Prince of Wrath (34 page)

“I’m well aware of them, dear, remember I was based in that damned province for years. Since we’re going to Bragal after the wedding, we can take the easier route to Turslenka first, then cut up through the Storma Valley. We don’t want to expose Argan to any bad road conditions and the road from here to Turslenka is the best in the empire. He will go to Turslenka and this Metila woman will try to heal him.”

Amne shrugged. What choice was there? She glanced at Jorqel who nodded briefly. His thoughts were mostly elsewhere, and the little Argan wasn’t someone he knew that well – his half-brother hadn’t spent a great deal of time with him so he didn’t feel as close a family tie to him as he did to Amne. If there was a chance of healing the boy, then it should be taken.

Isbel was unsure. She wasn’t happy about her son being put into the hands of a low-born foreign woman from a society that had been brutally suppressed by her own people. “Why not fetch her here?”

“Oh, Isbel, come on!” Astiras said in exasperation. “She would need to prepare the right medicines and she has a stack of them there in the governor’s residence. It’s a comfortable place, better than what we currently have in Zofela, I can tell you. Calling her here would take time as she’d have to get the right medicines. I don’t want to delay matters. We’re going to Turslenka anyway, so I don’t want to complicate the arrangements. I want to be back in Zofela with my Court as soon as possible; Venn and Mazag need watching and I can only do that out there. So we go by the quickest route which is via Makenia and the Bakran Mountains rather than directly into Bragal from here. We take Argan as far as Turslenka, get him seen to by Metila, then carry on to Zofela.”

“And leave Argan there on his own?” Isbel was aghast.

Astrias shook his head irritably. “What do you think I am? No! Panat Afos and his son will be with him as will Mr. Sen. You will stay on until he’s recovered, then travel to join me in Zofela.”

“And Istan?”

“Him!” Astiras snorted. “I’ll keep that one close to me. He needs a firm hand at all times. Everyone who’s been given him has proved to be weak and useless. I’ll knock him into shape.”

“You won’t, Astiras Koros!” Isbel snapped, “I know your methods!”

“Doesn’t give you any complaints, dear,” Astiras smiled briefly.

Isbel gasped and looked embarrassed. “Astiras!”

Jorqel smirked. Amne looked long and hard at her father. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing!” She switched her attention to Isbel and gave her a look of mock shock. “Well, mother, there’s more to you than meets the eye!”

“Amne!” Isbel snapped, colouring. She turned on Astiras. “You and your mouth!”

“If you wish, but later.” Astiras was enjoying the whole thing. Isbel gasped again. She slapped at her husband ineffectually.

Jorqel put his head in his hands but his shoulders were shaking. Amne smiled and assumed a conspiratorial air. “Mother, you might even have to give me tips!”

“Enough!” Isbel shouted. “I won’t hear any more of this! Alright, alright, Argan will come to Makenia and see this…this woman!”

“Thank you, dear,” Astiras said, bowing to her. “Now, you and I have a few things to catch up on, as I promised. You two,” he nodded to Jorqel and Amne as he stood up, pulling his wife up with him, “get about your businesses. Tonight we all need rest.”

“Including you, father,” Jorqel said, standing.

“Why the heavens do you think I’m taking your mother upstairs now? I’ll see you tomorrow!” He pulled Isbel after him, the empress protesting at the roughness and strength of his grip. He grabbed her, slung her over his shoulder and roared at her to be silent, slapping her rump for good measure. Isbel screeched with shock and outrage, and struggled futilely as Astiras carried her out of the room.

Amne and Jorqel looked at one another, then burst into laughter.

Vosgaris spoke to Lalaas briefly after he had left the room. He had a job to do, and made sure Lalaas knew what was going on just in case things went wrong. The palace guard captain took three men with him, all known for their strength and no-nonsense approach to life. They were well-armed since where they were going was not likely to be accommodating to them. Larisse had given him the address and so now was the time to get the conspirators; time was running short.

The house was along the main street running east-west beyond the square, towards the Aester quarter. Not quite in the richest area but not in the poorer parts close to the harbour. It was a typical wooden and lath-and-plaster construction, made of two storeys, with a big sloping roof so that the snows of winter slid off without adding too much weight up top.

Vosgaris banged on the door after sending two of his men round the rear. Alleyways riddled the city and they had been known to be used as avenues of escape from city authorities in the past. He was determined this time not to allow his quarry to evade him. Philas had been the name given to him, and he had a good idea of his description.

The door opened hesitantly and an apprehensive face peered out. “Yes?”

“Open up,” Vosgaris snapped, pushing the door. His comrade shoved the man aside and barged into the hallway, an open area with doors left and right and a wooden staircase climbing up directly ahead. A worn rug lay across the middle part of the floor, and wooden stands stood by the bottom of the stairs, vases resting upon each.

“What is the meaning of this?” the man demanded, holding the door open, scowling.

“You’re housing one Philas, a mercenary recruiter. He’s wanted for questioning.”

“And who are you to give such orders here?” a new voice asked. Vosgaris and the soldier looked up the stairs to see a smartly attired woman of middle years standing on the landing. She had her hair piled up in curls, held in place by a wide headband.

