Prince of Wrath (43 page)

“Yes, sire.” Gavan wanted to change the subject. “So, the wedding in thirty days’ time, sire, where will you hold the reception? Is the castle big enough?”

“Oh yes,” Jorqel nodded, “but I wish it to be outside. Shame there’s no temple here but I have sent word to Niake to drag the former High Priest down to perform the ceremony. I’m sure he will be all too happy to do so.”

“Are you sure of that, sire? He must bear a grudge against your family for his exile to the west.”

“Asking him to perform an imperial wedding is recognition that he is still in favour with the Koros, despite his treasonous words when my father took power. He would be foolish to turn the offer down,” Jorqel added, his eyes serious.

Gavan nodded hastily. “Ah, yes, sire, I understand. So what of security? I presume you wish me to take care of that?”

“Indeed, I can think of no other person I’d trust with that task. The usual people will be invited, including the Houses of Lodria.”

“But not the Duras.”

“Of course not; they are no longer regarded as being a House of Lodria. Their estates have been taken by the Koros, and I will be handing them out to loyal families shortly. Of course, I shall keep the best estate for myself,” Jorqel added with a smile.

“Then you will need to visit it and appoint a warder to oversee the estate.”

“All in hand, Gavan; I’m not a lazy fool like that Fokis imbecile who took power here a few years back. This street is perfect for bunting; have some of the out of work townsfolk make plenty – I want it all over here from the gate to the square.”

Gavan nodded. “Do you think the Council will agree to your request to hunt the Duras down and invade Romos? It’s a big undertaking, sire. Romos will be tough to land on, given the pirates own the seas around it. We don’t have a navy to wrest it from them at present, and risking the army on a naval landing isn’t something we’ve done before.”

Jorqel turned and faced his right-hand man. “I want to impress upon you, Gavan, of my determination to hunt down these people,” he stressed the word as if he were loath to say it, “who abducted my beloved, and who hatched this diabolical plan against Niake. As long as they live they will not stop, I am absolutely convinced of that, until they retake the throne of Kastania, and they will even destroy the empire in order to do that. I cannot rest until I have mounted the last Duras head on the gates of my town.”

Gavan bowed. His master’s intentions were perfectly clear.

___

To Argan, the long slow period of recovery was boring and frustrating. His mother fussed and fussed over him, bringing him his food, constantly asking how he felt and so on. It was getting silly. He couldn’t even go to the lavatory without her holding his hand. Lucky he had a little privacy once he was in the garderobe, but apart from that – well he was glad when he could get up and about out of his bed. It tired him though, and it seemed as if all his strength had gone.

His mother asked Metila constantly about him, how long it would take until he was better, how much food should he have. To be sure, Argan found his appetite returning quite quickly, but his arms and legs were very weak, and so one day, about ten days after Metila had done her thing – Argan wasn’t sure exactly what she had done – to him, he was taken by litter to the shore of the Aester Sea a short walk from the walls of Turslenka.

Argan was delighted by the scenery. A wide curving expanse of sand stretched into the far distance, all the way to a hazy headland he could just make out. The sea rolled up to the edge of the beach in lazy, slow ripples, and glittered over a deep blue as far as the eye could see. There were big tussocks of tough grass where the land met the beach, but there was a path that ran through it and Argan’s carriers, two servants of the governor, made it easily enough.

With him were his mother, Metila, Kerrin and Mr Sen, as well as a group of guards who stood close by. Kerrin’s father was not keen on the trip to the beach and had turned down the offer but allowed his son to go with Argan. Isbel had thought about stopping Kerrin, but had decided it would be petty and unbecoming. She was unsure about Metila. Something about her troubled Isbel, but she couldn’t quite place what it was. She was Bragalese, and therefore someone to be wary of. She was a witch, that was certain, but both Astiras and Thetos had vouched for her, and she had cured Argan. No witch she’d heard of had ever done such a thing, so perhaps Metila was a good sorceress. However, there was still something about her that Isbel was on her guard against.

Mr Sen panted and perspired, wiping his sweating face with his cloth. Such exertions were foreign to the tutor, at least they had been for far too long for his memory to recall. He still had a job to do and that was to teach the young prince how to be a prince. The administrative and social skills Argan had to learn would be vital to any member of a ruling House, and Argan’s future was likely to include running a province or two.

