Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  They got to the edge of the devastated area and found even the road had been destroyed. Astiras slowly rode out in front of his army and surveyed the distant battlements of Zofela. “Very well, if they want to be this serious about things, so will we.”

  He snapped out orders and the men sprang into action, ripping off the covers of the wagons and laying the contents out, spreading a floor of neatly cut logs on the ground first, then erecting timber posts along a line at the edge of the devastation. Slowly, over the afternoon, a fence began to take shape. The emperor, now on foot, directed the building, his chief engineer in attendance. Teduskis took one of the spear companies down towards the river where they encamped. They put up their tents in no time and began settling into camp life, putting up washing lines, starting camp fires, and digging a perimeter ditch and mound.

  It was mid-afternoon when a deputation from Zofela emerged, holding a white flag. Teduskis, who had returned to the main camp, called Astiras’ attention to it. “Sire, we have visitors.”

  The Kastanian army stopped work and watched as the five man delegation approached, wading with difficulty over the ruined landscape and avoiding pools of muddy water. The land seemed nothing but churned up mud and animal dung. Astiras motioned to the on duty imperial archer squad to cover him and they spread out to each side, their weapons strung and arrows nocked, but not drawn back or aimed at anyone. It wouldn’t take more than a few heartbeats however to aim and loose.

  Teduskis came to stand alongside Astiras, his sword drawn and resting on his shoulder casually, but ready to use if there was any sign of trouble. The mercenaries watched on curiously, but they weren’t invited to the discussion so after a while they carried on with their camp-making duties. The Bragalese deputation stopped just short of the new fence that had been put up. There didn’t seem to be any openings for them to pass through, and the two ends were some distance away.

  “I bring greetings from my lord, King Elmar of Bragal,” the messenger began.

  “I do not recognise the title nor the name,” Astiras snapped. “There is no king of Bragal.”

  The messenger inclined his head regretfully. “My lord has declared himself king of all Bragal and his subjects have accepted him as their liege and overlord.”

  “No they haven’t, you liar,” Astiras spat. “I’ve marched through half of this flea-infested toilet you call a kingdom and have not yet met any of these thieving murdering backstabbers of countrymen of yours who even know who the heck Elmar is! He’s no king; no doubt he’s a warlord who’s risen to the top of this dungheap by killing the most people.”

  The messenger’s face darkened. “Sir, such disrespect bodes ill for future negotiations between our nations…”

  “Let me put this as bluntly as I possibly can, Bragalese rebel! Bragal is a province of Kastania. I am your overlord and liege. Bragal will never be an independent kingdom. I shall put to the sword every rebel and traitor in this blighted province if necessary, and I shall certainly personally disembowel that talentless usurper you call a king!”

  The Bragalese deputation looked at each other in dismay. “Sir, with respect, the people here wish for a free Bragal ruled by a Bragalese born and bred leader. Your own people have admitted in the past that we have the right to decide our own destiny.”

  Astiras leaned on the fence and jutted his jaw out towards the five men. “Shall I fetch the heads of all those whining cowards who supported your ill-advised rebellion in the first place? I have personally silenced every voice of support for your cause in Kastan, and in any case I am emperor and decide Kastanian policy, not some whimpering fool in an office somewhere. Now surrender Zofela to me and hand over that traitor Elmar for execution, or I shall starve all of you out, and no matter that it may take a few years, Zofela will fall and I shall encase your corpses in the new buildings of this city after I burn every last damned house to the ground!”

  Astiras was red-faced with fury, and the Bragalese cringed backwards. The messenger hesitantly produced a scroll, sealed with red wax. “This is a message from King Elmar to you, sir. I think you had best read it.”

  Astiras glared at the scroll, then curtly gestured to Teduskis to take it. The emperor’s right hand man stepped up to the fence and held out his hand. The messenger placed it in his palm and Teduskis took it, studying the quality of the scroll and wax. The seal was a simple one and something he’d never seen before, but he’d seen the type of scroll and wax many times. “Your Majesty, this is from your supply here.”

