Empire of Avarice (19 page)

He then began to pull back and forth, sending the
straight piece whirling furiously, and very soon at its point the down began to
smoulder. Lalaas blew softly and repeated the whirling action, and then the
down burst into flames and he swiftly added a couple of small twigs to it which
caught alight. Putting these onto the pile of twigs on the ground, he soon had
a fire going and added larger pieces of wood to it.

“That’s clever,” Amne commented, feeling the benefit of
the fire almost immediately.

“Basic outdoor survival, ma’am,” Lalaas said. “Someone
like me would have to know this in my job.”

“And what is your job, sir?” Theros asked, equally
impressed with the fire craft.

“Hunter. Grew up learning the craft from my uncle.”

“Indeed? Your talents will be much to our benefit in
that case,” Theros stated.

“But father said you were a guard, Lalaas,” Amne pointed
out.

The hunter nodded, staring at the fire. It wasn’t quite
yet ready to leave to its own devices. “I was enrolled into the army on your
father’s last campaign two years ago, and I helped scout the land for him. I
detected many an ambush before they were sprung, and many a meal I caught for
him.”

“But you left the army, sir?” Theros guessed.

“Yes, the slaughter turned my stomach. I wanted no part
of it.”

Amne said nothing. Her father had said little of the war
in Bragal, and she was more than a little afraid to find out. All she had heard
was that it had been brutal, pitiless and savage. Even nice people like
Teduskis had been changed by it; or at least, a man she had thought of as nice.
Maybe Teduskis had always been hard and callous to those he saw as his enemies,
and in her youth she hadn’t been aware of that.

“Could you advise us of our planned route? After all, we
are all in the same predicament and will share the same hardships.” Theros sat
down awkwardly on a dried out piece of wood. He didn’t want sand getting on his
clothing.

“We keep to the shore until we get close to the border,
then we strike inland and head for the Ister crossing north of Bukrat. From
there we ought to be safe and it should be an easy route to the mountains and Branak.”

“Where is Bukrat?” Amne asked. “I’ve never heard of that
place.”

“A town to the south of here, on the other side of
Bragal. It lies in a land called Valchia, and it’s coveted by Mazag. I’d advise
against going into the town – they are not friendly towards strangers.”

Amne shivered and shuffled closer to the fire which was
now blazing merrily away. Lalaas threw a couple of lumps of wood onto it and
stood back, satisfied. He went to the pack animals and rummaged around until he
found a large iron pot, and a bag of meat. He also slid out from under a
selection of pots a wooden board and returned to the fire. The four others
watched mutely as the hunter went about slicing up the meat and throwing it
into the pot. “Could one of you fetch a skin of water from the animals?”

Theros jabbed a finger at the larger of the two
assistants and the young man moved uncertainly over to the beasts and returned
with a long, dangling skin that was full of water. Lalaas poured some of the
contents into the pot then passed the skin back. “Tie the neck back up.” When
the clerk hesitated, Lalaas sighed and showed him how to. The clerk nodded
self-consciously. Lalaas impressed upon him to make sure everything was sealed
or tied properly or else they would risk losing it.

“I need to collect some herbs and vegetables,” he said. “While
I’m gone someone go fetch some sea water in a pot and bring it here. I won’t be
too long.”

The meat and water was put over the fire on a small
portable spit that came from another of the packs, and Amne was asked to make
sure it was stirred every so often, and was passed a long-handled ladle. She
looked at Lalaas in surprise. “Ma’am, it is but a small task and it will ensure
you’re next to the fire.”

Amne agreed with his way of thinking and began slowly
stirring the meat. While she did that Lalaas departed and Theros sent the
thinner of the two clerks down to the sea shore to gather water. Lalaas was
gone a short while and by the time he’d returned the water in the pot was
beginning to bubble. They were surprised to see the hunter carrying an armful
of root vegetables, still covered in mud and earth, and some greenery that had
been cut.

“Haspis,” Lalaas said, throwing some cream coloured
roots onto the ground. “Very tasty.”

“We won’t eat them like that, surely!” Amne commented.

