Empire of Avarice (60 page)

Amne smiled briefly. If he carried on in this manner she
might even have him on all fours before him wagging his tail and panting away. She
dismissed the thought as irrelevant and absurd. Would she prefer Lalaas in that
position? A different feeling began to rise within her and she hurriedly
crushed that thought and returned her attention to the grizzled Mazag general. “The
Koros thank the Mazag people and Royal House for their kind words. This can be
the start of great things between our respective nations.”

Polak nodded. Now the flattery was done, down to
business. “I am sure that the honoured House of Koros will recognise the right
of conquest on Valchia. As you can see, your highness, we have the military
might to perform our task and the intent on bringing law and order here where
previously there was none. We have ended the distasteful practice of slavery,
as I understand you yourself wished it so.”

Amne wondered who had been whispering into Polak’s ears.
No doubt Theros, hoping to ingratiate himself with the commander of the Mazag
forces. Amne felt betrayed in a way, since her feelings were hers to pass on
and not anyone else’s. Another bad mark against the diplomat. “It is indeed my
wish. I am grateful for your good work in ending this despicable practice. In
return for Kastanian recognition of the conquest of Valchia by Mazag, I ask in
return for Mazag recognition of Kastanian ownership of Bragal and the denial of
the right of the Bragalese for independence.”

Polak nodded thoughtfully. Both concessions were of no
importance; the Mazag seizure of Valchia was a done deal and even if Kastania
protested, what could they do with their puny forces? And Kastania had always
owned Bragal. Mazag had their own ambitions north of the Ister River and they
certainly did not want any independent Bragal nation on their doorstep. Better
to have a feeble Kastania wracked with dissent and worries on other frontiers
than a new vibrant and proudly independent nation on their frontier. “The Mazag
will even agree to assisting Kastania in crushing the Bragal revolt if the
emperor so wishes.”

Amne was surprised; she didn’t know whether her father
would agree to that, but maybe it would help in smashing any rebels who
gravitated to the borders furthest from Kastania. She would have to speak with
Lalaas and ask his opinion. “We are grateful for such a generous offer,
General. I shall certainly ponder on this before giving an answer on the
morrow.”

Polak smiled. He couldn’t lose. Having Mazag troops in
southern Bragal to crush any signs of revolt would prove useful in two ways;
firstly in gaining Kastanian gratitude, and secondly permitting a
reconnaissance of the region which could be used if and when Mazag invaded
Bragal with a view to conquering it. “It is nothing. Mazag would only be too
pleased to help their neighbours in these matters. The borders can be easily
drawn, too. The Ister River will form our frontier until it turns south. We
suggest the current Valchian-Bragalese border be set as the frontier of our
great nations.”

Amne thought that this seemed reasonable. “And trade?”

“Trade will naturally follow. Valchia has little
infrastructure at present but we shall correct that. Bragal would, I assume,
require rebuilding after such a long insurrection. We are confident that the
emperor will soon end the revolt with his capture of Zofela. And once this has
been done, we can then hope for good trade between our peoples. I am led to
believe that the timber from Bragal is exceptional.”

“Indeed; my family owns huge estates in Bragal and we
would certainly arrange for a resumption of the timber trade as soon as
possible. I hear myself that Mazag is rich in wheat and bread crops. The
population of Bragal may be short of food after the ending of hostilities, and
we may seek to secure a trade deal with the good merchants of your lands.”

“That can be arranged,” Polak considered the point for a
moment. “For a suitable concession in trade tariffs on the timber.”

“Of course. We should see what the harvest is once the
war is over. We may need more help than is believed at present, or not so
much.”

Polak grunted. “Then we should write in a paragraph to
renegotiate in Zofela once the city is Kastanian again.”

The talks continued in a similar manner, and Amne was
relieved when Polak slammed his mug down on the table top, belched hugely and
stood up, declaring that he was tired and was going to retire to his bed. The
talks were at an end for the day and the draft proposals would be written up in
both Mazag and Kastanian and handed during the day to both parties for them to
read, digest and then either sign if in complete agreement or, as expected,
note down their disagreements and amendments.

