Prince of Wrath

by Tony Roberts

  Lord Duras slammed an angry fist against the plank table. “The Black Pit I shall! My wife is dead to me – if I had an army I’d march it against that blighted place and burn it to the ground.”

  “And your wife along with it?” Volkanos asked, another hint of mockery in his voice. He saw the Duras as foolish incompetents, but he needed their name for the moment. If they proved more of a hindrance than a benefit, well he’d have them hung from the fort ramparts.

  “Fool – I’d rescue her first and nail the Koros to the town walls and burn them along with the town.”

  “Indeed. You do not have access to an army therefore that is irrelevant. You may be relieved to know that I in turn do not intend handing you over to the Koros, as I have been rather peremptorily ordered by this whelp.”

  Lord Duras bared his teeth. “You are so magnanimous.” The sentence almost broke in half through the sarcastic tone. “I will sleep much more deeply at night knowing this. So, Admiral Volkanos, what are your plans to counter the expected invasion from the Koros?”

  Volkanos leaned back and clasped his hands against his stomach. The slim figure of his younger years was long gone and a sizeable paunch now existed. Too much drink and easy living. Since he’d led the mutiny by cutting off the head of his own captain and taking command, he’d not seen much action. “We have seven ships capable of sailing at present- the other few are being keeled and caulked and should be ready by the spring. I don’t expect any invasion until after then. The imperial navy is of four ships and we should easily defeat them.”

  “They defeated Krasmik here and your other ship, did they not?”

  “Krasmik?” Volkanos turned to his surly subordinate.

  “They outnumbered us two-to-one. If they appear close to Romos we’ll pin them against the shore and smash them.”

  Volkanos smiled evilly. “The Koros know this too. How they intend getting here without being seen I have no idea. They have no capabilities in mounting an amphibious attack. Do you have any idea how long it takes to disembark an army onto land without the benefit of a harbour? It’ll take an entire day and we’ll be on them before they know it! I shall place watchmen at all points they are likely to land around the coast, and mount beacons to be lit to alert us here. The garrison can be ready to march in a watch’s time.”

  “And our part in this?” Lord Duras asked.

  “You may command a company of spearmen. I shall command the overall force of course. Between the garrison and the fleet we should easily crush these fools.”

  Nikos Duras stirred. “The Koros are not to be underestimated; twice I have raised substantial armies and they have been able to meet them with overwhelming numbers from somewhere. We know their Army of the West is at Slenna, a mere three day’s sail from Romos with a favourable wind, and they could land here in a short time indeed. They may be able to call upon these new mounted archers as well.”

  Lord Duras nodded, growling. “They used them to defeat Lombert Soul, so I was able to discover. The few survivors told me of their part in the battle.”

  Volkanos shook his head. “Lombert Soul was a fool. I have a company of archers, and they will be trained to shoot at moving targets. A man on equine back is a bigger target than a standing man, is he not? We will be fighting on home ground and they will be on foreign soil with a shaky supply line. Fear not, Lord Duras, we will be triumphant. Once we have defeated this Jorqel Koros and his puny army, we shall land the garrison at Efsia along with your good selves and you can besiege Slenna. I shall blockade Slenna from the sea and supply your army. Slenna should fall easily, especially if we hurl Jorqel Koros’ head over the ramparts.”

  Lord Duras grunted. “I would be happier if we had regulars rather than the militia here. We have learned hard lessons in the battles fought so far, Admiral. We need well-trained and motivated soldiers to take on the imperial army and defeat them.”

  Volkanos scowled. “Are you saying my men are not up to the task of seeing off the imperial forces that dare land here?”

  “No I do not believe they are.” As Volkanos rose up from his seat to argue, Lord Duras stood too, his hand upraised. “I have seen what you have here, poorly trained archers and two companies of militia. Hardly something to scare regulars, don’t you agree? And what do you have other than that? Sailors who haven’t seen proper discipline or training in over eight years! We need mercenaries.”

