Prince of Wrath

by Tony Roberts

  “But we don’t know for sure….” The governor began.

  Demtro slapped his hand down on the desk. “Either act now or I’ll have you arrested and thrown into prison. We’ll dispense with the charade that you’re in charge of Niake, shall we? You know I have the ear of the empress; one word from me and you’ll end your days in the mines of Turslenka.”

  Evas paled. “What – if I have you locked up?” He looked at his guards, standing silently by the door.

  Demtro raised his eyebrows, then regarded the two armed men. “An interesting thought; tell me,” he spoke to the guards, “how would you feel if you were asked to arrest me for trying to stop your families falling prey to an evil plot to turn them into mindless addicts? Would you continue to support a man who would do nothing to stop this, who instead would do all he could to prevent anyone thwarting this plan?”

  The guards looked at one another. In the room standing by the window was Evas’ advisor, Kislan Prelek, an man who claimed he was an inventor. He was short, thin and possessed long fingers. Prelek now stirred into life. “I don’t think the Governor here meant what he said,” he said soothingly, “it was merely a hypothetical statement.”

  “So shall we say, hypothetically,” Demtro sneered, “that the good Governor here calls his guards to arrest me. What – hypothetically – will happen?”

  “I don’t think we need go into this,” Prelek attempted a smile.

  Demtro dismissed the man. “Stay silent, fool. I’m addressing the Governor. Shall we, Governor, enact this – hypothetical – scenario? Shall we see whom your guards obey? A man who follows the wishes of the Koros and the people of this city, or the Governor who appears to bow to the wishes of the Duras and a plan to kill most of the population whom he is supposed to protect?”

  Evas stared up at Demtro, sweating. Demtro loomed forward, his face jerking a finger’s width closer to the governor’s with each word. “What – are – you – going – to – do?” His nose was almost touching Evas’ by the time he’d finished.

  Evas opened his mouth and tried to speak, but nothing came out. He swallowed and tried again. “F-f-find the D-D-Duras agents and ar-ar-arrest them.”

  Demtro nodded, grimly acknowledging Evas’ capitulation. “You may yet retain your position in this chair, although the gods alone know why you deserve to.” He flicked his fingers at Prelek. “Get a scribe in here now.”

  Prelek looked to Evas for confirmation, and the governor nodded weakly. As Prelek left, Evas looked up at the frowning man before him. “What if we don’t find anyone? What if we arrest the wrong people?”

  “How can you possibly arrest the ‘wrong people’?” Demtro demanded. “Your men go to certain locations known to be possible sites to convert the leaf into the consumable version, and this needs quite some space, materials and vessels to hold it in! So you need a warehouse, not a house, as the smell gives it away, a place that can hold the boiling pots, water and fire needed, drying racks and so forth! Goodness, Governor, there can only be three or four places in Niake capable of hosting this sort of thing! When you do find it, anyone inside has got to be involved. Who are you expecting to find in there, the High Priest and Prince Jorqel? Don’t be so damned stupid!”

  Evas turned red. The guards grinned, then adopted straight faces as Evas looked in their direction. “How do you know what’s involved in converting the leaf?”

  Demtro rolled his eyes. “I’m a merchant; I have contacts. I have spies. I have had an education. The Tybar now have the leaf growing areas, so it can only come from their territory. They do not have the technical knowledge – yet – to process the leaf, but there are refugees from Amria who have fled to Kastania who do. We got hold of one of these people and – ah – interrogated him rather thoroughly yesterday. I had to find out. He talked quite readily after a while.”

  “I bet he did,” Evas said gloomily. “You’re little better than a common criminal yourself. The High Priest is right when he says I should arrest you.”

  “Try it, Governor. It’ll be summer soon. The mines of Turslenka are wonderful at that time of year. Sunny, warm, lovely outdoor job hacking the sulphur out of the hillsides. The lungs would love it.”

  Evas wiped his face with a cloth. “Stop it! I know what I must do, so don’t keep on threatening me.”

