Empire of Avarice (83 page)

The two parties faced one another in silence. Eventually,
tired of waiting, the Bragalese spokesman cleared his throat. “Lord Koros, I
bring a message from my master King Elmar of Bragal.”

“I do not recognise that title. I therefore refuse to
hear you. Go away.” Astiras turned away and began walking to his quarters.

The Bragalese party looked at one another in despair. “Please
Lord, we ask for just a moment of your time.”

Astiras halted but didn’t turn round. He beckoned to
Teduskis. The commander stepped up to his master and listened to Astiras’
words, and nodded. He went back to the rail and looked down at the three rebels
standing forlornly in the mud. “My lord, the emperor Astiras the First of
Kastania had little time for your excuses or pleas, or your leader’s false
title. Either surrender unconditionally or be destroyed. This he swears.”

“Lord, we are starving. Have pity on us. Our women and
children are dying.”

Astiras whirled, his face twisted in fury. He strode
rapidly to the rail, gripped it hard and leaned forward. “Now listen to me you
filthy murderers. I don’t want to hear any of your bleeding heart tales of
women and children dying. How many of our countrymen, women and children have
you Bragalese slaughtered for no other reason than they had Kastanian blood in
their veins? You killed and slaughtered and butchered, but the moment we fought
back you all screamed about our brutality and the injustice of oppressing you,
and may the gods forgive them but your lies and deceptions were listened to by
the fools, the naïve and the weak-minded amongst us and they tried to undermine
our efforts to protect our own families.

“But I had heard enough. I took power and got rid of the
weak fools amongst my own people who supported you. And then I took the war to
you and burned, destroyed and slaughtered your people until now only Zofela
here remains. And today it ends. So go back to your coward of a leader and tell
him to come forth and do battle with real men, Kastanians who wish to get
revenge for all the blood of their friends, families and compatriots you
Bragalese have spilled these past eight years.”

The Bragalese backed away slowly. The steel in the eyes
of ‘Landwaster’ told them everything. There was no pity to be found there. “Very
well, Lord. Our garrison will come forth, for there is nothing left within the
walls of Zofela. If we are to die, then we will do so with swords in our
hands.”

Astrias sneered. “You think that will earn our respect? No.
All you and your kind are fit for is to be sacrifices for a united Kastania
that includes Bragal. Now go and prepare for your final battle. You will
receive no mercy from us.”

As the rebel detachment trudged back towards the black settlement,
Astiras filled his lungs. “Now, gentlemen, let us end this long war this day. Go
rouse the companies. Form up halfway to the walls. Let us go with the blessing
of the gods today!”

The sky was dark, full of racing clouds, borne on a
chill wind that still spoke of the winter now gone. The sun was hidden and
would not show its face that day, perhaps not wishing to look down upon the
scene unfolding on the Bragalese plains outside the stricken city of Zofela.

Black banners drooped forlornly from the battlements,
torn and shredded by the long gone winter gales, and the walls were almost as
dark, blotched with refuse and ordure that had been thrown over the sides, and
at their foot lay the remains of those who had perished that long, cold and
seemingly unending season.

The Bragalese had held out despite their privations, the
hunger, death and knowledge that outside their walls stood an implacable enemy
determined to finish off their bid for self-rule and their independence from
Kastania. But now, with all hope gone and all food exhausted, they had no
choice but to emerge and fight the Army of the East and the emperor. If, by
some miracle, they endured and beat the Kastanians, then they would be free to
rule themselves and make of whatever they would of Bragal. Astiras would almost
certainly be deposed and put to death by the rival factions who would then
place a puppet of their own on the throne and confirm the independence of
Bragal. But to do this they would have to beat the seven hundred or so soldiers
facing them, having a hundred less than that themselves. They were outnumbered
but they had the desperation of having nothing to lose with them.

Astiras had mounted up along with Teduskis and his elite
bodyguard, and were now making their way to their position, immediately behind
the infantry and just ahead of the two archer companies he had. That morning
they had ripped up the wooden fence opposite the main gates and formed up
facing them, just out of bowshot range, and waited.

Astiras checked the line of his men. Off on the two
flanks were the spear militiamen, and in the middle the Bragalese levy
mercenaries, those Bragalese who had sided with him against the forces of
Elmar. Behind him were the imperial archers and the Bakran mountain archers. Their
task was to avoid trouble and loose over everyone’s heads into the rear of the
Bragalese lines.

It wouldn’t be long now, the movement that could be seen
on the battlements and the banners waving behind the low wooden gates showed
that there was a gathering of men behind the shut gates. Astiras clucked his
tongue and, gently jabbing his equine’s flanks, guided the stallion out in
front of his men. Teduskis followed him, along with two others. “Men of
Kastania,” Astiras said clearly to his men, “today we see the final act in the
long war that has taken so many lives and wrought so much destruction on our
people and property. Today, you have the opportunity to end this fight. At
last, you can avenge all the wrongs inflicted on your people by these beasts,
these animals, these uncivilized monsters who murder women and children and
would readily take for themselves that which others had worked hard at
creating.”

