Empire of Avarice (23 page)

Lalaas found the edge of the wood and looked about for a
likely place to hide himself. Finally he went to the other side of the path and
leaped from rock to rock so that he left no footprint. There were plenty of
those on the other side and it wouldn’t take any skill to see where everyone
had gone, or so Lalaas hoped. Then he settled down and waited. The only concern
he had was his breath. He had to breathe shallowly but it was hard to do so for
any length of time, and so he found a gap in the rocks through which he could
see up the slope.

After a while, in which time his feet grew numb, two
figures appeared coming down the pass. Both were on foot. One was holding a
spear and was dressed in military gear, while the other was in rough Bragal
clothing and was using a staff, but also had a sword in his belt. This one must
be the guide/tracker. Lalaas slowly drew out his sword and placed it on the
rocks in front of him.

Amne was consumed with tension. She wanted to know what
was going on. Who were they who were following them? Was Lalaas alright? If
something happened to him, then the mission was as good as dead. There they
were, stuck in Bragal, with no prospect of going on. She had to know. Her
curiosity was getting too much for her. “Theros, I’m going to see what’s
happening,” she said suddenly.

“Ma’am, that’s not wise,” Theros said, alarmed. “Your
safety is paramount; going off alone in this wood is not a sensible thing to
do, believe me!”

“Let me decide what is sensible and what is not, Theros.
You stay here and tend the camp and animals; I’m going to see if Lalaas is
alright.”

“But your majesty…”

“That’s a command, Theros,” Amne interrupted. “I’ll be
fine; the tracks are clear. Stay here.”

“But what if a wild beast happens upon you?”

“I’ve seen none, have you? There’s no sound or them or
tracks. I won’t be long.”

Amne drifted off through the trees, leaving Theros and
the two clerks alone, wondering if their careers were all about to come to an
abrupt end.

Lalaas gripped the hilt of his sword. The two men were
quite distinct now. The Bragal guide was leading the Kastanian spearman along
the track towards the trees, following the footprints left by the group. The
spearman didn’t act or move like a soldier; more like a cutpurse. Lalaas had
seen them before. Sly, untrustworthy people. His hackles rose.

As the two came alongside, looking at the ground and
ahead, he rose up and stood on top of the rock he’d been hiding behind. “Enough!”
he snapped.

The two men swung round. The spearman gripped his weapon
and pointed it in Lalaas’ direction while the tracker dropped his staff and
pulled out his sword.

“State your business,” Lalaas growled. “Why do you
follow me?”

“Why should I?” the tracker snarled. “You are to die, as
are all of your group.”

Lalaas jumped down onto the snow, his weight evenly
spread on both feet. “Shut up, hireling, you’re not who I addressed. You,” he
pointed with the tip of his sword at the spearman, “who are you and who hired
you?”

“Kill him,” he growled to the tracker. The Bragalese
smiled and came running at Lalaas. The hunter stepped to his right, then
sharply to his left, putting the attack from the tracker off. His sword cut,
aimed for Lalaas’ head, sliced harmlessly through the air. Lalaas planted both
feet hard on the ground and swung his blade in a circle, centred on the
tracker’s waist. The cut ripped through the padded jacket, the cloth shirt and
the man’s stomach and exited in a shower of blood and muscle. Lalaas executed
the circle and the blade, now bright red and steaming in the cold air, came to
rest pointing at the spearman. The Bragal tracker sank to his knees, clutching
his ruined gut, making odd mewling noises, and slowly fell onto his face.

“Now I ask you again. Who sent you?”

“You’ll get nothing from me, Koros kisser,” the spearman
said and raised his spear. Lalaas realised the man intended to skewer him. At
that moment Amne emerged from the wood and saw the tableau in front of her. She
gasped and cried out, holding her hands to her face.

The spearman twisted and his face broke into an evil
smile of triumph. His grip on the spear altered and Lalaas knew he had moments
to act. Without thinking, he pulled his sword back and flung his arm forward,
releasing the weapon, sending it spinning through the air towards the man. Even
as he did so, he realised with a sick feeling he had been too late, for the
spear was already leaving the man’s hands.

