Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  Now it was mostly a deserted land, populated by nomads, the occasional shepherd or those subject – so they believed – to no laws. The Tybar had a few patrols they sent out but Kaprenia wasn’t really controllable except along the one main road that ran from Kastanian territory to Imakum. Closer to Imakum cultivable land lay on the wider valleys where rivers met and it was there that much of the food of the region was produced.

  Here, closer to the new frontier there was little, only a few wild beasts, and one or two military outposts the new masters of Kaprenia had set up. One such place stood at the head of two converging canyons, formed centuries past by now vanished watercourses. The land was flat and it was here, alongside a drinking well, a corralled enclosure had been built out of what wood had been found lying around. The three buildings were of stone, taken from the ground or the hills. There was plenty of stone, and a skilled mason could make anything given the time and enough labour to build what he wished.

  Labour there was in abundance. Slaves taken by the Tybar when they had conquered Imakum had been put to use, building what the Tybar demanded, and the miserable ex-Kastanian populace existed in a nightmare world of servitude, beatings and exploitation. They had been betrayed, so they had been told, by their gods, their emperors and their military. So now they were to serve the mighty Tybar and their one true god, Lamka. One of the three buildings was a slave blockhouse. The second was the command post-cum-barracks for the Tybar soldiers, and the last a stables.

  The stables were what Gavan and his seven men were interested in. They were here to steal as many of the Tybar steeds as they could get their hands on. They would, if things went to plan, breed an entire military machine to fight the Tybar at their own game. It may take a decade or so but by the gods they’d deliver back ten-fold what had been inflicted on them. Gavan lay on his stomach staring down the hill at the movements of the enemy soldiers. There appeared to be twenty or so. A captain commanded the unit and there were nineteen soldiers including a sergeant. All were equipped with an equine, padded armour, a curved sword that helped a rider make efficient cuts while in the saddle, and one of those dreaded horn and wood bows the Tybar had.

  Well, this time they would meet like with like. Four of the men with Gavan were elite Taboz archers. Taboz, until it had thrown off Kastanian rule, had always supplied the empire with archers of unmatched quality. They were tough, strong and had huge shoulders. They needed to be tough to draw and use the Taboz Bow, a huge wicked weapon that struck fear into the hearts of anyone who faced it. So the emperors had made them subject, and recruited them into their armies, not surprisingly.

  The four archers were silent, waiting. They had grown up in the wild mountains that thrust themselves up from the northern shore of the Balq Sea where Taboz was located. It was a wild, hard region and they had honed their skills well until being recruited by the Kastanians into their army. They were amongst the last of their people to be recruited, for the whole region had declared itself free of Kastanian rule the following year. Not many archers had returned to the mountains, having found that life was much more pleasant in the Kastanian army with food, clothing, warmth, shelter, women and a wage, most of which weren’t guaranteed back home.

  Gavan nodded and led the other three down in his wake, trying not to dislodge any stones from the hillside. The occasional shrub helped mask their approach. It was late afternoon and the Tybar were mostly in the main building eating their dinner. Three guards only could be seen; one was guarding the slave block, the second patrolling the far side and the third looking bored along the roadside.

  Gavan reached the bottom and drew his sword. He was three lengths of the long house away from the wooden fence that marked the boundary to the whole complex. He could cover the distance in no more than the time his heart would beat ten times. But long enough for a Tybar guard to draw his bow and skewer him. He crouched in the lee of a boulder and allowed the three others, all members of his bodyguard unit, to join him. He then signalled to the archers waiting in their places to take out the guards when the chance came.

  He led his companions out onto the road. They got halfway before the road guard spotted them. He stood amazed for a moment, then grabbed his bow that was slung over his shoulder. One of the Taboz archers on the hillside rose up, arrow already nocked. He took aim rapidly, and then the arrow was flying through the air. It was a long shot but the arrow flew unerringly to its target. The guard staggered with the impact and wondered at the short length of wood sprouting from his chest with feathers neatly glued to it, then darkness claimed him and he fell backwards into the dust, arms out-flung.