Isbel sat on a sand dune, looking over the bay. She felt close to Argan now more so than before. She supposed it was because he had come so close to dying and it made her all the more aware of the young boy’s importance to her, especially now that Istan had become so unpleasant. She didn’t want to lose the one remaining child of hers that she could at least enjoy the company of. He was still fairly weak but Metila, who was closely watching him, said he would grow stronger and stronger each day. She was tolerated because she was his healer, but Isbel would have been happier if the woman hadn’t been there.

Mr Sen flopped onto the sand next to Argan, blowing mightily. “By the gods, it’s hot here! Beautiful view, I must say.” He looked over the vista and watched as a few sea avians dived into the water and rose up, shedding sea and spray, every so often with a wriggling sea piscine in its beak. “Fascinating,” he commented.

“What are they doing?” Argan asked, shaded from the sun by a canopy. He sat on a rug, propped up with cushions. Kerrin sat next to him, one hand shading his eyes, watching the feeding frenzy.

“They have found a shoal of piscines, young prince,” Mr Sen said, “and are plunging down into the water and spearing them in their beaks. I’ve heard of this but never seen it before.”

“Do all avians do this?”

“Oh no, just this type. Other types of avians eat other things, like grubs or berries or other avians. Or even dead animals!”

“Ugh, really? Dead animals? Which ones?”

Mr Sen glanced at Isbel who smiled. Her son was really a very curious boy. The tutor cleared his throat. “In the mountains or in the deserts there are great avians, carrion feeders, that eat the dead animals.”

“Big? How big?”

Mr Sen spread his hands wide, his flesh wobbling. “Oh, bigger than this,” he said.

Argan’s eyes went wide. “Wow! What deserts? What mountains?”

Mr Sen pointed out into the bay. “Far away, on the other side of this sea, is a great desert. It’s the Desert of Epatam. Very hot, lots of poisonous creatures and little water. It’s easy to die there if you don’t have any, and plenty of creatures die as a result. That’s when the carrion avians come, as if out of nowhere, to feed. Great flocks of them.”

“Will I see the desert one day?”

“Maybe, young prince, if you’re lucky. But there’s many things to do first before you can get there. Kastania used to own that place, but long ago we lost it to the Epatamian tribes who came out of the desert and pushed us back to the mountain passes of Amria. We have not been in possession of Epatam for nearly five hundred years.”

Argan thought about that. His memories of the great map in the palace in Kastan City hadn’t stuck that well. He’d been interested in the regions near the capital but the further out it went the less important they seemed, until they were merely large tracts of territory with funny names and inhabited by strange peoples. “Will I lead an army there?”

Mr Sen smiled. “As to that, young Prince, I’m afraid I do not know. Your future is something that you will have to shape, and be guided by those who decide where you will go.”

“Father,” Argan replied, nodding.

Isbel looked at her son, feeling a pang of fear. He would soon grow into a young man and then he would leave, leading an army against the enemies of the empire. His life would be put right back into danger. Sometimes she wished that her children would not have to do such things, but there was no escaping their fate. No matter what their martial abilities were, they would have to take the fight to whoever opposed them, come what may.

“I’ll be with you, ‘Gan,” Kerrin smiled shyly.

“Yes! My bodyguard,” Argan agreed. “We’ll show those silly Tybar who’s the best, won’t we?”

“I’m not sure the emperor will permit you both to start in the same army, young Prince,” Mr Sen said, frowning. “Your bodyguard would have to be experienced and versed in battle. To have a young an inexperienced general guarded by an equally young and inexperienced bodyguard is risky.”

“Kerrin will be my bodyguard, Mr Sen, and that’s the end of it,” Argan said sharply.

Isbel looked surprised and stared at her son. Metila smiled and continued picking nearby leaves. Mr Sen bowed quickly. “Of course, Prince Argan, forgive me for speaking out of turn.”

Kerrin grinned and hugged himself in happiness.

Argan nodded to Mr Sen. “You said I must be dess- dees – decisive,” he spoke the word slowly. “So I am! You said ‘he who hesitates is lost’, and that I must be a general who makes quick de-cis-ions. I’m learning.”

“You are indeed, Prince Argan. You will be a credit to your House.”

