Prince of Wrath (53 page)

“And those adults I saw out there in those cages?”

Astiras pulled a face. “Ah, yes, them. Prisoners of war. Rebels, throat-cutters, murderers. I’ve decided not to hang them, but rather to put them to good use building and repairing things. Free labour.”

“Nothing’s for free, Astiras, you know that!”

“Oh alright, I admit it costs to clothe, feed and house them, and to guard them, but I have to do something with the bloody people. If I let them free we’d have a riot on our hands. All these houses I’ve given to my soldiers and supporters here, well they were those prisoners’ previously. As far as I’m concerned they’ve waived all rights for defying me and Kastania. I’ve got to rule these bastards with an iron fist; it’s the only thing these people know and understand!”

“Tone your language and voice down!” Isbel said. “I’m not one of your subordinates. Very well, you nobly give the children homes, but I want those cages out of the town as soon as possible! It’s not good for the image of the place.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Astiras said heavily. “Clashes with the colour scheme, mm?”

“Don’t be so flippant! You do irritate me when you have that head on, you know.”

Astiras sighed. “Come on Isbel, we’ve just got together after not seeing one another for so long. I don’t want to start an argument now. Zofela isn’t Kastan City; we’re out in the wilds here in a barely pacified rebellious province, and there’s Mazag just over the border and Venn not that much further away preparing for war.”

Isbel narrowed her eyes. “War? What makes you say that?”

Astiras told her of the stockpiling in Rhan, and the plan to burn it down. He omitted the identity of the agent he’d sent in, however. “Oh, and we’ve got our first foreign dignitary here in Zofela, by the way.”

“We have? Who?”

“A Mazag ambassador. We exchanged ambassadors in the last few days. I sent one of our men to Bukrat. Always helps to have someone on hand to pass messages onto our friendly neighbours, don’t you think?”

“Hmmm, yes. You think Venn is going to go to war soon?”

“Looks that way – either into Epros or here – or both. I just want to delay them to gain us time to get this place ready. I want to make sure Bragal is under control properly. I may need to march troops around and I won’t be able to do that if its likely they’ll be ambushed at every corner.”

“And you’ve brought us all to this place?”

Astiras looked irritated. “I’m staying here for good reasons. If a war does break out I want to be right there to do something about it, and I’ll be damned if I’m apart from you and the boys in that time. I have plans for Zofela, don’t worry. I’ve got a couple of architects worrying over expansion plans even as I speak.”

Isbel tapped the arm of the chair. “You’ll have to excuse my manner; I’m tired and emotional after a long journey. Of course I’m pleased to see you, and you’re right, it’s not good to have an argument.”

“I understand – I’d be the same if I’d been shut away in a wagon for twenty days or more. Don’t worry unduly about things, once you’ve been here a couple of days you’ll get into your stride. Look upon this as a temporary home; in a few years we’ll build a new Zofela, a bigger, stronger fortress, one that will never fall. And that means you and the boys will be as safe here as anywhere else.”

Even as he delivered those words, Astiras’ mind was wandering, wondering if Vazil had managed to get to Rhan, and, if so, had she done what she had been sent to do?

The fortress town of Rhan lay below, nestled in the steeply rising hills of Riliyan that rose almost sheer from the sea. It was a hard, tough country that produced people of a similar nature and outlook on life. For many centuries Riliyan had been part of the Kastanian Empire, but in the last few decades control had slipped away and the rising power of Venn, located at the southern extent of the sea, naturally looked to exert its control along the trade routes its ships sailed. Rhan was a natural base and it wasn’t long before the republic had marched overland, through the rugged terrain north and took the fortress with hardly a struggle. The Kastanian emperors protested but with a waning army and wars on more than one front, there was precious little it could do.

Rhan itself was a double-walled settlement. A tall stone keep rose dizzyingly to dominate the skyline, protruding above many of the jagged peaks of the hills. This was protected by an inner wall, and beyond this was the main settlement of Rhan, protected in turn by an outer wall. One road led to the fortress, zig-zagging up a steep slope, before passing through a strong looking gatehouse.

Vazil sat on her equine, peering down on the fortress. The road from Kastania passed through Kral, another province now occupied by Venn, and crossed the high Kral plateau before dropping down into Riliyan. There was one junction where the north fork went towards Epros while the main road continued east down to the coast. Rhan was sited to overlook the road and nobody could pass without being seen from the battlements.

From where she was, Vazil could see figures moving about within the walls, but not who or what they were. She knew the layout of the place anyway, having recently been there. However now she was a priest, with only her face visible. There was no trace of any makeup on her face and she had allowed her eyebrows to grow during her ten day journey across Kral. Whenever she had stopped where there were people, she had kept to herself, praying, her head bowed.

The people had on their part left this darkly-dressed cleric alone; who knows what was on their minds? The priests had great powers, and could call upon a trial without warning, accusing anyone of not being a believer. The unfortunate was habitually found ‘guilty’ and sentenced to death by the purification of fire. Naturally the populace held priests in awe and fear, and many wouldn’t even catch their eye for fear of attracting the wrong attention.

