Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  The messages he’d recently received from his wife were encouraging; Jorqel was still besieging Slenna and it surely wouldn’t be long before it fell. He had confidence in his son to do what was necessary. The return of Lodria to the empire would also provide a second province to border the Tybar and maybe make them pause to consider which they should concentrate on first. There was no news from Amne, and this was becoming a concern for him. His enquiries into the mystery man who had deserted his army had revealed nothing, and his Bragal contacts back down the road could come up with no satisfactory answer to the whereabouts of the guide.

  Astiras was getting bored as well; sieges tested one’s patience as well as the staying power of the army. He’d vainly hoped Elmar would have surrendered when the army turned up but the Bragal rebels had shown with the clearing of the land around the city that they were serious about resisting every attempt to end the rebellion. To ease his boredom he’d begun to sit down at night in his semi-permanent quarters and write letters back to Isbel, issuing commands, declarations, asking for more information, making a schedule for things to be done, such as building up the navy, army, fortresses, roads, harbours, barracks, temples and so on throughout the empire.

  Another thing he’d commented on to Isbel was the current idea of mounted archers. As a veteran of both the Bragal rebellion and the war in the west against the Tybar, he’d seen how mounted archers of both enemies had been used. The Bragalese hadn’t been that effective, but the Tybar had caused mayhem and standing in static lines with spearmen hoping the enemy cavalry would conveniently run themselves onto the spear points was something of a vain hope. If the war was to ever be taken back into Tybar territory, the empire would have to have the means by which to defeat their western neighbour. He was cautiously in favour of trying them out, but wondered whether the cost would be too great, given that money would have to be expended on garrisons and improving defensive works. He had recommended nonetheless that the empire ought to train up some mounted archers in the capital.

  He was also pleased about the failing of the Fokis plot. He had little love for that family and had read the message with particular delight. He wasn’t sure about Isbel’s leniency towards them in allowing them to keep their ancestral lands; he would have sent all of them to the Turslenka mines. So far she was doing a first rate job in keeping things going behind his back, but he now felt he needed to get more involved in things. He’d charged Teduskis with arranging staging posts along the road to Kastan to provide the messenger service with refreshments and to change equines so that communications were speeded up.

  “We need to contact the Mazag,” Astiras said suddenly, staring into space, looking to the south. “They need to be made aware that Amne is en route to them.”

  “Yes, sire. Will they send out search parties for her?”

  “I’m hoping they will,” the emperor said, worry clouding his words. “She needs every bit of help. May the gods punish me if anything has happened to that girl.”

  “Sire, you had little choice but to send her; you yourself said we need friends and allies. How else can we hope to survive? We’re in no shape to fight both east and west. Besides, Lalaas is a good man.”

  “Yes, the best I’ve seen with a sword, but there’s only so much one man can do. Can you get a message to the Mazag?”

  “I don’t know, sire. The Bragalese still have command of the south and I doubt we could get anyone through without being seen on the roads, and off road we don’t have anyone who knows the country that well. We may be able to send something by sea, if we can find a ship willing to sail to one of the Balq ports friendly enough to take it.”

  “Yes,” Astiras sighed deeply, “I can’t think of any kindly disposed towards us. We need to open a port along the coast. What’s the one on the coast here? Ravna?”

  “Aye, sire. Ravna is Bragal’s only port, but not far enough south to be able to safely get to Mazag territory. Your daughter may have passed that way, for all we know.”

  “She may have; the gods alone know where Lalaas took her. Find someone to take a message and I’ll compose one.”

  “It may encourage the Mazag to move troops into southern Bragal, sire,” Teduskis pointed out.

  “I’ll give them authority to do so until Amne has been found.”

  “And if she isn’t found, sire?” Teduskis broached the delicate subject.

  Astiras glared at him. “She will be found!”

  “All the same, sire, give them a time limit. Just a suggestion.”

  “Hmmph. I’ll consider the matter. I may leave the siege to you if things don’t resolve themselves by the winter. I need to be in Kastan at some time, and if this siege is going to be drawn out then there’s no point in me being here sitting on my behind waiting.”

