Prince of Wrath

by Tony Roberts

  Later as she lay there, humming softly to herself, playing with her hair, she reflected on the fact that she had been given a bad roll of the die by the gods as far as her husband went. Vosgaris was a much better love maker and made her feel fulfilled. He was better looking and had a sense of humour, too, which was more than could be said of Elas Pelgion. What did Elas have going for him as opposed to any other man? He had presence, yes, a stern, authoritative manner that went well with someone in his position of power, but to Amne there was much more to a man than just fulfilling a popular perception of what – or who – he was. He had to be a person as well as a figurehead. Elas, sadly, did not appear to be anything of the sort. She sighed, idly looking up at the beautifully decorated fabric ‘roof’ of her bed. It was a depiction of a man and woman naked, intertwined in a beautiful and mythical forest. Beasts sat or stood about, seemingly not intimidated by the two lovers. If only she had a husband who showed her half the love the male figure was showing his companion.

  Vogaris had been apologetic after his excitement had abated, but Amne had cut him short. “I don’t want you worrying about what will happen to you, Vosgaris,” she had said firmly. “I enjoyed it immensely, and I want more. It’s a shame you’re off to Zofela so soon. I might even have to find an excuse to visit there in the future, and we can repeat what we have done today.”

  “I doubt we’ll have the space, ma’am,” Vosgaris had said ruefully, slowly dressing. His back was scratched and stung. He had ignored the pain. It was nothing. “Zofela isn’t that big a place.”

  “Then we’ll have to go out on equines and – ah – ride together,” she had said with a wicked smile. “I can be quite inventive.”

  Vosgaris had smiled briefly. “Then we shall see if you can visit. I have to take my leave, ma’am. I think I could get into deep trouble if we’re seen together like this! What will you say if anyone asks what I was doing here?”

  “Oh, Vosgaris, you do worry so! I shall merely say you and I discussed the role Lalaas will take once you leave. After all, I do have a say in palace functions. Elas isn’t the only aquatic in the pond, is he? I have a role to play here, even if my darling husband thinks a woman’s role is to conceive and await her husband’s pleasure. That may work with Pelgion women but it won’t work with a Koros!”

  Vosgaris had chuckled. “No, ma’am, I don’t think that would.” He had got up, hesitated, then leaned over and, with great daring, had kissed her full on the lips. Amne had responded hungrily, holding him there for a long time, then had pushed him away. “Go, you naughty man! Or I may want a repeat performance.”

  Vosgaris had winked and gone, leaving Amne reflectively looking up at her bed decorations. Now she thought more on her situation. Now she knew what a man could do to her she was determined all the more to make up for Elas’ lack of ability in bed. So what if it was adultery? There were worse things someone could do. A little dallying with the occasional male added a bit of spice to her life. A smile slowly grew over her face. She was desirable, both physically and because of who she was. No man could possibly turn her down if she wanted him. Except Lalaas.

  The smile disappeared. Damn that man! She could well exhaust herself on him if he only said yes to her advances. Just because she was a princess and he a non-noble, and now she was married. He was so…..she struggled for a word. Morally correct. Morals. She rolled over and slid off the bed. She would take a bath and get rid of Vosgaris’ scent. She didn’t want to make people aware of what she had been doing. The two handmaidens would be returning soon so she would bathe once they had filled her tub with water.

  At the same time as Amne was in her room, Astiras was finalising the logistics of moving to Bragal. There seemed to be no end of equipment and belongings that needed to be taken. Isbel in particular seemed to have a palace full of clothes, and he had queried it, and got an earful back in response. He had left her to organise that, hiring more pack animals and wagons. Letters had gone out to Turslenka and Zofela, both to warn them of what was going to happen, and to make sure the roads were patrolled in both regions. Astiras did not want any brigands chancing upon the long supply wagon train that would travel in their wake.

