by Tony Roberts
“Teduskis, get the mercenaries to set up camp here.”
“Sire. None are to enter the city?”
“No. I don’t want those half-civilised brutes messing up one of my cities. Don’t worry about them going without; the merchants and whores will do a roaring trade.”
Teduskis chuckled, saluted, and moved off. Astiras checked the two standard bearers with him had both the imperial and the Koros standards high and clear before waving his unit forward. Sixty two men, heavily armoured, riding big strong steeds, advanced towards the Storma Gate. Fluttering above the squat gatehouse were the flags of Kastania and those of Makenia, a simple blue and green design, the bottom half blue, the top half green, and inset in the middle a spoked wheel. The origin of this had been lost to memory but some said it was symbolic rather than literal, referring to the unity of the province which before being conquered by the then young Somorran Empire had been made up of various tribes.
Others averred it was a symbol of the mining that went on in the province. Whatever the reason, it was readily identifiable. Astiras took the lead and proudly led his men up to the wooden gates which swung inwards, allowing him ingress, the guards snapping smartly to attention. Inside the main road was thronged with the populace, all eager to catch a glimpse of their Emperor. Astiras took the cheers and waved a couple of times, his face deliberately stern. One had to maintain the image of a serious, strong man who protected each and every one of the people.
Teduskis caught up as they swung round the gradual bend to the city plaza, a large square set before the governor’s residence. There, in the middle stood on the stone dais, was Thetos Olskan along with his lieutenants, all military officers of the militia or regulars. Thetos had a medium sized hook on but had covered it with a leather sleeve. He was not going to war or wishing to impress anyone. His Emperor knew him and he knew Astiras.
Astiras dismounted stiffly. His thighs, legs and arse hurt. He mouthed an obscenity as he stood upright as the pain shot up through his body. Gods, he was far too old for this riding business. Damn ageing, why couldn’t one stop growing old at thirty? He tried to relax his muscles and walked out from behind his equine, walking towards Thetos.
“Governor Olskan,” he said in a loud voice, coming to a halt ten paces from the gruff, rugged former general. “It is good to see you once more. We are pleased with what you have done here both for the people and ourselves. Long may it continue.”
“The gods bless you, Astiras, Emperor of Kastania,” Thetos knelt, accompanied by his officers, advisors and the populace.
Astiras counted under his breath up to five, then raised his arms. “You may all stand. Well met, Turslenka!”
The people applauded, pleased they had been visited by their leader. It wasn’t often that an Emperor was seen outside Kastan City these days, and many who had ascended to the throne had died before they’d been in power for less than three years. Astiras stepped up to the dais and Thetos stepped alongside, introducing the various officers. Astiras acknowledged each and then turned to his governor. “My army is camped outside, some rather uncivilised elements. I trust your merchants and ah, other trades people, are ready to go service them?”
“Indeed. The trade will be welcome,” Thetos nodded. “Please, come to my quarters. You and your officers will be billeted there. Your guard can use the barracks down the road.”
“Good, good,” Astiras nodded to Teduskis who indicated to the men to follow one of Thetos’ captains to their barracks. Astiras had four of his men accompany Teduskis and himself into the governor’s residence.
With the four guards taking up their posts outside the main rooms, Astiras and Teduskis were shown into the inner sanctum. There, Metila stood waiting for them, dressed in a long flowing black dress, the lower part split at the sides, showing her long legs. It was gathered in at the waist, tied by a simple rope belt which had grey stones for tassels. The top went above her breasts before parting, not showing too much, and was sleeved all the way to her wrists. Behind her neck it went up in a high collar from ear around to the other ear.
Her hair was piled high and curled, held in place by a bone hairband and silver earrings with skull designs at the end dangled down from her lobes. A necklace of silver orbs hung over her dusky skin. Her face had been darkened by eyeliner and shading, a material dug out of the nearby hills that darkened the skin when rubbed in. It wasn’t gritty provided one blended it with melted animal fat and scented to hide the smell of the fat.
