Empire of Avarice (28 page)

“Argan!” Isbel scolded him.

He put his tongue away and looked frustrated. When he
got back to his room he’d stand in front of his mirror and stick his tongue
out. Maybe there’d be lots of food on it. The servant, ignoring the tongue
issues, had placed three slices of meat and a small pile of oiled vegetables on
Argan’s plate. “Will that be all, young prince?”

“Thank you,” he said, as he’d been told to say. His
mother looked on in an approving manner. Apart from poking his tongue out and
wanting to know about creatures’ bottoms, Argan was the most polite and well
behaved boy any mother could possibly wish for. She felt proud of him.

Argan was unaware of this. He was busy tucking into the
nicely flavoured meats in front of him. He didn’t understand what the grown-ups
were talking about at the table or why they sometimes got cross with each
other. On the few occasions he tried to include himself in their conversations
they had, politely but firmly, told him it was an adult conversation and he
didn’t have to worry about joining in. He had decided a long time ago not to
speak to them unless they spoke to him first. That way he knew he was supposed
to join in. Anyway, the meats were far more interesting than whatever they were
talking about.

After lunch he was allowed to go to his room to play
with his new toys. Excitedly he ran upstairs and practically crashed through
the door to his room, in his haste forgetting to shut it properly, to enjoy the
castle and figures. He even failed to notice that the customary guard outside
his room was no longer there.

The box with his castle in was on the floor while
everything else was on the shelf. He flung open the lid and peered inside,
impatient to begin a new game.

Down in the dining hall the empress and the others were
still discussing matters. Their conversation stopped abruptly. Argan’s screams
could clearly he heard at even that distance.

The snow was too deep to allow them to continue; Lalaas
had conceded defeat and looked for shelter. The beasts were exhausted, the
riders even more so. Their heads hung low, clouds of breath hanging around
their heads in the still, bitterly cold air. The hunter knew it had been folly
to try to pass through Bragal in winter but the emperor had been insistent. When
they had been closer to the coast, the air was not as chill and the snow was
not as deep, but now they had struck inland they were well into the hills and
in the valleys the snow had drifted and collected, and it was simply impossible
to carry on.

A small village lay ahead, the smoke from the chimneys
and hearths spiralling up lazily into the air. “We must seek shelter there,”
Lalaas advised the others. “We will perish unless we do so. The night is coming
and to be out here in the open in these conditions will be fatal. We have
little firewood and this area had precious little wood to collect.”

“But what of the villagers?” Theros asked, his eyebrows
coated with ice. There wasn’t much more of his face visible, like the rest of
them. “If they find out who we are they’ll slaughter us!”

“Perhaps not,” Lalaas said, studying the village.

“What do you mean?” Theros snapped. His hostility
towards the hunter had continued, unabated, ever since the incident at the
pass. It had been two sevendays now and Lalaas had hardly spoken to the
diplomat, and Theros on his part had as little to do with the hunter as
possible. The two clerks remained by the side of their master, following his
lead, and only Amne spoke to Lalaas in a civil manner, and even her attitude
was formal and reserved.

“These may not be Bragalese,” Lalaas nodded at the
haphazard collection of buildings.

“Explain,” Theros said curtly.

Lalaas turned round in his saddle. “This region was once
populated by Kastanian people. Some Kastanian villages remain even today. The
Bragalese sometimes destroy a Kastanian village but mostly they are content to
let them be. In any case, Bragal births are far greater than Kastanian. This
village does not look Bragalese.”

Theros eyed the settlement. He couldn’t see that it was
any different to the others they’d skirted round carefully in the last two sevendays.
“I don’t think it’s worth the risk; the princess here must not be put in
danger.”

“She’s more likely to die out here tonight than amongst
the villagers,” Lalaas retorted. “I’m going to ask them for shelter. There’s
plenty of barns over there.”

Amne followed Lalaas’ pointed gauntlet. Animal pens
surrounded the large structures, their sloping roofs completely covered in
snow. “Won’t it be draughty and smelly?”

“Smelly, yes, ma’am, but draughty? No. The snow
insulates the roof and the walls are low and protected by a surrounding pen,
you see? It’s also probably full of hay and straw and we can make very
comfortable beds in there. Of course, no fire for obvious reasons, but we can’t
have everything. I can bargain for food, too.”

“With what?” Theros sneered.

“Coins I took from the two I killed back at the pass,”
Lalaas said evenly. “Come on, let’s find shelter before nightfall.”

