by Tony Roberts
Lalaas nodded seriously. “There’s little hope for him, then? I hear the rumours.”
Amne caught her breath, then, seeing a half-open door to the right, peered in and, seeing it empty, pulled a surprised Lalaas in with her. She slammed the door shut and threw her arms round his neck and buried her face in his chest. She finally let go and sobbed into his tunic, releasing all the pent-up frustrations, fears, annoyances, bitterness and anger. She sobbed for quite a long time and Lalaas just held her, breathing in the fragrance of her hair. He knew this was something he just had to allow happen; she would finish in her own time and until then it was best he did nothing but stand there for her. He was conscious of the spreading wetness on his tunic.
Finally she stopped and pulled away, although she still held onto his hands. Her face was blotchy and swollen and wet with her tears. Her eyes were red and she needed her sleeve cloth. She cleared out her nose and wiped her face dry. “Oh, what a silly thing I am, crying like that.”
“No, Amne, you’ve been very uptight these past few days, and I can’t blame you! I wouldn’t be in your place for anything. There’s no being silly about it.”
Amne smiled. “Oh, Lalaas – you always say the right things.” She went to say something else but Lalaas put a finger to her lips.
“Don’t say it Amne; I know what you’re going to say, but it’s best you don’t, mm? What if ears hear?”
She kissed his finger and pulled away with a huff. “Being married to The Corpse won’t change the way I feel about you.”
Lalaas grinned. “Just don’t mention me too much in front of your husband to be, or he may well get rid of me.”
“Huh! Let him try! He’ll wish he never even thought of doing such a thing if he even speaks of it! You’re going to be right behind me tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“Too right,” Lalaas nodded. “In my best parade uniform.”
“Oh, it better not be too good or I might abscond with you and leave my darling husband-to-be at the dais!”
Lalaas guffawed. “And have the entire imperial guard chasing us all over Kastania? Not a good idea, Amne! And think of all the gossip, too!”
Amne smiled wryly. “No matter what I say you’ll not give in to temptation, will you?”
Lalaas shook his head. “I’ve told you before; you’re a princess and no amount of wishing will change that. You have to marry a nobleman. I cannot dishonour you, your family, the empire or myself. You are fantastically attractive, Amne, but I will not disgrace myself – and you – by making love to you. Anyway, you must be a virgin on your wedding night, is that not so?”
She sighed. “Ahhh Lalaas. You’re so noble and honourable. Maybe that’s why I find you so attractive. You must think I’m terrible, wanting you like this!”
The hunter smiled gently. “No. I love you too much to think that badly of you. Now you’d best get with your family; they’ll be wondering where you are!”
“Just watch out if in the future Elas and I part; you’ll be first on my list.” She wiggled her body and opened the door. Lalaas shook his head good-naturedly and followed her out, gently closing the door and following her down the corridor. The day room wasn’t far and two guards outside showed the room was still being used. Leaving her bodyguard outside Amne entered and sat in a chair that had been set aside for her.
She was surprised to see Vosgaris there, standing next to Astiras and Jorqel. The three seemed to be having a conference of some sort. Isbel gave her a cool look. “Everything sorted to your satisfaction, Amne?”
There was an edge to her voice. Amne was glad that she would be leaving shortly after the wedding. The atmosphere between the two of them was becoming decidedly wintry. It could only get worse. “No but it’ll have to do. No time left to change things, is there? What are those three talking about?”
“Security for your big day tomorrow. They want to make sure everything is perfect.”
Amne threw up a hand and then rested her head in it. “I’ll be thankful it’s all done and finished with by this time tomorrow! Where’s The Corpse?”
“Amne, I wish you would not call him that!”
Amne fixed her teeth in a grimace. “Where’s my darling husband-to-be?”
“He had to leave. He said he had some last minute affairs to settle with his family and of course, being the correct man he is, will spend the night at his family estate outside the city.”
