by Tony Roberts
“Good, or I may demote you to privy attendant, class two. So what is it you want?”
“My figures for the ongoing work here.” He presented the emperor with a parchment.
Astiras snatched it, glared at the captain, then shook it violently. “Does this interest me, or shall I use it the next time I visit the garderobe?”
“Astiras,” Isbel said from her chair, “perhaps I could take that from the Captain?”
“What?” Astiras swung round, considered his wife for a moment, then frowned and scanned the sheet. As he did so Isbel smiled at Vosgaris who winked at her. Isbel gave him a mock glare, then switched her attention to the emperor. “What does this mean, Captain?” he demanded, the figures and words blending into a red mist.
“Sire. We need more stone for the new castle. The walls will be completed with what we have already, but we will need three times what we have now to finish it.”
“Three times?” Astiras almost shrieked. “What are you building me here? I want a castle, not a lifesize replica of that mountain out there!”
“Indeed, sire, but the walls are two men’s heights thick, they have to have buttressing to support the roofs, there’s the two gatehouses you want, the barbican against the keep entrance, the raised area on top of the stone outcrop to stop tunnelling, the chambers to accommodate the Council as well as your throne room, the bed chambers, servants’ quarters…..”
“Yes, yes, and a brothel for the soldiers!” Astiras snapped.
“Astiras!” Isbel said sharply.
“Oh, all right!” the emperor sighed and slapped the parchment down on his desk. “Goodness’ sake – I want a military campaign to take me away from all this!”
“We’re not in a position to mount any such expedition, your majesty,” advised the newest addition to the staff, an tall man with a black beard and piercing blue eyes by the name of Golten Mirrodin. Mirrodin had been in Makenia until recently. He’d gone to see Thetos Olskan and offered his services as a biographer, but the governor had gruffly told him he needed nobody to tell his life story. Metila, however, had told him to go to Zofela and had sent him on his way along with a letter for Astiras which Golten had passed on once he had gained an audience with Astiras.
The emperor had been intrigued by the prospect of having his story written down and disseminated throughout the empire, and had taken the man on. Isbel and Pepil weren’t so sure and had treated him indifferently, but so far Golten had proved he was a capable biographer and even made some useful contributions to discussions in the day chamber. Astiras thought the man possessed some sharp insight.
As to the letter… Astiras had read it in privacy. The woman had been blunt and brief. Astiras would have to visit Turslenka in the near future. It had been enigmatic and she had merely said she wished to see him again and to inform Thetos when it would be. She had something to show him. He felt excited; nobody had made love to him the way she had. Even by Bragalese standards she was good. He yearned to have her again.
“I know that, Golten,” Astiras said, “for the moment,” he added, pointing a stubby forefinger at the biographer. “But mark my words – I will yet lead an army into battle once more.”
“At your age, Astiras, would it not be best to leave it to one of your generals?” Isbel said, concerned.
“What do you think I am; a coffin dodger?” the emperor snapped, piqued. “I’m still able to wield a sword and I haven’t lost my faculties. And you know I’m still able to…”
“Yes, yes, I get the general gist of what you’re saying, dear,” Isbel interrupted. “I just think you’d be best leaving it to Captain Vosgaris here or the castellan.”
“Hah!” Astiras snorted, then eyed Vosgaris. “No demeaning your abilities, Vosgaris, but you are not me.”
“No, sire,” Vosgaris snapped even straighter to attention.
“And Argan is a few years away yet from being old enough to lead in battle. Until he is, I shall continue to command on the battlefield. Any news from our diplomatic mission to Venn, by the way?” he asked of Pepil who was shuffling papers across his desk towards the rear of the office.
“Ah, no sire. I suspect they may be finding the journey difficult, given the increased border patrols and suspicions of both sides. I understand even trade caravans are being stopped and searched now.”
“Too right they should,” the emperor said. “Merchants! They think they’re above the law, whining about being searched. I’d have them strip searched if they complained.”
