by Tony Roberts
The physician smiled wearily. “Your highness, you are the father of a healthy baby girl. Congratulations,” and he bowed.
“A girl?” Jorqel repeated, then bolted past the man and barrelled into the chamber, heavy with the smell of blood and alcohol. He had eyes only for Sannia who was lying propped up in bed with a small bundle lying on her chest, wrapped in a blanket. The other women were standing back, respectfully, holding blankets, bowls and cloths. Some were soaked with blood.
“Sannia,” Jorqel said, kneeling by her side. He looked at both her and the sleeping child, red-faced, the skin slightly wrinkly, a faint covering of black hair plastered to the skull. “A girl?”
Sannia nodded slowly, her eyes dark. The birth had taken a lot out of her, but she was at last comfortable and relaxed, albeit sore and weak. There had been a lot of blood lost, and she just wanted to sleep. “Her name, husband?”
“What is the name of your grandmother?”
“Merza,” Sannia said in a whisper.
“Then that is her name. Merza Koros.”
Sannia’s lips twitched in a smile, and her eyes closed. “I’m so tired, Jorqel. I want to sleep now.”
He stroked her head, still wet from the ordeal. “Then sleep you shall, my love,” and he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. He reached across and touched the child. She didn’t move, being content to rest against her mother’s chest where her heartbeat lulled her into a deep sleep. The child, like the mother, had been exhausted by the trauma of birth.
“Your highness,” the elderly woman said gently, “you must get some sleep too. The princess will be watched carefully and any needs will be attended to.”
Jorqel nodded and heaved himself up with an effort. It had been a mind-numbing time for him, and although not physically tired, his emotions had exhausted him nonetheless. He came into the day chamber and found a number of people standing there, all wishing to congratulate him and ask how the princess and child were. Jorqel assured that both were fine if tired. A cheering came to him through the opening that looked out onto the town and clearly word had passed round of the birth.
Jorqel smiled and made his way to the nearest guest room. For the moment Sannia and Merza would sleep uninterrupted, and he needed it, too.
Letters went out far and wide. It wasn’t long before most places in the empire had been told of the imperial birth. Celebrations were planned in all the major towns and cities and bunting came out, shaking off the dust and detritus that had collected over the winter. People needed an excuse to celebrate and this provided them with it.
But the war machine of Venn was gathering momentum.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The army snaked through the long winding valleys of Kral. High peaks that were lost in the clouds rose to either side of the straggling column. Scouts were out in front, riding well away from the main body, ensuring that no ambush was set anywhere. Their progress was slow; Kral was no place to travel fast. It was hard country, and the roads few and far between.
Alcazui sat in his saddle and watched as the spearmen walked past. There was no smartness to their pacing; they had been over twenty days into their campaign and so far they had not even passed into Kastanian territory. Men limped, sore, hot, tired. Grumbling rose from them. This was not the warfare they liked. The land was harsh, the people surly, the towns non-existent. They had to camp out in the open each and every night, and this had been the pattern since leaving Rhan.
The armoured knights rode slowly on the flanks, providing support and cover for the lumbering wagons that carried their supplies. It were these that dictated the army’s speed, and where the single muddy track that passed for a road climbed up to the next pass, they almost slowed to a halt.
At the rear marched the second spear company, constantly moaning about having pulled the worst job, getting the dust and muck from all those ahead of them. Alcazui worried about the time it was taking them to get to the frontier, but there was nothing else they could do.
Kral was a wild and untamed region. What centres of civilisation they had were much further south, near the capital Zaros. Here the only likelihood was that brigands and bandits would prey on them. Kral may be officially Venn territory but it was another thing telling the locals hereabouts; they bowed to nobody, no matter who held sway in Zaros or who sent tax collectors out. Many of them didn’t return.
Alcazui’s senior captain reined in besides him. “How far to the frontier, sir?”
“I don’t know, Captain. Another two-three days, perhaps? Then another couple of sevendays up to Zofela. There’s no way our approach will be unobserved. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Kastanians were waiting on the border with their army.”