  Demtro grunted, folding his arms again. “Then stop being a fool and wasting time procrastinating or worrying about what one person out of ten thousand might say to object to something that benefits nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine. If one objects, tell them to shut up or if they don’t like it then bugger off and live somewhere else. You should work to improve the lot of the majority, not waste time on a tiny minority who have no other objective in their minds other than to further their own selfish ways that run contrary to the way we do things. They do not have to live here; send them to the Tybar lands if they think things are intolerable under Kastanian law.”

  “You’re a ruthless bastard, Demtro.”

  “Language, Governor,” Demtro grinned, happy now he’d browbeaten the vacillating man once more. “Just do what is right. Get your indolent militia off its collective backside and send them to all possible locations. You’ll find the guilty without any trouble. Write your orders so nobody can have any possible misunderstanding.”

  Prelek returned with an elderly man holding a large book full of blank sheets of parchment. Evas dictated his orders, the scribe slowly but beautifully writing out the words, and the governor examined it once it had been done and, satisfied all was accurate, signed it and sealed it using the wax on his desk and the brass seal hanging from his belt. He passed it to Demtro wearily. “Does this suffice?”

  The merchant read it carefully. “Yes. With this we can enter any premises we like and arrest anyone we feel.”

  “Not ‘we’,” Prelek noted, “the militia.”

  “Whatever,” Demtro shrugged. “Get it done now. We haven’t much time.”

  Evas ordered Prelek to fetch the militia commander and dismissed the scribe. “I had best come along to oversee this operation.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t think of anything else,” Demtro said. “I feel so much safer now.”

  “You know, Demtro, I’m surprised you’re not in the mines yourself. You are one of the most irritating, arrogant and smug people I’ve had the displeasure of ever meeting.”

  “What, and ruin our wonderful friendship, Governor? Perish the thought.” Demtro smiled as Evas stood up, ready to buckle on his sword.

  At last, something was going to be done in Niake.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The argument in the empress’s day chamber was getting quite heated. None of the three participants were backing down on any of their stances. Isbel had begun sitting in her chair but she had now stood up and was angrily facing her furious step-daughter who had refused to take a chair in the first place.

  Standing slightly back was Jorqel who was also showing signs of anger. His was mainly borne out of frustration but his arguments were having to take second place to the full-blown cat-fight that had suddenly erupted between the two women.

  “I am empress,” Isbel stabbed her long finger down on her desk top, “and my word is law here in this palace, not yours, Amne!”

  “Not for much longer, mother,” Amne spat back. “When you and father leave this place I’m going to make sure every stupid rule that you’ve imposed on us all here is torn up and thrown away, never to be shown the light of day ever again!”

  “That won’t be your decision either, daughter,” Isbel snarled, her eyes almost like slits. “You’ll be deferring to Elas’ decisions. You won’t be in charge here, thank the gods!”

  “Him!” Amne shouted, her voice dripping with contempt, “he’ll have the place turned into a mausoleum or a temple to the gods. If you think I’m going to stand by idly and watch him do that then you’ve got another think coming!”

  “You will obey your husband, Amne Koros, or you’ll find yoursel
f sent to a temple’s rest home by force!”

  “Can we forget this nonsense and return to the real issues, please?” Jorqel shouted, placing himself in between the two snarling women. “What are we going to do about Argan?”

  “In a moment, Jorqel!” Amne shouted. “I’m not going to be a submissive rug like you want me to, mother, especially to a corpse like that! You may wish to whimper and crawl to that humourless kind of man but by all the gods I certainly will not. He has the passion and desire of a castrated herd-beast. Do you understand what my life is going to be like with someone like that for the rest of my days?”

  “Amne, you are going to do what you know is right for not only him, but to our House, the empire and the reputation of the Koros. Those things are far more important than your so-called happiness.” Isbel glared at her step-daughter.

  “I am marrying him, but that doesn’t mean I have to be the perfect example of what you consider the ideal simpering wife!” Amne yelled. “I need love, passion, excitement! A purpose!”