“One sure way of stopping merchants plying their trade with us, dear,” Isbel sighed in exasperation.
“Bah,” Astiras threw a hand up in the air. “What are we, men or rodents? Show them strength – the iron fist. Be weak with them and they show nothing in return but contempt and then they take advantage of you.”
“If you say so, dear.”
Astiras glared at his wife. “Hmph! I distrust you when you agree with me like that.”
“Why is that, darling?” Isbel smiled.
Astiras grumbled under his breath and rapped his fingers on the desk top. “It worries me. You’re up to something, I know it.”
Isbel affected a look of innocence. “Astiras, you have an untrustworthy attitude. I’m your wife; what in Kastania could I possibly do to your detriment?”
“I dunno – but I feel it in my bones.” He gave her one long look, then turned his attention back to Vosgaris. “Get more workers onto the project. I want this place completed in two years.”
“Yes, sire. We may have to hire Mazag or Valchian labourers.”
“Really? Ah….. well do it. They’ll be good for the basic labouring jobs. Pay them the minimum rates.”
“Really, Astiras,” Isbel frowned, “that’s taking advantage of them!”
“No it isn’t – they’re probably from dunghills and other such beautiful cesspits where they live, grovelling in poverty. At least here they’ll have a job, money, a roof over their heads and a place to spend their wages! What would they expect from where they live? A beating, sharing their chamber with their animals, a nagging wife and squalling brats. Good gods in the heavens, I know what I’d choose!”
“What of the labour force here in Zofela and Frasia, sire?” Frendicus asked. “They won’t be happy at jobs going to foreigners when they find out.”
“Can’t see anyone coming forward to offer their services at the moment, can you?” Astiras said belligerently. “Anyway, Frendicus, you’re a miser with the treasury. What would you say if I doubled the pay?”
Frendicus went pale.
“Exactly! I’m right again, as always. Offer people the minimum rate, and then when nobody comes forward, go get those piles of hairy droppings across the border to work on the castle. I want to be in bigger accommodation in two years so I can work away from you whining shits,” he waved at Pepil and Frendicus, “and your irritating smirk,” he pointed at Vosgaris. “I can’t break wind at the moment since he,” the emperor waved at Golten, “would write it down and post it on every street corner.” He paused and emitted a thunderous emission as if to emphasise his point.
Isbel looked disgusted, as did Pepil and Frendicus. Vosgaris grinned while Golten went to pick up a stylus.
“Don’t you dare or I’ll cut your hand off and stuff it up your rear end!” Astiras threatened. “So, get this blasted castle done as soon as you can, and I don’t car eif you have to travel to the furthest points of the world to get people to do it. Now get going.”
Vosgaris bowed and left. He was glad the empress had confidence in him leading men into battle, but unless they were attacked full-on by a large invasion force, that was unlikely. Young Argan was growing up fast and would no doubt be given his own command before too many more years were gone. The youngest sibling Istan was a different matter. If he were given command of armed men, who knows what he would do? He was enough of a problem now, let alone being given more opportunity to wreak havoc.
He called in on his wife, Al
enna. She was working on the figures necessary to employ more people for the building of the new Zofela. He told her to revise the pay rates downwards, which she did, but not without commenting it was virtual slavery. Vosgaris didn’t argue. After a kiss and a few moments together he went out and tracked down where Argan was practicing with a young equine, outside the now vanished walls. The ditch where the foundations of the new wall were to go were there, but nothing else existed at the moment save for a few wooden bridges spanning the gap.
Both Argan and Kerrin were racing along an improvised tilt yard, holding small wooden spears, aiming at stuffed rag targets in the shape of an imaginary enemy. Vosgaris sauntered up to the side of Panat Afos, who was encouraging the two to greater efforts. “How are they progressing, Panat?”
The veteran retainer turned slowly. One eye was clouded over but the other was still bright and observant. “They progress. The prince is catching up slowly.”
“But not fast enough?”
