Empire of Avarice (34 page)

Astiras was red-faced with fury, and the Bragalese
cringed backwards. The messenger hesitantly produced a scroll, sealed with red
wax. “This is a message from King Elmar to you, sir. I think you had best read
it.”

Astiras glared at the scroll, then curtly gestured to
Teduskis to take it. The emperor’s right hand man stepped up to the fence and
held out his hand. The messenger placed it in his palm and Teduskis took it,
studying the quality of the scroll and wax. The seal was a simple one and
something he’d never seen before, but he’d seen the type of scroll and wax many
times. “Your Majesty, this is from your supply here.”

“What?” Astiras grabbed the scroll and examined it. His
face assumed the picture of a thunderstorm. He looked up at the five Bragalese.
“You scum. Using my stock for your own use? This is my city. I am governor
here. I will reclaim it, you tell your lord and master that, and when I do the
tears will flow. You have until daybreak tomorrow to surrender. Take down your
rags from the ramparts, open your gates and hand over that upstart to me. Those
are my terms for sparing the city.”

“We shall take them to my lord,” the messenger bowed and
turned to go. The others followed suit.

“Tell your lord and master that this fence will
eventually surround your city and nothing will be allowed in or out without our
authority.” Astiras waved the deputation away irritably. He watched as they
went, trying to avoid the worst of the terrain. “Idiots,” Astiras growled at
their backs. He turned to Teduskis, “think I put the fear of the gods into
their guts?”

“Fairly convincingly, sire. Will you burn the place to
the ground?”

“Oh, no, that was just talk. I’ve no intention of doing
that! I will rebuild the place and maybe put a few better quality buildings in
there, now I’m emperor. I fear the rebuilding of Bragal will take a long time
and cost a fair amount of money. It’s not just Zofela that needs it; the entire
region does.” He looked at the scroll. “I’d best see what this fool has
written, then I’ll send a message back to Kastan to announce our arrival outside
Zofela. Time we got a reliable messenger service going. Can you see to that?”

“Of course, sire.” Teduskis eyed the half completed
wooden building that was being erected quickly by the men. “At least we’ll be
out of the rainy season soon.”

“Aye. I’m thinking about the river. Can we divert it
away from the city?”

“What – dig a new course closer to this camp?”

Astiras pointed across the countryside. “I was thinking
more across the other side to form the barrier opposite us. We haven’t nearly
enough wood here with us or available in these woodlands to surround Zofela, so
making the river half of it would cut down on our needs.”

Teduskis shook his head slowly. “We’d need hundreds of
men, and even then that’d take well into the winter.”

“Hmmmm,” Astiras scratched his jaw. He needed a shave. “I’d
still like to take the river away from Zofela. That’d starve them of water and
get them to surrender faster. We’ve no idea how much in the way of supplies
they have, but judging by what they’ve done here,” and he waved at the ground
in front of him, “they’ve been busy for sevendays.”

“I’ll see what can be arranged, sire. We may be able to
do something by the end of the year.”

“That’s better than not at all. If it comes to it, get a
load of prisoners to dig for you.” He entered the half-finished hut that would
serve as his headquarters and grabbed a chair that was standing on its own away
from the piles of packaging, wood, sheets and furnishings that had been
unloaded from the nearest wagon. He ripped open the seal and scanned the
scroll, his face hardening and he shook his head slowly. Teduskis stood by his
side patiently.

“He demands – demands, mind you – our total withdrawal
from Bragal. He states we are to recognise Bragalese independence and arrange
for all non-Bragal villages in the province to be removed, the villagers
re-sited in Kastania and any costs of this to be borne by Kastania! The cheek!”

Teduskis chuckled. “As if we could possibly accept these
demands. He must be confident we can’t win here.”

Astiras shook his head in wonder. “He says we are to
send an emissary to Zofela to sign the recognition of independence and to
accept blame for the war in the first place.” He threw the scroll onto the
floor angrily. “After they rose up and murdered all those people? How can we be
blamed for that? Damned fool.”

“A guarantee for negotiations to fail. Perhaps he has
delusions of grandeur.”

