Prince of Wrath (17 page)

It was then that Argan noticed Vosgaris was not there. He swallowed and turned to Amne. “Where’s Vos’gis?”

Amne shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s his day off, I do know that. Perhaps he’s gone somewhere.”

Argan’s reply was cut short by Isbel calling two guards to help her take the screaming Istan away back to his room. The attempt to move him provoked an even louder response and he tried to flail out to hit anyone near him, but he was picked up bodily and carried, protesting, out into the hallway beyond.

The diners breathed in relief. Isbel, red with embarrassment, left in his wake. Argan puffed out his cheeks and surveyed the remnants of Istan’s breakfast, stained in the cloth. “I didn’t know eggs were that messy!”

“They are if you hit them like that,” Amne observed, slipping a finger of bread into her mouth and looking across at Lalaas. After swallowing she addressed him. “Lalaas, where is Captain Vosgaris?”

“Ah, ma’am, he’s, uh, indisposed.”

“Indisposed? In what way, Lalaas?”

Lalaas looked uncomfortable. “Sleeping, ma’am.”

“Is there anything wrong with him?”

“Oh no, I doubt that,” Lalaas said quickly. “It’s his birthday and he’s just resting, taking the day off.”

“His birthday?” Argan interrupted, “is he having a party?”

“He’s already had that,” Lalaas said under his breath.

“What was that, Lalaas, I didn’t quite hear that,” Amne cocked her head.

“Uh, nothing ma’am. He’s merely exhausted. He’ll be fine tomorrow when he’s back on duty.”

Amne clearly was not satisfied with that but let it go. She looked at Isbel who had just returned, still flustered over Istan’s outburst. “Did you give Captain Vosgaris the day off, mother?”

“Of course, Amne. He’s worked very hard and has provided a very good service for us over the past few years. He’s never asked for any time away before, so I could hardly refuse one day’s break.”

“When did he ask you?” Amne asked, her eyes narrowed. Lalaas looked up at her, alerted by the tone in her voice.

Isbel sat silently for a moment, then looked at Amne squarely in the eye. “I don’t think this is any of your business, Amne. He rightly came to me, since I run the palace affairs, and I employ him. Only I can authorise his absences, and I certainly do not need to tell people when I let someone have a day off, unless they are directly affected.”

Amne tapped the tabletop with her fingers, then made a non-committal noise and looked away. Why she was piqued by this she didn’t know. “He’s never mentioned his birthday to anyone before,” she said slowly. “Why this one? Is it anything special? Why is he exhausted? What was he up to last night?”

Argan’s eyes were wide. So many questions. Amne was looking at Lalaas very intently and he was trying to look anywhere other than at the princess.

“Well, Lalaas?”

The hunter looked uncomfortable. “Ma’am – I think that’s Vosgaris’ personal affair, and none of my business.”

“Meaning its none of mine, too?”

Lalaas winced at the overly sweet tone of the princess. She was smiling at him in a way that un-nerved him. For the first time he actually began to feel pity for Elas Pelgion.

“I see I’m not going to get any sense out of you, Lalaas, so I shall go see the Captain myself.”

Lalaas looked alarmed. “Ma’am – I don’t think that’s wise.”

Isbel opened her mouth, then decided to say nothing. She was as intrigued by this as Amne, and realised Amne may get some sort of answer.

“And why not?” Amne asked, fixing the hunter with an intent stare. Argan forgot about his breakfast and gaped at the exchange. There was something really going on here, and Amne was cross, he could tell, even though she was smiling. It was the way her cheeks were slightly red. Argan had noticed this about Amne when she got very cross, her cheeks went red. Not like the way poor Vosgaris’ face did when he spoke to mother or Amne, since he was never cross. No, this was a cross Amne and he didn’t really like it when she was cross.

“Uh, ma’am, he’s asleep and exhausted. It wouldn’t be….”

“Exhausted? At this time? Didn’t he sleep last night?”

Lalaas spread his hands apologetically. “I don’t know, ma’am, I wasn’t with him last night.”

“So who was?”

