by Tony Roberts
“I’m bored,” she said. “I thought you two might like a little company,” and she flicked her shawl off, revealing a brief top, her breasts fighting to escape.
The two men goggled and looked about. “Here, ain’t ya Volkanos’ girl? We’d be strung up if we wus caught with ye!”
The girl giggled and moved into the shadow of the poop deck. “Who’s going to see us here?” and flipped her breasts out. “One for each of you, boys.”
They needed no second bidding and eagerly took a breast each. The girl sighed and leaned back, resting her head against the door leading to the officer’s quarters. It meant nothing to her; she had been subjected to much worse in her time.
Kiros reached the side of the ship and located a rope hanging down, and began to climb. Shedding water, he slowly made his way up and reached the deck rail. Peering over he caught sight of the three grouped together, the men enthusiastically making themselves familiar with the girl. He planted both feet firmly on the deck and crept forward, knife in hand. The two sailors were too busy to notice or even hear, and the girl had a hand against their heads, pressing them firmly into her chest. She smiled at Kiros who tensed, then thrust forward, his knife sinking into the back of the left hand man.
The sailor jerked upright in pain, and Kiros wrenched the blade free, turning on the second man who was beginning to realise something was amiss, but the girl now flung both arms round his head, holding him as much as she could against her breasts. The sailor struggled but his fight was ended quickly with a stab up into his kidneys, then a second through his back into his heart. The cry of pain was smothered by the girl, holding frantically onto the thrashing man, until he stopped and slid to the deck.
She spat on him and covered herself up. “Animals,” she said.
Kiros wiped his blade and checked the two men. Both were dead. “Good work,” he said. “I need you to distract the guards on that ship there by the harbour entrance. Can you do it?”
“Of course. Leave me to it.” She walked away, leaving Kiros to locate the hatch that led down to the hold. He used a rope to climb down and found it to be an untidy space. Finding flammable material was no problem, and he used his flint and steel to set off a small fire which would in no time spread to the rest of the ship. Moored as it was close to the jetty it would pose a real problem to the harbourside.
Climbing hurriedly up to the deck, he made his way off and onto the jetty. He walked slowly but purposefully to the ship furthest from the one he’d been on, and glanced up the plank to the deck. He could see nobody, so quietly crept up onto the ship and looked round. He heard muffled sounds from the cabin to the right and pushed the door open. Beyond was a large room, dominated by a table. The girl was spread-eagled on this and three men crowded round her. One was thrusting into her hard, grunting while the other two encouraging him and promising to do a better job than he was at that moment.
Kiros grinned briefly, then moved in fast. The one busy with the girl would be the last to get his attention. His knife slashed across the throat of the first, and then he moved aside as the man clutched his wound in a reflex motion. The second man was opening his mouth in shock, and was still working out what was going on when Kiros’ blade sank into his throat. Leaving the two men to bleed to death on the floor, he swung round. The last pirate was trying to disengage but his pants were around his ankles and he had to force the girl’s legs open, she having wrapped them round his back.
“Stupid whore!” he exclaimed, slamming his fist into her face. The girl’s head smashed into the tabletop, stunning her.
Kiros moved in, blade rising. It entered the last man’s stomach and ripped up to the sternum. The pirate clutched his ruined guts and collapsed in agony. Kiros eyed him dispassionately. “Pleasures of the flesh, my friend,” he said without emotion. He checked the girl. She was unconscious. He rearranged her clothing as best he could, then picked her up and took her outside, shutting the door on the charnel house. Leaving her by the gangplank, he glanced over across the water to the first ship. Flames were beginning to flicker up out of the hold. He moved fast. Soon the entire harbour would be up in arms and full of people.
The hold hatch was thrown back and he lowered a rope down, climbing down swiftly. The ship was much neater and he had to rummage around a bit to find sails and rope that would burn, with the assistance of oil. He frantically set sparks onto the oil-soaked material, then, satisfied it was ablaze, returned to the rope and climbed up.
