by Tony Roberts
“That’s how they came to dominate Bragal. No word from them of course how they butchered villagers in the first place. No. So, we burned and slaughtered and drove them south, wiping out whole swathes of the bastards. They breed like rodents. So we could not leave any of them behind us. Thanks to the army you now have safe estates, unless the Duras come along and lay waste to them, of course.” He looked at his armour hanging on a stand by the door. “So bring that here and I’ll get into it and meet you three fine gentlemen on the steps of this building. Then you’ll see how I deal with rebellion.”
The three snapped their heels smartly and marched to the door, the senior one handing Thetos the armour. When they had gone Metila came back into the chamber smiling. “You scare them. They frightened like children. They not army.”
“No, Metila, they are not.”
As he changed out of his day clothes and reached for his cloth undergarments to wear underneath his armour, Metila looked at his swollen organ. “You wasting that. Want pleasure?”
“You witch,” Thetos snapped. “No. I’ve more important things to see to than your carnal needs. Is not a whole night enough?”
“Not for Bragal women! We do it all day. Kastanian lovers weak.”
Thetos grabbed Metila and slammed her against the wall, pinning her there. She squirmed and snapped, trying to bite his arm but he had her held fast. “I am weak?” he asked softly.
“No! You strong. You excite me!”
Thetos laughed and flung her aside. Metila crashed to the rug and rolled up against a table, springing to her feet. “You save strength for tonight. I have you then.”
“We’ll see, witch. Now leave me to do my duty.”
“That will be soft when you return!”
“Then that’s a good thing. I want to concentrate on my tasks rather than think of ravishing you, you slut.”
“I more fun than Turslenka.”
Thetos slid the breastplate on and clipped it to the back plate, using his hook to snare the metal eye over the hook. He’d done this many times before. “You’re right there, Metila, but I have a duty to my emperor and my empire, and I won’t neglect that! You are mine, for me to do with as I please. I will see to you later.”
Metila smiled, running her tongue over her lips. “Mmmm, you promise?”
“Yes. Have I ever failed to live up to my promises?”
“No.”
“Then tidy this shit hole up, clean it and I’ll pleasure you tonight, without you using any potion!”
Metila giggled and went to an alcove where her cleaning equipment stood. Thetos slid on his greaves and finally picked up his single gauntlet and as he made his way to the door, picked off its hooks against the wall his great war sword, a two-handed monster that he could wield one-handed. It was an intimidating weapon that he usually carried on his back, but today it served to carry it in his hand.
He passed two guards on his way down to the ground floor. Frightened looking people watched as he strode slowly past them and he gave them a smile of encouragement. The hubbub of voices carried to him through the corridor and windows. Now was the time for him to show all he was the rightful governor of Makenia and Turslenka. A pox on the weak fools who were cowed by the mob.
The front doors gaped wide, allowing the winter light to flow into the building. He walked out into the weak sunlight and saw a multitude before him, a sea of faces and people, held back by desperate struggling spearmen. The gates had been forced at the front of the building, but to be honest they weren’t big enough to stop a determined child. One was hanging limply off its hinges. A wave of noise rose as he came into view, mostly coloured with anger. Thetos smiled.
He stood at the top of the steps that led down into the courtyard in front of the governor’s residence. The streets that led to the building were thronged with people and smoke rose lazily from a few places. The mob had already made their mark. Thetos looked up at the pale blue sky. Pity it wasn’t blowing a blizzard. That would dampen their ardour. He drew in a deep breath and faced the crowd. “Which of you speaks for you all?”
There came a babble of voices, some trying to answer, others merely shouting incoherently, which, Thetos reasoned, was probably the best they could do in normal circumstances.
“How can I answer your grievances if I cannot hear what they are?”
The crowd muttered and grumbled. Eventually a shabbily dressed man stepped up to the front, pushing aside a couple of stick-carrying nondescripts. “I shall speak for the citizens,” he said.
“And who are you?”
