Empire of Avarice (11 page)

Isbel looked at it dubiously. “I don’t think I do. Amne?”

Their daughter’s expression said it all. Only Pepil
seemed unmoved. “Your majesty, this is a delicacy often served here. It is tasty!”

“So is charger flesh, or so I’m told, but I’m sure as
the sun and moons fly above us I’m not going to eat it. Take this away,” he
ordered the servant, “and get the cook to prepare cold meats for now. Tomorrow
I want something more acceptable to a standard palate. This – luxury – food is
not going to be served here. Any more unusual dishes that are normally served
here I need to know about? Insect testicles?”

“Astiras!” Isbel scolded.

Amne smirked and covered her mouth with her hand. Teduskis
cleared his throat and leaned back. “In Bragal they favour a dish called
kutosh. It’s a kind of stew but made with canine flesh and root vegetables they
grow there called moklar. Looks like a charger’s sexual organ but tastes very
nice indeed.”

“Do we really have to have such conversations around the
dining table?” Isbel demanded.

Astiras looked across the table at Pepil. “Make sure the
kitchens cook more standard fayre from now on, Pepil. Give me a menu the night
before so I can yes or no it.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Isbel,” Astiras said. “Kutosh is very tasty, I’ve had
it. But we won’t serve it here, don’t worry. But Amne,” he turned to his
daughter, “you may well savour it when you come with us to Bragal.”

Amne looked at her father with wide eyes. Isbel tutted. “Just
make sure that vegetable Teduskis described is – prepared accordingly before
you give it to Amne.”

“Moklar?” Astiras asked. He nodded, deliberately not
catching Teduskis’ eye. In Bragal it was a deliberate insult to call someone a
Moklar. Astiras yawned and cracked his shoulders. “I’ve checked tax records and
listened to whining nobility wanting to ingratiate themselves to me this
morning. This afternoon I’ve got to look forward to marriage offers. May the
gods help me! The sooner a new army is trained up so I can return to Bragal the
better! Teduskis, organise posters to be put up around the city inviting men of
eligible age to join up. You’d better oversee their training. See if you can
get some of the town guard to apply too – we need a core of them to get things
moving.”

“Sire. Where will they be housed, these new recruits?”

Astrias scratched his head. “Unless there’s alternative
accommodation, the barracks will have to do to start with. Isn’t there an
archery range and stables close by?”

“Yes, sire. We could train up cavalry and archers too.”

“We’ll need them as well as foot sloggers. Get to it. I’ll
read your report on your day’s activities tonight.” He winked at the old
campaigner.

Teduskis smiled briefly and then stood up. “If you’ll
all excuse me, ladies, gentlemen,” and left.

Isbel looked thoughtful. “What are you two cooking up? You
look like two naughty students.”

“Oh, nothing, dear.”

“Don’t you ‘nothing, dear’ me! I’m not a foolish
home-wife fluttering her eyelashes and waiting for you to return home after a
hard day’s work in the taverns! Astiras Koros, I’m empress, and I should have
some say in what’s going on! So far I’ve contributed nothing. I’m part of this
dynasty as well, so start treating me as such.”

“Not so loud, Isbel,” Astiras frowned. “If you like, you
can face these nobles pushing marriage at Amne and the two boys. It’d leave me
free to deal with diplomatic matters; I understand a messenger from Pelponia
has arrived.”

Isbel was mollified – slightly – and nodded. “I trust
you’ll have me present for any official greeting of ambassadors should they
turn up?”

“Of course. Pepil will advise should any arrive. What’s
the likelihood of this happening? he looked at the major domo.

“Not for a while. There hasn’t been an embassy here for
some time. Nobody takes us seriously anymore,” the major domo added gloomily.

“Not at present. They’re more interested in tearing up
the carcass,” Astiras growled. “We’ll show them this carcass has life in it yet.”