  “Your purpose is to produce children for the empire,” Isbel snapped.

  “From him?” Amne almost shrieked. “If he’s anything like being as good a lover as he is at conversation and humour then I’m going to be asleep through the entire procedure!”

  “Amne! Don’t be so crude!” Isbel screamed.

  “Enough!” Jorqel interrupted. “I’m tired of this senseless argument. Your son, mother, is gravely ill. What are we going to do about him? He cannot attend the wedding, therefore it stands that he’s too ill to travel to Zofela. He must stay here.”

  “He is to come with your father and me to Bragal, Jorqel. I have spoken.”

  “Father has not, and once he sees Argan he’s going to overrule you, that I am certain of,” Jorqel said.

  “And you will have to defer to your husband,” Amne said nastily.

  “Amne, enough,” Jorqel said softly to his sister.

  Amne looked sharply at her brother, then huffed noisily and nodded. “I agree with Jorqel. Argan is too poorly to go on that horrible journey to Zofela. I’ve been on it recently and those roads are in an appalling state.”

  Isbel looked doubtfully at Amne. “When I was last there the roads seemed fine. No, I think you’re exaggerating just to back up your argument.”

  “Jorqel?” Amne turned to her brother.

  The Prince gave the empress a stern look. “You were last there before the civil war and the Bragal uprising. So much was destroyed there; farms, villages, livestock, roads. It’s almost as if we have to build from scratch again. You’ll discover that when you travel. Why do you think it’s taken messages twice as long to get here from Zofela direct as it has from Zofela via Turslenka? The roads are gone, that’s why. It was bad enough four years ago when I was last there, but Amne here has seen it very recently. Sorry mother but I shall insist to father not to allow Argan to travel on that route.”

  Isbel scowled, drumming her fingers on the desk. Slowly she sat down. “Then he shall travel on the Turslenka road. The road to Makenia is paved; we made sure of that in our first year in power, remember? That road is the best in the entire empire; I trust both of you would have no objection to that?”

  “As far as Turslenka, no,” Jorqel said before Amne could object. He felt her stiffen in outrage beside him, but he continued. Best he hold the conversation than his hot-headed sister. “But beyond that – the road to Bragal is through the Storma Valley and that isn’t great, and then there’s the road through the Bakran Mountains. Also once through there the roads deteriorate as you’re then in Bragal. Same effect.”

  Amne relaxed. Isbel looked stubborn. “I shall insist he’s brought to Bragal. He must be with me!”

  “Not if it kills him,” Jorqel said. “I shall speak with the apothecary and with father. It appears this issue cannot be sensibly determined after all.” He grabbed a chair and sat down, waving to his sister to do the same. It was less confrontational. “I have to regretfully say that I shan’t be able to attend the post-marriage celebrations.” He had been putting off the news for as long as he could but it couldn’t be delayed any longer. Amne had to know.

  “Oh, why’s that, Jorq?” Amne said, her face stricken.

  “Sorry, sis, but events in Bathenia are very serious and I must go as quickly as possible. I’ve ordered the army to slip out of Slenna this very evening and march to Efsia. There, Admiral Fostan will be waiting with his ships to transport them to Aconia. They will remain there until I join them, and then we’re to march on the road to Niake and hopefully by then we will have learned of the location of this Lombert Soul’s camp. I have to be on the Niake road very soon because I suspect the rebels will act sooner rather than later.”

  Amne looked almost as if she were going to cry. Isbel laced her fingers. “Do you have to go so soon? Why not wait a day or so? You should at least be there for your sister.”

  Jorqel kissed Amne on the cheek. “Duty, mother. Something you insist on Amne following. Well, I too, have my duty. I have to sneak out at night to fool the enemy spies. By now news of my arrival here would have filtered back to the Duras and this black-hearted brigand Soul, and they will think now is the time to strike. What they do not know is that my army will be between them and Niake within four days and I must be there at their head. Four days. That’s the day after the wedding. If I can reach my army undetected, then surprise is on my side.”