“That is unimportant,” the man replied clearly, raising his voice in order the crowd near him could hear. “It is enough that we have had enough of your misrule, Koros lackey.” A buzz of agreement rose up from the crowd.
Thetos chuckled. “You sound like a Duras agent. Are you an artisan in Turslenka? You don’t look like one. You look as if you’ve recently come into the city to spread dissent.”
“You’re trying to change the subject – typical of a tyrant faced with the truth of his foul deeds!”
“And what ‘foul deeds’ am I guilty of, Duras?”
The man waved an angry arm in the air. “What does it matter? We have had enough of your rule – that is sufficient!”
“Of course it matters!” Thetos snapped. “All of you – tell me if this cretin cannot – what am I guilty of?”
Voices vented forth. Thetos cocked his head. He heard the inevitable ‘taxes’ and ‘rent’, and also ‘food shortages’.
“Food shortages?” he bellowed. “Then direct your anger at the Duras, they are responsible for that, blocking the road from Kalkos and Frasia! As to taxes – how else can we keep up the streets and pay for safety, buildings, water supply, and all the other things you take for granted? Those of you who have been here for years – remember what it was under the Duras? Do you wish for a return to those days?”
There was a dark muttering. The man at the front shouted in outrage. “The Duras would do a much better job than you have done these past years! We demand a return to the Duras ruling Turslenka!”
“The seven demons of the underworld you do,” Thetos said. “That clinches it – you’re a Duras agent. Stirring up the people; what have you told them? Foul beast – I’ll have you sliced into pieces!”
The man backed into the crowd but they were pressing hard and he couldn’t make his way far enough. Thetos roared in anger and bounded down to the courtyard, his sword carving slices in the air. The people at the front peeled aside in horror, especially when Thetos began raising his enormous hook at the same time, his face suffused with anger. The man shrieked as the hook stabbed into his neck and he was pulled back against Thetos. “Stand back!” the governor roared to the crowd.
The man was forced to his knees, blood running down his back. Thetos stood above him, his face twisted in fury. “Duras lap-canine! Enjoy the fate of all enemies of the empire!” and sliced down with his sword, the edge biting deep into the man’s neck, severing it neatly.
The man’s head rolled wetly onto the ground, making a sickening hollow sounding thud. The front of the crowd groaned or sucked in their breath in dismay. Thetos walked at them slowly, his sword dripping blood, his hook slick with the same fluid. “Now, which of you wishes to dispute my three year rule has been good for you?”
The first man he locked eyes with swallowed and shook his head. The second one looked at him with terror and tried to speak but lost the will to make a sound.
Thetos picked up the dead man’s head. “I don’t know what this foul agent of evil told you all, but I say I rule Turslenka with authority from emperor Astiras Koros. If you wish to oppose me, then you oppose him. If any of you have genuine grievances, then bring them to me and I shall listen. If I think they are just grievances I shall work hard to correct them. But do not think I am some cowardly Duras who will run at the first sign of trouble. I shall meet it head-on and you see what I am like when I am roused. Do so at your peril!
” With that he flung the head deep into the crowd. Screams came from the people who pushed each other aside in horror as the blood-splattering head landed with a soggy sound on the cobblestones.
The three officers alongside Thetos looked as aghast as the mob did. Thetos looked at them in contempt. “Arrest all citizens carrying a stick.”
The three men hesitated, torn with indecision.
“Do it! If you’re not capable of carrying out your duties, then I’ll replace you with people who can!”
The senior captain swallowed, then nodded to his sergeants. The spearmen pushed into the front ranks of the people and grabbed those wielding clubs and wooden sticks. The scene turned ugly. Thetos grabbed the second officer by the arm and hauled him up the steps. “Now, you soft idiot, order the archers up here to shoot on the people who resist. Do it!”
The man mouthed in shock and impotence. Thetos sighed, slapped the man full across the mouth with his gauntlet and turned his attention to the archer sergeant. “Sergeant, get your men up here now. Load up!”
