Empire of Avarice (70 page)

“Perfect!” Amne smiled and vaulted up onto the beast’s
back without pausing. Teduskis stopped, his jaw dropping. He watched, stunned,
as Amne took the reins and waved to the cheering Mazag and galloped off, her
blond locks flying behind her. She vaulted a fence and turned the beast tightly,
galloping off along the other side of the wooden barrier.

“Oh by the gods,” Teduskis gasped and ran hard for the
long building. Astiras was not pleased when a breathless Teduskis burst into
his quarters. He roared for his own equine to be harnessed up. Teduskis ran
alongside him as they burst out into the daylight. “Sire, I think it would be
pointless trying to catch her.”

“What do you mean, Teduskis? Speak!”

“She’s on a Mazag equine; lighter, faster, more agile. You’ll
never catch her.”

“She’s a beginner!”

“Not from what I saw, sire. She got up onto the beast in
one go, jumped that fence and galloped off with no trouble at all. I’d say
she’s the equal of any of us here. Apart from the Mazag, of course.”

“So I let her go wherever she pleases? She’s a woman and
this is an army camp full of men who have been away from their women for over a
year!”

“Sire, who will touch her? Everyone knows who she is. I
think she’ll be welcomed wherever she goes here. She’s a damned sight more
comfortable around the soldiery than anyone I know. You didn’t see the way she
addressed those Mazag over there. Nor the way they reacted to her. Sire, she’s
at ease with people. She’s changed an awful lot.”

“Don’t I know it, Teduskis? She’s defiant, wilful,
stubborn, hot-headed.”

Teduskis chuckled. “Sounds very much like someone else I
know, sire.”

The emperor glared at Teduskis, then sighed. “Oh damn it
all. Yes, yes, just like me. Go on, say it, damn you.”

The retainer grinned, staring into the distance. “I
don’t need to, sire. She’s grown up. She’ll defy you if you restrict that free
spirit.”

“Damn that Lalaas; he’s responsible for this. I’ll post
him to the most brain-boringly remote outpost of the empire.”

“There isn’t one, sire. Everywhere’s up in arms. Got a
report this morning there may be trouble at Turslenka.”

“Oh, no,” Astiras groaned. “Why haven’t you told me this
before?”

“I’m having it verified. It’s not confirmed yet, but if
it is true, it would seem Duras has managed to get support from locals around
Turslenka and they’re going to try to take the city.”

“The gods strike that demon down,” Astiras said with
feeling. “We need Turslenka’s road open. How can I supply this army if its
shut? Kalkos is closed, so we need the Turslenka road open.”

“I’ll send a message to Thetos Olskan in Turslenka. If
he’s able, he’ll sort them out.”

“Let me see first how serious this threat is, then I’ll
send a message. I want this new rebel group crushed.”

“And your daughter, sire?”

“When she returns send her to me immediately. Carry her
if you need to. She needs her backside slapped.”

Teduskis kept a straight face. He saluted and Astiras
swung about and tramped off back into the building, grumbling. The retainer
decided to do another sweep of the perimeter, so he got up on his equine and slowly
made his rounds. The boundary around Zofela was leagues in length, but he would
patrol only that part close to the camp. Groups of soldiers were posted at
regular intervals, in huts built around the guard towers.

At one of these he came across a large group of men
gathered around a camp fire, keeping warm. He heard a female voice and
dismounted, softly walking in between the huts. He tied his beast to a post and
peered round the edge of the last building to see Amne holding centre stage
with a group of imperial archers. She was showing them how to peel a few roots
properly and washing them in a salty water solution. He leaned against the side
of the hut and listened.

“Food always tastes better with salt. If you prepare
these roots first by washing them in this, you get a much better taste. Have
any of you got some moklar roots?”

Some of the men chuckled, but they found a couple. They
were indeed big specimens. Amne handled the first with a smile. She knew what
the men were thinking. She had a small knife, and she looked at the men first,
then sliced the root in two. The soldiers groaned. Amne grinned, her tongue
through her lips, and even Teduskis grinned to himself. He knew Astiras would
have a raging fit if he’d seen that.

