by Tony Roberts
Amne smiled briefly. If he carried on in this manner she might even have him on all fours before him wagging his tail and panting away. She dismissed the thought as irrelevant and absurd. Would she prefer Lalaas in that position? A different feeling began to rise within her and she hurriedly crushed that thought and returned her attention to the grizzled Mazag general. “The Koros thank the Mazag people and Royal House for their kind words. This can be the start of great things between our respective nations.”
Polak nodded. Now the flattery was done, down to business. “I am sure that the honoured House of Koros will recognise the right of conquest on Valchia. As you can see, your highness, we have the military might to perform our task and the intent on bringing law and order here where previously there was none. We have ended the distasteful practice of slavery, as I understand you yourself wished it so.”
Amne wondered who had been whispering into Polak’s ears. No doubt Theros, hoping to ingratiate himself with the commander of the Mazag forces. Amne felt betrayed in a way, since her feelings were hers to pass on and not anyone else’s. Another bad mark against the diplomat. “It is indeed my wish. I am grateful for your good work in ending this despicable practice. In return for Kastanian recognition of the conquest of Valchia by Mazag, I ask in return for Mazag recognition of Kastanian ownership of Bragal and the denial of the right of the Bragalese for independence.”
Polak nodded thoughtfully. Both concessions were of no importance; the Mazag seizure of Valchia was a done deal and even if Kastania protested, what could they do with their puny forces? And Kastania had always owned Bragal. Mazag had their own ambitions north of the Ister River and they certainly did not want any independent Bragal nation on their doorstep. Better to have a feeble Kastania wracked with dissent and worries on other frontiers than a new vibrant and proudly independent nation on their frontier. “The Mazag will even agree to assisting Kastania in crushing the Bragal revolt if the emperor so wishes.”
Amne was surprised; she didn’t know whether her father would agree to that, but maybe it would help in smashing any rebels who gravitated to the borders furthest from Kastania. She would have to speak with Lalaas and ask his opinion. “We are grateful for such a generous offer, General. I shall certainly ponder on this before giving an answer on the morrow.”
Polak smiled. He couldn’t lose. Having Mazag troops in southern Bragal to crush any signs of revolt would prove useful in two ways; firstly in gaining Kastanian gratitude, and secondly permitting a reconnaissance of the region which could be used if and when Mazag invaded Bragal with a view to conquering it. “It is nothing. Mazag would only be too pleased to help their neighbours in these matters. The borders can be easily drawn, too. The Ister River will form our frontier until it turns south. We suggest the current Valchian-Bragalese border be set as the frontier of our great nations.”
Amne thought that this seemed reasonable. “And trade?”
“Trade will naturally follow. Valchia has little infrastructure at present but we shall correct that. Bragal would, I assume, require rebuilding after such a long insurrection. We are confident that the emperor will soon end the revolt with his capture of Zofela. And once this has been done, we can then hope for good trade between our peoples. I am led to believe that the timber from Bragal is exceptional.”
“Indeed; my family owns huge estates in Bragal and we would certainly arrange for a resumption of the timber trade as soon as possible. I hear myself that Mazag is rich in wheat and bread crops. The population of Bragal may be short of food after the ending of hostilities, and we may seek to secure a trade deal with the good merchants of your lands.”
“That can be arranged,” Polak considered the point for a moment. “For a suitable concession in trade tariffs on the timber.”
“Of course. We should see what the harvest is once the war is over. We may need more help than is believed at present, or not so much.”
Polak grunted. “Then we should write in a paragraph to renegotiate in Zofela once the city is Kastanian again.”
The talks continued in a similar manner, and Amne was relieved when Polak slammed his mug down on the table top, belched hugely and stood up, declaring that he was tired and was going to retire to his bed. The talks were at an end for the day and the draft proposals would be written up in both Mazag and Kastanian and handed during the day to both parties for them to read, digest and then either sign if in complete agreement or, as expected, note down their disagreements and amendments.
