Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  “No,” Lalaas shook his head. “A hunter. I work for myself. This is my woman,” he jerked his head at Amne, waiting quietly with the two spare equines.

  “She looks a pretty one. Carries herself well, too. No peasant, that one. You can afford a high fee.”

  “Which is?”

  The tollman rubbed his bushy beard. “Fifty gold.”

  Lalaas stared incredulously at the man. “And where am I to get my hands on that extortionate fee?”

  “That is not my concern; no fee, no cross.”

  Lalaas hauled out his sword and sprang down to the left, putting two of the men on the other side of his beast. As he landed, bending his knees, his sword was already sweeping down in a murderous arc. The tollman never had time to react, his neck being neatly severed by the keen blade of the sword. The second man alongside the tollman pulled back on his bowstring but Lalaas was already moving, sweeping up as he stepped forward, the steel blade entering the bowman under the ribcage and sending him staggering back, a mortal wound spreading across his torn jacket. The two remaining Bragalese moved out to get a clear shot at Lalaas, ignoring Amne who was staring, open-mouthed, at the entire scene. They moved to either side of the animal and Lalaas ran to the rear of his beast, sword dripping red. The tollman nearest Lalaas came face to face with him and received the length of the hunter’s sword through his guts, the blade exploding out of his back, and Lalaas held the man close to him and pushed him back, into the line of sight of the remaining man.

  The bowman panicked and let loose, the arrow burying itself in the back of his dying comrade. Lalaas pushed the man off his sword and saw the Bragalese frantically grabbing a second arrow from his belt pack. With no time to close on him, Lalaas seized his knife, dropping his sword onto the ground, and sent the smaller weapon blurring through the air at waist height. The blade sank into the chest of the last man and he coughed in pain and fell back, clutching at the weapon ineffectually.

  Lalaas retrieved his sword and stood over the scene of carnage. The four had been outclassed, none having had any military training, unlike himself. He slowly wiped the blade and checked the bodies. Nothing of use on them.

  Amne came up slowly, her eyes wide in her face. “How did you do that?” she asked in awe.

  Lalaas shrugged. “I was better than they were; they got greedy. If they hadn’t been, they would still be alive. Now for the other side.”

  “What about these people? You can’t leave them here like this.” She looked away from the headless tollman, shuddering.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Lalaas grunted, reaching down and tossing the severed head into the river. “The accommodation hut there, perhaps they have something of value inside?”

  Amne was glad to get off her mount and go indoors away from the scene of butchery. She heard Lalaas pulling the bodies away from the approach road and throwing them into the river. The river fish would enjoy them. She found a wooden box under a roughly cut table and opened it. Inside were coins and gems and other small valuable objects. Lalaas came in, wiping his knife blade, and nodded at the box. “Ill-gotten gains, no doubt. I wonder how many of their former owners were allowed to cross?”

  Amne pursed her lips. “Well they won’t rob any more of my people.”

  Lalaas smiled. “Now you’re starting to sound like a real princess, ma’am.”

  Amne ruefully returned the smile. “I must start acting like one, too. The sooner we’re in civilised surroundings the better.”

  “For you, yes, ma’am. I prefer this lifestyle.”

  Amne stood up. “And never the twain shall meet,” she said, remembering something she’d been taught in her childhood.

  Lalaas chuckled. “Indeed, ma’am. Now, those robbers on the other side will have seen me take care of this lot, and they won’t be happy to let us in. Time for my other skill to be used. But first, I think we ought to take this box. You never know when it may be of use.”

  They carried the box out and tied it to one of the pack animals, hiding it under a blanket, before Lalaas picked up his bow and tested the string. He gauged the distance, then slung the quiver over his shoulder and led his mount onto the bridge. “Stay a few paces behind me, ma’am.”

  Amne followed in his wake, also on foot. A rider would make an easier target, so Lalaas had told her. They began to make their way across slowly. Figures appeared at the far end and they were holding bows. Lalaas stopped and tied the reins to a projecting stone in the wall. He took three paces forward and stopped, then filled his lungs. “We demand passage. Step aside!”

