Prince of Wrath

by Tony Roberts

  Clora looked at him wild-eyed. Zonis coughed again. “Can I light this? I’m in pain.”

  “I suppose so,” Swordsman said. “Let him,” he waved to the bowmen. “I’ll go with them to camp. Two of you hop on the back.”

  Zonis lit his pipe and inhaled deeply. He sighed in relief as the burning pain subsided, the smoke reaching his infected lungs. It was painful most days now. With the coming of warmer days perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, but he knew another winter would most probably kill him. The sweet cloying smell of the smoke filled the small area and a couple of the men stepped back, fearful of catching his disease.

  “You’re going to have to wear a face cloth,” Swordsman said. “I don’t want you spreading that filth around. Boss ain’t gonna be pleased if you do.”

  “Fine,” Zonis wheezed. His voice always was affected by smoking the stuff, but he had little choice. Either that or be crippled in pain. “I understand.”

  The swordsman sat alongside Zonis who still steered Dullard. Clora was on the other side, and in the back rode two of the bowman, perched on the lip of the wagon. The track emerged into an open plain with wild flower meadows stretching away on both sides. Clora gasped in delight. These were yellow headed windgreeters, so-called because they bowed and nodded whenever there was any breeze. They were a small but bright flower that grew in abundance in meadows and places where the grass was short. If the grass was long then the flowers could not get enough sunlight to grow.

  Ahead of them the land rolled in gentle undulating waves, and there was a dense growth of woodland that covered the hills. Zonis was directed to steer Dullard straight towards a particularly thick growth, so he did, enduring the rolling and bumping that the off-track course threw at them. Clora disliked it and thought more than once she was going to fall off, but she managed to keep on the seat and it was with some relief that they were ordered to halt, directly in front of the woods.

  “Off!” Swordsman barked, jumping down. Zonis wearily followed suit, making a show of just how stiff he was. Clora slid down on the other side and was immediately covered by the two bowmen who had slipped off the back the moment they had stopped.

  Swordsman faced the woods. “Prisoners to be escorted to the cage.”

  The woods came alive. Three men materialised from seemingly thin air. They were dressed in dark green and carried bows and swords. One beckoned to the two prisoners. “Follow me. No funny business.”

  Leaving the wagon and Dullard with the three who had accompanied them from the ambush point, Zonis and Clora were led into the dark woods. Clora didn’t like it and looked fearfully at the undergrowth. She edged closer to Zonis who seemed unconcerned. Two men walked behind them, bows at the ready, while the other led the way, along a narrow dirt path littered with leaf detritus. There was a smell of rotting wood and avians fluttered about above them. Each time there came the flapping of wings Clora did a quick intake of breath and cried out briefly.

  Once there came a distant crashing of something through the undergrowth. “What’s that?” she asked fearfully, staring in the direction of the sound.

  “Wild porcine, probably,” the leader said. “Plenty round here. They stay away from us.”

  After a short while they turned off the main path and trekked through thicker undergrowth. They emerged out into a small clearing with a line of rocks in front of them, clearly some sort of ridge. There was a gate in the middle with two men guarding it. They were allowed through and marched up a steep path into a clearing, surrounded by steep rock walls.

  Caves dotted the sides, and people were moving around. Fires crackled and smoke lazily snaked up into the sky. High on the cliff tops stood more men, watching carefully, and trees grew in abundance beyond them. Some of the cave entrances had latticed wood barriers and they were herded towards one of these.

  “You’ll stay here until you’re called for.” The leader unfastened the door, merely part of the lattice-work, and pushed Zonis in roughly. He was less so with Clora, and she felt a hand on her bottom. She quickly followed Zonis into the cage. The leader leered at her and shut the door, fastening the door and slipping a wooden latch through a loop. The two bowmen remained on guard, watching the two carefully.

  Zonis grunted and turned about, looking into the cave. It was wide and just above head-height. It went back a distance, slowly lowering in height, but remaining almost as wide. At the rear were rudimentary beds, merely blankets and rolls of hay, but they would be comfortable enough. Zonis made his way over to them, bending down as the cave roof dropped, and fell onto one of the beds with a sigh.

