Prince of Wrath (14 page)

Jorqel leaned back and looked into Alenna’s eyes. There was no deception he saw there. He nodded slowly and leaned forward again, taking her head in both hands. Gently he kissed her forehead. “Thank you, Alenna. You are from this day henceforth in my household. I will see to it you are looked after.”

Alenna began weeping. Jorqel held her hands as she broke down. It had all been too much for her. Betraying her family to a man she’d been taught was as bad an enemy as there could ever be, but the recent events had shown her that it was her own who were the enemy. She’d been shocked at the depths to what they were prepared to do to destroy the Koros. Kastania was nothing. Kastania was merely a prize to fight over or destroy, just so that the Koros were defeated.

“I must go to Niake on the morrow,” Jorqel said to Reptac. “Arrange for Stormak to change as we discussed. I shall travel with Maddick to Niake. The rest of you are to return to Slenna. Lady Duras is to be locked up ready for her hanging. She will be hung upon my return. I will personally oversee her trial and execution.”

Lady Duras, still in earshot, mumbled furiously against her gag. Jorqel looked across the room to her. “I want two men on guard with her at all times. I shall take Alenna here with me. From now on she serves me.”

“Is that wise, sire? I mean, she’s a Duras.”

Jorqel smiled at Alenna who smiled weakly back. “I think Alenna here has had a change of heart. Her own mother will kill her if she has the chance, and I believe her father would do the same. Go spread the word that the Duras are enemies of Kastania and are to be hunted down to death. There is no place for them in our Empire now.”

Reptac saluted.

Jorqel grunted and wondered if he was doing the right thing. Alenna may be frightened now, but once removed from her mother, would she revert? He hoped he’d made the correct decision.

Being Empress of an empire was not an easy thing. Isbel Koros, wife of Astiras I of Kastania, knew just how hard it was having to run the lands of Kastania. So many problems to meet head-on, so many different wishes, desires, appeals and pleas from a multitude of people. So many factions to smooth over, so many considerations to factor into any decision. What money to spend on repairs? What to spend on new projects? Who to favour, who to decide against? And why?

Everyone wanted to be part of the ruling elite but there was just so many one could favour. People climbed the ladder, others fell. And throughout all these machinations, one had to listen hard, listen to the whispers and the inflexions of speech, and the rumours and the messages to try to see a pattern that may or may not be there. For to miss something could be fatal; someone could be scheming behind one’s back to gain power by deception, by betrayal. She had her select circle of advisors and confidants, but could they all be absolutely trusted if and when the time of a severe test came their way?

Isbel had the usual collection of parchments and messages scattered across her desk that day. Her office, a room on the ground floor of the palace in Kastan City, was big enough for her, her desk, two more desks for the major domo, Pepil, and a senior scribe, plus room for about a dozen people to stand before her. Two guards usually stood by the only door, their fearsome looking volgar polearms firmly gripped in their hands.

The day so far had been a typical mixed day of good and not so good things. There had been the fall-out from Amne’s outing with Lalaas with a full-blown argument in this very room between her and Elas Pelgion. Isbel had tried to keep order but the couple were simply not in the mood to listen. Elas had accused Amne of recklessness while Amne had countered accusing Elas of over-interference and over-reacting.

At the bottom of the entire argument was of course Amne’s resentment against being placed into a box and kept there like some toy that was brought out for special occasions. The girl insisted that she was as important as any other in the House and as a result should be honoured accordingly and allowed free reign to go where she pleased. Elas had not agreed, stating that she was no warrior and therefore was vulnerable and if not for his intervention, both she and Lalaas would have died. The couple were as stubborn as each other, neither willing to back down, and in view of the fact they were scheduled to marry not too far in the future, Isbel had desperately tried to calm matters, but it had been a futile attempt.

The only thing that had stopped the affair from becoming even more unpleasant was the sudden appearance of a messenger from Bragal, bringing news of the victory at Zofela. The messenger had apologised for the lateness of the message but he’d been held up by unseasonable weather in the low mountains on the Bragal-Frasian border. Isbel had gratefully seized the news as a pretext to dissolve the argument and announce a holiday in the city. Both Amne and Elas had then gone to their respective homes, Elas to his estates outside the city, Amne to her quarters upstairs. She had looked exhausted with dark rings under her eyes, and Isbel knew better than to reproach her. She would have a word with Lalaas first when he recovered. The hunter had gone to his bed on arrival and would not be up for a little while.

