Empire of Avarice (71 page)

The dead on the battlefield were the lucky ones.

Winning a battle is not the end of matters. The imperial
dead were brought back for a decent burial and mourning by their loved ones;
the rebels were piled together, covered in oil and set alight. Nobody cared for
them. Thetos wearily collapsed into his chair back in his office and called for
his body slave to attend his needs. He’d picked up the slave during his time in
Bragal before being wounded. She was Bragalese and had no morals and fewer
cares than that. Thetos didn’t give a damn that slavery was officially banned
in Kastan; he needed care and attention and demanded it. So the slave, a woman
whose original name had been too difficult for him to pronounce had been
re-named as Metila. Metila cared not. She was of use here and lived in luxury
and had food, a roof and safety, none of which had been guaranteed in Bragal. So
what if she had to pleasure this ugly, fat, rude and loud man? He had strength
and power, both of which were respected in Bragal, so she had been drawn to him
anyway.

He had tried to humiliate her at first, using his size
and strength to dominate her, but to his amazement and frustration, she had
enthusiastically gone along with it, and, moreover, demanded more. He had
become more outrageous and imaginative, but she had always taken to each new
humiliation with delight. Finally Thetos had accepted the inevitable and bound
her to him, having her branded with his initials.

Metila always made herself available and Thetos usually
ordered that nobody was permitted into his quarters when she was there. Visitors
would not be amused if they were allowed in to find the short, lithe, dark
haired and dark skinned Bragalese woman performing some extremely kinky act
with the governor. Anything went; ropes, thongs, whips. Pain was a normal part
of their everyday life, as was the letting of blood, and Thetos had grown to
like the way she lapped up his bleeding wounds after a brutal bout of sex. She
was not human. She was animal.

“You want?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the desk,
wearing nothing under her short dress. She had no care in the world in parading
herself to him. She always made sure, however, that the room temperature was
acceptable enough to do that. Winter could be really cold in Makenia and so she
always had the fires stoked up nicely.

Thetos grunted. He had frustration to blow off. “Soon,
you Bragalese whore. First I must write a report to the emperor.”

“Battle good?”

“Battle damned bad! Stupid people wasted my time and
killed good men.”

“Kill them all,” Metila said. “You strong man; you win
battle.”

“Yes, I won the battle,” Thetos said with a smile. “And
then I shall beat you.”

“Yes, you beat me hard. Make me passionate. You know
how. Nobody else know. They stupid.”

“Yes. Remember that, my Bragalese witch. Now get me food
and a drink. I hunger.”

Metila stood up, standing above him showing her lean,
feline-like body to him. “You always hungry. I get. Then we do love. I want.”

“Yes, you witch. I’ll do that, but only after I eat. Now
go!”

Metila snarled at him, running her tongue over her
teeth. She slid off the desk, and vanished out into the passageway. Thetos drew
in a deep breath and looked at the clean sheet on his desk. Astiras always
liked reports neat, concise and without any flowery prose. Just the way he
wrote. At least the danger to Turslenka and Astiras’ army had been removed. He
would send the report off before eating, then he would see to Metila. He
wondered about her sometimes. Witches were something of a legend, a tale to
frighten children. But there had been tales of witches in Bragal for many years
and he had suspicions that she performed ritualistic rites in the secrecy of
her own quarters. They were full of odd symbols and herbs.

She did use some herbs in his food and drink which
aroused him mightily. He had no idea what they were but by the gods it gave him
energy and staying power. Metila sometimes used them herself, and it made her a
woman possessed. He wondered whether she would partake this evening. If so he’d
best have some medicine handy. He often had deep wounds afterwards.

With a deep sigh he got down to writing to Astiras. Before
he got distracted.

Argan heard that Amne had got back to the palace during
his afternoon sword practice with Panat Afos. Vosgaris stuck his head through a
doorway and called out that Amne was back and Argan whooped in delight,
throwing down his sword and running like a demented herd-beast for the open
door, narrowly avoiding trampling Vosgaris in his haste to see her. Panat was
left bemused in mid-strike, hoping to show Argan a classic parry.

