Empire of Avarice (68 page)

Jorqel’s arms supported her, and then he was kissing
her. Sannia was in some kind of godly heaven. Her head span, she knew she was
kissing him back but there was no sound, no vision. Everything was spinning
gloriously. All that existed at that moment were his lips and arms. She could
feel nothing else.

When he stopped, she was breathless. Her face was
flushed, and it was as if she’d been sneakily quaffing her father’s wine again.
“Oh, my lord,” she managed.

“Lady Sannia, perhaps you ought to try Jorqel?”

She nodded, smiling. “Jorqel,” she breathed.

“You able to stand, now? I was worried you might fall
there.”

“So did I! My legs wouldn’t obey me!”

Jorqel held on to her, and Sannia didn’t want to break
the embrace, even though her legs were once more part of her will. “I think we
should wait a few moments until you’ve got your breath back before we go tell
your mother and father.”

Sannia nodded. “So, Jorqel,” she smiled mischievously at
uttering his name, “when will our day be? And where?”

“Ah, now that’s a very good question. Slenna is
undergoing a huge rebuilding programme. It won’t be done until the summer, so I
want to formally open the new castle and town expansion with the proper kind of
celebration. A summer wedding at Slenna. How does that feel to you?”

“Not in Kastan City?” Sannia asked, surprised.

“Would you want to go all the way there? Slenna’s your
provincial capital and only half a day’s journey; Kastan would take you ages! Think
of the travel arrangements – it’d have to be by sea. I don’t know Kastan that
well now. Slenna is my town and I run it my way. I tell them to jump and they
ask me; ‘how high, my lord?’”

Sannia laughed, and Jorqel smiled, enjoying the vibrancy
of his betrothed. He’d have one heck of a life with this woman, he could feel
it. Sannia nodded. “Yes, Slenna is the place. Mid-summer’s day?”

“It shall be then, Sannia. So – are you ready to go face
your parents and tell them the good news?”

“Oh yes – they’ll be overjoyed.”

Jorqel allowed Sannia to precede him into the passageway
and the two guards escorted them to the day room. The two entered arm in arm,
and Lady Nicate put her hands to her face and jumped in delight. “Oh! Sannia! Oh
I’m so happy for you!” She embraced her daughter, and there were tears.

Lord Nicate smiled and bowed to Jorqel, and then shook
his hand. “You’ve made my daughter very happy, my lord. Thank you.”

“No, Lord Nicate, thank you, for bringing up such a
beautiful daughter. She will make me a very happy man, I’m absolutely sure of
that.”

Lady Nicate released Sannia so her father could embrace
the still crying woman, and Jorqel kissed Lady Nicate on the hand. “We’ve set
the date for mid-summer’s day next year at Slenna. I’ll announce it as soon as
I get back to the town. Plenty of work to do before then in getting the place
ready.”

“Yes, I’ve been told you’ve ripped the place apart, my
lord,” Lord Nicate said, handing Sannia back to Jorqel.

Jorqel looked at the red-faced woman who wiped her eyes,
laughing and crying alternatively. “The boundary fence is up, and the plans for
the new castle are completed. I’ve marked out the new streets and have sent out
tenders for builders to submit plans for new housing along them, plus an
artisan’s quarter. Slenna won’t be a backwards place if I’ve got anything to do
with it.”

“With you as landlord?”

“Of course. I’m putting down all the effort and hard
work now, so why not have the benefits? I won’t bleed my tenants dry, fear not.
I’ll set a rent that is very affordable to the right sort of people. I don’t
want to set them too cheap however. Don’t want the wrong sort of clientele
there, you understand.”

Lord Nicate nodded. “Indeed lord. What of the poorer
people, though? I understand the Koros champion those kind of people.”

Jorqel chuckled at the expression on the nobleman’s
face. “Oh, do not fear, we’re not that revolutionary. We need the support of
our fellow nobility. No, the poorer people will have the older parts of Slenna.
I think that will form a kind of thieves’ quarter before long, but I care not;
I’m not landlord of that area. There will be employment in Slenna for a long
time. We’re ‘volunteering’ those out of work to help build the town as cheap
labour. They’re getting free food and a daily coin for their trouble. Nobody is
going to miss out.”

“And of those who are fit to work but refuse?”

