Prince of Wrath

by Tony Roberts

  “Oh, I was hoping for one right now,” she said, squeezing the front of his trousers. She squealed in delight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Astiras climbed down from the saddle and flexed his buttocks. A day in the saddle was becoming more and more uncomfortable. It wasn’t like in the old days when he virtually lived in one, campaigning in Kaprenia and Izaras. Despite the continuous defeats, those had been the days! He passed the reins to one of his men and slipped off his gauntlets. It was warm and the promise of summer was in the air. The men were setting up sheets to block the wind and beginning to start camp fires.

  Teduskis came over. “One stop and then Kastan City, sire. We’re no more than a watch’s ride from the gates. The people will be pleased to see your return.”

  “They have plenty to celebrate, Teduskis, with the ending of the Bragal war and the Duras insurrection here. I’ve put an end to all that nonsense. Now we have to build a strong Kastania which will be the harder part. I suppose I must don my best ceremonial outfit for my triumphal entry into the capital,” he said with a sigh of tolerance.

  Teduskis grinned. “The privileges of rank, sire?”

  “Don’t be flippant you disrespectful cur,” Astiras chuckled. He unclipped his breastplate and placed it on the ground. He flexed his back. It was pain free. “Check my back, Teduskis, will you? I wonder if that woman’s healing has worked?”

  His bodyguard lifted his sweaty shirt and peered at the emperor’s back. He whistled and stood back, his head shaking with disbelief.

  “Well?” Astiras was impatient.

  “Not a blemish. Not a mark. Incredible. I would not have believed it.”

  Astiras looked thoughtfully at his companion. “Well, well. I do believe she is a witch after all. What the underworld Thetos is doing with her I don’t know.”

  “I do,” Teduskis sniggered.

  “Alright, alright, yes there’s that! Damned fool messing about with a Bragalese witch; no wonder he’s looking so tired all the time. Still, he has a tough constitution.”

  “He needs one with Metila.”

  Astiras grinned. “Yes he does. Remember, not a word about her to anyone, or I’ll feed your gizzard to the avians.”

  Teduskis snapped smartly to attention and threw a salute that would have turned a recruiting sergeant green with envy.

  The emperor waved it away irritably. “Cut that shit out, Teduskis. Right. We ride into Kastan City and I want all these lazy slackers refreshed, washed and changed into their best uniforms by the evening. I’m holding a victory celebration.”

  “The wedding’s the following day, sire!”

  “I’m aware of that, but I’m not going to take over my daughter’s day. So we hold it the evening before. Not a big one, just as a thanks in ending the war. Alcohol won’t be widely available as I want people to be able to stand and witness the wedding, and it wouldn’t go down well if people had hangovers and were throwing up in the temple.”

  “Especially if it was you, sire.”

  Astiras looked outraged. “I never get hangovers!”

  “Uhhh, the Bragalese ale?”

  “Damn it, man! That’s not alcohol, that’s a curse from the pit of nightmares! Its not on sale thankfully anyway.”

  “It would be interesting if it were available after the wedding, along with a number of Bragalese women serving it.”

  Astiras rolled his eyes. “The gods above!! There’d be an orgy and half my men unfit for duty the following morning!”

  Teduskis chuckled. “I’ll go make sure the men are as smart as they can be.”

  Astiras nodded and removed the rest of his metal armour. He would be dressed in his finest imperial tunic and cloak, and un-helmeted so that all would be able to recognise him. He had endured the discomforts of Bragal these past couple of years and had slapped the Duras canine down twice here in the east, so he was entitled to taking the acclamation of the crowd.

  He was also grateful that the scratch marks of Metila were gone. This though raised the uncomfortable knowledge that she practiced arts that had been forbidden for many years in Kastania. Witches were the stuff of legend and fear. They were able to cast spells on people, many of them harmful. Tales of evil women afflicting dreadful ailments on people had been told him many times as a boy, and he had the normal healthy distrust and disgust of these spellcasters. Witches had been hunted down and destroyed wherever they were found, and anyone showing any kind of spell ability were immediately accused and more often than not, put to death.

