Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  “I don’t believe you, Demtro. You’re not honest. You sneak around finding people’s weaknesses and taking advantage of them. I wanted to believe you, that you were going to make my life better, but if this is what you have planned for me I’d rather be back in the Black Rodent. At least there you know what people want.”

  “You won’t go back there to that life,” Demtro said confidently. “Not now you’ve seen what sort of life you can have here.”

  Clora balled both fists. “You are so arrogant! You think you’re so right all the time.” She stepped up and slapped his across the face. “I’m going back and I’d rather be beaten every day rather than be a part of your games where people get murdered.” She stamped out of the house, leaving Demtro fingering his face, looking at the door in shock.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Astiras was standing in the courtyard watching the mounted archers gallop up and down, loosing off arrows on the run, when a messenger came breathlessly up to him. The two guards with the emperor crossed their volgars but Astiras waved them aside. “It’s alright,” he said, “I know him; he’s from the army in Bragal. What is it, son, an attack?”

  “No sire. Message from Commander Teduskis. Very urgent, not to be opened by anyone other than you.” The messenger bowed low and back away, having handed the sealed note over.

  Vosgaris, standing close by, came over with interest. “Bad news, sire?”

  Astiras hungrily scanned the neatly written words, then let loose a whoop of delight. Heads appeared at the windows all around the courtyard. “She’s alive, Vosgaris! Amne’s alive!”

  “Oh, that’s great news, sire! I’ll go tell the empress.”

  “Wait,” Astiras held out a hand, and his face clouded over as he read further down. A few figures came running out into the courtyard, having heard the words. “There’s more. The Mazag are with her in Valchia. They sent a messenger to our army at Zofela. It seems Amne was attacked by her bodyguard.” He read to the bottom and frowned. It didn’t make complete sense.

  “Is she hurt?” Vosgaris asked.

  “Nooooooo….” Astiras’ voice tailed off. “This message is from Theros, the diplomat with Amne,” he held a second piece of parchment up, “and he says Amne was attacked. There’s no message from Amne herself which is odd.” Astiras walked away towards the entrance to the palace. Vosgaris stood uncertain as to what to do, then he waved at the horsemen to carry on and chased after the emperor who was passing through the knot of people standing by the doorway. He didn’t appear to notice them. Vosgaris pushed past them and came up alongside the emperor as they walked along the corridor. “A meeting, sire? In the council chamber?”

  “Aye,” Astiras nodded. “Bring the empress and Pepil.”

  A short while later the four were seated at the immense table. Isbel read the letters her hands shaking slightly. As she did so, Astiras addressed Vosgaris and Pepil. “They got through Bragal after Lalaas killed the enemy spy, and it was during the winter that Lalaas appeared to go mad, attacking Amne and Theros. It seems the two others with them didn’t survive whatever happened, although Theros doesn’t say exactly what happened. The other strange thing is that Theros says they then crossed into Valchia and they went to Bukrat, of all places! It was there that Theros rescued Amne and led her out to meet the Mazag army that was coming to conquer Valchia. Lalaas was arrested and is being held captive there until they get word from me as to what to do with him. Theros recommends an execution.”

  “Nothing from Princess Amne, sire?” Pepil asked, surprised.

  Astiras shook his head. “It’s not quite right,” he said.

  Isbel finished and dropped the papers onto the table. “Theros would appear to be the ultimate diplomat; saving princesses in distress and overpowering warriors. You know Lalaas well, darling; would you say Theros could defeat him?”

  Astiras snorted. “Not even if Lalaas was asleep! Theros skips a lot of the journey. If, as he says, Lalaas assaulted Amne and beat up Theros and got rid of the other two, how was it that Theros went along until Bukrat and then suddenly came out victorious? Pah!”

  “I would have thought Amne would have written to you herself, sire,” Vosgaris said.

  “So would I,” Astiras growled. “I’m going to write back to this General…what’s his name?” he grabbed the papers again. “Polak. General Polak. I’ll demand Amne write to me directly. I know Lalaas personally and it’s completely out of character for him to do what he’s accused of here! Why else would I have picked him to guard Amne unless I thought him completely trustworthy?”