“Sir!” the sergeant slapped a fist to his chest and barked out commands. The archers came clattering up the stone steps, past the prone figure of the injured captain, and fitted arrows to their strings.
Thetos filled his lungs again. “Those of you who wish to die, remain here fighting my men. The rest of you disperse. You have until I count to twenty!”
The fighting at the bottom of the steps was getting frantic. Two men were lying bleeding to death with spear wounds in their chests, and others were pushing hard to escape the jabbing spear points. Eight men were being wrestled to the ground, furiously trying to pull themselves free. Thetos loudly began counting down towards zero.
The crowd scattered. Many were citizens who had come out of curiosity and didn’t want to get involved in violence. Others had come because it had seemed a fun thing to do, to get at the ruling class for any reason. Others again had been borne along by the loud radical speeches and calls by those leading the insurrection, but had no stomach for actual conflict. Most of them had little or no grievance against the Koros dynasty, and now someone was fighting back they had no wish to get hurt for what they clearly saw as someone else’s fight.
A few remained, unsure whether facing determined looking soldiers was worth it. Thetos got down to five and these, too, decided enough was enough and fled. Suddenly the square was empty of life, leaving the detritus of any mob; stones, a sticks and discarded items of clothing and so forth. Thetos chuckled and gave a signal for the archers to relax. He looked down at the captain kneeling halfway down the steps. “You’re dismissed. Go find employment elsewhere other than Turslenka. You are a disgrace to your uniform. I’ll have you arrested if you return to my city, do you hear?”
The captain staggered to his feet, blood flowing from smashed lips. “You were going to shoot into the crowd!”
“Was I?” Thetos challenged him. “Who says? I threatened to, which is different from doing so. It had the effect I wished for. Just because I say I’m going to do something, it doesn’t mean I’ll actually do it, you fool. Get out of my sight, you utter moron!”
The man staggered away, hanging his head in shame. The men gave him a cursory glance, then stood awaiting orders. Thetos dismissed them, ordering them back to their barracks. He descended to the courtyard once more and looked at the eight who had been arrested. The senior captain snapped smartly to attention. “Sir! Eight prisoners who refused to drop their weapons!”
“Very good, Captain. Get from them their names, addresses, occupations. Then have them clear that mess up out on the square. Won’t do to have an untidy city, will it?”
“Sir. What shall we do with them after that?”
“If they’re not from Turslenka, off to the mines with them. I won’t have interlopers coming in here spreading unrest. Those sort of people are almost certainly Duras agents. If they’re from the city, levy a fine against them. Have the city council check their rental situation. A quarter year rental fine should do. If they’re in business, a half year tax fine.”
“Very good sir.”
Thetos nodded and went back up to the building. That had worked out well. He felt elated. Things had got somewhat boring around town recently. Perhaps he ought to see if he could raise enough men to go to Kalkos and sort out the Duras army there? He would write to Astiras and ask what he wanted doing.
Then he’d see to Metila.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
That winter was mild, relatively speaking. No great blizzards covered the countryside, the army outside Zofela endured only minor inconveniences due to a frozen ground and icy, chilling wind blowing in off the plains. The mountain passes were blocked but that was not unusual. The coastal regions of the Empire remained snow free. Travel was possible on hard, rutted roads so food could reach the towns and cities from the farmlands on a regular basis. This, more than any other factor, kept the centres of population fed and able to carry on, despite the best efforts of the Duras in Makenia and Lombert Soul in Bathenia.
The rivers froze as was the norm but the ice was not as thick as it had been in times gone by so people could smash holes in it easily and get to fish or fresh water. At times there were days when the snows vanished to be replaced by a cold, sodden wetness that made those outdoors thoroughly miserable. The rebel forces of Duras and Lombert Soul remained in their camps, hardly able to feed themselves thanks to the stores in the cities and the escorted route to Niake from Aconia, and Thetos Olskan’s patrols near Turslenka. The rebels suffered much more than their enemies.