  Teduskis looked alarmed. “You’d ride back alone? Bragal isn’t pacified yet, sire. You’d need proper protection. Also what if anything does happen? It’d take you a few sevendays to get here after receiving a message!”

  Astiras waved a hand dismissively. “I can’t remain here for two years or however long it’s going to take, Teduskis! I need to show myself at the capital and to be an emperor as well as a soldier.”

  Teduskis looked worried but said nothing. Astiras wouldn’t listen; he generally didn’t, at least not at first. It would take a little time and sensible presentation of facts to make him change his mind. It would take a fair bit of effort to make the emperor think differently. He could be extremely stubborn at times. The bodyguard decided to change the subject. “How far do you wish the fence to be extended, sire?”

  “When we get the wood, just keep on until you get to the river at both ends.”

  “I’ll get the men digging the ditch again then.”

  Astiras nodded. “It’ll occupy them and also it’s best to dig now before the weather turns bad with the autumn rains.”

  Teduskis saluted and made his way to the camp; it was going to be a long summer.

  ____

  Amne groaned as she gained consciousness. Her head was pounding and her mouth felt dry as a bone. Lalaas shifted his arm and pulled away, shaking it to get the blood flowing into it. They had slept all night together and the daylight filtering in through the shutters had woken them both. “Oh, my head,” she groaned and sat up, clutching her pounding skull.

  Lalaas reached over and grabbed the jug of water on the small stand. Beneath it was a large basin. He had the feeling it may be needed very shortly. “Here, Amne, drink this,” he gently urged, pouring some water into a cup.

  Amne stared at the cup, then groaned again. “I’m going to be sick!”

  Lalaas put the cup down, grabbed the basin and thrust it under Amne’s chin. The next moment the princess retched and brought up the contents of her stomach. She heaved for a few moments, then, after emptying her gut, sagged back white-faced onto the feather pillow. “I want to die,” she whispered.

  Lalaas urged her to sit up and passed her the cup again. “Here, swill your mouth out and spit it into the basin,” he said.

  Not being in any fit shape to argue, she meekly obeyed and spat into the disgusting pool in the basin, then wrinkled her nose and threw herself back onto the pillow again. Lalaas opened the shutters, peered down and threw the basin’s contents out onto a corner of the yard, splattering the contents wide. He pulled a face, then swilled the bottom out with some water and threw that out, too.

  Amne was still lying corpse-like on the bed. She looked ghastly. “Bad head, eh?” Lalaas said.

  “I’m never going to drink mead again,” Amne whispered. “I’m dying.”

  “No, Amne, you’ve just got a hangover. I’ve been there, done it, thrown up in alleyways all over Frasia and Makenia. Welcome to the club.”

  “That’s not funny,” Amne groaned. “If I was well enough I’d tell you off. Just let me die here in peace.”

  Lalaas decided to leave Amne in the room and go out and see if there was any consequence to him killing the two guards
the previous day. He also needed something to eat, and stopped downstairs to order food from the innkeeper. He’d pick it up when he returned. The new day was warm and promised to be a hot one. The auction platform was being assembled in the square and more slave pens were being built along the side nearest the platform. Here also a temporary blacksmiths was being set up in order to make more slave collars. Business was doing well, or so it seemed.

  He stopped by and examined a few slave pens, looking at the listless people inside, staring out through the slats. A couple of guards moved closer, checking him out, and Lalaas asked a few questions about the slaves and their value. The guards didn’t know but directed him to the slaver, a huge bald-headed man flanked by two equally huge guards. It seemed the slavers were a little more nervous that morning but apart from that, there seemed nothing amiss.

  Satisfied, Lalaas returned to the tavern and took the breakfast upstairs. He’d deliberately chosen a cold meal, not wanting to run the risk of making Amne sick again. Amne was still in bed, looking like death warmed up. “Breakfast,” Lalaas announced, shutting the door behind him, carrying the food and drinks on a worn looking tray. To be more accurate, it was a roughly sawn length of wood.

  “Go away,” Amne groaned. “I’m too ill to eat.”

