed on the great throng below. The wall of noise that greeted her and Isbel as they stepped through onto the balcony was nothing like she had ever experienced.
“Wow,” she said, her eyes wide.
Isbel gave her a sideways glance, then took a deep breath and raised both her arms. She imagined this was what the people below wished to see. A roar rose up, engulfing them. “Koros! Koros!”
Both women smiled in amazement and happiness. Behind them Vosgaris and Lalaas looked at one another. “Amazing what a victory can do to the popularity,” Lalaas muttered.
Vosgaris agreed. Behind them stood Pepil and Frendicus, the major domo and chief tax inspector. They had also been there on that fateful night of the coup, but they knew the Koros now so were not as apprehensive. They knew their roles, their importance, and more to the point, how to treat their rulers. Both waited for new orders, should they be required.
Isbel stepped to the edge of the balcony, touching the hip-high stone balustrade. The cheers almost knocked her back. It was difficult to make out any individual shouts but she imagined there were some calling out their particular names. She turned. “Go bring my two sons,” she ordered to Vosgaris. They ought to share the experience, and show the people the future.
Amne exhaled. “I’d forgotten how much they care.”
“They always care, Amne,” Isbel said, waving down to the throng. “Remember that whatever we do, or what we make happen, affects them. Either directly or indirectly. And that in turn affects us!”
Amne nodded. “I understand, mother,” and she in turn waved, smiling. More cheers rose up. “Will this be the same at my wedding?”
“I should think so – we all need good news, Amne, and an imperial wedding does no end of good.”
Amne giggled. “And a birth?”
Isbel’s face slowly broke into a beam. “Amne, if you could – I would be very grateful.”
Amne nodded, breathing in deeply. She knew her duty, but it would come at the price she demanded. The thought of being – touched – by Elas thrilled her not one bit, but it was the price to pay for her ambition. One day, maybe, she could be empress and take the adulation Isbel was receiving at this moment. The thought excited her.
Argan was deep in study when Vosgaris came for him. Mr. Sen looked up irritably. “Really, Captain, the young prince here needs to understand the geography of the western interior regions. These interruptions aren’t helping.”
“Sorry, tutor, but the Empress commands. I obey,” he shrugged. “Young Argan, your mother wants you up in the Balcony Room.”
“Why is that, Vos’gis?” Argan put the book down and closed it, as he’d been taught. He formally excused himself from the lesson and limped alongside the palace guard commander.
“You’ll see, Argan. Nothing bad, you might enjoy it, in fact.”
“A sweet pastry?”
Vosgaris chuckled. “Oh, no, nothing like that! Wait and see. Patience, young Prince.”
When they entered the room, Vosgaris stepped aside and allowed Argan to make his way to the balcony. The sound awed him and he slowed, not certain of what waited out there. Isbel turned and beckoned him. “Come on, Argan, come and see the people.”
Argan saw Amne there, too, and she held out an arm to him. Argan grinned and hobbled forward, stepping over the rim of the door frame and joining them, standing in between them. His head and chest showed above the stone rail and more cheers floated up as people caught sight of him. “What is all this, mother?”
“The people are happy at your father winning the war in Bragal. This is what the end of the war means to them.”
“Oh! They’re shouting at us – are they cross?”
Amne giggled. “No, silly, they’re happy – so happy that they are shouting out our names in joy.”
Argan stood, awed by the sound and sight of the mass of people in the square. A few moments later Istan was brought in by Gallis and Vosgaris. Istan had refused to leave the room when Vosgaris had asked him to, and it was only when Gallis threatened to put him in the cage again that Istan gave in, sulking all the way up the stairs. He deliberately walked slowly, dragging his heels, and no matter how many times he was urged to pick up speed, he refused and instead began to walk backwards just to show them that nobody could tell him what to do.
Finally Gallis announced he was going to fetch the key to the cage and lock him there all night. Istan, pleased he had yet again annoyed the stupid grown-ups, finally consented to being shown the room. He stamped up to the balcony and saw the three standing there. His head was just at the rail height, so he would have to be picked up. But first he had to do something else.
Argan felt a sudden violent pain in his leg as Istan kicked him hard, and he collapsed in shock and agony. He gasped for air and fought the waves of pain that shot through him. He bit his lip and felt the salty taste of his own blood. Amne bent down and, concerned, grasped his hand and rubbed his hurt leg. It was the one healing from the injury.
Isbel took hold of Istan and dragged him to the far side, away from the squealing Argan. “What did you do that for? That was horrible and uncalled for!”
“He’s stupid.”
“He is not stupid! What made you do such a thing? Now I want you to behave and let the people see you. They want to see you.”
“No.”
“Istan!” Isbel was exasperated.
“I won’t! They are stupid.”
Isbel wasn’t having any of it and bent to pick the boy up. He kicked out hard and caught her on her leg, causing her to gasp. Growling in rage, he ran from her and shot past a nonplussed Vosgaris and Lalaas. Isbal stood where she was, rubbing her leg. “Go put him in his room!” she said in a tight voice.
Lalaas looked at Vosgaris who sighed and set off in pursuit.
Amne was soothing the crying Argan. The pain was too m
uch. His leg was throbbing with agony and he clutched his half-sister. They were below the sight of the people so nobody could see what was going on. Isbel looked down at her son. “Argan, I’m sorry!”
He sobbed, clutching his leg. He had done nothing to Istan, and hadn’t even realised his brother had been there until the kick came. There was nothing to say and he concentrated on fighting back the tears. It was supposed to be a nice time, so why did Fantor-Face have to spoil it?
Amne looked up at Isbel, her face furious. “You’re going to have to do something about that child,” she said. “Or one of these days he’s going to do something really terrible.”
Isbel bit her lip. She didn’t know what she could do. Astiras might know; Istan was out of control and she could no little to stop him. He was only a small child now, but what would he be like when he got older?
Vosgaris caught up with Istan at the top of the stairs. They were still a bit of an obstacle to the boy, and he was using the bannister to help him go down. Vosgaris swept him up in one arm and tucked him under, gripping him tightly. Istan went berserk, screaming and kicking out, clawing and trying to butt the palace guard captain. Vosgaris ignored him and went to the boy’s room. He put him down inside the room and backed away. Istan turned and ran at Vosgaris, his face red and utterly malevolent. “I’ll kill you!” he shrieked. He kicked out and clawed at Vosgaris who pushed him back onto his behind and quickly shut the door, locking it.
The door shook to Istans rage-filled attempts to open it, and his roars of fury came through the door. Vosgaris puffed out his cheeks and looked at the guard. “Make sure nobody goes in or comes out, unless it’s one of the imperial family.”
“Right you are, sir.” The guard seemed happy with that.
The night couldn’t come soon enough. The day had been tarnished by Istan’s outburst, and Argan had to be carried by Lalaas back to the dining room for supper, his leg was that bad. Gallis and Vosgaris accompanied Isbel to Istan’s room and he was told that unless he behaved there would be no supper. Istan grudgingly came and glared at Argan as he passed. Argan ignored Fantor-Face. Isbel and Amne formed a bulwark between the two, but both had no idea why Istan should be so vicious towards his older brother.