“Tactical retreat, shall we say, Panat?” Vosgaris
grinned.

Panat shook his head in exasperation and nodded. The
rest of the day would be a waste of time, so he called to Kerrin who had been
practicing with a swing-weight. “Princess Amne has returned, Kerrin.”

“Princess Amne, father? Argan’s older sister?”

“Yes. She’s been away in Bragal and Valchia these past
couple of years.”

“Oh yes, Argan told me about her a few times; she’s
back? Will we see her?”

“I expect so. There will be a banquet. If you ask Argan
nicely perhaps he could get us places at the table?”

Kerrin clapped his hands in delight. “Oh that would be
great, father!”

Argan barrelled along passageways, shouting out his
sister’s name. Servants scattered like waves before the prow of a ship in full
sail. Argan’s progress was pursued by an increasingly anxious Vosgaris. The
young man was getting faster! Soon he would be hard pressed to keep up with him!
Argan’s headlong dash through the passageways of the palace came to a stop as
he rounded a corner and almost crashed into a knot of people walking towards
him. Amne was in the centre, still wearing her riding outfit, and Isbel was on
one side with a group of other people on the other and behind.

“Amne!” Argan shouted and leapt at the surprised woman. He
threw his arms about her and clamped his legs behind her waist. Vosgaris
rounded the corner, red-faced, and came to a sudden halt, seeing a tangle of
arms in front of him and the empresses’ disapproving look.

Amne held onto Argan, bracing herself against her
younger brother’s weight. She hugged him, then encouraged him to get off her. Isbel
was fussing, tutting mightily at Argan’s over exuberant display of affection. “Well,
Argan, let me look at you,” Amne said, a pleased look on her face.

Argan stepped back obediently and stood, his hands
behind his back, looking up at her. Amne noted he was no longer at waist
height. It wouldn’t be too many years before he was taller. “Your skin is
dirty!” Argan exclaimed.

Amne laughed. Isbel looked outraged. The palace staff
kept up a neutral look. “Argan!” Isbel scolded him, “that’s rude! Apologise to
Amne at once.”

“It’s alright, mother,” Amne dismissed it as of no
consequence, which in fact it was. “Argan, this is not dirt, it’s the sun. My
skin is darker for being outside all this time. You should have seen me in the
summer; it was much darker then!”

Argan looked interested. “What are those spots on your
face?”

Amne stroked her face, puzzled. “Mother?”

Isbel took in a deep breath. “Freckles, Argan. The skin
sometimes does that, especially if the person is like Amne and has pale skin
normally. Don’t worry, this will fade in time now Amne’s back in the palace.”

“Don’t think I’m going to hide away inside all the time,
mother,” Amne said. “I’ve got a taste for the outdoors.”

“We’ll talk about that, Amne,” Isbel said ominously.

Argan grinned widely. “I’m happy you’re back at last! You’re
not going to go away again, are you?”

“Not in a while, Argan. You and I have got a lot to talk
about and catch up with each other. You’ve grown! What about Istan?”

“He’s a greedy porcine,” Argan said.

“Argan!” Isbel snapped.

Argan hung his head, red staining his cheeks. Amne
giggled behind her hand. “Oh, Argan, you’re just the same as I remember. We
must talk about what you’ve been doing.”

“Yes, Amne. Where did you go? You must show me on the
map!”

“The map? You mean in the Council Chamber? You’ve been
in there?”

“He attended a Council session when the Fokis challenged
your father.”

“What? What happened?”

“It was scary,” Argan said before Isbel could open her
mouth. “Lots of shouting!”

“Argan. You must let Amne settle back in. We will have a
big celebration dinner this evening for Amne’s return. You can speak to her after
that. She’s tired and has travelled a long way. I’ve got lots to speak to her
about first, important things, Argan. Now you go back to your lessons. Captain,
make sure he gets there.”