“Shame,” Amne said off-handedly which brought another scowl of disapproval from Isbel. She caught Vosgaris’ eyes and winked at him. The captain reddened and pointedly looked at the emperor who was making some point, emphasising it by jabbing a finger into his other hand. Vosgaris nodded, saluted and strode towards the door. He flicked a look at Amne and Isbel and bowed stiffly. Amne, unseen by the empress, mouthed a brief kiss at him. Vosgaris’ eyes widened and he seemed to go even redder, then hurried out.
“Now that’s dealt with, we can have a nice family get-together,” Astiras said, going to his chair next to his wife and sat down, smiling at Amne. “Not long now, daughter. Excited?”
“Oh yes, father, I can’t wait,” she said with a sweet smile. Isbel’s face was a picture.
“Wonderful,” Astiras rubbed his hands together. “Nothing like a family wedding to bring people together! We need this, badly. People are beginning to get used to our reign and expect better things now. The honeymoon period is over. They want an end to the austerity, and end to the civil wars. They need cheering up. A damned good wedding is one way of doing that! And Jorqel here, hopefully,” he looked hard at his son, “will have one of his own later this year. I hear you’ve arranged to take the mounted archers here back over to Bathenia with you?”
Jorqel looked at his father cautiously. “How did you find that out, father? Yes, I only thought of that this morning after spotting them practicing. Elas spoke to me of their part in the rescue of sis here a short while back, so I thought I’d borrow them for my campaign.”
“Next time ask, son.” Astiras waggled a kindly finger at Jorqel. “We have a pecking order and I’m top of the pile.”
“Astiras,” Isbel said in a deep voice.
“Uh, in military matters,” he grinned, winking at his wife. Isbel huffed. “Cheer up dear, you can have a wonderful day tomorrow crying into your lace. Amne will be unforgettable.”
“She’s that alright,” Jorqel quipped. Amne punched him on the arm and poked her tongue at him. “Ouch. What you been doing to toughen that up? Wielding someone’s sword?”
“I wish,” Amne said in an undertone. “No, Jorq, a bit of riding, outdoor stuff, carrying round an assortment of wedding clothes. That’s enough to put muscles on anyone!”
“You two never change,” Astiras observed. “Very well, Jorqel, I agree to you taking the mounted archers. If it means ending this damned insurrection and rescuing your beloved, then by all means take them. Admiral Drakan has the space to take them. You going to sneak the lot on at night? It’d make a heck of a lot of noise!”
“No other option, father. I don’t want anyone seeing me leave. I tell you what; could you impound all vessels in the harbour for a day? It would mean there’s no chance of anyone getting a message across to the rebels in time.”
“Hmmm…. Yes I can’t see why not. A bit of a snap inspection, that sort of thing. I’ll go tell the harbour master after this chat.” He took hold of Isbel’s hand and smiled at her. She smiled back. “Then your mother and I have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Oh, you two!” Amne said. “At your age too!”
“Do you mind?” Isbel said, offended. “I’m not that old! You’re not the only one with feelings, Amne, remember that when you next open your mouth without thinking first.”
Amne pulled a face and looked away. Astiras cleared his throat. “I want to speak to you all about the condition of Argan. He’s not getting better, and is fading fast. Even the apothecary has admitted that there’s nothing he can do.”
“I know,” Amne looked
at her father, distressed. “Isn’t there anything anyone can do? Surely there’s something!”
“As a matter of fact, there may be someone.” Astiras paused for a moment. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about this, not even Isbel. He’d visited the young boy that afternoon and had been shocked by his condition. A desperate situation called for a desperate solution, and there was only one thing he could think of. “In Turslenka, there’s this servant of Thetos Olskan, the governor. She’s Bragalese and versed in medicines. She’s something of a healer, completely unorthodox, but if anyone can save my son, then she can.”
“Bragalese?” Isbel said, frowning. “You think a Bragalese can save our son?”
“Why not? She’s loyal to the governor, and has assured me personally of her loyalty to me and the throne of Kastan. Thetos swears by her, and I have no reason to doubt his word.”
Isbel looked doubtful. “You know there are rumours of witchcraft amongst those women, Astiras.”