  Volkanos stood glaring at the nobleman. “And how are we going to pay for them? They are not cheap – and who will join us here on Romos? Venn? They are busy on Cratia making that place secure and are not yet interested here, and if they are then I think they would seek to conquer, not help! The Tybar? They hate water and will absolutely not cross over to us. Kastanians? No regulars will dare come here now, especially after your fall from grace amongst their society. My fleet is all that is keeping us safe here and that is how we will defeat them – our garrison will mop up what manages to land after my ships have dealt with the fools who try to invade us.”

  Duras snorted in disgust and sat down heavily. “Then you had better make sure your precious ships are ready to sail at a moment’s notice, for you won’t get very long as a warning.”

  Volkanos laughed nastily. “Once my scouts are in place all round the island, we will have plenty of warning.” He sat down and snapped his fingers to a young woman kneeling by the door. The woman rose and came over, walking lightly, her head bowed, her brief top hardly hiding her womanly charms. Volkanos pulled her onto his lap and began stroking her breasts. “Now we have discussed the matter enough. Krasmik, arrange the deployment of lookouts on all possible landing spots. Have beacons made in relays to the town.” He then turned to the others. “You may go and pass our plans onto your men. I have other things to attend to,” and he smiled at the half-revealed breasts of the woman.

  Once they were gone Volkanos took the woman, pushing her face down onto the table and roughly making free with her. The woman said nothing and merely lay there, legs spread, taking him. After he had sated himself he dismissed her and she stiffly made her way to her small room along the narrow and dark corridor.

  Once inside she moved to the single narrow slit of a window and looked out. The view was of the outer wall of the fort and the southern half of the town. Standing by one of the street corners was a dark figure, and he looked up as she peered out. She nodded once and the man pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning against and vanished. The woman knew he would be in the fort grounds the following morning, by which time she would have written everything she had heard at the meeting.

  She wanted the disgusting pirate leader and his odious men dead, and the man outside, Kiros, had promised her that when Prince Jorqel came he would smash the pirates and the girl could once more be with her farming family and no longer be the play thing of the Admiral.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Amne was pregnant. She could hardly believe it herself, but the announcement went out just as winter made its initial overture. For the second time that year imperial messengers rode far and wide, spreading the news. The Koros were laying down the beginnings of their next generation.

  Vosgaris walked in the crisp, chill air of the Bragalese winter morning, his nose and cheeks red. The ground was coated with a light dusting of snow and servants were sweeping it aside. The mountains around the rim of the valley were white with the darker tones of trees and sheer rock faces standing out starkly by contrast. A pile of equine dung sat steaming on the ground, the rich aroma coming to him along with the soiled hay being turfed out of the stables as the winter straw was being packed into its place.

  It was one of those mornings that lifted the spirits. The sun shone weakly from a low position just over the peak of the eastern rises, sending rays of yellow and red across the land. The gates opened underneath the gatehouse and a rider appeared, both the beast’s and rider’s breath clouding the air. The hoofs made a sharp sound on the stonework underneath the single arch. Vosgaris made his w
ay over, knowing he would be called anyway in a moment or so. He recognised the man as being a messenger from his previous visits.

  “Well met, soldier,” Vosgaris greeted him.

  The messenger slid off his mount, stood stock still and saluted, thumping his chest. Vosgaris gently returned the salute. “Sire, messages from Kastan City.”

  Vosgaris took the bundle and looked at them. “Anything I should know before I pass them on?”

  “Sire – Princess Amne is with child.”

  “Is she, by Kastan?” Vosgaris looked up in surprise. He wondered whether she would be or not – her activities had been plentiful and he’d been surprised she hadn’t fallen before now. He felt relieved; he hadn’t seen her for two cycles so he wouldn’t be the father. That would have put both her and him in a delicate situation. “Thank you. Go get fed and rested in our hall. You know where it is, don’t you?”

  “Sire,” the messenger saluted once more.

