Empire of Avarice (14 page)

Astiras smiled thinly. “You will travel by ship across
to Bathenia with Demtro here. He is to report to the governor of Niake on
arrival as he is to set up a textile export and import business there under
licence from me. He will also supply you with textiles to furnish your temples
when the time comes for a reduced cost. I wish for the temples to flourish as
much as you do. We face external threat from both east and west, and our gods
must have their champions here to fight for their cause.”

“All the more reason to have a High Priest here in
Kastan,” Gaurel insisted, waving his hands before him in emphasis. “The gods
must know we are their loyal followers or we may be deserted – with
catastrophic consequences!”

“I am confident, High Priest, that the gods know. Tales
of forced conversions to the heretical beliefs of the east come to me daily. People
of the lands lost to us need our return, and that is my sacred task. Our future
is endangered not just by political means, but also by spiritual. To that end,
Niake’s need is greater than Kastan’s at this moment. You are to go and do your
work there. That is my command.”

Gaurel trembled in frustration. “Only the gods may
command me, sire.”

“Then ask them to stop me throwing you back in that pit
from whence you’ve been plucked,” Astiras growled, his eyes boring into the
priest’s.

Gaurel held his look for a moment, then slumped back
into his chair and nodded weakly. Astiras smiled in triumph and turned to
Pepil. “Issue a notice to be posted around the empire that High Priest Gaurel
is on a sacred mission to Niake.”

The major domo bowed.

“Now, Demtro, your licence means that you have exclusive
use of the textiles in Niake only. You are to deal with us through the governor
there. He will be informed of this arrangement. If you do a deal with the Fokis
family I shall revoke your licence immediately, you understand?”

“Yes, sire,” the lean, long-haired man acknowledged. He
wore richly coloured thickly woven clothing that told of money. “I shall set up
a new business and contact those whom I deal in my other enterprises. With
luck, we should be in business within the year.”

“Good. This meeting is therefore at an end. Good luck,
gentlemen,” Astiras said and strode swiftly out of the room.

Pepil puffed out his cheeks. “I can tell you, Gaurel,
you nearly undid all the hard work Frendicus and I have put in these past few sevendays
there.”

“Why? He’s wrong!”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s wrong or not,” Pepil snapped
irritably. “Can’t you understand he’s the emperor and will not be pushed around
by anyone? He’s not a puppet like the previous ruler. You must learn to deal
with him, and that means in an entirely different manner than before. If you
want to keep your head then keep your counsel!”

Gaurel snorted. “You seem to have jumped into his court,
Pepil. It’s you who’s the puppet!”

“If you think that, then you’re as stupid as you’ve been
behaving recently. I survive, and if that means agreeing with him then that’s
what it takes. But if you think I’m his man, then you are very much mistaken!”

Gaurel snorted, clearly unconvinced. “So if there was a
plot to murder him and replace him with someone more – malleable – would you
support it?”

Pepil looked sideways at Demtro. “Is that a wise thing
to be discussing, Gaurel?”

The merchant laughed easily. “Oh, please, don’t worry
about me – I’m off. I’ll meet you, High Priest, in the entrance hall downstairs.”
He left, chuckling.

“Well, major domo?” Gaurel sneered, “are you the
emperor’s lap canine or a man of courage and strength?”

“I’m nobody’s lap canine, especially yours! You have the
brains of a beast of burden and the subtlety of a cheap street trollop. If I
decide to join any plot it will be on my terms and with whom I decide is fit to
sit on the throne, not someone who will bow to every half-witted request by
self-serving cretins. And believe me, Gaurel, I’ve seen more than my fair share
of those here in recent years!”

Gaurel stood up. “Then do not come to me asking for
assistance in time to come. I intend returning to Kastan as High Priest, and
when I do, I shall preach to the people that all traitors be purged from the
palace, including those who do not support me. Good evening.”

Pepil was left alone in the room with his thoughts,
chewing on his lower lip.

Demtro was waiting patiently for Gaurel in the entrance
hall, idly studying the artwork hanging on the walls, when Isbel came up to
him. Demtros bowed and kissed her proffered hand. “Ma’am,” he said solemnly.

“Well?” she asked softly.