  “Can’t it wait?” Isbel asked. “One day surely?”

  “Mother,” Jorqel shook his head slowly. “My beloved is being held captive by that monster. The moment I defeat him her life is forfeit. I must get to her before news of the battle reaches his camp, wherever that is. I have to be back there as soon as possible. What happens if my army encounters them and I’m here drinking and talking to the petty nobility? What sort of commander would that make me, and indeed what sort of consort for Sannia? She is in real danger. I will not and cannot leave her fate to another!”

  Isbel waved a hand in a placatory manner. “Alright, Jorqel, I understand. It’s just a pity you can’t be there to enjoy Amne’s wedding. With Argan too ill and Istan…..” she tailed off and sighed. “Istan is not behaving well and I don’t really want him spoiling the event. He’s been sent to his room and I doubt he’ll be there, either.”

  Amne looked downcast. Jorqel took her by the shoulders. “I’ll be there to see you wed, sis, and I’ll be very prominent at the speeches. I’ll say my goodbye to you before I go. Don’t forget, you’re invited to my wedding in the summer at Slenna.”

  The princess smiled wanly. “Yes, I won’t miss it for the whole of Kastania! I just hope father arrives soon. He’s leaving it very late.”

  Jorqel grunted. “He’ll be here, don’t you worry. I’ll be glad when he does arrive. I have a lot to speak to him about.”

  “Such as?” Isbel asked.

  “Military matters, mother. I won’t bore you with them.”

  “Meaning I won’t understand them, Jorqel? Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I have no head for such things!”

  “Oh, don’t start! I don’t wish to know some matters you and Amne speak of. What I have to say to father is between him and me. Man talk,” he smiled grimly. “Now, just who are you taking away from here when you go?”

  “Oh, Pepil, Frendicus, half of the clerks in the treasury and administration, Vosgaris.”

  “You’re moving the entire guard?”

  Isbel shook her head. “No, Vosgaris is being replaced as Captain of the Palace Guard by Lalaas.” She looked long and hard at Amne who smirked. The empress shrugged. “My husband suggested we needed a new militia commander for Zofela and he was my logical choice. This is the palace and the Guard will remain here of course. They are now to defend Prince Elas and your sister – and what family they eventually have.”

  “Hmmm,” Jorqel rubbed a hairy chin. “Lalaas is hardly an officer, is he?”

  “So?” Amne pounced. “He’s a true warrior and has proven h
imself on more than one occasion, and the guards know him. Who else could I trust to protect me?”

  “And what has Elas said about that?”

  Amne pouted. “He has no say; he knows the Guard has to have a commander, and since Lalaas is already here and has saved my life many times over, he could hardly object on any count, could he?”

  Jorqel pulled a rueful face. He looked at the empress. “And you’re in agreement with that?”

  Isbel shook her head slowly. Amne frowned. “So what have you got against him, Jorq?”

  “Nothing, but I would have appointed a proven officer in the first place and maybe assigned Lalaas as second in command to ease him into the position.”

  “Phooey! You’re such a traditionalist! Have some flexibility for once, Jorq. Lalaas is the perfect choice.” She beamed a wide smile.

  Jorqel caught Isbel’s look and he wasn’t reassured. He just hoped to the heavens Amne knew what she was doing. He decided the meeting was as good as over, and if the two women were going to recommence their argument over either Argan’s future or the wedding, he was out of there. He therefore left. The man he wanted to see was almost right outside, which was convenient. Captain Vosgaris saluted and the prince waved him to follow.

  “Tell me, Captain, how are you finding your new charge? I hope she’s settling in.”

  “Oh, she’s feeling trapped and helpless, and worries she’ll be sentenced to some horrible fate once the empress or emperor decide that they do not wish her to be around.”

  “I have given my word she is to be unharmed. I would be extremely displeased is something did happen, Captain, you understand?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, sire.”

  “I have appointed you to take charge of her, Captain. That means if something does happen to her, I will hold you personally responsible. If that is the case I shall send someone to take care of you. Is that clear?”