  Clora followed more hesitantly. She experimentally tested one of the free beds, then, satisfied it contained no unexpected crawlers, lay down on it. “What will happen now?”

  Zonis pursed his lips. “I imagine they’ll check our belongings. They’ll be curious as to our stories and probably send someone to verify our background in Niake.”

  “What if they…” Clora lowered her voice, “what if they find out the truth?”

  “I imagine they’ll kill us,” Zonis said, looking at her.

  Clora shuddered and curled up, her eyes wide with fear. “I don’t want to die.”

  “Hazard of the job, my dear. A danger any spy has to face. Demtro knew that before he sent you on this mad mission.”

  “He wouldn’t let me die, he loves me!”

  Zonis chuckled, then stopped as it set off a bout of coughing. “Damn it,” he wheezed, “I shouldn’t laugh. Does me no good. Demtro. Hah! I’ve known him far too long, and he’s never cared for anyone other than himself all his life. It used to infuriate me when I was a youngster.”

  “But he loves me,” Clora repeated.

  “I daresay he might,” Zonis said slowly. “You’re certainly very pretty, and you have an endearing manner, even for a whore. But that’s not usually Demtro. He doesn’t fall in love with people. He does with money and materials, but not people.”

  “He told me he does, and he’s cared for me!”

  “I believe you,” Zonis said, wheezing. “But don’t forget, he’s my brother and I’ve known him most of my life. He did nothing after our parents died. I had to take care of their burials, and he never even turned up at their wakes. He was too busy making money in Kastan City!” Zonis had to stop; a coughing fit overtook him.

  Clora regarded him in an unfriendly manner. “You’re upset because he’s made something of his life and you haven’t.”

  Zonis gave her a look that could have killed her on the spot but was unable to say anything. His face turned red. Finally he got his pipe out and hurriedly filled it with some of his medicine. He fumbled for the lighting material and after a struggle, lit it and puffed on the pipe, leaning back in relief and laying on the bed for a few moments, inhaling, and blowing out the thick, grey smoke the drug produced. Clora smelt the sweet sickly smell once more and wrinkled her nose.

  Finally Zonis pulled his pipe out of his mouth and waved it lazily before him. “I did, dear,” his voice was softer, more relaxed. Another side-effect of the drug. “But it was taken away from me through no fault of my own. I was just on the wrong side. The side of caring for the Empire, and not for myself.”

  Clora lay on her side, looking at the drugged man. She didn’t know whether to feel pity or disgust for him.

  “I was somebody, yes. Now I’m not, and I’m dying. Don’t expect me to be happy with my life, dear.”

  “I’m sorry,” Clora said, full of remorse. “I don’t like it when you’re cross with Demtro.”

  “My younger brother. I was supposed to look after him,” Zonis rambled. “My responsibility yet he went wrong. Too busy learning to be a soldier, I suppose…….. my fault…..” and he puffed more on the drug and closed his eyes. The painkilling properties were doing their job, but they also dulled the mind and he was having difficulty in forming coherent thoughts.

  Clora left him to his painkiller. She found it hard to talk to him the same way she could talk to Demtro.
It was surprising just how different two bothers could be.

  Some time later, as the sun was going down, two men came for them. They nodded to the guards who unlatched the door and it swung open. The two remained outside. One of them, a tall, dark haired man with stubble, and wearing a leather tunic with metal studding on his shoulders, waved impatiently at them. “Come on, out, now.”

  Clora got up, shivering. She was scared. Zonis slowly heaved himself up. He’d relaxed enough and lumbered out in front of Clora, giving the jailers a cold, hard look. Just so to show them he wasn’t afraid of them. He hovered close to the girl, just so she wasn’t feeling alone. The dark haired man sized Zonis up, flexing his chest and sneering. He was much younger and knew he could take the older man on anytime. He just wanted to make sure the prisoner knew who was tougher.