“Nobody will be allowed to refuse,” Jorqel smiled
grimly. “If they refuse, then it’s the workhouse for them at no pay, making
leather implements for my soldiers. They get housed and fed, but that’s it. Their
choice. I’ll have no unemployed vagrants on my streets.”

“Very laudable, my lord. Too many have been allowed to
sink into hopelessness over the past few years.”

“Indeed.” Jorqel squeezed Sannia’s arm. “Now my darling
betrothed has come out of shock, I think a toast to our future is in order.”

Sannia punched Jorqel lightly on the arm.

That evening Jorqel rode back into Slenna, tired but
pleased. Gavan was there to meet him, a rather large cask of gurgling liquid
within. “Sire, good news I hope?”

“Indeed, Gavan. The wedding to Lady Sannia Nicate is to
be set for mid-summer’s day next year here. Get the rabble working on building
that castle. I want it up and finished by the end of spring.”

Gavan let out a whoop of delight that could be heard all
over Slenna. “Then, sire, before you start cracking the whip with brutal
efficiency, you and I are going to celebrate the one true proper way by getting
drowned in this cask of ale I’ve purchased here.”

Jorqel stood before his bodyguard, arms on his hips. “It
would seem, Gavan, you have tested the quality of the ale fairly well already.”

“Who, me, sire?” Gavan was innocence incarnate, which
didn’t convince Jorqel.

Jorqel pulled a face and grabbed the cask, pulling the
stopper. He weighed the vessel. “Enough to drown a drink hardened priest, I’d
say.” He upended the cask and poured a stream into his mouth. “Mmmm,” he
swallowed. “Not bad. Who did you steal it from?”

“I bought it, sire, remember?”

“Oh yes, I do remember you saying. Now where are my
quarters?” he said, pushing Gavan ahead of him. “I don’t want to be awakened
before mid-day, you hear?” he shouted to his guards. “Shut that damned cockerel
over the road up, too. If it opens its accursed beak and I’ve got a hangover,
I’m going to come over and wring its thrice damned neck!”

The guards roared with laughter.

“Get the pot ready for cockerel stew!” Jorqel boomed and
vanished into his temporary quarters, the town hall, accompanied by more
laughter, and shouts of congratulations. The cheers went on and Jorqel appeared
at his bedroom window, opening it. A gust of frigid air blasted into the room. “I’ll
make this quick before I freeze,” he said. “I’m to marry Lady Sannia Nicate. Spread
the word. Now let a man get drunk in peace!”

He slammed the window shut. “By the gods,” he said to
Gavan, “it could freeze the balls off a mountain herd beast out there. We’re in
for a cold night.”

“All the more reason to protect yourself against it,
sire, with good quality ale.”

“Damn this piddling little room,” Jorqel said, tossing
the cask to Gavan, “invite the off-duty guard in downstairs. Get a fire going
downstairs. We’ll celebrate properly.”

Gavan clapped Jorqel on the shoulder and bounded off downstairs.
Jorqel stretched his arms and eased the aches and pains of the journey. It had
been some time since he’d let his hair down, so to speak. Tonight was a good
time to do that.

____

As night fell over the Nicate estate, Sannia retired to
her room, accompanied by her handmaiden. It had been an emotionally draining
day, but her wishes had come true. Both her parents had been utterly overjoyed
at the news and Sannia wondered if her mother was even more excited than she
was. The planning for the joyous day would take some time and doing, and her
father would take care of much of it, but her mother would go into wedding
frenzy the closer the day came, fussing over Sannia and worrying big time about
every tiny detail; she was like that. In fact, if there was nothing to worry
about, her mother would worry.

Sannia smiled to herself as her handmaiden untied her
hair and allowed it to tumble down her back loosely. Sannia shook her hair and
picked up her brush. As she smoothed her hair she looked at herself critically
in the silvered mirror. Her handmaiden made encouraging noises and voiced her
delight at the news whilst preparing her night dress. Sannia thanked her and
dismissed her for the night, so she sat alone for a while on her bed, then
divested herself of her clothing and stood naked, looking at herself in the
mirror very closely.

