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Authors: Tony Roberts

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BOOK: Empire of Avarice
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CHAPTER TWO

Avarice. Avarice. All is avarice, thought Astiras Koros,
the new emperor. He leaned thoughtfully on the balcony of the palace, taking
the applause, cheering and the almost hysterical yells from those gathered on
the public plaza in front of the imposing façade of the palace. He waved at
intervals and smiled, although he didn’t feel much like smiling. Beneath him,
standing by the ten foot high wall topped with spiked rails to keep the public
out, the guards stood smartly to attention. They were good humoured, and many
were smiling, as well they might. They had been his personal retinue during the
recent civil wars, and now they had attained that for which they had been
fighting. The past few years had been tough, but now it all had seemed
worthwhile.

Astiras straightened and waved again. Behind him, the
open balcony doors led to a sumptuous chamber where four men were standing,
talking quietly in a small circle. The new emperor half turned his head and
grimaced as he caught sight of them. People he needed but ones he didn’t want
to need. Avarice. Now the really difficult work would begin. How to undo ten
years of incompetence, jealousy, murder and self-inflicted damage? How to
reverse the decades before that of undermining the Empire’s strength and
standing amongst the other nations? Other nations that previously had looked up
to Kastania and feared it, yes. Now they looked down on it with contempt and
plotted amongst themselves as to which bits they would gobble up and take for
themselves.

“Care to include me in your conversation, gentlemen?”
Astiras said loudly, looking over his shoulder. “Or am I not important enough?”

“Forgive me, your highness,” a tall, thin man with dark
hair bowed. “We were merely discussing the finer points of your coronation on
the morrow.”

“The priest here shoves the crown on my head and speaks
about religious matters,” Astiras said. “What details do you need to expand on
there?”

“Please, your highness,” a bearded, long robed figure
stepped forward, a black tall hat atop his head, “you must not speak so lightly
of religious matters, particularly now you are our nation’s leader.”

“High Cleric Burnas, I do not trivialise religion. I
respect it and your position as head of the Temple, but I am more concerned at
present with secular matters and in particular the safety of my family!”

“Of course, your highness,” Burnas bowed but looked
warily at the new emperor. He had browbeaten the previous occupant of the
palace, a man who had been fearful of divine retribution, but this man,
Astiras, was made of sterner stuff. He would have to step carefully over the
next few days until he worked out this man’s weaknesses, then he could exploit
them and put him in his place.

Astiras grunted, then turned and milked some more
applause. Then he turned again. “And you, Frendicus, I want a full and precise
report on the imperial finances by the time I’m up and having breakfast
tomorrow. No whining about time and lack of resources. You work for me now, not
that lame excuse of a predecessor of mine!”

Frendicus bowed and nodded, wondering how he would
manage to get staff out of bed at this time to do the necessary figures.

Astiras remained staring at the bald headed,
thick-jowled man. “Well, why are you standing there like an ass? Get going! The
damned books aren’t going to write themselves, are they?”

“B-but your majesty,” Frendicus protested, “the staff
are asleep in their homes….”

“You are here, aren’t you?” Astiras pointed a calloused
finger at him. Calloused through wielding a sword all these years. “Then damned
well get to it yourself, unless you’re not capable, in which case I’ll personally
kick you out of the palace and get a replacement.”

As Frendicus departed hurriedly, he stole a look at the
other three, but they looked back impassively lest their expressions be seen by
the new emperor. The last member of the group, a broad man with greying hair,
snapped to attention noisily. “And what are your orders for the palace guard,
your highness?”

“Just keep my family and person safe when here, Captain
Mercos.” Astiras ran a hand through his thinning hair and held Mercos’ look for
a moment, then smiled thinly and turned back to the crowd, waving in response
to their pleas once more. Yes, Mercos, better than you did my predecessor. If I
could bribe you to look the other way, then surely others could do so, too. Your
time is coming to an end here, my corrupt friend.

