House of Lust

by Tony Roberts

  The next day Astiras and his officers were standing outside the walls of Kornith, along with Captain Anthes and Vazil/Vasila. Astiras had realised the disguised priest had been right in her assessment of the Pelponians; although staunchly loyal to him and the empire, they were unimaginative, hidebound and absolutely devoted to the gods. He found it difficult to patiently listen to the ponderous delivery of their speech, and wondered how in Kastan Vazil had managed to keep her sanity these last couple of years. No wonder she had pounced on Landec. Landec himself appeared to have suffered no ill effects of his evening, and in fact had something of a smug expression which Astiras had warned him about.

  Vazil was inscrutable beneath her cowl, once more slipping into the serious persona of the main priest of Kornith. The emperor thought that more than one of the townsfolk walked in fear of the black-garbed cleric.

  In the field beyond stood Geril Pash and a small team of men fussing over a wooden contraption that had been built painstakingly over the winter. It was the length of two men with a pair of wheels close to the front. At the rear was a large ring and below the wooden body at the very end an adjustable screw. At the front was affixed what looked like a giant bow with a string, lying flat across the body, tied or affixed to the machine. There was a slot that ran from the very front, underneath the bow and ended more than halfway down where a wooden block stood.

  The string of the bow was taut at this point, the apex being fixed to this wooden block, and the block’s rear had another ring in it, a smaller one, which had a second string fixed to it. This string vanished into the body of the machine and on either side of this there was a wooden spoked wheel, which two of the men had rotated a few moments ago to wind the block and thus the string back to the shooting point.

  A hook had then been lowered on a long lever fixed to the main body to keep the block in its place, the bow string taut and quivering.

  “We are ready now, sire,” Captain Anthes turned to the emperor. “On your command to loose, the machine will shoot the missile. Observe,” he pointed to the far end of the field where a series of bales of hay had been stacked and in front of that were straw-filled dummies of soldiers, holding sticks, poles and rusted weaponry. “The target.”

  “What of the range?” Landec asked.

  “Ah, the screw underneath the rear is adjusted up or down to reduce or increase the range of the shot. The engineer will explain fully, I know little of this mysterious device.”

  Astiras shrugged. “Well, let’s see what this thing can do. Any addition to my armies will be welcome.”

  Vazil stirred. “The machine needs the blessing of the gods,” she said solemnly. “On such an auspicious occasion, the gods need to give their consent.”

  Astiras looked sharply at the spy/priest. “Very well, priest, go do your service in the name of our gods. We need to strike back at the heretics.”

  Vazil bowed briefly, then slipped underneath the rope demarking the boundary of the field and strode through the ankle-high rough uncut grass, her robes billowing irregularly as the wind blew and died. The engineer and his team backed away respectfully and Astiras once again caught a glimpse of piety and fear in their eyes.

  Vazil stood by the machine and rose her hands to the sky. “O gods of the heavens, bless this device that has been made by your faithful servants, so that it may be used against your sworn enemies. Bring it life, bring it a purpose, guide its missiles to their targets. We ask you this, your humble servants, so that your glory may be returned to lands that once worshipped you.” She placed her hands on the smooth wood of the body, and she had to admit that it had been beautifully crafted. Such devotion, such work, all poured into a weapon of death and destruction. She smiled to herself.

  Seemingly finished, she straightened and nodded to the engineer and walked back to the waiting dignitaries. Astiras held up the rope for her, and as she passed beneath it, he bent to whisper in her ear. “Nicely done.”

  Vazil looked up at him and, seeing that her face was concealed from everyone else, winked at him. Then she stood and resumed her sober appearance.

  Astiras raised his arm. Immediately the engineer Geril stepped up to the lever and curled his hands around the handle. He drew in a deep breath. May the gods look kindly on him, or else he would be out of a job by nightfall.

  The watching populace, either on the walls of the town or around the field, all fell silent. Astiras chopped his arm down.

  Geril’s hand jerked, almost before he had consciously given it the command to move. He was so on edge that the mere sight of the emperor’s arm falling had sent the message. The javelin resting in the slot against the wooden block was sent hurtling out and the machine jumped backwards, the team of engineers springing to arrest its movement.

