Empire of Avarice (74 page)

When they finally rose from the table, much to
Frendicus’ relief, they were given drinks and broke into small groups. Most of
the minor diners kept to themselves, knowing this was an occasion that Amne and
Elas were supposed to get to know one another. The windows were shut, it being
too cold outside to allow egress to the balconies beyond, but Amne wandered
over to a corner, Vosgaris and Lalaas standing a little distance away and
gently encouraging anyone other than Elas to find another place in the chamber
to stand and talk.

Argan was tired and noticed Istan had already gone. It
was past his bed time and the sulking child had been quietly guided by Isbel
out of the room and into the arms of his mentor and servants and taken to his
room. Argan rubbed his eyes. He was full to bursting. He’d eaten loads. The
meat course had been great and he’d left his vegetables. He’d been delighted to
see his mother hadn’t for once insisted he ate them before the dessert dish. Maybe
because so many had been there. So he’d left his brassicas and tubers and
eagerly plunged into an enormous dish of a milk-based dessert with sweetened
fruits. He’d eaten the lot even though he was nearly full before he’d attacked
it.

“Argan, bed time,” Isbel said at his side. Argan looked
up. He nodded, almost too tired to speak.

Vosgaris came up and took Argan by the hand and the boy
meekly held onto it and trudged out of the warm and noisy room. He was sure
Amne wouldn’t mind him going without saying goodnight. She was talking to the
serious man anyway.

Amne was, indeed, speaking to Elas. The young nobleman
had slowly made his way over to her and waited to say something. Amne guessed
he was feeling awkward, so had spoken first. “What do you think of the room?”

Elas looked up at the ceiling. There were old paintings
up there, some faded almost to obscurity, but they had been magnificent in
their day. “Needs repair,” he said shortly. “A lot of the décor does. Does not
reflect on the Koros well, this shabbiness.”

Amne felt piqued. “Funds are tight, Elas. Father has
other concerns than spending it on ourselves.”

“Perhaps so, but you are judged on your appearances,”
Elas countered. “When I marry you I shall commence a course of redecoration of
the palace.”

“If you marry me, Elas,” Amne corrected him.

Elas cocked his head slightly. “If? I am led to believe
it is a done deal. We are to be wed this coming summer here in Kastan.”

“What if I don’t appeal to you?”

“That is not important,” Elas said stiffly. “It has been
arranged. We are to be man and wife. The gods have given their blessing. Your
mother and father and my parents have agreed it. Whether we wish it so or not is
unimportant. For the good of Kastan we must join in marriage.”

Amne’s face stained red. “You would accept anything
without question, Elas?”

“If the gods ordain it, yes. Who are we to argue with
the gods? Their wrath would be terrible! Kastania has clearly aroused their
anger in the recent past and we are suffering as a result. As the leading House
of the empire, the Koros would be wise to follow the wishes of the gods. Else
what incentive is there for the rest of us to adhere to the teachings of the
temples?”

“I wasn’t aware the gods had decided we marry; I thought
it was the idea of our parents!”

“The gods spoke through them, Princess. We cannot ignore
that.”

Amne set her lips in a tight line. What could she do to
argue against someone who thought everything came through divine intervention?

Elas briefly indicated Amne’s dress. “But if I may make
an observation. Your attire is not what I would see as appropriate to a leading
member of our society. A little more sober dressing should be chosen.”

“You may make an observation, Elas, but I decide what I
wear, not you or the gods.”

Elas’ face darkened. “Do not mock the gods or you shall
incur their displeasure. And once you are my wife you shall obey my wishes.”

Amne’s eyes widened. “I am a princess! You dare to speak
to me like that?”

“When I marry you I shall be a prince; my word will be
obeyed. I shall not tolerate you dressing like a courtesan. Your flesh should
be hidden from the rank and file. As your husband I will insist.”

“We shall see about that, Elas Pelgion!” Amne snapped. She
held his gaze, daring him to violate social protocol for staring her down.

