Prince of Wrath

by Tony Roberts

  Clora sucked in her breath in shock. “Oh, nobody could look more beautiful than Sannia – oh, sorry, Princess Sannia.”

  Sannia laughed. “Princess Sannia – I’m going to have to get used to that fairly quickly, I can see.”

  “Please do, since that is your title now,” Jorqel said mock severely, then smiled to lighten his tone. “In fact, the senior princess of the empire.”

  Eyes switched to Amne who was across the room, talking to the former High Priest who looked slightly uncomfortable in her presence. “You think she likes that?” Demtro asked the question the others were thinking of but didn’t dare speak.

  “She will,” Jorqel said neutrally. “I think at the moment it’s Burnas who looks as if he’d prefer not to be here.”

  “Ah, the old kroll can give as much as he gets,” Demtro observed, “I wouldn’t worry about him unduly.”

  “Old kroll?” Sannia repeated, slightly shocked, “Demtro Kalfas, such disrespect!”

  Demtro grinned. “He’s thick-skinned, like water off a water-avian’s back. We’ve, ah, exchanged opinions of each other fairly frequently in the past. He’s doing our wedding later this year, so he can’t dislike me, can he? In fact, we’re like squabbling brothers.”

  “I can see a faint resemblance,” Jorqel said with a straight face. Sannia dissolved into giggles. Demtro looked shocked for a moment, then grinned. Clora merely looked confused.

  “I’ll explain it later, dear,” Demtro patted Clora’s hand.

  Amne came over with the High Priest and kissed both newly-weds on the cheeks. “You’re the perfect couple,” she said. “You both look amazing. I hope you have a long and loving marriage.”

  “Thank you, Amne,” Sannia said, slightly relieved there didn’t seem to be any edge to her words. She decided not to ask if her marriage was going well, since she had been told by Jorqel it wasn’t.

  “So,” Amne said, lengthening the word, “what are your immediate plans? Rebuilding Slenna seems to have gone well.”

  Jorqel pursed his lips. “True, but Lodria has been neglected for too long. It needs all the roads repaired which is what I’m organising at this moment. I’m also seeking to train up more of the mounted archers as father has done in Kastan City. They were very useful in helping defeat Lombert Soul. I was very impressed with them, so if we can get a group of them to patrol Lodria, it will ease the logistics in making sure the roads in this region are safe.”

  Amne nodded. “They helped save Lalaas and me from the Fokis brigands as well.” She looked round for her bodyguard, and he was stood stiffly by the doorway.

  “Doesn’t look that comfortable, does he?” Jorqel commented.

  “Oh, he’s not one for these social occasions,” Amne replied. “But none are better with the sword, or bow, that I’ve seen.”

  “And you, Amne, what are your immediate plans?” Sannia asked.

  “Oh, being a faithful wife to Prince Elas,” the princess smiled widely. “I must get out more and see the rest of the Empire. Poor Pelponia or even Zipria, they’ve not had much attention these past few years from us, have they? Perhaps if I made a visit that would put their minds at rest.”

  “Zipria? That’s risky, isn’t it?” Jorqel frowned. “What with all the pirates on the loose between here and there. Any ship is extremely vulnerable to those vermin.”

  “Hmmm, perhaps not Zipria then, but certainly Pelponia. I’ll suggest it to my darling husband who I’m sure will agree to it; he’s very good at letting me out of the palace to visit places like Slenna,” she smiled falsely again.

  “I’m sure Prince Elas has your best interests at heart, sis,” Jorqel said, eyeing her sharply.

  “Mmm, I’m sure he does. And you must be Clora,” she switched suddenly, fixing the blushing girl with her biggest stare, “what a beautiful dress. You must tell me who made it; I’d love one in that design!”

  “Oh, Princess, it-it was designed by Demtro here, my betrothed.”

  Amne looked at Demtro and appraised him quickly, running her eyes up and down him. The inference wasn’t lost on Demtro. He bowed low and took her proffered hand and kissed it. “Ma’am, delighted to meet you.”

  “Mother’s chief spy in Niake. At last we meet.”