  All eyes were on the missile as it tore through the air, a blur, and impacted on the wall of bales behind the dummies, sending the wall toppling. The crowd roared in delight and Astiras clapped, a smile wreathing his face. “Well, Venn, have some of that!” he exclaimed.

  Geril was shaking his head. Clearly he was not satisfied and was waving his hands in the air in the excited manner Talians tended to do. Astiras led the group across to the gang of men adjusting the machine.

  “Well, Engineer,” the emperor said as he arrived, “a successful shoot. Congratulations. I want the schematics and assembling instructions sent to all castles and cities so they, too, have the knowledge.”

  “Ah, your majesty, I’m sorry we didn’t shoot accurately enough. I assure you the next one will hit the target.”

  “Well go ahead – don’t let us stop you.”

  “But sire, the risk of a breakage…”

  “Oh stop sounding like some hand-wringing councillor,” Astiras grumbled. “I’m not five years of age. Go ahead. I want to study this machine in action close up, and if this is going to be used in battle, then you’ll have soldiers crowded round them anyway.”

  Geril bowed, then barked orders to the crew of five. One began rotating the spoked hand wheel that pulled the string back while a second picked up a new javelin, a steel-tipped wooden stocked missile. Two more moved the body of the machine a touch to one side while the last stood by the trigger lever.

  Once the javelin was fitted and the hook engaged, Geril peered along the shaft of the missile. Grunting, he stood back and nodded to the trigger man. Once again the weapon of war jumped, the three at the rear keeping clear of the recoil. They all watched as the javelin arced away and this time it struck one of the dummies, shredding the body and ripping the cloth jacket apart.

  “That’s fantastic!” Astiras said in awe. “With these weapons we can knock down walls, given time!” He turned to Geril. “You’ve earned your salary, Engineer. How soon can more of these be made?”

  Geril sighed. “Sire, the materials are expensive and difficult to obtain. We have tried local substitutes but they are not suitable. I need the right kind of wood, string and engineering to make these properly.”

  “Give me the list and I’ll see what I can do. You say they have these machines in Talia?”

  “Sire – the knowledge to make these is all around in Zilcia and Paprinia, and I would say it’s likely also in Genvia and Venn. Genvia in particular is keen as they like lots of missiles.”

  The emperor pulled a face. “Well then we must seek to build more engineer workshops and spread this knowledge here.” He was worried about the report he’d been sent from Mazag about the talks held in Somor, and if the Talian nations actually formed an alliance, it might mean a great deal of trouble for the empire. He just hoped Venn and Zilcia continued to act in the selfish way they had up to now.

  If not – he didn’t want to think about the alternative.

  ____

  One final cry, and it was done. Sannia collapsed back onto her bed, her face bathed in sweat. Instantly her handmaidens were there bathing her face with damp cloths. The nurse turned, wrapping the squalling new born baby in the birthing cloth, wiping the worst of the blo
od and fluids from it, making sure the child’s mouth was free.

  “A boy, your majesty,” the nurse said in excitement. “Congratulations.”

  A boy! Sannia felt overjoyed. After three girls, finally, a boy. She knew Jorqel wanted an heir, no matter how he was devoted to the girls. An heir, at last! The birth hadn’t been difficult, and to be honest she was getting used to it by now. There had been some blood loss, but when hadn’t there in any birth? She tried to get her breath back. “My son,” she panted, “let me hold him.”

  As the child was being handed to her, the door to the room was being opened and the news passed on to the waiting prince. Jorqel came charging in, his eyes wide. “A son! A son! Sannia!”

  She was overjoyed at his reaction. The joy and pride on his face was clear to everyone. He knelt by her side and peered down at the tiny face, red and crying. “Yes, my beloved, a son.”

  “Oh, praise to the gods,” Jorqel said, the biggest smile of all on his face. “Such a tiny little thing.”

  “Aren’t they all? What are you going to call him?”