Argan was tired. His tutor, Mr Sen, had talked lots that
day. He talked a lot about how much he was going to learn over the next few
years. Argan was more interested in the toy figures of soldiers Mr Sen had
brought along. The figures were wonderful, being as tall as his hand, and all painted
to look like real people. There were lots of them, too many for Argan to count.
He could only count up to ten anyway.

Mr Sen did let him play that afternoon after lunch. They’d
eaten bread, cheese and drank fruit flavoured water in the tutorial room which
Argan had found refreshing. He’d never tasted anything like that before. He
wanted lots but it gave him a windy tummy so Mr Sen had stopped him after one
particularly big burp.

The figures all had imperial colours and symbols on
them. Argan had asked what they were and if they had any names. Mr Sen had
picked up one, a man with a sword and a shield. “This is what the imperial
infantry used to look like,” he had said with a slight sadness in his voice. “Before
the big battle with the Tybar that we lost. After that, they stopped using
them.”

“Why? He looks big and strong!”

“Yes he does, doesn’t he? The Tybar use bows and arrows
a lot, and these poor fellows were hit by arrows before they could get close to
them. We lost most of our infantry that day. And they take a long time to train
properly. They’re good fighting other swordsmen, but not much use against
people who use cavalry and archers.”

“I’m going to call him Kas. I like Kas.”

“Alright, we’ll call him Kas. An army has to have lots
of different sorts of people in it. Like the cavalry, and archers, and
spearmen.” Mr Sen had placed all the different types of figures alongside Kas.

Argan picked up the cavalry figure, a heavily armoured
man on the back of a charger. It was gaily coloured and a flag fluttered from a
lance sticking up into the air held by the rider. “Who is this?”

“It can be your father, if you like; he’d be like that
in a battle.”

“Oh yes! This is father! And Jorqel? What would he be
like?”

Mr Sen had smiled. “Much the same,” and he placed a
second, slightly different cavalryman next to the first. “Cavalry are the most
important part of an army; they can quickly come to help others who may be in
trouble, or hit an enemy hard and break their formations up.”

Argan had mimicked a charge and had knocked over one of
the figures and then smiled. Mr Sen had thoughtfully picked up a spearman. “But
not him.”

“Why not him?”

“He’s a spearman. Cavalry don’t like spearmen; spears
hurt chargers a lot, and they stay away from them.”

Argan had studied the spearman for a moment. “Then who
can hurt a spearman?”

Mr Sen had smiled and tapped both Kas and a figure of an
archer on the heads. “Either of these.”

Argan had then played a battle, and Mr Sen had sat back
and watched. When Argan had tried to attack a spear unit with his cavalry, Mr
Sen had tutted and shaken his head, so Argan had switched to his archers and Mr
Sen had smiled. Then an odd thing had happened. Mr Sen had put a new cavalry
unit on the table, one with red markings. “What is that?” Argan had asked.

“Baddies. The enemy cavalry is going to ride down your
archers. What are you going to do?”

“Uh! Oh… father!” Argan had placed the charger and rider
to block the enemy cavalry.

“Very good, Argan. You may play with them a little more
for that. Then we must stop as you’re getting tired.”

After a while Mr Sen had put the figures away. Argan
felt sad; he’d loved playing with them. But he’d been told that they would be
there the following day, but only if he studied the book that would be given to
him to read, and Mr Sen would ask questions about it. Argan didn’t know what
book it was. He hoped it would have nice pictures of riders and archers in it. He
really liked them. Mr Sen had told him that one day Argan might be like that, a
rider on a charger. It made Argan feel very happy instead of sad.

He was tired when it came to dinner. His father and
mother commented on it. Argan didn’t feel like talking much; his head was full
of soldiers and warriors. “Mr Sen, have you done too much with young Argan here?”
Isbel asked.

“Only given him military figures to play with and learn
the fundamentals of warfare. He enjoyed himself hugely.” The tutor smiled and
nodded.

Astiras looked at Argan who nodded in return. “I liked
you, father!”