“Gaurel is untrustworthy; Pepil a fence-sitting
opportunist.”

“Thank you, Demtro. Enjoy your business in Niake.”

The merchant smiled and bowed again. The empress glided
off along one of the richly decorated corridors, her rear view admired by the
merchant. Gaurel came down the stairs and saw his look. “Shame on you,
merchant,” he admonished the younger man, “that is the empress, and not for the
likes of you.”

“That does not stop the desire, priest.” He saw Gaurel’s
expression. “Worry not, I have no wish to take the short walk to the
executioner’s axe. I shall satisfy my desires on the younger ladies of Niake.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Gaurel said with distaste. “When
do we leave?”

“Shortly. We should wait here for our escort to the
coast. I understand there are trading ships waiting there.”

“And our luggage?”

“Already aboard, High Priest.”

Gaurel gave Demtro a long look. “Someone was very
confident I would accept the task!”

“You had no choice, as I see it. I’m told you have a set
of decent clothes amongst your baggage. Something more suitable to your
dignity?”

“Hold your tongue, coin-counter! Show more respect to me
or I shall denounce you to the worshippers, and believe me, that can make life
very uncomfortable for you! Do not cross the gods.”

Demtro smiled again. “Fear not, High Priest; I respect
the gods and frequently pray to them. I would not wish to anger them.”

“Then remember that, merchant.”

Demtro smiled again, then turned away from the priest. It
was going to be a long journey to Niake.

____

Isbel joined her husband in their sleeping chamber. The
maidservants had finished changing her attire and now she was ready for bed. Astiras
was already there, waiting patiently. The door was shut and the guards outside.
Here, at least, they could leave the madness of the outside world behind. “Is
everything in place, dear?” he asked.

“Of course,” Isbel said, pulling aside the bed sheets
and slipping into bed. “Demtro will be a valuable ally to us.”

“As long as he remembers who helped him get off his back
and up into business,” Astiras said.

“He will. I think he fancies me,” she added gaily.

“He better not!” Astiras growled, staring hard at her.

“Oh, jealous! Don’t be so touchy, silly!”

“If he tries…”

“And do you think he’d be so stupid? Men are men; most
will do anything for a woman if she plays up to him.”

“And have you been playing up to that counter of beads?”

“What if I have?” Isbel said, tossing her hair and shaking
it loose so it hung down her shoulders. “It got us the information we needed.”

“Which is?”

“Gaurel will plot no matter what and Pepil’s loyalty
goes only as far as we remain unchallenged.”

Astiras’ face darkened. “I ought to eviscerate that oily
pimp.”

“Language. At least we know not to rely on Pepil if
things get tough. And Demtro will spy on Gaurel in Niake.”

“I still don’t like the fact you played up to him.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake, Astiras, a little wiggle here
and a smile there does no harm. I’m an empress and out of bounds. The only man
who can touch me is you.”

“I’d better be! And don’t go putting those ideas into
Amne’s mind; I don’t much fancy the idea of her draping herself all over some
Mazag barbarian to get us a trade agreement or alliance.”

“What if that’s the only way she can get a deal with
them, dear husband?”

“No way! I’d rather go to war than have my daughter turn
herself into a courtesan.”

Isbel decided to change the subject. “This governor of
Niake – Evas…?”

“Extonos.”

“Yes, Evas Extonos. Will he co-operate in keeping Gaurel
under control?”

“He’s a good man. I know him. We met a few years ago
after Imakum fell. He was concerned Niake would be next at that time, if I
recall rightly. We got talking about a few things and have kept in touch, on
and off, since then.”

“So what exactly is he like?”

Astiras puffed out his cheeks and thought for a moment. “Your
age, or thereabouts; a loyal man to the empire. Bit of a bureaucrat – buries
himself in accounts and paperwork a fair bit. Pretty smart and knows how to
command troops. My height, dark hair, moustache – a bit unfashionable, that –
no fool, that’s for sure. What else would you like to know about him?”

“Why would he be loyal to us and not someone else?”

“We’re friends and we both agree on what the empire
needs. Neither of us liked the past few emperors and he always said if I became
emperor he’d back me. And from what I’ve heard coming from Niake, he has.”

