Prince of Wrath

by Tony Roberts

  “He’s running the risk of being caught, sire, every time he leaves Romos port.”

  “Somehow I think he’ll have arranged a cover that won’t arouse suspicion. Come on, I’ve prattled on enough; I’m thirsty.”

  The two made their way up the wooden staircase to the keep, still chatting. Within the castle keep the accommodation was divided into three levels; the main level for the dining room and stores. Above this were the day offices and a small guardroom for those on duty that day, and above that the sleeping chambers for the prince and his immediate circle.

  Sannia was in the office, a room that overlooked the town, and smiled at the two as they entered. “Oh, there you are. I wondered where you had got to.”

  “Bad business with the pirates,” Jorqel said briefly, waving Gavan to go sort out the issues they had been talking about.

  “Oh, Henne is tired again,” Sannia said, stopping Gavan in his tracks. “I think it best you leave her alone for a while.”

  Jorqel frowned. “What’s going on?”

  Sannia pursed her lips. “My personal maid is being – visited – by your man there every night and she’s not getting much sleep. She can hardly attend her duties, you know.”

  “Gavan, go easy on the girl; I won’t have you affecting the smooth running of my household just because you can’t keep it in your pants. If needs be go vent your passion on some willing maid in the town. There’s plenty more now.”

  Gavan grinned. “She likes me too much, that’s her trouble.” He saw the newly-weds’ expressions and his face changed. “Ah, yes. I’ll go easy on her, but we do like each other.”

  “Another wedding, then?” Jorqel raised one eyebrow.

  Gavan’s face underwent another change. “The maids in the town seem a good choice, sire. I’ll tell her I’ve been told to let her sleep.”

  Sannia shook her head as Gavan left. “He’s terrible – a one-man woman ravaging horde. You know he did it with at least three women during our reception?”

  “I am aware of his reputation, dear; I’ve known him for ten years or more.”

  “I hope he doesn’t influence you, Jorqel Koros.”

  “And if he does, Sannia Koros? Guess who’ll receive the ravishing?”

  Sannia’s cheeks went red. “Oh, keep your voice down!”

  Jorqel sat on the corner of the desk and picked up a sheaf of papers. “I’ll say what I like; I’m governor and heir to the throne of Kastan. Only the emperor may command me.”

  “And I?”

  Jorqel grinned. “You may ask me, but that’s as far as it goes. So,” he looked at the squiggles and marks on the first sheet, “the balance sheet for the road gangs is showing a reasonable amount of progress. The stretch from Efsia to Slenna is done, and they’re working on going to the Bathenian frontier next.”

  “Indeed. I hope its done by the autumn equinox, as I’m off to Niake to attend Clora’s wedding.”

  “Oh, yes, that. Make sure you have a proper escort. Ten men at least. I don’t want you abducted again; that still makes my blood boil.”

  Sannia smiled and held his hand. “I know; don’t worry, it’ll be fine. There are no brigands in Lodria now, are there?”

  Jorqel grunted and pushed off the desk. On one wall was a crudely drawn map of Lodria, in simplistic form. He waved at the central and southern regions. “As far as the heavily populated regions go, no. But,” and he waved at the north and west regions, marked with hills and mountains, “here I don’t know. As long as Romos remains in the hands of the Duras and the pirates then our northern coast is vulnerable to their attacks. And the west?” he snorted. “We haven’t properly sorted out with the Tybar where the border actually runs. Perfect bandit country. We’ll need to secure the Kaprenian Highway at our end if trade is to flow. That’s one reason I’m pushing the road repairs through so fast. As the gangs go along that road they’ll set up small relay stations where a couple of soldiers will be housed on a rotational basis. We really need a fort up there but they cost money and if we did that now the Tybar would be jumping up and down, accusing us of an aggressive move.”

  “Oh, you men with your sword waving! Can’t you just trust one another?”

  “Not possible my love. They’re dedicated to conquering our lands, and this trade deal is just a brief pause as they regain their strength and consolidate themselves in the lands they’ve recently conquered. I hear they’ve just taken Taboz, by the way.”