Lalaas shrugged and looked away, taking a sip of his glass of water. This was not a good situation, and everyone else, everyone, was staring at him. The imperial persons, the tutors, the priest, the senior palace officials. Everyone.

“Lalaas,” Amne said in a slow, sing-song manner that could have cut glass, “I’m asking you a question.”

Lalaas hung his head. “Ma’am. I cannot say.”

“You will,” Amne’s voice had dropped to just above a whisper, but it carried clearly to everyone’s ears nonetheless.

“No, ma’am, I will not,” Lalaas looked up defiantly.

“You will not defy me, Lalaas, remember your position and who I am.”

The hunter nodded. He stood up. “I will not. If it means my dismissal from this service, then so be it, but I will not be forced to say something I have vowed I will not. To anyone.”

“Oh, sit down, Lalaas,” Isbel waved a hand in irritation, “nobody’s going to be so melodramatic. Eat your breakfast. Amne – and I – were just curious as to what Vosgaris has been up to. We shall just have to wonder, won’t we?” she smiled at him.

Lalaas nodded curtly and sat down, stealing a look at a displeased Amne. He looked away and resumed eating, not looking up.

Argan felt a pain in his head and groaned. One of his horrible headaches was coming on. He didn’t like them and knew it would probably result in a nose bleed which he hated. There was no reason why they came, and they didn’t come at the same time or every day. They just came at any time.

Amne looked at him and immediately became concerned. “Oh, Argan – not again!”

“I don’t like this,” he said, a touch of fear in his voice. “My head hurts.”

“Mother,” Amne said, pointing towards the boy’s head. “It’s going to happen again.”

“Oh, no,” Isbel said with dismay. She turned to Pepil who was sitting at the end of the table. “Go fetch the apothecary, at once!”

Pepil threw his napkin down on the table and levered himself up. “Yes, ma’am.” He left.

Argan held his head, moaning softly to himself. He felt a queasy emptiness in the stomach. He didn’t want the bleeding to start but experience of what had happened before had taught him what was likely to happen now the headache was here. Amne got a cloth ready and held the boy’s hand, squeezing it gently. Argan smiled, his face slowly turning white.

Isbel came to sit in the chair vacated by Istan and gripped his other hand. The boy smiled. Having both giving him such close attention was comforting and pleasing, and it made him feel slightly less afraid. Lalaas finished his meal, his attention wandering to the boy opposite him. “Courage, young Prince,” he said, winking. “I must be at my duties. Let me know how it goes, won’t you?”

Argan nodded and groaned again as a shaft of a particularly sharp pain shot through his head. Suddenly his nose spouted blood, taking everyone by surprise. Gasps of dismay came from the two women and Argan uttered a fearful moan, unable to breathe through his nose. Blood spattered onto the table cloth. Instantly Amne clamped the cloth to his nose and Isbel stroked his hair, trying to soothe the boy.

“Help me,” he squeaked, shaking. There was a lot more blood than had been on previous occasions. “Mummy, I’m afraid!”

“Hush,” Isbel said, her own heart racing. She was worried, deeply worried. There was an awful lot of blood this time round. Amne kept the cloth clamped to his nose, squeezing tightly.

Lalaas stood helplessly opposite, wondering whether he should stay or go. His eyes met Amne’s, who indicated with a slight movement of her head that he ought to leave. Lalaas bowed and backed away, wondering what would happen to the boy. As he reached the archway to leave, the apothecary arrived, breathless.

He was a middle-aged white-haired man with a bushy grey beard, and a receding hair line. “Oh dear, oh dear,” he said, approaching the blood-spattered prince. “This is a fearful mess. We’ll have to sort this out, won’t we?” He smiled at Argan who was shaking.

The other diners left one by one until only Isbel, Amne and the apothecary were there with Argan. The bleeding took a little while to stop, and Argan was fairly listless by then. He was picked up by Amne who carried him up to his room and put to bed. It was an effort but the princess was determined to do it. Argan wasn’t yet too heavy for her.

Isbel looked at the white-faced boy sleeping and sighed. She shut the door, leaving one guard seated in the room with express instructions to fetch help should anything happen. She confronted the apothecary outside the room, Amne standing next to her. “Well, surgeon,” she said, “what have you to say about my son?”