The rains fell whenever it got too warm to snow, and Argan spent many days indoors, wistfully pressing his nose against the windows of his room looking out onto a grey, wet world. His breath misted the glass and he amused himself by drawing smiling faces and other objects in it until the mist disappeared. He would breathe over it again to re-draw what had just gone. He included some unflattering representations of Istan amongst them.
His studies continued regardless, and he had been promised riding lessons in the Spring. He was looking forward to that, much more than his stuffy lessons in language, figures and court etiquette. It was very odd behaving in a way opposite to what one might feel towards someone, but he was repeatedly told by Mr Sen that as a prince and an important member of the ruling House he had to show courtesy and a proper attitude to everyone with whom he spoke. This included the Tybar who were now regarded as trading partners and not enemies.
“But aren’t we going to take back those lands that they have taken from us?” he had asked Mr Sen.
“In time, yes, young Prince,” Mr Sen had replied, “but for now we must treat them as equals, much as it may hurt and annoy us. We must put aside for now the terrible things they have done to us. We are not strong enough for a war with anyone.”
“Why?”
Mr Sen had paused, then fished for and unrolled a scroll that had drawn in ink a map of the Empire, or rather one that had been the Empire before the current disasters. He had weighed it down and Argan had eagerly looked at it, always excited by a map. He loved them. A manicured finger pointed to the west. “Young Prince, here are lands we regard as ours, but now are in the hands of the Tybar. Izaras, Tobralus, Amria, Kaprenia. Big provinces, populous, rich in resources. The Empire’s strength lay here. Here is where we got most of our recruits for the army, but now it is no longer ours, we have a smaller pool of people to pick from. We have also lost the revenue in taxes and trade we used to get so we can no longer afford a big army. With a smaller army our strength is much reduced. If we turned on the Tybar, we would have to use all our armed forces to even have a hope of capturing one region, and that would leave the east wide open.”
He had then swept a hand to the right. “Here is Bragal; your father hopes to end the war there soon. But beyond is Mazag. Yes, allies today, but tomorrow? They are ambitious and look upon us with greed and envy. They also know we are weak. There is little to stop them should they decide to attack.”
Mr Sen had pointed further east. “Venn, and Zilcia. They have taken provinces from us recently and view us as ripe for the picking. But our weakness is also our saviour, for they are too greedy to want anyone else to take what they see as theirs, and so they watch one another like jealous children. If one makes a move the others would move to stop them. Certainly Mazag would fight Venn or Zilcia if either of those made a move on us, and so far both Venn and Zilcia have not, so I understand, made any agreement between them to co-operate. So they sit and watch and wait.”
“For what?”
“How the Bragal war ends up. I would assume if we emerge victorious it will alarm them, for it might point to us re-emerging as a force to be taken seriously. If, however, Bragal wins then Mazag will invade Bragal which will leave Venn or Zilcia free to attack us through Epros here to the east.”
“So – if father loses we will be attacked?”
Mr Sen had nodded gravely. “It is all about opportunity and making sure of getting the biggest slice. Everyone knows no one kingdom will get everything, but once the attack begins it is down to who moves the quickest and who takes the most. I would say that Mazag will only be able to take Bragal, for they would face the stiffest resistance. Venn has the best chance of taking the most – they would almost certainly conquer Makenia and blockade Kastan City from both land and sea, and eventually starve us out here and we would surrender, in time.”
“And the rest?” Argan had asked, his face ashen.
Mr Sen had glanced at the map again. “Pelponia would be isolated and Zilcia most likely would take it and the fortress of Kornith. As for the west – well, unless the Tybar fall asleep, they will capture Niake and Slenna. And then that’s the end of everything. Zipria off to the west may carry on for a while but I can see someone sometime landing on that island to take it in the fullness of time.”
Argan had stared hard at the map. “So – so father must win! He must, Mr Sen!”