“Of course not, ma’am. You,” he pointed at Theros,
“clean them in the sea water, then chop them into small pieces the same size as
the meat lumps in there.”

Theros opened his mouth to protest but Lalaas beat him
to it. “You’ve been quick to have these two guys do your bidding, now you do
something to earn your meal. The princess here is doing her bit. Why do you
think you’re an exception? If you don’t help, you don’t eat.”

Theros shut his mouth, went red, and then grabbed the
haspis and dunked them in the water. While he bent to his task, borrowing a
knife Lalaas gave him, the herbs were ripped into smaller pieces and the leaves
pulled off. “This is chun, a strong tasting plant to use with meaty dishes,
especially a broth like this,” he said, offering a leaf portion to Amne. “Go
on, your majesty, have a try. It’s quite tasty.” He popped a bit into his mouth
and chewed, allowing the flavour to fill his mouth, seeping over his tongue and
gums.

Amne did the same and her eyes went wide in surprise,
then delight. Lalaas smiled, and offered the others a piece as well. “Best not
to have too much without meat, as it’s a strong taste and can deaden the taste
buds.” He dropped the rest of the leaves into the bubbling pot. Then he swept
up the chunks of haspis and threw them in too. “Washing them in sea water makes
them taste better.”

“Why is that?” Amne asked, curious.

“I don’t know, ma’am. It’s just a widely known fact –
and it does, believe me.”

After a while as they sat round the fire watching the
broth boil, Lalaas tested the brew. After the fourth occasion he declared it
was ready and five plates were produced. Amne was delighted to see one of her
plates from the palace was amongst them. Mother must have made sure it was
taken on the journey. They each had a wide spoon and ate the broth which tasted
wonderful. Whether it was the outside air, the sea’s proximity, Lalaas’
expertise or some combination, nobody could tell. But all the broth was eaten.

Furtive noises sounded in the undergrowth and, alarmed, the
four others asked Lalaas what it was. The hunter grinned. “Probably wild
animals coming to investigate the smell.”

“Are they dangerous?” Amne asked, worried.

“I doubt it, ma’am. Probably hungry and curious, that’s
all. If they were a danger the chargers there would be restless and fractious. See,
they’re calm.”

With the cooking utensils washed in sea water and put
away, and the fire stacked with more wood, they all sat around with full and
warm bellies. The night was coming and Lalaas decided they would spend it
there. Ground sheets were laid out and tents erected. This time Lalaas went
through the process with them all slowly. As the night began to fall on them,
Amne sat next to the hunter, her legs tucked up under her chin. She’d not spent
a night under the stars for a long, long time, and it reminded her of a time
long back in her childhood.

“Where are you from, Lalaas?”

Lalaas got comfortable before replying. “Turslenka, or
in the area around it, at least. My family were herdsmen, migrating from
Makania in the summer to Pelponia in the winter, driving wool beasts to market
for meat, wool or breeding stock.” Wool beasts were the size of large canines,
prized for their wool and meat. They were flock animals and not particularly
bright; it took a degree of skill to herd them.

“Was it a happy upbringing for you?”

“Oh, yes, I suppose so. But when I grew into adolescence
I wanted something more. I didn’t see myself driving wool beasts for the rest
of my life, so I learned to be a hunter from my uncle. Father wasn’t happy but
as I had two brothers who wanted to follow him into the business, he was
resigned to letting me do what I wanted. Then father died and my brothers took
over the business and they resented my – freedom, if that’s the right word –
and decided they didn’t want anything more to do with me. We had a big falling
out and the end result was I never returned to Turslenka and have been making a
living in the countryside in southern Frasia ever since.”

Amne looked at him with sympathy but didn’t really know
what to say, or rather what was appropriate given her social position and his. As
a princess and a noble she ought to stay above the lives of the people like him
but here, as one of them, she felt included, and it was an odd feeling. Should
she return the honour and tell him of her early life? Would he want to hear
about it? Compared to his upbringing hers had been safe and cosseted – and
boring in comparison. She didn’t think it a boring life, but now out here in
the open under the stars, it felt free of the stuffy palace life and the home
life of the nobility she’d always known.