Reluctantly, almost, as if to make a point, he looked
away. He turned and faced the chamber, studying the people milling about and
talking. He stepped back so that he was by her side, his glass of wine in hand.
“The empire needs more generals, ma’am.” He was correct, if cool, towards her now.
Amne looked up at him. He was a good head taller than she. Elas continued. “Your
father the emperor is busy in Bragal; the prince is far away in Lodria. The
governors of both Niake and Turslenka have their hands full trying to keep
those cities and their provinces in order, and from what I’ve heard they are
having difficulties. There is nobody here organising Frasia and Kastan City. Your
family does not trust anyone not connected by blood ties or marriage to run the
capital. That is why they have pressed for this marriage to go ahead.”

“And you think you’re the perfect man for the job?”

Elas nodded. Amne looked hard into his face. There was
no conceit there, or bluster. He was sincere in what he believed, as if it were
a fact. “My father taught me how to run our estates. Our estates are in Frasia.
We have supported the Koros publically, opposing the wishes of the Duras and
the Fokis. Even now, the Koros are limited in their options as to who to trust.
The Fokis and Duras are still powerful and the standard of revolt flutters yet
in Makenia, and it is rising in Bathenia. Now is the time they need support. Now
is the time they must secure an alliance with the noble houses of Kastania. Ma’am,”
he turned to face Amne, “you may not approve of my sobriety. I certainly do not
approve of your flighty manner, but our union is essential to the empire if it
is not to slip into civil war once more. We stand on the edge of the abyss.”

Amne shivered. It wasn’t so much what he had said; it
was more to do with the manner in which he had delivered it. She hadn’t
realised the situation was so desperate.

And with that she knew that, despite her personal
objections, her duty to the empire and her family outweighed her own wishes. She
would have to marry the man.

The thought cast a shadow over her. Her father would
certainly owe her enormously for this. She looked at the stern countenance of
Elas, and slipped her arm though the crook of his. “Elas, I shall stand by my
family against the enemies of our empire. If you are determined to help us,
then a marriage between us is important, as you say. Do not fear about my –
inappropriate behaviour or dress. I see you are not impressed by this style. I
shall dress more to your tastes the next time you visit, be assured of that.”

Elas looked at her in surprise, then bowed in
acceptance. “You honour me, ma’am. Then is it to be understood we are formally
betrothed?”

“You know what to do, Elas Pelgion,” Amne said. Elas
didn’t see the wicked gleam that briefly lit up her eyes. It was gone as soon
as it had appeared.

He nodded and disengaged his arm, turned to her and
knelt on one knee before her. “Princess Amne Koros, please do me the honour of
accepting my offer of marriage to you. I bring the full wealth and weight of
the House of Pelgion with me.”

Amne was aware the entire chamber had gone quiet. She
stole a glance over Elas’ head. Her mother was staring hard at her, and she
could almost sense her willing her to say yes. Lalaas was inscrutable, looking
at her intently. Dozens and dozens of pairs of eyes were all on her, and it was
a little disconcerting for a moment, then she steeled herself. The next word
she would utter would determine not only her future, but the whole empire’s.

It was a powerful, yet imprisoning moment.

“Yes, Elas Pelgion,” she smiled at him, “I do accept.”

He smiled briefly, a genuine one which had a touch of
warmth, but not one that lit up the room. As he bent to kiss her hand, the room
broke out into cheers and applause.

Isbel put her hands to her mouth and breathed out hard
in relief and excitement. She felt the tears come to her eyes. Now they had a
chance, a really good chance, of overcoming their current crisis.

____

The night had come to Bathenia but people still were
outside the city of Niake. The gates had locked at dusk and now the walls and
gates kept out anyone or anything that wished to enter, using the cover of the
dark to their advantage.

A few leagues from the walls of the city, a group of
riders made their way across the land, using little-used and less well known
tracks. They carried torches to light the way. The wind-swept coastal plains of
Bathenia were not a place to go riding in the dark without light, especially in
winter. A cold wind knifed through clothing and the ground was hard with frost.