Panat shook his grey head. “That illness put him back a long way. It will take a few years to build up his leg strength. I don’t want to push him too hard since I don’t know how weak his bones are.”
“And your son?”
Panat nodded, a slight smile playing across his face. “He is going well. He is totally dedicated to Prince Argan. I don’t think anyone can doubt he will be his bodyguard for the rest of their lives.”
Vosgaris felt pleased at that. That was one issue sorted. He gave his compliments and returned back towards the town, heading for the stocked piles of stone where the slaves and labourers were working, further around towards the south-east, the direction of the Venn borders. Astiras had demanded that section be completed first. He hoped the walls could be completed before Venn tried again, and that Argan and the others be given a chance to grow to adulthood and put their mark on the history of Kastania.
___
The new day broke over the town of Romos. People were wandering around the streets, many with worried expressions on their faces. Nobody knew what Prince Jorqel would do now he was in charge. The fact he had the corpses of the three Duras family members mounted on wooden stands and left hanging there by the gates had scared many. They hadn’t believed a Koros was capable of such acts.
Jorqel cared little for their opinions. He had acted fast once the town had been secured. Anyone who was suspected of or accused of collusion with the pirates and/or the Duras had been arrested and stowed on one of the abandoned ships in the harbour. He had been furious to discover Nikos Duras had escaped on that one ship, but there was nothing anyone could do about it.
One ship was in a fit state to sail, the rest not. Two were beyond hope, having been burned in the fire Kiros Louk had created, and three others were unlikely to sail ever again. There were no pirates left – all had fled. Jorqel had sent out Hammarfall and some mounted archers to scour the island for any fugitives, and to spread the word that imperial rule had once more been restored to the island.
One of the first things he had done was to proclaim a cessation of the levy and tithe that had existed under the rebels, and a mere restoration of imperial tax at one fourth. Jorqel intended sending four-fifths of that to Kastan City, and he would keep the balance for repairs and improvements on the island. He also sent a messenger by ship – the one that was in a decent condition – to Slenna. There were enough townsfolk and sailors who volunteered to man the ship to make it seaworthy. Jorqel put one of his two RIMM captains in charge with specific orders to collect Sannia and his daughter and return once the messages had been delivered.
The girl who had been found whipped in the room he was now using as his headquarters had been comforted by two of the towns women. People were now coming forward to tell of the rule under Volkanos and, latterly, the Duras. While Volkanos had been a careless and callous leader, the Duras had been far worse. Volkanos had been dealt with already by Jorqel.
Once sobered up, he had been summarily sentenced to death and hung from the fort ramparts. His body was swaying in the breeze in full view from the streets below. The rest of the prisoners were at that moment working in chains, cleaning up the fort, the grounds, and the streets. Later they would be made to clear up the harbour which was mostly unusable. There were so many prisoners that they had to be stowed aboard one of the unsailable ships. Guards were posted everywhere, just in case there were any of Volkanos or Duras supporters remaining.
Kiros Louk sidled up to the prince as Jorqel stood peering out of his window that overlooked the harbour. “Well, your highness,” he said in a clearly disrespectful voice. “My congratulations at another success.”
Jorqel frowned in irritation. “I wish you would knock!”
Kiros laughed silently. He slid a yellowed and crumpled piece of parchment onto the table.
“What’s that?” Jorqel demanded.
“My expenses and fee for a successful job, of course.”
“Hmph! I suppose you want me to pay you now?”
“Naturally, sire – I have delivered Romos to you as promised.”
Jorqel went to a small chest in the corner of his room and unlocked it. He threw a small bag of coins across to the spy who took it, weighed it experimentally, and nodded. “My thanks, sire. Is there any other service I can perform for you or the Koros family?”
The prince thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. “In fact I think there is. One of those sewer rodents escaped on a ship, Nikos Duras. I would like you to find him and kill him.”
“I’m no assassin, sire.”