Isbel looked thoughtful. “But we’ve had nothing in
writing or anyone coming from Niake to pass on his words. What have you heard?”

“Traders’ talk, street gossip from travellers. I have
ears in the street, Isbel; any emperor worth his place knows that he has to
have those. And besides, Jorqel was in Bathenia when I took power and Evas knew
he’d been first on the hit list if he had opposed me.”

“But now Jorqel is in Lodria he hasn’t got that threat.”

“True, but Evas is a good man. He’ll back us. I’ve sent
a messenger on ahead to inform him what’s going on with Gaurel and Demtro. He’ll
write back.”

Another thing was worrying Isbel. The still undetected
threat from the thieves’ guild. She asked her husband if anything had been
heard about it, either in Kastan or from Lodria. Astiras shook his head. As far
as he knew, nothing had been heard or seen.

Nothing, that is, that anyone was sure of.

Teduskis stood in the middle of the parade ground in the
garrison quarters and watched critically as the new army went through their
paces. A company of spearmen were marching up and down in unison, learning to
march in line and to turn swiftly, their four ranks switching direction so that
the rear rank suddenly became the front and vice versa. It hadn’t been easy to
learn and many a time the new recruits had collided, got their weapons entangled
or one or two unfortunates had fallen over, much to the merriment of their
colleagues and to the disgust of Teduskis.

Lounging against the walls and out of the open windows
were those of the second company. They were yet to go about the drill and were
shouting words of encouragement or jeering as they saw fit. Teduskis shook his
head. These were in no way imperial spearman standard. Militiamen certainly,
and they would have to remember that. Useful to a point, they had their
limitations. Armour was in short supply and they were having to make do with
padded jackets or, if they were lucky, leather vestments. Each had a dagger and
a spear the height of a man. To protect them they carried a wooden shield
roughly shaped like an upside down triangle, tapering to a rounded point down
by the ankles.

The only good piece of news was that the garrison were
releasing a company of imperial archers to accompany them to Bragal. At the
present time, Teduskis just couldn’t see that these men were capable of winning
a fight against a determined enemy. There would have to be many more sessions
of training before they reached any sort of standard.

One of the problems was that many of the recruits were
unsuitable for the regular army. They were either too old, too young, too
unfit, too unhealthy or too crazy. They were scraping the bottom of the barrel
with this lot, and everyone knew it. Oddly, even though the town militia turned
their noses up at these men and made it clear they thought they were hopeless,
the recruits had developed a sense of unity, as though they were taking on the
whole world. Nobody thought they were worth a bent pin and so they were going
to show everyone they were wrong.

That didn’t make them any better, Teduskis mused, but it
made them train harder. The two companies had developed a healthy rivalry, each
determined to outdo the other. So far, the only thing they were outdoing each
other in was the frequency of messing up. “For Kastan’s sake!” Teduskis exploded
as yet another man fell flat on his face, his spear clattering to the ground,
narrowly missing a colleague in front. The watching second company jeered
raucously. “Have you got the wrong size footwear on, lad?”

Lad, Teduskis snorted to himself as he went across to
help the man up. He probably is as old as I am! The grey-haired man, a former
scribe in the palace, was suitably red-faced and ashamed. “Sorry, sir, too busy
concentrating on keeping in step. Fell over my spear butt.”

Teduskis pulled the man up. He felt sorry for the
sweating man. Ten days ago he had been lifting a quill writing ledgers in the
palace; now here he was training to be sent south to an inhospitable place with
inhospitable people wanting to perform inhospitable acts on him. In winter. “Never
mind, lad, keep the spear off the ground. Get back to your place and we’ll try
again.”

Teduskis returned to his spot and was joined by his
subordinate, a solemn-looking unshaven man called Sepan. Sepan was one of the
few who had seen action before and therefore had been made company captain. “The
Bragal will eat this lot for breakfast,” Teduskis commented gloomily.

“Maybe they’ll laugh so much at the sight of them
they’ll be unable to lift a finger in anger, sir.” Sepan rarely cracked a smile
but he had a fatalistic sense of humour, something he’d developed in his
previous time as a soldier.

