Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  “I think you might have annoyed him there, Governor,” Demtro observed mildly.

  “What did I do?” Evas asked, dumbfounded. “I was courteous and polite, and only told him the truth.”

  “Maybe that’s your problem, Governor. He’s highly strung at the moment. Perhaps a little white lie might have been in order there, you know, act like a Counsel.”

  Evas looked at Demtro with disapproval. “Merchant Demtro, I am the governor of this city, not a counsel. There are plenty of those enough without me becoming one.”

  “Don’t worry, Governor,” Demtro said getting up. “I’ll go talk to him and calm him down. He’s just a little upset at seeing the blackened shells of the temples here. All things being equal perhaps a little money might find its way into his pudgy palms, eh?”

  “But aren’t you going to stay for klee?”

  “Ah no, Governor, thanks all the same, but my back end has suffered enough in that torture rack you call a chair. I don’t want to do it irreparable damage. Thanks for the hospitality.” The merchant left the room in a more civilised manner, leaving Evas alone with his thoughts, not all of them happy ones.

  Amne was perspiring with tension, even though it was fast approaching winter. She had been prepped the day before with her travel arrangements and told to dress for cold weather, and to sleep during the afternoon. She had been awoken in the dead of night and told to dress by her mother. The atmosphere could have been cut by a sword in the palace, and Amne had dutifully dressed and made her way downstairs to the rear of the palace, led there by two of the palace guard, armed to the teeth.

  The silence of the walk added to her nervousness. In the rear entrance, beneath the great stone arch that led to the stables, a carriage waited with four black chargers. There were no bells or loose buckles, and all the harnesses and tack were dark. The carriage was either black or a dark blue; Amne couldn’t tell. Inside the carriage Theros and two junior diplomats were already seated, waiting for her. On top sat a driver and another man dressed in a dark cloak wrapped about himself so that only his eyes showed. All very sinister.

  Her father was there, solemn-faced, as was her mother. She had been weeping, it was clear. Astiras came forward and held her for a moment, squeezing her shoulders. “Take care, Amne,” he said softly and kissed her on the forehead, then stepped back and allowed Isbel to embrace her. “You go careful,” Isbel said, a catch in her voice. “You’ve got Lalaas up there to look after you – he’s a good soldier,” she added.

  Amne smiled wanly. She had never met Lalaas, the cloaked man, but if her parents vouched for him, then that was fine. She was helped aboard and seated herself. Looking out of the window she caught a last sight of her parents holding one another, before the carriage jerked into motion and the curtains on the inside of the carriage were allowed to close by Theros. “Nobody should see who is in here,” he explained.

  She heard the wooden doors of the archway open and suddenly the charger’s hoofs were striking cobbles and they were out in the streets of Kastan, rumbling to the Turslenka Gate. Guards on duty there unlocked the gates and allowed the carriage out, then closed them behind again and the carriage was out in the dark of the Frasian countryside.

  “We made it,” she said unnecessarily to Theros.

  “Indeed,” the diplomat agreed and looked at the two younger men with them. One was squat and round and overweight while the other very thin, had receding hair and a sharp pointed nose. Not there to invoke any desire, clearly.

  It wasn’t long before they came to a halt, the carriage turning round and facing back towards Kastan. Amne looked in confusion at Theros. “Why have we turned round and stopped?”

  “We’ll have to ask Lalaas,” Theros replied, opening the curtain a crack and peering into the darkness. They all heard heavy booted feet striking the ground hard and the door was jerked open.

  The cloaked man appeared, still only his eyes visible. “You all have to get out, your majesty,” he said, his voice muffled by the cloth.

  Amne stared at the apparition before her, then reluctantly clambered out, helped by the mysterious man. Theros and the two others got out by themselves. As she stood beside him, Amne found Lalaas to be very tall and built to match. “Your majesty, we are to ride on charger-back for the next stage of the journey. The animals are waiting for us down here,” he indicated a group of people standing at the bottom of the roadside slope, on lower ground, standing by ten equines.

