Empire of Avarice

by Tony Roberts

  In the meantime he would work personally at improving the frontier outposts so that another such incident as this would never happen again. Then they could sent raiding parties into Bathenia and Lodria with the dual purpose of scouting out the terrain and to take slaves. The land would be put to the sword and de-populated. And another province would fall to the united tribes.

  The thought warmed his heart.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The throne room in the palace of Kastan City was packed. Emperor Astiras I Koros was seated on the central throne, flanked to his right by the empress, Isbel, and to his left by the diminutive figure of seven year old Argan, looking almost lost in the seat designed to fit an adult. Standing to left and right of each seat was a member of Vosgaris’ Palace Guard, dressed in much more impressive white and blue livery with purple and gold thread interwoven in designs of the Koros family and the imperial insignia of two circles linked by a rod.

  Astiras had the Crown of Kastan atop his greying and thinning hair. It was a sign of his ageing, but his eyes remained clear and stern, fixing the lone figure knelt on the bottom step of the dais. His sword was bared, the tip resting on the cool marble of the dais floor, the ornate hilt and pommel firmly clutched in his right hand. His dress was of the richest tunic and skirt available to the emperor. It was his ceremonial imperial outfit, and only used on important occasions.

  Isbel was similarly dressed. She had a one-piece blue and gold dress, gathered in at the waist, with sleeves that ran to her wrists. The gold weave was in large ovals, entwining themselves down the dress to the floor. Only her ankles would show when she stood, and that would reveal her pale gold coloured slippers. Her dress was buttoned up to her neck, with a high collar. Her hair was curled and gathered at the back, and tumbled down to her shoulder blades.

  Her face was powdered lightly with gold dust and her skin had been smeared with a white cream so that the gold would stand out. Her lips had been treated with a red dye found in petals of certain flowers that grew in Frasia, and a little had also been applied to her cheeks. Astiras, on seeing her emerge from her dressing room, had been hard put not to drag her off to their bedroom. As it was, he was itching to finish this meeting with Kijimur the Tybar diplomat. Damn the man and his flowery words; get down to signing the trade agreement, then he could dismiss the foreigner and ravage his wife to senselessness.

  Argan was petrified. All those eyes staring up at him. He was sure a few were giggling at him lost in the huge chair. He’d never been in such a huge one before. Were adults really this big? The chair was surely for giants. He’d never grow up enough to fit this. It made him sad. He did want to be a prince but did it mean having to face all these people all the time? His father seemed to enjoy it. He made it look so easy. He wasn’t sure whether he could be so happy at being emperor.

  His hands were shaking but he didn’t want anyone to see them so he stuck them on his lap and he contented himself in with looking down at the Tybar diplomat. He looked very small down there, kneeling on the bottom step, his funny tall cap on his dark head, and his thin nose sticking out over that very funny looking lot of hair on his upper lip. What was it called? Mouse-tach or something like that. It didn’t look like a mouse. More like a furry worm. Why anyone would like to grow their hair that looks like a furry worm near their mouth was beyond him.

  His father had told him that it was time he saw what went on in the throne room, and that it would be a good lesson for him. He was to keep quiet unless spoken to directly. His father had been very insistent on that. Argan had stood before his father that morning, very upright and serious looking. “Of course, father,” Argan had said. It was a big step for him, so he’d been informed, and so it was important he didn’t let his father or his mother down.

  Isbel had briefly squeezed Argan’s hand as they had filed out into the immense chamber, and Argan’s legs had almost turned to water when he caught sight of the sea of faces. The light and the hushed ambience of the room had awed him. Isbel had guessed Argan was overawed and she’d gently tapped him on the shoulder and smiled as his white face, his eyes impossibly wide. She’d almost picked him up and hugged him, but decorum dictated that she must not. Argan must be allowed to find his own feet.