  “I prefer the title agent. I do some clandestine work for the Empress from time to time but my chief role is a merchant in fabrics, mostly wormspun, as you can see from Clora’s outfit.”

  “Spy, as I said. Mother is devious, you know. A handsome man; charming, too, by the sound of it,” she roved her eyes over him once more. “I can see why mother employed you to gain information for her. She set you to keep an eye on Burnas over there? Now there’s someone who needs constant watching, doesn’t he?”

  Demtro decided to play her straight. Clora pressed against him for reassurance and he squeezed her arm. “I have been asked to make sure the former High Priest does not pursue any anti-Koros policy. He has been busy in Niake, rebuilding the people’s trust in the gods, and I believe he has been moderately successful in that. Apart from that – well I was asked to help in bringing down Lombert Soul and with the help of Clora here who put her life in danger, we did manage to thwart his plans.”

  “And save my life at the same time,” Sannia said, beaming at Clora who blushed again and lowered her head.

  “You must tell me everything, Clora; it sounds such an exciting tale – don’t blush, I want all the gory details, not like the watered down version I would hear from Princess Sannia or my brother here.” She took Clora by the arm and led her away, dragging the reluctant girl with her.

  Sannia sighed once they were out of hearing. “Poor Clora, she’ll be rather efficiently interrogated, I fear. You’ll have to rescue her, you know, Demtro.”

  “Let her enjoy herself,” Jorqel said irritably. “At least she won’t be bothering any of the male guests if she’s busy gaining gossip from Clora.”

  Sannia punched Jorqel on the arm. “Don’t be naughty about your sister.”

  “I’m not being naughty,” Jorqel protested, “I just wish she wasn’t.”

  Demtro excused himself and wandered off. He ended up next to the scowling former High Priest. “Thought I’d find you close to the alcohol, Burnas, you wicked man.”

  “How dare you infer that I partake of that brew, Kalfas. Really, your disrespect shows no boundaries.”

  “Like to live up to my reputation as you know. Nice ceremony, by the way.”

  Burnas glanced at Demtro, but the merchant seemed to be sincere in what he had said. “Why, thank you. I trust the Koros will regard me in a better light as a result.”

  “I’m sure they do, else why would they entrust you with such an important function? You must not think you have been forgotten; they constantly write to me from the palace asking how you are and are you doing good work on behalf of the gods, and I reassure them that there is no more dedicated servant of the gods than yourself.”

  “The trouble with you, Demtro Kalfas, is that I do not know when you are being serious and when you are being facetious. I have learned to treat everything you say with more than a touch of doubt.”

  Demtro put a hand to his heart. “Oh, Burnas, you wound me deeply! Only a few moments ago I was in conversation with the beautiful Princess Amne and she was asking after you. If you don’t believe me, go ask the newly-weds, they will confirm it.”

  “I shall most certainly do that! Excuse me,” and the cleric made for the duo, leaving Demtro grinning to himself by the drinks cabinet. He swiftly picked up another vinefruit glass, brimming with a light red liquid, and moved off, looking for someone else to strike up a conversation with – perhaps a local merchant whom he could establish a trading link with. Trade was the lifeblood of the empire and it was time he started doing what he ought to, rather than waste time exchanging unpleasantries with disgraced former High Priests.

  When the guests had mostly gone and only the die-hards or bodyguards remained, Amne came gliding up to Jorqel and Sannia. San
nia was looking tired and Jorqel was thinking of taking her to their room. Time to behave like a newly-wed husband, in fact. “Ah, you’re still here, good. I almost forgot, by the way, I have a gift from father for you, brother.”

  Jorqel looked surprised. Amne waved Lalaas over. The bodyguard came across, eyeing the few remaining people as he did. “Lalaas, give me that scroll from the Emperor.”

  The bodyguard pulled out a roll from his belt, slightly creased, with a red ribbon tying it in the middle and a red seal affixed to it with the moniker of the Koros crest on it. Amne smiled her thanks and handed it to Jorqel with a flourish. “You see, I’m more than just a guest; I’m also a messenger.”