The apothecary looked worried. He fiddled with his hands, staring at the door to the boy’s room. “not good, I’m afraid, your majesty. He has an ailment beyond my capabilities to heal. It is one of those things that either clears up, given time, or…..”

“Or what?”

“Ma’am. Please understand this is something I do not say lightly.” He looked at both concerned women. “Either it cures itself, or within half a year I fear the boy may die.”

The three riders came to a halt at the entrance to the secret grotto. Men appeared, brandishing bows and spears. Lord Duras was in no mood to play games, however. He leaped from his beast and waved peremptorily to the guard officer. “Take me to Lombert Soul at once!”

“Lord Duras, my master is busy – he did not advise me you were to visit him today.”

“I don’t care what he told you, fool. Either let me see him or he’ll be destroyed by the damned Koros. I have some urgent business and information that he needs to learn of. Now!”

The officer waved to the guards to open the gate and Duras and his two sons walked quickly through it into the narrow passageway through the rock to Lombert Soul’s quarters. The rebel leader was surprised but stood nonetheless to receive his guests. Duras glanced over to the corner of the room where one addition had been made to the room since he had been there last. A wooden cage rested with a solitary figure sat in it. Sannia Nicate.

Giving her a cursory look, Lord Duras switched his attention back to Lombert Soul. “That thrice damned bastard Jorqel Koros raided my estates yesterday and seized my wife and daughter, and ransacked the place.”

“What did he learn?” Soul’s eyes narrowed. “Who informed him you were involved?”

“I don’t know,” Duras growled. “I ordered all records to be burned, and as far as I know they were. What I fear is that he’ll find out where she is,” he said pointing to the woman in the cage, “and demand she be released in return for my wife and daughter.”

“And if he does?”

Duras bared his teeth. “Then I will have to insist the exchange is made. You will have to act faster than we planned.”

“My men are not ready. We need another thirty days at least.”

“You will have to act now! I have sent word to my nephew in Makenia to begin his move, so you’ll have to act. With both Nikos and you raising havoc in two different regions, the Koros will be helpless to intervene. I shall ride onto Niake and pressurise that coward Extonos to hand over Niake to you. Once in charge of that city you’ll have the perfect base to strike out northwards. I, in the meantime, will ride north to Slenna and with a group of loyal men will take the town once that foul beast Koros marches out with his army. By then you will be in control of Niake and when Slenna falls to me, he’ll have nowhere to go except across the sea to Kastan City.”

Lombert Soul sucked on his teeth. The plan was as had been originally agreed, but his men were still not battle ready. “How soon will the Koros army march south?”

“They won’t do so for some time; I believe the prince will attend his sister’s wedding so we have some time. You can continue to train your men around Niake. My nephew will raise all kinds of trouble in Makenia and with the actions here of your men, the Koros will not be able to decide which to confront. They will not have the men available, especially in the east. They need most of their men to garrison Bragal.” Lord Duras thumped Soul’s desk. “Ha! They believe they have won a great victory, but taking Bragal will end up being a poisoned chalice, something that will suck the life out of their ability to raise an army to face our forces.”

“My betrothed will destroy you,” Sannia said quietly in the silence that followed.

Both men turned to look at her. She could only kneel or sit, since the cage was not big enough to allow her to stand. Her clothing was dirty and her face smudged with tears and dirt. Her hair, once neat and combed, was unkempt and greasy.

“Silence, woman,” Lord Duras barked. “I do not know what our glorious heir to the throne sees in you, and if I had my way he would never see you again. Be that as it may, you have some value to us, if only as a bargaining tool. Once I remove that canine’s head from his neck, your use to us is at an end.”

“You’re a brave man away from danger,” Sannia said in a low voice, “but I doubt you have the courage to face Jorqel man-to-man. You’re all bluster and talk, typical of the coward and bully we know you to be.”

“By the gods, you’ll shut up or I’ll take the whip to you, you Koros whore!”