  The important thing now was to take the message to the emperor and empress. He climbed the steps to the keep entrance and entered the hall, turning left and going up the narrow wooden staircase to the next floor. By now things should be beginning to get under way for the day, so he went to the imperial office. Space being a premium here both emperor and empress shared the office with Frendicus and Pepil. All four were there, passing pieces of paper and parchment from one to the other, deciding who was to take charge of what.

  “Yes, Captain?” Astiras said testily as Vosgaris presented himself.

  “Sire, you should read this message from the capital.”

  “Oh?” Astiras took the yellowed parchment, sealed, and noted it was Amne’s writing. “It’s from Amne, dear,” he waved it at Isbel. As the empress came over Astiras broke the seal and unfolded it. The two read it together. Astiras barked out in laughter and Isbel gasped, her hands going to her face. “Oh! That’s wonderful!” Isbel exclaimed. The two embraced for a moment, laughing.

  “Get the flag out on the ramparts,” Astiras snapped to Vosgaris. “I want all to hear this. Get the town crier to announce it in the square.”

  “Sire.”

  “That’s two! Fantastic!” Astiras grinned, his testy mood dissipated. He glanced at Vosgaris who was still standing there. “Oh, remain here for a moment, I have to speak to you about your sister.”

  Vosgaris bowed. Vasila had been kept in Zofela since her escapade in Rhan, and was being trained up in theology. Vosgaris had been surprised since she hadn’t exactly been a religious type before, just one who paid lip service to the gods like most people. The emperor though clearly had a scheme on his mind.

  Pepil and Frendicus passed on their congratulations to the imperial couple too. Then they got down to business once more. Vosgaris passed the rest of the messages to Pepil who, as major domo, would need to sift through them first before passing them onto their recipients. Most were usually for his office to check through anyway, and non-personal appeals to the emperor or empress were handled by him and his clerks.

  Frendicus stood ready with a large tome in his hands. “Sire, if you would permit me, I now have the treasury figures for the second half of the year.”

  Astiras leaned back. “Go on. Tell me the worst.”

  Frendicus shook his head, smiling. “On the contrary, sire, we are in the black. The treasury is richer by another one thousand six hundred and five furims.”

  Astiras exchanged looks with Isbel. “What – even after our move to Zofela? That’s fabulous news! Two peces of good news this morning! What’s the third? Tybar has offered to hand back all the regions they’ve taken from us?”

  Vosgaris grinned. Even Isbel smiled. Frendicus examined the figures. “The treasury now has sixteen thousand two hundred and eighty five furims. We can afford to expend more on the projects the provinces are asking for.”

  “Such as?” Isbel beat Astiras to it.

  “Well, ma’am, sire, as you know the on-going works in a number of places are close to completion. Here, we have the mustering hall almost done and this will free up a lot of accommodation space in the castle. Prince Jorqel has written to us with the news that the roads in Lodria are almost finished, Prince Elas says the dock works and port improvements there and in Galan are complete, Governor Olskan reports the temple in Turslenka is finished and Governor Extonos has written to confirm the town hall is done in Niake. Oh, and Kornith has built their leather tannery for the garrison’s armour.”

  “Yes, yes,” Astiras said irritably, “so what are they asking for?”

  Frendicus assumed an expression of mild disapproval, staring at the words he had written beautifully in the tome. This was his master copy, the centre of imperial fiscal policy, and his clerks would copy from it and send out all financial edicts throughout the empire. “Prince Jorqel has suggested that, since he has a large number of manual workers still in the field from road building, he should keep them employed for another year by clearing wasteland throughout Lodria and converting it into arable fields.”

  Astiras pulled a face of thoughtful approval. “Can’t see why not. What’s he asking for?”

  “Six hundred.”

  “Give it to him. Six hundred is nothing.”

  Pepil faithfully scratched down every word on his scrolls. Isbel listened carefully, ready to intercede if she felt it necessary. Her time as de facto administrator of the empire during Astiras’ siege of Zofela had given her a fairly good feel for finances.