High Cleric Burnas shuffled his feet awkwardly. He knew
what had occurred the previous day, how Astiras and a few hand-picked men had
greased the correct palms so that eyes had been turned the other way, and that
the now ‘deposed’ emperor had been alone when Astiras had confronted him, sword
in hand, and spoken of the long list of excesses and failures the emperor had
been responsible for. Astiras, the only surviving rival to the emperor, had
simply struck first before the emperor had been able to find him and strike of
his own accord.

And so now Astiras was emperor. Already the former
emperor’s body was disposed of and nobody knew where it was, nor would they
dare ask.

Then the door opened and in came Astiras’ wife and two
youngest children and their nurse. Astiras beamed and threw open his arms and
swept her up. Laughing, the two embraced, much to the surprise of the onlookers
and to the two children.

Argan then looked at the three men standing slightly
away from his father. The man in the long black robes with the beard attracted
his attention the most. He looked – funny. But also someone who you had to be
wary of. The man with the shiny armour had eyes that never kept still. Argan
didn’t trust him one bit. The tall thin man with dark hair had bowed, like the
others had when he and his mother had entered the room, but the way he looked
at him made him frightened. He clung to his mother’s dress.

“And my boys!” Astiras exclaimed, sweeping both boys up
into his arms and laughing. Argan gripped his father, smiling. This was
something he enjoyed, even though he rarely saw his father. “Come, see the
lovely lights outside!” he said, walking out holding his two sons. Argan gaped
at the sight of a thousand pin pricks of flickering lights below in the plaza,
more than the height of three tall men beneath them. It was mesmerising. Even
Istan shut up and stared, his fist in his mouth.

“My sons! Princes of the Empire!” Astiras boomed,
holding the two boys up for the populace to see. A wall of sound rose up,
cheering and shouting, and Argan was a little afraid, but his mother was
suddenly there, alongside him, reassuringly.

“Where’s Amne?” his mother asked Astiras.

“In the palace somewhere, finding her new wardrobe, I
should think,” he said, disapprovingly.

“I’ll get someone to bring her here. This is where she
should be, not indulging herself!” The empress strode into the room, casting
her eye on the three men standing there before her. From the looks on their
faces none of them were thrilled to be there. “Who knows this palace best? My
daughter should be here and I want her brought to this room at once.”

“I know where she is, your majesty,” the palace guard
commander Mercos smiled thinly. “I shall fetch her at once.” He bowed and
backed away, closing the door behind him.

“You I know,” the empress addressed High Cleric Burnas. “We
will talk later. But you I don’t,” she said to the tall thin man. “What is your
name?”

“Pepil, your majesty, major domo of the palace. It is my
job to ensure this place runs smoothly and all your needs are attended to.”

“Then attend to them, Pepil; start making sure this
palace runs smoothly. You can’t do that standing here doing nothing.”

Pepil bowed low again and backed away, leaving High
Cleric Burnas with the empress. He drew himself up fully and stared her in the
eye. He was going to show her that he was no submissive servant. He was only
the servant of the gods, and no emperor or empress would change that. Certainly
those that had come and gone in the palace during his tenure as head of the
Temple in the empire had acknowledged that, and this family would do the same. Or
else, he mused, they would find themselves up to their necks in religious
discord which was the last thing they wanted given the delicate situation with the
empire.

No, he decided, looking at the empress, it would be they
who served him, not the other way round.

“You have to plan the service to crown my husband as
emperor, High Cleric?” she put to him.

“Indeed, your majesty,” he confirmed, a slight bow of the
head was all he was prepared to make, and it could be interpreted as merely
agreeing with the statement she’d made.

“Then I shouldn’t keep you any longer from that duty,
High Cleric. We all need sleep before the event tomorrow.”

He smiled thinly. Such abrupt dismissal would not go
unanswered in the fullness of time. As he turned to go, turning his back on
her, a deliberate insult, Teduskis opened the door and almost bumped into him. He
quickly began to apologise but halted halfway through as the priest’s look
could have shrivelled him on the spot. The soldier stared at his back as he
stalked away, then he turned in puzzlement to the empress. “What was the matter
with him, ma’am?”

