House of Lust (31 page)

She wore a long, loose wormspun dress of dark red.  It flowed to her ankles but had a slight split on one side.  She crossed her legs briefly, showing him some leg, then it was gone as fast as it had appeared. 
Flirt
, he mused, catching her lips twitching.

“Captain Lalaas,” Elas intoned deeply, his voice almost booming from the ceiling.  Lalaas thought maybe that was the desired effect of the acoustics of the room.  Designed to impress.  “You have performed a service over and above that required by your post.  Yet again you have proved your loyalty to us by your actions, and therefore it has been decided that a suitable reward is to be awarded to you.”

Lalaas looked in surprise at Elas, then to Amne.  She inclined her head once, a brief look of satisfaction flirting across her features before it was gone.  So this was Amne’s idea, Lalaas realised.  He wondered what in the name of Kastan it was going to be. 
Nothing embarrassing I hope
, he thought with alarm.

Prince Elas clicked his fingers towards a page, standing attentively with a scroll rolled up and tied with purple ribbon on a deep red cushion.  An imperial edict!  Only those were tied with purple ribbon.  That was something set in stone and could only be undone by someone of the ruling House.

The page came down to the main floor and passed the cushion to Lalaas who took the scroll.  The page then turned about and returned to his position.  “Open it, Captain,” Amne said, her voice unable to completely hide the excitement she felt.

Lalaas untied the ribbon and unrolled the document.  He read it and his eyes widened, then he looked up, utterly speechless.

“Henceforth from this day on,” Elas announced, “Captain Lalaas is ennobled with the rank of Baron, and further titled Baron Niksos.”

Lalaas felt the room swim.  Words could not come to his mouth.  Baron Niksos?  Niksos?  That was the main town on Zipria.  Was that a baronetcy?  He had no idea – now he would have to find out what this all meant to him.  Not trusting his voice, he bowed low, almost touching the steps with his forehead.

Amne stood and came down the steps.  She took his hand and made him stand up straight.  “Now, Lalaas Niksos, you will have to learn what it is to be a minor nobleman.”  She held out her hand to him, and automatically he took it and kissed it.  Amne smiled again, a quite wicked one, and turned to climb back to her seat.  She paused and looked over her shoulder.  “The map room in a watch’s time.”

Lalaas was dismissed by Elas with the stern advice to take his new title seriously.  Lalaas, in a daze, returned to his room and sat there staring at the scroll which was lying on his clothes chest, a foreign object in a room cluttered with otherwise familiar things.  A noble!  He had no idea what that would mean to him, or to others.  To be sure, his men had all looked pleased as he had passed them out of the throne room, but what of the other people?  What, in particular, to the nobility?  He was certain some would not look upon this as anything but unwelcome.

It was time.  Still wearing his ceremonial uniform – his state of mind was such that he had forgotten to change – he made his way to the map room.  Guards outside demonstrated that the princess was within, and he was allowed entry.

The lights were on, torches flickering, and Amne was standing by the table, running her hand over the contours of the terrain, as if deep in thought.  “Ma’am,” he announced his arrival, bowing.

Amne flicked her hand dismissively.  “Come here, Baron, Captain, Lalaas,” she said, a curious smile on her face.  “Do you know why I persuaded my Corpse of a husband to ennoble you?”

“No, Amne, I-I never guessed this was coming!”

“Well, something you said to me yesterday when you rescued me from that awful place.  You said you would wait for me for as long as it took.”  She glided up to him and ran a hand down his jacket.  “Mmmm, you look
gorgeous
in that – I could almost be seduced, you know,” she giggled.   “Ah, you nearly made me forget what I was saying.  If you and I ever get the opportunity to be together, then it could only be if you are a nobleman, and so I persuaded Elas to do it.”

“So…… I’ve been made a noble for the possibility of a future together, should it occur?”

Amne nodded.  “One big barrier removed.  Only one remaining.”