  “People do the most unlikely things at times of stress, sire,” Pepil commented in a neutral tone. “He may have been in a situation he couldn’t handle?”

  “That is to be decided,” Astiras growled. “As is Theros’s part in all of this. From the letter it would appear they are on their way to the fortress of Branak but won’t be able to pass the mountains until the spring. Damn these Bragal rebels! If Bragal was subdued then I would be able to reach her.” He thumped the table gently. “I’m due to return to the army around Zofela for the winter. It looks as if everything’s going to be put on hold until the snows clear.”

  “Must you go so soon?” Isbel asked, her hand on his arm.

  “Yes, Isbel, I’m afraid so. The fact that Mazag is in Valchia means they will now be on our southern frontier all the way to the Balq Sea. I hope Amne gets that treaty signed; Mazag will look to Bragal before long if I’m a good judge of the eastern kingdoms. It’s enough with Venn threatening our south-east. I don’t want another powerful enemy itching to rip us to pieces if I can help it. I must be with the army in Bragal. My presence there will deter them from making any silly moves.”

  “If you must, dear,” Isbel sighed. “But spend some time with your sons before you go. They do miss you.”

  “Of course. What do you take me for?” Astiras said. He heaved himself up, wincing as a sudden pain shot through his leg. He was getting old. “Keep the shop tidy for my return after I end this damned war. I’ll deal with that fool Duras in Turslenka as soon as I can. Good day, gentlemen.” He took Isbel’s arm and led her out of the room, followed by the others.

  Vosgaris checked on Argan first. He was practicing with Panat and Kerrin in the courtyard now the mounted archers had finished. He watched for a moment, noting how Argan was growing taller. He seemed to have sprouted up over the past couple of sevendays. It did happen once they got to a certain age. In a few years Argan would begin to broaden and then would be given his first iron sword. Vosgaris smiled and returned to the corridor, seeking out the guards, making sure they were on duty as they should be and were attentive.

  Istan was in the nursery. His new guardian, a white-haired former priest by the name of Gallis, had been appointed. Gallis had been displaced following the collapse of authority in Bragal and the burning of the temples across the province. He’d managed to reach Kastan alive, unlike many of his profession, and found employment teaching children about the gods. Istan was just another posting, no matter it was a prince he had to tutor. He had no ambitions to climb any higher in his profession and so didn’t particularly care if he trod on toes, as long as he did a good job. And that was first and foremost in his mind; he took great pride in doing what he considered was decent and professional. Because of that he often argued with those who employed him, hence his tendency to move on from place to place and never remain in one location for long. But he was recognised as being good at what he did – mostly by those who had dismissed him and who found out too late he was right after all – and as a result found it easy to get employment.

  Gallis was not going to take any messing about, especially from a noisome brat of almost four years of age. Istan had learned very quickly that his tantrums got him nowhere with this old man, for he found himself placed in a very stout looking cage Gallis had brought with him until he promised to behave. The two occasions he’d gone immediately back on his word ended with him being dumped uncer
emoniously back in the cage. Complaints to his mother had gone unheeded as Isbel had said Gallis was doing his job and unless Istan learned to behave, Gallis would continue to discipline him. Istan tried crying, sulking, screaming and even calling him names but nothing had moved the quiet, softly-spoken man.

  Vosgaris stood at the doorway of the nursery and watched as Gallis patiently read to Istan about the feats of the empire going back a thousand years. Istan was sitting with his hands over his ears making loud noises. Because Gallis wanted to tell him about something Istan was simply not going to listen. Vosgaris grinned as Istan was picked up and placed, protesting, in the cage. Gallis then proceeded to untie his cloth bag and get out a particularly tasty looking bread and meat snack and began eating it in front of Istan. The boy began demanding the stupid old man give him some or else, and Gallis put his hands to his ears as he chewed slowly and began humming.

  Vosgaris chuckled, and Istan turned his attention to him. “Stop laughing! You don’t laugh at me!”