  “Why ten?” Amne asked, allowing the guard to assist her in making the short but slippery route down to the waiting beasts.

  “Five for us, five pack beasts. The luggage is being unloaded as we speak, ma’am.” Lalaas’ voice was deep and masculine and Amne was intrigued. She wanted to see what the rest of him looked like. But with only flickering torches in the dead of night to see with, it would have to wait until morning for that.

  Amne was directed to a slightly smaller beast and was helped up onto it. She settled comfortably, having ridden on many previous occasions, a privilege for the nobility of the empire. There was a short wait until the silent group of helpers transferred the packs from the carriage to the beasts, then all were mounted up and the handlers released them. Lalaas led the group out of the gully and away from the road. On his saddle behind him he had a small light set in a glass bowl placed to lead the others on, but the night was so dark it made for slow going nonetheless.

  The land was reasonably flat but grass grew in clumps and the chargers stepped warily around these as they were invariably slippery from recent rains. The four following Lalaas rode in silence, their concentration reserved for keeping on their mounts. No other light was permitted other than the one behind Lalaas, and it was a nerve-wracking ride that seemed to last forever.

  After perhaps the length of a watch, Lalaas arrived at the edge of a watercourse and dismounted. He led his beast around and came up to Amne who had stopped. “Ma’am, we should rest here for the remainder of the night. We are now sufficiently far from the road not to be seen when the day breaks.”

  Amne breathed out in relief. It hadn’t been an enjoyable experience, and she was still more than a little scared. The wind was blowing from the south, never a good sign, and it carried with it an edge to it that had been born in the vast open plains that were blanketed with ice and snow in winter. Theros dismounted with a grunt and steadied himself. He had nearly fallen over there. Best to be careful and not lose dignity.

  “Why are we here?” Amne asked, standing by her mount, looking lost.

  Lalaas found a handy tree and tethered his charger to it. He looked up unenthusiastically at the sky before replying. “Your father gave me specific instructions on your safety and made it clear I was to risk nothing on this journey. He then gave me the freedom to organise the journey as I saw fit. He advised me to tell nobody, not even himself, of what my plans were. So here we are, away from the route your father will take on the morrow.”

  Theros stood awkwardly in the background, holding the reins of his charger. “And now?”

  Lalaas swung his head round. “We set up camp here.”

  The rest stood silently looking at him. Lalaas eyed them all, then put his fists on his hips. “Do any of you know how to erect a tent, to feed a charger, to unsaddle a charger?”

  There were four mute shaking of heads.

  Lalaas sighed. It was going to be a long journey indeed.

  ____

  Compared to the silent and furtive way in which Amne and her small group had left Kastan during the darkness of the night, Emperor Astiras’ march had all the pomp and ceremony of a triumph. Crowds lined the main road that led to the Turslenka Gate, the eastern gate of the city, and flags and pennants fluttered from windows and from the hands of people being kept off the street by guards.

  Astiras rode at the head of the army he commanded, dressed in full parade armour and clothing, a gaily coloured outfit designed to catch the eye. Even his charger was dressed up with plumes and feathers sprouting
from its mane and tail, and the imperial bodyguard riding behind him held their lances to the sky, dressed with red and blue coloured paper to present an even more dazzling display. Behind them marched the two militia spear companies, not quite in step but smiling at the adulation they were receiving. Pieces of paper and coloured cloth were being thrown into the air along with dried flowers. It all made a spectacular sight.

  Teduskis, riding alongside the emperor, smiled at the cheering. It had been some time since an emperor had actually embarked on a military campaign, and this was a war that virtually everyone in Kastan was in agreement with. The Bragalese needed to be brought to heel. Everyone badly needed some good news.

  Bringing up the rear were the elite imperial archers that had been based in Kastan since before the coup. They looked smart, confident and, unlike the militia, marched in step. They had seen some action before and had some idea of what was awaiting them, unlike most of the militiamen. As a result, their faces were not so happy.