Amne saw the motion and screamed, flinging herself to
one side, falling into a deep drift of snow. The spear meant for her narrowly
missed and buried itself in the nearest tree, vibrating loudly. In contrast
Lalaas’ sword struck the spearman on the right shoulder, sinking in deep. The
spearman cried out and fell over, and Lalaas was springing towards him, his
hunting knife in his right hand. The spearman was trying to get to his feet but
Lalaas was upon him and his knife bit deep into his throat, slicing his
windpipe open. As the man fell forward, gurgling obscenely, Lalaas forgot about
him and made his way to Amne who was on all fours, crying out in fear. He
reached her and picked her up, brushing the snow from her clothes and hair. “Are
you alright?” he breathed.

Amne nodded and caught hold of him. “Oh, Lalaas! That
was horrid!”

“It’s all over, Your Majesty,” he replied, looking at
the two corpses in the snow.

Amne buried herself in Lalaas’ jacket, and Theros and
the two clerks, alerted by her screams, came pounding out of the wood to see
what was going on. Theros looked at Lalaas darkly, and the hunter jerked his
head in the direction of the dead men. He let go of the princess and looked at
her sternly. “You may be a princess, ma’am, but you will never ever again
disobey my wishes on this journey, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Lalaas,” she replied in a small voice.

Lalaas breathed out long and hard and put her into the
hands of Theros who took her and led her unresistingly back to the camp. Lalaas
then returned to the corpses and retrieved his sword, and then set about
searching them. He found little of value, except some gold coins which he
grunted in satisfaction at. These could well come in use. The spearman had
nothing on him to indicate who he’d been working for. As expected. But if the
dead man had been an imperial soldier then he was a Bragalese canine.

Cleaning his weapons he found the two clerks still
there, looking in fascination at the scene. “Never seen a dead man before?”
Lalaas asked.

They both shook their heads.

“One golden rule; strip them of everything of use.” Lalaas
checked the boots, clothing and belts. The imperial issue stuff was of decent
quality and he took the belt and knife from the spearman. “Let’s get back to
the camp; we can start a fire now and relax.”

As they trudged back, Theros was speaking urgently to
Amne. “You are of the blood, princess. You must not un-dignify yourself in that
manner with him again! He is not to touch you nor you him. For your father’s
sake, try to maintain a little decorum!”

Amne giggled hysterically. The brush with death had
unnerved her. Now the reaction was beginning to set in. “Decorum, Theros? Decorum?”
she giggled, a little louder. Theros looked at her in concern. Amne carried on.
“That man tried to kill me; how should I maintain my dignity in that instance?”
she laughed aloud and began shaking. Theros, completely confused, stood back as
Amne burst into gales of laughter, the just as suddenly broke down into floods
of tears.

It was then that Lalaas arrived and saw her like that. He
went up to her and spun her round. “Princess, stop it!”

Theros protested but Lalaas ignored him. He shook her,
then slapped her once across the face. Amne stared at him in shock, but it had
cleared her mind. She fingered the pain on her face.

Theros stepped forward, his face menacing. “That is
treason, Lalaas. You have gone too far!”

“Shut up,” Lalaas said softly. “I’m sorry, but I had to
do that,” he said to Amne who was looking at him with wide eyes. “You were
hysterical.”

She worked her mouth but no words came out, then
abruptly she turned away and marched to her tent and threw herself inside. The
men looked at the tent, then Theros turned to Lalaas. “When we reach
civilisation I shall call for your arrest and execution. Nobody strikes a
member of the imperial family, ever!”

“You saw her condition; since you were doing nothing I
had to take over. It worked. Who knows what her mind might have been like if I
hadn’t done what I had.”

Theros shook his head. “All I saw was you striking the
princess; for that you will hang.”

The two clerks looked in pity at Lalaas, then turned
away. There was nothing much they could say. Lalaas eyed the princess’s tent,
then muttered to himself and set about making a fire. He busied himself in
getting it going, then set up a hanging rack using some of the firewood. He
hung some of the remaining meat they had from this. He’d have to start hunting
soon if they were to eat the rest of the sevenday. He was thinking that over
when he sensed someone at his shoulder. Amne.

“Food’s nearly ready, ma’am,” he said, looking up.

The princess didn’t say anything for a moment, then she
drew in a deep breath. “Lalaas. You are the most important of our group in
getting us through Bragal to Mazag. But don’t go thinking you can do that again
to me. I wasn’t myself and I’ll excuse your moment of madness as you not being
yourself either. I won’t have you doing that again, Lalaas, is that clear?”