  “Rubbish,” Lalaas said. “You need to eat; get some good stuff inside you. It’ll cure the hangover much faster if you do, anyway. You need fluid, too. Sit up.”

  She opened her eyes and glared at him. “Don’t you give me orders! Remember who you are!”

  “And remember where we are, Amne! I will also tell you….” he switched to the peasant patois, “….tha’ we’re ‘ere ‘cuz ye wan’ed to come an’ see f’yeself abou’ slaves.”

  “Oh by the gods,” Amne groaned and shut her eyes again. “Speak to me tomorrow when I may feel better.”

  “No.”

  “No?” Amne repeated in disbelief and sat up slowly. “No? By the gods, I’ll have you punished for your insolence!”

  “Go on then, Amne. Punish me. In the meantime, shut up and eat.”

  The princess gasped in outrage. She looked at the bread that had been thrust under her nose. Lalaas shook it insistently and glared at her until she snatched it and looked at him defiantly, then took a small bite and chewed. Despite her reluctance and aching and general feeling of being unwell, she found the taste welcome and took more bites, eating it slowly. A cup of water was put by her side, resting on a small plate, and she sipped it gratefully. Incredibly, a few moments later her stomach began to calm down and the headache began to subside. She glared at her companion again and then ignored him while she ate and drank.

  Finally they finished and Lalaas cleared up, fussing busily while Amne pointedly said nothing to him and got up. “Ah’ve looked a’ the slave pens this mornin’ an’ nothin’s happened ‘bout those two guards,” Lalaas said.

  “Good,” Amne said. “I want to see the pens.”

  “You well ‘nuff?”

  “If I wasn’t I wouldn’t want to go,” she snapped.

  Lalaas shot her a warning look. “Sshh! Don’ know if any’un’s listnin’!”

  Amne pressed her lips together in irritation. “Sooner we’re gone from ‘ere the better, ah say!”

  “Agreed,” Lalaas said heavily. They left the tavern and walked through the busy streets. Now auction was approaching the number of people in Bukrat increased, and many had come to inspect the slaves and assess which ones would be worth bidding on. One or two of the bigger buyers did secret deals with the slavers so that the auction would be fixed in their favour; the ‘price’ would be way above anyone else’s limit, and then the slaves would be sold at the pre-agreed price, often way below that quoted, to the buyer. It was always going on and the best slaves went to the bigger organisations.

  The two took their time walking past the wooden cages. There seemed hundreds of people in them. Amne wondered just where they were coming from and how it was that people could afford to buy so many. There were prisoners of all sorts; male, female, young, old, tall, short, dark skinned, light skinned, fair haired, dark haired.

  “Want a girl or boy slave, good sir?” a bald-headed man asked, standing in front of them suddenly.

  “Ah, lookin’ fer a household slave, cleanin’ an all,” Lalaas said.

  “Ah, then a female slave is just your thing, good sir,” the slaver beamed, showing gaps in his tombstone teeth. He observed Amne and ran a professional eye over, noting the way she stiffened in outrage at his obvious interest. “Your wife, sir?”

  “Ah, tha’ she is.”

  “Does she not clean the house?”

  Lalaas squeezed Amne’s arm in warning. He could feel her trembling in rage. “We ‘ave an’mals to muck ou’, too.”

  “I see. The lady does not like that, I can tell. So, a female slave might not be the best. A male slave, on the other hand, would be perfect for that!” and he led them on to the next cage where a disheartened group of males sat, staring at nothing. “Here, look them over and point out to me if you see one that attracts your attention. Perhaps we can – ah – come to an arrangement without the need to go through the bother of an auction?” the slaver smiled widely, then turned as another interested person caught his attention.

  Amne leaned close to Lalaas. “This is all ‘orrible – ‘ow can people do this?”

  “Bus’ness, dear,” Lalaas muttered, making sure the slaver wasn’t in earshot. “If there’s money to be made, then they’ll do it.”

  They looked at the pathetic group of males again. There were perhaps fifteen packed in it, and suddenly one was looking at them in amazement and scuttling forward, his eyes wide. “Princess! Princess! It’s me, Theros!”