  He virtually ignored Clora. She was no threat. “Follow me,” he said, and nodded to the two bowmen to bring up the rear. They walked across the open ground of the clearing and over to one of the cave entrances. This one had more guards and a fixed barrier, sunk into the ground. The only way in was through a narrow opening where it turned left, then right. Once past the cave opened out and Zonis and Clora could see it was a huge cavern. It was full of furnishings, wall hangings, wooden partitions, a staircase and a platform further back where a second level existed. Men stood and watched as the two were escorted up the stairs to the platform. Clora didn’t like the eerie silence and the eyes that followed them.

  The platform followed the cavern’s course which narrowed and became a deep crevasse. The platform was now nothing more than a walkway, taking them over deep bottomless drops and under high, jagged folds lost in the darkness above. Torches lit the way and they came to a second, smaller, cavern. This one was almost circular in shape and the walls were smooth. Bands of different colours ran around the walls and Clora stopped in wonder. She was soon made to continue by a push in the back.

  There were two different passages from this cavern and they took the left hand one. Another narrow walkway which bridged one particularly wide black pit that made Clora hurry on her own accord, then they were in a small chamber with a wooden wall in front of them. Two doors could be seen set in it. More guards stood here and one opened the door to the left.

  The black-haired man waved the two to follow him and they passed into a furnished room, long and deep, with rugs on the wooden floor and tapestries on the stone walls. A long table stood at the far end and behind it sat a man with little hair and a scar running down his right cheek. He laced his fingers at the approach of the two and waited until they had stopped at a bark from the dark-haired man.

  “So,” he began, his voice deep and gravelly, “you’re fleeing from Niake?”

  “Yes,” Zonis said. “You’ve got a nice set-up here.”

  “That’s none of your concern, Sinoz, if that’s your real name. You’ve done army before, I can tell.”

  Zonis nodded. “Ten years. Reached captain in the Niakan Regiment.”

  “No such thing,” scar-face snapped.

  “There was,” Zonis corrected him, “but not anymore. Disbanded, oh, about seven-eight years ago now.”

  “And you along with it, I suppose?” the man sneered.

  “Something like that. Thrown on the shit-heap.”

  Scar-face snorted. “Nothing then to do with the fact you’re a drug-user?”

  “That came later when my lungs gave out on me. Only thing that gives me pain relief.”

  Scar-face looked at him with contempt, then turned to Clora. “And you, my sweet, what of you? Running away with your father’s brother? Worried the big, nasty Koros will eat you for dinner?” The men behind the two prisoners chuckled. Scar-face grinned, pleased to have cracked a joke. “Daddy was a naughty boy in Niake?”

  Clora clenched her fists. “My father did no wrong!”

  Zonis nodded. “Except speak his mind.”

  “A crime we all pay for these days,” Scar-face said heavily. “Rest assured we will check on your stories in Niake. We have friends there who will find out whether you’re lying or not. If it turns out you’re telling the truth, then you can have your belongings back- except the wagon and the equine. You won’t be needing those anymore and we have much more use of them.”

  “If you’re fighting the Koros then perhaps I can help?” Zonis offered.

  “In what way? Drug the Koros army?” The men laughed again.

  Zonis let that one go. “I can train your men. I’m used to giving orders and commanding men.”

  Scar-face chuckled. “Not here you won’t. Here you follow orders. My orders. I order you to remain in your cell until I summon you again.”

  Zonis shrugged. “Then what use could you have for someone like me?”

  “I’ll think on it. First thing is you’re going to wear a face-cloth. I don’t want you coughing your filth all over my men and giving them whatever it is you’ve got.” He looked at the dark-haired man. “Take him back to his cell and get a suitable covering for his mouth.”

  As Zonis was pushed to go out, Clora went to follow but was stopped by one of the bowmen. She looked back at Scar-face. “What about me?”

  “You are staying here. I want to speak to you further.” He looked at the guards. “Wait outside.”