  “Amsel. Amsel Koros.” Jorqel said, looking at his son. He switched his attention. “How are you? Exhausted?”

  “A little, yes. I will sleep now it’s all done. I feel weak.”

  “Your highness, you’ve lost a lot of blood. You need to rest,” the nurse said gently. “The child will need quiet and rest, too.”

  Jorqel grunted. “I know when I’m being dismissed.” He kissed Sannia on the forehead. “I’ll let the two of you rest, then I’ll be back. I’ll go tell his three sisters that they have a brother.”

  “How are they, darling?”

  “Oh, you know, questions questions. Is mummy alright? When can we see her? Is she making the baby now? Can we help?” he chuckled. Sannia smiled too, tiredly. “Alright, sweetheart, I’ll go now. Rest. I love you.”

  “And I love you,” Sannia replied, watching as her husband departed.

  Jorqel stood outside the birthing room and drew in a deep breath. Relief. Relief it had gone alright, and that he now had a son. The apothecary came out and stood next to the prince, concern on his face. “Sire, the princess had lost a fair amount of blood. She will be weak for some time.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “It would have been if it had gone on for a long time. I believe there is damage inside. Hopefully the bleeding has been stopped, but I think it would be dangerous for her to become pregnant again. It’s a bit early for me to say with total confidence, but I would not recommend she has another child.”

  Jorqel thought for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. Do what you can to make my wife and son comfortable.”

  The apothecary bowed and returned to the room. The prince made his way to the day quarters and sat down heavily. Gavan was there, inevitably, and he raised an equally inevitable goblet of vine liquid – Romosian – and toasted the tired father. “A son – congratulations, sire. A general.”

  “Indeed, about time,” he said softly. “I was beginning to think the gods only wished for me to have girls. Not that I don’t love them, but a son is just what I wanted, and what Kastania needs.”

  “Word is already spreading around the town,” Gavan chuckled. “I’ve got the scribes to prepare the announcement. Riders are ready to take them aboard ship and take the news to the mainland.”

  Jorqel nodded. “I shall go tell my daughters the good news. Bring the documents to me to sign and then get them sent as soon as possible. We need the news spread as fast as possible. I want the people of the empire to be lifted by this.”

  “It shall be done,” Gavan bowed. He went out and began telling those he met in the corridors as he went.

  Jorqel heaved himself out of the chair and walked along the passageway to the nursery room where his three daughters, Merza, Krista and Zora, were playing. Merza ran to him and threw her arms up to him. “Father! What has happened? I heard people cheering!”

  Jorqel picked her up. She was only three yet already showing signs of great intelligence; she was ahead of her years, bright, observant and precocious. “Yes Merza, you have a brother.”

  “A brother!” Merza shrieked, causing Jorqel to wince. Why young children apparently were gifted with three times the volume of adults he had no idea, but it was a fact they shouted at the top of their voices.

  Krista, a year younger, stood up and clapped her hands in delight. No less charming than Merza, Krista was clearly, even at her age, less gifted than her older sister as far as brains went, yet she was charming and very spirited. The youngest of the three, Zora, was only a year old and not yet showing much in the way of how she would eventually turn out. Zora remained sat on the rug sucking her thumb, her eyes wide and alert.

  “A brother?” Merza asked. “A boy? Does he have a beard like you?”

  Jorqel laughed. “Oh no, he won’t have one of those for a long time, Merza. For the moment he’s going to be with your mother until both are well enough to leave the birthing room. Your mother is very tired and Amsel – that’s your brother’s name – is very small and has only just been born so he’s not yet ready to play here.”

  “Zora isn’t playing with me or Krista.”

  “Krista and me,” Jorqel corrected her. He was determined his children would speak correctly even from a young age. No point in letting them get into bad habits only to make them go through the rigmarole of change at a later date. Such a waste of time and it would only confuse the children.

  “Krista and me,” Merza said loudly. Another wince from Jorqel. “I hope Amsel won’t be a bad player like Zora. She just sticks things in her mouth and covers everything with dribble!”