  “Oh, when was that?”

  “Last few days. A messenger came in from Niake. A few refugees landed on the Balq Sea coast of Bathenia and brought the news to Niake from there.”

  “So that’s another conquest for them, then? When will they stop?”

  Jorqel shook his head. “Not until all our lands are theirs, that’s for sure. We need to watch our frontiers even more closely now. I expect Tobralus to cause some problems for them for a while so they’ll need to garrison it quite heavily. They may not be able to raise an army on our borders for some time. Then there’s Amria to the north; it’s still independent and going its own way but both Epatam and the Tybar covet it.”

  “But that’s an imperial territory, darling. Can’t we go to their assistance?”

  “We couldn’t help Tobralus, and Amria isn’t culturally Kastanian any more. Remember the Amrians are similar to the Bragalese, fierce, independent people who wouldn’t want Kastanian rule. Tobralus is Kastanian, and all right they declared themselves independent from the emperors but that was down to the factionalism and in-fighting here; I couldn’t blame them, but they should have asked for help once the Tybar threatened their frontier.”

  “And would we have helped them?”

  Jorqel scratched his jaw. “I don’t know. Now, yes we could. Two years ago, no.”

  “You honestly think we could face off the Tybar?” Sannia sounded surprised.

  “I don’t really know that one, either. We’d give them a better fight than before, that’s for sure, but whether we have the capacity and confidence to take them on in a war, that’s another thing entirely. We would have offered to protect Tobralus in return for them accepting the rule of the emperors again. What the Tybar would have done if that happened is anyone’s guess.”

  Sannia made no comment on that – military matters were beyond her grasp. She was more concerned with things closer to home. “What about the pirate threat and the Duras alliance? I had hoped they would be finished by now, but they seem to be harder to finish off than creeper weed.”

  Jorqel nodded. Creeper weed was a particularly virulent species of plant that grew thickly and spread voraciously and was difficult to eliminate once established. Farmers in particular hated it. “Rest assured, Sannia, I won’t give up in my quest to rid the empire of their presence. Now the Council has recognised the depth of their evil, nobody will dare defend them publically, not even the Fokis. The pirates won’t be a problem as far as I’m concerned; I’m intending landing on Romos next year and will take their base.” He gave her brief details. “Once I have taken it, I will of course call for you to join me there.”

  “But who will take care of matters here in your absence? Surely I should remain behind?”

  Jorqel shook his head. “The castellan is perfectly capable of keeping matters running here – I can always send him orders. I do not wish for us to be parted, my love, and I would much prefer to have you with me rather than being apart.”

  Sannia smiled, her face lighting up. Jorqel wondered whether the running of Slenna could wait for a short while, while he took his wife to their bed chamber.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The arrival of Isbel and the contingent from Turslenka brought Zofela into a ferment. More bunting was found and hastily thrown up and the populace, now mostly comprising of Kastanians, cheered the arrival of the three wagons. Astiras, warned already by messenger of the events in the foothills of the Bakranian Mountains, had supplied an escort through most of the journey through Bragal, and he embraced Isbel as
she emerged from her transport. He then hugged Argan who followed quickly. The boy smiled, then after he was put down, looked around in wonder at the settlement.

  Zofela seemed a rough place. Most of it was wood, not stone. The air seemed different, too. Sort of colder and fresher. The castle interested him; it was dark and tall but made out of wood just like the walls and most of the buildings. The people seemed no different than in Kastan or Turslenka, though. He walked stiffly after his parents and smiled as he caught sight of Vosgaris standing by the steps leading up to the entrance.

  “Hello, Vos’gis,” he greeted the captain.

  “Well, young Prince, it’s wonderful to see you again, and in much better health than when I last saw you! How’s the head?”

  “Good, thanks!” Argan said brightly, his eyes full of wonder at the surroundings. “Wow, is this really the place father had surrounded for all those years?”