He watched as she sliced up the moklar roots, then Amne
asked for some meat. The soldiers provided chunks of wool beast meat. Amne got
the men to chop the meat into smaller pieces and then the lot was thrown into
the pot. Amne next pulled from a pocket a small plant and chopped it into small
slivers on a wooden block one of the soldiers provided. “This is chun, a herb. Strong
flavour,” she told them, dropping it into the bubbling pot. “Now let these
ingredients bubble away for a half watch, then serve. You’ll love it.”

As she stood up, the soldiers begged her to stay. She
caught sight of Teduskis leaning against the hut and he waggled a finger at
her. “Sorry, boys,” she said, smiling widely, “duty calls. Even a princess
cannot do as she wishes most of the time. I have orders too, just like you. Enjoy!”
She walked off to her equine, off to one side, and Teduskis saw the soldiers
watch her like field-lupuses, transfixed by her swaying bottom, tightly encased
in her riding trousers.

“She’s trouble waiting to happen,” Teduskis muttered to
himself. “Gods but she knows she’s got it. Astiras, old friend, get her out of
here quick.” He led his equine back to a place beyond the small collection of
huts and mounted up just as Amne arrived, easily controlling her snorting
animal. “Ma’am,” he said neutrally.

“Teduskis,” Amne said politely. “Have you been sent by
my father to bring me back?”

“No, ma’am, I was merely checking on the men and making
sure the perimeter is being manned properly. I heard you talking so I thought
I’d check on what was going on.”

“Bragalese recipe, although strictly speaking you use
canine meat, so I understand.”

“Oh, yes, kutosh. Where did you learn to cook?”

“On my journey, Teduskis. Are you disappointed in me?”

Teduskis shook his head. “But please bear with me a
moment while I speak candidly. I’ve known you for years, watched you grow up. The
Amne I knew is no more; you’re a different Amne. I think you’re a worry to your
father, and I don’t think you should fraternise with the soldiery. Too much
familiarity could breed contempt, and we don’t need that. The imperial family
should be respected, worshipped, almost. Seeing them up close as you’re doing
isn’t good for the reputation of the Koros.”

Amne smiled and shook her head. “What you mean,
Teduskis, is that female members of the dynasty shouldn’t be seen out of the
palace. Stuff and nonsense. The people need to see us; they need to know we’re
just like them. We’re not gods. We must be seen to understand them and relate
to them. Respect isn’t an automatic bestowal; it must be earned.”

Teduskis grunted. “Be aware that some men cannot control
their passions. A young and attractive woman like yourself on her own without
an escort is vulnerable.”

“Then provide me with a bodyguard, Teduskis.”

“I shall.”

“Lalaas.”

“No.”

Amne stopped and circled round Teduskis, saying nothing.
The silence in which she did it unnerved the veteran warrior. She leaned
forward, facing him. “I said Lalaas. I meant Lalaas. Now go get him, Teduskis. Or
I’ll go find him myself and you’ll have to go tell my father why I’ve gone
riding off into the wilds of Bragal.”

“You’re asking a great deal of me, ma’am. I’m a general,
not a manservant.”

Amne said nothing more. She passed Teduskis and began
trotting off back the way they had come. “Ma’am,” Teduskis turned round. Amne
stopped. “Very well. I shall fetch Lalaas. But first I’ll ensure you’re back
safely in your quarters.”

Amne turned back, smiling. “Thank you, Teduskis.”

Teduskis shook his head slowly. “Where did you learn to
be so forceful?”

“If you’d endured what I’ve had to these past few years,
you’d end up fighting for yourself. I’ve seen a whole new world out here, and
had my eyes opened to a lot of things that are deliberately kept from us in our
palaces and rich houses.”

Teduskis walked alongside Amne and asked her about one
or two of the things she’d seen, and Amne told him of the slavery and the
Bragalese attitude. By the time she’d finished they had reached the Mazag camp
which was beginning to pack up. Amne returned the equine to its owner and
thanked the soldier. She asked them if they were leaving.

“Yes, Princess. We must return to General Polak. We have
eaten, rested and been given gifts. Emperor Astiras is a great and generous
warrior. We thank him!”

The Mazag mounted up, cheered Amne who laughed in
delight, and they waved and were suddenly gone, galloping off into the late
afternoon. Teduskis blew out his cheeks in relief. “Glad they’re gone. Security
risk. A pain I could do without.”

“They were quite sweet, Teduskis. Don’t be too hard on
them.”