  Gavan ran hard for the stable block, sword held tightly. His three companions spread out and vaulted the fence as one. They ran round the main accommodation block in two groups of two. The second guard, standing against the slave block, came fully awake as the four men came into sight at once. The archers on the hillside couldn’t get a clear shot, but it mattered not, for the distance to the guard was short enough for Gavan to reach him before he could use his bow. The guard realised that in an instant and instead pulled out his curved sword.

  “Get the equines,” Gavan snapped to the others and slashed at the guard. The blow was met above the guard’s head and the Tybar, a thin, sharp-faced man with dark skin, gritted his teeth in effort and hatred and counter slashed, intending to open Gavan’s guts with a wild swipe. Gavan met it fully, the sound of the blades ringing clearly across the complex.

  The third guard, standing a fair distance away, heard the sound and turned his head in curiosity. His surprise was clear and he fumbled for his bow. The four archers on the hillside could see him and put arrows to their strings and raised their weapons, gauging the distance. The Taboz bow could kill at huge distances and the Tybar guard was well within the lethal range, especially as he wasn’t armoured. Four arrows winged through the clear sky and landed around him. Two missed, landing with deep impacting noises that distracted the guard, and he could do little else as the other two arrows struck. One took him in the thigh, the other the left shoulder, spinning him round. He hit the ground noisily, gasping in pain and shock.

  Gavan pushed the remaining guard up against the slave block, trying to keep his face away from the hooked fingers of the Tybar soldier as he sought to shred flesh from his face. Gavan’s free hand reached across and held the sinewy hand and they struggled there for a few heartbeats, feet scrabbling in the stony soil, attempting to gain some sort of purchase.

  The three others got to the stables and began looping harnesses over the surprised equines’ heads. They left the saddles behind as Kastanian men were generally bigger than the Tybar and the saddles would be too small. Gavan, meanwhile, had stepped back, narrowly being missed by the guard’s desperate down swipe. The guard yelled out in alarm, but the other Tybar were already looking out of the windows, having been alerted by the sounds of the fight.

  Gavan stepped back and then forward, swinging up. The blade took the Tybar under the chin, almost cutting his head off. The man crashed back into the block house, bright red arterial blood spraying out into the sunshine. As he slumped into an untidy heap, Gavan swung round. The doors were opening at either end and angry Tybar were pouring out. Time to be gone.

  An arrow took the first in the shoulder blades, pitching the man onto his face where he kicked his fading strength away spasmodically. The others jumped over him, blades held high. Three grabbed their bows and were fumbling arrows onto the strings, but they were unable to use them as the first of their comrades were in the way. Instead they turned to see where the arrow had come from.

  A second arrow buried itself into one of the Tybar archers’ ribs, puncturing the right lung, knocking him back against the wall. He groaned, gripped the few fingerlengths of arrow that protruded from his body, and slid to his backside, leaving a smear of red against the wood, for the arrow had exited out of his back.

  The two remaining archers split left and right, eyes wide in horror. They’d never face
d such a weapon before. One raised his bow and desperately looked to see where one of his adversaries were, but he only received a numbing blow in the sternum. The dull crack of the bone registered but then he could feel or hear nothing. He was lying spread-eagled in the road with an arrow sticking out of the centre of his chest. The last archer lost his nerve and scampered back into the block house, whimpering in fear.

  Gavan ran for the stables and yelled to his three men to get up on equine-back and get out of there. One man came out, leading four beasts by the reins. Gavan grabbed two and hauled himself up onto the back of one of the startled beasts. He didn’t often ride bare back but at such times as this one didn’t stop to worry about minor details. The damned beast was going to take him out of there even if he had to insert the point of his sword up the animal’s rectum.

  The others came out on equines, dragging two each by their reins. The animals were reluctant to move but a few slaps on their rumps with the flats of swords got them going. The first Tybar soldier came up to Gavan, intending to cut him down but Gavan rammed the heel of his foot into the man’s face, smashing his nose. The satisfying crunch of splintering bone and cartilage pleased the Kastanian soldier and he bolted past two pairs of grasping hands. Something tugged on his trousers and then he was free, two Tybar tumbling into the dust, having been knocked over by the equines.