  So there he was, his legs hanging in thin air, his feet dangling a good adult’s foot length from the floor. He was perched far forward in the chair, somewhat uncomfortably, and he felt a little exposed and on his own. Vosgaris was not near him; he was next to his father, as the Captain of the Palace Guard should be, but two of his guards were alongside him, standing there in their new uniforms, holding the big long Volgars upright. Argan could see the one on his left very clearly. It was glistening slightly. He wondered why that was so. Weapons of steel did not usually glisten. Was it wet? Maybe it sweated. Did volgars sweat? He’d have to ask Vosgaris. Vosgaris was a good man; he never laughed at him the way some people did when he asked questions.

  He didn’t know why mother disliked Vosgaris. He thought the Captain of the Guard was the best ever. He’d protect them just like Teduskis did father.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Kijimur stepping back and holding out a rolled up parchment, fixed by a particularly bright red ribbon. Argan stared at the ribbon. He’d never seen such a bright colour before. It was fascinating. “Your majesty, the Chieftain of the United Tribes of Tybar agrees to a trade treaty with the great Kastanian Empire.” His teeth flashed in a wide smile that Argan somehow found unsettling. “With no payment of tribute.”

  The hall broke out into a buzz of surprise, and some applause. Kijimur smiled again, his eyes shifting to the right, his head turned slightly towards the audience. Then he was all seriousness again.

  A court attendant took the parchment and walked up the steps to Pepil who took it with a gravity the situation merited, and he in turn passed it to Astiras, bowing low.

  “Read it for us, Major-Domo,” Astiras said, looking at Kijimur.

  Silence descended on the chamber as Pepil opened the parchment and scanned the black marks squiggled across the yellowed surface. “It is sealed with the Imperial Arms of Imakum,” Pepil said.

  A ripple of noise rolled across the people in the chamber and Astiras’ face darkened for a moment. “Continue,” the emperor said brusquely. Kijimur had a half-smile on his lips. The insult was clear and deliberate.

  Pepil took a deep breath. “The Chieftain of the Glorious Tribes of Tybar allows the freedom of trade between our two realms. Merchant posts will be set up in Niake and Imakum to process the buying and selling of goods from each territory. The price will be set and agreed upon each winter and last for a period of one full year. No tariffs above that of one quarter may be set without the authority of both emperor and chieftain. This does not affect the prohibition of military units on each other’s territory.”

  Astiras’ fingers played with the pommel of his sword. He stared hard at the Tybar diplomat. It was a simple treaty, but one couched with insults to Kastania. If he had a strong army he’d cross the border and put the Tybar to the sword, taking back Imakum for the empire. But he didn’t and Kastania needed peace on its borders for now. Mazag, Tybar, Venn. Three neighbours he needed peace with until he sorted out Bragal, the internal dissenters and built up a viable structure and retained a decent army.

  “Agreed,” Astiras said gravely. “Congratulations, Kijimur,” he said amidst a burst of noise. “You have your treaty.”

  Kijimur smiled and bowed slowly. He was elated. He would be rewarded by his master. No matter the treaty was merely a temporary sop to these weaklings. The insult to them had been swallowed, as he knew it would be. It showed how weak they were. He had persuaded his master to seal the document thus. The Chieftain had expressed doubts that the insult would be taken, but Kijimur had explained the Kastanian weakness and the fact their army, small and untrained, was locked in a struggle in Bragal.

  The Tybar army was also involved in a campaign elsewhere so both needed a treaty for the moment to ke
ep their mutual border peaceful while other matters were sorted out. Once this was done, then the Tybar army could return to Imakum where a campaign would be planned to take the remaining lands of Kastan. The needs of the Tybar people were great; they had to keep moving east.

  A few in the chamber were not pleased. A man stepped out onto the red carpet in the middle of the chamber. “This is a disgrace!”

  Kijimur spun round, his face bristling. Astiras stood up, holding his sword tight. Isbel put her hand to her mouth in horror. The room erupted into a babble of sounds.

  “Silence!” Astiras roared. He got his wish. He fixed the defiant figure standing in the chamber. “Vitlis Duras. How nice to see you – at last.”

  The man, a lean, wrinkled individual with a scar across his forehead and cheek, sneered. “Let’s not fool ourselves or anyone, Astiras Koros. I claim Counsel.”