  “Go back, Kastanian scum,” a heavily accented voice responded. “Or you die.”

  “Try it, wool beast molesters,” Lalaas called back and placed an arrow against the string of his bow. The imperial Taboz bow was easily the best bow in Kastania, and it had a longer range than most ordinary bows. The tribesmen would not have anything other than the normal short or medium bows and their range was therefore much less. Lalaas had stopped just short of what he judged was their effective range. They would not know the weapon he carried. It was going to be a rude shock to them.

  He saw five tribesmen, all shouting obscenities at him. Picking the man on the extreme left, he sighted, drew the string back, held his breath, then released. The steel-tipped arrow shot forward and tore through the air, burying itself half its length into the luckless man’s chest, sending him staggering back and then falling flat out, his eyes staring in shock at the sky, unblinking.

  “What…?” the leader of the tribesmen asked, swinging his head round in disbelief. He couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Neither could his comrades.

  Lalaas had nocked another arrow to the bow and swung the weapon to the right, targeting the man on the other end. This one had brought up his bow and had released his arrow. The missile arced through the air and died, falling to the bridge ten paces ahead of Lalaas and clattering into the stone wall. Lalaas’ face betrayed no emotion as he paused, then released. The arrow ripped across the distance in the blink of an eye and took the man through the left shoulder, sending him spinning round, screaming in pain and terror.

  “This is mad!” the tribesman in command exclaimed, his eyes wide. “What has he got there?”

  “I’m not staying to find out!” one of the other two said and took off as fast as his legs could take him.

  “Come back, coward!” the leader yelled. It was no use; the man was off as though all the demons of the underworld were on his heels.

  Lalaas had another arrow ready and targeted the leader. The man turned round to face Lalaas just as the third arrow arrived, impacting his chest and hurling him back. The last man had seen enough; he threw his bow away and fled, wanting to be as far from this madman and his evil bow as possible.

  Lalaas lowered the bow and breathed out in relief. “The way is clear, ma’am.”

  “Is there anything you can’t do, Lalaas?”

  Lalaas turned round and smiled. “Of course, ma’am, but I’m not going to tell you what that is.”

  Amne giggled. “You must remain secretive and mysterious, is that it?”

  “That’s right.” He mounted up and slung his bow around his back. “We’d best be out of here as soon as possible before their friends arrive. Not even my bow could hold that many off.”

  Amne mounted up too and they trotted along the bridge, over the bodies of the fallen and stopped as the remaining man, the one with the shoulder wound, staggered away from them. “Go tell your friends not to interfere with us or they shall suffer the same fate,” Lalaas warned him.

  The man whimpered and slumped against the side of the small communal hut they had been using. Amne gave him a pitying look before following Lalaas onto Valchian soil and along the mud track that served as a road. The terrain was hilly and in the distance snow peaked mountains rose high into the sky. Lalaas nodded towards them. “We have to cross them before we get to Branak. Branak is on the other side of those. That’s Mazag over there.”

  “
Is it close?”

  “A few sevendays travel. Depends on what we meet and how difficult it is travelling through this lawless land. It’s tribal, so don’t expect any organised system here; no roads, laws, water supplies or town guards to protect you.”

  “What about Bukrat?”

  “Ah yes, Bukrat. The only place of note here. A slave trading centre.”

  Amne came alongside. “I want to see it.”

  Lalaas pulled a face.

  Amne confronted him, riding ahead and then blocking his path. “I said I wanted to see it, Lalaas. I know why you don’t want me to, but believe me, I must see it for myself, so I know what I’m to fight to stop it. It’s a terrible degrading thing and I won’t have it going on in my lands.”

  “Valchia is not Kastanian, ma’am.”

  “You know what I mean, Lalaas,” Amne snapped, her eyes blazing. “Slaves are taken from Kastanian soil and brought there, to Bukrat. We must stop this awful thing!”

  “I agree with you, ma’am; the trouble is there’s a chance we may be caught and end up in the pens ourselves.”