“We should be able to drive through them, sir,” the captain said confidently. “It would do the men good, too. They need some action to raise their morale.”
“They probably have spearmen equal to ours,” Alcazui said, looking at his men making their way past, “but we certainly have the edge in cavalry. We outnumber their Army of the East, if the figures I’ve been given are accurate. I’m just concerned as to what the Mazag are going to do. They may or may not have an army nearby; I don’t want to fight them as well. We’ve got a long way to get back to safety.”
“Once we’re comfortably inside Zofela, you’ll be glad you came on this march, sir,” the captain grinned. He was very confident of victory. Venn hadn’t lost a battle for decades, and had been successful in the recent past against Kastanian or former Kastanian provinces.
Alcazui nodded slowly. He still worried that for the first time they would be going head to head against an established power, moreover one that had been around for a thousand years or so, one with a long tradition of war and great generals. It was just his luck, he reflected, that he was going to have to pit his wits against the one general of any quality the Kastanians had, and that was their emperor, Astiras Koros.
___
In Zofela the black flag had been hauled up the flagpole. Astiras came stamping down the corridor, yelling mightily. “Get all the scouts out over the countryside now!” he roared to Teduskis, standing straight in the imperial day chamber, his helmet under his arm. “I want to know where these black-hearted foul dirt-dwelling bastards are! I want daily reports; I want their numbers, their heading, their composition, their state, Teduskis. You’re in charge of the outriders. Get them off their arses and out now!”
Teduskis saluted and span on his heel, pleased to be once more in action. Vosgaris and the castellan, Captain Sepan, stood stiffly to attention. “Bring that Mazag ambassador to me at once, Captain Vosgaris.”
Vosgaris saluted and left at double speed. In this mood, Astiras was not one to irritate by tardiness. The black flag flying from the ramparts was indicative of this; the war flag of Kastan, flown in times of conflict. Although no formal declaration had been made, Astiras was in no doubt it was war, and too early for Kastania to be able to face Venn alone. The news that Epros had fallen to one Venn army had come as a nasty development the previous sevenday, but it had given them false hope that this was where Venn’s ambitions lay for the moment. Not so – for now news had filtered down from the borderlands that a large Venn army had been spotted making its way directly to the border, numbering at least equal to the army in Zofela, if not slightly more.
“Damn their eyes, Sepan! I thought we’d given ourselves time by destroying their arms stockpile, but it was all for nothing! I’d gambled on knocking down the walls here now, and they’ve gone and made their move with our pants down and my arse hanging out of the gap in the walls here! I want the garrison to help get the stone here from the quarry – the sooner we get the wall up the better!”
Sepan saluted and was gone. Isbel, Pepil and Frendicus were carved from stone, three statues in the room. Vasila and Cleric Waylar were the next to be turned on by the red-faced emperor. “Is your training completed, young woman?”
“Yes, your highness,” Vasila bowed. “Cleric Waylar says I’m as knowledgeable
as any acolyte fresh out of the temple colleges.”
“Then pack your belongings, pick any of the small equines from the stables and get going. You are to go via Turslenka, taking a letter for me to the governor there; he needs to be prepared. You will take another letter for the castellan of Kornith castle which you will personally deliver. From now on you are Vazil Taboz, priest to Kornith. Keep an eye on developments there and bring me seasonal reports. I am counting on you to be my ears and eyes up there.”
Vasila – now Vazil – bowed and left. Cleric Waylar regarded the animated emperor. “Your highness – I recommend a spate of devotions to the gods amongst the people here; they will need fortification of their souls at trying times such as these.”
Astiras nodded, flicking his fingers in dismissal of the priest. The priest narrowly avoided colliding with the arrival of Vosgaris leading the Mazag ambassador, Ganag Meri, a short, stocky dark haired man with a large nose and a wide smile that fooled nobody. “Sire, the Mazag ambassador,” Vosgaris announced and stood still by the door.
“Ah, Ambassador Mari,” Astiras switched moods and beamed widely at the new arrival. Must play the game. “A pleasure to see you, especially now, of all times.”