“A ghoul as well as a killer and a woman beater,” Theros
commented acidly. Lalaas turned his charger round, walked it up alongside
Theros and stopped. He stared at the diplomat for a moment, then his fist
blurred in the air and landed square on Theros’s jaw, sending him flying off
the saddle to land softly in the deep snow. He pushed the now riderless animal
out of the way and looked down at the shocked and bemused man, lying in a
drift.

“I’ve had enough of your attitude,” Lalaas said softly. “If
you continue I shall leave you and take the princess on to Mazag. My orders
were to ensure the safe arrival of the princess here in Mazag; nothing was
mentioned about you. I couldn’t care less about you, diplomat. If I were you,
I’d practice your art and keep your mouth shut.” With that he turned round and
walked back through the churned up snow to the head of the column.

As he came alongside Amne, she glared at him. “Was that
necessary, Lalaas? Not content in striking me you now turn on Theros there?”

“Ma’am, I had just cause. He’s been snapping at me for
the last couple of sevendays. I think he wants my head. If that’s the case I
ought to let him rot here. And don’t think I won’t, because I do mean it. He’s
your creature, ma’am. It might be to everyone’s benefit if you commanded him to
be polite to me until we go our separate ways, which can’t come too soon, as
far as I’m concerned.”

He left Amne speechless behind her face mask and walked
his mount through the virgin snow down towards the village. Theros struggled to
get to his feet but it was awkward, and the two clerks had to dismount and all
three floundered in the drifts for a few moments, Amne watching them from her
saddle. Finally Theros grabbed the harness of his mount and pushed his way up
to Amne. “Did you see what he did?” he demanded, pointing to his already
swelling jaw. “Assaulted me! He attacked me! As one of your staff, ma’am, it’s
also an attack against you! My advice is once we get to Branak to have him
arrested and put on trial. I’m sure a messenger can get through to your father
swiftly enough to authorise the death sentence!”

“Theros, I shall consider what to do with Lalaas once we
do get to Branak,” Amne replied calmly, “but until then we must put up with the
manners of a man not used to our position. We must make allowances. It is best
not to antagonise him any further, do you not agree?”

“Very good, ma’am,” Theros growled. He was not pleased. If
Lalaas was not punished, then he was sorely tempted to remain in Mazag and
transfer his services to that kingdom. The way he – and the princess – had been
treated by this ruffian called for some kind of response. He would see to it
that Lalaas got his just desserts.

Amne waited in the chill air. She had a headache and
went from feeling cold to feeling hot in moments. She was sure she was going
down with some ailment, just what she needed now. She hadn’t been feeling too
good for a little while, and badly wanted the warmth and comfort of her bed in
Kastan. This would definitely be the last time she agreed to go on a diplomatic
mission on behalf of her father. When she got back she would tell him in no
uncertain terms that he owed her enormously and she would make sure it was
something big.

Theros groaned as he climbed back into the saddle. He
hated the snow, hated winter, hated Bragal, hated Lalaas and hated being in the
service of the Koros. He would see this mission through; his professional pride
demanded it, but his loyalty to the regime was only going to last until then. After
that, he doubted he would return to Kastan. Someone like him ought to be
treated with more respect than he was getting at the moment.

Lalaas neared the first houses, squat, high-roofed
affairs coated in snow. The windows were shuttered and closed, and signs of
life few. The smoke betrayed the presence of many people, but sensibly they
were indoors. The animals would need tending, though, and he knew it was only a
matter of time before someone had to come outside. The snow in between the
houses was about calf deep to him, and his mount plodded stoically through it
down what he imagined was the main street.

Just then a door on the left opened and a woman swathed
in clothes emerged, sucking in the chill air and coughing. Lalaas waited until
she had stopped, then hailed her. “Good day, mother,” he used a formal method
so as to appear polite. “A bad day to be outdoors.”

The woman stopped in surprise. She hadn’t noticed the
stranger on charger-back. What someone was doing here in this isolated place
was anyone’s guess, but he looked like a warrior or a hunter with his sword
strapped to his back and a bow in its cover hanging from the saddle.

“There’s nothing for sale here until the thaw,” she
said, making her way around the side of the house to her swine pen. The animal
needed feeding.

“I know. I’m with a small band of travellers, heading
south. We’re in need of shelter for the night, and I was wondering whether
there was any place here for five people and our beasts?”

The woman stopped and stared up at him, looking at the
attire and equipment, gauging how rich he was. She was definitely not
Bragalese. “Who are you and the others?”