  The others came in his wake, kicking up a cloud of dust, and the Tybar roared in outrage. Twelve of their beasts were being stolen from under their noses. The captain screamed in fury and waved at his men to shoot the thieves down. The line of Tybar dropped their swords and un-slung their small composite bows, reaching for the first in their sheaf of arrows.

  They had forgotten about the Taboz archers on the hillside in their anger.

  That was corrected when four shafts cut down four of the group, pinning one to a fence post, killing two others and leaving the fourth screaming in agony from a gut shot and thrashing in the dust.

  Swearing mightily, the captain dived for cover behind the fence, joined fairly swiftly by his remaining men. They watched impotently as the thieves and their steeds vanished round the corner of the hill, then up on the hill above them the four archers began moving across to the brow and as one dropped out of sight.

  “Go see what equines are left!” the captain barked to one of his men cowering behind the fence.

  The soldier looked fearfully up at the hill.

  “Fool of a dung beetle!” the captain cuffed him around the head. “Those canines have gone! Now go!”

  The soldier reluctantly got up and scuttled swiftly around the block house. The captain slowly got to his feet and scowled at the scene of carnage. Bodies lay scattered all over the roadside and verges. The man with the gut wound was still screaming. The captain stood above him, then sent his sword blade across his throat. “Silence!” The man abruptly ceased making a noise and flopped to an inert state at the captain’s feet.

  The sergeant shakily came up to him and stood stiffly to attention. “Most honoured sir, I beg to report ten dead and three wounded.”

  “Filthy porcines of Kastanians! They shall all regret their actions!” the captain growled, turning round. “How many beasts did they steal?”

  “Honoured sir, they took twelve. We have eight remaining.”

  “Then, sergeant, take two men and ride back to Imakum and take news of this attack to the honoured governor. He must learn of this as soon as possible.”

  The captain wandered back to the yard that separated the block house from the slave quarters. Two men escorted him. The captain slowly regarded the slave building. “We should send a message to the Kastanians,” he said slowly. “To teach them the consequence of coming to our lands and committing acts of such barbarity. They will have to learn that they cannot simply think we will do nothing. It is time they were reminded of why they fear the West so much.”

  The two soldiers nodded. It was unthinkable that their enemy should strike with such impunity. The Tybar had over the past fifteen years enjoyed a run of successes against their weaker neighbours without any reverses, and they were now of the belief that Kastania could not put up any resistance. It had been a shock.

  ____

  A few stadia’s distance away, in a narrow gorge, Gavan dismounted and chuckled. That had gone better than he’d hoped. All of them had got away, stolen twelve animals, killed a load of the hated Tybar, and now were in possession of the two main weapons the tribesmen had; their nimble steeds and their small bow. A couple of their weapons had been picked up and were being examined by the curious Kastanians.

  The four archers were scrambling down the hillside, angling across the slope, sending showers of small stones rattling down into the gorge. Four equines were set aside for them, and the archers soon got up onto their new steeds. All but Gavan and one other, the scout, had one more beast in tow. “Come on,” Gavan said, “let’s go before we get a swarm of angry Tybar buzzing about our ears.”

  They clattered off down the gorge, heading east and their destination, Lodria, and eventually Slenna and Prince Jorqel.

  ____

  Four days later a senior tribesman stood on the road leading to Kastania. The captain, chastened and in a slave collar, knelt by his side. The captain had been permitted to live but would, as punishment for allowing the puny Kastanians to succeed, serve out the rest of his days as a slave.

  The new men and officers of the outpost were already there, lined up in two neat rows, their beasts in their hands. This time there would be forty of them. Slaves were already working on a second blockhouse and stables. These were new slaves, brought from Imakum. Many had been in rich families who had lost their freedom, wealth and possessions when the city had fallen.