  Metila though, was not the image of an elderly ugly woman cackling away to herself. No, she was – damned sexual. She just oozed lust and desire, and it took a strong man to say no to her. Maybe that was part of her spell casting. Was she really that desirable or was she in reality a hideous old crone? Perhaps Thetos was permanently under her control. That would not do; his governors being controlled by another. No, it would need further investigation. He didn’t believe his wish to return there was to see her again, but a frisson of excitement ran up him as he made his mind up to return to Turslenka.

  They resumed their journey after a short meal and drink, and approached Kastan City. Flags hung from the walls and a shout went up from people standing outside, waiting to see the emperor approach. Word had gone out rapidly that he was about to return to the capital, and the streets from the eastern or Turslenka Gate to the palace were lined with people.

  The militia were deployed to keep the more enthusiastic back, and Kastan City was caught up in celebration fever; the wedding of course was foremost in their minds but the return of their emperor was another worthy occurrence. People hung out of windows and cheered as Astiras led his sixty men through the streets toward the palace. Flags waved and acclamations were shouted from delighted people. Here, at last, was a man they could truly call a leader, a man who not only sat on the throne of Kastania, but who also led his people from the front, bringing them victories. It was like the old days of legend.

  A few though did not join in with the celebrations. Looking on from his window high in his city lodgings with a disapproving expression was Vacan Fokis, head of the Fokis family and the former senior lawyer of the empire. Since his altercation with Astiras the day following the Koros seizure of power, his position had been taken from him and he was now just one more idle nobleman with no post, something he resented. He wanted to be part of the machinery of the empire, but as long as the Koros were in power that was not a realistic hope. Therefore he schemed and plotted to bring them down, and to him there was no other option than to kill them.

  “Look at him, the vain arrogant fool,” he said with derision. “Enjoy your moment of triumph, Koros, for very soon you will be just another entry in the histories of Kastania and nothing more.”

  Two others were present. Both of them junior members of the Fokis. They were nephews of Vacan, two youthful men with bright brown eyes and olive-tinged skin. They both had dark, thickly growing hair, and it was no surprise that they were brothers, Granic and Fostan. They remained silent, standing by the stoutly built oaken table placed in the centre of the brightly lit chamber. The floor was bare of any rug, and the floorboards gleamed thanks to constant cleaning and attention from the house servants. There were three windows, all set in the same wall, all overlooking the main street as all the most exclusive residences in that part of Kastan did. The windows themselves were an arrangement of tiny pieces of different coloured pieces of glass, all diamond-shaped, set in a lattice work of lead. The overall window was rectangular, and had shutters on the inside to draw across at night. The windows were latched with iron handles, so that if required they could be opened. Vacan had no intention of doing so.

  He was richly attired in a deep red coloured velvet jacket and trousers that went to his knees. His legs from just above the knees were covered in a white pair of tightly fitting long socks, the latest fashion from the east. On his feet he wore a pair of shiny black pointed shoes with large silver buckles. “Bah, those Koro
s disgust me! All this talk of austerity and cutting back expenses yet they show no sign of restraining themselves. Expensive weddings, celebrations and what-have-you. And not one wedding!” he whirled to face the two silent brothers. “No, they’re not satisfied with one vulgar display of self-promotion. They have two!”

  “Uncle, the second may never take place.” Granic reminded Vacan of the situation with Sannia Nicate.

  “Oh, yes I know all about that my lad,” Vacan waved irritably, “but do you have any faith in the Duras doing anything right? No, neither do I. This is why I’ve broken all links with those amateurish bunglers. They couldn’t sit the right way on a garderobe seat.” He walked slowly to the table and looked at the papers lying there, weighed down in each corner by heavy objects. “So we do it the right way. We must act now before they commence breeding, like rodents! Just think of tens of Koros brats running round, all being taught to act the same way as these nauseating examples that we have now! It would be the end of us all. So, I take it you have found a suitable agent to perform the deed?”