Would Jorqel find her attractive? She was heavy-legged
and had big hips. She wished they were narrower and her legs a bit smoother. Her
hands ran over her skin. There were a couple of blemishes and she sighed
regretfully. A silly childhood fall. As a future wife of the future emperor,
she ought to be flawless. Yes, people had told her she was pretty, but they did
that to every woman. Like every woman, Sannia examined herself with a very
exacting eye. Was her nose too straight? Was it slightly off-centre? Were her
eyes too small? She threw her brush down in dismay. She was sure Jorqel would
find her ugly. He was so handsome, surely the most handsome man in the empire. It
was right he was a prince. But her? A bit too plain to be empress. Empress! The
title mocked her in her mind.

Now the euphoria of the announcement had subsided,
doubts began to eat away at her. Was he the sort of man who demanded
perfection? And what was perfection in his mind? Would he be disappointed in
her once he saw her close-up and without her clothes on? Sannia looked down at
herself and could only see ugliness. A wave of despair rose up and overwhelmed
her and she burst into tears. She surely was not worthy of such a beautiful
man.

The scene of devastation surrounding Zofela shocked Amne
and Lalaas as they crested the last rise. Their Mazag escort paused, staring at
the ruined countryside in amazement, then they began jabbering excitedly amongst
themselves. Lalaas eased his buttocks and stared at the vista below. The road
ran downhill until it reached the bottom of the hill, vanishing into the mud. The
road simply did not exist beyond the bottom of the ridge. Zofela stood in the
middle of the valley. Where once what had been a fertile run, nothing grew now.
Everything had been replaced by a formless sea of mud.

Even the river was changed. Once it had snaked lazily
through the valley but was now canalised and behind a bank of earth that had
been thrown up between it and the town. Lalaas could see the old course, now a
dried up gully full of mud and dead fish. Running round the edge of this sea of
mud was a palisade punctuated by wooden guard towers, manned by soldiers
watching Zofela carefully.

Zofela itself was dark. It was black. Black walls and
black buildings, surrounded by black mud, and circling above it black carrion
avians, feeding on the dead within. Even the clouds over the town were black. It
was a shocking sight.

Amne put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, by the gods,” she
breathed in stunned disbelief. “What a terrible sight, Lalaas!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lalaas said slowly. Their journey had been
uneventful, and made in good time. Lalaas and Amne had kept up a very correct
and formal attitude towards each other, and at night had put up their own
tents. Amne had impressed the Mazag by her skills, and the respect they felt
towards her had increased as the journey went on. They were even addressing her
as ‘my lady’, something Mazag soldiers rarely did. They posed in front of her
and performed outrageous acts of skill on equine back, and even Lalaas had to
admit they were good. The Mazag soldiers were very well behaved and showed
deference to Amne. Any woman who could put up her own tent, gut caught game,
use a knife as well as she could, deserved some respect. She dressed in
suitable clothes, rode well, laughed at their jokes, braved the cold outdoors
and didn’t shy away from washing in front of the ogling men.

Lalaas had stood in between them with his arms folded
and a stern expression, and the Mazag had groaned in good nature and gone about
their duties. They were convinced Amne was a product of a Mazag bloodline. Lalaas
knew better, of course, but kept up a feigned ignorance. They were, after all,
people with simple beliefs and hopes. They were soldiers who followed orders,
and were easily impressed. So Lalaas had challenged them to an archery
competition. They had first done so on equine back, which the Mazag were expert
at, and Lalaas had easily been defeated, but he had then challenged them to a
competition on the ground, and had outshot them all with his Taboz bow. The
Mazag had all crowded round wanting to loose an arrow with it, and Lalaas had
consented. Such a gesture was regarded as an honourable thing and displayed
trust, and the Mazag troops had returned the gesture with a gift of a Mazag
bow, a smaller version of the Taboz bow and one to be used on equine back.

Lalaas had been suitably thankful and, thanks to Amne’s
translation skills, managed to convey his gratitude to a pleased group of
soldiers.

But Lalaas now looked down on the scene of destruction
and his heart sank. It sank not only for the wrecked countryside, but in the
knowledge that the small cluster of buildings off to the left – the north –
contained the people who would determine his future, and maybe even his life. He
didn’t really want to continue down to the Kastanian army headquarters, but he
knew he must. Amne tore her eyes away from the blackness of Zofela and stared at
the imperial flag fluttering in the icy breeze. A shout had gone up and now
figures could be seen moving about. There was a dusting of snow but not much
had fallen as yet. Now riders could be seen mounting up and preparing to come
to them.