“Travellers, as I said,” Lalaas said easily. “We were
delayed in our journey from Frasia to Bukrat and the winter came before we
could pass through.”

“There is precious little space for travellers and no
food; times are hard.”

“Yes, good mother, I’m aware of the war further east
which is why we chose this route. I have a few coins for you should you find us
a place to stay,” he smiled, slipping off his face mask so she could see him
better.

“Coins?” the woman seemed interested.

Lalaas fished out a few coins of Kastania. “Three furims
– enough to buy you a bovine, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Five,” she said quickly, “one for each of you.”

Lalaas pursed his lips. “If that includes one of your
wonderful stews for us tonight, then I agree.”

The woman snorted. She knew she was being flattered. But
five furims was more than she could ever have hoped for. “Very well. Around the
rear of this house is a barn that has horned herd beasts. Don’t bother them. Up
in the loft there you can sleep.”

“And our equines?”

“At the rear. Make sure they’re tethered; I don’t want
them taking my animal’s feed!”

“My thanks, good mother,” and he flipped her the five
coins which she caught and examined critically. Biting one, she found it to be
gold. She swiftly put the coins in her pouch.

Lalaas turned about and made his way back to the waiting
group. He informed them where they could stay, and led them around the rear of
the village, under the watchful gaze of half a dozen silent villagers who had
come out, attracted by the sounds of voices. The barn was half hidden
underneath the snow but the double doors were clear and the ground around had
been swept clear of snow the previous day or so. Lalaas dismounted and lifted
the bar and the three other men got down gratefully. Amne remained on her
mount, head bowed, sweating. Lalaas took one look at her and pulled her off and
held her in his arms.

Theros’s mouth turned down and he advanced on the
hunter. “You’ve taken too many liberties with her…”

“Shut up you fool,” Lalaas snapped. “Can’t you see she’s
unwell? Now get the equines under cover at the back of the barn and tether
them. I’m going to look after the princess; I don’t like the look of her.”

Amne looked up listlessly at Lalaas. She was feeling too
ill to say anything. The speed at which it had suddenly engulfed her scared her
and she felt as if she were burning up. Lalaas found a ladder in the centre of
the barn and began climbing it awkwardly, managing to grip the ladder with his
fingers while carrying the slightly built woman. At the top the barn was dry,
dark and covered in hay. Lalaas gently put Amne down in the midst of a
particularly large pile of hay and checked her face, pulse and eyes. He’d seen
this before.

“Princess, can you understand me?” he spoke slowly and
clearly.

She smiled wanly and nodded, beads of sweat coating her
forehead and cheeks.

“Good. You have a fever. I’m going to tend you, but it
will take a few days. We’re dry and safe here, and we won’t go until you’re
better.”

He unfastened her face scarf and dropped it to one side
and fussed over her coat. It had neat, tight buttons and he had to work at
unfastening them. Finally he managed to open it and put a hand on her throat. She
was burning up. He checked her but she was half asleep. That was usual in this
sort of ailment. She wouldn’t be aware of what was going on around her for some
time – if she survived.

Theros came up the ladder with purpose and took in the
situation. “How bad is she?” he demanded, looking down at her.

“Not good. I’ve seen people die from this. She needs
liquid constantly. Both to take and to spread on her skin.”

“What is it? Plague?” Theros asked in a whisper, fear in
his voice.

“Oh, no,” Lalaas almost laughed at the man, but the
situation was too serious to do that. “She has Cold Fever.”

Theros’s face darkened. Cold Fever was a known killer,
so called because it only appeared in the winter. With care and good treatment,
many sufferers survived, but that was usually in better conditions than where
they found themselves. “Can you save her?”

“I’ll do my best,” Lalaas said. “We’ll need plenty of
cloths to treat her with and a handy pail for melting the snow in, and by the
gods we’ll need a fire. In here?” he snorted. “The owner will go berserk if she
finds out, but we need one.”

“How do you propose to have a fire in here?” Theros
whispered furiously. “You’ll burn the place down and there’s no place for the
smoke to escape.”

“Then we have to make one outside,” Lalaas said.

“You’re the great fire maker,” Theros said, “you’ll have
to take care of that!”

“And you’ll have to tend it once I do,” Lalaas retorted.
“If you think I’m leaving her in your hands you’ve got another think coming.”

“And do you think I trust you to take care of her
properly?”

Lalaas stuck his face in Theros’s. “Explain what you
mean by that, palace dweller?”