“Who is this?” Astiras exclaimed, taken aback.
“Oh, yes, excuse me. This is Metila, my – housemaid and secretary. She’s Bragalese.”
“So I can tell,” Astiras said, looking her up and down very carefully. “Very beautiful, in fact. Where did you find her?”
“After I was wounded, sire, she helped me recover. Took away the infection I got from the poisoned blade. She’s something of a healer.”
“Indeed? Knows her herbs and potions, does she?”
Thetos held his breath. Astiras had never been happy about the legend of Bragalese witches and was expressed his desires to burn them on more than one occasion. “Maybe, sire. She’s very useful and I rely on her to keep this place in check. She’s a pretty good organiser too – runs the men around ragged!”
Astiras grinned. He formally addressed Metila. “Pleased to meet you, Metila. You look stunning.”
Metila lowered her eyes. She had enhanced her lashes with hairs she had left over after cutting her own hair that afternoon. She fluttered them. “To meet Landwaster is an honour,” and she knelt at first, then prostrated herself before him. “I am yours to use how you wish.” Her voice was slow and husky and Astiras was excited by her.
“A typical Bragalese act of accepting a superior,” Thetos said, “as you well know, sire.”
“And I know what that generally leads to,” he looked long and hard at the governor.
Thetos bowed. “If you excuse me, I have other issues to attend to. These quarters are yours for the night.” He bowed and left, his heart pounding. He had no idea what Astiras would do; he hoped he would accept the gift of Metila, or else the woman was in deep trouble. With Astiras one never knew how his mood would swing.
Teduskis looked about, then saluted. “I’ll be in the room next door sire.”
Astiras waved him out, then examined Metila once more. “Are you a witch, Metila?”
Metila slowly got to her feet and hung her head. “Landwaster not like healers?”
“I didn’t say that, I asked you whether you were a witch or not? It will be bad for you if you lie to me.”
Metila was silent for a moment, then she slowly slid the knife she always carried out from its sheath strapped to the inside of her left thigh. She showed Astiras a lot of her leg as she did so. Astiras reached for the hilt of his own sword and began drawing it as Metila raised her knife, then paused as the woman reversed her grip and presented the hilt to him. “Take it, Landwaster. My life is yours. Cut my throat if it pleases!”
Astiras let his sword drop back into the scabbard and considered the hilt of the knife, held out to him. Metila looked down, not daring to look the Emperor in the eye. Slowly, he took it and held the weapon. It was beautifully balanced, the hilt narrow and covered in a soft material, which Astiras thought could be the skin of some creature. The blade was also slim, but hard and sharp, and narrowed evenly to a keen point, the total length the same as from his finger tip to his wrist. Small but deadly, perhaps like its owner. He moved the knife forward and pressed the blade against Metila’s throat, and the woman arched her neck, presenting it to him.
“Take my life if you wish,” she said, closing her eyes.
Astiras rested the blade against her throat, and slowly rotated it, fascinated how her skin flexed with the pressure. He could see her pulse, throbbing away, and his gaze moved up to her earrings. Morbid yet beautiful in their own way, it must be Bragalese in origin; no Kastanian jeweller would have made such objects. Her hair l
ay in curls behind her ears and he could smell the oils she had put in them, and her skin was lightly oiled, too. The scent of her was quite strong.
Her mouth was parted and her eyes shut and he pulled her against him. There was no resistance, and the knife dropped from a hand that no longer wished to use it. His head span and desire filled it. Desire to couple with this woman.
He kissed her throat and she sighed and pressed against him, beginning to writhe sensually. Astiras felt his loins swell and he began unclipping his armour. There was no other thought now other than to ravage this stunning female in his arms.
As his hands and lips ran over her, Metila smiled, her eyes still closed. She could make any man desire her, it was just a matter of finding the right herbs and potions, and applying them in the right places. So for the Emperor, she had gambled on covering her hair and skin with the oil of the potion she’d mixed that afternoon, and it had worked. It usually did.
