Prince of Wrath

by Tony Roberts

  Isbel was still not pleased but let it go. At least Astiras had vowed to discuss it with her next time, and if he didn’t, then she would object publically. She would live up to her promise, and Astiras had best beware.

  Argan was excited to accompany Teduskis and Vosgaris down to the chaotic scene by the old walls. Guards marched on either side and Argan noticed both men had their swords strapped on. They were not going to the slave gangs other than by meaning business. Vosgaris leaned over towards Argan. “Young Prince, you are to speak to the slaves in their tongue what General Teduskis says, and if any of the Bragalese says anything, you are to let the general know what they said, even if it’s a swear word.”

  “Would they swear?” Argan asked, surprised, “why would they do that?”

  Vosgaris shrugged. “Sometimes they hear things they may not like and react badly. This is just the way of things. Here we go.” They stopped on the edge of town, where the walls had formerly stood. Now there was just a jagged rip in the ground, and the land fell away to the ground outside where hundreds of stone blocks were being stacked. A rough and dusty road had been made across the valley floor running to that place, and Argan noted it went straight to the distance where people were working, hacking stone out of a hillside. Wooden wagons pulled by beasts of burden regularly travelled back and forth, bringing more stone to the side of the town. Men were working away at the blocks, chipping lumps off them, making them neater and more regular, so they began to look like large bricks rather than lumpy stones.

  The dust that rose from the site filled most of the sky and the men working in the site were coloured the same as the stone, a light brown or dull yellow. Guards walked around the edge of the site, keeping an eye on the workforce, making sure nobody ran away. Argan wondered how anyone would run since most seemed to be linked together in groups of between six and ten by chains.

  Teduskis stood straight and planted his fists on his wide leather belt. “Hear ye all!” he bellowed. Vosgaris nudged Argan and indicated he step forward alongside the general. The men all stopped working and squinted up at the figures framed against the skyline. Argan filled his lungs. He repeated Teduskis’ words, his high-pitched voice carrying to the listening men as surely as the deep boom of Teduskis.

  Teduskis nodded at Argan in approval. “Now hear me and listen well.” Argan repeated the words when Teduskis paused. “War is coming to Zofela. The Venn have sent an army into Bragal. They are burning villages. They are burning people – your people. Emperor Astiras has vowed to defeat these evil people. He needs more men to destroy the Venn army.”

  Argan shouted the words, feeling very important. This was his first function in public and he was amazed at just how quiet the men were, so unlike Fantor Face who would not let Argan say anything, shouting over his words whenever he tried to say anything to him.

  Teduskis’ eyes roamed over the uplifted faces, noting the surly expressions, the hostile looks he was getting. He felt it was a waste of time having these people in the army, as he might get a blade in the back leading these people. Still, the emperor’s words were law and he had to obey. “Therefore he has decreed that any of you who volunteer to join a native levy and take part in the battle will earn their freedom and have the right to live in Zofela in one of the new houses being built.”

  As Argan’s translation washed over them, the slaves looked to one another. The new unspoken leaders amongst them were the ones they looked to, those who would decide whether they agreed or not.

  “What say you, slaves?” Teduskis finished.

  “Do we have this written down for us?” one of the slaves, a big man with thick black hair on his head and chest, spoke out.

  Argan told Teduskis what had been said. Teduskis nodded. “It is being written as I speak to you. It will be shown round your gangs shortly. All your past participation in the rebellion against Kastania will be forgotten, and you will be permitted to resume your lives as citizens of Zofela. But those who refuse shall remain working here until the day you die.”

  There was a silence, punctuated by a cough or two. The dust spiralled up lazily and thinned. The smell of unwashed bodies remained, though, and Argan thought it was a horrible odour. He hoped everyone would say yes and they could get back to somewhere that didn’t smell so bad.

  “If it is written, then we agree,” the black-haired man said, looking round at his associates who all nodded in agreement. “And we do not have to work in this accursed quarry one more moment!”