Elas didn’t seem affected by the night ride, but he was like that. He never looked ruffled, even when arguing with the mercurial Amne. It was the calm and matter-of-fact way he put forward his side of the argument that probably infuriated Amne even more.

Once they had both gone Isbel had taken the time to read the dispatches from Zofela, from her husband. She missed him and wished he was back. The letters were a mixture of good and bad. She was heartened by the ending of the war and the capture of Zofela, and more so by his assertion that he would be in Kastan City soon, partly for Amne’s wedding, and partly to be with Isbel. However, there was a sting in the tail, when he berated her for suspending Panat Afos. She shook at the strong words, knowing just how much feeling he would have put into them, and had resolved to put that issue right there and then.

So it was that now before her stood Panat, the grizzled, scarred former bodyguard to Astiras, lately trainer of Argan in combat skills. Next to him stood his son Kerrin, the boy who Isbel had seen as the cause of Argan’s injury. Next to Kerrin was Argan himself, propping himself up with a crutch. He looked pale but was there nonetheless; he had insisted on being there. Next to Argan stood Vosgaris, the Guard Captain.

“Panat Afos. We have given serious consideration to your position here in the palace as trainer to the young Prince. Since the unfortunate incident which resulted in his injury we have weighed in our minds your previous service to our House and have decided to retain you as personal trainer to Prince Argan.”

Panat bowed gravely. He had known all along that he would be retained; his previous service with Astiras ensured that. He had done nothing wrong and his son Kerrin had been innocent of any wrongdoing. The Empress had over reacted, a fact clear to everyone. However Panat had to play the game correctly and not antagonise her unduly. In time things would have worked out, something he had kept on telling his distraught son.

Kerrin looked up at his father in hope. Did this mean he was forgiven?

“But I must point out,” Isbel went on, “that in future your son Kerrin and Prince Argan are not to be permitted to venture anywhere unattended. I understand that boys will be boys,” she looked at Vosgaris who had said the very same thing to her some time ago, “but this incident could so easily have resulted in Prince Argan’s death.”

Argan shuffled uncomfortably. He still had lots of pain from his injuries and wondered whether he would be ever able to ride. He couldn’t yet train with a sword because of his leg, but he was told that in a short while his leg would heal and he would be able to walk normally. His head was another matter; his headaches were still bad and his nosebleeds frequent. They made him very tired.

Isbel folded her hands together on the desk and regarded both father and son. “As from this moment you are to resume your posts in the palace.”

“Your majesty is gracious,” Panat bowed. He tugged at Kerrin’s arm to follow suit and the boy did with alacrity.

Argan smiled. He nudged Kerrin and the boy grinned back at him. “I think this calls for a sweet pastry!” he said.

“Which will be provided from the kitchens and eaten in the dining room,” Isbel added severely, staring down her son. “No running off on your own into places a prince should not be seen in, yes?”

“Yes, mother,” Argan said, sighing.

“Yes, your majesty,” Isbel corrected him. “You are addressing the Empress in public. Remember.”

Argan bowed. His tutoring from Mr. Sen came back to him. Even though she was his mother, he had to observe the correct – what was the right word? – protocol. Yes, that was it, protocol. It sounded like a name. He wondered whether there was a captain called Protocol somewhere. Maybe somewhere distant, like Zipria. Perhaps one day he’d go to Zipria and see if Captain Protocol served there. Would he be correct? “Yes, your majesty,” he said gravely, gripping his crutch tightly. It had been made to his precise height, but it was beginning to feel a little short, and he wondered why. Was he wearing it out? Did these walking stick-things get shorter as time went on? He would have to measure it against his door. There were marks there to note how fast he was growing up, something his mother had started for fun. Argan was fascinated by the marks. Some that had been at his eye level a little while back were now below his chin. Was someone moving them or was he growing? He didn’t feel he was. Maybe at night when he slept he grew, or maybe his feet got stuck and stretched as he wriggled in his sleep.

“Very well. Time to go to your duties. Argan, I believe you are to go to Mr. Sen now?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And Kerrin, you’re to study in the main hall? What is it you’re reading up on today?”

“Ma’am,” Kerrin said awkwardly. “Riding formations in battle. My correct position towards my charge.” Kerrin was training to be a bodyguard, a position his father had occupied before his injury in battle. Panat wished Kerrin to follow in his footsteps and had pushed Kerrin remorselessly. The boy had been happy to do so, since he wanted to be Argan’s personal guard. Argan in his turn had wanted Kerrin as his bodyguard, so Isbel was happy to allow this to go on. Normally the best man would be put into that position, but the bond the two boys had forged was something that might bring the best possible result in time. If not, then Isbel would merely assign one of the best warriors of the nobility to protect her son once he reached the age of service, normally sixteen years of age.