The emperor slapped his thighs. “Whatever, he’ll be
sorry for that. I’ll pin this scroll to his arse.” He got up and went back out
into the sunshine. “Ahh! I’m so glad the winter has gone. Teduskis, I want a
messenger service to run daily from here to Turslenka down the north road,” he
pointed behind him to where a secondary road ran to the horizon, “as well as
the road to Kastan. We need to keep in touch with the empire. I want to know
what’s going on and to start running things from here.”

“I’m sure the empress is doing a decent job in Kastan,
sire. Her letters to you indicate she’s coping well with the administration of
the empire.”

“All very well, Teduskis, but I’m emperor and I must
make the decisions, not her!”

The bodyguard decided not to get involved in that
conversation. It was far too easy to get into an awkward position if he were
careless with one word. Instead he confirmed he would work on getting a
messenger system begun and would also look into the possibility of diverting
the river away from the city. That was much easier than becoming embroiled in a
dispute between emperor and empress.

Niake was seething with discontent. High Priest Gaurel
had whipped up religious fervour to such a point that it would only take one
wrong move or word from someone to set off a riot. The people were demanding a
full restoration of the temples from the governor and the installation of High
Priest Gaurel Burnas on the town council. There was currently under way a
demonstration against other – false – religions in the town square and Evas
Extonos watched with a worried expression from his office as the speaker, a
priest whom he didn’t know, whipped up anger amongst the swelling crowd, saying
that their gods were being deliberately ignored in favour of false beliefs. It
was all a plan by the ruling regime, so the priest was saying, to allow the
Tybar god in so as to make it easier for the Tybar to take over when they came.

“This is all nonsense,” Evas said with feeling. “Why are
they saying such things?”

“They clearly have an agenda,” Demtro observed, standing
next to the governor. “This speaker – you’ve never seen him before, you say?”

“No,” Evas shook his head. “He’s doing a good job of
getting the people worked up, isn’t he?”

“Hmmm,” Demtro replied, rubbing his chin. “I’ll have to
dig around and find out who this man is. Gaurel Burnas and I are still on
speaking terms, so I’ll invite myself to his residence and broach the subject with
him.”

“And what will you do should you find out?”

Demtro looked at the governor, his eyes wide in feigned
surprise. “Why, governor, inform you immediately. What else?”

Evas snorted. “Demtro, I really have no idea what you’re
doing here in Niake, nor do I know of the things you do.”

“Governor, I’m a son of this city and do not want to see
it descend into chaos; this priest is clearly of an opposite view, so I’m going
to do my utmost to stop him. I have money, and this opens many doors, believe
me.”

“Yes, you do. I expect your taxes in shortly, by the
way.”

Demtro smiled thinly. “Yes, yes, Governor, I’m well
aware of the tax I’m due to pay. Your assessors virtually tied me down and
tortured me during their visit to my premises.”

“Do you wish to make a formal complaint against their
conduct, Demtro?”

“Oh, no, not at all. Wouldn’t do any good anyway; nobody
listens to a merchant’s complaints these days.” He sighed deeply and leaned
forward in interest, staring down at the wooden stands that the priest and his
close circle of helpers were using to make themselves seen by the crowd. “Hello,”
he said slowly, “now who’s this?”

Evas looked and saw a young woman passing out leaflets
to the crowd from her position next to the priest. “Oh, Demtro, can’t you think
of anything else?”

“Now she’s a pretty young thing!” Demtro grinned widely.
“Worth going to any demonstration for!”

Evas clucked his tongue. “Keep your mind on the
important matters, Demtro!”

“I am!” the merchant grinned even wider. Evas made an
exasperated sound and sat back down, his face troubled. Demtro slowly moved
away from the window. “Think I’ll pop down and listen in on the man, and maybe
collect one of those leaflets.”

Evas shook his head sadly.

Demtro waggled a finger at the governor. “Now, now,
Governor, I’m doing this in order to find out more about this mystery priest. Why
is he intent on whipping up religious unrest? Why is he keen to push the High
Priest upon you? Why are they singling out Tybar as the big enemy when there
are plenty more without – and within – to pick on? Hmmm, this will need more
research, and I’m going to start with that delicious young girl out there.”

Evas put his head in his hands and moaned out loud about
Demtro’s one-direction mind. “I’m trying to keep the peace here, Demtro, and
you’re chasing young women. I need help to stop rioting!”