  As they neared the gate, the emperor pulled to one side and watched as his force tramped past, all turning their heads to acknowledge him. He surveyed them with a keen eye, his expression severe. It was important to look the part of soldiers of the empire and to instil in the populace faith that they would carry out their task. As the archers passed through the open gate, Astiras turned to face the people who had come forward, crowding over the road.

  “People of Kastan,” he boomed, “I, your emperor, will ride forth to the heartland of the vile Bragalese and conquer them once and for all. I shall not rest until my banner is fluttering over the battlements of Zofela and the revolt is crushed. Victory!” he yelled, raising his sword to the sky.

  “Victory!” the people echoed, cheering.

  Astiras waved once more and then rode off after his men, leaving Kastan to be run by the empress and her advisors. He had faith in her to do what was right; he now had much more important things on his mind, and he galloped past his marching men and came alongside Teduskis at the head of the column. “We ride for another league, then let’s get this rubbish off and get on with things.”

  “Of course, sire,” Teduskis nodded. “Do you think they’ll be waiting for us up ahead as we arranged?”

  “They’d better be,” Astiras growled. “I haven’t brought most of what’s left in the treasury with me for nothing. Once they feel gold, they’ll come over to us.”

  Teduskis nodded again. Using mercenaries was always an expensive matter, but at times like this necessary. Clearly the inexperienced force they had wasn’t up to the job of firstly invading Bragal, then fighting their way to Zofela and finally actually capturing it. What was needed were tough professional soldiers not averse to dishing out pain and suffering. The only problem Astiras could foresee was the rivalry between the mercenaries and the regular imperial troops; there was normally little love lost between the two. The regulars resented the amounts paid over to the mercenary units while the mercenaries looked down on the regulars. Quite often the regulars weren’t as good as the men for hire.

  They had ridden for a while, stopping once to discard the ceremonial garb and hangings, and to change into more practical and comfortable gear. The equipment was stored in the wagons that rumbled in their wake, a regular feature of any army. The wagon train also carried supplies and food, and as a result was heavily guarded. Here in Frasia there was little threat, but as they got closer to the border with Bragal, they would have to exercise more caution.

  Ahead, on the roadside, a camp came into view. Fires sent smoke up into the leaden sky and tents of all colours and sizes lay scattered untidily to one side. Astiras reined in and regarded the messy camp. Teduskis came alongside and pointed at a group of men assembling by the roadside. “That looks like the reception committee, sire.”

  “Very well,” the emperor sighed. “Let’s get on with it. Tell the men to take a break, then come with me.”

  The two slowly rode up to the group of men standing by the roadside. Here the road had been paved but it wasn’t further ahead. There were road gangs visible beyond the camp, working on the road surface. The men waiting were dressed in dull brown and most wore soft caps. Many had beards or were unshaven, but all looked tough. Within the camp target butts had been erected and men could be seen practicing archery. Teduskis leaned forward on the pommel of his saddle. “Our archers may be a little put out, sire.”

  “Too bad,” Astiras said sharply. “We need more men for where we’re going. This lot are perfect for the job.”

  Teduskis dismounted and walked forward. Astiras remained on horseback. Teduskis raised a palm upwards as he neared the dozen or so men waiting for them. “Hail! Well met, men of the mountains.”

  One of the men stepped forward and made a similar gesture. “Well met, Kastanian. Do you have the gold you promised?”

  Teduskis was briefly taken aback. He’d expected some discussion before they got down to the matter of payment. He fished out a leather bag from his belt and clinked it in his palm. “Of course. What should I address you as?”

  “Captain Cupran will do. So you wish for our services in Bragal?”

  “How do you know it’s Bragal?” Teduskis asked. Nobody had mentioned the destination.

  “A blind man would know where you’re bound. I’m surprised the empire can raise a force to face them. But also I’m not surprised you wish to hire me and my men. It isn’t pleasant there.”