  Fostan nodded. “Yes, uncle. My captain recruited a former soldier two days ago. This man was an archer in the Kastan Regiment who is out of a job now. He’s not pleased about the current state of affairs. He says because of the wars there should be more soldiers employed to defend the empire.”

  Vacan snorted. “Soldiers! They have such a narrow vision of everything; the Koros are fools, though. The army’s choice and yet they do not increase the army. Perfect. That means many disgruntled former soldiers denied employment from the one man they believed in. All we have to do is whisper the right propaganda in their ears and they are ours!” he laughed nastily. “Such easily manipulated simple-minded people. This is our great weapon, my lads, remember this well. Never carry out any acts yourselves – always get someone to do it for you so that should anything go wrong then it is these people who get blamed and not us. This archer – I trust he knows not for whom he’s working?”

  Fostan shook his head. “No, uncle. He took coins and my captain merely said he was representing a coalition of disaffected people, all wanting a change to the leadership of the empire. Promises of increasing the army once Astiras was dead was all the encouragement he needed.”

  Vacan rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. “Excellent, you have done well. All we need to do now is to sit back and wait for the archer to do his job. Then once this is achieved we can make our move.”

  “What will that be, and when, uncle?” Granic asked. “We don’t know the plan.”

  “I’ll let you know in due course. All I ask of you two now is to go gather your small groups of mercenaries and wait for my word to move. Speed is essential.”

  The two turned and left, still none the wiser as to what Vacan was planning, which was what the head of the House wished. Why confuse his nephews with unnecessary details when all they had to do was to obey his commands? He was also concerned that should any of them get caught and interrogated they may reveal the plan to the Koros, and that would be disastrous. No, Vacan was playing this game close to his chest, to quote a move in a game of cards that he sometimes partook. He was the arachnid at the centre of the web, and all the others mere prey, struggling on the strands. It mattered not whether they were Koros, Duras or even members of his own House. To him they were all expendable in the great cause of promoting Vacan to a position of greatness.

  Once he achieved the position of Prime Lawyer once more, this time he would ensure that a puppet emperor was placed on the throne, a Fokis emperor, bound to him by family loyalty. He could then manipulate events behind the throne and be left to create a vast fortune. He would be the richest man in the empire and be able to bribe and corrupt anyone to his bidding. If the person concerned was incorruptible, then they would be eliminated. Sooner or later he would find all those too honest for the regime he desired and get rid of them, replacing them with creatures of his own choosing. That way none of them would turn against him as they would owe him too much.

  He felt a great sense of satisfaction. In a day’s time his plan would come to fruition.

  ___

  Amne turned both ways, examining herself in the mirror in her room. Both her maidservants were hovering nervously, waiting for the latest criticism of her wedding dress. The dress had to be finished that afternoon or else it would be too late. The beautician would be arriving soon and the long tiresome procedure to turn Amne into some dazzling display of perfection would begin. It would continue the following morning and end before mid-day, when the wedding would take place. Accordingly Amne was nervous and short-tempered. The arrival of her father had brought home to her how imminent the wedding was, and her nerves were shredded.

  “Oh! I look far too fat in this!” she exclaimed, running a hand over her flat stomach. She peered over and stuck her behind out. “My bottom looks enormous in this! They’ll think I’m some sort of fantor! It’s terrible!” she burst into tears.

  The maidservants, Selana and Kiri, looked distressed. They moved forward hesitantly, not wishing to evoke a bad-tempered snap from the stressed princess, but at the same time wanting to comfort her. The dressmaker, an elderly woman with far too much face-paint on and her fingers almost lost in cheap jewellery, tutted. “Now, Princess, you look beautiful! This dress is fabulous and you look magnificent in it. Everyone will fall in love with you, mark my words!”

  Amne sniffed and used her sleeve cloth to wipe her eyes. “You’re just saying that!”