Argan pouted at his mother. “Grown up boring things,” he
mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Yes, mother,” Argan said, swinging about and marching
stiffly past Vosgaris towards the corridor junction. Amne was shaking in mirth,
trying to hold onto her sides. Isbel looked decidedly unamused.

“Ma’am, Princess,” Vosgaris said and withdrew, hot on
the heels of his young charge.

“Don’t encourage him, Amne. He gets too full of himself
at times.”

“Oh, mother, don’t be fussy! He’s a bright lad, and very
amusing. I’d forgotten just how much he makes me smile. We need people like
that in a morgue like this.”

“Morgue?” Isbel was outraged.

“Yes, mother. Morgue. I wouldn’t be surprised if a law
had been passed banning laughter. It can be so dreadfully depressing at times
living here. Everyone’s far too serious!”

Isbel indicated Amne to carry on up the wide staircase
that opened out in front of them. “Seriousness is the order of the day here,
Amne. We face serious times and levity won’t help.”

“I’ve seen seriousness outside in Bragal, mother. I’ve
seen people enslaved and sold at auction. I’ve seen death, starvation, war,
famine. Compared to that you’ve got it easy here. So don’t lecture me about
seriousness.”

“Let’s get to your room before we continue this, Amne.”

Amne nodded and they got to her room on the first floor.
Two young women entered the room with Amne and Isbel while two men, one of whom
was Lalaas, stood outside on guard. The two other palace staff went to their
offices to write the diary and to arrange the banquet for the evening.

“Who are these two, mother?” Amne looked at the two young
women. One was tall, thin and blue eyed while the other shorter, more
voluptuous and dark haired.

“Your handmaidens. This is Selana,” Isbel indicated the
tall one, “and this is Kiri.”

Amne thought for a moment. “Mother, I’ve learned to be
self-sufficient over these past couple of years. You won’t believe what I can
do for myself now.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Isbel replied coolly, “if what your
father tells me is true. It was interesting reading, I can tell you. But you’re
a princess, and have to look your best at all times. Flouncing around in riding
gear isn’t what I call your best.”

“I am going to ride in Kastan, mother, so don’t try to
stop me. Very well, these two can be my handmaidens, but I’m no longer a
pampered doll. I can do quite a lot myself.”

“Nevertheless, Amne, you are to keep up the appearance
of being a member of the imperial House. And I’ve arranged for your future
husband to attend the banquet this evening.”

Amne affected a look of surprise. “Have you now? And who
else have you invited? Priests, governors? Foreign dignitaries?”

“Don’t be flippant, Amne!”

“Mother, if I’m to be an object of curiosity, then
please let me know before you plan anything whom you intend inviting. I have a
say in matters here, too.”

“Your father mentioned this new defiant streak; I care
for it not.”

“Get used to it, mother,” Amne said, peeling off her
riding top and throwing it onto the four-posted bed in the chamber. “Oh,
wonderful!” she said, seeing it properly for the first time. “I’ve almost
forgotten what it’s like to sleep in one of these!”

Isbel waved her hand at Selana. The servant picked up
the jacket. It smelt of equine and sweat. She held it away from her face. Amne
loosened her belt and wriggled out of her trousers, kicking them off. “Amne, I
am talking to you,” Isbel said with great restraint.

“And I’m listening, mother. Living here isn’t doing you
any good; you’ve become awfully stuffy. This place badly needs some cheer and
colour to spice it up.”

“I don’t need your comments, thank you, Amne. You’re to
meet your future husband tonight and I trust you’ll behave in a manner proper
to your social position. We do not want you acting as if you’re out in the
wilds of Bragal or wherever. What would the Pelgion family think, for Kastan’s
sake?”

“If Evas likes me not,” Amne said flinging off her
undergarments and baring herself, much to the surprise of Isbel, “then he can
pick someone else, an empty-headed obedient carpet who’ll let him walk over her
for life. I’m not going to be anyone’s servant, mother. I’m of the imperial
House and not subject to rule by anyone. Now, where’s my bath?”