  Astiras stepped down the dais, flanked by Vosgaris and two guards. None was holding their weapons in a friendly manner. Kijimur scuttled aside. Argan stared goggle-eyed at the tableau unfolding before him. “You dare claim this here and now?” Astiras hissed.

  “You know the tradition, Koros. Not even an emperor can change that!”

  Astiras growled. “Very well. But you cannot change an edict from an emperor, and I have just agreed on the treaty.”

  “Counsel can veto an edict. Do you forget the traditions of our empire so easily, Koros? Are you such a tyrant that the wishes of the people mean nothing to you?”

  “Who speaks of tyranny, Duras?” Astiras snarled. “When your family is a by-word for such?”

  Vitlis Duras scowled. “Do I get Counsel, or have you abolished it?”

  “Yes! Now hold your tongue until Counsel is in session.”

  “All the Council is to sit, not just your sycophants and creatures,” Duras said. “And we will discuss your cowardly treaty and how it is to be dismissed.”

  Astiras whirled, his face red. “Call Counsel!” he barked to Pepil. He glanced at Kijimur. “Return to your quarters, diplomat. I shall bring you news of this Counsel in due course.”

  Kijimur bowed, a worried look on his face. He had little knowledge of what was going on, but it was something unexpected. Time would tell whether his treaty that he’d worked hard at would come to fruition, and whether he could return to his master in triumph, or flee eastwards and hope to take up service elsewhere.

  Astiras jabbed a finger at Vosgaris. “Guards at the Council Chamber now!” He looked at Argan. “Well, young man, I think you should come with us to the chamber and see how traitors speak. You will sit next to me.” He held out his hand to Isbel. “After you, Empress.”

  Argan clambered down out of his chair awkwardly, and trotted up to his mother. His father whispered not to run, but to walk. He nodded and slowed and made his way alongside his mother, looking up at her for approval. She smiled once, then composed herself. Argan’s heart was beating faster. The Council Chamber! He’d heard lots about it, but had never been allowed there ever! Oh how exciting!

  The procession of men and the empress filed down the marbled corridor, passing volgar-armed guards at regular intervals. They turned two corners and then they were there, the door on the right opening into a cool stone chamber which Argan found went down four steps, rather surprisingly. Huge stone pillars held up the ceiling, and oil lamps and candles lit the windowless room. This, here, was the heart of Kastania. Here was the empire’s fountain. Everything came from here. A huge table stood before him, crowded with chairs. Argan wordlessly followed his mother. Isbel stopped and stood before a high-backed chair. “Argan, this is your seat. Wait until Captain Vosgaris brings your cushion.”

  She sat in the chair two back, while his father pulled back the chair next to him and went to sit down. He looked down at the wide-eyed Argan and winked. “Wait till you see the table top, young prince,” he said softly, then was all seriousness again, facing the assembling host. Argan felt reassured. His father had been kind to him and it made him feel so much better. He wished he was more friendly to him more often. He so badly wanted his father to show him he loved him. He was a little scared of him; he was so big and noisy and shouted a lot – even when he was happy. It was scary when he was loud.

  Vosgaris gravely brought the thick velvet cushion in and placed it on the chair seat, then held the chair out for Argan to climb up. “Hold on, young prince,” Vosgaris said quietly and eased the chair forward so Argan was safely tucked in.

  Argan was goggle-eyed. Here was the wonder of wonders spreading out before him. A map! A map carved out of the very table itself. It was squiggly and bumpy and had round bits where places were. Words were written across it in a fantastic swirly script and he craned his neck to see what they said. The words were facing him, luckily. Or maybe not luckily. Father would not want to read them upside down. “Alm…..” he began almost to himself, but his father heard him. “Almania,” Astiras said, a smile on his lips. “A far away kingdom full of fierce warriors on mounts with huge flags.”

  “Oh!” Argan was wonderstruck. There were hundreds of places, towns, cities, and rivers. Mountains too, and he was especially delighted to see little trees in some places. He tried to follow one squiggly river but it went too far across the table. It was a massive map! “Where are we, father?”