“I’m well aware of them, dear, remember I was based in that damned province for years. Since we’re going to Bragal after the wedding, we can take the easier route to Turslenka first, then cut up through the Storma Valley. We don’t want to expose Argan to any bad road conditions and the road from here to Turslenka is the best in the empire. He will go to Turslenka and this Metila woman will try to heal him.”
Amne shrugged. What choice was there? She glanced at Jorqel who nodded briefly. His thoughts were mostly elsewhere, and the little Argan wasn’t someone he knew that well – his half-brother hadn’t spent a great deal of time with him so he didn’t feel as close a family tie to him as he did to Amne. If there was a chance of healing the boy, then it should be taken.
Isbel was unsure. She wasn’t happy about her son being put into the hands of a low-born foreign woman from a society that had been brutally suppressed by her own people. “Why not fetch her here?”
“Oh, Isbel, come on!” Astiras said in exasperation. “She would need to prepare the right medicines and she has a stack of them there in the governor’s residence. It’s a comfortable place, better than what we currently have in Zofela, I can tell you. Calling her here would take time as she’d have to get the right medicines. I don’t want to delay matters. We’re going to Turslenka anyway, so I don’t want to complicate the arrangements. I want to be back in Zofela with my Court as soon as possible; Venn and Mazag need watching and I can only do that out there. So we go by the quickest route which is via Makenia and the Bakran Mountains rather than directly into Bragal from here. We take Argan as far as Turslenka, get him seen to by Metila, then carry on to Zofela.”
“And leave Argan there on his own?” Isbel was aghast.
Astrias shook his head irritably. “What do you think I am? No! Panat Afos and his son will be with him as will Mr. Sen. You will stay on until he’s recovered, then travel to join me in Zofela.”
“And Istan?”
“Him!” Astiras snorted. “I’ll keep that one close to me. He needs a firm hand at all times. Everyone who’s been given him has proved to be weak and useless. I’ll knock him into shape.”
“You won’t, Astiras Koros!” Isbel snapped, “I know your methods!”
“Doesn’t give you any complaints, dear,” Astiras smiled briefly.
Isbel gasped and looked embarrassed. “Astiras!”
Jorqel smirked. Amne looked long and hard at her father. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing!” She switched her attention to Isbel and gave her a look of mock shock. “Well, mother, there’s more to you than meets the eye!”
“Amne!” Isbel snapped, colouring. She turned on Astiras. “You and your mouth!”
“If you wish, but later.” Astiras was enjoying the whole thing. Isbel gasped again. She slapped at her husband ineffectually.
Jorqel put his head in his hands but his shoulders were shaking. Amne smiled and assumed a conspiratorial air. “Mother, you might even have to give me tips!”
“Enough!” Isbel shouted. “I won’t hear any more of this! Alright, alright, Argan will come to Makenia and see this…this woman!”
“Thank you, dear,” Astiras said, bowing to her. “Now, you and I have a few things to catch up on, as I promised. You two,” he nodded to Jorqel and Amne as he stood up, pulling his wife up with him, “get about your businesses. Tonight we all need rest.”
“Including you, father,” Jorqel said, standing.
“Why the heavens do you think I’m taking your mother upstairs now? I’ll see you tomorrow!” He pulled Isbel after him, the empress protesting at the roughness and strength of his grip. He grabbed her, slung her over his shoulder and roared at her to be silent, slapping her rump for good measure. Isbel screeched with shock and outrage, and struggled futilely as Astiras carried her out of the room.
Amne and Jorqel looked at one another, then burst into laughter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Vosgaris spoke to Lalaas briefly after he had left the room. He had a job to do, and made sure Lalaas knew what was going on just in case things went wrong. The palace guard captain took three men with him, all known for their strength and no-nonsense approach to life. They were well-armed since where they were going was not likely to be accommodating to them. Larisse had given him the address and so now was the time to get the conspirators; time was running short.