“I’ll see what I can do, Governor,” Demtro called out
gaily from the doorway, and then was gone. The governor slapped his desk in
exasperation and looked at his advisor, a small thin man with long fingers and
very pale skin by the name of Kisan Prelek. Prelek was something of an
inventor, always thinking of new ways to do things and drawing these ideas out
on paper. One of the few with a brain who had stayed loyal to Evas during the
recent upheavals and changes of regimes, he had become a permanent fixture in
the governor’s building.

“What do you think, Prelek?”

The inventor put down a wooden model of a new lifting
device he had been playing with and folded his hands together. “Let Demtro
burrow his way into the priest’s confidence. He may find out what this is all
about. It’s curious that High Priest Burnas is not speaking out there. Who is
this speaker and where is he from? If Demtro tries to find out and is caught,
we can deny any connection with him as he’s a mere merchant. How Demtro
explains himself is entirely down to himself.”

“But I don’t like him being isolated like that – he’s doing
this for our benefit after all and it would be only right to give him
assistance.”

“Is he doing this for our benefit? Demtro is a mystery
himself. Where has his money come from? At a time when all of us are feeling
the pinch of a lack of money, he arrives with pockets full. He comes from
Kastan, appointed by the palace.”

Evas waved his arms across his desk. “Appointed by the
palace to restart the fabric trade here. It was one of our assets until recent
times. Riots here won’t encourage investment, will they? We need stability. What
with the Tybar brooding over the mountains to our west and priests whipping up
unrest here, who’s going to want to get involved in merchandise in Niake?”

“I understand your concern,” Prelek agreed soothingly,
“but for the moment give Demtro his freedom. Either he’ll succeed or fail. Either
way, we can’t be harmed by it. To be involved in a spying scandal would not be
good for us at this time.”

Evas sighed. The inventor was right. He decided to write
to the palace and ask for advice. It would also make him look like a loyal
subject, deferring to Kastan, and it would put the responsibility for this
growing problem in their laps.

____

Demtro shivered in the outside air. It was blowing a
cold one from the south west. Sucking air in through his teeth, he slipped
cautiously from the side entrance along the street that led to the main square.
Guards were nervously watching the events in the square and wondering whether
their officers would order them in to quash the angry mob or to run as far as
they could and let the riot run its course, should it start.

The sound was growing, of angry voices shouting that the
temples should be rebuilt, and that the governor was unfit to rule the city. Death
to the Tybar was another shout he heard. He grimaced. The Tybar would probably
put these people all to death if the two came face to face. He pushed through
the seething mass and headed for the speaker, a bald headed cleric with deep
set fanatical eyes. He looked like a priest, and his face was dark except on
his chin, a curious pigmentation, perhaps. Standing next to him were two
helpers, a man and the young woman he’d seen from the window. He pushed towards
her. Someone cursed him so Demtro left a rude gesture hanging in the air as he
carried on, not caring a bit who the man was who’d spoken.

He arrived at last, barging two rather aromatic workmen
out of his way and got to the front. The girl, no more than seventeen years of
age, was passing out leaflets to the front for passing back by the crowd. Demtro
held out his hand. “I’ve not got one, sweetheart,” he shouted.

The girl looked at him. She was smooth skinned, dark
eyed, and had long dark hair. She was dressed in a long one-piece dress of
green, gathered in at the waist by a simple rope-belt. She looked as if she’d
reach his shoulders if she stood by his side. Wordlessly, she passed him a
leaflet. “Thanks!” Demtro said, smiling at her.

The girl said nothing and looked up to see if anyone
else wanted one. Demtro quickly scanned the leaflet. It said nothing other than
the usual inflammatory political stuff the rent-a-crowd types passed out from
time to time. The current regime was at fault, the gods were being ignored
blah-blah-blah, there would come a time of reckoning and only the believers would
survive, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Demtro snorted with amusement. At the bottom it said to
join the new temple in Niake, a new temple that was going to be built in the
western gatehouse district. There was an address. The priest was shouting
again, his arms wide. Demtro could see every feature of his face, he was that
close to him. His accent was very odd, stilted and deliberate, as if he were
struggling with what he was saying. He encouraged the people to pray to the
gods so that the governor would listen to them, and if he would not, then to
call upon the gods to show that they would not be ignored.