By now the first ship was well ablaze and people were running towards it, shouting in alarm. Kiros grunted in satisfaction. Checking the girl, she was still out, so he picked her up and carried her down to the harbourside. At that point it was out of the way of the rest, and so he could take her to a sheltered spot close by, but once the second ship began to go up, people would find them, so he carried her along the edge of the jetty, trying to remain inconspicuous.
A gap in between two piles of wooden beams offered a place of concealment so he put her down again and tried to revive her.
By now the second ship was on fire. Shouts and screams of alarm spread and men came running out from their homes and the fort, many having been woken up moments before and were busy rubbing sleep from their eyes. Some didn’t even have their shirts on.
“By the gods!” one man exclaimed, “two going up! Get to the rest and make sure they’re not on fire too! Its got to be the work of some arsonist!”
Feet clattered off in all directions. Someone was trying to organise chains of men pulling sea water up from the harbour with buckets and to try to put the blazes out but the ships were going up spectacularly and the pirates were forced back by the heat.
Kiros felt the flush of the fire on his face and turned to see the sky lit up like daylight. No chance of sneaking off anywhere. He would have to remain there and hope he would remain undetected.
The girl stirred and Kiros put a hand over her mouth to stop any involuntary cries. Her eyes widened, then she understood as Kiros put a finger to his lips in warning. She nodded and he took his hand away. She clutched her swollen face painfully. “That man hurt me!”
“Aye, well you were stopping him from escaping,” Kiros said softly. “We have to keep quiet and still; they’re all over the harbour.”
“I have to go – Volkanos will want to know where I am!”
Kiros grunted. “It’s a risk.”
“A bigger one if I stay here. I must go.”
“Very well. Be careful.”
The girl smiled for a moment, then got to her feet, smoothed herself down, clutched her face again with a hiss of pain, then slipped out and was gone. Figures ran to and fro, and nobody seemed to notice her. Sometimes it was like that. Kiros moved to the edge of the pile of wood and peered round, looking both left and right. To the right the second ship was burning nicely, with some figures trying to take moveable items off it, while to the left the first ship was incandescent, heeling over to starboard and beginning to sink, the flames reaching up high into the night sky.
Figures were arranged in a loose half circle close by, being kept back by the heat of the flames. Other ships were being manned by their crews, frantically trying to cast off away from the doomed vessels. Kiros slid out from cover and made his way quietly behind the onlookers whose attention was firmly fixed on the harbour and not behind them, and he crossed to the harbourside buildings and within moments was concealed amongst the narrow streets, a deep feeling of satisfaction settling upon him.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The scenery of Pelponia was spectacular; jagged mountains rose steeply from the water’s edge and climbed high into the air. Sheer faces of white or grey rock were everywhere, and the flat fertile valleys were few and far between. What little roads there were linked the main centres of habitation to the rest of the empire.
The coastline was ragged and full of inlets, promontories and small rocky islets. Sailors had come to know over the centuries that the coastline was treacherous and had to be given a respectfully
wide berth. There were only two places where ships could safely berth, one being close to the main settlement on the eastern coast of the Aester Sea, and this was a small village set in a steeply sided cove. The other was the port of Parsot, far to the north and the northern most tip of the land. A nicely sheltered harbour that had formed where the land was low enough to support a small town and the mountains set far enough apart to allow the construction of a road that ran from the port to the provincial capital of Kornith.
Kornith was set on a plateau of rock overlooking the long, wide valley that provided the main farming area of Pelponia. The single road that ran up from Parsot passed close to Kornith and a side road ran to the entrance, while the main road itself carried on south towards the slave mines and ultimately beyond that to Makenia.
The town was dominated by a fort, standing proud and tall, overlooking the valley and the long inlet to the south that almost cut the main Pelponian land from the rest. A narrow neck of land separated the south from the main part of the region. The fort controlled this and the town had grown around it over the centuries. Now a wooden wall encompassed it all.