The house was along the main street running east-west beyond the square, towards the Aester quarter. Not quite in the richest area but not in the poorer parts close to the harbour. It was a typical wooden and lath-and-plaster construction, made of two storeys, with a big sloping roof so that the snows of winter slid off without adding too much weight up top.
Vosgaris banged on the door after sending two of his men round the rear. Alleyways riddled the city and they had been known to be used as avenues of escape from city authorities in the past. He was determined this time not to allow his quarry to evade him. Philas had been the name given to him, and he had a good idea of his description.
The door opened hesitantly and an apprehensive face peered out. “Yes?”
“Open up,” Vosgaris snapped, pushing the door. His comrade shoved the man aside and barged into the hallway, an open area with doors left and right and a wooden staircase climbing up directly ahead. A worn rug lay across the middle part of the floor, and wooden stands stood by the bottom of the stairs, vases resting upon each.
“What is the meaning of this?” the man demanded, holding the door open, scowling.
“You’re housing one Philas, a mercenary recruiter. He’s wanted for questioning.”
“And who are you to give such orders here?” a new voice asked. Vosgaris and the soldier looked up the stairs to see a smartly attired woman of middle years standing on the landing. She had her hair piled up in curls, held in place by a wide headband.
“Ma’am, Captain Vosgaris Taboz, Palace Guard. He is suspected of plotting against the Koros.”
“Oh, Captain, come on! Plotting against the Koros is something every second person in Kastania is engaged in.” She came gliding down the stairs, her hair auburn, green eyes sparkling in the light of the windows, and an expression of barely suppressed humour all over her face. “This man – Philas, is it? – I suspect is no different than many within this city. In any case, nobody of that name is here, I can assure you.”
“May I have your name, ma’am?”
“Certainly. Sela Fokis. Daughter to Vacan Fokis. You may have heard of him?” she asked, silkily.
“Lady Fokis,” Vosgaris bowed. Even though from a House known to be hostile to the Koros, one had to follow etiquette. You never knew when it could pay off. “Regretfully I must insist on a search here. I have reliable information that this Captain Philas is resident here.”
“Oh, I doubt regret is something you are feeling at this moment, is it Captain? Go ahead; search all you like. I have your name, and my father will be hearing of this in due course.”
“I look forward to it, ma’am,” Vosgaris saluted ironicall
y and smiled. He waved his soldier to begin searching. He stood facing Sela who had by now descended to ground level. She came up to his shoulder. She was as old as Isbel, he surmised. Quite attractive. He wouldn’t mind bedding her. Still, she was an enemy so best to keep one’s mind on the job in hand. “This shouldn’t take too long.”
“I presume you say that to every lady, Captain?” Sela smirked.
Vosgaris said nothing. He merely stared at the woman for a long moment.
Sela sighed. “No sense of humour; the Koros are notorious for that. I should have known. No matter. Oh, Gerak,” she said to her retainer by the door, “shut the door, will you, please? Won’t do with every passer-by looking in on this regrettable situation.”
“Shall we go in there to talk, ma’am?” Vosgaris nodded towards the door to the right. He guessed that was the day room.
“Why not? It does get boring here on my own during the day. I can always retell this story to my social circle the next time I meet up with them; it’ll make a welcome change to the usual subjects of taxes, price rises, cutbacks and austerity moves. Oh how beastly and boring they are, I can tell you!”
Vosgaris allowed her to precede him into what turned out to be a well-lit day room. Gerak came in and enquired whether the lady and her guest wished for drinks. Sela ordered a pot of Ziprian infusion, a luxury drink from that island, made more expensive now because of the danger to shipping following increased pirate raids. “One must try to live as civilised as possible, Captain, don’t you agree?”
“Ma’am,” Vosgaris nodded once. “One can do it without such luxuries, I have to say.”
“Oh, Captain, don’t be so New Kastanian! There’s nothing wrong with a bit of quality! It’s something that has regretfully,” she smiled at him and paused when she uttered that word, “fallen into disuse in the past four years or so. It’s all very well making savings but one can go too far and forget what it is that makes us Kastanian.”