“Pah! One day we’ll go to war with those ‘sweet’ men. You’ll
see what they’re really like then.”

Amne scowled. “Show me to my room, please.”

Later Amne was called to her father’s room. Standing
there were Teduskis and Lalaas. Amne smiled at Lalaas who bowed formally. Her
father didn’t look too pleased. “I hear, Amne, that you’ve been visiting the
soldiers unescorted. Well, that’s unacceptable. If you must go around the camp,
then you will be in the company of a bodyguard. General Teduskis here says you
would like Lalaas as your escort. And since you’ve also set conditions on our
other conversation, it seems I have little choice but to agree them. Very well,
your two conditions are agreed.”

Amne clapped her hands together in delight. Her future
was looking much brighter.

Thetos Olskan scratched his chin with his hook. Losing
most of one’s lower arm could have been the end of a career, but the burly
Olskan had taken it as a challenge, had an artificial extension fixed to his
stump and ended it in an interchangeable steel hook. He could still wield a
sword, but riding into battle was a problem, until he’d had a high saddle made
and adapted stirrups. The hook could hold onto the reins in battle but he now
steered his equine with his knees, similar to the style the Tybar and Mazag
used.

He was thick-set, had bushy eyebrows, a jutting chin, a
piercing look and dark hair. He’d been in the Bragal war until being wounded,
and had been rewarded with a post to take up the vacant position of governor of
Makenia, mainly because it had been Olskan who had killed the incumbent on the
night of Astiras’ coup. Astiras, Olskan’s old sword-mate, had planned the
entire thing. Olskan had infiltrated Turslenka and killed the pro-Duras faction
governor and taken power. Now, three years on, he had things more or less
sorted.

Except for this uprising, that is.

It was a vexing thing. There had been no warning. One
day everything had been going smoothly, excepting of course the insurrection
around Kalkos close to the border with Frasia, and then the next the banner of
rebellion had been raised in the countryside next to Turslenka and a demand for
the surrender of Turslenka to the Duras. It had been signed by an Anfos Duras. He
had no knowledge of any Anfos Duras, but he supposed those scum bred like
rodents.

Thetos Olskan knew he would have to sort this out. A
letter had also arrived from the emperor in Bragal, ordering him to destroy the
rebels. His intelligence was that the rebels had around 240 men or so, made up
of relatively untrained archers and militiamen. It looked like the classic
rent-a-mob gathering, with one loud-mouthed leader and a bunch of disaffected
people flocking to his banner, wanting to change their lives for the better.

Thetos snorted in disgust. Why didn’t these idiots
realise that the only person who stood to gain from such an action was the
leader? He wanted power and would use the lives of the gullible to attain that,
no matter how many died in the attempt. Should the rebellion succeed then all
those who fought for him wanting a change for the better would be abandoned and
left to rot.

He had two companies of imperial spearmen to call upon. While
not a huge force, they were certainly much better trained and equipped than the
rabble that, even now, was gathering outside the walls of Turslenka. Thetos
also had his heavy cavalry bodyguard, and that should be enough. Even so, he’d
sent a scout out into the countryside to find Nikos Duras and his army. Hopefully
it would still be at Kalkos and not marching eastwards. If that were the case,
Thetos would not be able to leave Turslenka undefended, for should he do so and
defeat Anfos Duras, then Nikos Duras would take Turslenka behind him. Astiras
would not be amused.

The snows had come and were blanketing the fields beyond
the city walls. Thetos looked out over the city and the hills in the distance. The
cutting off of the roads into the city now would be catastrophic. There wasn’t
much food in reserve. He hadn’t planned to stockpile any because there had been
no warning, and supplies came regularly from the villages and neighbouring
farmlands. True, the traffic from Frasia had been disrupted, but not stopped. The
fool Duras thought, by taking Kalkos, they would strangle trade between Frasia
and Turslenka, but, all that had achieved was to triple the distance it took by
re-routing through northern Bragal. It put prices up but they could withstand
that.

However the Duras must have finally realised that and
now raised another rebellion around Turslenka, slamming the door shut on
Astiras’ army in Bragal. In winter, too. Thetos had to admit their timing was
perfect.