So now here she was, looking down on the place she had to wreak havoc upon. A fortress always had the materials, the trick was to get them together and then be gone when the chaos began. She would go to the temple of Sonos which was conveniently close to the inner gatehouse. The arsenal was in the inner ward and that was where she was to get to and burn it to the ground. How she was to get away unharmed was the one thing she hadn’t yet thought about, but no doubt a plan would come about once she was there.

The docile equine, a particularly dense specimen with long ears, plodded on from a tap on its rump from her stick, and she rode down past two huge towers of rock, round a sharp turn and then she was there at the junction, the gatehouse beyond. Taking the turning she walked the beast up to the gates.

Guards were there, armed with spears, dressed in their Venn livery of a surcoat of red on one half and a chequered red and white design on the other. The Venn eagle fluttered on the red flag hanging from the gatehouse. “State your business,” one guard said, stepping forward.

Vazil lifted her head and threw back her cowl. It revealed a head shorn of her locks, the close-cropped style being the current vogue with priests of Sonos. A brass chain round her neck had the sun symbol of Sonos radiating, hanging down her chest.

“Oh, my apologies, your grace,” the guard said, suddenly nervous. “I had no word that a priest of Sonos was visiting today.”

“I am here to spread the word north to heretics still sticking to their foul beliefs. I require nourishment and rest to mediate, to allow Sonos to speak to me!” Vazil knew how the priests addressed the secular populace, with contempt, authority and the confidence that they had their lives in their hands. It was expected for priests to be respected throughout the lands of the Eastern Divinity belief of Sonos. Sonos tolerated no other god; any other belief was to be stamped out, eliminated, along with those who refused to convert.

“Of course, your grace,” the guards bowed and allowed the slight figure on the small beast to ride past. After all, what harm could one priest bring to the mighty fortress?

Vazil felt her heart beating fast as she passed underneath the portcullis and murder holes of the gatehouse. She half expected some foul burning liquid splattering down but she went through unharmed and emerged into a bustling street full of people and soldiers. She knew where to go and steered her equine through the throng, ringing a small silver bell that Teduskis had found her to alert the people that here was passing a holy servant of the only true god of the world. They parted and allowed the black figure to pass before resuming their journeys.

The roads were arranged in a grid pattern but she headed left and ahead and soon the inner walls rose, together with the gatehouse sited in the centre. Off to the left stood the temple, and she headed for this. People were sweeping the steps and Vazil stopped before them. “I seek stables for my beast and lodgings for myself.”

The servant bowed and pointed to the left. “The stables are round the rear, your grace. You can leave your beast with the stable hands. They will see to it. Please return here and show yourself to the temple administrator.”

Vazil nodded curtly and found the entrance to the stables. There was a stable boy there, a Riliyanese by the look of him, a swarthy, black-haired youngster with deep, black eyes. Returning to the entrance, Vazil demanded to be shown to the administrator, and was deferentially guided to a side chamber with a curly-haired large-nosed man with light brown eyes. A Venn.

“Yes?” he asked as the black-dressed Vazil entered the room. “A priest of Sonos? What worship see are you from?”

Vazil wondered what in the name of Kastan the right answer was. She was unlike any Venn in her appearance, and her accent would be foreign. She spoke many languages, her chief skill when being tutored, and she had learned to speak all the main languages known bordering Kastania. It had been fun learning them, and she now tried to recall what places she’d learned of in the lands of Talia. “Zaros,” she snapped, suddenly remembering the capital of Kral, now held by Venn.

“Zaros, eh? Come here to convert the heathen? Good! Plenty hereabouts, the filthy unclean barbarians. You can have a cell on the first floor, number feehi.”

“And will my prayers be uninterrupted?”

“For as long as you wish, but breakfast is before dawn. Down this passage at the rear. Large hall. Temple is opposite. I presume you’ll wish to pray before breakfast?”

“Wake me one watch before breakfast,” Vazil commanded, and turned away. She was sweating, her throat dry in contrast. This was insane! She loved to put excitement in her life, but this was the wildest, maddest thing she’d ever done. There was a narrow wooden staircase with a handrail and she went up, the way illuminated by daylight filtering through high windows, and found herself on a landing with a number of passages running off. There were many doors and they all had a crudely painted symbol on them. She thought back to her lessons. Talian – the tongue of the Venn – used completely different symbols for their writing and numbers, and she had to remember what the symbol of the fifth number, feehi, looked like.

Eei, dueei, treei, hivei, feehi. Luckily the symbols were simple enough and she followed the sequence from the single stroke of eei along to the fifth door. She opened it and found that it led to a small square room with a bench that served as a bed. There were no ornaments, no furnishings, nothing other than a half-burned candle in a metal dish. Vazil sighed. No comfortable sleep for her then. Shutting the door the light died except for faint bars filtering under and above the door.