  Vosgaris shook his head. Where in all Kastan had this young boy learned to speak like that? Who had spoken like that in his company?

  “Don’t shake your head!!” Istan raged, his face turning red. “I’ll bite it off!”

  “Is he usually this bad tempered?” Vosgaris asked the elderly tutor.

  “Yes,” Gallis sighed. “A particularly difficult child, this one.”

  “I’m a prince, not a child!” Istan screamed, then sat down and began to cry.

  “He’s getting tired now,” Gallis said. “He won’t take much in now. I’ll try to read to him a bit but he’ll probably just sulk.”

  “Best of luck,” Vosgaris said and left. He was very relieved that he was not going to be Istan’s guardian.

  ____

  Far to the east the rolling plains of Makenia stood, squeezed in between the Aester Sea, the rugged lands of Bragal and the mountain barrier that formed the current eastern frontier of the Empire. The plains took the form of gently rising land, some covered in woodland, others open grassland. It was this that made Makenia such good farmland, and much of the food that went to the cities of Kastan and Turslenka came from this province.

  The main road from Kastan to Turslenka ran through the middle of the plains, and a side road ran down to the port of Kalkos, a port that normally distributed trade to the other parts of the Empire. But this winter it was deserted. All trade had been cut and no ships came to collect the foodstuffs, sulphur and marble that usually flowed through the wharves and jetties. The Duras had control and were not going to let the Koros have it back without a fight.

  Nikos Duras stood facing the sea and breathed in deeply. This was their territory and no upstart regicide like Astiras Koros was going to take that away from him or his family. Despite his defeat in battle at the hands of Astiras, he was confident that this time his forces would be good enough to drive off anything the Koros could raise. He knew Astiras was too busy in Bragal to bother with him and Thetos Olskan in Makenia too weak to march against him. The other imperial forces were in Lodria watching the western frontier so he had a free hand to do what he wished.

  All trade raised in Makenia would go to the Duras, and eventually he’d be strong enough to take the city of Turslenka and use it as his headquarters to conquer the rest of Kastania. He would crown himself emperor and have the Koros exterminated. Totally. The thought pleased him. All this foolish taxation to build up roads and military constructions would stop, and any monies raised through taxes would once again fill the family coffers. They could then once more buy off the other nobility to look the other way while they plundered the empire’s remaining resources, then allow a foreign power to take over provided that the Duras got the primary trading contracts. It was clear to everyone save the idiotic Koros family that Kastania was finished. Better that it be taken over by one of the vital eastern kingdoms and added to a growing power, rather than remaining in a dying one. If it meant rejecting the gods and turning to the monotheistic belief of the easterners, so be it. Who cared if there were one or fifty gods? He only cared that he was rich. Money was his god. It made life easier and gave him the means to control people. People always had a price for their services or compliance, and having unlimited wealth gave him unlimited control over people.

  He turned as footsteps came to him and he saw his general approaching with a well-dressed man alongside him. Two soldiers marched close behind. The newcomer could only be someone from Kastan. Nobody else dressed that luxuriously. “And who do we have here, General?”

  The general, a grizzled, grey-haired man with a long beard and a myriad of wrinkles on his face, saluted smartly. “Sire, diplomat from the Koros. Asked to see you, sire.”

  “Does he indeed?” Nikos said, examining Valsan Kelriun critically. “Has he been searched?”

  “Yes, sire. Carrying documents but no weaponry.”

  Nikos looked at his general in surprise. “Really?” He addressed Valsan directly for the first time. “You are a little over trusting not carrying any weaponry, or having an escort!”

  Valsan bowed his head briefly. That was all he was prepared to do in acknowledgement of the rebel commander. “The lands of the Empire should be safe for a diplomat to proceed in peace. Emperor Astiras wishes it so.”

  “Astirias!” Nikos spat venomously. “An upstart murderer. What does he know of ruling Kastania? He’s just another ambitious soldier who’s got above his station. He shall face justice once his armies are defeated.”