Isbel wondered at the force in Argan’s voice. He’d never sounded like that before. She looked over at Metila who appeared to be oblivious of the conversation. Had something been done to her son besides being cured of his life threatening ailment? She got to her feet and two guards began to walk towards her but she shook her head and quickly indicated they were to remain on guard. She slowly made her way through the soft, warm sand to the Bragalese woman. “Metila, can I have a quiet word with you please?”

Metila stood, bowed and allowed to be taken off to the next dune. Isbel stood looking out over the sea, the wind ruffling a few stray strands of hair. She had done her hair that morning but it still rebelled, damn it. “Your medicine to cure my son, Metila, does it have any side effects?”

Metila looked at the empress with narrowed eyes. “You mean other effects, highness?”

Isbel faced the witch. “Yes, I do. I’m asking you whether Argan’s behaviour is likely to be changed for good?”

Metila looked across to Argan, still chatting with Kerrin and Mr Sen. “He still recovers. His mood might be different, but who know after near death? All people change when death nearly has them.”

Isbel clucked her tongue. “I don’t mean that, Metila, I mean did you give him anything that definitely would change his personality?”

“No, highness, I not stupid. All medicine and plants can change people. I not help that! I save him, but yes he might be different. I not know.” She looked down.

Isbel sighed. “Very well. I’m just concerned over my son, that’s all. I’m no different to any mother, you know.” She looked at the Bragalese woman. “Ah, you have no children, so you probably don’t.” She returned to the others.

Metila smiled. “No,” she said softly to herself, rubbing her tummy slightly. “I not have children – yet. But one comes.”

The palace of Kastan City seemed empty now the emperor, empress and their party had gone. Amne found the place to be depressing and sombre, but maybe that was partly down to Elas’ influence. He was rapidly organising the running of the place and the province, sending out orders left and right, and making sure nobody was slacking.

Amne had complained about being left out of matters and was promptly put in charge of sorting out the palace’s repairs and what to do now half of those who had been there were gone. It was a waste of space, Elas had said, so she should find some function for the unused areas.

The new Frasian Provincial Council, a new body grandly created by Elas, oversaw the running of both Kastan City and the province from offices on the ground floor, the same ones that had housed Frendicus and his taxmen along with a couple of other administrative rooms. Elas employed fifteen people in all, paid out of the budget allocated to him by the central treasury. With that he had to ensure not only the salaries of those in his Council were paid, but also that the repairs or improvements demanded by Astiras were carried out. The town militia had to be paid for as well, and the only bodies he didn’t fund were the Palace Guard, of which there were a small core remaining to take care of security, under Lalaas, and the regular garrison, comprising of two companies of spearmen, based in the barracks of the palace.

Elas had no control over their salaries, neither did he have authority over Lalaas. Astiras had made both clear to the new governor. Both knew why. Should Elas suddenly decide to throw his lot in with the Duras or any other rebellious faction, then Lalaas and his guard would place him under arrest. Should that prove impossible, then Lalaas would be charged with taking Elas’ head from his shoulders.

The new governor accepted this with a stoic realism. If he were emperor then he would do the same. He had no intention to betray the empire to people whom he saw as fools or traitors in any case, and was fully occupied with gathering information on the province and the capital. He needed to know more about both in order to run them more efficiently.

For Amne, this meant her husband was too occupied to take notice of her during the day, which suited her. She felt as though he had pushed her aside far too easily, and she realised that he had intended that all along. It seemed as though he was of the opinion she was incapable of coping with anything administratively. Even her small city quarter had been taken and was being dealt with by some quill holder in one of the stuffy offices.

Well, that left her free to do other things. She sought out Lalaas. The captain was much smarter now he had a proper imperial uniform and she thought he was the most gorgeous man ever. If only he was like Vosgaris and succumbed to her charms. Ah, never mind, always more than one man to seduce. She smiled winningly at Lalaas as she glided up to him. “Captain Lalaas, I have something to discuss with you.” She nodded to the two men with him, both junior officers, in dismissal.

Both saluted and walked off, bound for their routine tasks. Lalaas sighed and looked down at Amne. She often interrupted his duties with some request or other, most of the time it was just to spend the time of day with him. She did like being in his company and he knew she was angling to get his clothes off, but he was not having any of it. He would most likely end up on the executioner’s block and he was not about to mess up such a lucrative post as this. He had become used to it over the recent past and found he actually enjoyed it. Quite a jump up from a humble hunter-warrior from Makenia.