He waved behind him at the still shut gates. “In a
moment those gates will open and out will come those who are less than the
beasts. Your task is simple. No prisoners. Kill them all. Slaughter every last
one of them, and then you can plunder all within that city you see there before
you – but leave the buildings. Those are mine. The rest is all yours – the
possessions, the people. I have no use for either. End this war by total
victory. You are the men who can do this for me. Win, and you can have houses
and land in Bragal, even in Zofela here. What say you?”

The men roared, raising their shields, bows and spears
high into the air. They would fight for what they saw as a future for themselves.
Their emperor had spoken. Land was more than any of them could have hoped for,
even the mercenaries. The Bakran archers, used to struggling in the mountains,
were not farmers, and they were more interested in what lay in the city. The
Bragalese ‘loyalists’ were pleased they would get lands and property. They
would form the hard core of the ‘new’ Bragal should they win this day. When the
rebels were gone, the city would need people to get it back onto its feet. Those
in charge within Zofela at this moment would be swept away and into their place
would come the loyalists. This is what they were fighting for.

The Kastanian soldiers couldn’t wait for the fight. Victory
this day would make them richer than they could have ever dreamed of; Zofela
was not the biggest or richest city but still there would be enough in there
for them to become wealthy. Astiras had already assured them he was not interested
in what possessions the Bragalese had. Those were theirs to take. And they
would. And the houses within – they were going to be given out by a grateful
emperor afterwards. So the occupants currently living in them would have to be
removed. They would ensure that happened. And then there were those amongst
them who looked forward to the slaughter and rapine. Their blood was racing
through their veins. All they had to do was to kill those men coming out now
through the opening gates.

Astiras returned to his position and watched as the
defending force began flooding out, men dressed in a variety of colours, most
of whom had little or no armour. They were a motley collection of poorly armed
townsfolk pressed into service, either as infantry or archers, while he did see
some better armed levies, equal to his levies here. There were also two units
of mounted Mazag-style cavalry, armed with bows. These would be Elmar and his
elite guard, and most loyal supporters. That was where he would go.

He nodded to Teduskis. Teduskis drew his sword. “Sound
the attack,” he snapped to the hornsman, the man in the bodyguard responsible
for sounding the commands. Three short blasts, repeated thrice, was the sound
for the infantry to attack.

The Bragalese were still coming out of the gateway,
trying to form up into their units, but the three untrained companies were
being very slow and getting muddled up. Astiras caught a final glance at a new
unit he’d overlooked in his first assessment. A group of black-garbed
tall-hatted bowmen. He grimaced. Brigands. They were a scourge. They cared not
who ruled Bragal; they would fight no matter what, and if someone wished to pay
them for it, so much the better. Excellent archers, they were best dead. The
emperor slammed his visor shut. “Let’s go!” he shouted, his voice turned into a
distorted metallic sound.

Already the imperial army was surging forward, yelling
wildly, spears pointed straight at the enemy. Behind them the archers were
shooting up into the air, the arrows arcing up and then down into the massed
Bragalese trying to get free of the gates and get some semblance of order into
their ranks.

As the shafts began finding their targets, Elmar
screamed at his mounted archers to scatter left and right, in order to get free
of the infantry before they got tangled up in the general melee. But it was too
late. The spear militiamen on the imperial left flank, the Dirt Eaters, bore
down on the cavalry trying to ride free, and roared in glee at attacking
unprotected equines. The cavalry tried to reach for their arrows but the
spearmen were upon them before they could do so.

The other spear militia company and the levy ran hard
for the horror-stricken rebel infantry and crashed into them, trampling men
into the soft, yielding mud before the gates. Spears broke against shields, and
bodies pressed against each other. With no room to use their spears, men
resorted to clawed fingers, seeking out soft eyes, teeth, knees, feet. Anything.
One side fought hard to win riches, the other to survive.

Astiras led his cavalry wide out on the right, then
wheeled them in close to the stinking walls of Zofela. There was a narrow gap
between the infantry melee and the walls and Elmar was trying to squeeze his
men out through this. Astiras pointed his sword at the leading elements of the
Bragalese cavalry and led his heavily armoured unit at them, shouting as loudly
as he could.

The unarmoured Bragalese cavalrymen blanched in fear. The
banner of the avian could only denote one man. Landwaster. They had nowhere to
go, trapped in the narrow space, and were crushed backwards by the force of the
strike. Astiras slashed down hard at the first padded armoured man who came
past his line of vision, and had the satisfaction of feeling his blade cut
through cotton and flesh and bone. His equine thundered on, pushing into two
more enemy beasts and he slashed down again and again.