  “I’ve fought in Bragal, Cupran, so I have experience of what it’s like.” He tossed the bag to the mercenary captain. “You will fight for the emperor. Your task is to provide tactical support as skirmishers or to protect our flanks. And, of course, to – ah – help persuade the locals in accepting imperial rule.”

  Cupran smiled evilly. Then he weighed the bag and looked surprised. “I heard the treasury was exhausted. Who did you rob to get this?”

  “There’s no need to start our relationship by insulting us, mountain man. We have raised taxes. Perhaps we ought to send our taxmen into the Bakran Mountains?”

  Cupran laughed easily. “And have them returned in pieces? What a waste that would be.”

  Teduskis faintly smiled. The mountains of the Bakran range, a wild, inhospitable range of mountains to the east, bred tough men who fought amongst themselves or anyone who ventured too deeply into their domain. Only where the imperial roads crossed through was it deemed safe, and even then on occasions bandits raided travellers. “You must swear an oath of loyalty to the emperor before we proceed.”

  “For this amount I’d swear allegiance to a scorpion!” He turned and barked a few words in a guttural tongue. The hundred and twenty men in the camp came forward, some still holding their horn and wooden bows, and as a group went down on one knee before Astiras.

  The emperor sat still, watching as the Bakran mercenaries swore to defend and protect the emperor and to serve him until the campaign came to an end. Astiras bowed in response. “Men of the Bakran Mountains, it is well known that there are few who exceed you in bravery and valour,” he said clearly. “We are grateful and delighted that our army is strengthened by your presence. You are welcome!”

  Cupran nodded. The expected pleasantries, clearly lies - but the gold made that irrelevant - had been exchanged and now they could get on with what they were good at. Killing.

  Cupran had one piece of interesting news for Astiras. It appeared that up ahead towards the border with Bragal, there was an army assembling; an army designed to block the emperor’s route into the troubled province. The Bakran mercenaries had been approached by Nikos Duras with promises of gold and other luxury items if they joined his army, but since he’d not actually paid them anything, Cupran had led his men down to the plains and the meeting with Astiras. “I would rather fight with you, sire, than against you. I know of your reputation!” the swarthy mountain man chortled, his frame shaking. “And up ahead are Bragal mercenaries, waiting for you. They have no love for the Duras, either. They know you are on your way back into Bragal
and wish to join your army. They will have better details of the Duras army.”

  Astiras smiled wolfishly. “Bakran archers and Bragalese levies? This gets better and better! That idiot Duras thinks he can best my army with his motley assembly? I’ll have his head!”

  But even as he congratulated Cupran for the information, Astiras was silently thanking the gods that he had indeed sent Amne off on a separate path.

  ____

  The wind blew hard through the wilderness of southern Frasia, sweeping in from the Balq Sea. The icy edge had the five people hunched in their thick clothing as they plodded along on the backs of their beasts, lost in their own thoughts. The journey had so far been miserable; only Lalaas had any knowledge of how to put up a tent, and the princess had been helped by him in getting hers up, but Theros and the two clerks had been left to their own devices. Lalaas had commented that men ought to be able to look after themselves no matter where, and apart from demonstrating to them how to drive pegs into the ground and how tight to make the ropes, he’d done nothing to help them.

  Consequently Theros and his assistants had spent most of the night awake and fighting a tent that threatened to blow away across the plains. When Theros had asked Lalaas to help, the guard had replied quite sharply that he had been asked to look after the princess, not anyone else.

  Lalaas often stopped and allowed the others to pass; Amne followed by Theros, then a couple of pack animals and then the two clerks and the rest of the pack beasts. The clerks had the ropes to the spare chargers fixed to theirs so that none could escape. Lalaas had made it clear that it was their responsibility; his was the princess, theirs were the spare animals.

  The land became sandier and the wind blew harder, and now they could smell the sea. Topping a rise they came into sight of the shore, a wave-struck length of sand, littered with detritus. Wood, dead birds, seaweed. These and other objects washed up onto the shore stretched in clumps as far as the eye could see. The smell of sea was very strong, predominantly tainted with rotting seaweed.