  “Yes it is, Prince Argan. It’s been tidied up a lot, and the rebels are no more.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Shall we leave that to another day, Argan?” Astiras said, turning round. “I want to show you your new quarters. I want to speak to you and see just how well and tall you’ve become! Follow me.” He grinned and, still holding his wife by her waist, led the boy along a wide passage into a huge hall with tall balconies, stout pillars and staircases leading up to the balconies. “The banqueting hall,” Astiras waved a hand grandly. “With our family crest restored, see?” he pointed at a wooden corbel that had the Koros crest gaily painted on it. “We’ve removed all traces of the Bragalese symbols. I don’t want our home tainted by that rubbish.”

  Isbel said little; she was tired and emotionally drained after the journey and seeing her husband once more. She meekly allowed him to pull her along up the stout looking staircase, noting all the same how polished it was. It smelt of freshly applied oils. She sniffed deeply.

  “Evergreen arbor, or so I’m told,” Astiras said. “I told them to tart the place up; after all, its not every day an empress comes here, is it?”

  “You’re very kind, Astiras,” Isbel said softly. “I like the smell.”

  “Beats equine droppings, eh?” Astiras replied. Argan giggled, his hand to his mouth.

  “Astiras!” Isbel said with disapproval.

  “Oops, best behaviour from now on,” Astiras quipped.

  “Oh, you’re too much! What’s up with you?”

  “What’s up? Why, my gorgeous wife is in my arms! I’m going to take you to our chamber and…..”

  “Ssshhh!” Isbel put her finger to her lips, shocked.

  “What? I was going to say and show you our decorations! Don’t know what you were thinking of,” he said, affecting shock, and winked outrageously, in full view of Isbel, at Vosgaris.

  Isbel gasped in outrage. “Astiras! What is the matter with you?”

  The emperor chuckled. “I’ve not seen you for too long. We’ve got a lot to catch up on, and I’m relieved you’ve made it here, especially in light of what happened back in Makenia. I’ll show you our rooms and you can have a good look around and get used to them. While you do that I’ll take the opportunity to chat to our son here.”

  The empress relaxed slightly. “Well, yes that seems sensible,” she looked warily at her husband.

  Astiras leaned close to her and whispered in her ear. Isbel gasped and went red. She wriggled free of his grip and looked wildly at him. She said nothing, but Vosgaris caught her eye and his lips twitched. Isbel went to say something, then pursed her lips.

  “What is the matter, mother?” Argan asked, looking confused.

  “Nothing, Argan. Your father just whispered something secret to me.”

  “What secret?”

  “Ah,” Astiras put a finger alongside his nose, “if you knew it would not be a secret now, would it? While your mother goes to her chambers, I’ll show you yours and we can have a chat about things, alright?”

  “Yes, father,” Argan nodded. He noticed they were now in a cross corridor where two passages met. Along both passages there were doors on one side and opposite them narrow slits in the wall that let in daylight.

  “Captain, you may show the empress our chamber while I take my son to his.”

  Vosgaris thumped his chest. “Ma’am, follow me, if you may.”

  Isbel kissed Astiras lightly and followed the captain along the right hand passageway. They passed a guard standing to attention, then went on past two doors. At the third, marked with the Koros crest, Vosgaris stopped and twisted the door handle. “Ma’am, your chambers.”

  Isbel smiled and looked in as the door opened. “Oh,” she said, leading Vosgaris in. The room was large and had a wide window with shutters opposite, and one other door to the left. There were tables and chairs and cabinets and chests dotted about.

  “The day quarters. Your bedroom chamber is beyond.”

  “Thank you, Captain, I think that will be all.”

  Vosgaris bowed and backed away a step, then stopped. “It is nice to see you again, ma’am.”

  Isbel regarded Vosgaris for a moment, then smiled slightly. “As it is to see you again, Captain. I trust all is well here?”

  “Indeed, ma’am. Your husband will bring you up to date with events, no doubt.”

  Their eyes met for a moment, and held, then Vosgaris closed the door slowly. Isbel breathed out and shook her head slightly. She began to inspect the room and décor, making mental notes of what to change or do away with. Meanwhile, Astiras had gone down the other passageway, past another guard, and pushed open the second door. “Here we are, Argan, your room.”