  “What?” Astiras grabbed the scroll and examined it. His face assumed the picture of a thunderstorm. He looked up at the five Bragalese. “You scum. Using my stock for your own use? This is my city. I am governor here. I will reclaim it, you tell your lord and master that, and when I do the tears will flow. You have until daybreak tomorrow to surrender. Take down your rags from the ramparts, open your gates and hand over that upstart to me. Those are my terms for sparing the city.”

  “We shall take them to my lord,” the messenger bowed and turned to go. The others followed suit.

  “Tell your lord and master that this fence will eventually surround your city and nothing will be allowed in or out without our authority.” Astiras waved the deputation away irritably. He watched as they went, trying to avoid the worst of the terrain. “Idiots,” Astiras growled at their backs. He turned to Teduskis, “think I put the fear of the gods into their guts?”

  “Fairly convincingly, sire. Will you burn the place to the ground?”

  “Oh, no, that was just talk. I’ve no intention of doing that! I will rebuild the place and maybe put a few better quality buildings in there, now I’m emperor. I fear the rebuilding of Bragal will take a long time and cost a fair amount of money. It’s not just Zofela that needs it; the entire region does.” He looked at the scroll. “I’d best see what this fool has written, then I’ll send a message back to Kastan to announce our arrival outside Zofela. Time we got a reliable messenger service going. Can you see to that?”

  “Of course, sire.” Teduskis eyed the half completed wooden building that was being erected quickly by the men. “At least we’ll be out of the rainy season soon.”

  “Aye. I’m thinking about the river. Can we divert it away from the city?”

  “What – dig a new course closer to this camp?”

  Astiras pointed across the countryside. “I was thinking more across the other side to form the barrier opposite us. We haven’t nearly enough wood here with us or available in these woodlands to surround Zofela, so making the river half of it would cut down on our needs.”

  Teduskis shook his head slowly. “We’d need hundreds of men, and even then that’d take well into the winter.”

  “Hmmmm,” Astiras scratched his jaw. He needed a shave. “I’d still like to take the river away from Zofela. That’d starve them of water and get them to surrender faster. We’ve no idea how much in the way of supplies they have, but judging by what they’ve done here,” and he waved at the ground in front of him, “they’ve been busy for sevendays.”

  “I’ll see what can be arranged, sire. We may be able to do something by the end of the year.”

  “That’s better than not at all. If it comes to it, get a load of prisoners to dig for you.” He entered the half-finished hut that would serve as his headquarters and grabbed a chair that was standing on its own away from the piles of packaging, wood, sheets and furnishings that had been unloaded from the nearest wagon. He ripped open the seal and scanned the scroll, his face hardening and he shook his head slowly. Teduskis stood by his side patiently.

  “He demands – demands, mind you – our total withdrawal from Bragal. He states we are to recognise Bragalese independence and arrange for all non-Bragal villages in the province to be removed, the villagers re-sited in Kastania and any costs of this to be borne by Kastania! The cheek!”

  Teduskis chuckled. “As if we could possibly accept these demands. He must be confident we can’t win here.”

&n
bsp; Astiras shook his head in wonder. “He says we are to send an emissary to Zofela to sign the recognition of independence and to accept blame for the war in the first place.” He threw the scroll onto the floor angrily. “After they rose up and murdered all those people? How can we be blamed for that? Damned fool.”

  “A guarantee for negotiations to fail. Perhaps he has delusions of grandeur.”

  The emperor slapped his thighs. “Whatever, he’ll be sorry for that. I’ll pin this scroll to his arse.” He got up and went back out into the sunshine. “Ahh! I’m so glad the winter has gone. Teduskis, I want a messenger service to run daily from here to Turslenka down the north road,” he pointed behind him to where a secondary road ran to the horizon, “as well as the road to Kastan. We need to keep in touch with the empire. I want to know what’s going on and to start running things from here.”

  “I’m sure the empress is doing a decent job in Kastan, sire. Her letters to you indicate she’s coping well with the administration of the empire.”