“Let us go,” Amne said heavily. She was in a way
impatient to see her father and reach friendly lands, but reluctant in another
because it would formally end her time with Lalaas. Even though they had
maintained a formal attitude between themselves on the ride, they had exchanged
secret looks that said a lot. Now even that would have to stop.

The Mazag let out a whoop and galloped down, breaking
out into a wide circle, riding fast yet managing to maintain themselves in the
saddle. Amne and Lalaas rode sedately together downhill and exchanged a last
few words. “Show-offs,” Lalaas grinned.

“They’re excited,” Amne said, a smile playing across her
lips. “Ah, Lalaas, this is where we have to finish our journey together. I’ll
miss you.”

“And I you, Amne. But I won’t forget it.”

Amne nodded. “Remember, I shall find a way of keeping in
contact with you.”

“Be careful. Smiles conceal daggers at Court,” Lalaas
warned her.

Amne nodded, then drew in a deep breath and pulled
herself upright, changing from her more familiar relaxed casual position she’s
learned during her long journey. The riders from the camp were coming close and
Amne recognised Teduskis leading a group of ten Kastanian riders. They stopped
as the Mazag broke the circle and came to a halt, twenty-five on either side. They
had hardly broken their stride before halting.

Teduskis came alongside, glancing at the Mazag warily. He
bowed low in the saddle. “Lady Amne, such a pleasure to see you again after
such a long time. I trust you are well?”

“Hello, Teduskis, it’s lovely to see you. Yes, I’m well
thank you. Is my father here?”

“He is indeed. He arrived yesterday hotfoot from Kastan
City. He can’t wait to see you.” He turned his attention to Lalaas. “And,
Lalaas, he would also like to see you, too. But for different reasons.”

“I understand,” Lalaas said, saluting his superior
officer. “Am I under arrest?”

“I’m afraid so,” Teduskis said, motioning to his men. Four
rode up alongside, two on each side, and one took Lalaas’ reins. Another fished
out a rope to tie Lalaas’ hands.

Amne went to protest, but Lalaas shook his head. The
Mazag edged in closer, concern on their faces. Teduskis gripped his sword hilt.
“Call them off, my lady.”

Amne shouted to the Mazag that all was well, and it was
only a small problem. They would be fed and housed when they got to the camp. The
Mazag muttered but backed off. Teduskis relaxed. “You speak Mazag well, my
lady. You’ve changed.”

“For the better, Teduskis?”

“I can’t comment; your father no doubt will. What do we
do with these Mazag?”

“House them, feed them, give them gifts. Then they can
return home.”

Teduskis waved and the group made their way down to the
army camp, a stark, functional and completely unattractive place. Teduskis
barked orders and the Mazag were shown a stables to tend their equines. Lalaas
was led away to a large building while Amne was escorted formally by Teduskis
to the biggest building, a long wooden hall. It was divided into a myriad of
rooms and insulated by straw packed in between two wooden walls and a double
roof.

She was shown to a room she was to have to herself and
two guards put on duty outside. Her belongings were brought in and Amne could
finally relax, lying down on her straw bed. There was even a rug on the floor,
and a wash basin and jug on a table.

The door burst open and her father was framed there. “Amne!”
he yelled and swept her up into his arms, hugging her close.

Amne laughed and held her father tightly.

Astiras slowly let her down and looked at her. “Amne,
Amne, Amne,” he shook his head slowly and kissed her on her forehead. “I’ve
worried and worried about you endlessly. Let me have a look at you.”

He held her at arms’ length and studied the girl. Suntanned,
a fuller figure than he recalled, wilder, more confident. She had changed
indeed.

“Well, father?”

“You look stunning, my girl. Now, tell me, what’s all
this nonsense about Lalaas and Theros?”

“As you say, father, nonsense. Theros is a traitor and
abandoned me when I nearly died.”

“You what?” Astiras narrowed his eyes. “When?”

So Amne told him all about the journey, of the spy sent
to kill her, of Lalaas’ part in guiding her to Bragal, of her illness, of
Theros’ flight, of the Bukrat diversion, and finally, Theros’ rescue and their
meeting with General Polak. Amne fumbled in her belongings and thrust a sealed
letter at her father. “General Polak wrote this for you, father.”