“Ma’am, Captain Vosgaris Taboz, Palace Guard. He is suspected of plotting against the Koros.”

“Oh, Captain, come on! Plotting against the Koros is something every second person in Kastania is engaged in.” She came gliding down the stairs, her hair auburn, green eyes sparkling in the light of the windows, and an expression of barely suppressed humour all over her face. “This man – Philas, is it? – I suspect is no different than many within this city. In any case, nobody of that name is here, I can assure you.”

“May I have your name, ma’am?”

“Certainly. Sela Fokis. Daughter to Vacan Fokis. You may have heard of him?” she asked, silkily.

“Lady Fokis,” Vosgaris bowed. Even though from a House known to be hostile to the Koros, one had to follow etiquette. You never knew when it could pay off. “Regretfully I must insist on a search here. I have reliable information that this Captain Philas is resident here.”

“Oh, I doubt regret is something you are feeling at this moment, is it Captain? Go ahead; search all you like. I have your name, and my father will be hearing of this in due course.”

“I look forward to it, ma’am,” Vosgaris saluted ironically and smiled. He waved his soldier to begin searching. He stood facing Sela who had by now descended to ground level. She came up to his shoulder. She was as old as Isbel, he surmised. Quite attractive. He wouldn’t mind bedding her. Still, she was an enemy so best to keep one’s mind on the job in hand. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

“I presume you say that to every lady, Captain?” Sela smirked.

Vosgaris said nothing. He merely stared at the woman for a long moment.

Sela sighed. “No sense of humour; the Koros are notorious for that. I should have known. No matter. Oh, Gerak,” she said to her retainer by the door, “shut the door, will you, please? Won’t do with every passer-by looking in on this regrettable situation.”

“Shall we go in there to talk, ma’am?” Vosgaris nodded towards the door to the right. He guessed that was the day room.

“Why not? It does get boring here on my own during the day. I can always retell this story to my social circle the next time I meet up with them; it’ll make a welcome change to the usual subjects of taxes, price rises, cutbacks and austerity moves. Oh how beastly and boring they are, I can tell you!”

Vosgaris allowed her to precede him into what turned out to be a well-lit day room. Gerak came in and enquired whether the lady and her guest wished for drinks. Sela ordered a pot of Ziprian infusion, a luxury drink from that island, made more expensive now because of the danger to shipping following increased pirate raids. “One must try to live as civilised as possible, Captain, don’t you agree?”

“Ma’am,” Vosgaris nodded once. “One can do it without such luxuries, I have to say.”

“Oh, Captain, don’t be so New Kastanian! There’s nothing wrong with a bit of quality! It’s something that has regretfully,” she smiled at him and paused when she uttered that word, “fallen into disuse in the past four years or so. It’s all very well making savings but one can go too far and forget what it is that makes us Kastanian.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Vosgaris said in a neutral tone and sat down opposite her. The chairs, like the rest of the furnishings, spoke of opulence and quality. They looked as if they were Makenian in origin but made in Kastan City where the best woodworkers were. The legs were slender and long and the backs high. The wood was hard, probably ganoma wood by their colour and grain, Vosgaris surmised. His family were traditionally timber merchants, having originally come from Tobralus, hence the surname, where lots of timber grew. Ganoma wood wasn’t cheap. It grew in a few places and was very slow to mature, hence the dense grain. It made fabulous furniture but was very hard to work, and so it took time and therefore cost a lot.

“Captain, don’t be so formal,” Sela purred, crossing her long legs and allowing some of them to show. “I’m sure you and I could become – friends, if we stopped this silly family antagonism. Koros against Fokis, you know what I mean.” She spoke in a deep, throaty voice which he found enticing.

“What of your husband, ma’am?”

“Dead,” she waved a dismissive hand, “Ten years ago. Epros. They revolted there and put the governor and his administration to death, you surely remember?”

“Of course ma’am. My condolences.” The Epros uprising had been another revolt against the corrupt emperors immediately prior to the revolt of Astiras. The Fokis had been in charge of that region and had all been massacred. The feeling at the time had been that the uprising had been engineered by either Zilcia or Venn, and that one of those two kingdoms would then step in and annexe that region, but so far neither had made a move. Epros was still in the hands of the Kastanian rebels and they showed little sign of wishing to rejoin the empire. They were quite happily ruling themselves.

Sela sighed dramatically and gave Vosgaris a cool stare. “So I was left this house by my late husband and here I am, lonely and without the comfort of a man to share it with. Can you understand how beastly that is?”

“You have your father and the rest of your family, ma’am. I understand they have many business activities, properties, estates and land.”

“Not as many as before, thanks to the emperor!” she snapped, a flash of anger briefly coming to her eyes, then she relaxed and smiled again. “As you say, I have my House to fall back on and they have been very understanding through my long period of grief.”

The door opened and in came Gerak with a tray, upon which were a couple of cups and a steaming pot. He placed it on a side table and was waved away by Sela, who then picked up the pot. It was a tall, metallic object with a lid and a spout. There was a large long wooden handle opposite the spout and Sela lifted it up and poured a light brownish-yellow liquid into the two cups.