A camp lay ahead, guarded by quiet, dark men with bows
and swords. Two torches flicked in the shelter of two rocks standing on either
side of the track, and a voice challenged the riders to stop. The riders, seven
in number, came to a halt and shapes materialised out of the dark on both sides
and waited, bows strung. A single man came advancing from the rocks, his sword
in his hand. “Who goes here?” he growled roughly, his rustic accent betraying
his origins.

“Duras,” the leading rider answered, lowering his face
cloth, revealing his features.

The guard looked up, recognising the face. He had served
in Valsan Duras’ army in the last civil war that had ended in defeat. He bowed
and waved the men to lower their weapons. “Follow me, sire,” he said, leading
the riders on through the gap in between the rocks. Beyond a group of men
waited to accept the equines and the riders all dismounted.

Two of them stayed with the beasts while the other five
followed the guard through a narrow passageway then through a gate in a wicker
fence. More guards could be half-seen here. Valsan Duras nodded in
appreciation. This was a well-organised force. At the back was a hut, guarded
by a dozen men, all holding pikes. An outdated weapon but still used for
ceremonial or guard duties here and there. The men didn’t look like they were
there for decorative purposes.

Two men barred the entrance until an officer snapped a
curt command and the guards stepped back, allowing Duras and his four men into
the long hut. It was long and spacious, and partitioned off on one side. What
lay beyond the partition Duras didn’t know, but he was more interested in the
man sitting at the end. As Valsan Duras approached, the man stood up and
stepped towards him. “Well met, Lord Duras,” the man said in a deep voice. He
was dark haired, possessed light blue coloured eyes and stood as tall as any
man. Certainly a warrior.

“Well met, Lombert Soul,” Duras replied, appraising the
man. He knew Lombert had served under him a few years ago, but couldn’t recall
when, where or in what capacity. “You have an efficient force here, from what I
have seen.”

“Yes I have,” Soul said matter-of-factly, and showed
Lord Duras a seat. The others he left to stand. They were unimportant. Soul sat
down opposite Duras and laced his fingers, his elbows on his table top. “I am
honoured by your visit, Lord Duras. I take it you wish to speak to me of what
my intentions are?”

Duras smiled coldly. “That is not in doubt. You intend
to take Niake from the Koros. What I am interested in is what you intend doing
once you achieve that. You are not a noble; you have no House to back you. Should
you take Niake then Prince Jorqel will march up here from Lodria and smash your
army. You will need allies. You will need a definite plan for the future.”

“Are you offering an alliance, Lord Duras?”

“Perhaps. But that is dependent on what you tell me
about your future plans. If you merely wish to hold Niake for yourself, then I
may recommend to my family to either lend our support to the Koros, or even to
take Niake for ourselves. You will find out that you cannot hold a city by
yourself, even with an army. How long will they stand by you when your money
runs out? Or if someone offers them more than you are paying them?”

“I fought under the Duras banner before – and lost. I
have little faith in either you or the Fokis in defeating the Koros. I intend
taking both Bathenia and Lodria for myself and establishing a new kingdom. I
shall consolidate my strength here before calling all Kastanians to my banners in
a Holy War against the Tybar. Let the Koros sit in Kastan City; they are doing
nothing to regain our lost lands. When I announce my call for a just war, then
my ranks will swell.”

Lord Duras laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Oh,
how naïve of you, Soul. You honestly believe people will follow you, like some
prophet? People need food. They need shelter. They need protection. They will
not join you as long as Prince Jorqel lives. You will have to defeat him first.
I also understand he’s sent out a call for you to disband and disarm?”

Lombert Soul sneered. “An empty gesture. He won’t leave
Slenna. It’s a wreck. The province is only half in support of the Koros, and
then only because he’s there with his army. If they leave Slenna would be ripe
for the picking.”

“So you sit here and he sits there. Stalemate. You need
to entice him out of his lair. You need to get him away from Slenna so a small
force can sneak in behind him, take Slenna and hold it until you get there. You
will need help. You will need money.”