“Prince Elas,” Lalaas said automatically.  His face suddenly became alarmed.

Amne frowned.  “Oh, Lalaas, no, no, no!  Whatever I may be, and you would be quite right to call me a seductress and adulteress, I am not going to arrange for the death of The Corpse.”

“Good, Amne, I would be quite distressed and probably shun you if I suspected that.”

“No, he will have to die a natural death or of some unforeseen mishap.  I will not scheme to do that, no matter how I might wish him to be out of our way.”

Lalaas nodded, relieved.  “So, how was the Prince when you were returned to him?  He didn’t seem to be any different when I was there just after we got back.”

Amne shrugged, returning to the map and looking down at it.  “His usual self – although I did detect some kind of relief, whether that was because I was not in Dragan’s clutches or whatever I don’t know.  He’s too much a closed book; keeps too much inside so I don’t know what he’s thinking.  At least my daughters were happy to see me.”

“Yes, they have been quite distressed these past days.”

Amne looked at him.  “I’m grateful to you for making sure they were alright; Elas just doesn’t know how to act towards children.  My handmaidens told me you came to the children every night.”  She suddenly slammed her fist on the table top and whirled, her back to him.  Lalaas frowned, then stepped towards her, seeing a slight trembling of her shoulders.  “Amne?  Ma’am?”

She spun round, tears glistening on her cheeks.  “If only Elas acted half as good to the children!  Oh why, why, why were you not a nobleman before?  We could be so happily married with children and you’d be a fantastic father and husband and I’d be complete!”

He took her in his arms and held her close.  Amne sobbed into his chest, crushing the material in her fingers.  She finally edged back, looking up at him.  “Ah look at me, what a wreck!  You reduce me to tears so easily.  Shame on you,” she smiled, the wetness still on her face.

Lalaas produced a sleeve cloth and dabbed her face.  “We cannot change the past.  What has happened has happened.  I am here; I shall always look after your best interests and make sure you’re alright.  I cannot physically love you, Amne, but I can do everything else.”

She nodded heavily.  “I know – and I’m so grateful and pleased about that.  Do you know I fantasise about you being in my bed?  It gives me shivers.  I think if you did make love to me I’d pass out.”

“What – and miss all the fun?”

Amne burst into laughter.  “Oh, you!  That’s something I’ve noticed about you since you’ve been here!  That sense of humour.  I thought you didn’t have one when we first met – you were so serious, but being with Elas makes me realise compared to him, you’re the court jester!”

“Having a sense of humour as guard captain is essential,” Lalaas explained deadpan.  “Otherwise I’d go mad.”

Amne punched him lightly on the arm.  “So what’re your faults, then?  Surely it isn’t in bed?”

“I have no idea Amne, I’ve never had the pleasure.”

She leaned forward, her mouth open.  “Really?  You’re not joking?”

Lalaas shrugged.  “Never had the chance or the inclination.  I would only make love to the woman I marry.  Not before.”

“You’re an unusual one, you do keep on surprising me.  Well, don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.”  She straightened and touched the table again.  “Baron Niksos.  You know where Niksos is, don’t you?”

“Zipria, ma’am.”

“Yes, Zipria.  Out of the way, that distant island.  Shrouded with long forgotten tales of legends and fables.  I always wanted to see the place.  It’s supposed to be a romantic island, too.  Exceptional moonlit nights, or so I’m told.  Sailors say it’s easy to navigate around the island.  Long, sandy beaches….mmm all I need is a handsome strong nobleman on an equine to take me for a long moonlit ride along one of those beaches.”

Lalaas grinned.  “Not much chance of that, is there?”

“Not for the moment, but I’m not going to let go of that dream – not as long as you and I are breathing.  So, Baron, you have the title.  It means you have to write to the castellan of Niksos castle and ask him about the state of affairs there, the estates and so on.  I understand the old title lapsed some years ago and the estates were taken over by the crown, as these things tend to happen in those circumstances.  So, we have the full ownership of the estates, but they are being looked after by caretakers, paid for out of imperial funds.