  Argan wandered in, looking round at everything. The room was a smaller one than he had in Kastan, and was of wood. There was a bed, a small table, a couple of chairs and a box. He smiled when he saw his castle on the floor in the corner. There was an opening across the far side of the room. “Where does that go, father?”

  “That is your garderobe. For you to go to the toilet. Go have a look.”

  Argan was gone for a few moments, then he returned to see his father sat on the edge of the bed. “A funny little place,” he commented.

  “What we call functional. Warriors don’t worry about hardships, and I want you to become a good warrior, Argan.”

  “Yes, father. I’m told I must be strong and brave.”

  Astiras grinned and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Come, sit down. Now, tell me, are you better? Are there any pains you have in your head anymore?”

  “No, father. They are gone. Metila did a very good job of healing me. I feel better than ever! Panat had been training me all through the journey to get stronger legs and lungs. I don’t get puffed out,” he added.

  Astiras nodded, a proud look in his eyes. “Your brother Istan is behaving himself better now, by the way. I hope the two of you get on better than before. You think you can do that?”

  “I hope so too, father. He was always nasty to me.”

  “Yes,” Astiras sighed, “he was. But that’s to stop now. So, your tutoring will resume tomorrow. Mr. Sen has quarters lower down and that is where your classroom will be. We will also arrange for riding lessons shortly.”

  “Oh, really, father? Oh thank you!”

  Astiras was quite taken aback by the enthusiasm of Argan’s reaction. There again, he hadn’t really enjoyed much free time with him in recent years. There had always been something getting in the way – a war, a crisis, some event or something. He looked at his son; the boy seemed taller and less like a child than he had been in Kastan City. It wouldn’t be long now to his eighth birthday, and in a few years he would be entering his adolescence. It was time to begin teaching him aspects of rule; even if Argan didn’t end up as emperor, he would certainly become a provincial governor somewhere and need to know how to rule and have an efficient group of advisors and compatriots around him. “Argan, we are no longer in Kastan, we are now in Zofela, and we do things slightly different here. This is a fortress – or, at the m
oment just a fortified town, but I have plans to make it into a fortress in the near future. Things will be harder, more basic and tougher here, and we won’t have as many comforts. You understand?”

  “Not so many rugs and wall things, uhh…?”

  “Tapestries,” Astiras said, smiling.

  “Yes, them. Is that what you mean, father?”

  Astiras chuckled. “Partly. Also not as many servants and rich clothing. I don’t like that anyway; I’m more of a soldier than a courtier. I prefer to be out here on the frontier. It means I can keep my eye on what’s going on over the borders better.”

  “There are more guards around. Lots outside.”

  “You’re right; even though the war is over, I don’t think we’ve finished all Bragalese thoughts of rebellion. All I’ve done is to scatter the remaining rebels to the south and east. We hold the middle and north under our control.”

  “What about the west?” Argan asked, looking intently up at his father. It was the first time he could remember his father had spoken to him like this, and he was enjoying it.

  “Oh, that’s just a wilderness – swamps, forests and hills. No roads. Your sister went that way when she and Lalaas travelled through Bragal. Nobody is bothered about that part – yet. I shall make efforts in a few years’ time but not now. I have other things to take up my time. So, as I said, we’re in Zofela and I want you to learn about how to rule a province. With the Bragalese you have to be strong and firm; they look on kindness as a weakness and they despise it – and the person who is kind.”

  Argan frowned. “But isn’t that cruel?”

  “Some would say that, but believe me, the Bragalese need strong leadership. That is how their own society is formed. They have a tough leader who keeps the rest under his control by brute force, and they respect that. The moment that leader shows any weakness, then those below him try to kill him and take his place. That was our mistake in the beginning; we were too soft with them and once they had enough numbers they rose up and tried to get rid of us. I saw the only way to keep Bragal was to be as tough and hard as they were, and it worked. Now, the Bragalese respect me and recognise me as a leader. They might not like me, but they respect me and pay me due deference.”