  Jorqel eyed her for a moment, then broke the seal and pulled off the ribbon impatiently. He unrolled the parchment and scanned the writing. He broke out into a wide beam of pleased surprise. “Oh, ho! Father has agreed….” he lowered his voice so the two women had to step closer, “he has agreed to allow me to invade and reconquer Romos for the Empire. I am to arrange the time and so forth on my own behalf. It has been sanctioned by the Council in Zofela! Great news! Oh that is perfect! I must write to father. You will take this to him?”

  Amne thought about that. Go to Zofela? Vosgaris…….. “Of course! I would love to see Zofela again, especially after father has tidied it up. Lalaas and I saw it before it was taken, and oh was it a dreadful sight! I still think of it like that, and it would be better if I had a better memory of the place."

  Jorqel grinned, his spirits revived by the news. “Then I have another set of plans to make in the near future. Now we can begin to end the scourge of the pirates once and for all! Thank you, sis!” and he grabbed a surprised Amne and kissed her on the cheek. Amne grinned and held him, and Jorqel put his mouth to her ear and whispered softly into it. “If you need my help for anything, just ask me, mm?”

  Amne leaned back, a quizzical look on her face, then she smiled slightly. They broke the embrace. “Still looking out for me? I’ll be alright, brother, but thank you anyway.”

  Jorqel wondered whether she would be, despite her gaily spoken words, but left it at that. Later, when he and Sannia had retired from the reception, leaving the drunk and their guardians to finish off, and gone to their chamber in the castle keep, Jorqel lay with Sannia in his arms thinking of the future. His wife lay snuggled up to him, sleeping quietly. It had been a very important day for not only him and Sannia, but for everyone. Finally, so it seemed, the dynasty was settling down and forming a firm foundation. He just hoped they would be allowed to continue, but he worried that outside factors would try to prevent it.

  He looked at the soft features of the woman in his arms. Making love with her had been a tender, wonderful experience and he knew in his heart that he would be happy with her. She was almost too good to be true, yet he could feel it in his bones that whatever happened to them, Sannia would be with him for the rest of their lives. It comforted him. She would have to be his biggest support and confidant, for what he intended in years to come would take an enormous amount of time and effort, and he feared he may have to become more like his father if he were to pull Kastania back up onto its feet and face the rest of the world as an equal. There were so many people within Kastania who did not wish to make the effort and were resigned to being subjects of another power, or they did not wish anyone other than themselves to rule and would destroy everything in order to achieve this. His father was an iron-willed man with a single-minded purpose, and that was fine as far as that went, but eventually one would have to widen one’s horizons if one wished to preserve what had been built.

  History was littered with great empires built by one man only to crumble to nothing once this man passed away. Was today’s Kastania one of those entities? Was it really destined to fall once Astiras Koros died? Jorqel did not want to think that was the case – for he was the heir and under him he wanted to create a new Kastania, a vibrant, self-sustaining entity. That would take time and sacrifice, and he wondered just how many others were prepared to go down that route. He suspected not many.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The sea stretched ahead towards the narrowing jaws that marked the entrance to the Straights of Kastan, the gateway to the capital of the empire. This was where east met west, where both land masses converged and were separated by a narrow passage of water, the central conduit of trade for the empire for centuries. Ships had plied these waters for as long as there had been settlements in the region, and over the course of the history of Kastania this traffic had increased with more and more ships sailing to various destinations.

  Of late this had died away with the decline of Kastania, but now there seemed to be a small revival, and more ships were starting to travel once more to destinations they had not for a number of years. Of course, hazards remained, and ships had to take these risks or else there was no money to be made. The hazards added to the cost of transportation, for mercenaries had to be hired or better protection for the ships purchased, depending on the hazard.

  The ‘pirate run’ was the worst of the lot, ships sailing from Zipria to the Aester Sea. No course was safe, but the one that looped away from the Amrian Coast and Romos was the safest, however it was also the longest, and that added cost to the journey. Ships had to endure the more open and deeper seas as a result, and that also took them perilously close to waters now claimed by Venn, based on the large island of Cratia to the east of Romos. Pirates could either wait on Romos and spot ships trying to sneak through the narrow channel between their island and the coast of Lodria, or sail out east and scour the waves in between the islands for prey.