  “All very well, Teduskis, but I’m emperor and I must make the decisions, not her!”

  The bodyguard decided not to get involved in that conversation. It was far too easy to get into an awkward position if he were careless with one word. Instead he confirmed he would work on getting a messenger system begun and would also look into the possibility of diverting the river away from the city. That was much easier than becoming embroiled in a dispute between emperor and empress.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Niake was seething with discontent. High Priest Gaurel had whipped up religious fervour to such a point that it would only take one wrong move or word from someone to set off a riot. The people were demanding a full restoration of the temples from the governor and the installation of High Priest Gaurel Burnas on the town council. There was currently under way a demonstration against other – false – religions in the town square and Evas Extonos watched with a worried expression from his office as the speaker, a priest whom he didn’t know, whipped up anger amongst the swelling crowd, saying that their gods were being deliberately ignored in favour of false beliefs. It was all a plan by the ruling regime, so the priest was saying, to allow the Tybar god in so as to make it easier for the Tybar to take over when they came.

  “This is all nonsense,” Evas said with feeling. “Why are they saying such things?”

  “They clearly have an agenda,” Demtro observed, standing next to the governor. “This speaker – you’ve never seen him before, you say?”

  “No,” Evas shook his head. “He’s doing a good job of getting the people worked up, isn’t he?”

  “Hmmm,” Demtro replied, rubbing his chin. “I’ll have to dig around and find out who this man is. Gaurel Burnas and I are still on speaking terms, so I’ll invite myself to his residence and broach the subject with him.”

  “And what will you do should you find out?”

  Demtro looked at the governor, his eyes wide in feigned surprise. “Why, governor, inform you immediately. What else?”

  Evas snorted. “Demtro, I really have no idea what you’re doing here in Niake, nor do I know of the things you do.”

  “Governor, I’m a son of this city and do not want to see it descend into chaos; this priest is clearly of an opposite view, so I’m going to do my utmost to stop him. I have money, and this opens many doors, believe me.”

  “Yes, you do. I expect your taxes in shortly, by the way.”

  Demtro smiled thinly. “Yes, yes, Governor, I’m well aware of the tax I’m due to pay. Your assessors virtually tied me down and tortured me during their visit to my premises.”

  “Do you wish to make a formal complaint against their conduct, Demtro?”

  “Oh, no, not at all. Wouldn’t do any good anyway; nobody listens to a merchant’s complaints these days.” He sighed deeply and leaned forward in interest, staring down at the wooden stands that the priest and his close circle of helpers were using to make themselves seen by the crowd. “Hello,” he said slowly, “now who’s this?”

  Evas looked and saw a young woman passing out leaflets to the crowd from her position next to the priest. “Oh, Demtro, can’t you think of anything else?”

  “Now she’s a pretty young thing!” Demtro grinned widely. “Worth going to any demonstration for!”

  Evas clucked his tongue. “Keep your mind on the important matters, Demtro!”

  “I am!” the merchant grinned even wider. Evas made an exasperated sound and sat back down, his face troubled. Demtro slowly moved away from the window. “Think I’ll pop down and listen in on the man, and maybe collect one of those leaflets.”

  Evas shook his head sadly.

  Demtro waggled a finger at the governor. “Now, now, Governor, I’m doing this in order to find out more about this mystery priest. Why is he intent on whipping up religious unrest? Why is he keen to push the High Priest upon you? Why are they singling out Tybar as the big enemy when there are plenty more without – and within – to pick on? Hmmm, this will need more research, and I’m going to start with that delicious young girl out there.”

  Evas put his head in his hands and moaned out loud about Demtro’s one-direction mind. “I’m trying to keep the peace here, Demtro, and you’re chasing young women. I need help to stop rioting!”

