by Tony Roberts
By that time she should be strong enough to move on. Where she would go, without a man or home, was anyone’s guess, but the poor community here that had taken her in could not feed or care for her forever. They had their own food to grow and store, and their existence to worry about. The Kastanians had recently returned to the district and were already sending out administrators, assessing the taxable value of everything.
For Metila, this time was precious. She knew she would have to leave the boy somewhere soon, and this was a problem she would have to consider. The child was the son of Astiras and therefore was of imperial blood. He was also half Bragalese, so perhaps could be one accepted by the local population. Maybe in the future the boy could grow into a fine leader who could at last lead Bragal to independence and drive the Kastanians from their soil. It was a good dream. She had taken advantage of the situation on a whim, and now she had done her duty and produced a male who was both of imperial and Bragalese blood.
He would have to be brought up by trustworthy people, people she could leave the boy with while she returned to her life in Turslenka and Thetos. These people would also bring him up teaching him who he was and what his heritage meant, and maybe become the leader Bragal wanted – and needed.
For now though, Metila lay there with her baby and rested, her eyes closing with exhaustion.
___
Events moved slowly in Kastania in the fifth year of Astiras Koros’ reign. Building had begun in Zofela on the new fortress and walls, and workmen were brought in from all parts to assist with the construction. Astiras had finally approved the design of the new town, a rough rectangle with the keep on a raised earthen mount against the southern wall. The old town would be engulfed by the new build, slowly vanishing in the last phase of the construction. The new quarters would re-house those dispossessed and then the old buildings flattened and a brand new quarter built in its place, for the newcomers.
Argan’s training went on. His riding went slowly, punctuated by frequent falls and just as frequent outbursts from Isbel, terrified that the boy would receive just as severe an injury and be crippled for life. Astiras had to finally insist the boy was in good hands and his training would continue regardless.
Kerrin aided him, encouraging him when things went wrong or too slowly in Argan’s opinion. Mr. Sen began teaching him administrative skills, and a tutor was brought in to teach him Tybar. There clearly was no need to get him to speak Bragalese since the Prince knew more than any tutor known.
Sasia finally was allowed to tend the room and Prince without the severe gaze of the elderly Genthe, and the two spent many evenings speaking about their days and their respective lives. As for Istan, his temper did not improve with age and the only attribute he appeared to possess was one for destruction. Soon there were no belongings left since all had been smashed and no glass was allowed, even for the windows. Shutters were put in place instead.
Both Sannia and Amne’s pregnancies progressed, each finding the hovering attendants suffocating. While Sannia bore it with great patience and understanding, Amne railed and chafed, and complained long and loudly. Since Sannia was a season ahead of Amne, Sannia was confined to her chamber long before Amne was. Oddly, the two women began to send one another correspondence, keeping notes on one another and comparing their experiences. Their respective husbands worried as to the health of their wives and to the forthcoming births. What would it be? Boy or girl? Healthy or not? Would the mother die in childbirth? Physicians arrived in both households and prepared to be called upon when the time came.
Jorqel took his mind off things by checking up on the progress of the training of the Lodrian Imperial Mounted Militia, or LIMM. He had adapted the name from the KIMM, and was pleased to review the first two squadrons who passed their training in the spring. The third would complete their training later in the year. Then he would have enough to launch an invasion of Romos. Messages were sent to Kiros Louk who warned of the setting up of the coastal watch. From now on the messages would be at a minimum. That troubled Jorqel for he wished to keep up to date with what was going on over on the island, especially as once the child was born he would then set his mind on the invasion, and the final reckoning with the Duras.
Vosgaris and Alenna were duly wed in Zofela by Cleric Waylar. Lalaas could not attend due to his duties but he sent a gift and a letter of congratulations nonetheless. The imperial couple and Argan were there, along with the senior members of the Court. Isbel was particularly pleased.
But over the border in Venn, preparations were nearing their completion. The fortress town of Rhan had been reinforced during the winter by many soldiers, having marched up the coast. The burning of the depot had not stopped the stockpiling; the newly arrived equipment now went into the main keep. The arrival of Venn’s celebrated General Alsdro Velsar had focussed the military training even further. Alsdro was lean, tall, possessed an air of disdain for all around him and his face, like many of his race, was dominated by a large, strong nose. His hair was a mass of white-blond shoulder-length thatch. He was attired in the black light leather jacket he preferred, and studied the soldiers practicing in the courtyard briefly before turning his back on them and entering the fortress.
The walls were immensely thick and the light was provided by flickering torches set in iron brackets on the walls. Stout wooden tables and chairs dominated the hall and the commander of the fortress, Alcazui, stepped forward to greet the general. Alcazui was younger, black haired and sported a goatee beard, neatly clipped.
“General, welcome and be comfortable.”
“Greetings, Commander,” Alsdro said dryly. “I see the men are still practicing outside.”
“Sire. They grow impatient. They wish to be unleashed on our enemies.”
Alsdro sat in one of the chairs and tugged off his gauntlets. It had been a long ride and he was tired and thirsty. “If your security had been up to competence then they would be setting off now. As it is, we still need more equipment.”