  Teduskis nodded slowly. “You will be taken to workhouses on the other side of Zofela that are being turned into temporary barracks, given food, clothes, and spears. You will be given training, turned into Bragalese levies under the command of Emperor Astiras. You will receive a daily coin of one copper furmic for your efforts.” A furmic was a division of a furim. A hundred copper furmics made a silver furmic, a hundred silver made a furim.

  The slaves gathered together, their overseers unsure as to whether they should separate them or not. Teduskis looked upon the group. “You will be asked to pledge loyalty to the emperor and the empire, of course. Having fought as rebels against him already, he will need an assurance you will not betray him again. Rest assured there will be no mercy if you should break that pledge.”

  “We know the penalty,” the Bragalese spokesman said. “Landwaster Koros shall receive our sworn oath until the death.”

  Teduskis breathed out heavily; it had been a gamble but it appeared the slaves were amenable to the terms. Freedom and a place to live in return for swearing allegiance to the Kastanian emperor and a term as mercenaries in his army. “Let us go, young Prince,” the aged retainer said softly. “You have done well.”

  As they returned to the castle, Argan looked up at the two men. “Will they fight for us? They didn’t look happy, Teduskis.”

  The general snorted with amusement. “They weren’t happy because they are slaves. They’re not best pleased being given the choice of fighting for their conquerors, but the choice they have is to continue being slaves. If they give a pledge, it ties them to their word, and breaking their word is an act of a coward and liar, and therefore someone who cannot be trusted.”

  Argan thought on his words. “Are you going to fight alongside father?”

  “I expect so, Prince Argan. My place is by your father’s side. It has been so for many years.”

  “Well then you had best take care.”

  “Thank you, sire.” Teduskis smiled. “We’ll make sure you and the others are kept safe.”

  Vosgaris cleared his throat. “So who is going to build the new wall and castle now the slaves are to be freed?”

  “Oh, leave that to the emperor. He may take a number of Venn prisoners, and if that’s the case they’ll be put to good use. Otherwise it’ll be a more expensive hiring of workmen. It’d bring work to Zofela, though.”

  Astiras took the news with pleasure. His plans were beginning to form the way he wished. Riders had gone north to the Bakran Mountains with a bag of gold, promising more work for the tough, hardy people there. More riders had gone into the hills east and west, visiting the villages, offering gold to those who would rally to the standard of Landwaster to repel the evil Venn army burning its way through the countryside. Bragalese men, normally reluctant to associate themselves with the Kastanians, trickled towards Zofela, hearing of the burning of the villages first hand from their own people thus knowing that the Kastanians were, indeed, telling the truth. After all those years of war with the empire, they now just wanted peace and to be able to live without fear of their homes being put to the torch, and the Venn posed a grave threat to them all. For now, the Bragalese decided to stand alongside their conquerors to see off the invaders.

  General Vanist received the plans from Zofela and grunted in amusement. He longed to use his sword on the Venn. He had no love for Kastanians but despised the Venn even more. Given the choice he’d ally with the emperor to slaughter the untrustworthy Talian republic. He pulled his me
n back overnight on the seventh day as planned, after dropping a ‘report’ that recalled him to Valchia at their campsite.

  The next morning the astonished Venn saw that the road was clear. Alcazui was relieved; his scouts had only told him of tough mountain tracks around the block and it would take many days, making sure they weren’t seen, before they could put themselves between the Mazag and Zofela, and even then he didn’t like the fact he would be in the middle of two hostile forces.

  One of his riders came galloping up to him as he ate his early morning meal and passed the report found at the abandoned campsite. Alcazui read it and frowned. Was it a trap? He interrogated the rider, asking where he’d found it and how easily was it on show? The answers gave him little illumination. He summoned Godin and his captains. “It seems the Mazag army has been recalled to their territory, or perhaps that is what we are meant to believe. It smells of a trap. I want your views.”