“I just hope the emperor knows what he’s doing,”
Teduskis breathed heavily, watching the tramping soldiers reach the end of the
ground, turn, and yet again collide. “Fezas, don’t you know your left from
right yet? Turn right, your spear side, you wooden-head! When you turn, present
your shield side to the front so you’re protected!” He muttered darkly to
himself; they wouldn’t last one battle at this rate. He eyed the laughing
soldiers watching the chaos. “You lot won’t be laughing in a few moments –
it’ll be your turn to show how hopeless you are at this drill!” The sweating
soldiers on the parade ground grinned underneath their helmets. They were
certainly going to pay back the insults they’d received that morning.

“Thought any more about naming the two companies, sir?”
Sepan asked. It was a tradition to name the companies of any force.

“No, to be honest, Sepan, I’ve been too busy trying to
get them to stand straight and hold their spears the right way up to worry
about that sort of thing.”

“The men have been talking in the barracks, sir. Company
One like Dirt Eaters.”

“Dirt Eaters?” Teduskis asked, baffled.

“They’ve eaten enough falling on their faces over the
past few sevendays, sir.”

“Ah, I see. Well, if that’s what they want to be called,
I’ve no objections. What about Company Two? Don’t tell me, Filthy Beggars?”

Sepan snorted. “No sir, but not a bad guess. Stone
Trampers. They’ve done little but walk up and down the parade ground and feel
the nickname is well earned.”

“Agreed,” Teduskis nodded. “Get them to officially adopt
the nicknames then. I’ll get banners made up with those words within the
crests.”

“That’ll please the men, sir.”

“It’ll help bind them together. Nothing helps more in a
battle than to rally to the flag. We leave the end of the next sevenday. I want
them practicing taking a charge squad by squad, in ranks four deep. You know
the drill.”

Sepan nodded. “They’ll be glad of the break from this
drill, sir.”

“Yes, but now it gets dangerous; expect a few injuries
from now on. By the gods, we need a support unit of surgeons and nurses for
this lot before long!”

Sepan grunted. “Or a supply of digging tools for the graves.”

“Don’t tempt fate, Sepan. Right, I’ve seen enough today.
I’ll be back tomorrow to see how wonderfully they are performing at handling a
charge. I wonder how big the casualty list will be?” He clapped Sepan on the
shoulder and left. He didn’t travel far. The main street of Kastan was wide and
cobbled and ran west to east, passing through the large open square in the
centre where the markets were held as well as the official parades. The shabby
city hall stood on one side and the temple the other, both showing signs they
needed repair. He turned off the street before it reached the square and
wandered down a smaller street until he came to a doorway, no different to the
others in that well frequented place. People passed by in both directions, and
Teduskis had to wait until a knot of chatting people passed before he could
push through and enter the relative quiet of the passageway beyond.

There were a number of doors in the walls to either side
and Teduskis waited by the first one on the right, whistling a particular tune.
After a moment it opened a crack and a face peered out. “Quick – inside,” the
woman whispered.

Teduskis slipped in and waited as the door was closed
behind him. The space he was in was semi-lit by a small window to the far side
but much of the room was in darkness. “Have you got it?” the woman asked
breathlessly, allowing the shawl she wore to slip away from her face and neck. She
may once have been beautiful, but nobody would know for certain, for her
features were now wasted and ravaged, and her skin wrinkled and withered. She
was more bone than anything, and her hair hung in wispy clumps, clotted with
grease and dirt. Her teeth were rotting and sores pitted her arms and legs.

Teduskis felt a wave of revulsion, then fished inside
his pouch and looked at the soft small bag he pulled forth. “Here,” he tossed
her the bag.

The woman eagerly tore it open and her eyes stared
hungrily at the leaves that sprang forth. She quickly put them on a small table
and took from her dresser a small bowl and a pestle of wood. She began to grind
the leaves up.

“Well?” Teduskis asked impatiently.

“The targets are the prince and princess. People are
already in place in Slenna and the army here in Kastan to kill both. The prince
is to be murdered at any time, while the princess will be killed on the road
some time before the army arrives in Bragal.” She pulled a thin pipe of clay
from her clothing and began to fill the bowl with some of the crushed leaves,
cramming them in.