  The senior tribesman, a veteran general in the service of the Governor of Imakum, scowled down at the former captain. “Fool of a man,” he said with scorn. “You have given the weaklings hope they can defeat us. At the worst possible time, too! Our main field army is in the process of bringing Taboz into our possession. There is no army to defend this region. If they learn of our vulnerability they may attack instead of being willing to sign a treaty. I trust our diplomat gets to Kastan City before the news of their success here does. If the treaty is not signed your head will be mounted on the west gate of Imakum, mark my words.”

  “Yes, honoured sir,” the ex-captain said softly. The shame and dishonour was entirely his. His fall from grace was complete, and he could expect no mercy from his new master.

  The sound of hoof beats cut through the conversation and all heads turned to the right where a small group of mounted men came into view, their equines blowing hard, nostrils flared, sweat streaking their flanks. They came to a halt near the governor and their leader, a stocky bearded hard-bitten man, dismounted and made his obeisance to his superior. The governor gave permission for the man to raise his face from the dirt and make his report. The man remained on his belly, such was his lowly status, and the governor would have had his head removed if he dared get up before permission had been given.

  “Honoured sir, I beg to report that we followed the weaklings’ route east to their border.”

  “What border?” the governor asked, his voice dangerously low with menace. “The proper border or that which the weaklings insist is theirs?”

  “The proper border, honoured sir. They had turned north-east.”

  The governor bared his teeth. “Ah – they make their way to Slenna and the nest of that kivok Prince Jorqel. So it is he who is responsible. We shall ensure he is given a message fitting to such a thief and coward.” He looked down at his slave. “I shall adopt your idea, slave. You may be comforted that this idea is the main reason I’m permitting you to live.”

  “Thank you, honoured master.”

  The governor nodded. He clicked his fingers and a soldier came struggling forward, holding a stout looking gold leafed chair. A trophy from the sack of Imakum. The governor sat comfortably in the chair, easing his buttocks into
the plush velvet upholstery. “Slave – be my footstool.”

  The ex-captain crawled forward and curled himself at his master’s feet. The governor placed both booted feet on the back of the slave and relaxed. “Wine!” he boomed.

  Another soldier stepped forward, a curiously shaped goblet in his hand. The stand was of silver inlaid with gems, but the cup was of bone and gems placed in particular places. Another soldier poured the sparkling red liquid of the local wine into the goblet. The governor raised the goblet and regarded it critically in the sunlight. “You know, slave, this goblet was made specifically for me from the skull of the former weakling governor of Imakum after I took it from him. The fool expected me to reward him for surrendering the city. What fate does a traitor and corrupt man expect from a nation of warriors? If he stabbed his own people in the back, then it stands true that he would stab others just as easily. Truly, not a man to trust.”

  As the governor took a deep draught from the goblet, swallowing noisily, the ex-captain closed his eyes and tried not to think that his fate could so easily have been the same.

  A servant held a cloth close to the governor’s mouth. A soldier stood close by, his sword bared and ready to strike if the servant tried anything stupid. The servant, a former senior legal expert in Imakum, was too frightened to think of doing anything so ridiculous. The governor wiped his mouth and patted his stomach gently. “I shall make a similar goblet from the skull of that so-called Prince Jorqel. It shall take pride of place in my palace. I shall take whatever wife he has for my own concubine and use her as I see fit. I shall force him to watch as she serves me. Only then shall I permit him to have his head separated from his body.”

  His men nodded. It was only right that the enemy royal family should see their destruction and humiliation before their death. The governor would not be permitted to kill the emperor. Only the Chieftain of the Tribes could do that. It was clear that once the Tybar had taken Taboz, then their army would return to Kaprenia and seek to renew their advance on Kastanian territory. The only issue was which direction to go. They would face two fronts; Slenna and Niake, and if they turned against one, they would offer their flank to the other. Spies would have to be sent to both locations to work on undermining the morale and resistance of the weaklings so that when the time was ripe, they could advance on either without worrying about their flank.