“I dismissed him. He didn’t take kindly to that. Is
everything in order, Teduskis?”

“As much as it should be, ma’am. The imperial guard is
barracked nicely; they like the quarters, they’re much better than they’re used
to!”

“Good. Watch out for the palace guard commander, a man
called Mercos.”

“Mercos?” Teduskis said sharply. “I know him – or
rather, know of him. A slimy piece of work, shifts allegiances with the wind. Totally
untrustworthy.”

The empress nodded. “So I thought, judging by his
manner. He’s fetching Amne. Go see if you can find them both – I don’t want
anything untoward happening.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Teduskis bowed and backed out of the
chamber.

____

Amne was enjoying herself immensely. She’d asked one of
the palace servants where her room was and had been pointed in the direction of
a suite of rooms that she was told had been the empresses’ only the day before.
The servant had clearly not known who she was and had then gone on her way
without so much as a curtsey, but Amne was too excited to take her to task. Time
for that another day.

In front of her was a treasure trove. More dresses and
shoes than she’d ever seen before in her entire life! Beautiful clothes, softer
and smoother than she’d ever imagined! Now she was a princess she’d dress in
such clothing, and never again have to have the coarser, rougher material she
was used to. The former empress’s clothes must be of wormspun, that magical
stuff from far away that cost a fortune because of the distance and danger on
the routes that were taken to bring it here to Kastan. Even further east they’d
never seen wormspun. And the shoes – she knelt in front of the open wardrobe
and ran her hands and fingers down the soft leather. Made so beautifully. The
best artisans in all of Kastan must make these. She would demand to know who
these people were and then employ them just for herself.

She would also have servants to attend her hair, her
make-up, oh, everything! Would those dresses fit her? She had to know. Shrugging
off her ankle length one-piece dress that hung from her shoulders, she stepped
out of the dress and picked up the nearest one, hanging from the rail. It was
short sleeved, ruffled at the shoulders, not such a wide neck as the current
fashion, gathered in at the waist, so she may not need to wear a belt to
accentuate her figure, and then fell in folds to the ground.

She ran her hand over the waist. How did they do that? She
felt a bony material underneath the wormspun material. Ah, they must put
something in underneath. She frowned. How to get in? She pulled it roughly away
from the wardrobe and examined it impatiently all the way round. It would be
almost impossible to get this on without help.

“You would have maidservants to help you with that,” a
mocking voice surprised her. She spun round, eyes wide, so see a grinning man
in the imperial colours of white and purple leaning against the door post.

“Who are you – and how dare you look upon me like this!”
Amne clutched the dress to her front, aware that her body was revealed to him. Etiquette
in the empire demanded a lady should not expose her legs above the ankle in
public. Her long shapely legs were completely exposed, as were her stomach,
arms and, in fact, everything except her hip and chest area. Her undergarments
were all she had on. The man leered at her, appraising her twenty year old
figure, admiring and appreciating her. She felt angry. “Speak!”

“The name’s Mercos, and I’m the palace guard captain. You
must be the new princess, Amne. Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Very pleased, in
fact.” He pushed himself away from the doorway and came into the richly carpeted
chamber. Amne stood in the centre of the room, glaring at the man. “You
shouldn’t be touching those,” he waggled a finger at her, then the dress she
was clutching to her throat. “They were the former empress’s. They won’t fit
you,” he commented, eyeing her figure again.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Amne spat. “I’ll have you
whipped for you insolence, and thrown into the imperial dungeons!”

To her surprise, Mercos laughed. “Oh no, little Amne,
not I. You see, I was the man who allowed your father and his supporters into
the palace earlier this evening to depose the old emperor. Without me,
princess, you wouldn’t be a princess or your father emperor. He owes me a huge
favour, so your little squeals will make no impression on him.”

BOOK: Empire of Avarice
13.51Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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