Amne felt exhausted as Lalaas escorted her along the
creaking floorboards to her quarters. It wasn’t luxurious by any standards but
certainly better than a wind-swept hill in Bragal or a rain-soaked field in
Valchia. Or even a cold barn in winter. Lalaas said nothing all the time they
walked to her room. The hunter checked the room before allowing Amne to enter. As
he shut the door and leaned against the warped planks, Amne turned round and
flung her arms about his neck. “Oh, Lalaas! It’s a relief to have you back!”

Lalaas grinned and hugged Amne briefly, then became
serious. He gently disengaged her arms. “Ma’am, there may be ears.”

Amne’s eyes widened briefly, then she nodded. “Of
course. Come over to my bed.”

Lalaas looked concerned for a moment. Amne giggled and
shook her head. “Oh no, nothing like that! I want to speak away from the door. I
also want to know where are you going to sleep?”

Lalaas looked round the room. A single window,
shuttered. There was an iron bar slotted on the inside to brackets, so that was
as secure as it could be. A threadbare rug covering the middle portion of the
floor. A single bed, stuffed with straw. A feather coverlet. Woollen blankets. A
poorly made chair. A rough cupboard. Wash basin, jug.

“The chair will do. I shall sit by the door, ma’am.”

“Amne when we’re alone,” Amne said in a whisper. “Enough
has gone between us in the past two years to drop the ‘ma’am’ when we’re alone,
don’t you think? You’ve seen more of me than any man has – and with one
probable future exception, is ever likely to.” She smiled, sitting on the edge
of her bed.

“As you say, Amne,” Lalaas said in a low voice, taking
the chair and sitting down on it. “Such would probably get me hanged.”

“And who’s telling?” Amne asked rhetorically. “What
father doesn’t know can’t harm him, and besides he’s far too over protective of
his daughter. You do that job perfectly.”

“Thank you,” Lalaas bowed briefly. “So what happens now?
Not only with the treaty but with Theros? Do we allow the Mazag to take him?”

“Theros!” Amne spat. “He can rot for all I care! Father
would absolutely have him executed. I don’t feel like dragging him back through
Bragal to have him killed in Kastan. He can stay here.”

Lalaas looked thoughtful. “Hmmm; he may give Polak
information about Kastania. He does have a lot of knowledge and experience. If
he tells them how weak we really are it may encourage Mazag to be more
aggressive towards us.”

“So what do you suggest? Tying a rope around his neck
like in this place before? He’d look to escape at every opportunity! No,
Lalaas, I’d rather take the risk of leaving him here and telling these
disgusting brutes all about us than taking him all that way back to Kastan.”

Lalaas bowed again. “You could request Theros be
executed here.”

“Lalaas! How could you say such a thing! I will not.”

The hunter shrugged. “Just a suggestion, Amne. An
alternative, if you like. Alright, no execution. Theros stays here. So, to the
treaty. What did they suggest? I speak hardly any Mazag, except for the swear
words.”

Amne put her hand to her mouth, then gave Lalaas a brief
run-down.

Lalaas frowned. “Watch that Polak; he’s seeking out
weaknesses. He’s probing as to how far he can go with violating our borders. He’s
already got an unspoken agreement to send troops over the border to help us;
how generous, may I add.”

“Do I say no to him, then?”

“I think it wise; your father wouldn’t want some
blundering Mazag force getting in the way of a fight between him and the
Bragalese. They may make things worse, and get in the way of a battle and lose
men – or we could lose men. Then what? Accusations, pointing fingers and a
justification for invasion.”

“Oh. It’s a shame you don’t speak Mazag. How do you know
the swear words, then?”

Lalaas chuckled. “When I was their prisoner, the jailer
used a whole load of those words as a matter of course. One of the Bukratese
servants spoke both languages and told me when the jailer was insulting me.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t think you should know such words, Amne.”

“Tell me, Lalaas. I need to know. Just in case Polak
uses them, you see.”

“Ah, of course. Alright. Seechazh.”

“And what is that?”

“Male sexual organ.”

Amne went red and put her hands to her face. “Oh,
really? Goodness! And…and what else?”