  Luckily the most dangerous part of the journey, the route up through the Bakran Mountains, was not going to be a problem, thanks to his smoothing of relations with those wild mountain people. He leaned over the map in the council chamber, staring at the route he was to take. The road from Kastan City to Makenia was paved and would provide little in the way of a problem. The roads in Makenia were reasonable, even though they were un-paved, and his recent journey along them had revealed no bad places. They would be travelling in the early summer, too, so the weather ought to be fine. No sudden landslides caused by excessive rainfall would blight their journey.

  The Storma Valley was slightly more problematical. The river there was prone to flooding and there had been some wear on the road along the valley, but a quick repair here and there by the squad of engineers he was taking should take care of that. Then, once over the pass into Bragal, they would have to take their chances with the poor roads there. However, Argan would not be travelling along that route until he was well enough. Isbel would make sure of that, and she would remain with Argan in Turslenka until the boy was fit.

  His face showed worry; Argan had to survive. His son. He was concerned about both him and Istan, for different reasons. Neither had turned out the way he had hoped, like Jorqel had. Jorqel was a fine man, and a fit and suitable successor to him and the throne. But what if something happened to Jorqel? Then the succession would have to fall to either Argan or Istan, at least in the short term. Argan was sickly and far too sensitive to be a proper warrior-emperor, and Istan had a really nasty and vicious streak in him that could be a huge problem is he were to get absolute power. The history of the empire was littered with tyrants who had a bloodthirsty appetite. It had always ended in murder.

  Argan had to survive as he was the preference to the two, but again that was no guarantee he would survive, for brother had turned on brother before, and it wasn’t too much of a stretch of the imagination to think Istan could do the same. No, Astiras had to guide both his sons along a straighter path now. He had been away from them for far too long. Argan had to toughen up; Istan had to be disciplined. No more wet-nursing from hand-wringing weaklings – he would oversee their upbringing now.

  Once he was in Zofela he could combine the military and political functions under one office, and leave the fiscal and social functions to Isbel and her administrators. Astiras had a definite course to take. Vosgaris would be his military staff officer, combining an army governor’s position with that of Army General for the Army of the East, a new post. Teduskis would be gradually eased out of any administrative function and ultimately retired. The political overseer would initially be someone from the Council, maybe someone from one of the noble Houses, as a bribe to that family to support the Koros. Both this man and Vosgaris would share an office, and another would house the fledgling fiscal and social officers, almost certainly Frendicus and Pepil. They had a huge amount of experience and it would keep them from possibly intriguing, something Astiras detested.

  Zofela was also the forward army camp and supply base for the Kastanian forces in the south-eastern part of the empire, conveniently placed near the Mazag and Venn borders, so if either invaded they would have to take Zofela. It held up the imperial frontiers in that region and was therefore of vital strategic importance. Astiras knew what he was doing, and it was also co-incidental that his personal estates were close by. The gods were smiling down on him.

  Except of course for Argan’s illness. He didn’t share Isbel’s continued blaming of Kerrin for the accident, for that was what it was, an accident. Boys would be boys and if Argan was to grow up as a brave warrior, he would have to take risks and face dangers. To cocoon him away from these would make him an overly cautious and unimaginative man, and one prone to looking to another for guidance and advice. All tha
t anyone would get from courtiers would be sycophantic rubbish and scheming self-centred policies aimed at furthering the wealth and careers of said advisors. It had happened under the Duras and Fokis, and would happen again unless the empire was held together by a strong military leader. Astiras hated courtiers. He would, if he had the luxury of doing so, put them into the front line of the next battle and have them charge the enemy with the spears of his soldiers at their backs with orders to kill any who refused to charge or who turned to flee. However since these courtiers actually had a function he would find it difficult to keep the palace and administration going, and he was damned if he would do any of that! He was a soldier, not a scribe.