Amne felt exhausted as Lalaas escorted her along the creaking floorboards to her quarters. It wasn’t luxurious by any standards but certainly better than a wind-swept hill in Bragal or a rain-soaked field in Valchia. Or even a cold barn in winter. Lalaas said nothing all the time they walked to her room. The hunter checked the room before allowing Amne to enter. As he shut the door and leaned against the warped planks, Amne turned round and flung her arms about his neck. “Oh, Lalaas! It’s a relief to have you back!”
Lalaas grinned and hugged Amne briefly, then became serious. He gently disengaged her arms. “Ma’am, there may be ears.”
Amne’s eyes widened briefly, then she nodded. “Of course. Come over to my bed.”
Lalaas looked concerned for a moment. Amne giggled and shook her head. “Oh no, nothing like that! I want to speak away from the door. I also want to know where are you going to sleep?”
Lalaas looked round the room. A single window, shuttered. There was an iron bar slotted on the inside to brackets, so that was as secure as it could be. A threadbare rug covering the middle portion of the floor. A single bed, stuffed with straw. A feather coverlet. Woollen blankets. A poorly made chair. A rough cupboard. Wash basin, jug.
“The chair will do. I shall sit by the door, ma’am.”
“Amne when we’re alone,” Amne said in a whisper. “Enough has gone between us in the past two years to drop the ‘ma’am’ when we’re alone, don’t you think? You’ve seen more of me than any man has – and with one probable future exception, is ever likely to.” She smiled, sitting on the edge of her bed.
“As you say, Amne,” Lalaas said in a low voice, taking the chair and sitting down on it. “Such would probably get me hanged.”
“And who’s telling?” Amne asked rhetorically. “What father doesn’t know can’t harm him, and besides he’s far too over protective of his daughter. You do that job perfectly.”
“Thank you,” Lalaas bowed briefly. “So what happens now? Not only with the treaty but with Theros? Do we allow the Mazag to take him?”
“Theros!” Amne spat. “He can rot for all I care! Father would absolutely have him executed. I don’t feel like dragging him back through Bragal to have him killed in Kastan. He can stay here.”
Lalaas looked thoughtful. “Hmmm; he may give Polak information about Kastania. He does have a lot of knowledge and experience. If he tells them how weak we really are it may encourage Mazag to be more aggressive towards us.”
“So what do you suggest? Tying a rope around his neck like in this place before? He’d look to escape at every opportunity! No, Lalaas, I’d rather take the risk of leaving him here and telling these disgusting brutes all about us than taking him all that way back to Kastan.”
Lalaas bowed again. “You could request Theros be executed here.”
“Lalaas! How could you say such a thing! I will not.”
The hunter shrugged. “Just a suggestion, Amne. An alternative, if you like. Alright, no execution. Theros stays here. So, to the treaty. What did they suggest? I speak hardly any Mazag, except for the swear words.”
Amne put her hand to her mouth, then gave Lalaas a brief run-down.
Lalaas frowned. “Watch that Polak; he’s seeking out weaknesses. He’s probing as to how far he can go with violating our borders. He’s already got an unspoken agreement to send troops over the border to help us; how generous, may I add.”
“Do I say no to him, then?”
“I think it wise; your father w
ouldn’t want some blundering Mazag force getting in the way of a fight between him and the Bragalese. They may make things worse, and get in the way of a battle and lose men – or we could lose men. Then what? Accusations, pointing fingers and a justification for invasion.”
“Oh. It’s a shame you don’t speak Mazag. How do you know the swear words, then?”
Lalaas chuckled. “When I was their prisoner, the jailer used a whole load of those words as a matter of course. One of the Bukratese servants spoke both languages and told me when the jailer was insulting me.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t think you should know such words, Amne.”
“Tell me, Lalaas. I need to know. Just in case Polak uses them, you see.”
“Ah, of course. Alright. Seechazh.”