“I have heard the news, your highness,” Meri said deeply, his thick black eyebrows almost meeting in a frown. “Is it true?”
“Regretfully, it would appear so. I trust your noble people will stand by our alliance of mutual protection?”
“I would say so, sire. I will of course, need to send a letter to Bukrat for confirmation, but I can see no reason why Mazag shouldn’t stand shoulder to shoulder with our friends.”
“That brings joy to my heart, Ambassador,” Astiras smiled. “Would your King send an army to assist us in defending our sovereign soil against an aggressive move from Venn?”
“If I know my liege, he will. An army under General Vanist is just over the border and I shall request they stand ready to come to your assistance.”
Astiras nodded in satisfaction. That was what he wished to hear. Without Mazag help there seemed little anyone would be able to do to stop the Venn army marching down and arriving outside Zofela. Astiras spent a few more moments speaking to the ambassador before permitting him to return to his room to write to Bukrat. He pointed to Vosgaris. “You, Captain, will accompany me outside in a moment. While I’m gone,” he turned to Isbel, “carry on with the normal day-to-day issues. I’m going to be too busy dealing with this crisis to waste my time on petitions and how many shovel fulls of dung one must store for the next order. I have every confidence in you, dear.”
Isbel smiled momentarily, not quite reaching her eyes. “You really are too kind, dear,” she responded. She sighed as Astiras ushered Vosgaris out into the passageway. “Ah well,” she looked at both Frendicus and Pepil, “just like old times in Kastan City. Shall we get down to business?”
Vosgaris was pulled along the passageways like a piece of chaff before the wind in the wake of the emperor. People bowed as they passed; Astiras waving a lazy hand in an almost distracted manner in response. They went down to the courtyard where riders were mounting up and galloping off out into the town and then out into the countryside, people standing in groups watching in an almost dazed manner.
Outside Argan was trying to steer his equine, urging it to trot round in a wide circle, Panat Afos holding onto the other end of a rope that was fixed to the bridle – the lunge rein – and watching as the pair performed a wide circuit round him. The riders that burst from the town distracted him and he lost control. The mare reared up and the prince fell off with a dismayed yell. Kerrin slid off his saddle and came running over while Panat hauled the fractious equine in and smoothed its neck.
“’Gan, are you alright?” Kerrin asked, concerned. He knelt by his friend’s side.
Argan sat up with a bemused expression on his face. “I landed on my bum. I’m alright thanks. What’s going on with all those riders charging out?”
Kerrin helped the prince to his feet. “Don’t know! Maybe father knows?”
The two went over to Panat, who had calmed the equine down. “So sorry, sire, it was frightened by the sudden appearance of the others. I think we ought to give this animal a bit more training before we let you back on her.”
Argan nodded, rubbing his bottom ruefully. “What’s going on, Panat?”
Panat shook his head, then screwed his face up, squinting in the sunlight to the keep tower. “Oh, no. The black flag.”
“Black flag? What does that mean?”
“War, sire. It’s the imperial war flag. When we’re at war with a foreign power, the black flag flies and isn’t taken down until peace is signed. Someone must have invaded.”
Argan stared at Kerrin. “War! Father will know what to do! Come on, let’s go find out!” The two boys dashed off towards the walls of the town, this portion still intact, being the furthest from the new build.
Astiras meanwhile had led Vosgaris out beyond the castle and he turned to survey the defences of the town. To the left as he looked, the old wooden walls remained. Then, in the centre, rose the wooden castle and keep, atop a slight earthen mound. To the right the old wooden wall had been torn down and this was where the new stone blocks were being stockpiled, ready to build the new wall. “Well, that’s a great gift to the Venn, isn’t it? Welcome and come on in!” he said bitterly. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” he slapped his hands against his thighs in frustration. “I should have guessed those bastards wouldn’t let the matter of their depot being burned down delay them much. My fault, Captain.”
“Sire, no point in pointing any blame at yourself. You’re our leader; what do we do now to stop this army from taking Zofela?”