  Argan had to pull through. His pale, wan features sent a shaft of pain into his heart. The boy deserved to live, to have the chance of growing up and becoming a fine general and prince of the empire. And, Astiras acknowledged it, he desperately needed good and loyal generals. There were generals a-plenty, but they were either getting too old, were members of disloyal or dubious Houses or were, frankly, incompetent. The emperor could only trust those bonded to the Koros such as Elas Pelgion. Amne had done her duty – or, rather, part of it – and now there was a man who could govern Frasia and run Kastan City, and lead the Capital Army, the third army of Kastania. If disaster happened east or west, at least there would now be a third force available to plug the gap.

  The mounted archers had, according to Jorqel’s report, done an admirable job, but needed a few adjustments to make them even more effective. Once Deran Loshar was satisfied they were properly trained up, Elas would have them fully under his command to patrol Frasia or sort out any problem in the central area of the empire.

  Astiras ran his finger along the road to Turslenka. Thetos Olskan would continue to run Makenia and maintain a garrison in his city, but it was only a garrison force and one not capable of marching out to deal with a full-scale invasion. The news that was coming to him from merchants entering Bragal was that Venn were preparing for war, supplying their forward garrison at Rhan with weapons, armour and equipment. If Venn did move on the empire, they could come from two directions.

  The emperor looked at the jagged edge of the mountains running along the current frontier. Bragal was protected in the extreme east by the Pindar Mountains, but there was a gap directly east of Makenia, and the old imperial road ran through this gap into Epros. Epros was supposedly Kastanian but it had thrown off imperial rule a few years ago and had gone its own way ever since then. The efforts to regain Bragal had meant there were no resources to take Epros back, and that was unlikely in the near future, too. Venn could move in and occupy it, and then march up the old road into Makenia, and Turslenka’s garrison was not strong enough to stop them. If that happened then Astiras would have to call upon Elas Pelgion to supply him with troops to supplement his available forces he would march down the Storma Valley to come to Turslenka’s aid. That was the worst case scenario.

  The better of the two and the more likely was an invasion from Kral, to the south-east of Bragal. Kral was a rugged, mountainous region, rich in iron, gold and timber, but had only a few through-routes because of the mountains. Bandits and brigands were there in abundance, but Venn owned the region and had done so for a little while now. It had been imperial in times past, but Kastania no longer had the troops available to maintain it and it had slipped away as a result. Any Venn invasion would come from the supply point of Rhan and then cross the one route possible in northern central Kral and appear on the frontier of Bragal to the south-east of Zofela. If that happened Astiras could meet them head-on with his Army of the East.

  He pondered on the likely composition of a Venn army. They had heavy cavalry a-plenty, mounted knights who were used as shock troops, and their backbone were spearmen, similar to Kastanian armies. What they had and Kastania did not were crossbowmen. They had a tradition of these, nasty units that caused havoc. Crossbows were slower to reload than the war bow imperial troops had, but they had greater penetrative power. Astiras sucked on his lower lip. Sometimes the weather helped; his archers could unstring their bows and hide the strings under their helmets or caps to keep them dry in times of rain, but the crossbow had no way of unstringing. If it rained the crossbow lost much of its potency.

  Venn also had a large navy and it was almost certain that, should they move on Kastania, then their ships would sail into the Aester Sea to attack imperial shipping and block the trade routes. They would use their port at Irokon on the former Kastanian island of Cratia for basing their navy. The current imperial navy was hopelessly outnumbered and outclassed and unlikely to stop Venn from ruling the waves. The sooner Kastania found money to increase their navy the better.

  The one thing that made him feel good was the alliance with Mazag. If Kastania were attacked Mazag would, according to the terms of the alliance, come to their aid. Astiras made a mental note to write a letter to General Polak in Bukrat when he got back to Zofela, advising him of the military build-up of Venn at Rhan.