  Godin shook his head. “Koros is an animal. I’m surprised he has any allies. The way he treated me in front of everyone, a diplomat, was disgraceful. He’s nothing more than a bully, using his fists as a means to settle an argument. I would not be surprised to hear he had insulted the Mazag diplomat and as a result Mazag has withdrawn its assistance. I don’t know for sure but I’d say this was a possibility.”

  “Hmmm. Captain?”

  The senior captain laughed briefly. “We must not pass up this opportunity. Even if Mazag is drawing us in, we must go on. We cannot stay here too much longer. The men need to get going!”

  “I agree,” Alcazui admitted. “Send out scouts, find out where the Mazag army is or where its gone. Do not engage in action, but the moment anyone is seen, return and report. In the meantime, get the men ready to march. We move towards Zofela!”

  The camp was transformed into activity. Men, happy at last to get going, formed swiftly into their units and it wasn’t long before the Venn army moved off in the wake of the Mazag force, following the footprints and detritus left by them quite easily.

  In Zofela preparations were almost ready. Volunteers and mercenaries had swollen the Kastanian army and now they numbered over eight hundred. How effective the new units would be was open to conjecture, but half of the army was Bragalese, some were Bakranian and about two in every five Kastanian. It was like the old days when the empire was made up of all different people, all united under the imperial banners.

  Astiras smiled. It was his destiny, he felt it. Now he was to take on a true enemy, a recognised enemy. An enemy that the rest of the world knew and respected. Now he would see whether Kastania still had teeth or was the finished force everyone else believed.

  ___

  Amne lay exhausted. The birth hadn’t been an easy one and it had lasted all night and most of the morning. There had been a moment when the physician had feared the baby might die, but ultimately the princess had delivered a healthily crying new-born girl just as midday approached.

  Now she lay in her bed, sore, tired, relieved. A tall glass of spring water stood by the bedside and she had drunk most of it. She was too exhausted to say much, and was inclined to do even less. The baby was snuggled into her right side and crook of her arm and was fast asleep, sleeping off the trauma of a long birth and emergence into a cold, noisy world where strange giant beings smacked her and then thrust her onto a soft surface. At least a feeding place had been provided, and they had wrapped her in something to keep her warmer which smelt nice.

  “Congratulations, ma’am,” Lalaas smiled from the bedside, and you, sire,” he bowed to Elas who was standing on the other side, peering with an unreadable expression at his wife and daughter. “I won’t stay too long as I’m sure you wish to be left alone, and my duties are not to be neglected.”

  Elas nodded briefly. “We thank you, Captain. You may announce that Princess Amne and myself are the proud parents of a new daughter, her name is Kola.”

  “Kola. Nice name,” Lalaas nodded. He briefly eyed the sleeping child. Two daughters to the Koros dynasty. He wondered if Astiras would be pleased or not; he would probably have preferred a boy, especially seeing that Jorqel and Sannia had a daughter. Still, Kola looked healthy enough and so everyone ought to be happy. Too many mothers and babies died in child birth. The palace would have the patter of tiny feet once again. He bowed again and left.

  “I’m very proud of you, Amne,” Elas said. “A beautiful daughter.”

  Amne’s lips twitched into a tired smile. The pain had been nothing like she had ever experienced before, and hoped she would never have to again. Sannia had been right; her latest letter, which had arrived ten days previously, spoke of the experience but also promised of a feeling of satisfaction and pride after it was all over. Amne felt satisfied true enough, satisfied the whole ordeal was done with, but pride? How did she feel towards the small, warm lump pressed against her? Did she love Kola? Would Kola love her? How would Elas behave towards each of them? She hoped Elas would show Kola more feeling than he generally did towards her. “Thank you, Elas,” she whispered. “A daughter to make you a proud father. She’ll be the most loved child in the empire.”

  Elas said nothing but looked again at the two. “You must be exhausted, Amne. I do not wish to keep you from a well-earned sleep. Do you wish Kola to be placed in her cot?”