The scene from the fort was impressive. To the west the land rolled across the valley, giving a commanding view of the farms and fertile strip of land until it reached the far side and a series of low hills. Beyond them stood the Aester Sea. To the south the land rose steeply to a series of mountain tops, then the land dropped sheer to the inlet that ran east to the Ridatik Sea, the body of water that separated Pelponia, Epros and Riliyan from Talia.
To the east the waves upon waves of mountains ran off into the distance. Trees clung to mountain sides stubbornly and scrub covered every available space. In between were narrow valleys, the abode of beasts and those who lived hard, independent lives.
Vazil turned away from the window she/he had been looking out of, and faced the castellan of Kornith, Captain Anthes. Anthes had been the most senior officer who remained in the fort after the coup by the Koros five years previously, and had been given authority from Astiras to continue. The captain was a tall, pock-marked man with an air of melancholy but at the same time was quietly competent. Dedicated to the empire, he cared not who occupied the throne of Kastania, as long as the empire was faithfully served. The relative isolation of the province usually meant Kastan City left Pelponia to go its own way provided it sent taxes in on time.
“Captain,” Vazil said in the deep voice that had almost become habit now, another disguise to hide his/her femininity, “the war with Venn puts Pelponia in a vulnerable position. Your efforts must be to improve the defences and build up the military here. Having two companies to patrol the entire province is not good.”
“With all due respect, Cleric Taboz, I would not lecture you on matters of spirituality. I therefore ask you do not try to tell me what to do with regard to matters of a military nature.”
Vazil straightened to the full extent of her height, which was a full head shorter than Anthes. “Must I remind you of the spiritual disaster that a Venn conquest would befall our people? It is well known that wherever Venn go, their priests go to work on the people, forcing conversion and putting the death anyone who resists. A military failure here would put all who live here in serious danger. As the imperial appointed priest of Pelponia, I must insist you strengthen the defences of this province!”
Anthes clenched a fist and punched thin air in emphasis. “We are already constructing a workshop here to build siege weaponry and missile throwing machines. We do not have the resources to research anything else, Cleric Taboz.”
“And how soon will this be completed?”
“Another year,” Anthes said with a shrug. “We’re working from scratch. The raw materials necessary are hard to find, but we will perfect it, given time.”
Vazil frowned. “A year to build a workshop?”
“Oh not just that,” Anthes shook his head, “we must make sure we have the war machines and expertise to use them. That takes time.”
The priest sighed and tapped her fingers on the table in front of her. “You must plan for new garrison quarters once that project is finished; the emperor wants Kornith to produce soldiers to defend our sacred soil. I want to bring him good news from this outpost.”
“I don’t think we’ll be attacked first,” the captain commented.
“How do you know that? Venn has a long line of supply from their homeland to Cratia and their ships sail past Pelponia’s northern tip regularly. Parsot would be a fabulous resupply port for them!”
“Turslenka is much more likely, Cleric Taboz. Nobody bothers with us; we don’t have much anyone wants here, and we’re left alone to do our own thing. The emperor hasn’t bothered too much with us up to now.”
“He’s authorised you to continue as castellan, has he not? He sent me here to make sure his wishes are being carried out. I will not authorise any building project other than a temple or military structure. What of any recruitment?”
“There are no funds to recruit more soldiers. We are a poor province. I have a part-time militia that patrols the roads and two companies of soldiers were in Kornith to garrison the fort and town. There is no money for anything else.”
Vazil knocked her knuckles on the tabletop in frustration. Anthes was dour, obdurate and unimaginative. “I shall certainly appeal for funds to enlarge the garrison here, but only after the new quarters are built. In the meantime you are to train up all the men from the ages of sixteen to fifty to handle weapons and defend the walls. Should the enemy invade they’ll face an entire town ready to fight them.”
Anthes grunted. “Is that your order or that of the emperor?”
“I will get one if you insist, Captain. Now, I shan’t keep you any longer from your duties. I must pray to the gods for guidance.”