Alcazui spread his hands helplessly. “One lone infiltrator, so I am led to believe.”
“One – enough to set back our plans for a time. Your name is not being spoken of well in Venn City, I can tell you. Duke Dominik himself had cursed your name.”
Alcazui paled. He sat down opposite the general, and signalled that drinks should be brought. “I trust he has faith in me to lead the men to victory?”
“For the moment. Another foul-up and you may as well fall upon your sword. To err twice in war is not permitted, you know that.”
“I thank you for your words of wisdom and faith in me to make up for the lapse in security. Rest assured, the man in charge of the security was duly punished.”
Alsdro raised one eyebrow. “Was it he I saw swinging in that iron cage outside the main gate?”
“Indeed. He has been there all winter.”
“Good. We must show that failure is not to be tolerated. So, the plan.” Alsdro waved one of his men to bring forth a folded sheet of parchment which was smoothed out on the table and the ends weighted down. Alsdro pointed at the location of Rhan, a large black dot on the coast. “So from here, once we have enough supplies and arms, will send out two expeditionary forces. One, under myself, will head north into Epros and conquer that region. My army shall head directly for Drazino and take it, and once that is achieved, spread out across the country and pacify the rest of it.”
Alcazui nodded in approval. “The Eprosians should not be able to resist – they are weak fools.”
“My thinking entirely. At the same time, you, Commander, will take the second force over the central highlands of Kral and cross to the Kastanian border. From there you will invade Bragal and head directly for Zofela. You are to take it without delay or failure. Once you have taken Zofela and I Drazino, we will be in the perfect places to move on Turslenka from two directions and crush any force the foolish Kastanians try to put into the field.”
“A sound strategy – although may I point out tha
t I shall be facing harder and tougher opposition, General?”
“Are you seeking excuses already, Commander? Kastania has not won a battle against a foreign army for decades! Their treasury is low, the quality of their soldiers poor and they lack generals. What leaders they have had have been busy fighting one another and dying off in droves. Now all they have is one army in Zofela led by this upstart Astiras Koros. My intelligence is that he has a couple of rag-tag militia companies, one of elite archers and the rest are made up of peasants, irregulars and brigands! All very good in dealing with rebels but they should pose no trouble to Venn’s trained armies.”
“But what of Mazag, General? It is known they have an alliance with Kastania, and surely they would come to the aid of their allies should we invade?”
Alsdro groaned, looking to the web-festooned rafters of the hall. “May Sonos give me strength,” he said. As he looked down the drinks arrived, a couple of tall earthenware mugs brimming with ale. The general took his and quaffed a mouthful, downing it with relish. “Ah, better than that damned journey I’ve had to take to get here.” He watched while Alcazui took a drink from his, then continued. “I have with me a diplomat, Godin Terbar, and he will speak to these Mazag dolts, reminding them of their true friends under the one true god Sonos. Would they dare risk divine retribution by siding with heretics and infidels? The Mazag would be idiotic in keeping to their side of the alliance. Do not worry about them.”
Alcazui was not reassured, but he had to take the general’s word for it. “And what will be my force on this task?”
“I have set aside six hundred and sixty men men for you – two spear companies, one of archers and three squadrons of armoured knights – your shock troops that will crush anything those weakling Kastanians put into the field. Astiras has only three companies and his bodyguard in Zofela, does he not?”
“So I believe, General, yes. Shouldn’t we wait for more men to join us? I cannot besiege a town with just that number successfully.”
Alsdro smiled wearily. “Really, Commander, you’re trying really hard to convince me not to send you on a glorious march that will bring these imperial fools to their knees. Zofela is undergoing an expansion, and they have torn down their walls. You could march into it with a company of women. Now go begin to prepare yourself and plan your supplies. I am not in the mood to argue with you any further on this matter. It is decided, we are going to march in five days’ time, whether you like it or not.”
So the fortress was turned into a hive of activity. Men were grouped into units, split into the two respective armies. Alsdro left first with his force, marching north along the coastal road, escorted out at sea by supply ships so that he wouldn’t have to be slowed down by any wagons. He also refused to permit any hangers-on, sellers, whores, camp followers and the like. His rations would be for his soldiers and nobody else. That was how he had conquered Kral, and this was his template for all his campaigns. Epros now, the rest of Kastania in the future. Let the fool Alcazui tramp through hostile terrain and risk fighting two enemies, he cared not. All that mattered was that he was left to seize more land for Venn and collect the glory that went with it. If Alcazui succeeded, so much the better, but to him the commander and his six hundred and sixty were mere decoys and a distraction. Nobody would come to the assistance of Epros.
Once he had broken their army and taken their capital, then the priests would come in and convert the populace to Sonos on pain of death. Nobody would be allowed to argue, for they would be burned on the spot. He smiled.
___
Jorqel was woken in the early hours by Sannia’s gasps. “What is it, my love?” he asked, solicitous. Sannia had grown very big in the past few sevendays and she was finding the latter stages of her pregnancy very uncomfortable indeed.
“I-I think it’s time!” she said. “My waters…they have broken.”