“What now will happen is that you will take over that estate and pay for everything.”

Lalaas looked alarmed.  “But – I have virtually nothing!”

“Relax, Lalaas,” Amne smiled and came up to him again.  She pressed against him, a warm, vibrant woman.  “In this, I can teach you what to do.  Makes a change, mm?  You will receive income from the land, the produce, the rents.  In return you will pay for the upkeep of everything and pay the wages of those who work the land.”

Lalaas scratched his head.  “That’s going to be a headache, Amne.”

“Not really, I have got the accounts for that estate for the past ten years and you can look at them.  You’ll need to keep the castellan involved as he’s over there and is your link to the caretaker and estate managers.  They will need paying, too.”

Lalaas puffed out his cheeks.  “That and being guard captain?”

“Oh it’ll be alright, a man of your abilities!  At least you’re now equal in social rank to Vosgaris.”

“Ah yes, I don’t know what he’ll say about that.”

Amne looked mischievous and turned away.  Lalaas was disappointed; he quite enjoyed feeling Amne up against him.  “I have come to realise just how important certain things are to me during the past few days.  Being raped over and over made me feel as if I was worthless, but I know that was a false impression.  My daughters matter to me terribly – having them in my arms again showed me what I should hold dear to me.  Your love, their love.  I’ve been awful, haven’t I?”

“Amne…”

“Don’t try to excuse me.  I’ve been – a whore.  There, I’ve said it!  Having affairs left and right.  That poor man Telekan, I led him to that building, wanting to make love to him, and it led to his death and my abduction.  How selfish of me!”

“Amne, you had no way of knowing that demented man would do what he did.”

“Oh, you can try to soften the blow, but even that was down to me seducing that filthy porcine in the first place.”  She closed her eyes, then opened them again.  “What you said to me yesterday opened my eyes to what I have been.”

Lalaas went to say something but she was before him again, a finger resting on his lips.

“You shamed me.  No, not in a bad way, your purity of heart woke me to what I had been doing.  You have held out a hand to me, and this time, I am taking it.  You’ve always held it out to me, I know this now, but I was too blinded by lust to notice it.  I’m through seducing men.  I shall have to cope with Elas’ best efforts,” she pulled a face, “and dream of the day you reduce me to a shaking excited wreck.”

“Amne, don’t lose your lively personality,” Lalaas said, holding her hand.  “That’s one of the things I love about you.”

“Oh, worry not, sweet Captain Lalaas, I’ll be just the same, except I’ll not seek to whip the trousers off every handsome male that crosses my vision.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Amne.  It did cause a fair amount of trouble, I can tell you.”

“I bet.  Another example of my selfish ways.  Ah to the pit of fire with it.  I won’t be any different towards you.  And know this, my handsome Baron, I’ll still be fantasising about you naked whenever I see you,” she purred, running her finger down his chest.  “You do know that you could have me begging if you so wished, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t.  I would want it to be an honest, two-way loving relationship.  No humiliation, no enslavement.  I would want you to be you, not what you think I’d like you to be.”

“As always, Lalaas, you say just the right thing.  You know, I feel so safe with you.  I can’t say that about many men.”

Lalaas made a self-deprecating gesture.  “I am what I am.  I do not try to be anything else.”

Amne sighed deeply, and wound her arms round his neck and looked up into his face.  “Come the day you and I are together, you had better watch out.  By the time I’m finished with you, you won’t be able to walk.”

“I look forward to it, Amne.”

Amne laughed, throwing her head back.  “I feel so alive with you, so different to when I’m in his company.  Thankfully that’s not that often.  So, you’re on duty this evening, yes?  Well, pop in and say goodnight to the girls will you?  I need a bed-time fix of Lalaas to dream of.”

Lalaas bowed.  “Of course, it’s the least I can do.”