“Oh, Lalaas, don’t sigh so!” Amne scolded. “You don’t mean it!”

“No ma’am, I don’t, but I was in the middle of instructing the lieutenants there.”

Amne waved her hand in dismissal. “You can always catch up with them later. What I have to say to you is very important – much more than some trivial order. Please, my day room.” She took him by the arm and half-dragged him along the corridor. Lalaas stumbled a few steps then got into his stride and walked side by side, looking at the princess.

“Important, you say?”

“Mm-mm,” she nodded. “A job you should perform for me.”

Lalaas said nothing, wondering what in the name of Kastan it would be. They got to her small day room, a tiny office with a desk, three chairs and papers or parchments arranged untidily on the desk. Lalaas stood formally until Amne irritably waved him to relax and sit.

“The recent plot to kill me at my wedding, Lalaas, that is what I wish to discuss with you. My darling husband,” she said with an edge to her words, “has not mentioned it to me nor anyone else, so I understand. I want you to follow it up.”

Lalaas looked thoughtful. He rubbed his chin. “Captain Vosgaris said he’d interrogated the archer the Fokis had contracted and it would appear he was merely a decoy. He was supposed to be found out so we would think we had the man and not look for the real agent, the priest.”

“Yes, and it was fortunate Vosgaris got the right man and forced the truth out of him, just in time. It was a very skilful shot, by the way, Lalaas. Did you ever think you’d miss and hit me?”

Lalaas smiled briefly. “No, ma’am. It was close, and there was no wind. It was an easy shot.”

Amne looked at the man gratefully for a moment, then composed herself. “So, the Fokis. Nobody has even tried to arrest them! We have the definite connection to their House, and the man Vosgaris interrogated confessed he had been paid by his masters to set up the whole thing. That woman, Sela Fokis, was employing their man Philas when Vosgaris took him from their house in Cloth Street. If that’s not evidence, then I don’t know what is!”

Lalaas shrugged. “When we went to the house it was vacated. They had left in a hurry. Even Vacan Fokis has gone. We don’t know where. No doubt they are at large in the city somewhere, protected by their friends, plotting some new devious scheme, but unless we find where they are I don’t see what we can do.”

“Well that simply is not good enough, Lalaas,” Amne said with a frown. “I certainly do not wish to carry on here with the Fokis or their allies the Kanzet or Falanges or whatever House scheming against me. I need an assurance that they are no longer a threat!”

Lalaas rubbed his chin. “I was under the impression that any heavy-handed move against a noble House might cause a reaction from the others. The Council have not made any protest against the moves made on the Duras but that was only because their plot was so disgraceful it even turned their stomachs. They all swiftly distanced themselves from the Duras, if I recall rightly, ma’am.”

“Amne, when we’re alone together, remember?”

“Sorry, yes, Amne. You yourself know I cannot go around looking to arrest the Fokis without firm evidence that the other Houses can see. What am I? A mere commoner! I have no authority over these people.”

Amne waved an irritable arm. “Phoo-ey! You’re acting on behalf of me or my father, and that’s good enough. Oh, all right, I see what you’re saying, Lalaas; it just makes me angry that these beasts can plot like this and then scuttle away to safety and the other Houses move to protect them.”

“Your father knows he has to walk a careful line. He alienated many of the Houses when he took power and caused a reaction. Now things are more settled it’s even harder to make a move against another House. What Houses can you count upon for support?”

Amne drummed her manicured fingers into the desk top. “The Taboz, the Pelgion, the Nicate and maybe the Varaz.”

Lalaas shrugged. “Apart from the Pelgion, aren’t they all minor Houses?”

Amne nodded. “Most of the major Houses have ambitions themselves and father decided it was better to build a power base away from them. The other major families have their own power bases and may look to promote their own emperor if they feel strong enough, so it’s vital we get enough support in the Council to block any such move.”

Lalaas spread his hands wide. “So moving on the Fokis, for example, will cause them to react along with whatever Houses support them, and maybe bring other Houses over to their side if they feel the Koros are getting too powerful. I think the one thing in your favour at the moment is your relative weakness in the Council; with such a small power base the others don’t feel you’re a danger. Astiras is making things better – the trade is certainly on the up and everyone is benefitting, aren’t they?”

“You’re well informed, Lalaas.”

“It’s my job, Amne; you’ve been the one mostly responsible for putting me here and I’ve had to learn fast how to be your ears.”