“Me?” Astiras looked in confusion at Sen.

“He named the figure of a rider on a charger after you,
sire.”

“Ah. And how did it go, Argan?”

“Good! I like the soldiers. Mr Sen said if I learned
tomorrow from a book then I could play with them again!”

The adults smiled and waited for the arrival of drinks. Isbel
studied Mr Sen. “How is he doing?”

“Very well, your majesty. Certainly has an instinctive
grasp of tactics. You may have a budding tactical genius there, ma’am.”

Astiras looked like he’d just had the cream. Isbel
smiled with pride too, but not because of his military grasp. Rather, it was
because it was her son who was excelling at something. Amne tousled Argan’s
head. “There you are, Argan,” she said proudly, “you’re a clever boy!”

Argan smiled. Isbel spoke to Amne. “And your day, Amne? How
was that?”

Amne sighed loudly. “Lots of facts and what have you! Who
to be aware of and who’s likely to be friendly, or unfriendly. Being a diplomat
is like being an actor or actress.”

“Yes,” Astrias agreed. “Falsehoods and deceit. But always
remember, Amne, that the empire comes first. It’s been poorly served of late
and we all suffer as a result. A diplomat may not have the same status as a
warrior, and may not have the visible effect on an opponent a soldier does, but
he can influence relations between nations just as much.”

“Wise words, your majesty,” Theros said. “Your daughter
has a natural charm and with the knowledge I and my staff can give her, I feel
she will do a wonderful job in Mazag.”

Amne blushed and looked down. The silence was broken by
the arrival of the servants with the after dinner drinks. It wasn’t long before
the diners broke up and went their various ways. Argan was tucked into bed and
Amne went to her room to enjoy a quiet period; her head was spinning with what
she’d learned that day.

Isbel and Astiras sat in the library and sipped their
drinks. “Our children would appear to be a clever bunch,” Astiras said.

“I’m glad Argan is showing promise,” Isbel said with
relief. Astiras guessed it was because Jorqel and Amne were not her children. Astiras’
first wife had died in child birth when Amne had been born, and he’d remarried
a decade later, just as news of the disaster against the Tybar had come. Fortunately
Astiras had been serving in the east and had avoided the debacle, but the civil
wars that had followed had involved him as Astiras backed the existing regime
against those who had rebelled after the defeat. After the emperor’s capture
and death at the hands of the rebels, Astiras had gone into hiding until a counter-rebellion
had broken out.

The trouble was that the original cause had died and
Astiras found each faction was now more interested in putting its candidate on
the throne than looking to the defence of the empire. As a result province
after province had either been gobbled up by their neighbours or had declared
independence, and then been eaten up by its neighbour. Astiras had been too
busy to start a family until the last few years. It was only after he had been
made governor of Bragal, had he thought himself settled enough to do so.

Shortly after Argan’s birth the Bragal independence war
had broken out and he’d been fully occupied with that. Isbel and young Argan
had been moved to Kastan with the rest of the household for their safety until
Astiras realised his power base had been undermined and his family may be in
danger from the emperor’s faction. Astiras had returned to Kastan during the
winter seasons and Istan had been born in Kastan City just before Astiras had
returned to Bragal to help shore up a deteriorating situation.

The conspiracy Teduskis had discovered over the past few
days was made up of those who had supported the previous emperor, and they saw
the Koros as dangerous rivals. That reminded Astiras. He reached into his
pocket and pulled out Teduskis’ report. He rustled the paper open and read it
in the candlelight, peering closely to read the words. Isbel leaned over. “What
is it?”

“The thieves’ guild – they deny being involved in any
way with the conspiracy. Damned liars. Teduskis warned them, but I think once
they’ve taken a contract they’ll see it through. Jorqel had best be warned
again. You’ll write to him?”

“Yes, of course.” Even though not her natural son, she
regarded him as her own. “What about the danger to the rest of us?”