With the candle illuminating the table she lit the
leaves and they began to burn. The woman put the stem of the pipe to her mouth
and inhaled deeply. The smoke went deep into her lungs and she sighed in
relief. “Ohhhh, this is good stuff,” she gasped. “Celian?”

“Yes,” Teduskis said, watching as she slumped into her
chair.

“The best,” she groaned, then her eyes went vacant and
her head fell to one side and she began dribbling out of the corner of her
mouth. Teduskis pulled a face and opened the door. Already the sickly sweet
smell of the Celian Leaf was filling the small room. She would be out of it for
hours, then she’d do it all over again until the leaf was gone, then she’d
climb the walls for another supply and do anything for it. She’d even inform on
him if anyone asked her to do so. Using addicts of the Leaf was a risky
business but Teduskis had no choice; she knew things he needed to know. Getting
the Leaf had been expensive, but access to the palace had meant the suppliers
had been known and a little threat here and there had eased things somewhat.

Covering his face with a piece of cloth, he moved round
behind the woman. Regretting his action, he slid his knife from his belt and
slid it slowly into her neck and up into her brain, killing her instantly. She
would have known nothing about it and felt nothing, which he used to ease his
feeling of disgust. Besides, he reasoned, she would be dead in a few sevendays;
addicts this far gone never lasted long.

Leaving behind the woman he closed the door behind him
and pulled the cloth away from his face. The outside air smelt good, even
though it was tinged with refuse and rotting food. What people saw in the Leaf
he didn’t know. It stank and cost a fortune, and killed.

He waited no longer. He had to report fast to the
palace; both Jorqel and Amne were in deadly danger.

Amne sighed and gazed out of the window. Her forehead
hurt. Poring over treaties of the past was so boring, but Theros insisted she
learn them to understand what had gone on before and what to aspire to. Of
course, nobody would allow the empire to be granted such again, given the weak
state of the empire and the expectation of its neighbours to take what remained
of the rotting carcass. In particular she had to study the past treaties of the
empire with Mazag. It was fortunate that Mazag had only been around for a
century and a half, and that there had been only five treaties in total.

The last had been thirty years ago when the empire had
still been perceived as strong. It had lapsed five years ago and had never been
renewed, mainly due to the Bragal rebellion. Much of the treaty concerned the
passage of goods and people between the two, mainly over the River Ister which
formed much of the border. This river ran for thousands of leagues from the
estuary where the waters flowed into the Sea of Balq, eastwards along the old
imperial-Mazag border until it turned south, deep into the Mazag heartlands. There
were other clauses concerning shipping down the Sea of Balq and import-export
tariffs that Amne found terribly boring.

Of interest however was the part that stated no military
presence was permitted by either party on the other’s soil. If what she had
heard was right, then Mazag troops were often present in southern Bragal which
was still claimed by the empire. Because the treaty had lapsed, Mazag forces
could cross the river without worry; all they had to contend with were Bragal
rebels.

Theros had made a list of possible conditions to be
presented by her once the negotiations began, but they would have to be
ratified by the emperor. He had the final say. One thing she did notice
however, and that was Theros showed more spark and interest now there was an
emperor willing to stand up to the foreign powers. It was, he said, like the
old days. The trouble was however, the empire no longer had the forces to back
up any threats.

“What would happen if we were invaded now?” Amne asked
Theros.

“I expect we would be defeated,” the diplomat replied
bluntly. “Mazag won’t invade yet as Bragal is in such a chaotic mess. Anyone
wanting to possess Bragal would have to suppress the rebellion, sort out the
damage to the towns and countryside, pacify the people and organise the
infrastructure there. Only then would Mazag – or Venn – think it safe to invade
and pass through the countryside.”

“What about Venn or the Tybar?”

“Venn is the more likely adversary,” Theros nodded. “It
has no vulnerable border and they are consolidating their hold on Kral, their recent
conquest. Once that is secure, I have little doubt they will turn their
attention to us. As for the Tybar, the one thing that may be in our favour is
that they may be the classic case of a barbarian tribe conquering huge amounts
of territory and suddenly having to administer it. Holding onto and building
something is always harder than conquering it. The Tybar may not be in a
position to advance any further for quite some time.”