  Astiras stood, leaned forward and pointed to a far away large dot with the words just legible to Argan. Kastan. It was so small in such a vast map. He was shocked. He thought Kastan to be the biggest place in the world, but it was so tiny! Astiras tapped him on the shoulder and put his finger to his lips. Argan nodded and sat back, unable to take his eyes off the map. He would memorise all the places and speak to Mr Sen about them. He wanted to know everything. Off to the far left the table had a row of large bumps and they seemed to be a range of mountains. He would have to ask what they were and what lay beyond. Surely the world didn’t end there!

  The door shut and the guards took up their places around the room. Vosgaris strode around, scowling, making sure nobody was in the wrong place. Astiras stood again and planted his fists on the map. “So, here we are, in Counsel. It has been called by Vitlis Duras. As per the traditions of Counsel, Lord Duras will now set out his reasons in calling us together.”

  He sat down heavily, scowling even more than Vosgaris. The Captain of the guard had stopped behind the rising Vitlis, somewhat fortunately, or maybe not so fortunately. Duras eyed the hostile expression on Vosgaris’ face. “I do not wish to sound confrontational but can you remove your captain to a more agreeable distance?”

  Astrias flicked a finger and Vosgaris stepped away, one hand on his sword hilt. His body language was clearly telling the Duras member to behave – or else. Vitlis nodded and then looked around at the sea of faces all looking at him. “I challenge the authority of Astiras Koros and in fact the entire Koros regime. I do not agree with their policies and they certainly do not correspond with the future well-being of my House. Neither, as we have now heard, do the Koros stand for the honour and integrity of Kastania. Tybar have deliberately insulted our empire and yet our esteemed emperor,” and Vitlis waved a heavy hand towards the seated emperor, his words dripping with contempt, “has chosen to take the insult and crawl to a people who have clearly in the past disregarded our territories, people and customs. He would rather wage an expensive and pointless war in Bragal, naturally, as his family estates are in Bragal. He puts his own House before the empire’s reputation.”

  Some heads nodded while others scoffed and snorted in disgust.

  Isbel was sat rigid and pale, even paler than her make-up’s tone. Argan sat waiting, not understanding fully the scarred man’s words, but he knew that this man didn’t like his father. Suddenly Argan felt all protective towards Astiras. His father was emperor! This man was not a nice man. He was horrible and ugly. He must be a baddie.

  Astiras sighed and looked at the men to left and right. “Any of you wish to expand on Lord Duras’ fantasies?”

  A couple chuckled. An
other man stood. “I think there is merit in Lord Duras’ words. Your majesty spends funds on keeping the army in Bragal while fails to put right the deficiency in local funds so that roads are not repaired, public buildings continue to crumble and weeds infest those places people and trade once walked.”

  “I see, Lord Kanzet. You have an example, of course?” Astiras sounded bored.

  Lord Kanzet looked at the Fokis and Duras House members, then sucked in a deep breath. “Makenia has terrible roads. The province is a nightmare to traverse.”

  “I agree with you, Lord Kanzet,” Astiras said. “But we diverted funds for building up the port of Kalkos to enable trade to flow into Makenia.”

  “Which is unable to do,” Vitlis Duras snapped.

  “Only because your son is there stopping our trade,” Astiras countered. “He would lift his blockade if you so ordered, Duras.”

  Vitlis smiled unpleasantly. The Counsel immunity allowed him to speak his mind. “Not until you step down as emperor. We Duras will not stand idly by while you strip us of our possessions and status. You should have gained allies amongst the nobility, yet you have alienated nearly every other House in the empire. Now you are beginning to reap what you have sowed, Koros. So, either surrender and commit your fate to the Council or continue to lose support and trade until everyone else realises you’re a broken reed and comes over to us.”

  Astiras drummed his fingers on the table top. Argan noticed he was tapping the Southern Sea. He wondered whether waves would ripple out from his father’s fingers, but somewhat to his disappointment, nothing happened. “You only have a few hundred poorly trained soldiers in your employ, Duras. I’ve already whipped one of your so-called armies, and in time I’ll beat your son and his force as surely as I did the first. He should see sense and disperse. We don’t need a civil war now, what with the Bragal War entering a vital phase and delicate negotiations currently under way with the Tybar and Mazag.”