It was enough to see by, once her eyes had adjusted, and she unfastened her cloak and threw it on the bench. It would have to serve as her bed for the night. She hung her symbol of Sonos on a handy hook and then unfastened the belt pouch that had been underneath her cloak. She brought forth a map and a small flask of a liquid Teduskis had given her. It was an extremely volatile oil and would burn like a beacon once ignited. Water would not be able to put it out and would only die once the oil was all used.

She smoothed the map out on the bench and knelt on the cold, bare floor, examining the crude sketch. The rough outline of the twin walls of Rhan was marked along with the gatehouses. The main temple of Sonos was also there, sited alongside the outer edge of the inner wall. That was where she must go next. The inner courtyard beyond the gatehouse was a blank space, but in there would be the arsenal somewhere.

Her mind set, she slipped the map and flask back in her pouch, donned her chain and symbol and slipped her cloak about her once more. It was a little too warm for this item this close to the sea and at this low altitude, but it had been necessary when crossing the high plateau through Kral. Autumn was nearly upon them and the nights in particular were getting cold.

She boldly walked out of the hostel and trod along the paved streets towards the inner wall. There, ahead of her, stood the temple, with a huge radiating symbol of Sonos, the Sun, affixed to the front. It had been something else in times gone by when Kastania ruled here, but now Venn reigned supreme and you had to follow Sonos – or else. Sited off to one side against the sturdy wall were gibbets and iron cages hanging from tall stands, and within these were the corpses of those who had refused to convert. All hail Sonos, the wise and merciful.

Vazil swallowed in fear. If she were caught, then she could only expect a long, slow tortuous end at the hands of the fanatical priests. They would demand it, and nobody could possibly speak out against it for fear of joining her. That was how the priests held sway here. Rule by fear and terror, all in the name of their god.

The temple was designed in a similar style to those in Kastania so there was additional proof it had been a temple to the polytheistic beliefs of the empire before its forcible alteration. Two warrior monks stood guarding the entrance, fierce expressions on their faces, their sun symbols welded to their breastplates. There was no doubting their calling and function. Two-handed swords were resting on the ground in between their feet, point down, the pommels in their hands. They would be ready in a blink of an eye to chop the unbeliever into pieces.

They stared at Vazil as she ascended the wide stone steps to the colonnaded entrance portico. “State your business, your grace,” one of the guards growled, his voice emanating from somewhere deep in his boots. Respectful, but authoritative at the same time.

“I am a recent arrival from Zaros, here to convert the heathen to the one true god. I am to pray at the altar and receive blessing from Sonos in my mission.”

“You are young for a priest,” the other guard said, his accent hard to understand. “And you are not Talian.”

“I am of Kral; I have been blessed in Zaros. This is my first mission in my calling.”

The guards glanced at one another and the first one nodded slightly. They stepped aside slightly. “You may pass. May Sonos bless you.”

“And you both; may His light shine on your lives.” That was something she’d heard said on her first visit there with her father. It seemed an appropriate phrase to use. The guards nodded and stared beyond her, resuming their vigilance at the temple entrance. Vazil passed beyond them, puffing her cheeks out, her heart racing. At this rate she was sure she’d have a seizure. The temple chamber through the door was a large circular one with the altar in the middle. A massive symbol of the sun rested upon it and three senior clerics were standing before it, praying. The sound of their low voices carried throughout the acoustically arranged space so that she could hear their words even where she was. The smell of incense and burning candles filled her senses, and she glanced left and right. Right. A door. That must lead to the offices and storerooms.

First things first. She approached the altar and knelt at the first step, as protocol demanded. There was a space in between two other people, soldiers, and she bowed her cowled head and gripped her symbol and muttered words in Kral. It wasn’t a prayer, it was a series of insults against the Venn, mostly to do with their genitals rotting. It would appear to the Talian-speaking soldiers and priests thought that she was deep in meditation.

She had got to the phrase ‘may the priests be plagued by a fatal dose of constipation’ when one of the senior clerics turned and regarded her, looming over her from the top step. “Brother,” he addressed her, “what are those words you speak?”

Vazil lifted her head, part of it still in shadow through the cowl. She switched to a heavily accented Talian. “Your grace, I am of Kral; I am on my first mission, sent here to convert the heathen of Riliyan to the true path.”

The cleric, grey-bearded and with thick eyebrows and a hooked nose, looked thoughtfully at the smooth skinned priest before him. So young looking and fresh-faced. At that age they all believed truly in their dedication to Sonos. So malleable and easily guided. Only a few could attain high rank, and none of those would be those who remained true to the path of their faith. To progress one must be corrupt and able to accept bribes in order to follow the wishes of their superiors, whether or not it followed the true path. He smiled, revealing stained, gapped teeth. “My child, your faith shines from you like Sonos Himself! You are truly blessed. But you must pray in Talian; only through the one true tongue can the unbeliever be converted. Sonos demands it.”