“Still there, I’d say. We need Mercos’ replacement as
soon as possible. This Vosgaris fellow wants to think on it further. He’d be
the ideal replacement.”

“It would put us in favour with the Taboz family too,”
Isbel commented. “We need allies. What about the other conspirators?”

“Gone into hiding, as I suspected. How did the afternoon
session go with the nobles?”

 Isbel chuckled. The number of enquiries as to the
eligibility of their two sons dropped once it was known they would not consider
any proposals until Argan and Istan were twelve. Many of the nobility had no
idea of the youthfulness of the boys. That had left the suitors for Amne’s
hand. There were five families in particular which wanted to secure an alliance
with the Koros, and Isbel had spent all afternoon speaking with them. At the
end of it, all had left with the understanding that Amne was busy with matters
of state but she would begin to look for a husband when this was finished. The
five families would at that time be contacted, to see if their sons were still
interested. Of course, Isbel had told them, Amne might choose an entirely
different suitor.

Astiras had some interesting news. It seemed the first
outbreak of open rebellion to the Koros regime had begun in far off Pelponia. The
local garrison had been divided in their loyalties and half had revolted while
the other half had stayed loyal, including the commander, Anthes. The rebels
had clashed briefly with the loyalists before fleeing to the districts surrounding
the main city, Kornith, and inciting the populace there to join them. It looked
like a stand-off at present.

“What are you going to do?” Isbel asked.

“Tell Anthes to crush them. We need to show everyone
we’re not to be defied. I can’t send anyone up there to help him, so he’ll have
to cope on his own.”

“What if they fail?”

“They can’t. They’d better not!” Astiras hoped it could
be sorted out quickly. If not, then their grip on the throne could loosen and
their future might be bleak indeed.

____

The Fokis family owned many properties in and around
Kastan. One of these was a textile factory that employed fifty people in one of
the eastern suburbs of the capital, sited outside the city walls. Wormspun
textiles were produced here and it made the Fokis family very rich indeed. The
workforce lived very close by and as dark fell they made their way home after a
hard day’s labour. Now it was empty the building could be used for other
purposes, and the family often held meetings or partook in illegal gambling
sessions here, always fixed so that they ended up even richer after each such
session.

But this night they were holding a meeting with
representatives of other families. All had a common cause; to oppose the Koros
family. Private mercenary guards patrolled outside or stood sentinel within the
building to make sure nobody unwelcome happened by or attended the meeting.

The most senior Fokis family member there was Cledin, a
thirty-something year old with a hard icy stare and a firm mouth that hardly
ever smiled. He was a serious man with ambitions to rise high in the imperial
apparatus, but the recent coup had put a stop to that, so he was more than
happy to host the meeting in what was one of his businesses. It had been the
suggestion of his father, who was now in hiding.

The other families represented there belonged to the
Palanges, Lazisk, Kanzet and Duras families. All had wealth and positions high
in society, and all had connections to one imperial dynasty or other. Many of
these connections were tenuous thanks to the recent spate of killings amongst
emperors, but they all believed they had as good a claim to the throne as the
Koros family.

Cledin had each of the visitors given a drink before he
began. There were no servants here, as nobody knew if any of them had
sympathies with the Koros. The new emperor seemed to champion the lesser man
rather than the nobility, which was unheard of. “Welcome, and thank you for
answering my father’s invitation. He cannot be here tonight, for as you know
the emperor has put a price on his head and he’s in hiding. Thankfully the
Koros are as yet powerless outside Kastan’s walls, but it isn’t known how long
this will last. I’m asking each of you here for help in ending this tyranny
from this usurper, and to restore those privileges which are rightfully ours
and that have been wrongfully taken away by this evil man.”

The others nodded. Their families stood to lose much of
their power and income if the tax changes threatened came into effect. The fact
they paid little or no tax in return for an annual bribe to the palace made no
difference to them. They also feared loss of prestige to the Koros and whoever
would support them. These families had thrown their lot in with the previous
regime and now felt they would be frozen out.