Theros and the two clerks were preparing for sleep and
Amne decided that was the best course of action. Her tent was set in the middle
of a half circle, with the fire was the focal point. Lalaas said he’d make sure
the fire was stocked up to last the night and he would make sure they had hot
water for the morning. Amne was pleased; she needed a wash and the thought of
using cold water didn’t appeal to her. She missed the ministrations of her
handmaiden, but she’d been told this wasn’t possible for her to come along as
they had to be as small a party as possible to sneak through unnoticed through
Bragal. What she would look – and smell like – once they got to Mazag was
anyone’s guess.

Isbel was determined not to neglect her two sons, even
though she was now the de facto ruler of Kastania in her husband’s absence. She’d
set up an advisory council to meet with her on a daily basis each morning, to
discuss the day’s schedule, or to combat any problem that had arisen. She then
instructed Pepil to allow her the middle part of the morning free so that she
could spend a little time with Argan and Istan.

Istan was growing up fast. Rousa was glad he’d stopped
his almost continual crying and was now content to run around the nursery,
colliding infrequently with the furnishings, but he soon picked himself up and
was happily charging round after a little pat and a cuddle. His energy was now
redirected from his lungs to his legs, and Rousa was eternally grateful.

Argan was more inquisitive. His tutoring was going well
and Mr Sen congratulated the empress on how intellige

nt and quick minded he was. Isbel smiled with pride at
her son. Argan was now learning other things than how to play with toy
soldiers. Mathematics and the Kastanian alphabet had been introduced to him,
and he often went to bed early because he was so tired.

“Mother, will you go away like father and Amne, and
Jorqel?” he asked one day.

“Oh no, dear, I’m staying here. Amne will return after
she’s been to Mazag.”

“But father? Mr Sen says he might be a long time! Will I
ever see him again? Or Jorqel?”

Isbel smiled and tousled Argan’s head. “Of course. Father
has a very important job to do in Bragal, and Jorqel is very busy in Bathenia.”

“Are they fighting battles?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Jorqel sent a letter to
us the other day and he’s not fighting. He’s living in a farmhouse.”

“Why? Is he a farmer now?”

Isbel laughed. “Oh no, Argan. He’s there because the
people of Slenna won’t let him into the town, so he’s staying outside until
they do.”

“Oh. Can we go and see him at the farm?”

“Well, it is a long way away and it’s a dangerous place
at the moment. I’ll see if we can get Jorqel to visit us once he’s been allowed
inside Slenna.”

“I’d like to play with a farm,” Argan announced. Mr Sen
in the background chuckled and nodded towards the empress.

Isbel managed to talk to Sen when Argan busied himself
with his soldiers. “Tell me, why aren’t you a soldier?”

“Oh, your majesty, I was never healthy enough to be one.
I had a childhood disease which weakened by legs and I’m not able to walk great
distances. So I contented myself with learning, and became a scholar. I liked
battles and warfare still, so I contented myself with learning about wars and
the history of warfare.”

“Still a boy at heart then?” Isbel smiled mischievously.

“It’s a boy thing, war, ma’am,” Sen shrugged, smiling
back at her. “I’m no great general; I’m certainly not a strategist. My forte is
at tactical level, hence the figures. I can usually work out in theory how to
win a battle, but how a war is actually fought and all the strategic
applications in the field are beyond me.”

“So why exactly did we lose that battle with the Tybar
all those years ago?”

Sen folded his hands onto his lap. “Ah. Treachery,
mostly.”

“Really? I thought we were outfought.”

“That’s the excuse, ma’am. If I may speak the truth?”

“Of course; I’d rather hear it than some deception
designed to hide an uncomfortable truth, even if it isn’t to my liking.”

Sen bowed. “It is refreshing to hear that, ma’am. As I
said, treachery. The emperor led a huge army westwards to combat the invading
Tybar, far to the west where the imperial border lay. But the emperor made a
big mistake in trusting the various parts of the army to members of rival
families. The Fokis, the Palanges, the Kanzet. All had ambitions to the throne,
and all had members of those families commanding portions of the army. So when
the emperor gave the order to attack, he was betrayed and left to fight on his
own, and so died.”

