by Tony Roberts
Amne’s heart was threatening to burst out of its cage. Her legs were trembling still, despite her silent entreaties for them to stop. Her world had shrunk to just the immediate people around her; she didn’t dare look at anyone else.
Behind her and to her left Astiras was joined by Isbel, still wiping tears from her eyes. She clutched her husband’s arm and he returned the action for a moment, then patted her hand and resumed his stance.
Up on the balcony Lalaas slowly fitted the arrow to the string and looked at Amne’s back. Her upper back was revealed to him and he could see her shoulder blades. It would be an easy shot to put the arrow clean between them. For him it was a ludicrously easy shot. He drained all thoughts from his mind and ever so deliberately raised the bow. The top of the rail was just high enough to allow him to loose underneath it. Perfect.
The chief priest began the ceremony. “We are here to witness the gods’ wishes for these two young people to marry each other. In the name of the gods I shall join their two lives together and may nothing tear them asunder.”
Amne glanced at Elas. What was going through his mind? He was so emotionless normally and it made gauging what he was feeling almost impossible. She was, if anything, far too much the other way, always showing what she felt. How was it that they were so different? Elas was concentrating on what the priest was saying, not looking at Amne, which was correct according to the ceremony rules, but couldn’t he just for once bend the rules and look at her?
Jorqel’s eyes roved around the assembled people, male and female, watching for any move that might betray the start of an attack. If so, he would move quickly and strike. He was in the mood to kill. His frustration at the inability to do anything about Sannia’s imprisonment had begun to boil up through his normally calm demeanour. In some ways, he hoped someone would make a move so he could vent his wrath at them. He looked up at the iron railed balcony running around the chamber. Nobody there.
He didn’t see Lalaas who was directly behind and above him.
The chief priest nodded toward the priest to his left, the one with the bread. “The gods have given you, Elas Pelgion, the choice to accept this woman, Amne Koros, Princess of Kastania, as your wife. Do you accept their choice?”
“I do,” Elas said, and took a piece of bread from the bowl. He bit off half of it and began to chew, then passed the rest to Amne who took it and slipped it under her veil and also began chewing. She hoped she wouldn’t bring it up. It would be undignified, shameful and a bad omen for the future of the marriage. Maybe she should do it? She suppressed the thought almost as soon as she had thought of it.
The chief priest then turned to his right. He nodded to the other cleric. This one thrust forward the jar. Amne dipped her fingers into it and when she withdrew them, they were glittering with the gold flakes.
“Do you, Amne Koros, Princess of Kastania, accept the gods’ choice of Elas Pelgion as your husband?”
Amne licked her lips and nodded. “I do,” she said in a husky voice that almost broke. She placed her fingers on Elas’ forehead and left a wide mark on it. Elas now dipped his fingers in the jar and repeated the action, leaving a similar mark on Amne’s forehead.
“Now,” the chief priest intoned. “Place your hands together in the bowl of life.”
The two put their right hands in the bowl and clasped fingers. The chief priest reached for the cloth in his hand.
Above, Lalaas drew back the string and sighted on his target. He took a deep breath, waited a heartbeat, then released.
The chief priest took hold of the cloth and threw it aside, revealing a small shiny dagger. He grabbed the hilt and was raising it to strike Amne through the chest when Lalaas’ arrow smashed into him, flinging him back with a cry of pain.
The chamber exploded into noise. Elas flung his arms round Amne in a reflex and she gripped him automatically, shocked. Astiras stepped forward, his face a mask of hatred, while Jorqel whirled, his sword held high, ready for any action. He looked up at Lalaas who was slowly getting to his feet, a look of satisfaction on his face. Jorqel glanced at the priest, lying on the dais, the arrow clean through his heart, then looked back up at the hunter and nodded.
Lalaas bowed and slipped back out of sight, his job done.