In the next room Teduskis and Thetos sat in hardwood chairs, with cushions stuffed with feathers as a comforting contrast to the rigidness of the wood. Teduskis, in particular, appreciated it after the last few days in the saddle. “I don’t recall when you found that woman,” the bodyguard said, picking up his mug of ale Thetos had poured for him. “After you got wounded, you say?”
Thetos had changed his hook. The one he now had was a curious shaped device, not a hook as such, but a half-claw. The mug he had was his personal one, with a wire ridge instead of a handle, and he used the claw to catch underneath the ridge, thus lifting up the mug. He drank a mouthful of ale, wiped his mouth and beard with the back of his hand, and belched. “You all thought I was going to die – and to be honest so did I. When you all moved off to attack the next village, I was left to perish. The surgeons had no idea how to stop the poison, apart from chopping my hand off.” He looked wryly at his artificial extension. “That was when Metila turned up. She’d waited until the army had gone and then, along with other Bragalese, came into the village. You know the story – flee to the hills and then return once the danger has passed.
“So, there I was, half coherent and out of my mind, and I see this woman suddenly appear before me. Why she didn’t cut my throat I don’t know, but she saw me as an opportunity to get out of the mess the province was in, I suppose. She tended me and used some very odd medicine, I can tell you! Half the time I felt as though I was floating above my body, looking down on what she was doing. I can’t tell you some of the procedures she used, but they were weird, believe me!”
“And saved your life.”
Thetos nodded. “So I took her in, as I guessed she hoped. I was finished as a soldier, as you all knew. None of you came back to check on me.”
Teduskis shrugged. “We had other fights to fight, and we’d seen to that village anyway. It wasn’t long after that we were asked to disband.”
“I know! I couldn’t believe it when I was told.”
“And that was when the boss got your message. Where were you – Frasia somewhere?”
Thetos nodded. “Couldn’t go to Kastan City, what with those fools running the show there, and they didn’t care for wounded soldiers anyway. I hear most of them were thrown onto the streets as homeless beggars. So I wrote to the boss, as you call him, and he tells me to come here and take care of those running the city. Metila was with me by my side all the time, and I had some of my old friends from the war, so we rode here and got in with a nice piece of trickery.”
Teduskis settled more comfortably in his seat. “I’ve never found out exactly what happened. The Emperor has kept fairly quiet about it. I’m eager to know, if you don’t mind telling me.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Thetos shrugged. “It was fun.” Thetos went back four years to the evening he and his small band approached Turslenka, under the rule of one of the Duras family. It had contributed nothing to the war and had declared the border with Bragal closed, refusing to allow anyone in or out. Thetos, Metila and seven men had ridden from Frasia, however, and so had by-passed any army checkpoints.
They had turned up at the gates, which were shut and barred. Thetos had walked forward on his equine and shouted up to the guard officer to let them in. “We have come from Kastan City on the orders of the Emperor!”
“What orders?” the captain had snapped back irritably, leaning out of the gatehouse window directly above the gates. “You look like army!”
“Does this look like the fucking army you moron?” Thetos had indicated the diminutive Metila. She came alongside Thetos, dressed in a simple one-piece outfit that went down only to her thighs.
“I suppose not – is she a whore?”
“Whore my arse,” Thetos had roared, “she’s the Emperor’s Healer.”
The captain had leaned out further, taking a good look at Metila, half-seen in the torchlight flickering from the battlements and gatehouse. “Why is she here?”
“Plague,” Thetos had said, then had looked around furtively, “on the quiet, there’s an epidemic raging out there in Bragal and the Emperor doesn’t want it coming this way, so he’s sent her here with us as the escort. She’s got orders to tend the governor here.”
The captain had been dubious, so Thetos had offered to allow only her in as proof of their veracity, and they would wait outside. The captain had consented, allowing the woman in only. Metila had dismounted the moment she had passed the gates and had been met by the captain. “Where are your orders, woman?” he had demanded.