“Do not touch her, Lord Duras,” Lombert Soul said, putting out an arm. “It will reduce her value to our mutual enemy. Untouched she is and untouched she shall be. Whatever your personal issues are with the Koros, take it out on them, not her.”

“I am a Lord,” Duras growled, staring at the rebel leader, “while you are certainly not! I carry more weight than you, Soul!”

“And I have six hundred men under my command whereas you have your two sons and nobody else. The numbers favour me.”

The three Duras looked outraged, but Lord Duras growled, then muttered under his breath and stepped back. “As you say, this she-canine has more value to us untouched.”

“There are other ways to ensure her co-operation than physically punishing her,” Lombert said. “You do realise, by the way, that she now has proof you are behind her abduction and are involved with the rebellion. If we lose, you lose your head.”

“The Koros know I’m part of it anyway, why else would they carry out the raid on my estates? My wife and daughter are prisoners of that unspeakable tyrant and I will not rest until they are freed and in my arms once more! My two sons agree with me, don’t you?” he turned to the two young men behind him.

The two, both dark haired and tall, nodded. One was the image of Lord Duras but twenty years or more younger, slightly thinner and more muscular, while the other was wider at the shoulders, shorter, and had a different cast of features. His looks came from his mother.

Lombert Soul grunted and stepped up to them. His sword was hanging from his belt and he was dressed for battle. “I shall march on Niake in ten days’ time. It will take that long to gather sufficient supplies and to ensure the supplies of Leaf are in the city. My agents will begin the distribution, free of charge, to all on my command.”

Sannia gasped in horror. “You would do that, to your own people? What sort of creatures are you? Are you so twisted with your own ambitions that you’d kill your own in order to achieve your own selfish aims? No wonder the army rose up against your House, Duras. You’re nothing better than a common criminal!”

“Silence, whore! My House would never open their legs to a Koros like some common strumpet!”

“Your daughter was prepared to, if I recall,” Sannia retorted, “and you were enthusiastically pushing her forward as a candidate. You’re nothing but a hypocrite, Duras, with no honourable trait whatsoever. The sooner you’re squashed the better.”

“Your time is coming to an end, whore,” Lord Duras said dismissively. He pointed at Lombert Soul. “I need ten of your men to assist me in my mission. You can spare that many, can you not?”

Lombert nodded. “We’ll go see my Captain, a man by the name of Wottek. He has the lists.” The rebel leader snapped his fingers at two guards to watch Sannia while he led the three Duras out of the side door, along a narrow passage that had rough rocky sides, which ended in a poorly built wooden barrier with a door inset. Through this they came out onto a wider cavern and cross passages.

“What is this place?” Lord Duras asked.

“An old underground river system, so I’m told,” Soul said. “Perfect for our base. We have all the approaches watched and under guard, and there are plenty of escape routes so we cannot be trapped here. Follow me, this way.” They passed a number of guards and entered Wottek’s chamber. The scar-faced captain stood in surprise at the entry of his boss, plus three well-dressed visitors.

Clora, sat on his desk, jumped off and scuttled sideways, wary.

“Who is that?” Lombert pointed at Clora.

“Ah, boss, just a luxury I’ve recently picked up. Some fool uncle of her’s arrived from Niake recently. Took them in; he’s some sort of military trainer. She’s no good for anything so I thought she’d be best here with me out of the way of the men.”

Lombert appraised Clora. She had definite attractions, and the rebel leader was piqued that his subordinate had managed to acquire her while he had nothing. Clora, sensing this was Lombert Soul, lowered her eyes and leaned slightly forward, revealing more of her cleavage to him. She glanced up and smiled shyly at him.

Lombert’s lips twitched. It had been a long time since he’d indulged, and this woman was clearly impressed with him. Behind him, Lord Duras cleared his throat. Lombert recalled why he was there. “Captain, these distinguished men need ten of our men to help them in a mission to Niake, then to ride north. They must be good at riding and combat. I’ll leave that to you to select. Now, where are those figures I asked you for earlier?”

“Ah, boss, I – uh – I’ve not got round to them yet.”