  To Admiral Drakan the pirates were a nuisance and a headache. His pitifully small fleet, of a mere two ships, could only do so much. Drakan scratched his beard aboard his ship, Zephyr’s Kiss, and studied the horizon to the north. For days now they had been expecting a merchant ship from Zipria, carrying a cargo of timber and foodstuffs, plus the courier messages. He had been specifically ordered by the emperor’s council to watch for it and do everything possible to ensure it arrived safely.

  He had been given a range of days between which it would be expected to appear, and the course would be well to the east of Romos and away from the coast of Lodria, ensuring no-one on land could see it and report it to those who wished to capture it for their own profit. Drakan, a huge barrel chested man with a weather beaten face and bushy eyebrows, leaned on the rail of his bridge and glared at the smooth waters. “Where the burning abyss are you?”

  His first mate, a tanned, lean fellow with thick arms and a serious demeanour, grunted in response. “Perhaps pirates got them? Or a storm, maybe?”

  “No storm I know of – at least on this side of Romos anyway. I dare say if there had been one on the Ziprian side then we would have felt the after effects, don’t you think?”

  “True. Pirates, then?”

  “Damn their hides. If I catch one I’ll nail him to my main mast! May they all rot in the afterlife forevermore. If I had just a few of their fleet, I’d run them from these waters.”

  “Former Kastanian navy, weren’t they, Captain?”

  “Aye, traitors! Cast their lot with a life of brigandry they did – took the island and made it a haven of vice and sin. I hear the former governor was made a slave of the pirate chief and his wife turned into a harlot to service his crew. If I get my hands….”

  His often repeated vow was interrupted from a shout from the crow’s nest high in the rigging of the main mast. “Sail ho!”

  “Where, sail?” Draken demanded, roaring mightily. He put a hand to his brow and peered over the wide expanse of water.

  “Starboard bow, low on the horizon – white sail.”

  “White sail, you say?” Drakan said in disbelief. Damned fools, a white sail was the worst colour to use. Why not a blue one or maybe even green? Who in Kastan thought to do that? Their own sails were deep red, to signify their imperial service. It was a relic of the time the empire had been Somorran, for the S
omorran Empire’s military colours had been red. The army had changed to purple and white after the civil war, but the navy had retained their old colours, citing superstition. It was bad luck to change colours and so on. Once the Somorran Empire had collapsed and vanished, there hadn’t been any need to change since there was no identity problem anymore, so the emperors had allowed it to stand.

  “Aye, cap’n,” the lookout hollered down. “Making straight for us by the looks of things! She has the breeze.”

  “Look for’ard you lot!” Drakan boomed. “I want an identity as soon as you make it out.” He turned to the bo’sun standing on the main deck below. “Send a message to the Aester Rider, sail spotted due north.”

  The bo’sun saluted and ran to organise the flags to be sent up the main mast. A couple of stadia’s distance to port the other ship in Drakan’s command rolled gently in the waves, the crew similarly on watch for the merchant vessel.

  “Crew, alert stations,” Drakan ordered. The first mate passed the order on and men ran to their positions, manning the onboard javelin shooters, while others manned the fo’c’sle and poop decks, armed with bows. Other men picked out their weapons of preference from the racks – axes, swords, boat hooks with deadly modifications and so on.

  “Two-master, merchant ship by her lines,” the lookout’s voice floated down. “She’s being pursued. Triple master, red and black sails.”

  “Pirates!” Drakan snapped. “Full alert, battle stations! Get us under way, Mister Lambust,” he growled to the first mate. “Signal Aester Rider, pirates in pursuit, intercept.”

  Drakan rubbed his hands together. Now, finally, he would get his wish. No pirate had been seen this far south before; they must be getting bolder, or more desperate. The merchant ship would have been made ready for a fast trip, so it was likely the pirates had been chasing them for some time. No ordinary ship could possibly out strip a pirate cutter for very long, and sleeker vessels had to be used to try to outpace them.