Astiras sighed deeply. “I want your guard to take over the responsibility for the new wall area. Those volgars will put the shits up those bloody people. I need to know though just how many of them there are and what their composition is. In the meantime I’m going to get the stone blocks piled up in a sort of loose wall with a few gaps in them. That way we can block their attacks in most places and concentrate on the few gaps that remain.”
“Sire – do we have enough to man all the ramparts? The militia can defend the wooden walls, and the imperial archers the castle, but my men can’t take care of the entire eastern half!”
“Fear not, Captain, I have an idea forming in my mind. I just want you to take over the undefended part of Zofela for the time being. Make sure order is kept and assess what lines of defence you can hold. Once they come over that ridge there,” Astiras pointed to the south-east where the road to Kral entered the valley, “then they’ll make for that part of the town. Why tackle walls or a fort when there’s no wall to stop them there?”
Vosgaris looked at the river, now back to its old course. “What about the diverted river, sire?”
“What of it? The current course gives us a bit of protection, but if we re-diverted it back to what I had it during the siege then we’d have none at all.”
“I know sire, but the diverted course runs across their line of approach. The road crosses it on that bridge there. Pull it down, put stakes in the bed, line the nearest bank with more. It’ll slow them down and force them to come in wide and approach from the south. The castle faces due south.”
Astiras rubbed his chin, then clapped Vosgaris on the shoulder. “Good thinking! That woman must be doing wonders for your mind.”
“She’s doing wonders for something, sire,” Vosgaris smirked.
Astiras chuckled. “I bet! Right, get to it. I’ve got a score of problems to think over. I need to see the farmers next. Get their spokesman to come see me. We might have to burn the damned farmsteads to the ground to deny them any food and shelter.”
As Vosgaris loped off, Argan and Kerrin came bounding over. Astiras grunted as he caught sight of the two. How to reassure the two boys? He smiled and stood waiting for them to get to him.
“Father! Panat says the black flag is war! Who are we at war with?
”
“Hello, Argan, Kerrin. We’ve heard that Venn have sent an army towards us; they are looking as if they will march to this spot.”
“Oh, right here? Will there be a battle, father?”
Astiras smiled slightly. Boys. They had no idea how ugly and violent a battle could be. “Most likely. We’ll have to see if they do come here. I can’t make any plans until I know for sure.”
Argan stepped into line with the emperor as they made their way back towards the castle. Kerrin walked alongside Argan. “Will we be needed to fight, father?” Argan asked, his face bright.
Astiras looked at his son and ruffled his hair. “I doubt it – you’re still not big enough to wield a proper sword yet, either of you, and we can only fight enemies who have big weapons with proper ones ourselves. You’ll both be in the castle if we are attacked.”
The emperor wondered what would happen to Argan – and the rest of his family – should Venn storm the walls and get in. They would pay in blood, that was for certain. What would the other Venn army do in Epros? Would they invade Makenia now? Could Kastania cope with two invasions? And what of Cratia? Venn would be building up a force there for certain, and if that was the case would they sail to Pelponia, or Lodria, or Zipria? Astiras felt chilled. It was now up to Venn to determine the course of events.
___
Alcazui slowed, his mount coming to a halt. The land fell away to either side in graceful grassy sweeps with woodland and forests in the middle distance. Hills and mountains reared up in the far distance, but it was a welcome change to find some level ground at last. The road ran away north-west across the land and away, and dotted about across the vista were a few farms and other buildings he couldn’t identify.
“Kastania, sire?” his senior captain queried, reining alongside.
“Kastania, yes. We’re now inside their territory. Pass the word along the lines. We should pray to Sonos.”
The priests with the army held a service and the army all knelt and listened to the words of the clerics. They were told they were doing the will of their god; the evil heretical polytheistic Kastanians would soon come to regret worshipping false gods, and any who refused to convert would be burned. The army was encouraged to use whatever means they could to bully the populace into compliance, and if it meant killing and burning, so be it. Only Sonos was permitted to exist in their lives, and if they refused, then death would be their reward.