“What?” Lombert’s face darkened. “I ask you to do a simple thing and you’re too busy with this floosy? Well then, you do the paperwork while I remove the distraction!” He grabbed Clora and dragged to her his side. “Now, Wottek, get Lord Duras here ten men and promptly, and I want those figures in one watch’s time, you got it? Now get on with your job.”

Clora was dragged after Lombert as he angrily strode away, leaving the three Duras with a red-faced Wottek. He didn’t care a damn about his idiot captain’s feelings; he was there to do a job and if he couldn’t do it, then someone else would be put in his place and Wottek would be demoted to the ranks.

Clora tried to keep up with the rebel leader, wondering what was going to happen to her. At least she had managed to make contact with her ultimate target, if only by accident, but now she had to gain his confidence. She knew how to go about that. Men were men.

His room was comfortable, and she looked about, rubbing her wrist as Lombert Soul returned to his chair. It was with surprise she caught sight of Sannia kneeling in her cage, hands clutching two of the slats, staring at her with interest. “My lord,” she began, but was cut short.

“You only speak when I ask you a question, understand that, woman. You answer my questions only. Now, tell me your name and why you are here. Do not pay any attention to her, she is my prisoner.”

So Clora told him a condensed version of how she and her ‘uncle’ had arrived there. Lombert tapped thoughtfully on his desk top. Two guards stood close by. He looked at one. “Go get this Sinoz from the training ground. I wish to speak with him myself and see him. If there’s someone training my men I want to see who it is.” Damn that idiot Wottek!

The guard left. Clora clutched her arms and felt vulnerable. She hoped everything would end up alright, but she felt things were getting very dangerous now they had found the man behind the rebellion. He would be very suspicious. She also didn’t want to end up the same as the other woman who was still looking at her. She wondered who she was.

Lombert said nothing, merely contented himself by staring at her, his eyes roving over her body. She felt as if she were being mentally raped. She tried to relax, smiling and pushing her breasts forward. Lombert didn’t return the smile.

A few moments later Zonis was pushed in and he glared at the guard, but then was peremptorily told to stand alongside Clora. He cleared his throat and stood as straight as he could.

“So, a man with an incurable lung condition,” Lombert Soul said slowly, examining him. “And something of an addict, too, I believe?”

“Painkillers. The only way I can function, lord.”

“A noted military trainer, as well? We are honoured, if this is true, and lucky. Do these sort of things really happen? I mean, are you who you say you are?”

Zonis caught sight of Sannia. He had to do a double take before answering Lombert. “Lord, I can only do what I’m good at. I was one of the best the Empire had, yet they cast me aside when I fell ill. My brother – the girl’s father – fell foul of the Koros and they had him put to death. So now we have fled for fear of our lives.”

“And found our camp. I’m informed that you were on a wagon. Why did you cut across country?”

“To avoid the army patrols between Niake and Aconia. We could go nowhere else, Lord.” Zonis shrugged and looked again at Sannia. Certainly a fine looking woman, and not a commoner, judging by the cut and quality of her clothing, and the way she held her head.

Lombert followed Zonis’ gaze. “She’s none of your business, Sinoz. A prisoner of mine. Your niece, however, can perform for me a few duties that will make her useful to me, if you wish to remain with my army, that is.”

“Lord, there is nowhere for us to go now; our homes are forfeit. My niece is her own person – I was merely helping her escape Niake and guarding her until we found somewhere to live. Excuse me,” he suddenly added, feeling a tickling grow in his windpipe. He put a hand to his face cloth and coughed a few times. Speaking at length always made him cough.

Lombert pursed his lips. This man was no fool, or simple minded peasant. He had some class. The girl, though, was common. Good looking, yes, and had a wonderful body. “Your name is Marta, yes? Very well, Marta, then you will, if you wish to remain here, serve me as my personal body slave, and that includes looking after her over there,” he jerked his thumb in Sannia’s direction. “You feed her, clean her, change her when the need arises. I’ve got an investment in her and do not want her falling ill due to neglect. Clear?”

“Yes, Lord. Am I no longer Captain Wottek’s?”

“You never were,” Soul growled. “That man should not have done what he did. I run this army and camp, not him. You follow my wishes, not his, understand?”