Empire of Avarice (67 page)

“Hey, Velka,” he said suddenly, “look!”

Velka followed his pointing finger. A small wriggy
dirt-burrower was moving across the path. Velka looked in surprise, then
giggled. “Wriggly burrower,” she said and the two squatted down to look at the
creature as it blindly made its way towards the dirt. Argan found a small piece
of twig and placed in in front of the creature which poked at it with its nose
– or whatever it was – and recoiled. The two laughed and Velka placed another
behind it. The burrower coiled up and then slid over Argan’s twig. It wriggled
into the dirt and vanished under a small plant. “It’s gone home!” Velka
announced.

“Yes,” Argan agreed, not knowing where it lived, but
since it had wriggled under the plant quite quickly, he guessed that was where
its home was. He looked up at the fountain. Water! Water was fun. “Let’s see if
twigs float in the water there.”

The two picked up as many twigs as they could find and
then began dropping them into the basin, watching as they span about, knocked
this way and that by the falling water, not noticing the spreading dampness on
their clothing or the streaks of mud that came from dirty hands. It was only
after Velka sat down on the basin edge, tired, that Argan noticed how dirty she
was. “Oh, you’re covered in dirt!” he said.

“And so are you!” Velka countered, pointing at a particularly
huge muddy stain on his jacket.

“Oh, no! Mother will be cross,” Argan said, dismayed.

Velka looked at her once white dress. “Mummy will be mad
at me, too. We’re both dirty.”

Argan sniggered. “But it’s fun, isn’t it, Velka?”

The girl nodded, giggling. She stopped and looked at the
distant window of the costume hall. “Will we get to eat soon? I’m hungry!”

“Oh yes; the cooks will make a really great lunch. C’mon,
let’s see if its lunchtime!” Argan took Velka by the hand and stopped, looking
at it. It was encrusted with dirt, which was what he’d felt. “Oh, you’d best
wipe that off – you can’t eat with dirty hands!”

He led her to the fountain basin and helped Velka clean
her hands as best she could. Both of them had wet hands and so they wiped them
in the grass which only served to get their hands dirty again. “I’m cold,”
Velka said, her cheeks and nose red.

The two children held hands again and walked back to the
costume hall. Vosgaris saw them coming and opened the door-window, and rolled
his eyes at the state of the two. “Oh, by the gods,” he muttered. “Trouble
coming.”

He stood back and let the two in, then closed the door
and stood looking up at the ceiling, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

It wasn’t long in coming. “Oh, Argan!” Isbel cried. “Look
at the state of you! And Velka...oh goodness!”

The Varaz couple sat still, dismayed at the filthy state
of their daughter, streaked with dirt all over her dress and face.

Isbel compressed her lips and stood before Argan,
looking down at him. “Argan! You should apologise to Lord and Lady Varaz right
now! Poor Velka.”

Argan hung his head. He was always getting blamed for
things that went wrong. Why was that? It wasn’t fair. He stepped up to Velka’s
parents and clasped his hands together in distress. “I’m sorry, Lord and Lady
Varaz. I didn’t know we’d get so dirty out there.”

Lord Varaz looked at his wife who was holding out her
hands to Velka, an appalled look on her face. He bowed to Argan. “Apology
accepted, young Prince. No harm done. I see you both enjoyed yourselves in the
garden.”

“Oh yes, Lord Varaz, there were wriggly burrowers
there.”

“I’m sure there were. And plenty of dirt.”

Argan smiled, then was told to go sit on his chair by
Isbel. He sat down eyeing his mother. She was not best pleased, he could see. She
was busy apologising to the couple again. Lord Varaz didn’t seem too bothered,
but Lady Varaz was clearly unimpressed. It was Velka’s best dress. Isbel
ordered Vosgaris to go fetch the laundry mistress. She held out her hand to
Lady Varaz. “We can get it cleaned here before you go, and find some clothes
for Velka here to wear before lunch. We have a pretty good laundry at the
palace.”

Lady Varaz nodded curtly. “Ma’am is very kind. Velka! You
should know better, especially here of all places!”

Velka looked as though she were about to cry. Argan
thought it very unjust. He looked at his mother but she didn’t look as though
she were going to say anything, so he stood up and bowed formally to Lady
Varaz.

“Lady Varaz, please don’t blame Velka. It was my fault. I
am very sorry; it will not happen again.”