“Understood, ma’am,” Lalaas looked away. Best not to
risk upsetting her by looking her in the eye. He was lower than her in society
and it was almost certain she’d never acknowledge his existence if they had met
in Kastan. He glanced at where Theros was watching him, an icy expression on
his face. Amne may forgive him but Theros certainly wouldn’t.

Lalaas wondered if he’d live once they got to Mazag.

Vosgaris studied the latest hastily scribbled note that
had been dropped into his hands. His spies in the city had been working hard
with reports of the Fokis family and their confederates, but so far nothing had
actually turned up. Every time he and his men went to where a meeting had been
arranged or some premises used for illegal trading had been identified, there
was nothing to be found.

He was wondering whether these spies were telling the
truth or making up stories so that they got money for nothing. There again he
was still learning the job and was to some extent reliant on his lieutenants,
men who had seen it all before. They had worked under Mercos and knew the ways
of bribery and corruption. Vosgaris knew they’d been on the take before, and
now had been told unless they knuckle down to some serious work then they’d be
out and lose their positions of privilege.

How loyal they were was open to debate, but they did
seem to be giving him sound advice. Vosgaris sighed and held his head in his
hands. Being Captain of the Palace Guard was meant to be a ceremonial position,
but the emperor and empress had turned it into a city policing duty, mostly
because the town guard had gone with the emperor to Bragal, and he was now
virtually a spymaster. Not something he’d entered the service for, but it had
sort of crept up on him.

Their morale had been boosted when the news of the
victory over the traitorous Duras army had reached Kastan, and the city criers
had announced it from all public places to much acclamation. It had been quite
some time since they’d had a military victory to celebrate. The empress had
gone on to announce that all Duras land and property was to be seized by the
state. They had done so within Kastan and sent orders to the other cities and
towns to do so, but the country estates of the Duras were at that moment out of
reach; there wasn’t the manpower to do it. He’d been fairly busy with that over
the past couple of sevendays. The trouble was the Duras had hidden much of
their property with third parties, and proving it was going to be difficult.

What was certain was he’d not been entirely successful
thus far, and he believed his position was in jeopardy. Already Sereth had been
heard to say to the empress that he knew of a better qualified man to replace
Vosgaris. He needed to give the empress something.

Now this had landed in his lap. The Fokis family’s
textile business warehouse. Apparently full of material ready to turn into
clothing and other household materials. There was no licence and it would be
untaxed because it was undeclared. And if they managed to sell their wares, it
would cut out the legal businesses. He sighed. What he was meant to do now was
to take the news to the council for them to authorise his use of force to enter
the premises. He’d done that every time he’d been given information, and every
time he’d found nothing.

His lieutenants muttered about someone informing the
Fokis; they knew that Mercos had been in their pocket and once he’d been
removed, it wasn’t hard to guess the Fokis had switched to someone else. But
someone on the council? Vosgaris toyed with the parchment, mulling over in his
mind the options he had. He came to a decision. It was dusk. The council wouldn’t
sit until the morning. This couldn’t wait.

“Tabor,” he called to one of his subordinates, “rouse
the duty squad, we’re going out.”

“Sir!” Tabor slapped his left shoulder, the imperial
gesture of a salute, and swiftly made his way out of Vosgaris’ office. The
guard captain lifted his sword off the wall and strapped it on. He felt heady;
he was technically acting without palace authority and if something went wrong
they could dismiss him, but he felt that he was close to being dismissed
anyway. Only the empress seemed to have any faith in him; Sereth certainly
didn’t and Frendicus and Pepil were notoriously untrustworthy. He’d rather
trust a Bragalese reptile.

The duty squad numbered twenty and were armed with
swords. The ceremonial volgar would certainly not be of any use this evening. The
address was in the merchant’s district close to the south gate so Vosgaris led
his men along the main east-west road until they almost got to the gate, then
they turned off into the less well lit streets. Richer than most districts,
this was still only intermittently illuminated. People were feeling the effects
of financial strain and couldn’t afford the upkeep of street lights. The
council certainly couldn’t and hadn’t for a few years, so it had been left to
the various districts to light their own streets at night.