“The Fokis?”

“Amongst others. Half the army did nothing that day
while the others fought and died bravely. Then those parts that had done
nothing turned about and marched away, leaving their comrades to die or become
slaves.”

Isbel was aghast. “But why has this not been said?”

Sen shrugged. “Shortly afterwards a member of the
Palanges family took over as emperor, as you may well know, and the news of the
defeat was altered, blaming the dead emperor on poor generalship. Certainly he
made tactical errors. From what I know of the battle he neglected to scout the
area properly first, but the Tybar way of fighting made that difficult. But to
the new emperor; if it was known he’d come to power through betrayal, then he
and his family would have been lynched. So they blamed those who were blameless
while the guilty took power and profited.”

“But they didn’t last long. I remember the counter
coup.”

“Indeed. Thieves have no honour and the Fokis and Kanset
families felt they hadn’t been properly rewarded for their part in bringing the
Palanges to power, so they fell to fighting amongst themselves, dragging the
empire down with it in civil war and their selfish lust for power.”

Isbel sat still, amazed at what she’d just been told. “This
must be made public.”

“What proof do you have, ma’am?” Sen spread his hands
wide. “All evidence has been destroyed, and there are no reports surviving; the
people who fought that battle are either dead, in hiding or too afraid to say
anything – or members of those groups who betrayed the empire. Nobody will say
anything and it cannot be proved. Besides, you’d start riots between supporters
of your family and those of the Fokis, Kanzet and Palanges. It may even start a
new civil war.”

Isbel’s cheeks stained red. “But this cannot go
unpunished! It may be ten years but those who were responsible are still mostly
alive, surely.”

“No, ma’am. All three generals who betrayed the empire
are dead, but their co-conspirators are doubtless alive. But who can you
accuse? Their families are no doubt complicit, but proving it will be
impossible.”

There was a silence, broken only by Argan’s noisy cries
of one of his figures dying. Isbel stirred. “You also mentioned the Tybar way
of fighting. What is that?”

“Ah, now that I can tell you. They use mounted archers. Something
the empire was not designed to cope with. We use infantry supported by cavalry;
the Tybar use cavalry supported by infantry. All their troops learn to use the
bow and to face a Tybar army needs courage – and good armour! They are mobile,
quick and use ambush as a way of waging war. Our foot soldiers couldn’t cope,
and were cut down in swathes. Once an opponent is reduced enough, then the
Tybar close in and finish them off.”

“Mr Sen. Teach my son how to combat these tactics. I can
see he’s going to be a warrior, and my husband wishes it. Teach him, please. I
want him to be able to fight those tribesmen and to win.”

“It shall be done, but he will need the tools to carry
out his orders.”

“Tools, Mr Sen?”

“Mounted archers. The empire needs them, and it takes
many years to learn how to ride and loose an arrow at the same time.”

“Leave that to me, Mr Sen. You do your part, I’ll do
mine.”

Sen bowed and Isbel left, leaving the tutor thinking
deeply on how to counter an enemy that didn’t conform to the normal accepted
methods of fighting.

The empress usually held a council meeting with the same
people. Pepil the major domo, Sereth the Counsel, Frendicus the financier,
Vosgaris the Palace Guard commander and a new member, Valson Kelriun. Valson
was a diplomat and spoke on foreign matters. He was a dark complexioned man
with a wide face and a cheery smile, and terribly thin, even though he
allegedly ate like a charger.

Usually the first items of the day were those issues
that had arisen the day before, there then followed the new ones. As always,
civil unrest was discussed. There appeared to be a lot of people disgruntled
with the state of the empire’s finances and infrastructure, and what was being
done to sort it out. Vosgaris, as internal security advisor, was pressed to
come up with a plan of action to make sure any revolt was well known in
advance, and to police the streets effectively.