“Vile wretch!” Astiras snarled at the dead priest. “Fokis lackey! How many pieces of gold did it take to become an assassin?” There was no reply of course, the man was stone dead. Astiras already knew the answer anyway, thanks to Vosgaris and his men getting the truth out of the captive Philas the night before. The ‘archer’ had in fact been a decoy and the real killer had been Suton, the chief priest, a man who had been in the employ of the Fokis for many years and had owed his elevation into the religious hierarchy in the first place to that House. So Astiras and Jorqel between them had set up the scheme to take out Suton once he made his move. Jorqel had in fact pointed out that arresting the priest too early might give the Fokis time to bring in yet another killer. Astiras, all for stringing the priest up that morning, had finally seen reason and gone along with the plan.
He waved at two guards to drag the corpse off and to deal with it, namely to cut his head off and mount it over the city gates. He stood before the second priest. “Complete the ceremony. It is to continue, understand?”
“Yes, highness,” the priest bowed and picked up the cloth.
The furore in the chamber was abating, and the emperor waved for attention. “Please, everyone, the danger is over. The evil scheme has been defeated, and there is no reason for the marriage not to carry on. Please, resume your position.”
Amne was shaking even more. She had caught sight of Lalaas as he had stood up, wondering who it had been who had cut the priest down, and she felt a wave of love for the man. Yet again, he had saved her life. How many more times would that be the case? Elas released her and stared at her intently. “Are you alright to continue, Amne?”
“Y-yes, Elas, I am. Thank you,” she added, looking up at him.
Elas actually smiled. “Very good. You’re a Koros, alright.”
Amne liked the sound of that and turned to look at her father who winked at her. That made her feel much better. She put her hand back in the bowl and Elas grasped her fingers once more. This time the new priest raised the cloth high, began uttering a deep intonation to the gods, and then placed the cloth around both their wrists, symbolically binding the two together. He looked worried, as well he might, for the memory of his superior being skewered right next to him was still vivid in his mind.
The other priest now picked up a jug of water and began pouring it over the two’s hands and wrists. The other priest now raised his hands into the air and closed his eyes. “By the power of the gods through me, I bind these two together for as long as they may live. Let no god, man nor beast separate them.”
The assembled crowd began uttering prayers to the gods, each to the god of their choice, and the confusing cacophony of voices washed over Amne and Elas. The priest now unwrapped the wet cloth and took it from them. “You are now joined as husband and wife. All sing praise to Elas and Amne Pelgion!”
The two faced one another, and Elas removed the veil. He looked at Amne and nodded slightly, as if to himself, and kissed her. Amne kissed him back, closing her eyes, and wondered what it would be like. He was firm, strong, yet not forceful. It was tender, but not powerful. In a way she was disappointed, yet at the same time not. Maybe she had hoped his formal correctness was a shell, something to cast aside once they were wed, and then he would become a passionate vibrant lover. She smiled to herself. Who was she kidding?
Outside the couple emerged to a roar of delight. The guards formed a cordon around the bottom of the five steps to stop anyone getting closer. Amne and Elas stood in the middle while Jorqel stood below them, his sword still bared, while Astiras and Isbel stood to one side and Elas’ parents the other. Isbel leaned against Astiras. “Oh I’m so glad it’s over,” she breathed, “and that horrible plot stopped! Now we can loo
k forward to getting Argan sorted and us all moved to Zofela.”
“Yes, my love,” Astiras answered, waving to a knot of rather enthusiastically cheering citizens, “we can all relax once we’re in our respective centres of power. I don’t like all of us being in one place; too many plots, too many enemies. I know it means we go our separate ways as a family but for the good of Kastan we must make this sacrifice.”
Isbel squeezed his arm. She was happy to be away from Kastan City. She had finally come to realise her unhappiness was down to her being away from Astiras and constantly having to run the empire’s administration. Now she was to be with her husband all the time gave her a greater sense of security, and it also meant she would be away from Amne, someone she had come to resent in recent times. Amne could now run Frasia with her own husband here while the empire was administered without Amne constantly arguing with Isbel. It was going to be wonderful.