  Lalaas and Amne gaped in shock, then horror. Their cover was in danger of being blown.

  ____

  Preparations for the ball in Slenna had gone smoothly. After such a long time being under siege and facing the horrors of having their homes, possessions and even their lives taken from them, the relief at how quickly and painlessly the change back to imperial rule had given the people there the enthusiasm to do their part. Every street had been swept clean and houses had been tidied up, and now bunting hung along every street, made up of strips of cloth or brightly coloured plants and flowers, and two separate parties had been planned; one for Jorqel and the ruling elite, and the other for the townsfolk.

  Jorqel had announced that he would open the town party and attend the first part, until the late afternoon when it was expected the drinking would start to take effect and his presence would be needed up in the castle to get ready for the ruling elite’s party which was to be held at night. This would be strictly for the nobility and their families.

  Gavan made himself as scarce as he possibly could during this time. Formal functions were not for the likes of him; he was a soldier, not a courtier. He set about inspecting the town walls and the castle, noting the weaknesses and places that were in ruins or in bad repair. He also took it upon himself to check the town’s military facilities, and this didn’t take him too long. There were none. Slenna was bereft of any substantial public buildings. It appeared they had all been allowed to fall into ruin over the past few decades and nobody had bothered to keep up repairs. It seemed the only construction of any note was the castle.

  He approached Jorqel about the matter the evening after his inspection. Jorqel wasn’t surprised. But he had the long term view. “We won’t be able to change too much any time soon, Gavan. There isn’t the money to build much, and we’ve got to contribute towards the imperial treasury. We need to get the food supply right most of all, then put what money we do have into improving the town defences. This castle needs rebuilding. It’s a real mess, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “I have, sire. It wouldn’t stop an attack from washer-women.”

  “My feelings exactly. So what do we do if a whole regiment of Tybar tribesmen suddenly appear on the western horizon? Hide behind these parchment walls or ride
out to do battle?”

  “Either way we die, sire.”

  Jorqel nodded. “So we rebuild the castle. I want a bigger, more robust one. In wood for now, but maybe in a couple of years we can do it in stone. Get a design drawn up and bring it to me for approval.”

  “Yes, sire.” Gavan paused, then spoke again. “Tell me, sire, what noble families are coming to the ball next sevenday?”

  “Why do you ask, Gavan? Got an eye on any eligible daughter?”

  “The gods preserve me! I’ll need to know numbers for security, sire.”

  Jorqel chuckled. “I’m teasing you. So far we’ve had nine replies. We’ve even had one from Romos.”

  “Romos? Isn’t that run by pirates, sire?”

  “Yes, but it is claimed by the empire and was formerly ours, so the nobility there are certainly Kastanian. The pirates be damned; they can rule it for now but one day we shall return and reclaim it. Maybe I’ll do it myself. We’ve had replies from the Grathen, Murdok, Nicate, Kolos, Sendrel, Cantreli, Hemminnon, Duras and Kibatos families.”

  “Duras?” Gavan scowled. “I wouldn’t trust them for a moment.”

  “Fear not, my friend. Unless the daughter is a goddess, I won’t even consider her.”

  “And if she is?”

  Jorqel smiled rakishly. “My choice of a bride, not yours. I shall consider every good attribute in the noble daughter and make a careful and well-judged decision.”

  “Nothing to do with the size of her…” Gavan mimed taking hold of two large objects in his hands in front of him.

  “A prince does not consider such superficial distractions,” Jorqel said loftily. Both stared at each other for a moment, then broke into raucous laughter. “Now go, you rogue,” Jorqel pushed his bodyguard away, “you’re giving me un-princely thoughts.”

  Gavan left the chamber, chuckling, and Jorqel returned his attention to the financial reports on his desk. They were worrying reading. What the sum needed to bring Slenna and Lodria back up to anything like a standard expected of an imperial province and town was way beyond what was available at the present time. Jorqel was just beginning to understand the financial problems the empire was beset by. The rebellion here hadn’t helped and what money had been around had been spent on the armed forces. Now that was gone.