One in five of the men carried a torch so they could see
where they were going. Vosgaris didn’t quite know the location so Tabor guided
them, along a twisting road, behind a large house and into a smaller side
street. This one was unlit, but Vosgaris steeled his heart and drove what fears
he had away; this was his one last chance to prove to the council that he was
the right man for the job. Tonight he’d do or die, so to speak.

There were lights showing from the long building Tabor
pointed out. Vosgaris felt a growing excitement. “Take three men around the
rear,” he said to Tabor. “If anyone tries to escape, you know what to do.”

“Sir,” Tabor nodded and pointed to three men to follow
him. They scuttled around the corner. The sound of canines barking came to
Vosgaris and he looked around at the other buildings. Here was a warehouse
district and all usually shut down at night, so there wouldn’t – or shouldn’t –
be anyone walking these streets. He didn’t see anyone. Satisfied, he motioned
to two of the toughest men with him to open the door facing them. What windows
there were in the warehouse were on the upper floor.

The door was in fact a double door, made so that
deliveries could be wheeled into the building. Light was spilling through the
cracks in the planking of the walls and through the gaps between the walls and
the doors.

The two guards drew their swords and ran at the doors,
striking them hard close to the centre. The doors gave way, the wooden bar
behind them breaking clean in two under the force of the blow. Vosgaris and the
rest of the company followed close behind. The doors were almost torn off their
hinges, exposing just how badly maintained they had been, and they remained leaning
open. Within the building was a huge space which was fairly well stocked with
rolls of cloth and wormspun fabrics, and wool and sacking. Most of what was
needed to make clothes and furnishings, curtains and sheets and so on. A dozen
men had frozen into statues, shocked at the rude intrusion. Most of them were
clearly hirelings, but one man came striding forward, dressed in smart clothing
and with a thunderous expression on his face.

“What is the meaning of this outrage?” he bawled.

“Who are you?” Vosgaris demanded, his sword suddenly at
the throat of the man.

“Easy, easy,” the man raised both hands in a placatory
gesture and backed off, his eyes fixed fearfully on the sharp point. “Geris
Fokis, merchant. I want to know what you’re doing here?”

“Well, Mr Fokis,” Vosgaris said, looking round at the
warehouse, “I’m here to seize this illegal business.”

“Illegal?” Geris repeated incredulously, “you must have
your information wrong! Who are you, anyway?”

“Vosgaris Taboz, Palace Guard. You’re under arrest.”

“This is an outrage!” Geris spluttered as two men
grabbed him and held him tightly. The hired hands burst into life, scattering
and fleeing from the sword-wielding guards. A door crashed open on the far side
and two men went to run out but the huge figure of Tabor was framed there and
with one punch of his gauntleted hand he sent one of the unfortunate men
reeling back to fall onto his backside. The second man was seized by the arm
and dragged back towards Vosgaris. The three guards with Tabor waved their
swords and the workforce reluctantly retreated back to the centre of the
warehouse. The man who’d been knocked over was dragged by one of the guards by
the collar, protesting. He got a cuff around the head and was kicked to his
feet.

“You’ll pay for this,” Geris promised, his face suffused
with rage. “My family is very powerful and won’t take this insult lightly.”

 “Your family is trading illegally,” Vosgaris said,
looking up at a wooden staircase that led to the upper floor. “Tabor, take four
men and search up there.”

As Tabor led his men up, Vosgaris organised the tying of
the workforce together with lengths of rope they found. Then, ordering two men
to escort them to the guardhouse prison, he was left with Geris and the
remainder of his men. “Angry you didn’t get forewarned this time, Fokis?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Geris snapped.
“My father has plenty of influence and friends in high places. You will be
ruined by this action, I promise you.”

“I think the empire is looking for new miners in the
sulphur mines of Turslenka,” Vosgaris replied. “A man of your calibre would be
well received there.”

“You fiend,” Geris said, “your head will be removed. Don’t
think the palace can protect you; the empress will have no choice but to
dismiss you and then you’ll be at our mercy. Release me now and you’ll be
forgiven.”

Vosgaris laughed. “I think not. Your family is nothing
but a bunch of common criminals. You call yourselves nobles but your actions
are anything but noble. Theft, illegal trading, smuggling, extortion, bribery,
corruption. The list is endless. By the time the Koros are finished with you,
the Fokis will be nothing but a bad memory.”