  “With due respect, Lord Duras, Astiras Koros is emperor and you are in the position of being the rebel.”

  Nikos stepped forward, his teeth bared. “Now listen to me, Counsel! It is not your opinion that counts here; it is mine! I control Kalkos and most of Makenia, and before long Turslenka will open its gates to me and my army, and I shall use that traitor Olskan as my footstool.”

  “Very good, Lord Duras,” Valsan bowed again. “I do bring correspondence from Kastan, however. The Council wishes to ask what your terms are for disbanding your army.”

  “What? Terms?” Nikos asked incredulously. “There are none, save for the complete surrender of the Koros and their lickspittle Council! If they are prepared to deliver themselves into the hands of the Duras family, then this issue can be resolved. Not before.”

  “I doubt they will agree to your conditions, Lord Duras.”

  “Nevertheless those are my terms. Take them or leave them. Kastan will soon find itself cut off from all trade and it will begin to starve. You can inform your precious Council that if they delay responding for too long my terms may change and become more severe!” He stared long and hard at the diplomat. “Terms? The Council may have made an error in sending you here. It reveals the Koros are weak and vulnerable, or else why would they offer terms?”

  “I assure you, Lord Duras, there is no weakness with the Koros. I understand you suffered a military reverse at the hands of the Emperor recently? It demonstrated military strength, surely.”

  The general alongside Valsan stiffened in outrage. Nikos gave the diplomat the benefit of an unfriendly look. “Fortune smiled on him that day; he had trained regulars and mercenaries who sold their honour to fight in that canine’s army, whereas my force was hastily put together. Things are very different now, I assure you, Counsel. The Koros army is hurling itself futilely against the walls of Zofela while my new army is being trained to fight against anyone the Koros can drag out of Kastan’s gutters to die for their vain cause.”

  Valsan decided not to press the point that the ‘regulars’ had included two companies of hastily recruited militia spearmen. He himself had noted on his journey into Kalkos that the Duras had spearmen and archers, all practicing by the roadside, but not their numbers or whether there were more units hanging about. He suspected there were. The men he’d seen appeared to be smartly attired and equipped, and he guessed that the money the Duras had in their vaults was going towards the funding of all this. It wasn’t cheap, but the soldiers looked fi
t and of the age that professional warriors normally were. No doubt these were men who had once been in the Kastanian army but had lost their positions in the cutbacks under the immediate predecessors to the Koros.

  Valsan was worried. There were enough soldiers to garrison Turslenka and Kastan but none spare to take on the rebel army. They could rampage across Makenia and into Frasia without opposition, burning farms and killing anyone should they so wish. The lack of imperial funds to raise soldiers was beginning to have consequences. The opposition was at last becoming properly organized.

  Across in Bathenia, Evas Extonos was thinking the same thing. The isolated instances of roadside robberies and attacks had suddenly increased so that it was almost impossible to travel north to Lodria or east to Aconia unless heavily escorted, and nobody really had the money to afford that. The militia forces had been subjected to attack here and there and a couple of men had died, and now no force was permitted to travel to and from Aconia unless there were twenty or more under the command of a competent officer.

  Evas was concerned enough to call Demtro to his office again. He noted Demtro’s low mood and lack of the usual irreverent behaviour, and surmised he had a few troubles of his own. But they were of no concern; the virtual isolation of Niake from its port and neighbouring provinces was much more important.

  “Have your investigations come to an end, Demtro?” he asked, an edge to his voice.

  “Yes, Evas, they have,” Demtro put a rolled up set of parchments on the desk. “It’s all in my report here.”

  “And?”

  Demtro sighed. He desperately wanted to sort out his business with Clora. The investigation had suddenly been relegated to a lesser status. Still, if it meant he could get away the sooner, so much the better. “The clerk who was murdered two sevenday’s ago was in the employ of Lombert Soul, the rebellion leader who has set up a base somewhere out in the countryside close to the roads to Aconia and Lodria. He needed funds to recruit soldiers, and my investigations list the numbers of men he’s likely to have called to his false colours, given the amounts stolen from the central treasury here.”