Jorqel was out of the bed even before he knew it. Throwing on his pants he went to the door and called out to fetch the physician and birthing women. He then grabbed a shirt, slid it over his head and knelt by Sannia’s side. She was looking at him pale-faced and afraid. “It will be alright,” he reassured her, “these people know their duty. You are in good hands.”
“Jorqel, I’m frightened… what if something goes wrong?”
“It won’t – the gods are looking over you, take my word for it,” he smiled, and then kissed her gently. There came a knock on the door and Jorqel left Sannia to those who were skilled in the art of delivering a new born into the world.
The prince sat in his day room and shoved on his leather boots, his heart racing. Gavan sauntered in, yawning, a cup of klee in each hand. “Thought you could do with a pick-me-up, sire. It’s going to be a long night.”
“Who got you up?” Jorqel asked accusingly, taking one of the mugs. Even as he said that, Sannia’s handmaiden Henne came into the room, rubbing her eyes. She smiled coyly at Gavan who grinned back, and she glided into the bed chamber, shutting the door behind her. “I suppose that’s answered my question,” Jorqel sighed and shook his head at his bodyguard. “You were told to go easy on the woman, for Kastan’s sake.”
“Yes but nobody told her to go easy on me, thankfully,” Gavan added with a grin. “By the gods, she’s a lively one. So, we sit here and wait, do we?”
“You can go back to bed, old friend,” Jorqel said, eyeing him over the rim of his mug, “I’m going to sit here and worry my arse off.”
“She’s a good woman,” Gavan said, “and young, tough and fit. She’ll be fine, mark my words. You’ve got the best we’ve got in there with her. That old crone with more wrinkles on her face than an old bed sheet, she’s birthed more brats than I’ve had women.”
“Well that’s a huge reassurance to me, Gavan. I thank you for staying. Get the castellan to take over things in the next couple of days. I won’t be in a fit state to do much else.”
Gavan nodded. “I’ll pass it on. Meanwhile I think the word will be spreading round the town, even at this time of night. By morning everyone will know and be besieging the castle. Don’t expect much rest!”
“As long as they don’t use burning oil to get in I don’t care much. I won’t want too many visitors – we’ll need peace and quiet and I think the child will too, the gods willing it should be a healthy one!”
“They will,” Gavan said, and looked towards the closed door to the bed chamber.
On the other side of the door, Sannia was lying on the bed, knees up, one woman tending her head and upper body, wiping the sweat from her with a damp cloth, dabbing it into a bowl of water by her knees. The older woman sat in a chair on the other side, chanting and speaking words of encouragement. Henne held one of Sannia’s hands and gave her support while the physician kept on checking the princess.
The pain was increasing. Ripples of it flowed through her abdomen, causing her to gasp and pant. It would fade and she would relax, but just a few moments later back it would come, even worse than before. The lump in her belly weighed heavily in her and she desperately wished it out.
The pain washed over her sharply. Without knowing so, she cried out. Her voice penetrated the door and was clearly heard by Jorqel and Gavan. The prince sucked in his breath sharply and stood up, facing the door. Gavan rose, too, his hand out. “Sire, you can do nothing. Those people in there will do all they can for her.”
Jorqel thumped the table top in frustration. “I feel so damned helpless, Gavan! Here I am, a prince of the blood, and this is totally beyond my control! She is my wife, my beloved, and there is nothing I can do to help her.”
“There is, sire. Stay away. We men can only get in the way, or so I once heard a birthing woman say. We have no idea what to do.”
Jorqel glared at his bodyguard for a moment, then nodded heavily and sank his head into his hands, sitting back down. “Oh, by the gods, please help my wife through this!”
Gavan winced as another cry of pain came to them. “I once heard of a tale of a husband being
with his wife in labour and she almost choked the life out of him – she was in so much pain that she vowed to castrate him if he came near her again.”
“Where did you heard that?”
“Oh, Kastan City in my younger days.”
“These are your younger days – how old were you and what were you doing listening to such tales?”
“You forget sire, I was from the back streets of Kastan City. People lived there – they probably still do – in run-down apartments and two-room hovels and if a woman went into labour then it was usually the husband who was there to help, unless there were helpful neighbours and daughters old enough to do the job.”
Jorqel nodded, leaning back tiredly. “Yes, yes, I forget about our different lives before we met.” Another cry of pain had both looking up in distress.
Guards came and went, and other members of the castle household appeared at irregular times. The screams from Sannia could be heard throughout most of the keep and many came to offer their support to Jorqel who was grateful but wished for some peace and quiet to worry alone. He knew it wasn’t possible. Gavan got up on one occasion and glanced out of an arrow slit. “People gathering outside. They’re selling cakes. It’s a blasted carnival out there!”
Jorqel looked himself. “They may well celebrate if there’s good news. I can’t stand this damned wait; it’s interminable!”
The dawn was beginning to touch the sky when the sounds from the bed chamber quietened. The prince wondered if that was a good thing or bad, and paced up and down the small room. Suddenly the door opened and the physician emerged, looking tired and drawn.
“What is it man?” Jorqel was on him in an instant. “What news?”