As the group turned to go, Isbel caught Vosgaris’ attention. He remained behind, wondering what the Empress wanted with him now. He stood rigidly to attention.

“Relax, Captain,” Isbel said once the door had shut. “I wanted to speak to you on a couple of items. The first concerns the forthcoming marriage ceremony of Amne and Evas. You know that the Emperor and Prince Jorqel are coming, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Isbel handed a parchment to him. “To have all the ruling House in one place is a potential security headache. Judging by what happened to Amne yesterday, it would seem there are people around who still are actively trying to kill us all. It’s your job to find out if there are any plots to do something stupid or horrid at this ceremony. I’d be foolish to think nothing is being planned, since this opportunity may never happen again. All the Koros in one place. What a juicy target, eh, Captain?”

“Ma’am. I’ll send out my agents. I’m still looking into the incident of yesterday. The Fokis have vanished, of course, but if what was said is true, then they must be responsible, and will be planning something for the wedding. I’ll give this my fullest attention.”

“Remember, Captain, I will be one of their targets.”

Vosgaris nodded. “Fear not, ma’am, I will do everything possible to make the ceremony the safest in Kastan’s history.” He caught the Empress’ eye and he thought he caught a slight twinkle there. “Is there something else you wanted, ma’am?”

Isbel nodded. “I understand that it is your birthday tomorrow, Captain. Are you planning anything?”

“Oh, uh, no ma’am. I was thinking of returning home but my duties here are much more important. My mother and father understand that serving you and your family is the best thing I could do, and the honour of this position keeps me from visiting them.”

“You could be released for a few days, Captain, I wouldn’t keep you from seeing your family for that short while.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but my place is here. I don’t want to delay the security measures being put in place. I think Lalaas has got a quiet evening planned in any event.”

“Oh? Well, Captain, I authorise the day off duty for you. You may relax for the day, you understand?”

“Ah, yes thank you ma’am,” Vosgaris stood straighter.

“And I do appreciate all you’ve done for us these past few years. Thank you, Captain.”

Vosgaris smiled, his face tinging red.

Isbel fought to hide her smile but failed. Just then there came a knock on the door. When Isbel gave her permission for entry, a guard came in, his face wide with surprise. “Ma’am,” he bowed, “Captain. There’s a crowd gathering outside in the square.”

Isbel stood up, concern on her face. “A crowd?”

The guard nodded. “A large one, ma’am.”

Vosgaris slipped his helmet on. “I shall go see ma’am. The Guard will do their duty.” He marched out of the room, followed by the guard and one other who had been waiting in the corridor. Vosgaris wanted details as they made their way towards the front entrance. The people had suddenly turned up, a few at first, then greater numbers, from all directions. They hadn’t seemed angry, and were calling out the name of the Koros family.

The captain went out into the late afternoon air. It was touched with a faint chill, but early spring was like that. In a few sevendays it would be much warmer. The gates at the end of the enclosure were shut, and beyond them gathered the crowd. Vosgaris whistled through his lips. It was a huge one, and getting bigger by the minute. He remained at the top of the entry steps and looked across the sea of heads. He could hear the chants of ‘Koros, Koros’, and saw that, indeed, they were not in a hostile mood. He barked a brief sound of amusement, and turned round. “Stay on duty, lads,” he said, “but I don’t think you’re going to get much trouble. They’re in good humour.” He returned to Isbel who was waiting in the corridor. She had been joined by Amne who had come down, having heard of the commotion outside. Lalaas stood in the background.

“Well, Captain?” Isbel asked, her voice strained. “Are we about to be attacked?”

“No ma’am. Princess,” he touched his chest by way of a salute. “I think they’re here to salute the victory at Zofela. They’re calling your names out. I think a public appearance up on the balcony might be in order?”

“Really?” Isbel looked surprised. “A victory salute?”

Vosgaris bowed.

“Well, Amne, shall we? It’s a long time since we were cheered. Four years in fact, remember?”

Amne remembered. “It seems so long ago. I could do with cheering up, mother. Lead on.”

Vosgaris stepped in line with Lalaas as they followed the women up the stairs, Vosgaris hypnotised by the swaying of both women’s behinds as they went. Lalaas nudged Vosgaris and shook his head in reproach. The captain puffed out his cheeks and looked at the steps, mindful of the trailing cloth from the dresses. Lalaas shook his head sadly. He hoped his plans for that evening would work.