Geris struggled in vain. “I’ll personally see to it you
die a long slow horrible death!”

“You’ll be waiting a long time, Fokis.” Vosgaris looked
up to see Tabor returning with his men, leading two more rough looking
individuals. The two men at the back were carrying a couple of large books. “What
have you there, Tabor?”

“Two idiots who were trying to destroy the records
here,” he pointed at the two books. “I think some interesting reading in
there.”

“Record books?” Vosgaris echoed. It was as if it was his
birthday. “That was awfully careless of you, Fokis. If your family learn of
this it may be you who endures the long slow agonising death. In fact, I may
just do that.”

Geris went pale, even in the light of the flickering
torches. “Please, I’ll tell you all you wish to know about the Fokis activity –
just don’t inform them that you’ve got these ledgers.”

Vosgaris regarded the now trembling man for a moment. “Then
let us go to the guardhouse and have a little chat. Tabor, bring those ledgers
with you. Get this warehouse sealed off and assign six guards to watch over
this until we can get these contents out.”

Tabor slapped his shoulder and began barking orders. It
had been a successful evening.

____

The next morning Vosgaris sought out the empress
immediately after breakfast and before the council sat. He passed Isbel a
report of the evening’s activities, and he whispered a few suggestions to her
that could come in useful at the council meeting. Isbel, pleased at the result,
agreed. It would be an interesting meeting, that was for sure.

The others filed in slowly, each of them having to come
from different parts of the palace. When the last of them had seated himself,
Isbel stood and called the council in session. “I have called you all this
morning because of an interesting incident yesterday evening.” She looked at
each of them in turn. “Vosgaris here received word from his contacts of yet another
illegal trading location, and instead of consulting this council first, decided
to act on his own initiative and raid the building.”

The other members of the council looked at the empress
in surprise, then at Vosgaris who was sat relaxed, staring at each and every
one of them, a half smile on his lips. Sereth spluttered, then found his voice.
“Without consulting this council first? Vosgaris, you have exceeded your
authority! Without our agreement you are acting illegally!”

“I agree with what you say, Counsel Sereth,” Isbel said.
“And if he had broken into a legal establishment I think we would be reading
his letter of resignation this morning, instead of hearing of a successful
closing down of one of the illegal trading companies we’re blighted with.”

“Even so, your majesty,” Sereth replied, eyeing Vosgaris
sternly, “we cannot permit such independent courses of action. Captain Vosgaris
is too much of a risk for us to allow him to continue in his current capacity.”

“Gentlemen,” Isbel turned to the other members, “do any
of you have anything to comment on?”

Valson Kelriun cleared his throat. “A delicate matter
indeed, ma’am. Do we censure the good captain here for acting without proper
authority or congratulate him on a successful job? I would firstly like to hear
of the result and what was involved before making a decision.”

“Agreed,” Frendicus said. “We cannot make a decision
until we’re in full possession of the facts.”

“Pepil?” Isbel asked.

“Agreed. We may end up rewarding the Captain here if the
results are significant.”

Sereth snorted. “And encourage complete disregard for
this council? What next, a coup?”

“Oh please, Counsel,” Vosgaris said loudly, “you judge
me by your own standards.”

Sereth spluttered in outrage. Isbel slapped her hand on
the table. “Enough, gentlemen! Let us hear of the results from Vosgaris.”

Vosgaris called out loudly and a guard came puffing into
the room, carrying the two enormous ledgers, which he placed on the table with
difficulty in front of Vosgaris. He then stepped back and stood behind his
captain, one hand on his sword hilt. Vosgaris lifted the cover of the first and
waved a hand at it. “Acting on information from an informant who we’d
successfully bribed, we raided a warehouse in the merchant quarter after dark. It
was occupied and those therein apprehended and the contents confiscated. It was
an illegal trading premises, unlicensed and seeking to sell without paying
taxes. I have also arrested the warehouse manager, a member of a prominent
noble family in Kastania. These ledgers were taken from the warehouse and
within they list the sources, amounts and proceeds, going back five years. With
this information we can round up and close down a significant number of
businesses and those running them all involved in tax evasion and profiteering.
They buy slightly over the odds from official imperial merchants and sell for
slightly less, thus capturing much of the market, which explains why taxes have
been poor from the merchants in the textile market.”