Isbel opened her mouth, then shut it. She had to compose
herself. How sweet of her son. She was so proud of him! Lady Varaz looked at
the seven year old in front of her, then bowed back to him. “Thank you, Prince
Argan. You’re very gallant. I won’t blame anyone. Children will be children.”

Argan nodded and backed away, seating himself again. At
least he’d stopped Velka being told off. He didn’t want that to happen. They
had only been having fun.

Vosgaris was smiling and Isbel caught his look. She
glared at him and the palace guard captain switched to a neutral look quickly,
staring over her head. The empress cleared her throat. “Once their clothing has
been changed we shall have lunch. Will you please follow us?”

Vosgaris led the way to the door and opened it for
Isbel. The empress leaned forward slightly. “See me in my day quarters after
lunch, Captain.”

“Ma’am,” Vosgaris said. In the dung again, he thought
with a long suffering sigh.

Argan was sent to his room to change, and the
dress-master selected a new set of clothes for him, tutting over the state of
the soiled clothing. Argan had to wash before he was declared acceptable, and
walked down the staircase to the dining room where the rest were already seated,
including Velka who was now wearing a small ruddy-brown dress that had come
from the palace wardrobe. Argan seated himself in his usual place and made sure
Velka was alright, seated opposite him. She didn’t seem worse for wear, so he
felt better about that.

The meal did seem a little strained and formal, and
Argan said nothing. He didn’t know if he were supposed to say anything or not,
so he contented himself with stuffing himself with the nice pastries and meats.
He watched what Velka ate but she didn’t seem to eat that much. Maybe because
she was small and a girl. Not like Istan who ate like a porcine and then tried
to take everyone else’s. Istan would probably grow up to be the size of a
fantor.

Argan smiled to himself at the thought. Istan would have
to give children rides around Kastan if he did end up a fantor.

When the meal ended, the Varaz thanked Isbel for her
hospitality and bowed to Argan. Velka shyly smiled at him and Argan smiled
back, waving his fingers at her. She did likewise. When the three had gone
Isbel called both Argan and Vosgaris to her day quarters. First she dressed
Argan down about the garden incident. Argan took it stoically. As far as he was
concerned he’d done nothing wrong. “Mother, will we see them again?”

“I’m not sure; they were very cross about you getting
Velka dirty.”

“But we did nothing wrong, mother. We were having fun!”

“Having fun and behaving properly are sometimes two
different things, Argan, remember that. But I was proud of you standing up for
Velka.”

“Thank you, mother. I didn’t think it was right and I
thought she was going to cry.”

“Yes, she did look as though she were. Would you like to
see Velka again?”

“Yes, mother. She’s very nice.”

Isbel digested that. “Very well, I’ll see what I can do.
Now you may go to your lessons with Mr. Sen.”

Argan bounded off, leaving Vosgaris to face the empress.

“Captain. I don’t approve of you enjoying my son’s bad
behaviour. I think sometimes you’re a bad influence on him.”

“Ma’am.”

“Don’t ‘ma’am me, Captain. I would appreciate a bit more
support from you in stopping him embarrassing me like that!”

“Kids will be kids, ma’am. I remember getting into
scrapes like that when I was young.”

“Well I say it isn’t to be tolerated here, do you
understand?”

“Perfectly, ma’am.” Vosgaris stared over Isbel’s
shoulder.

Isbel sighed. “Captain,” she said, in a less severe
manner. “I don’t want us to have any bad feeling between us, but we do seem to
have constant issues over Argan. Can you please exercise a little more control
over my son when he’s under your care?”

“I shall endeavour to give it my fullest attention,
ma’am.”

Isbel flared her nostrils. “Captain Vosgaris, stop
giving me that bland kind of response! I would like to see you actually meaning
what you say!”

Vosgaris looked her in the eye. “Ma’am, I believe Argan
is a healthy, polite, courteous and wonderful young boy who will be the envy of
the empire one day. He’s the sort of boy I’d be proud of if he were mine, and I
know from what other people have said, they feel the same. You should be proud
of what you have done in bringing that boy up the way you have. He’s a
sensitive lad, and curious. He needs stimulation and love. But I really feel to
keep on criticising him for little things hurts him deeply. He doesn’t show it
that often, but I know he hurts inside when he feels an injustice has been
done. You saw how he stood up for Velka, ma’am. He’s an honourable boy, and
that’s something any mother should be proud of.”