  “I’ll see what I can do, Governor,” Demtro called out gaily from the doorway, and then was gone. The governor slapped his desk in exasperation and looked at his advisor, a small thin man with long fingers and very pale skin by the name of Kisan Prelek. Prelek was something of an inventor, always thinking of new ways to do things and drawing these ideas out on paper. One of the few with a brain who had stayed loyal to Evas during the recent upheavals and changes of regimes, he had become a permanent fixture in the governor’s building.

  “What do you think, Prelek?”

  The inventor put down a wooden model of a new lifting device he had been playing with and folded his hands together. “Let Demtro burrow his way into the priest’s confidence. He may find out what this is all about. It’s curious that High Priest Burnas is not speaking out there. Who is this speaker and where is he from? If Demtro tries to find out and is caught, we can deny any connection with him as he’s a mere merchant. How Demtro explains himself is entirely down to himself.”

  “But I don’t like him being isolated like that – he’s doing this for our benefit after all and it would be only right to give him assistance.”

  “Is he doing this for our benefit? Demtro is a mystery himself. Where has his money come from? At a time when all of us are feeling the pinch of a lack of money, he arrives with pockets full. He comes from Kastan, appointed by the palace.”

  Evas waved his arms across his desk. “Appointed by the palace to restart the fabric trade here. It was one of our assets until recent times. Riots here won’t encourage investment, will they? We need stability. What with the Tybar brooding over the mountains to our west and priests whipping up unrest here, who’s going to want to get involved in merchandise in Niake?”

  “I understand your concern,” Prelek agreed soothingly, “but for the moment give Demtro his freedom. Either he’ll succeed or fail. Either way, we can’t be harmed by it. To be involved in a spying scandal would not be good for us at this time.”

  Evas sighed. The inventor was right. He decided to write to the palace and ask for advice. It would also make him look like a loyal subject, deferring to Kastan, and it would put the responsibility for this growing problem in their laps.

  ____

  Demtro shivered in the outside air. It was blowing a cold one from the south west. Sucking air in through his teeth, he slipped cautiously from the side entrance along the street that led to the main square. Guards were nervously watching the events in the square and wondering whether their officers would order them in to quash the angry mob or to run as far as they could and let the riot run its course, should it start.

  The sound was growing, of angry voices shouting that the temples
should be rebuilt, and that the governor was unfit to rule the city. Death to the Tybar was another shout he heard. He grimaced. The Tybar would probably put these people all to death if the two came face to face. He pushed through the seething mass and headed for the speaker, a bald headed cleric with deep set fanatical eyes. He looked like a priest, and his face was dark except on his chin, a curious pigmentation, perhaps. Standing next to him were two helpers, a man and the young woman he’d seen from the window. He pushed towards her. Someone cursed him so Demtro left a rude gesture hanging in the air as he carried on, not caring a bit who the man was who’d spoken.

  He arrived at last, barging two rather aromatic workmen out of his way and got to the front. The girl, no more than seventeen years of age, was passing out leaflets to the front for passing back by the crowd. Demtro held out his hand. “I’ve not got one, sweetheart,” he shouted.

  The girl looked at him. She was smooth skinned, dark eyed, and had long dark hair. She was dressed in a long one-piece dress of green, gathered in at the waist by a simple rope-belt. She looked as if she’d reach his shoulders if she stood by his side. Wordlessly, she passed him a leaflet. “Thanks!” Demtro said, smiling at her.

  The girl said nothing and looked up to see if anyone else wanted one. Demtro quickly scanned the leaflet. It said nothing other than the usual inflammatory political stuff the rent-a-crowd types passed out from time to time. The current regime was at fault, the gods were being ignored blah-blah-blah, there would come a time of reckoning and only the believers would survive, yeah, yeah, yeah.

  Demtro snorted with amusement. At the bottom it said to join the new temple in Niake, a new temple that was going to be built in the western gatehouse district. There was an address. The priest was shouting again, his arms wide. Demtro could see every feature of his face, he was that close to him. His accent was very odd, stilted and deliberate, as if he were struggling with what he was saying. He encouraged the people to pray to the gods so that the governor would listen to them, and if he would not, then to call upon the gods to show that they would not be ignored.