  “How could we be caught? By looking like this?” she asked, waving her hands at her clothes. They were showing the signs of wear and tear and had been repaired in a few places already. Amne would throw them away once she got to Mazag.

  “No, ma’am, by looking like you,” Lalaas indicated her face. “Anyone can see you’re a woman of quality, just by the way you look and by the way you talk. You’d stand out like a sore thumb.”

  Amne reddened slightly. “Well, I’ll keep quiet, and you can dirty my face.”

  Lalaas sighed. “And rough up your hair, and put dirt under your fingernails?”

  “Do what you must, Lalaas; I have to see this for myself.”

  “Whatever you say ma’am,” Lalaas said woodenly, wondering how he was going to disguise Amne sufficiently to pass the keen eyes of the slavers.

  ____

  Jorqel was washing himself in the early morning sun when a messenger came running up to the entrance to the farmhouse. Gavan took the message and came in excitedly. “Sire, the enemy wish to negotiate a truce!”

  Jorqel paused, then continued to wash his face. As he dried himself on a towel, he chuckled out loud. “Do they now, by the gods? And what is there to negotiate? When they surrender? I see no other subject for negotiation.”

  “It may be interesting to hear them out, sire.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I may get some idea of how desperate they are. How cold is it outside?”

  Gavan scowled and breathed in deeply. “Could be better; it’s clear so it’ll be a bit chilly now, but it promises to warm up later.”

  “Then set up my breakfast table outside. I want to eat in front of these wretches. I want them to see proper food. They however are to be offered nothing.”

  Gavan chuckled wickedly. “Aye, sire, it shall be done.”

  So it was. Jorqel sauntered out into the bright light of spring, blinking in the sun, and made his way to the temporary table that had been set up hurriedly, a white table cloth thrown over it and food set down on metal and wooden plates and bowls. The lowing of bovines in the background provided a surreal accompaniment to the meal. Jorqel waved to the guards to allow the two representatives of Alfan Fokis to seat themselves before him, on smaller chairs and ten paces from the table. Jorqel took his time in selecting a sizeable portion of fruit, bread and wine. He peered at the two negotiators from time to time, noting their eyes and their mouths as they almost slavered over the table’s contents.

  “So,” Jorqel began, taking a deep draught of wine and wiping his mouth delicately with a pressed white napkin, “you are here to – negotiate – with me?”

  “Sir, my lord Alfan Fokis is prepared to offer a fair exchange in return for your lifting the siege and returning to your borders.”

  Jorqel regarded the speaker, a man with a large chin and deep black curled hair, for a moment, then proceeded to chew slowly on some bread. After he swallowed, he replied. “Firstly, your lord is in no position to offer anything, except his surrender. If that is not the case, then he’s free to try to do something about it. Care to attack us?”

  The messengers shook their heads. Jorqel smiled briefly, then continued. “Secondly, there is no ‘border’ of which you speak. This is my territory, I am the governor of Lodria, and I am only going to take back what is mine by right. Your lord Alfan Fokis is a dead man – it only remains to be decided when I kill him. But speak, what are his generous terms?”

  “Sir, my lord instructs me to offer you one third of all income from Lodria for the next ten years in return for recognizing his right to rule the province, and to recognise Lodria as a separate kingdom.”

  Jorqel almost choked on his wine. “Oh, ho! Really? Such a generous man. And how am I to trust this offer? How am I to know he’ll keep his side of the bargain?”

  “He offers guarantees, sir.”

  “Guarantees?” Jorqel put his wine goblet down. “The word of a traitor and rebel? I think not. Anyone who takes the step to turn on his own people and steal land that is not his away from those who rightly possess it is not someone whose word is to be trusted. And one third? What an insult! It is not money I am here for, let me tell you. I am here to take possession of Slenna. Slenna is mine, not that fatherless runt’s who struts around within your very thin walls!”

  The two messengers looked at one another in dismay. “Sir,” the leader spoke again, “my lord may be prepared to offer one half.”