Amne beamed and untangled herself from him.  “So, let’s resume our duties.  Formal now, Captain.”

“Ma’am.”

Grinning, the two made their way to the door. 

The year that followed was, as Astiras was often heard to say in that period, the most boring damned time.  All seemed to go smoothly.  Projects were completed, the funds continued to flow into the treasury and any sign of rebellion and dissent vanished as if they had never been.

The emperor returned to Zofela and his wife.  Isbel wasn’t sure whether she was pleased to see him or not.  He set about making sure that there were watchtowers in sufficient numbers throughout Bragal and Bathenia, constantly writing to Evas Extonos and exhorting him to greater efforts – or as Demtro said in a private letter to Isbel, to some effort in the first place.

Astiras renewed his idea of a marriage with Isbel, and the empress found he was insatiable.  When she made a comment to that effect, Astiras merely said he was making up for lost time.  He cared little whether or not it took him all night to do what he used to do all night; he was determined to keep his energies channelled in where he saw were the right places.

Vosgaris took care of the burial and subsequent tomb marking of Alenna.  The Duras never turned up to take her, fearing it to be a trap, so she was entombed in the vaults of Zofela temple, a new construction built during the winter.  The tomb was in fact completed before the temple, but Vosgaris made sure it was done and he visited her daily, spending time alone in prayer.  His guilt preyed on his mind, and it would take some time for it to ease.

Trade flowed to all parts of the empire and the merchants were happy, the townsfolk pleased that there were no wars or shortages, and the nobility satisfied with what the Koros had managed to achieve.  They were so pleased in fact that at one Council meeting they voted to award the imperial treasury 2,000 furims which took even Astiras by surprise.

His memories of Pelponia warmed him.  There was a loyal province if ever there was one, and he lamented that other provinces showed less enthusiasm, in particular Bragal and Slenna.  Both were slow to embrace the imperial line; mainly due to past experiences.  Kastanian rule and tax collecting would take some time to be generally accepted.

Argan continued with his learning.  He was growing too, and as soon as one outfit was big enough for him to fit into, it was too short or narrow.  He wondered in one panic-stricken moment that perhaps he was going to end up like a fantor, never stop growing.  He was reassured by Kerrin and Amal, and he soon realised that the two others were growing, too.  One morning Argan was speaking to Kerrin when his voice failed.  Frowning, he cleared his throat and tried again.  A squeak came out.

“What’s going on, ‘Gan?”

“I dunno,” he said.  The last syllable came out as a deep throaty sound and the prince clamped his hand to his mouth.  Had he really made that sound?  He looked in alarm at his friend who was staring wild-eyed at him.  At that moment the silver-haired Panat turned up, ready to take the afternoon’s sword practice.

“Father!” Kerrin almost shrieked.  “Prince Argan’s voice is all funny!”

Panat paused, then nodded, placing the bundle of sticks and weapons on the ground.  “Your majesty, it is nothing to concern yourself about.”

“What – “ Argan squeaked, then swallowed and tried again, “what do you mean….” His voice went from high-pitched to a deep boom and back again.

Panat smiled sadly.  “Your highness, your voice is breaking.”

“Breaking?  You mean it’s broken and I can’t speak again?”

“No, no, sire.  It’s a brief period in your growing up; your voice is changing from that of a boy to a man.  In a few days it should settle down.  It’ll be a bit up and down until then.”  He turned to face his son.  “Yours will do the same, Kerrin, in time.  I wondered whose voice would go first.”

Argan furrowed his brow and concentrated.  This wasn’t dignified!  “I won’t be able to speak in public, Panat,” he protested, his voice cracking again.  “I sound like a pack animal!”

Kerrin put his hand to his mouth in amusement. 

That was about as exciting as things went that winter in Argan’s life.  Amal commiserated with him and after a period of around twenty days Argan’s voice settled down to his new adult one.  She liked it and said so.  Argan shrugged.  So be it; it was just another step on his path to being a grown up.