Kiri exclaimed in dismay and ran off to the en suite
bathroom, through a side door. Amne turned and grinned at Isbel. “You see, I’d
be better off doing it myself.” The sound of water came to them through the
open door. The palace still had running water, heated thanks to the efforts of
the servants on the ground floor who kept fires lit beneath huge tanks of
copper. Cisterns had been built centuries before, when Kastania was young, and
still were in good enough repair to service those buildings that had been
provided with water pipes.

Isbel noted that Amne’s body was the normal colour
beneath the neck and shoulders. That, at least, was good. She had kept her
modesty covered up. “Amne, do you not worry about showing yourself off like
this?”

“What does it matter in here? These are my chambers; my
maidservants will see me like this if they are to dress me, and you have known
me for many years. I wouldn’t do this in front of anyone else.”

“I should think not! I do worry about your new
independent attitude; it’s bad enough telling Argan and Istan to behave. I
don’t want to have to keep an eye on you as well.”

Amne waved her words aside. “You worry far too much and
its killed your humorous side, mother. Trust me, I know how to conduct myself. That
Vosgaris is quite a handsome man, isn’t he? I’d not noticed before.”

“Amne!” Isbel scolded.

“What? I’m making a comment, that’s all. I do not intend
to seduce the man! Can’t I make observations about someone, now? By the gods,
mother, what has being empress done to you?”

Isbel tightened her lips. “Amne, I don’t want to get
into any argument with you. I run this palace my way. You’ll have to abide by
the rules. Keep your attention on Evas Pelgion, not Vosgaris and not that –
Lalaas fellow – outside this room!”

“Lalaas is my bodyguard. Father was insistent I had
one.”

“It could have been anyone, Amne!”

“Lalaas has saved my life. He’s the best swordsman I’ve
seen, and father recommended him to guard me on the mission because he knew he
was good, too. Who better than someone who has proved himself already? Anyway,
father has agreed to him being here.”

“Yes,” Isbel said heavily, “so I saw in his letter to
me. I’m not best pleased with either of your conditions.”

Amne smiled and walked away from Isbel, her female form
swaying. Isbel shook her head. Amne was fully aware of her womanhood. “Those
are the conditions for accepting Evas Pelgion as my husband, mother.” Amne
peered into the bathroom. “Kiri, is it ready yet?”

“In a few moments, ma’am,” Kiri replied.

Amne came back. “Selana – the best dining costume. The
blue one with the low neckline, I think.”

Selana looked uncertainly at Amne. “Ma’am?”

“In the wardrobe there,” Amne pointed. “Go prepare it
and a clean set of undergarments. Thank you.”

Isbel looked slightly disapprovingly at her
step-daughter.

“Low neckline too risqué, mother? Worry not, I’m going
to wear my biggest necklace. It’ll distract eyes from my cleavage.”

“I doubt that, Amne. You’ve grown into a very voluptuous
woman on your journey.”

“I know,” Amne smiled, wriggling her body. “Wonderful
how men cannot resist staring. But you should know; you’re the same. We could
be blood mother and daughter with our build.”

“I don’t go around flaunting it, Amne. Learn to be
dignified – as a princess you must conduct yourself in that way.”

Amne tossed her hair and flicked it away from her ears. “I’ve
seen the way men look at you, mother. Don’t tell me you haven’t used your
womanly advantages at times. What about with father?”

Isbel looked irritated. “I wasn’t a princess then, Amne.
I saw your father as a lonely man with two children. He needed me. Yes, I used
my body to attract him to me, but any woman would do that in my place. I’m
talking about you teasing others. It’s not called for, especially as you’re
about to be betrothed.”

“I said I’ll behave, mother, and I shall. But don’t tell
me you haven’t gained an advantage at times here through your womanly charms? And
that poor Vosgaris Taboz; he’s like an uninitiated adolescent around you.”

“He is most certainly not!”

“Oh yes he is,” Amne chuckled. “He was red in the face
when he bumped into us. He couldn’t stop looking at you.”