Demtro folded the leaflet and slid it into his pouch. He
would look up the address later. He had other work to do. He made his way back
through the crowd, all calling for the resignation of Evas, and broke free with
some relief towards the rear of the square. He saw more members of the town
militia nervously gathering at the exits and surmised there would be trouble
unless someone began to talk sense back there – not a likely occurrence,
judging by what he’d experienced.

The residence of High Priest Burnas was inevitably in
the most affluent part of town. Demtro strode briskly along the wide main
street towards the Kastan Gate. Here, fronting the street, were the biggest and
most expensive residences. Burnas lived in the third one from the gate on the
right, a two storied red stone construction, which displayed three windows at
the top and two at the bottom, a sign of wealth. Most people had shuttered
openings with lattice work instead of glass. Being High Priest was clearly
lucrative. Demtro rapped loudly on the stout wooden door and waited.

After a pause it opened and a lesser cleric appeared. “Yes?
Oh, it’s you,” he said, looking down at the merchant. Demtro had been there a
few times already and was known to Burnas and his circle of intimates. Demtro
took off his tall felt cap and brushed past the cleric.

“Where’s the old man?” he asked irreverently.

The cleric pulled a distasteful expression. Such
disrespect! “High Priest Burnas is in his study,” he said stiffly. “Praying for
inspiration. He is not to be disturbed.”

“Rubbish,” Demtro scoffed. “The old man’s probably
enjoying a drink or three. Go get him.”

The cleric, outraged, shut the door. “I shall inform the
High Priest of your presence, but I doubt he’ll see you.”

Demtro produced the leaflet. “Show him this. I bet he’ll
want to know more.”

The cleric took the paper as if it were being offered by
the demons of the inferno themselves. The entrance hallway was spacious but
austere, as if Burnas was trying not to show he was wealthy. Demtro sniffed. If
that was the case, why live in a mansion?

The High Priest appeared fairly quickly, holding the
paper. “What’s this all about?” he demanded.

“You know nothing of this?” Demtro asked.

“Of course not! What’s going on?”

Demtro gave him the condensed version. Burnas uttered a
non-priestly expression and grabbed his outer garments, hanging from a hook on
the wall close to the door. “Whoever it is I have not authorised this, and I
know not of him. What god or gods does he represent?”

“Anarchy, from the sound of it,” Demtro said. “I doubt
he’s interested in our gods.”

“Damn the man,” Burnas said and dashed out, the cleric
in his wake, leaving Demtro alone in the mansion hallway. A couple of other
faces appeared on the upper floor, both female and young.

“Well, hello,” Demtro beamed, “and who are you?”

Evas watched from his window as High Priest Burnas
defused the situation, appealing for calm when the crowd bayed for him to take
over Niake. Evas winced. The situation was getting fairly desperate. Burnas was
soon standing on the same stands the mystery cleric and his helpers had been on
a few moments before, but they had vanished. Burnas looked round for them but
they could not be seen. He couldn’t look any longer for them for the crowd was
becoming restless again.

Burnas called for patience. He would speak to the
governor and request a release of funds to rebuild the temples. That was the
will of the gods, he insisted. It mollified the crowd somewhat, but there was
still a seething undercurrent of outrage. Burnas appealed for the good people
of Niake to return to their daily tasks and pray for a peaceful resolution. He
knew that more riots would end in disaster, and the authorities would clamp
down even harder on the temples. If not Evas, then the Koros certainly would.

As the crowd slowly broke up, Evas breathed a sigh of
relief. He sent for the captain of the guard to stand the men down and waited
for the inevitable appearance of the High Priest. He arrived fairly soon
afterwards, declining the offer to sit. He stood before the governor, his face
stern and severe. “Governor, you are not in control of this city. I can only
see matters getting worse if you do not heed the warnings that are coming from
the masses. Your lack of effort in repairing the temples is now coming back to
haunt you, and your continued indifference to the state of this city’s places
of prayer will no doubt cause your fall. I have tried to warn you but so far
you have done nothing to change this appalling situation here.”