“Hmmm…. Perhaps not but I would like him eliminated. I don’t know where he has gone, but he has a ship and a crew and as long as he is at large, I’m not happy. I want him dead.”
Kiros Louk bowed and backed away, leaving as quickly as he’d arrived. Jorqel scowled. The man was just too adept at sneaking past his guards. He was still pondering on whether the fugitive Duras would be found when Gavan arrived, slumping into a handy chair. “That’s all sorted, sire.”
“What is?”
The ship to Slenna. It sailed a short while ago. The town is secure, the countryside will be in next to no time, and then we’ll be up and working as smooth as a baby’s arse.”
“I doubt that, Gavan. This is just a small step, retaking Romos for the empire. Yes, we’ve cut out the pirate nest here and made the voyages to and from Zipria safer, and increased the standing of both my family and the empire by regaining this island, but its nothing compared to what we’re going to have to face in the near future.”
“Venn?”
Jorqel nodded. “Venn. That’s our real test. Look at our position. We’re the link between the mainland and Zipria, and the nearest military outpost to their forces on Cratia. We’re definitely a threat to them now. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see a Venn invasion force arriving before the end of next year.”
“We can’t take on a Venn army with what we’ve got here, sire,” Gavan stated flatly. “Not without a decent infantry base. And this place – its far too weak to stand anything but a basic siege.”
The prince nodded and looked out of the window once more. “Which is why we must continue to strive to build ourselves up to face our enemies. Kastania isn’t finished by a long way, but we’re still terribly weak and a concerted attack by someone could cause us irreparable harm.”
“Won’t Mazag protect us, sire?”
The prince laughed and turned round. “Mazag will protect its own interests, and then only in Bragal, as it did at Zofela. They can do nothing for us here – we’re on our own, Gavan. Us and the three companies of the RIMM. That’s all we’ve got to defend Romos with; I can’t spare any of the men in Slenna and Lodria, for they need to be there in case the Tybar act, or bandits rise up. No, we will have to make sure this island is safe by ourselves. It’s going to be a hard task, my friend.”
“Will nobody else come to our aid?”
“No, Gavan. I doubt that very much. We must stand on our own feet and fight against whatev
er comes our way.”
He knew that the war against Venn may wash up against the shores of his newest province, and if it did, then he was not all that sure of being able to resist them forever. He just hoped that Venn would look to the richer prizes of Turslenka and Zofela.
Even as he was thinking that, across the sea and across the mountains, in the village of Drazino – the capital of the newly conquered province of Epros – three senior members of Venn’s military stood around a map set on a table, pointing at the passes through the mountains into Kastanian territory, and making their plans.
Principle Character List
Alenna Duras………… Daughter of Lord Duras, later married Vosgaris Taboz
Amne Koros ............ Only daughter of Astiras Koros, Princess of Kastania
Argan Koros ............ Third child of Astiras and Isbel, Prince of Kastania
Astiras Koros ........... Emperor of Kastania
Burnas ..................... High Priest of Kastania
Clora ....................... Spy and lover of Demtro Kalfas
Demtro Kalfas ......... Merchant in Niake, acting as spy for the Koros
Elas Pelgion ............. Husband to Princess Amne Koros and governor of Frasia
Evas Extonos ........... Governor of Niake
Fostan Carras .......... Castellan of Slenna castle
Frendicus ................ Chief tax assessor of Kastania
Gallis ...................... Former priest now assigned to tutor Istan Koros
Gavan .............. …... Jorqel’s right hand man
Genthe…………………. Senior servant of Koros household in Zofela
Henne………………….. Sannia’s handmaiden and lover of Gavan
Iovan Sen ............... Tutor to Argan Koros
Isbel Koros ............. Empress, wife of Astiras, mother to Argan & Istan
Istan Koros ............. Youngest child of Astiras and Isbel, Prince of Kastan
Jorqel Koros ........... Heir to the throne, eldest son of Astiras
Kerrin Afos ............ Son of Panat, friend of Argan Koros
