Prince of Wrath (62 page)

The chanting of the women filled the barn. Voices rose and fell, and the flickering torchlight played across the faces of twenty of them, lined around the birthing bed, calling out to the gods to protect the woman about to give birth.

Metila, bathed in sweat, lay on the blankets and hay, crying out as the contractions grew stronger. Two women knelt by her, one on either side, ready to assist with the baby. Another contraction, a big one, long and painful. The urge to push filled Metila’s whole being. She wanted it out, now! She arched her body and screamed.

The sound of the chanting dimmed and hands played over her lower body. Another urge. She pushed. Pushed again. The pain swamped her and she yelled out hoarsely. Then something eased and the pain diminished, and her belly suddenly felt emptier. A cry of a little child reached her ears.

“Oh, it’s a boy,” one of the two birthing women exclaimed. “You have a son,” she said in Metila’s ear.

“Give him – to me!” Metila gasped out, now relieved the ordeal was over.

“A moment,” the woman said. The women wiped the worst of the fluids off the bawling child, wrapped him in a thin blanket, then placed him on the new mother’s chest. Metila felt a warm, soft shape press against her, and automatically brought both hands to feel the wriggling being. As it was still crying, Metila brought her right breast up to the boy’s mouth and pressed the nipple into it. The baby stopped crying and began sucking, a reflex action, instinctive, and Metila had to adjust her breast until it was comfortable for both and the baby began suckling.

After the placenta had been delivered, two of those present wiped her down. “We will let you rest now,” the eldest woman said. “One of us will be close at all times should you need anything. What is the child to be called?”

“Klandesi,” Metila said, tired.

“Klandesi? Little destroyer?” the woman wondered on the name, then shook her head and left the small claustrophobic space, emerging into the cool night air of the Bragalese eastern plains. It was early spring and the winter had been nothing exceptional either way – neither long, cold or bad. Just a normal winter. The woman who had just given birth had appeared one day just before winter had begun and had invoked the ancient Bragalese custom of shivtak, a community’s care of a homeless pregnant women. Under the custom, she could stay one full cycle beyond the birth before going on her way.

By that time she should be strong enough to move on. Where she would go, without a man or home, was anyone’s guess, but the poor community here that had taken her in could not feed or care for her forever. They had their own food to grow and store, and their existence to worry about. The Kastanians had recently returned to the district and were already sending out administrators, assessing the taxable value of everything.

For Metila, this time was precious. She knew she would have to leave the boy somewhere soon, and this was a problem she would have to consider. The child was the son of Astiras and therefore was of imperial blood. He was also half Bragalese, so perhaps could be one accepted by the local population. Maybe in the future the boy could grow into a fine leader who could at last lead Bragal to independence and drive the Kastanians from their soil. It was a good dream. She had taken advantage of the situation on a whim, and now she had done her duty and produced a male who was both of imperial and Bragalese blood.

He would have to be brought up by trustworthy people, people she could leave the boy with while she returned to her life in Turslenka and Thetos. These people would also bring him up teaching him who he was and what his heritage meant, and maybe become the leader Bragal wanted – and needed.

For now though, Metila lay there with her baby and rested, her eyes closing with exhaustion.

___

Events moved slowly in Kastania in the fifth year of Astiras Koros’ reign. Building had begun in Zofela on the new fortress and walls, and workmen were brought in from all parts to assist with the construction. Astiras had finally approved the design of the new town, a rough rectangle with the keep on a raised earthen mount against the southern wall. The old town would be engulfed by the new build, slowly vanishing in the last phase of the construction. The new quarters would re-house those dispossessed and then the old buildings flattened and a brand new quarter built in its place, for the newcomers.

Argan’s training went on. His riding went slowly, punctuated by frequent falls and just as frequent outbursts from Isbel, terrified that the boy would receive just as severe an injury and be crippled for life. Astiras had to finally insist the boy was in good hands and his training would continue regardless.

Kerrin aided him, encouraging him when things went wrong or too slowly in Argan’s opinion. Mr. Sen began teaching him administrative skills, and a tutor was brought in to teach him Tybar. There clearly was no need to get him to speak Bragalese since the Prince knew more than any tutor known.