By his side had been two more men, one who had taken the equine’s reins, and the other cradling a crossbow. He had been getting a good look at Metila’s breasts, pushing up and out of her very tight dress, which had been what she had intended. She had reached up under skirt. “I give you orders,” she had said, smiling. “I keep them safe!”
“I bet you do,” the captain had grinned, looking down at the expanse of flesh on show. “You got anything else down there, darling?” he’d said.
“Yes,” Metila had said, bringing forth her knife. With her first swipe she’d laid open the captain’s throat. He’d gone staggering back, clutching his spurting new mouth, sinking to his knees, and with her second had plunged the point of her knife down into the junction of the neck and shoulder of the crossbowman. He’d screamed, dropping the weapon, and had turned a half-circle, red blood gushing through his fingers. He’d toppled to the ground. The last man had released the reins and had desperately gone for his own sword, but Metila had ducked under the equine and come up from an unexpected angle and direction. The first the soldier had known about it was when her knife had entered his groin and gone up deep into his abdomen. The pain had been like nothing he’d known, and had squealed and had rolled onto the floor, curled up into a ball.
The three men taken care of, Metila had unbarred the gates and swung them open. That had been the signal for the others to come thundering through, swords drawn, ready to cut down anyone stupid enough – or unlucky enough – to get in their way. Metila had stood back, then shut the gates and re-barred them before following in their wake.
“Hey,” Teduskis sat upright in alarm, “you mean the Emperor is in that room alone with a woman that can do that?”
Thetos held out his one good hand in a placatory manner. “Hold still, Teduskis, she’s not a danger to him, believe me.”
Teduskis shook his head, getting up out of his chair. “I’m supposed to look after him and if she’s as good at killing as you’ve just told me, I’ve got to make sure there’s no risk to his life!” He strode to the door and pulled it open. His eyes widened at the sight of Astiras pinning Metila to the floor, driving hard into the moaning woman. She was raking his back, drawing blood from deep scores, her heels drumming against the small of his back in delight. He shut the door hurriedly, shocked.
Thetos looked into the far corner of the room, his mug in his claw. “I did try to tell you,” he said dully.
The bodyguard came back slowly to his chair and sank into it. “He was like a man possessed,�
� he said in disbelief. “What if the Empress finds out? She’ll go mad!”
“Who’s going to tell? I won’t, that’s for certain! Metila would be punished, and so would I! Forget the two of us here; will you blurt it out? You’d lose your position for sure, wouldn’t you?”
Teduskis nodded. “If anyone tells her, it’ll be him, and I doubt he will. He’d lose so much and plunge the Empire into another crisis. She’d probably disown him and as a result the two step-children, Jorqel and Amne, and seek to promote her own two children instead. We’d have a right old civil war, unless Jorqel does the only possible thing to prevent that.”
“Kill the two young princes?”
Teduskis nodded. “And he won’t want that – I’m not sure Jorqel would, but he’s in line to succeed and ambition can corrupt even the fairest of hearts, doesn’t it? Oh sweet heavens, why did you allow this to happen, governor?”
Thetos hung his head and was silent for a moment. “Metila is like nobody I’ve met before; she has this power in her, I find it irresistible. She’s tough, strong, yet,” he looked up and opened and closed his hand with a helpless gesture, “vulnerable. She needs to be loved, in her own odd way. So do I,” he said, throwing back the contents of his mug and grimaced.
“The thought of the Emperor rutting her next door is hurting you, isn’t it?”
Thetos nodded. “If he wasn’t who he is, I’d not let it happen. But he’s the Emperor, and who can say no to him?”
“The Empress,” Teduskis said softly. And Amne, he added in his mind. “But yes, I see what you mean. She must have wanted to do this with him – doesn’t that make you angry with her?”
“She’s Bragalese,” Thetos said by way of an answer. “They don’t care who they hump. It’s a way of life for them. Power, relationships, friendships, alliances, they all tend to get sealed with sex. The more violent the greater the friendship. And, may the gods have mercy on me, she’s doing this for my benefit, too.”