Astiras broke the seal and read it slowly. “Appalling
Kastanian, but I get the gist of it. It seems you and I owe Lalaas a great
deal.”

Amne nodded. “And I give you this.” She bowed and pushed
another sealed document at Astiras. It was clearly written in a flowing script
‘Treaty of Alliance Between Kastania and Mazag’. Astiras’ face broke into a
wide smile. He laughed and swept the giggling girl up into his arms. “Amne! You
are fantastic! I love you!”

“And I love you, too, father!”

“I’m holding a meal to celebrate your return. You have a
more – suitable – dress to wear?”

“Why not this, father? I’m not in court; this is an army
camp. What other women do you have here? Washer women, prostitutes?”

“Amne!” Astiras looked surprised. “What do you know of
army life?”

“A lot, father. I’m not the silly empty-headed naïve
girl that you waved off two and a half years ago, or however long ago it was! I’ve
learned so much in that time. I know far more about the world outside Court
now.”

Astiras pulled a face. “Hmm. Well, dressed like you’re
off to a hunt isn’t dinner wear. Surely you have an alternative?”

“Of course, father! I was teasing. I’ll be there. When?”

“In one watch’s time. I’ll send Teduskis when its time. Now
you rest and freshen up.”

Astiras closed the door behind him. Amne remained
staring at the door for a moment, then threw herself back onto the bed and
remained staring up at the ceiling. It didn’t seem real, now she was back in
Kastanian-held territory. Already she longed to be back out on an equine, the
wind in her hair, the open plain or the forest all around her. And Lalaas
alongside her.

Lalaas.

She hoped sense had prevailed and her companion for the
past two years and more had been freed. If not, there would be the demons of
the dark worlds to pay. She would not let these men push her around or silence
her. No more. She had learned that men respected a woman of strength, yet at
the same time wished to push them into a submissive position so they could be
dominated. Not Amne, not any more. She would show them she was a princess of
Kastania, and also a daughter of Astiras Koros.

She changed, washed and prepared herself. No handmaiden
to dress or prepare her. Well, that was not a problem; she’d done that herself
plenty of times enough to do it with her eyes shut. There was a small reflector
on the table and it gave her enough to see to make her hair neat. She had a
headband and tied her hair perfunctorily and decided she would do. No colour
added to her face or lips. She was unadorned, but amongst the grizzled veterans
of a Bragalese war, she would have no equal.

Teduskis knocked and Amne opened the door. The ageing
general looked at her in admiration. The dress she was wearing was long,
covering down to her ankles, and went to her neck, showing little flesh. It was
winter, after all, and the sleeves went down to her wrists. She had no
necklace, hence the high neckline. She was wearing no jewellery, not having
brought any on her mission, but she reasoned she wouldn’t require any until she
got to Kastan City.

The dining hall was one third of the building at the
end, and as they reached it Amne could smell the food being cooked in the
adjacent kitchen. At least it took away the underlying odour of equine dung,
sweat and rot she had detected in the short time she’d been there. Men.

The men all stood as she entered, and she was aware of
twenty or more pairs of eyes on her. She smiled and pushed confidently past the
row of men towards the chair her father was holding for her, next to his seat
at the head of the table. She noted with pleasure and relief Lalaas standing on
the other side of the table, one seat down. Opposite Amne was Teduskis’ place.

As she reached her place, everyone made to seat
themselves. Amne sat and the rest followed suit. It was a change being shown
such courtesy. Mazag would not do that. She noted there were none of the escort
there, and she turned to her father and asked why.

“Mazag at a meal? Have you seen the way they conduct
themselves?”

“As a matter of fact, father, yes. Boorish and uncouth.”

“So no Mazag here. I understand from Teduskis they’re
enjoying some wine and roast porcine in the stables. I’ve put a heavy guard
around them in case they get too carried away.”

Amne looked thoughtful. “They’re our allies, father.”

“Allies do not have to be friends,” Astiras replied,
then tapped a spoon against his crystal goblet. The rest, a collection of the
unit commanders and captains, all sat still and waited for their emperor to
speak. “Gentlemen, we are here to celebrate the return of my daughter Amne from
a long mission to secure an alliance with Mazag. I am pleased to announce she
was successful and as a result the empire has an alliance with our southern
neighbour. I wish to propose a toast to Princess Amne.”