Anthes turned on his heel and stalked out. Vazil relaxed and dropped into a hard wood chair and slipped off her hat, running her hand through her short cropped hair. The disguise as a man was almost like second nature now, but there were times when she missed being a woman. It was good being able to order officers and soldiers about – something she would never have been able to do if she were still Vasila Taboz, a minor noblewoman.
Ever since arriving at Kornith, it had been clear that the region was backward looking and not in the slightest interested in progress. The people were happy with their rural lot and had little interest in what happened outside their own borders – or even beyond the limits of their town or village. The accent had been odd, too, until her ears had become accustomed to it. The locals tended to drop the last letter of certain words and other letters were much more guttural than standard Kastanian.
She wondered what Vosgaris or even father would say now if they saw her. Vazil smiled to herself, despite the frustrations of dealing with stubborn Pelponians. Anthes was alright; he was a steady man, he was just slow to accept change. The workshop had been a surprise, but the presence of the Talian defector had convinced Anthes and his small circle of decision makers to go with it. A demonstration using poor quality material had promised much, but it was just a matter of getting the right ones from remote places. In times gone by the empire would have been able to get hold of the right stuff, but now in its current state and size, these materials lay outside their borders.
Vazil had visited the Talian defector herself recently and spoken to him. Vazil’s knowledge of Talian had helped, of course. The defector was a short, stocky man with a smooth face and dark, curly hair. An affinity for good food showed in his pot belly, but his mind was sharp.
“Why did you flee your homeland and come to our lands?” Vazil had asked, standing in the doorway of the man’s single room in the castle.
“A family feud,” the Talian shrugged. “Oddly enough over the right of Kastania to rule northern Talia.”
“You’re an imperialist?”
The defector had nodded. Only fifteen years previously northern Talia had finally passed from imperial control, driven out by the Zilcian knights wh
o were the bane of the region. From nothing they had carved out a kingdom in a matter of two generations, mostly at the expense of Kastania. The empire just hadn’t the resources to deal with the fighting there as well as the aftermath of Zerika and the Tybar War. The last outpost, Ibar, a port opposite Epros, had fallen almost to the same day as the disaster at Zerika, and now served the vital kingdom of Zilcia, administered from the nearby city of Nesipola. Many people there still had Kastanian blood in them and longed for the empire to return and drive out the rude and brutal Zilcians. “My brother has embraced the new masters, but I would rather live under the emperors, and once I learned of the accession of Astiras Koros, I made my mind up to come here. Sadly my brother tried to stop me and we had a fight.”
Vazil had sat down in a chair and had steeped her fingers, listening. “Go on.”
The defector had hung his head. “I’m afraid the fight turned ugly and I struck my brother harder than I intended. I fear he may be injured for a long time. His sons vowed revenge and I had to flee quickly to avoid being torn to pieces by them. They are as violent as the Zilcian military!”
Vazil had nodded slowly. She didn’t understand fully but had to give the impression she did. “And came here with your expertise. Tell me, how does this machine you have designed work?”
“Oh,” he had relaxed slightly, finding it easier to talk about what he did than an uncomfortable family fight. “I was taught by the last of the imperial engineers in Ibar, and he had inherited his knowledge from the long tradition of imperial siege workshops. It’s is a shame that knowledge has been lost here, but perhaps I can bring it back. You will need it, as Zilcia and Venn have this knowledge now, having taken over the old workshops in Talia.”
Vazil had inclined her head in acknowledgement.
“So, the whole machine is designed to loose a javelin at high speed, using torsion as a means to propel it out. Think of it like a massive bow, laid horizontally on a chassis.” He had stretched out his hands to demonstrate in thin air. “The javelin is slotted into a groove in the wooden base, the end of which rests against the string which is pulled back by a spoked wheel, operated by the artilleryman. The string is held by a spring-loaded block, and the turning of the wheel pulls the entire mechanism back until it is slotted into a hooked trigger.