  “And Prince Elas in Kastan City?” Astiras asked, leaning back.

  “Sire – he wishes to establish an imperial spying school.”

  “I authorise such a thing,” Astiras growled, eyeing Frendicus sharply, “not Prince Elas!”

  “Perhaps you ought to write to him for further details, dear,” Isbel offered. “Offering to fund the building as long as the spies and administrators are appointed by yourself?”

  Astiras banged the desktop with a fist. “I’ll damn’ well tell him, not offer! Who does he think he is? What does this man want to fund it?”

  “Nine hundred, sire,” Frendicus said heavily.

  “Give him eight for being presumptuous, and tell him why,” he added, grinning fiercely. Frendicus nodded, a thin smile on his lips. Isbel sighed and looked at Vosgaris who held his expression but rolled his eyes briefly. Isbel smothered a smile.

  “What about that old bastard Thetos in Turslenka?” Astiras asked, flinging an arm over his raised knee and sinking even further in his chair.

  “Governor Olskan requests a rebuild of the old town hall which he says is falling down. Wood borers have infested it and it will have to be burned down, sire.”

  “Oh, by the gods, who let that happen?” Astiras moaned. “That can spread like the pox in a cheap brothel.”

  “Astiras!” Isbel scolded.

  “Not that I’ve been there, dear,” Astiras added hastily.

  “I should think not! I don’t want to hear such talk, if you don’t mind.”

  Astiras mimicked biting in mid-air and Isbel lowered her head, a tinge of colour staining her cheeks. The emperor waved a lazy hand. “Price?”

  “Twelve hundred, sire.”

  Astiras puffed out his cheeks. “So much? Tell him to get some local disaffected rebellious Duras supporters to burn it down free of charge. Maybe if we’re lucky they’ll burn themselves too.”

  “Not funny, dear,” Isbel said. “It’s worth it – that old town hall is an eyesore. I passed it on my way here. Putting a new building there would improve the look of the city.”

  The emperor waved his hand again. “Granted. Now, what of Evas Extonos in Niake?”

  Frendicus peered at another entry. “A market.”

  “Niake has one already, surely!”

  “Sire, he asks for a dedicated place just off the main square. Some old buildings need clearing and in there they propose to build an entirely new market, bigger and better. Governor Extonos anticipates greater trade with the opening up of Lodria and the Tybar realm.�
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  “And what is he asking for?”

  “Fourteen hundred, sire.”

  Astiras snorted in amusement. “I detect the hand of that scoundrel of yours, dear, what’s his name?”

  “Demtro Kalfas, and he’s not mine.” Isbel held her husband’s gaze for a moment. “But I agree, I suspect he has influenced Governor Extonos.”

  “A two day old child could influence that weathervane,” Astiras grumbled. “Give him twelve hundred, the same as Governor Olskan.”

  Both Frendicus and Pepil nodded and scribbled away. Vosgaris shifted his weight. It was interesting listening to all this but he had duties to perform and standing there like a statue was wasting his time.

  “So what does that leave us, Frendicus?” Astiras demanded.

  “Kornith request funding for a war machine workshop.”

  Astiras leaned forward with interest. “They what?” Everyone took interest in that.

  Frendicus consulted his scribblings. “Kornith worry about their exposed position in relation to Venn. A workshop could provide machines for war. Apparently the empire used to have the expertise but have lost them.”

  “And who is going to show them how to make all this? All who could are now long dead.”

  “I am told sire that a renegade from Talia arrived a few cycles ago and advised the fort commander what they were deficient in and stated his profession was building war machines.”

  “Cost?”

  “Ah, uh, sixteen hundred including the salary of the Talian, sire.”

  Astiras looked at Isbel. She shrugged. It was the emperor’s call being military in nature. Astiras scratched his jaw. “I want to know more about this Talian. Say yes, provided he gets my approval.”