The only cloud on her horizon was Argan, but Astiras was insistent that this Metila was capable of great healing powers, and if anyone could save the boy, then it was this Bragalese woman. Isbel was uncertain, but she really had little choice other than to go ahead and trust both her husband’s judgement and an unknown woman with the life of the seven year old.
The procession made its way back through the square, the guards opening up the way ahead and then allowing it to close behind, forming an island in a sea of people. Both Amne and Elas waved to the people, Amne throwing her flowers high into the air for someone to catch. The newly-weds stopped to talk to some of the citizens, speaking across the straining guards, striving to hold back the happy throng. Accordingly the journey back to the palace took many times longer than the walk to the Temple had.
Finally, as the day was drawing to a close, they arrived back at the palace. Vosgaris and Lalaas were there in their ceremonial uniforms, both as captains of the palace guard. The next four or five days would be the handover period as Vosgaris passed the post onto his successor. Amne smiled gratefully at Lalaas as she reached him, while the hunter merely bowed formally. They all made their way to the banqueting hall for the after wedding meal, along with the privileged guests who had been in the Temple.
Naturally talk was of the attempted murder and the shocked realisation the Fokis were behind it. It was a pity in some ways, for it would have been better if talk had been primarily about the wedding and the future of the couple. Elas and Amne sat at the head of the table and answered any questions that did come their way, but there weren’t as many as they might have expected.
“Did you know of the plot, Elas?” Amne asked her husband part of the way through the evening.
“No – I understand that the details were only known last night and I was not on hand to learn of it. Understandable of course.”
“I was in the palace but nobody bothered to speak to me about it!” she complained.
“Perhaps they did not wish to worry you unduly? You did look very nervous when you arrived today at the Temple,” Elas observed. “Imagine how you would have felt if you had been told there was a definite plot on your life?”
Amne pouted. “Treated me like a child – don’t worry the poor girl, she won’t be able to handle it!” she said bitterly.
“I’m sure that’s not how they felt,” Elas said soothingly. “In any case, your father, brother and Captain Lalaas handled it very professionally and expertly. An excellent shot, if I may say. Technically difficult, given the angle, space and unknown elements such as air movement in a confined space.”
“Well I’m glad you feel that way, Elas,” Amne said acidly. “What if Lalaas had misjudged it and shot me in the back?”
“Do you think he would have?”
Amne said nothing. She drummed her fingers on the tabletop.
“Neither do I,” Elas said. “However, I must say that I would have recommended a postponement in the ceremony if I had learned of the plot. Risking your life is not justified, no matter the situation.”
“Why Elas, that’s nice of you to say so,” Amne said.
Her husband waved a dismissive hand. “As your husband my first thought is of your protection.”
Amne looked thoughtful, then her attention was drawn by Lord Pelgion, her new father-in-law.
Later, as midnight approached, the two made their excuses and retired to Elas’ new chamber. It was next to Amne’s and had been decorated and furnished over the past few days, under instruction from the man. As the new Governor of Frasia and a Prince of Kastania, he of course had to have a chamber of his own in the palace.
Amne paused at the doorway, suddenly nervous. She had never been with a man. Custom dictated that a noble woman was a virgin on her wedding night. She had spoken to her two handmaidens about it and both had giggled but told her what to expect, having drawn on their own, rather mixed, experiences. Amne now hoped that her first experience would be memorable. Being aware of her own attractiveness to men was one thing, but when it came to the action it was down to ability, not how one looked.
Elas opened the door and took her by the hand, leading her in. The room was the same layout as Amne’s but the mirror opposite. The décor was very masculine and austere, rather like Elas, and Amne decided she would not spend any more time here than she had to.
He led her to the bed chamber and she was surprised to see a very large four poster bed with hangings and sumptuous cushions scattered about. “Oh!”