Isbel regarded the sweating captain for a moment. “Captain
Vosgaris, sometimes you speak too candidly for someone in your station, but in
this instance I’ll let that go. I thank you for your words, and believe me, I
am proud of him. But he’s a prince of the empire and he must understand what is
acceptable and what is not. I don’t want to catch you – smirking – at his
misdemeanours again, do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” Vosgaris said with more feeling. “Don’t
worry, I shall not do so again.”

“Good.” Isbel looked at the young captain closely. “Vosgaris,”
she said in a softer tone, “please understand I’m very grateful for your hard
work here in the palace, and I sometimes think we couldn’t function properly
without you. I don’t want a rift to come between us.”

Vosgaris bowed slightly. “I’m hopeful that doesn’t
happen, either, ma’am.”

“Good. Hopefully it won’t,” she smiled.

Vosgaris snapped smartly to attention. “Thank you ma’am.
I’d best be about my duties.”

“Very well, Captain. Thank you.”

Vosgaris smartly marched out of the room and stood
outside for a moment. He puffed out both cheeks and straightened his hair, then
marched off, thinking of things that weren’t proper to his station.

It was a frosty morning when ten riders arrived at the
gates of the Nicate estate in northern Lodria. The equine’s breath clouded the
air and their riders, muffled against the cold, trotted along the gravel path
towards the front of the main house. Two men led the column followed by one
holding a banner with the crest of the Koros emblazoned across it. Prince Jorqel
came next, followed by the rest of his escort.

Jorqel had left his visit to the Nicate estate until
last. He’d attended all the other noble Houses over the recent past and made
his excuses about why their daughters were not to be his bride. Many had
accepted with good grace, but a couple had been quite angry, particularly the
Duras family. Jorqel had pointedly reminded Lord Duras that his family had lost
their estates in Frasia and their other land was under review. Further
remonstration could result in the loss of what estates they had in Lodria.

So now all that remained was to go to the Nicate estate.
He’d sent ahead a messenger a few days back to warn them, something he’d not
done for the rest. He wanted them to look their best, which is what he intended
to do himself. Important life decisions needed suitable attire.

Gavan was not with him. Gavan was more of a man of
action, a man who pursued the more exciting diversions of life. Gavan left the
‘bottom droppingly boring’ aspects of administration to Jorqel while he carried
out his master’s wishes in stealing equines from Tybar lands in between
spreading his seed amongst the maidens of Slenna. Jorqel considered that there
may well now be no more maidens left in Slenna. Gavan had complained on more
than one occasion that his childhood friend was becoming boring and bland and
was neglecting the more exciting things, but Jorqel was now mindful that as
heir to the throne, those days of lusting, wenching, drinking and fighting were
mostly gone.

Mostly.

He did miss them but the Koros had made it plain they
were not like those other Houses who had blighted the throne of Kastan in
recent years, and deflowering the daughters of Kastanian families was not to
be. However recently Jorqel’s mind had been turning more and more to Sannia
Nicate and her physical charms. Time to take a wife before the lure of wenching
became too much.

The last few sevendays had been very busy for Jorqel,
and he’d not found the time to spare to come, but finally the new boundary of
Slenna had been completed and he’d managed to get the final plans for the new
castle sorted out with the architects and builders, as well as the financial
advisor he’d brought in. Costs as against plans. It was all too complicated and
he’d spent far too many watches at night sitting with his head in his hands
thinking over what to do. On top of that he’d received two messages. One from
Niake from Evas Extonos about this rebel Lombert Soul, the other an unpleasant
sack of heads from the Governor of Imakum. The heads of the slaves from the
place they’d stolen the equines from. There had been no written message with
them but the underlying one was very clear. Jorqel had told Gavan to lay off
violating the border for the time being.

The one from Niake was one he equally couldn’t ignore. To
that end he’d send a message of his own south, spreading it out to the
settlements, farms and message posts around Lodria. It was a warning to Lombert
Soul to disband his army or else face his army in battle and a hanging from the
roadside. He’d given Lombert Soul until the end of the year to surrender or be
declared an official traitor to be hunted to death.