  He was pleased at the progress made since he had come to power but it was still far too slow. They needed to show their neighbours they were strong once more and not to be messed about with, but they were still terribly vulnerable in both east and west. He was happy to relinquish responsibility of the west to Jorqel, for he was certain his son would rule both Lodria and Bathenia competently, and he needed the practice for the day he ascended the throne.

  It meant he could concentrate on the east and Astiras was convinced it was here that the biggest danger lay. Not the west where traditionally bad things had happened, but the east. He felt it in his bones. The Tybar had gone quiet since taking Imakum and word was they were busy subduing Taboz which was taking longer than expected. They clearly didn’t see Kastania as a threat any more. They had beaten the imperial forces repeatedly and were happily settling into the lands taken over the past fifteen years. That took time and while that was happening they would not be in any fit state to launch a military campaign against Kastania. Good. That gave them time to build their forces up to meet whatever threat came their way. The emperor reckoned it would be another ten years before the Tybar were able to move in their direction. By that time Jorqel may well be emperor and hopefully ready to meet them on equal terms. But that depended on the east being quiet, and it meant there was plenty of work to do for Astiras in Bragal.

  What Kastania needed desperately now was ten years of peace, ten years during which time the finances could be brought up to something like a reasonable state and then some money could be spent on the army and navy. As it was, the situation was still fragile and the recent rebellion by the Duras showed that it wouldn’t take much to cause havoc by blocking just one or two supply points. They needed to keep the internal trade routes open and make more external ones available.

  His finger slowly crossed the Aester Sea. It came to rest just off the northern tip of Lodria where a small diamond-shaped island sat. Romos. Once a trading hub of Kastania, now a nest of slitherers. Pirates. Damn them all to eternal suffering. The routes to and from distant Zipria were constantly threatened by Romos and the ships by necessity sailed out wide from Efsia deep into the sea rather than taking the one they had traditionally in the past, the Romos Channel. To do so now was suicide; the narrow channel was infested with pirates and any ship was fair game. So ships had to sail longer and that increased costs. Even doing that was fraught with danger for the pirates sailed out far and wide to hunt easy targets.

  He sucked in his breath and straightened. Too much had been allowed to drift into decay by complacent emperors and their courts. Nothing like that would happen with the Koros, he was determined on that. Giving the map one last look he walked up the four steps towards the door, allowing the guards to open it, and then he was marching rapidly down the passageway, escorted by his usual group of six well-armed men.

  Vosgaris was still emotionally high from his time with Amne and was having difficulty in concentrating. His mind kept on wandering to her a
mple breasts and sweet mouth and the hope he could make love to her again. His mood was suddenly changed when Astiras barged into his cluttered office. “Captain, I want a full list of the personnel who are to come with us to Zofela.”

  “Ah, just a moment, sire,” Vosgaris hurriedly sought for the list he’d been compiling. It lay underneath a scroll containing how many uniforms were being packed on the wagons. That was another logistical nightmare. He passed the list to the impatiently waiting emperor.

  Astiras scanned it, trying to decipher the script. Vosgaris may be a decent planner but his writing was appalling. “What does this say, Captain?” he thrust the sheet at Vosgaris and rammed a stubby forefinger at a name.

  “Ah, Alenna Duras, sire.”

  Astiras glared at Vosgaris. “And what, pray tell me, is she doing here?”

  Vosgaris stammered out the whole story about Alenna’s co-operation and her part in siding against her family and her subsequent ostracising. “Your son, the prince, sire, has given his word that she is not to be harmed.”

  “Did he?” Astiras growled, his eyebrows meeting. “And why was I not informed?”

  Vosgaris stood straight to attention. Behind the emperor two of his personal guards stood there, smirking at the captain’s discomfort. “Sire, with what has been going on recently, what with the wedding and the plot to kill the Princess, it sort of got forgotten.”

  “’Sort of got forgotten’,” Astiras echoed slowly, fixing the captain with a very unfriendly stare. “A Duras in my palace, amongst my family, and it ‘sort of got forgotten’!”