“Surprised?” Elas asked. “My father commissioned it the moment he heard I was betrothed to you. It was only assembled this morning. It is the first I have seen it myself. Not a bad item.”
“No…” Amne said, walking over to it slowly.
“Now, Amne,” Elas said, taking hold of her by the shoulders and turning her round, “time to act like husband and wife.” With that he kissed her hard and pushed her onto the bed. Shocked, Amne had enough time to register she was on a very comfortable and soft surface before he was atop her, kissing her hard again and tugging at her clothes. It got very confused and hot for the next few moments and Amne’s head was spinning. She felt out of control and now her hands were pinned to the bed and she wasn’t entirely comfortable about that.
Elas ripped her dress, getting it off her and she cried in dismay. It had been such a beautiful dress, despite her fears her behind would be too big in it. There was no tenderness in Elas thrusting her legs apart and without warning he was thrusting into her. There was a sharp pain and she cried out. He grunted in her ear five or six times and then she felt him ejaculate. He stiffened for a few heartbeats, then he sank onto her and lay there, breathing heavily for a few moments. Then he levered himself off and walked into the bathroom, naked.
“Was that it?” Amne asked herself, lying there in a daze. She had a few aches and throbbing pains and slowly slid off the bed and looked at herself in the single silvered mirror in the room. There were scratch marks on her and her facial makeup had smeared. “By the gods – I look like a street courtesan after a riot!” She had never seen one but to her that was what she thought it would look like.
Hesitantly she put her hand down below and hissed with pain. It was tender. There was also a sticky fluid and she pulled a face. “Ugh!” Her handmaidens had hinted at something like this. Locating a small torn piece of her dress lying on the rug, she wiped herself. “If that’s what it’s like, then its hugely over-rated!”
Elas reappeared. “You may go to your chamber now.”
“Pardon?”
“Go to your chamber. We have consummated our marriage, Amne, and I see no further need for you to be here.”
“Don’t order me about like that, Elas Pelgion! You can ask me, but never order me like that!”
Elas took her roughly by the arm and marched her to the door. Amne gasped and struggled but Elas was too strong for her. “My clothes Elas – you can’t throw me out naked! What would everyone think?”
Elas released her, picked up the dress and threw it to her. “I would appreciate from now on you wearing at
tire appropriate to a married woman, not that of a courtesan.”
Amne gasped in outrage, then dressed as best she could, sighing at the wreckage of her dress. Holding it onto her to stop it falling off, she slowly left the chamber, ignored the guards who saluted her nonetheless, and made her way into her own rooms. The dress fell to the floor in a ruined heap. Kiri and Selana were sleeping in their rough beds to either side of the day room, so she crept into her own bed chamber and threw herself gratefully onto her own bed. Was this what being married to Elas was going to be like?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jorqel didn’t sleep at all that night. A hurried departure shortly after Amne and Elas had gone, a final farewell to Astiras and Isbel, and he had ridden on a borrowed equine to the harbour where the commander of the mounted archers, Deran Loshar, was waiting. The rest of the men were already aboard the two ships of Admiral Drakan, and ready to depart. Jorqel left his equine with the harbourmaster and ran up the gangplank of the flagship and greeted Drakan who was impatiently waiting for him.
“Good, now we can go,” Drakan said with relief. He waved to his men to cast off and made his way to the poop deck. Jorqel accompanied him, along with Deran Loshar. The rogue Tybar officer had made this crossing once before, but in the other direction, so it was odd that he now was returning to the west.
“How long will it take till we make land on the other side, Admiral?” Jorqel asked.
“Not long,” Drakan grunted, “but this is a foul time to cross, I can tell you! With that tide, it’ll be a wonder we end up anywhere close to where we want to be! We can put you down at Aconia – I won’t risk beaching these ships, and to be honest it’s the only place we can safely disembark the animals. Sunrise, I’d say.”