  “No I’m not,” the dressmaker said softly. “I would not have dared make a dress that didn’t do you justice, my lady. I take great pride in making the best possible outfit for whoever hires my services. For you, look, the way the wormspun fabric flows over your hips into your waist, oh my goodness! It’s simply gorgeous! Every woman who sees it will positively turn green with envy!” She emphasised her words with over-elaborate waving of hands and an over-the-top facial accompaniment. “I’ve made sure the fabric is tucked in under your breasts so that it spreads up tightly over them, showing that you are a beautifully proportioned woman. Oh, it’s so magnificent!”

  Amne ran her hands over the soft and smooth fabric. It was a delight to touch. “But it shows too much of my figure.”

  “And is that a bad thing, my lady? You have an enviable figure. The gods have blessed you, truly they have! Why shouldn’t you show off to the whole of Kastan what you have? I have used certain fashion elements from the east. I’m told the ladies of Somor are all using the split down the legs from the knees for their weddings that I’ve put in here. And blue is so your colour too!” she beamed, throwing her arms wide.

  Amne chewed on her lower lip, mollified by the dressmaker’s words. She examined the dress that ran from her breasts up to her collar. It was finished off by diamonds sewn into the edging, an expensive but nice touch. “Oh, it’ll have to do!” she finally breathed out heavily. “I hope nobody mentions how big my bottom looks in this; if they do there’ll be the heavens to pay!”

  “My lady will have a wormspun train behind her,” the dressmaker said. “You have tried it on?”

  “In here? There’s no space, silly! It’ll be fitted in the morning, so I’m told, at the same time my hair is being fixed. Oh! I’ll be glad when its all over, I can tell you!”

  The dressmaker looked sadly at Amne. “Oh, ma’am, don’t say that! It’s your special day. You’ll look magnificent, mark my words.” She beamed again, interlocking her fingers nervously. “You’re happy with it then?”

  “Yes, yes,” Amne said testily. “You may go now, thank you.”

  The dressmaker curtseyed and backed out of the room. Amne sighed and then faced her two handmaidens. “Get me out of this thing. I’m tired of wearing it. I suppose I’ll have to go through the whole damned ceremony tomorrow. You two clear about how to hold my train?”

  The two girls nodded. They’d been drilled mercilessly by the empress and were heartily sick of the whole thing. They were looking forward to the cele
bration, partly because of the spectacle that it would be, and partly because it would finally end the empress’s constant search for the perfect wedding. Everyone was tired of it all.

  Amne puffed out her cheeks once she was divested of her dress and the girls had hung it up properly. She quickly donned her normal day clothes, a much more informal dress and low felt boots. This had lace on the lower sleeves and collar and was open at the neck to halfway down her chest. She liked wearing it for the looks she got from Vosgaris whenever she met him. She never passed up the opportunity to tease him with her physical charms. She quite enjoyed it, in fact.

  She was late for the family get-together in the day room, and hurried out of her chamber. Lalaas was there, pacing up and down, and he hurriedly stepped alongside her. “All done?”

  “Oh gosh, yes!” Amne said with feeling. Lalaas smiled. Amne felt another pang in her heart. Why couldn’t it be Lalaas she was marrying on the morrow? She would look forward to everything, dress fitting, making her way to the temple, the vows, and all if that were the case, instead of The Corpse, as she now often thought of Elas. Now, children with Lalaas – that would be so wonderful! She was certain he’d be a wonderful father, teaching them the outdoor ways and hunting and weapon handling. Useful skills. She hoped to the gods that her children with Elas – the thought made her shudder – wouldn’t inherit his traits. Wouldn’t that be awful? Stone-faced, humourless, over-serious, religious. Gods! She almost giggled at the unintended irony of her thoughts.

  “Glad to be finished with the whole fitting thing then, Amne,” Lalaas said, happy Amne was smiling for once. She’d been very stressed these past few days and it had got quite fraught what with the empress’ mood and Elas seriously reminding everyone of the importance of the coming ceremony.

  “You could say that. I’ll be so glad when its all over and mother can stop fussing over me like some manic fowl. Oh I tell you, Lalaas, I wish I was with you out in Bragal right now! It’s been horrid since getting back; Elas, mother, the ambush, and poor Argan lying up in his bed not able to get up and about. It’s so heartbreaking seeing him like that.”