  Amne shook her head slowly. “Don’t want to disturb her.” She glanced over to the corner where her two handmaidens sat. “We’ll be watched over well.”

  “Hmm, yes, of course. I shall leave you in that case, but I shall be right back should you need me. She is really very small, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, but she’ll grow soon enough,” Amne said, and watched Elas as he departed. She sighed and shut her eyes. She needed to recover her strength.

  Elas went to his office and called Lalaas to join him. The captain stood to attention before the prince, waiting. “Captain, can I have your assurance that Amne had not been with anyone around nine months ago?”

  Lalaas shook his head. He knew Elas was concerned the child was not his, given Amne’s ready habit of having an affair. The only man he thought had been with her was Vosgaris, but he had been in Zofela for a long enough time – except Amne had visited him once. Was it too early at that time? “The only time she has been away from my notice was when she visited Zofela. She was escorted by the KIMM there and back. I’m sure that she followed protocol when she was in Bragal, sire.”

  “Very well, Captain, then I shall take your word for it. What are the people saying?”

  “Sire?”

  Elas looked irritably at Lalaas. It had been a tiring and emotive period, waiting for the birth. “About the birth – about the war. About everything. I need to know the mood of the people, Captain. I intend showing my daughter from the balcony to the populace, but if they are speaking badly about my wife or the regime then I may reconsider.”

  “Nothing bad, sire. They are excited about the birth. People in the city feel left out of things, to be honest. What with the Court moving to Bragal and Prince Jorqel beating you and Amne to the first birth, they badly need some good news. The war has frightened people, and they wonder whether our armies can hold back the Venn. All we’ve known recently are defeats. Perhaps a rousing speech in support of the emperor and his forces in Bragal? People work better when happy, and we need more supplies for our army in Bragal now they will have to fight.”

  “Hmmm, I think you may be correct, Captain. Good, I’m pleased you have an intellect; I would hate to have to rely on mindless sycophants. I value your insight and comments, much more so than my advisors or so-called advisors. I get nothing fresh or innovative from them; it is so difficult having to constantly think up any new directive.”

  Lalaas said nothing. He was what he was, and would not be a courtier. To him it was as much the fault of the ruler if people only said what they thought pleased those in charge.

  Elas allowed Lalaas to continue with his duties. The captain went to his own offices to study the latest reports from his
contacts in the streets of Kastan. Now that an official spying centre had been set up, in a brand new building towards the dock quarter, more information was coming in. Much of this information concerned rumours and hearsay, and Lalaas had to decide what was pure fiction and what may have some truth in it. Refugees were arriving from Tobralus, bringing with them tales of woe about the Tybar imposing a brutal regime, burning temples, executing priests, enslaving families of prominent Kastanians. The usual inflammatory tales, almost all with exaggerations, but it wasn’t in doubt that Taboz had been taken and was now part of the Tybar realm.

  Another former imperial province had fallen. What the Tybar intended to do now was the big question. The stories brought to him via the brothels and beggars who acted as his ears and eyes in the back streets spoke of many soldiers, both mounted and on foot, nearly all of whom were armed with a bow, who filled the sky with their missiles and blocked out the sun. Soldiers standing before them melted away, either into piles of the fallen or fleeing the field. It seemed a classic Tybar tactic. How Kastania was to confront this when they finally went to war with them was a matter for the emperor to determine.

  The ongoing development of the mounted archers was one improvement, but they were too inexperienced to face the hardened and veteran Tybar units who, undoubtedly, had learned to ride before they could walk. Kastania’s KIMM and LIMM units would be outshot and out-ridden in a confrontation.

  The other worrying piece of news was that Taboz’s Balq Sea fleet had been seized by the Tybar and even now were forcing captive sailors into service on their behalf, chaining the luckless prisoners to their ships and installing a small commanding group of Tybar to take charge of each vessel. They could, feasibly, challenge the seas with what they had now. He had to bring that to the attention of Prince Elas. Admirals Fostan and Drakan would have to watch the Balq Sea from now on as well.