Vosgaris hadn’t tasted an infusion for some time. When he had been growing up at his family’s estate close to Kastan City, he’d drank some, but it wasn’t Ziprian. That had been too expensive for his modest family, and they had used instead Amrian which was a poor substitute but drinkable nonetheless. Since Amria had fallen away from imperial control Zipria had more or less gained a monopoly and the price of their infusion had gone up as a result. Therefore it was now regarded as a real luxury. He lifted his cup and inhaled the steaming brew. It smelt fragrant and spicy, as a decent infusion should. The infusion plant was a ground hugging small-leafed plant that produced small pinkish flowers. The leaves were used to make the infusion after being dried for a year. He sipped a small amount and raised his eyebrows. “Very nice ma’am.”

“Ziprian is so superior to any other,” Sela said languidly. “We are fortunate in having a good merchant who ensures we get a yearly supply, but those beastly pirates are making it very difficult to get hold of new infusions. I would be very grateful, Captain, if you could – ah – persuade the palace to do something about that. Very grateful, Captain, do you understand?” she pushed herself forward slightly, smiling , looking at him from under her eyelashes.

Vosgaris had a fair idea. It seemed being captain of the palace guard brought some interesting benefits. How he would fare once he left Kastan to being a mere captain of the Zofelan guard was another thing altogether. Lalaas would have to cope with the attention thereafter. “I understand, Lady Fokis. It would be a pleasurable reward.”

Sela smiled and leaned back in her chair. “Good; we have an agreement, in that case. Now, to the reason you’ve called here today. I think there’s no further point in you continuing your – ah – investigations into this man, Philas, or whatever his name is, don’t you agree?”

“That depends on whether my men find him here or not, ma’am. It shouldn’t take much longer.”

“Men? I saw only one with you.”

“Ah, well you see ma’am, there are others out the rear of the house.”

Sela scowled and looked concerned. “Captain, that is not worthy of…”

What she was going to say was lost as the door opened and shouts came to them from the hallway. Vosgaris’ soldier stood there smiling. “Got ‘im, sir. Tried to sneak out the back through the kitchen. The others caught ‘im. ‘E’s swearing like a trooper, sir.”

“I bet he is,” Vosgaris stood up. Sela’s face was thunderous. He bowed to her ironically. “Wonderful infusion, ma’am. I’ve appreciated your hospitality. I must go now as you no doubt will appreciate, regretfully,” he added almost as an afterthought.

Sela mouthed an un-lady-like response.

____

In Niake events were moving, too. Both Demtro and Evas were present with the militia squad who had closed in on a warehouse in the Southern Quarter, well away from the main roads. It was in a block of buildings separated from the rest by a low boundary fence of wood, and Renet had passed on the details after hearing of talk about strange goings on over the past couple of days.

The governor was taking no chances and had thirty men, all armed to the teeth, posted at each possible route that led to the warehouse. It was dusk. “Very well,” Evas sighed, “let’s get it over with.”

His captains waved to their squads and the men walked to the doors, both at front and back. At a signal both were kicked in and men flooded in, spears and swords at the ready. Inside, lit by a few flickering candles, was a large open space filled with open packages, tables, a couple of cauldrons and lots of small bronze pots. The cauldrons were on fires, blazing away in the middle of the warehouse, and people were standing over them, their faces covered in cloth, stirring the mixture that was in the huge vessels with long wooden ladles.

Other men stood around, wearing swords. Clearly they were the hired muscle. They were overpowered and arrested almost before they realised what was going on. “Stand fast all of you!” Evas barked, pointing at the stirrers who were throwing aside their ladles and looking for an escape route. “We’ve got all the exits covered!”

Demtro stepped into the warehouse and looked at the collection of vessels and containers. “Yes, this is where they were going to put the finished product and pass it into the city for distribution.” He looked into them and in two, found a mass of dried small crumbled leaves. He lifted them up and looked at them critically. “We’re just in time, Governor. The finished article. Here.” He passed Evas one of the pots.

Evas looked at it in fascination. “This? Is this really it?”

Demtro nodded. “Yes. Innocuous, isn’t it? One inhalation of that and you forget about anything other than getting more of it. You won’t care about anything else in your life, just the next ecstatic smoke. Then eventually your mind goes and you’re nothing other than a drooling wreck. Death comes quickly after that since you can’t think, speak or move. The mind is totally destroyed.”

“And this is what would have happened to everyone here?”

The merchant shrugged. “I don’t know if it would have been that quick. It looks like they would have passed it round all of Niake, either persuading people to have a free smoke, or forcing people into taking it, and by the looks of the amounts here there would be enough for, oh, five or six sessions per citizen. It’s an enormous amount; the Duras must have sold their first-born to the suppliers of all this. After five takes, the users would have been climbing the city walls to get their next smoke.” He looked at the men under arrest. “So what was the plan?”

There was silence, except for a nervous shuffling of feet. Demtro sighed and put the pot he was holding down. “Governor, I think we should get some kind of confession from these people. Most of them are hired hands and probably know nothing, but someone here would know.”