He noticed his Bragalese servant changing too.  Her legs were longer and her chest began to swell.  She nodded when Argan pointed that out.  “I will become a woman soon, and then my Growing Through will come.”  She looked a little afraid and Argan sat down with her.  They had made a brief mention of it in the past but had never really tackled it before.

“So – you will change in one night?”

“So Metila tells me, yes.  I will want to be with a man that evening and not be able to help myself.  I’m scared about that.”

Argan held her hand.  “It will be alright – I’ll make sure I’m with you.”

“But – Argan!” she said in a whisper, “that won’t be allowed – you’re a prince and I’m your servant girl!  Do you know what happens in a Growing Through night?”

Argan shook his head.  As far as he was concerned Amal was his responsibility and he was her friend, and that he would not desert her in a time of crisis.  “It will be alright, don’t worry.”

Amal shivered.  The thought of any man doing – things – to her made her feel uncomfortable.  Metila had assured her when it came she would not care and be like a wild beast, demanding sexual intercourse.  The nearest male would be fair game.   She didn’t think talking to Argan would make any difference to his determination to be there for her, so she dropped the subject.  That was for the future; for now she was still a girl.

Metila helped her learn all there was to being a servant in the governor’s residence.  Apart from seeing to Argan’s wardrobe and room, there were other duties for her.  Being Argan’s personal servant wasn’t enough to fill the day, especially as he was often not there during the daylight watches what with learning from Mr. Sen, Panat or even the governor himself.  Therefore she learned to tidy the governor’s room which was fairly chaotic.  Metila showed her what there was to clean and tidy up, and what not to touch.  She spoke in Bragalese to the girl which helped ease any distances there were between the two, although Metila continued to be harsh and severe to the girl.  Bragalese people were not renowned for being gentle and kind.

The witch also had other matters to think of.  Her son, growing up in the wilds of Bragal, would be speaking and learning to be a warrior.  That she understood, but sometimes she wished to be with him and watch him grow.  Best though he was kept away from her and therefore safe from the emperor.  She knew he wanted to get hold of the child and either turn him into yet another Kastanian, which she did not want, or to get rid of him permanently.  To have another of his blood on the loose was dangerous to the dynastic ambitions of the emperor, so it had to be controlled or got rid of.

No, the child would grow up in secret and when the time was right, she would see to it he was inserted in the right place.  Who knows, perhaps he would sit on the throne and she would then be the emperor’s mother!  Not bad for a despised and feared witch.

In the west Jorqel and his growing family spent time split between Romos and Slenna.  Romos was now undergoing a radical building programme and the mess and noise was not to the children’s liking, so they took half the year off to go to Slenna.  Jorqel was not happy to receive Louk’s head one day, left on the roadside outside the town, and he knew that his plans had been thwarted. 

Only a few days later a merchant ship moored up to the jetty in Efsia and the captain brought a bedraggled looking boy to him under guard.  Jorqel was intrigued and summoned the new arrival to his reception room.  Sat on his small throne, he listened as the captain relayed how he had been at the Tybar port of Latiyya when the boy had approached him and stated he had come from Imakum where he had seen the demise of Louk.  He had also stated he had papers from the spy for the eyes of the prince only.

“So, boy, what’s your name?” Jorqel asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Beshin, your majesty,” the boy said calmly.  No sign of any fear or awe there.  He was a marked contrast to the smartness of the room, the décor, the soldiers, the attendants.  Jorqel only had a handful of those, but they took their duties seriously and looked with distaste down on the lone figure that looked like it had just been spat out by a particularly filthy wild swallower, one of a number of large animals that lived in remote places and which had large mouths.

“So, Beshin, tell me your story.”

The boy retold of how Louk had rescued him from a nasty situation, how they had wandered the borderlands to the west and how the spy had finally met his end.

Jorqel rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “A pity that he didn’t manage to get into Imakum, but luck runs out eventually.  Did he give you any information before he met his unfortunate end?”