  “Not so loud, Merza,” Jorqel said softly. “You’re right next to me so I can hear you very well. Zora is only a year old so isn’t old enough yet to play properly. Give it a little time and the three of you will be like one and the same at games.”

  “Hmph! I hope Krista learns to call things their proper names in that case. It’s so boring when she makes up silly names for things.”

  “I’m sure she will,” Jorqel smiled and glanced at the dancing Krista. The middle girl was singing as she danced, making up a song about having a brother. The two older sisters were so different, like rock and sand. Still, he mused to himself, it wouldn’t be half as interesting if they were identical. He put Merza down and let her return to playing with a stuffed rag doll of an equine. He glanced at the nanny who was wiping Zora’s constantly wet mouth. “I’ll be back shortly. Put the girls to bed and I’ll come see them when I return.”

  “Sire.”

  He made his way out of the wooden castle to the courtyard. People congratulated him as he went and he smiled and waved in return. Guards bowed with a grin, pleased to share in the good news. Romos was so different now to the place it had been under the pirates. Gavan came out, belched, then sauntered over to Jorqel’s side. They could see over the walls to the masts of the ships in the harbour from where they were.

  “One day soon we shall have to leave this island, Gavan.”

  “Yes sire; it’s like being banished out here. The mainland’s far more interesting. The men like the climate but they miss being back there.”

  “I know. There are things that need doing here. We’ve just finished building the garrison quarters so the castle has more space for us which is a blessed relief, but I want Romos to have better facilities.”

  “You’ve started that small temple over by the landward gates, sire. That should please the populace and make the town more desirable to live in. Nothing like a decent new building to tart a place up.”

  “Indeed, or as my report would say, ‘improve the ambience of the residential areas’.”

  “Yes, sire, that’s what I said, tart the place up.” Gavan grinned. Then he looked at his master in concern. “Still no word from Kiros Louk?”

  “None. I’m wondering what has happened to him. I hope he has completed his mission because I desperately need details of what that kivok N
ikos Duras is doing.”

  Gavan grunted. “If he moves then we’d know.”

  “Oh I’m aware of that – and I doubt he’s yet got the numbers to do that, but what I need to know is the extent of assistance he’s getting from the Tybar, and is it material or in men as well? Does he have advisors, a core of professional Tybar soldiers? Is he getting good intelligence on our dispositions? What does his force comprise of? How many does he have of what type? Where are his camps, and how soon could he assemble an army and where?”

  “Phew!” Gavan puffed his cheeks out. “That little sneaky bastard will earn his fee this time around.”

  Jorqel nodded. He hoped for once that he would be able to pay the spy, for the information he wanted would be invaluable.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Imakum, a shimmering vision set in a vast valley, hemmed in by hard, jagged peaks in the distance all around. The valley was a massive bowl, with fields and canals criss-crossing the entire width, making the Imakum Valley one of the most fertile in the region. In winter it retained much of its greenery while the mountains all round were coated in white.

  Beasts of burden and herd animals moved slowly, both in the near distance and far away, and people went about their business, either tending the fields or walking or riding their beasts from here to there. There was a single large wide unpaved road that entered the valley from the east and ran through the centre of the bowl to the city, then exited at the western gates and ran west into the distance.

  Kiros Louk and Beshin lay behind a scattering of boulders off to one side of the road and studied the comings and goings. A regular stream of visitors made their way to the east gate and were cursorily checked by the guards, before being permitted entry.

  The skyline of the city was a mixture of classic Kastanian with a few alien constructions, built by the Tybar ever since they had seized Imakum during the war a few years before Astiras had taken power.

  Louk had almost collected every piece of information that Prince Jorqel had wanted, with the sole exception of what was bothering the Tybar to the west. There had been almost no regular Tybar troops in the region, and Louk found that puzzling. What he had found out in his time in Kaprenia was that the Tybar had three main armies; one had conquered Tobralus and was still there, garrisoning the town of Taboz, subduing any remaining opposition and watching the frontier. The second was doing much the same in Amria. It was the third – and largest, according to what he had learned – which puzzled him. It was nowhere.