“And what is that?”
“Male sexual organ.”
Amne went red and put her hands to her face. “Oh, really? Goodness! And…and what else?”
So Lalaas educated Amne in the more basic aspects of the Mazag language. The oil lamps flickered in their room deep into the night as Amne received the sort of teaching her family would have been horrified at if they had known.
The next morning a draft of the previous day’s talks arrived via a messenger, and Amne was instructed to read through it carefully before presenting it with herself to General Polak’s presence in the main hall. Amne read it slowly; it was full of unnecessary phraseology and flowery words, and she had an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach at some of the clauses. She passed it wordlessly over to Lalaas who had sat quietly and patiently on the chair. The chair had become almost a second home to him, having slept in it through the night, and he’d spent a while after breakfast exercising to ease the creases and aches and pains in his body. He looked at what was being said. Finally he handed it back and looked her square in the eyes.
“Theros.”
Amne threw the document onto the bed in temper. “Just what I thought! It’s his words! It’s how he says things. That scheming festik Polak!”
Lalaas’ lips twitched. “Don’t go calling Polak a bastard to his face, Amne, or you might start a war.”
“Ugh!” Amne’s cheeks were stained red. She threw herself back onto the bed. “All that work yesterday and I thought I’d got somewhere, and Polak uses that creature behind my back to alter our agreement! I could boil his…….. things……. in hot water!”
“If he has any,” Lalaas said off-handedly. “You merely reject those clauses that were not agreed to yesterday. It’s you Polak is negotiating with, not Theros. Clearly Polak has done a deal with him, in return for freeing him Theros works for Mazag. No Kastanian diplomat would agree to Mazag troops being stationed on Kastanian soil, for example.”
“Too true!” Amne spat, sitting up. Her eyes flashed with anger. “I’ll teach those Mazag men to try to cheat me!”
“Careful, Amne, don’t go letting your temper get in the way of the talks. They’re testing you. They respect strength and roughness. We’re too refined and educated for their tastes, so they mock us behind their hands.”
Amne took a deep breath and stood up. “I know what I must do, Lalaas. And you will stand directly behind me.”
“As I always try to,” Lalaas said softly.
Amne smiled, then walked up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “I know. I couldn’t do this – any of this – without you.”
Lalaas stood and embraced her, and she held him tight, her head against his chest. They stood there for a moment, then with a sigh Amne broke the embrace and turned away. Her heart hurt. She picked up the document. “I need a writing stick.”
“I’ll go get one.” Lalaas left, leaving Amne to look at the closed door.
“Oh, Lalaas,” she whispered longingly, and clenched her fists. It wasn’t fair.
Later, as the day passed the meridian, Amne and Lalaas arrived in the hall. Polak had just finished his lunch, a haunch of some unidentifiable herd beast, and waved the two to their places at the table. Animal fat and grease glistened on Polak’s hands, forearms, beard and face. Amne thought he was disgusting.
“Well?” Polak boomed, a smile on his face. “Is it agreed?”
“No it is not,” Amne replied, slapping a very heavily corrected set of documents onto the cluttered table, narrowly missing a wine goblet and metallic plate with a half-eaten carcass of a fowl messily left over it. “I have left my objections and corrections on it.”
Polak frowned and waved to one of his aides. The aide, a scribe, judging by the dress and appearance of the man, picked the sheaf up and scanned it. “It’s in Kastanian,” he complained.
“What do you expect?” Amne demanded. “So is that document!”
Polak’s mouth tightened. “We shall have to get it translated.”
“Not by that seechazhet festik Theros!”
Polak, caught in the act of quaffing a mouthful of wine, spluttered and choked, wine flying out over the table and his chest. Nobody had ever, in his experience, called one of his staff a fucking bastard. Certainly not a woman. Particularly a beautiful one. Or one educated and refined. Or a princess. He bent over, coughing loudly, his face turning red. His staff hovered uncertainly about him, not knowing whether to assist him or stay out of the way. Polak had once before brained an aide who had made the mistake of trying to help Polak up after he’d fallen down drunk.