“Sire,” Beshin nodded.  “I was given a number of papers and told to pass them to you.”

Jorqel sat up straight.  “Then where are these papers?”

Beshin glanced left and right before replying.  “I have hidden them.  I will retrieve them for a reward.”

The room was filled with mutterings and sounds of disapproval.  Jorqel sighed and glanced at Gavan who made a face and clenched one fist, smacking it into the palm of his other hand.  The prince stood up.  “Your reward should be to serve me; that ought to be enough.”

Beshin smiled.  “I have nothing; no home, sire.  I have to take the only chance I have to better my life.  If you give me nothing other than your thanks, then I will have nothing.  Where will I go?  What life can I have?”

Jorqel raised a hand to silence the angry murmurings in the room.   “What is it you require?”

“A home, a nice slave girl.  A couple of herd beasts.”

Jorqel smiled.  “The first and last I can give you – the middle one I cannot.  Slavery is forbidden, at least in domestic residences in the empire.”  He was well aware it did exist, but his official line was to deny it so he couldn’t be accused of promoting it.

Beshin shook his head.  “Then the papers shall remain where they are.”

“Insolent whelp,” Jorqel snapped.  “What if I get my associates here to force the location from you?”

“Then, sire, you will be a torturer of children.”

“You’re no child,” Jorqel stated, staring down at him.  “Very well, I can arrange for – a servant – to be sent to a small farm holding along the road to the north.  Is that sufficient in order to have you release the location of the papers?”

Beshin smiled.  “Of course, sire.”

Jorqel waved him away and turned to his attendants.  “Arrange it.  Gavan, you make sure he’s happy with his reward and tell him no papers and it all gets taken away from him.”

“What about the slave – uh, servant?”

“Get one.  There’s a booming trade over the border in the Tybar lands.  Raid.  Take one of their young women; they do, after all, raid us from time to time.”

Gavan chuckled.  “It shall be done.  About time you let me across that border.”

“Just watch for those bandits.”

Gavan saluted and left.  Twenty days later Jorqel was given the location; just north of the port of Latiyya in the Tybar lands.  It was located under a large rock that overlooked the road on a bend.  The captain of the merchant ship was given new orders and it was in the deepest part of the winter that Jorqel finally had his intelligence on what was going on over the border.

Gavan and the castellan were also present.  “Well,” Jorqel said, leaning on his table, the dirty, curled and partially torn notes scattered on the surface, “Nikos Duras has collected a really nasty collection of cut-throats and murderers along the frontier.  They are based in fortified villages and have driven off any locals who had lived there.  They have taken women as theirs and now live as communities within our own borders.  They owe no allegiance to anyone, yet oddly none are over in Tybar tribelands.”

“Clearly a collaboration,” Gavan said.

“Of course, but we’ll just get denials.  The two main roads through the area are still open but they could be cut at any time.  We don’t have the manpower to clear them out at present; it’d take a military offensive and we still only have enough to police our own roads and estates here.”

“Nothing on the Tybar military then, sire?” the castellan asked.

“Unfortunately no.  Louk did say there was something further west taking their attention but not what it was.  We’ll have to wait and see what that is in time, I suppose.  So, the end result is that they have no immediate military capacity to invade us which is good.  I intend using this time to build up our strength.  Romos will soon be able to stand without a big military presence, and once that is so, I shall permanently base myself back here.”

Jorqel now put his efforts into giving Romos a stone castle, enlarging Efsia, improving or rebuilding the garrison quarters in both Romos and Slenna, and making both provinces militarily secure.

In Bragal, Istan was becoming more of a problem to control.  His arrogant behaviour was bringing complaints to the ear of Astiras.  He and his two associates were the bane of almost everyone in the castle.  The main complaint was from their tutors, concerning the severity of their sword training.  Two people had already been injured by the prince who clearly believed there was no holding back when he trained.