Still, they only had militiamen to deal with. It
shouldn’t be a problem. Thetos was wearing his armour, something he hadn’t done
for three years, and he found he’d put on a bit of weight since becoming
governor. Too many rich meals and not enough exercise. He grunted and sucked in
his stomach. Where once he’d been lean and fit, he now had a paunch.

His hook was tested and was firm. Not a good thing for it
to drop off in battle. He called for his manservant to bring his sword, an
adapted weapon with a bigger counterweight in the pommel. Thetos was a strong
man, and could wield a four-foot blade as easily as normal men could a
two-handed sword. The weapon was strapped to his left hip, and a mace fitted to
a strap set in his saddle. Sometimes it was helpful to bash the brains out of
someone who came at him from the other side in battle.

He strode out into the lightly falling snow. His guard
was lined up in the city square, watched by a number of citizens. They were
hoping the garrison would be successful; they had enjoyed three years of
growing prosperity and peace, and didn’t want a return to the bad old days
before Thetos had taken control. He was a severe man, but fair. Not one given
to flowery speeches, he just got on with it.

The two companies of spearmen marched past, scattering
the snow and tramping it into ice on the paved roads, and made for the South
Gate. Thetos mounted up by using a wooden step put by his equine by his
manservant, and he led his guard in the wake of the spearmen. There were no
noble speeches, no fanfares. Typical Thetos, he just mounted up and rode off to
do a job.

The landscape was softened by the snow, and the biting
cold ate into hands and fingers, into toes, noses and cheeks. Men and equines
blew out clouds of condensation as they walked, and scouts rode back and forth,
bringing Thetos news of where the rebel force was waiting. They were not far
away, standing atop a cliff that ran to the south of the main road that ran
westwards towards Kalkos. It was as he thought; one group of archers and one
group of militia. Thetos felt angry. All this effort and inconvenience just to
smash a piddling stupid half-trained bunch of half-wits. If it were trained
warriors, then the fight would be worth it. But not these dung-eaters.

Still, they could starve both Turslenka and Astiras out
if they remained at large. The cliff was already in sight, being only a couple
of leagues from the city walls. The two spear companies marched off the road
and lined up facing the cliff. The pennants of the rebels could clearly be seen
up on the hill above it. Thetos sucked in a deep breath and surveyed the
terrain. Off to the east the cliff fell and a route up and behind the sheer
rock face could be made, but it wouldn’t be fun in the face of arrow shots. But
there was no other way.

“Captains, prepare your men to climb that slope over
there,” he commanded, pointing. “I shall ride wide of your flank and chase
those swine-stickers away, but for Kastan’s sake block that militia from my
equines.”

The two captains saluted, and got their men to commence
the climb, ploughing through the ankle-deep snow to the bottom of the slope. Then
came his cavalry in their wake, cutting across their tracks to form up on their
flank. Above them the archers had advanced and now could be seen fitting arrows
to their bows. The imperial troops came on gamely, breath sawing in and out of
their lungs, pushing on hard to close the gap as soon as possible. Even as
Thetos watched, wide on the flank, he saw the dark shafts of the archers arc up
into the sky, specks against the whiteness, and plunge down amongst his troops.

He grew even angrier as he saw figures tumble and fall,
to lie there in the wake of the still moving troops. To have decent soldiers
die at the hands of this scum made his blood boil. Well, there would be the
pits of damnation to pay once he got going this day. “Ready?” he asked,
checking his forty riders. His claw now had his reins wrapped around it and he
drew his huge chunk of steel forth. “Let’s go a-hunting. No prisoners!” he
snapped. Why should they feed and house this scum? They would be put to death,
as all traitors should. The Duras would learn to their cost that to oppose the
rulers of Kastania carried a severe penalty.

The bodyguard began cantering up the slope, still wide
but now angling back so that they would cross over in front of the panting
spearmen. The archers now turned and ran for safety, the imperial spearmen
having endured three volleys and got through without too many losses. Their
shields were thick with arrows, and more stuck out of the snow. Fifteen men lay
on the slope, either still or moving feebly, crying out in pain.

The two spear companies paused, straightened their lines
and then swung to engage the rebel militia, standing in a line at the top of
the slope. Outnumbered almost two to one, the rebels looked fearful as their
enemies closed in, faces determined and full of vengeance, intent on getting even
for their fallen comrades.