  “He can offer his first born to the temples for all I care,” Jorqel waved a dismissive hand, “go tell him that my terms are surrender now and his men will be spared. He of course, will die at my hands. Failure to surrender will mean that when the walls do fall – and someone in there will betray you for a decent meal in time – we will enter and slaughter everyone holding a weapon. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” The messengers were dismissed and they left, casting longing looks at the table.

  Gavan came up slowly and watched their departing backs thoughtfully. “They must be desperate.”

  “Yes,” Jorqel agreed. “I doubt it’ll be long now.”

  The winds from the Balq Sea came laden with moisture, and the mountains to the east caused them to rise, hitting the cold air. The air backed up and, laden with moisture, formed into clouds and began to fall as rain. Lalaas hunched miserably into his cloak and looked back at the figure of Amne, head bent, her hood hiding her face. Lalaas looked ahead again and gently encouraged his tired steed on. Up by the side of the track were some trees and these would provide some shelter. It would be a good time to begin disguising the princess too.

  They stopped underneath the newly leafed trees and hobbled the beasts. They happily set about grazing and eating some of the lower leaves of the shrubs dotted in between the trunks where the canopies hadn’t blocked out the light. Lalaas looked about and spied what he wanted – a small pool where animals came to drink.

  “What are you going to do here?” Amne asked, looking bedraggled.

  “Start the process of turning you into a peasant woman, ma’am.”

  Amne looked at Lalaas with interest. “What are you going to do?”

  The hunter stood in front of the princess, arms on hips. “You asked me to do what was necessary, so now I shall. This may not be proper behaviour by either of us but for the purpose of disguising you, we need to stop you being a princess. You need to stop thinking like one or acting like one. That’s down to you – what I can do is make you look like someone different.”

  Amne nodded. This was scary, and also exciting. Lalaas sighed, took a deep breath, and began. “Take off your cloak and outer garments.”

  “What?”

  “If you want to look plain and lowly, then you’ll have to do as I ask.”

  Amne hesitated, then shrugged off her cloak and hung it on a low branch behind her. The dress she was wearing was tied around her waist. “Is this really necessary?”


  “I’m afraid so – and I’m going to have to drop the ‘ma’am’ and ‘your highness’ phrases too. The sooner we get into our roles the better.”

  Amne was outraged on one hand, but excited on the other. Taking off her dress in front of a commoner would set tongues wagging like flags in a breeze back in Kastan – and the last man to see her so – apart from Lalaas – had been that foul Mercos. Her dress hung from another branch, wet and muddy. She hugged herself, dressed only in her white undergarments. It was cold. Lalaas nodded and turned round, bending down to reach for the mud at the edge of the pool. “Here, rub your hands in this and don’t wipe it off.”

  Amne did as bid. As she did, Lalaas smeared more mud on her arms, causing her to gasp. Their eyes met and held for a moment, then she looked away and concentrated on making her hands as muddy as possible. A memory came to her, one from her childhood of playing with mud somewhere – she couldn’t quite remember where it had been – and she had received such a scolding from her nanny.

  “Right – now your face. Look up at me,” Lalaas said softly.

  Amne did so and Lalaas gently smeared mud on her face, working it round her skin, avoiding the eyes and mouth and ears. Amne tingled at the intimacy of it. Lalaas smiled and continued. “I’m putting dirt into your skin and this will stop you looking like nobility. Only nobility don’t have dirt in their skin, as they have the time and money to be able to keep themselves clean. Also your fingers – having dirt in them and under your nails will show you work the land, something no noblewoman would ever do.”

  Amne smiled.

  “Right,” Lalaas leaned back. “We’ll wait a while, then wipe the worst of it off. Once we do that we might as well carry on. It won’t be dark for a while yet and hopefully this rain will abate.”

  “I’m freezing,” Amne commented.

  Lalaas put his cloak about her and held her against his body for warmth. Amne snuggled in and shut her eyes. Her heart was beating furiously and she hoped he didn’t notice. It simply would not be right for her to show affection to this lowly hunter. But she couldn’t keep her body from tingling as they maintained contact. “Tell me, Lalaas,” she eventually said so that her mind was taken off improper thoughts, “what will you do once our journey is over?”