Amne smiled and relaxed in the chair. “You are right. You work for me, you know that?”

Lalaas nodded and smiled.

“So, Lalaas, I want you to set up a network of informants in Kastan City to keep a watch on the other Houses. We need a really good spy network here working for me. Yes, yes, I know mother’s got one but she’s no longer here, and they’re looking at the entire empire, not just Frasia. I want you to have a special group answerable to you only, and you answerable to me, only. Can you do that, for me, Lalaas?” she smiled.

“Well, yes, but isn’t that underhand?”

Amne pouted. “Maybe, but we need to be in order to combat the underhand ways of our enemies. I must know what they’re planning and have an answer even before they ask the questions.”

Lalaas looked dubious. “Spies cost money.”

“Use those employed by Vosgaris before he left. I’m sure they are still there. Add a few of your own. Look at it like this: you’re a hunter. Hunt the enemies of the Koros. The environment is the city, not the countryside, but the prey is the same. Track them, use your skills.”

Lalaas puffed out his cheeks. “And the funding?”

Amne got out of her chair and slid up to Lalaas and sat on the desk next to him, leaning forward. Her breasts loomed before him enticingly and Lalaas looked away from them up at her blue eyes. “I’ll provide the funding. You’ll do it, won’t you, Lalaas?” she parted her lips and looked at him longingly.

Lalaas put his hand to his eyes. “Yes, yes, Amne, I’ll do it! You’re such a scheming manipulative woman, you know.”

Amne giggled and stood up. “Of course; I’m the emperor’s daughter. Thank you Lalaas,” and she kissed him on the cheek and walked out of the room, pleased to have got the guard captain to do her bidding. Lalaas sighed and followed her out but went in a different direction. He had to admit to himself that organising a new network would be better than the boring schedule of seeing to the guard rotas in the palace. There simply wasn’t enough in the day to fill his time. At least doing this would give him something to do. Perhaps, he mused to himself, it might even reap some benefits.

____

Zofela was a dirty, small, smelly place, or so it seemed to Istan. He was sulking. His room was nothing like it had been in Kastan and he didn’t like it. The journey had been tiring and hot and full of stupid people and stupid animals. Now here in this place in some stupid part of the empire he was going to have to live. His mother and father were stupid.

The only good thing was his stupid brother Argan was not there. He couldn’t think of anyone who was more stupid. Everything he did was stupid. So now he had his room, a small wooden space just big enough for a bed, wardrobe and chest and a small rug, and he was looking out of the single window from the castle out onto the square below. It was dirty and smelly. No pavements for him to walk safely on. Instead here they had mud and animal poo.

The castle was smelly too. It had a funny smell to it that he couldn’t work out but he didn’t like it. The castle was a wooden place and had lots of flags and wall hangings around it, both inside and outside. It did make it look better but it didn’t hide all of the dirt or take away the smell. He was supposed to stay in the castle but he wanted to go out and see all the stupid people doing their stupid things so he could laugh at them. He was a prince and they were not and so he was better than they were. They had to bow to him even if he poked his tongue out at them or called them names, which sounded fun. Stupid Argan never did that – he was too stupid to realise how much fun being a prince was. Once he was emperor he would be horrible to everyone and there was nothing any of them would be able to do about it. He might even beat a few up for fun. He would put Argan in the dungeon and make him eat poo every day. He would do that to everyone who didn’t do as he wanted.

His tutor Gallis was very annoying; he hated the man, always telling him how to behave and what he should learn and not learn. One day he’d throw the stupid old man off the top of the castle and that would be the end of it.

Today he was shown into the main room his father used. It was a warm room, looking out onto the countryside with its view of the mountains and forests, a much better view than the one from his own bedroom. Istan didn’t know why his father couldn’t let him have this room as his own. Once he was emperor he’d have the best for himself and nobody would be able to stop him.

Astiras sat and regarded his son for a while, noting the way Istan held his look defiantly, standing there with his fists clenched and the hostile expression on his face. He really had a bad attitude, and there emperor wondered how in Kastan it had come about. Maybe he was just a bad one; it happened. “Istan,” he said, “I have been informed about your bad behaviour from the various staff here. I have to tell you I won’t tolerate that. You are to behave in a much better way than that! As a member of the Koros family, you must show people you are a worthy prince of Kastan.”