So Lalaas educated Amne in the more basic aspects of the
Mazag language. The oil lamps flickered in their room deep into the night as
Amne received the sort of teaching her family would have been horrified at if
they had known.

The next morning a draft of the previous day’s talks
arrived via a messenger, and Amne was instructed to read through it carefully
before presenting it with herself to General Polak’s presence in the main hall.
Amne read it slowly; it was full of unnecessary phraseology and flowery words,
and she had an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach at some of the clauses. She
passed it wordlessly over to Lalaas who had sat quietly and patiently on the
chair. The chair had become almost a second home to him, having slept in it
through the night, and he’d spent a while after breakfast exercising to ease
the creases and aches and pains in his body. He looked at what was being said. Finally
he handed it back and looked her square in the eyes.

“Theros.”

Amne threw the document onto the bed in temper. “Just
what I thought! It’s his words! It’s how he says things. That scheming festik
Polak!”

Lalaas’ lips twitched. “Don’t go calling Polak a bastard
to his face, Amne, or you might start a war.”

“Ugh!” Amne’s cheeks were stained red. She threw herself
back onto the bed. “All that work yesterday and I thought I’d got somewhere,
and Polak uses that creature behind my back to alter our agreement! I could
boil his…….. things……. in hot water!”

“If he has any,” Lalaas said off-handedly. “You merely
reject those clauses that were not agreed to yesterday. It’s you Polak is
negotiating with, not Theros. Clearly Polak has done a deal with him, in return
for freeing him Theros works for Mazag. No Kastanian diplomat would agree to
Mazag troops being stationed on Kastanian soil, for example.”

“Too true!” Amne spat, sitting up. Her eyes flashed with
anger. “I’ll teach those Mazag men to try to cheat me!”

“Careful, Amne, don’t go letting your temper get in the
way of the talks. They’re testing you. They respect strength and roughness. We’re
too refined and educated for their tastes, so they mock us behind their hands.”

Amne took a deep breath and stood up. “I know what I
must do, Lalaas. And you will stand directly behind me.”

“As I always try to,” Lalaas said softly.

Amne smiled, then walked up to him and put her hand on
his shoulder. “I know. I couldn’t do this – any of this – without you.”

Lalaas stood and embraced her, and she held him tight,
her head against his chest. They stood there for a moment, then with a sigh
Amne broke the embrace and turned away. Her heart hurt. She picked up the
document. “I need a writing stick.”

“I’ll go get one.” Lalaas left, leaving Amne to look at
the closed door.

“Oh, Lalaas,” she whispered longingly, and clenched her
fists. It wasn’t fair.

Later, as the day passed the meridian, Amne and Lalaas
arrived in the hall. Polak had just finished his lunch, a haunch of some
unidentifiable herd beast, and waved the two to their places at the table. Animal
fat and grease glistened on Polak’s hands, forearms, beard and face. Amne thought
he was disgusting.

“Well?” Polak boomed, a smile on his face. “Is it
agreed?”

“No it is not,” Amne replied, slapping a very heavily
corrected set of documents onto the cluttered table, narrowly missing a wine
goblet and metallic plate with a half-eaten carcass of a fowl messily left over
it. “I have left my objections and corrections on it.”

Polak frowned and waved to one of his aides. The aide, a
scribe, judging by the dress and appearance of the man, picked the sheaf up and
scanned it. “It’s in Kastanian,” he complained.

“What do you expect?” Amne demanded. “So is that
document!”

Polak’s mouth tightened. “We shall have to get it
translated.”

“Not by that seechazhet festik Theros!”

Polak, caught in the act of quaffing a mouthful of wine,
spluttered and choked, wine flying out over the table and his chest. Nobody had
ever, in his experience, called one of his staff a fucking bastard. Certainly
not a woman. Particularly a beautiful one. Or one educated and refined. Or a
princess. He bent over, coughing loudly, his face turning red. His staff
hovered uncertainly about him, not knowing whether to assist him or stay out of
the way. Polak had once before brained an aide who had made the mistake of
trying to help Polak up after he’d fallen down drunk.