One final job he’d done. The spy Kiros Louk had returned
with details of Lombert Soul’s bandit force. It was made up, as expected, of
disaffected former soldiers who’d lost their jobs under the previous
administration. So this wasn’t a rabble Soul was collecting; it was something
to be taken seriously. In the spring he’d have to march down to Bathenia and
take him out. Kiros Louk had then collected the balance of his fee, and Jorqel
had immediately contracted him to go to Romos and spy out the island there for
him. Pirates ran the former imperial province and Jorqel wished to know how
many there were, how strong they were and what their plans were for the future.

Running a province was a royal pain in the sitting
region. But Jorqel was conscientious and knew he must learn the hard way. One
day he would become emperor and then he’d have all of Kastania to run, and if
he knew what it took to run a province, he’d have a better idea of what sort of
person he would appoint to run them.

However, no provincial matters were to be dealt with
today. No. Today was for him and his future and the woman he would marry and
spend the rest of his life with. Sannia Nicate had been such an obvious choice
from the moment he’d clapped eyes on her. He was just amazed nobody had made a
move on her before.

He saw the waiting committee at the steps of the house
and dismounted as he came alongside, passing his reins to his designated
handler for the day, one of his bodyguard. They took turns. The equines were
led off to the stables and Jorqel walked to the foot of the sanded steps. The
frost had been severe and nobody wanted the prince to fall on any ice. Lord
Nicate stood at the top, then came down to meet Jorqel. He knelt and bowed at
Jorqel’s feet, and was allowed to rise.

“An honour, my lord,” Lord Nicate said.

“Thank you, Lord Nicate. A pleasant place to live,” he
commented, looking round at the scenery. In the distance the sea lay, a flat
iron grey colour, punctuated with the white of spume-topped waves. In between
the house and sea a row of tall trees stood, waving in the breeze, acting as a
windbreak.

“Thank you, my lord. We do like living here. Please,
come inside out of the cold. We have prepared a banquet for you.”

“Thank you, Lord Nicate. Do you have a place I can
freshen up first? It has been a cold ride from Slenna and I need to warm up,
get the aches from riding out of my joints and change into non-riding clothes. I
would not like to be eating dinner smelling of equine!”

Lord Nicate chuckled. “Of course, sire. Follow my
servant here who will show you to your quarters. Your men?”

“Can be quartered where available. Two will be with me
for the meal. May I ask how is your daughter, Lady Sannia?”

“She will be with us presently. She is wishing to look
her best, I am sure you will understand.”

“Of course. I shall be along shortly. Give my
compliments to your good lady wife. I take it she will be with us today?”

“Indeed, lord. She is helping prepare my daughter. I
leave that sort of thing to the women!”

The two men chuckled and Jorqel then followed the
servant to a room along the corridor. Two of his bodyguard followed while the
rest were shown quarters around the estate. The two bodyguards checked the room
first, then Jorqel followed. The bodyguards placed Jorqel’s smartest uniform on
the bed that stood in the room while they swiftly changed out of their armour
and riding gear by the door.

Jorqel threw his armour onto the bed and slipped into
his wormspun attire – a green coloured tunic and light brown hose with a newly
made wide brown leather belt. He flexed his arms and checked the small mirror
that had been thoughtfully left on the top of the dressing table. He’d never
found attracting women any trouble, being the well-built and handsome man he
was, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. His neatly clipped beard was always
kept short. Straggling beards always looked untidy. He took great care over his
appearance. Although tall, he didn’t look thin. That was due to his muscular
build. Carrying round heavy armour, a shield, a long hunk of steel, whether it
be a sword or mace or whatever, and hauling a great stallion about at the same
time required strength, and he had built up his physique ever since his first
battle in Bragal where he’d almost dropped his shield.

Since then he’d made sure he’d been tough enough to do
the job. He also knew fighting men. Nothing impressed the men more than a tall,
big, muscular leader. He now flexed his body again, seeing how the muscles
rippled underneath his thin wormspun tunic, and he smiled to himself. One
advantage in wearing wormspun material. If you had a body like his, it showed
it off wonderfully.

“All in order?” he asked the two men. They had changed
into long red and white livery, smooth tightly woven woollen jackets and
lightly brushed leather hose. They weren’t the biggest men, but they made up
for a lack of build by being incredibly tough and vicious in battle. Jorqel had
selected these two as it made him look even bigger with them on either side of
him.

“Sire,” one of the two acknowledged.

“Then let’s go.”