Polak wiped his mouth, slowly gaining control. He planted both hands on the table top and leaned across the table, staring at the now silent princess, his expression unreadable. Lalaas gripped his sword hilt and tensed, eyeing the guards standing expectantly behind their commander. Lalaas checked the floor in a flash. Clear. Lalaas would have to get round the table and get at the right hand guard before any of them made a move.
Lalaas was confident he could wipe the first guard out, but then he’d have the second and Polak to deal with. The other problem was the non-combatants; the scribes and attendants. They’d try to get away and probably block Lalaas trying to get to Polak. The other option was to vault the table directly and send his sword blade down into Polak’s throat. He could do that without much trouble, but they he’d have two armed guards to face. Plus probably those outside who would burst in at the first sign of trouble.
He glanced at Amne; his duty was to protect her at all costs. Astiras had been very specific about that. If necessary he was to sacrifice his life to save hers. He would not use force unless the Mazag did something stupid. Then he would turn the room into a charnel house. Polak’s head he’d use as a war mace.
Polak balled his fists, then looked at Lalaas, his eyes boring into the hunter’s, trying to see his soul; what he was seeking Lalaas didn’t know, and kept his grey eyes neutral and unblinking, presenting an impenetrable mask to the Mazag general. Polak looked away. The careful stare he’d got back gave him little comfort. The princesses’ bodyguard was a dangerous man. These Kastanians were not the weak, effeminate cowards his prince had said they were; their men were hard, loyal and masculine. Their women, if this one was anything to go by, were resourceful, intelligent and beautiful. “My compliments, ma’am,” Polak said, a wry smile playing across his lips as he sat down. “You can out-curse the best of my men. Are you sure you don’t have Mazag blood in you somewhere?”
Amne smiled playfully. “A woman should have secrets; it keeps men guessing about them, General.”
Polak clapped his hands together. “Ah! You tease me, Princess. I wouldn’t be surprised if your father or mother had some of our blood in their veins somewhere in the past. But no matter, I shall order the document studied and corrected, and not by Theros, as you clearly stated.”
“So he is working for you, now?”
“He offered,” Polak smiled. “He felt his career prospects with Kastania were limited. And I need an expert in Kastania and your customs if I am to act efficiently as a friendly governor. I hope you understand?”
Amne nodded briefly. Theros’s defection was not unexpected, bu
t unwelcome all the same. At least that would sort out the problem of whether or not to take him back to Kastan for treason. “We shall return later to read the corrected treaty. If it is acceptable I shall sign it.”
Polak bowed and stood as Amne rose up, and, escorted by Lalaas, left the chamber. The Mazag general remained standing staring at the now closed door for a few moments. “It matters not,” he muttered under his breath, “whether it says what you want. We’ll take your lands when the time is ripe.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The winds blew hard across the bare rocks and twisted spires of the Kaprenian highlands. A tortured environment, the region had been victim of earthquakes throughout time, and it had created a fantastic series of rock-strewn valleys and jagged mountain peaks. Here and there defiant trees and shrubs clung to hillsides and slopes, but they were few and far between. What vegetation existed here lay in the valleys along the infrequent watercourses.
Kaprenia lay to the west of Lodria. The north, near the Great Sea, was an impassable range of high mountains and nobody ruled there. It was nominally Kastanian or Tybar, whoever claimed the surrounding lands, but within those rearing fingers that reached towards the sky, only the animals and the few hardy outcasts of society existed, ruling no-one but themselves and subject to nobody.
One main road ran through the region towards the Kaprenian capital, Imakum, new capital of the united Tybar tribes. The few settlements of the countryside had been either destroyed in the invasion thirteen years ago or had been abandoned as tales of murder and rape reached the defenceless people’s ears.