  Clora stood silently as the door shut behind her. Scar-face stood up and walked round the table and stood before her. He was slightly taller than her, but had huge shoulders. He looked at her closely. “It isn’t every day we get someone as young and pretty as you. I haven’t had a woman for a long time.”

  Clora’s stomach tightened. “You-you want me?”

  “Oh yes,” Scar-face nodded. “You’re going to pleasure me, or else your uncle won’t live to see the dawn tomorrow. Get it?”

  “Oh!” Clora put her hand to her mouth. She had expected something like this. Demtro had warned her that she would almost certainly be used as a means for pleasure. It wouldn’t be much different to her life in the Black Rodent. She just hoped there wouldn’t be any beatings. “But-but..”

  “No co-operation, then uncle Sinoz dies.” He slowly ran his hands over her breasts, licking his lips in anticipation. “Mmmm….you’re a beauty. You be good and I’ll make sure you and uncle are fine.”

  Clora nodded fearfully. She knew how to pleasure men; it was the one skill she possessed. She had been doing it for longer than she could recall. The one uncertain factor was she had no idea how this fearful looking man would behave. Was he a brute? Was he one who liked it in strange ways? Did he enjoy inflicting pain on women? Did he like it on him? “What-what do you w-want me to do?”

  “Just do as I tell you,” Scar-face said, his breath catching. He unfastened her robe and allowed it to drop to the floor. Her undergarment was merely of rough cloth and he tugged it off over her head. Now she was topless. He pinned her to the desk and began sucking on her breasts, making animalistic noises. Clora shut her eyes and allowed it to happen. Her mind opened and once more she was just the cheap tavern whore she had been before Demtro had taken her away. She was worthless, she was nothing. Her mind was blank. She let this man pleasure himself on her, following his urgings, being exactly what he wanted her to be. She just hoped that what she was doing would be enough.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Argan’s nose began to bleed again. He knew it was bleeding because of the now familiar runny feeling he got moments before the blood began dripping down across his lips and chin and onto the ground, or his clothes. He guessed it would happen because he’d had yet another headache earlier that day. Ever since he’d fallen off the ladder coming down off the palace roof back in the winter he’d had headaches, and other aches and pains. The headaches usually heralded another nose bleed.

  “Oh, Argan!” his mother, the Empress Isbel, exclaimed, as Argan turned to her, his eyes wide and pleading for help, his hand clamping onto his nose. She was quickly to his aid, a cloth at the ready. She brushed his hand aside and practically smothered the child’s nos
e, pinching hard. Argan’s hands flapped ineffectually, as he fought to breathe through the thick white cloth. His mother was too enthusiastic in helping her seven-year-old son at times, but it normally stopped the bleeding. “We’re going to have to have a word with the apothecary about this. It’s happening far too often!”

  “Mmm-mmmm—mmmphh!” Argan spluttered through the cloth. He had meant to say the apothecary was no good but the words had been too muffled. Besides, he knew with weary resignation, once his mother made her mind up about something, nothing short of the gods would change it. He’d found that out to his cost over the past few years. He glanced over his mother’s wrist at the table cloth, now spotted with his blood. His plate was still there but the contents were in danger. His brother, Istan, was making a move to steal his food, yet again.

  Istan, three years younger than Argan, used every opportunity to take food from Argan. It was a surprise he wasn’t as fat as a fantor, the legendary monstrous beast from the West that some said existed, yet most refused to believe. To that end, Argan had secretly renamed Istan Fantor-Face. Now he saw Fantor-Face’s hand sneaking across, reaching for Argan’s slice of herd-beast. Argan’s left hand came slamming down, pinning his brother’s arm to the table.

  Istan screamed in surprise, then outrage. His other hand swung hard and caught Argan in the face, narrowly missing his mother’s hand. Isbel screamed, then forgot about Argan and took hold of Istan by the arm and dragged him away from the table. Istan yelled. “Lea’ me ‘lone, lea’ me ‘lone!”

  “Istan!” Isbel said sternly to him, waving a very severe finger at him. “How many times do I have to tell you to behave? You do not try to take someone else’s food!”