Men screamed. Blades cut into flesh. Bodies fell to the
blood-soaked mud, making it even more viscid. Feet lost purchase. Opponents
grappled mercilessly. It was a fight without quarter. Astiras couldn’t turn, so
tight was space. He cared not. He hacked at those in front of him. Another man
took a full blow across the chest. He vanished off his mount with a shrill cry.
A Bragalese levy spearman suddenly appeared below him and he thrust down hard. The
blade sank into the man’s neck. Blood spurted up in a fountain. The man sank to
his knees and fell under the emperor’s equine. The body was trampled deeper
into the liquid mud.

Urine from the equines joined the water and blood, and
the hoofs and feet churned the surface into a liquid mess, coating the
combatants. Astiras swung his sword right, meeting a down blow from one of the
Bragalese cavalrymen. The shock jarred his arm, but he gripped his equine
tightly between his thighs, held onto the reins with his left hand, and swung
his sword up under the guard of the enemy soldier. The blade cut through soft
leather, then the man’s shoulder. With a scream the opponent clutched his wound
and fell backwards, vanishing from view.

Teduskis appeared, flecked with blood. He beat off two
enemy attacks and Astiras felt protected on his flank. He spied Elmar,
directing men to face the remorseless progress of the imperial bodyguard.

Elmar saw Landwaster. Here was his chance to win the
battle. His men were being cut to pieces in front of his eyes, yet if he were
able to slay the emperor, then surely all heart would go out of the accursed
Kastanians. With a yell, he spurred his mount forward, passing close to two of
the enemy bodyguards. He slashed down at the back of one and saw to his
satisfaction the imperial cavalryman get hurt, the blade cutting through the
chainmail. Not seeing if the man was dead or not, Elmar rode on straight at
Astiras Koros.

Astiras saw the attack and roared in delight. Here was
the whorespawn himself! Springing forward, he met Elmar’s attack above his
head. His mount was bigger and heavier than Elmar’s and rammed into it. Elmar
was thrown off balance. With a downward curve, Astiras’ sword cut through the
Bragalese commander’s neck, severing his head. Blood sprayed up and out,
filming Astiras’ head and shoulders. The emperor shook his head and saw Elmar’s
headless torso slowly toppling from his startled mount, and roared again with
triumph.

The Bragalese panicked. With their leader fallen, they
now turned back to run into Zofela through the Frasian Gate. Astiras saw his
opportunity. “Kill them! Kill them all!”

His men went into a frenzy, hacking, stabbing, crushing.
Bragalese soldiers fell in piles, hindering the Kastanian efforts to get to the
gate, but finally those blocking the way had fallen and suddenly Astiras and
his bodyguard were through it, smashing aside the few soldiers left trying to
shut them. The emperor swung about and chopped hard at a man trying to slam the
gate shut, and the soldier sank to the ground, his back turning into a red
smear.

Now the imperial army poured into the gate. Astiras
pulled his mount round to look into the city. He knew it well. He’d been
governor here when the rebellion had broken out and if he had not been
elsewhere fighting with the army, then he was sure Zofela would not have fallen
to the rebels. The main road ran straight and true from the Frasian Gate right
through the settlement to the south where the Mazag Gate could distantly be
seen. To the right rose the wooden keep atop a mound of grassed over earth, and
below it, directly ahead, stood the central square where parades were held.

It was here the remnants of Elmar’s force were running
towards, and Astiras waved his men forward to finish off the job. He was
certain now the battle was won, and indicated to Teduskis to see to the final
moments. His men ran on deeper into Zofela, scattering left and right, heading
for the doorways of the houses.

Now would begin the tears and suffering. But it was
necessary, if such a rebellion was never to happen again. Zofela had to be
purged of all who opposed him and his family. Zofela would become the centre of
Koros power once more, and from here he would make Kastania strong and vibrant
once more. But nobody other than his supporters or those beholden to him would
be permitted to live in the city. So the rebels had to die.

He slid off his mount and tethered it to a post. A
wooden ladder stood before him, leading up to the walkway that ran round the
wall. He climbed up and stood looking out onto his city. Screams were coming
from the houses now, and he could see his men kicking in doors and entering the
properties. These would be repaired in time and given to his supporters. His
men knew not to burn anything down; but everything else was no barrier to their
lust, desires and wishes. They had endured with him these long seasons away
from their homes and loved ones, and now was the time for their reward.

Two of his men came up to make sure he was safe; Astiras
nodded at them and removed his helmet. He sucked in deeply, savouring the fresh
air. Tainted with the smell of rotting bodies, death, ordure and rotting
vegetation, it nonetheless smelt wonderful. It was his, once again. Damn all
those rebels, and especially Elmar. Whatever afterlife he’d gone to, he hoped
he never found his head. He’d have it mounted on a spike over the Frasian Gate,
just to remind people of the punishment for rebellion.