They were led by the same servant to the dining hall, a
modest open-beamed chamber with wide windows that looked out onto the rear of
the house, and a neatly manicured open-planned garden. It was white with frost
now and the trees were stark and leafless, but Jorqel had the impression it
would be stunning in summer.

The table was set for six. Lord Nicate showed Jorqel to
the top end, and his two bodyguards were seated opposite one another just down
from him. Lord and Lady Nicate would sit next, then at the bottom, facing
Jorqel, would be Sannia.

A few moments later the door opened and in came Sannia. Jorqel
sucked in his breath. By the gods! She wore a pale yellow long dress. Her hair,
tied with a band of gold, cascaded down her back. The dress was more
conservative than at the ball, but as it was winter he didn’t expect her to
show off half her body. He knew what it looked like. His memory had been
indelibly burned with it. But it was her face; shining, smiling, fresh. She
curtseyed before him, and he bowed low. “Lady Sannia, a delight to renew our
acquaintance.”

“My lord,” Sannia smiled and glided, there was no other
word to describe it, to her chair.

Jorqel engaged in small talk for the main part of the
meal, keeping strictly to the subjects of trade, the state of the economy, the
Tybar and responding to the general view of the populace of being a chivalric man
for not sacking Slenna after its fall. Cities and towns had all too often, in
the recent past, been sacked and plundered by the warring factions, and to find
someone who did not do this was refreshing. Jorqel had deliberately restrained
his army, as it was going to be his headquarters, and he didn’t want a
shattered shell. He was also astute enough to know he’d end up being favourably
regarded for sparing the town.

He did frequently steal looks at Sannia who looked
stunning. He couldn’t help looking at her. The dress was wonderfully shaped. He
wondered at the construction. It curved inwards under her arms, shaping her
body. It also helped to push up her breasts which, as he recalled, were not
insubstantial. It continued down, flaring out at her hips, accentuating them,
and then flowed in folds to the floor.

After the meal had finished, Jorqel asked if he could
take Sannia somewhere private, and was surprised to hear that Lord and Lady
Nicate would retreat to their day room, and leave the two together. Both looked
excited and left with alacrity. They would have to be dense not to know what
this was about, Jorqel mused. He flicked his fingers at the two guards to get
out and they did so, grinning.

Sannia stood as Jorqel neared, and took his hand. Her
heart was beating wildly. He hoped that what he was about to say was what she
had prayed for ever since she’d got back from the ball. When Jorqel hadn’t come
she’d begun to worry that he wasn’t interested, but when his letter had arrived
she’s felt all weak and nervous again. Just like now. Her legs threatened to
rebel, to dump her on the floor, but she steeled herself and forced her legs to
obey. They were trembling, and she hoped this gorgeously muscled man didn’t
notice. His presence, a manly, powerful one, almost overwhelmed her. Swooning
into the arms of the heir to the imperial throne might not be what was
expected, but she wouldn’t wish to swoon into anyone else’s. By the gods, he
was just as attractive as she’d remembered, and in daylight even more so. Beautifully
proportioned, with that triangular shape to his upper body she just loved,
those eyes! Oh, those eyes… eyes that drew her in. He had to be snapped up by
her double quick or someone else would get there first. She didn’t care that he
was the prince of Kastan – if he’d been a minor noble she’d’ve gone for him. She
tingled as he took her by the hand.

“Lady Sannia,” he said, smiling. “I’ve kept the vision
of you standing by the balcony at the castle in Slenna with me all this time. You’re
as beautiful as I remember.”

“M-my lord.” She cursed under her breath. Get a grip on
yourself, Sannia! She took a deep breath, convinced her trembling could be
heard shaking the crockery in the kitchen down the corridor. “I, too, remember
our time there together well. I hoped you would pay us a visit. I so looked
forward to being in your presence again.”

“And I think you know why, Sannia.” He knelt at her
feet. “I would be honoured if you would accept my offer of marriage.”

Sannia closed her eyes, her face flushing red. Oh, sweet
Kastania! She could hardly restrain a shriek of joy. “Yes, yes, my lord, yes!”

Jorqel smiled, got to his feet, put his arms round her. Sannia
pressed against him, looking up into his eyes. Now she could relax, and her
body, still shaking, finally rebelled. Her legs went. But Jorqel had been
expecting it. The shaking had warned him. “Oh!” Sannia exclaimed.