Thetos swerved his men around the rear and up in a wide
arc. The archers, who he could now see included their commander, Anfos Duras,
had halted and were loading up again. “Charge!” Thetos yelled and led the
charge, his sword high. The archers hesitated, then realised they had nowhere
to run. They scattered but the armour-clad bodyguard were already at them,
swords plunging down mercilessly. Thetos roared and slashed down again and
again. The archers weren’t putting up any fight; they were desperately trying
to get away from the thundering beasts and their murderous riders, but they
were caught on a hill top with nowhere to go. Thetos’ anger grew. Duras was an
idiot; he had the tactical brains of a pile of droppings. His frustration at
wasting his time and the lives of some of his men increased.

“Stupid cattle!” he roared, waving his bright red blade
high in the air. “You don’t deserve to live, any of you!”

The spearmen, meanwhile, had crashed into the militiamen
who had staggered back under the shock of the blow, and now caved in like a
pack of cards. They ran backwards but with nothing but hundreds of paces of
nothing between them and the nearest shelter, a stand of trees, they were
utterly exposed. Duras roared at them to stand and somehow they pulled
themselves together, perhaps more frightened of their commander than anything
else, but the end wasn’t long in coming. Another charge by the imperial
spearmen, hollering at the top of their lungs, un-nerved the rebels utterly and
they flung their spears away and fled as fast as their legs could carry them.

“They’re running!” Thetos exclaimed. “Run down those
worthless peasants!”

His bodyguard charged in a wide line, swords rising and
falling, leaving bloodied shapes lying in the snow in their wake. Anfos Duras
screamed in terror and flung himself to the ground as a dark shape loomed above
him, and a steel point pressed against his back. “Get up you eater of dung,”
Thetos snarled.

The spearmen came crowding round and Duras was hauled to
his feet, ice crystals smothering his hair, eyebrows and mouth. He gibbered in
terror. “Please spare me!”

“Spare you?” Thetos roared, “why in Kastan should I do
that? You raised the standard of revolt, and threatened to cut off food
supplies to my city! You miserable wretch, I ought to remove your manhood and
march round Turslenka with it on a pole!”

The survivors had been rounded up, all weapon less and
looking cold, frightened and small, and the well-clad imperial troops roughly
dragged them to the edge of the cliff. By the time they got there the casualty
list had been presented to Thetos. He’d lost forty-eight men; nineteen from
company one and twenty-nine from company two. Duras’ force had lost over a
hundred and twenty dead and nearly that number taken prisoner.

Theros dismounted and strode slowly to the shivering
Anfos Duras, held securely by two hefty spearmen. “You pox-ridden gutter
dweller; nearly fifty of my best men are dead. Fifty! All because you defied
the emperor. Don’t you understand we’re sick to death of your kind and your
family? We don’t want you Duras back in power again. Ever!” He grabbed the
squirming Duras by the neck and lifted him up. The spearmen let go and backed
off.

Thetos twisted his face into a mask of hatred. “Good men
have fought and died to preserve the safe lives of the good citizens of Kastan,
and you would have had them starve. Well, Duras, go to the flames of
damnation!” With that, he flung the sobbing man off the cliff edge and watched
as he plunged with a scream to his death at the rock-strewn bottom.

Thetos slowly turned and surveyed the remnants of Duras’
army. “And as for you……”

“Please lord,” one of the men, probably a squad leader
but wearing no insignia to denote it, fell to his knees. “We were foolish and
listened to the Duras lies. Spare us, lord; we will serve Kastania loyally!”

Thetos looked along the line of frightened men. He had
considered having them all hung from poles along the cliff top as a gruesome
reminder to anyone else who was thinking of rebelling what their fate would be,
but seeing these wretched men now made him lose the stomach for further
bloodshed. He was just angry at the futility of it all. “You will serve
Kastania well. Yes, very well. Makenia needs good workers to produce its
wealth. We are fortunate in that in our province we have two mines. The sulphur
mines need a constant stream of men to work it. You will go there as punishment
for your folly! Take them away.”

The soldiers grabbed the snivelling prisoners and
dragged them off the hill. They would be taken to Turslenka and bound together
and then marched by road to the sulphur mines. Undoubtedly within ten years all
would be dead; either worked to death or killed by inhaling the thick, cloying
dust that covered everything there.