Frendicus and his tax collectors had begun to channel
funds into the palace, much to the anger of the businesses that had, up to now,
managed to evade paying any taxes. Vosgaris had had to arrest half a dozen
owners and throw them into prison until their families paid the tax due. This
had caused trouble of its own, but posters stuck up in public places stating
why this had been done had turned the angry people on the traders and it was
remarkable, so Frendicus commented, on suddenly how many businesses were
finding the back tax and paying up. The town criers and posters were doing
their job.

But the underlying simmering resentment of the populace
in general was a concern, and everyone agreed that it would only take a small
incident at the wrong time to set them off. Sereth recommended an assessment every
sevenday of each town and city, and Isbel decided to require all governors and
acting governors to report any disturbance. Isbel wanted to know if the unrest
was directed against the Koros regime in particular, and Vosgaris would send in
agents to listen and report back.

The foreign report was next. Valson listed the foreign
kingdoms, republics and states and their perceived attitude towards the empire.
Still no visiting ambassador had been received to congratulate the Koros on
their accession to the throne. As Sereth commented, nobody cared much for the
empire anymore and didn’t see them as a serious player on the international
diplomatic scene. They made alliances and went to war with whom they liked
without consulting the empire. It was such a change from just a generation ago
when alliances had been sought and advice requested of the emperor.

The only good piece of news there was that as a result
of the contempt towards the empire, nobody was considering a move against them
at the moment. No troop movements had been reported close to any border, nor
were there any fleets heading for any of the five provinces. It seemed all were
busy with matters elsewhere. So much the better.

The council also wished to hear progress reports of the
events in Slenna and Bragal, and of the diplomatic mission under Amne. But there
was no news on all three. Isbel couldn’t help but worry.

Astiras and his army were halted close to the Bragal
frontier. Their number had swollen even after the meeting with the Bakran
archers; the emperor had been heartened by the arrival of groups of Bragalese
warriors, tough, hard men, wielding spears and wicked looking blades on poles. They
were the type of people he’d fought often enough in the past few years and
respected them enough to know they were wonderful allies and terrible enemies. The
Bragalese on their part knew of ‘Landwaster’ Koros and feared him. The number
of settlements that had been obliterated by Landwaster had made his name one to
be feared.

Their initial delight at being told they were finally
free and independent had been crushed by news that Astiras Koros had seized
power in Kastan and had repudiated the independence declaration, and it was no
secret he was going to return with an army to continue the war. This had torn
the communities in northern Bragal down the middle, with some siding with the
Kastanians and others vowing to continue the struggle to overthrow their
enemies.

Those that sided with their bigger neighbour had been
either killed or driven out of their homes, and now these refugees had gathered
on the borderlands, inside Frasia, awaiting the return of Landwaster. It was
while waiting they had seen the gathering of the Duras army and now they
brought valuable details of their numbers, dispositions, equipment, and location.

The Kastanian Army of the East, as Astiras was calling
it, outnumbered the rebels. Apart from the dubious quality of the two companies
of spearmen, he had better men. Two companies of archers that could cut the
enemy down at range and a sturdy line of spears to block any attack should be
sufficient. And of course there was also Astiras and his elite bodyguard.

Now they had come to a rise in the road and saw ahead of
them the junction where one turn led to Bragal and the other east to Turslenka.
It was across this junction that the enemy army was encamped.

Astiras tugged off his gauntlets and breathed hard. It
seemed the civil war was not quite finished yet. “Duras,” he growled deep in
his chest. “You shall die this day, you traitor! Teduskis, with me. Parley
time.”

Teduskis and a standard bearer accompanied the emperor
down the road towards the enemy position. The Bragalese had been correct. Most
of Duras’ army were composed of spearmen, and some looked like gang-pressed
rabble with spears and shields. Teduskis heard Astiras chuckle quietly. Fodder.

The only decent looking group were the cavalry. Nikos
Duras was busy arranging his force, and he rather belatedly mounted up and was
escorted through his lines by two men, one carrying the imperial flag, somewhat
insultingly, and another the Duras family crest, the head of a fearsome beast
called a Kroll overlaying a wide central band of red against a background of
white.