Sasia finally was allowed to tend the room and Prince without the severe gaze of the elderly Genthe, and the two spent many evenings speaking about their days and their respective lives. As for Istan, his temper did not improve with age and the only attribute he appeared to possess was one for destruction. Soon there were no belongings left since all had been smashed and no glass was allowed, even for the windows. Shutters were put in place instead.

Both Sannia and Amne’s pregnancies progressed, each finding the hovering attendants suffocating. While Sannia bore it with great patience and understanding, Amne railed and chafed, and complained long and loudly. Since Sannia was a season ahead of Amne, Sannia was confined to her chamber long before Amne was. Oddly, the two women began to send one another correspondence, keeping notes on one another and comparing their experiences. Their respective husbands worried as to the health of their wives and to the forthcoming births. What would it be? Boy or girl? Healthy or not? Would the mother die in childbirth? Physicians arrived in both households and prepared to be called upon when the time came.

Jorqel took his mind off things by checking up on the progress of the training of the Lodrian Imperial Mounted Militia, or LIMM. He had adapted the name from the KIMM, and was pleased to review the first two squadrons who passed their training in the spring. The third would complete their training later in the year. Then he would have enough to launch an invasion of Romos. Messages were sent to Kiros Louk who warned of the setting up of the coastal watch. From now on the messages would be at a minimum. That troubled Jorqel for he wished to keep up to date with what was going on over on the island, especially as once the child was born he would then set his mind on the invasion, and the final reckoning with the Duras.

Vosgaris and Alenna were duly wed in Zofela by Cleric Waylar. Lalaas could not attend due to his duties but he sent a gift and a letter of congratulations nonetheless. The imperial couple and Argan were there, along with the senior members of the Court. Isbel was particularly pleased.

But over the border in Venn, preparations were nearing their completion. The fortress town of Rhan had been reinforced during the winter by many soldiers, having marched up the coast. The burning of the depot had not stopped the stockpiling; the newly arrived equipment now went into the main keep. The arrival of Venn’s celebrated General Alsdro Velsar had focussed the military training even further. Alsdro was lean, tall, possessed an air of disdain for all around him and his face, like many of his race, was dominated by a large, strong nose. His hair was a mass of white-blond shoulder-length thatch. He was attired in the black light leather jacket he preferred, and studied the soldiers practicing in the courtyard briefly before turning his back on them and entering the fortress.

The walls were immensely thick and the light was provided by flickering torches set in iron brackets on the walls. Stout wooden tables and chairs dominated the hall and the commander of the fortress, Alcazui, stepped forward to greet the general. Alcazui was younger, black haired and sported a goatee beard, neatly clipped.

“General, welcome and be comfortable.”

“Greetings, Commander,” Alsdro said dryly. “I see the men are still practicing outside.”

“Sire. They grow impatient. They wish to be unleashed on our enemies.”

Alsdro sat in one of the chairs and tugged off his gauntlets. It had been a long ride and he was tired and thirsty. “If your security had been up to competence then they would be setting off now. As it is, we still need more equipment.”

Alcazui spread his hands helplessly. “One lone infiltrator, so I am led to believe.”

“One – enough to set back our plans for a time. Your name is not being spoken of well in Venn City, I can tell you. Duke Dominik himself had cursed your name.”

Alcazui paled. He sat down opposite the general, and signalled that drinks should be brought. “I trust he has faith in me to lead the men to victory?”

“For the moment. Another foul-up and you may as well fall upon your sword. To err twice in war is not permitted, you know that.”

“I thank you for your words of wisdom and faith in me to make up for the lapse in security. Rest assured, the man in charge of the security was duly punished.”

Alsdro raised one eyebrow. “Was it he I saw swinging in that iron cage outside the main gate?”

“Indeed. He has been there all winter.”

“Good. We must show that failure is not to be tolerated. So, the plan.” Alsdro waved one of his men to bring forth a folded sheet of parchment which was smoothed out on the table and the ends weighted down. Alsdro pointed at the location of Rhan, a large black dot on the coast. “So from here, once we have enough supplies and arms, will send out two expeditionary forces. One, under myself, will head north into Epros and conquer that region. My army shall head directly for Drazino and take it, and once that is achieved, spread out across the country and pacify the rest of it.”

Alcazui nodded in approval. “The Eprosians should not be able to resist – they are weak fools.”

“My thinking entirely. At the same time, you, Commander, will take the second force over the central highlands of Kral and cross to the Kastanian border. From there you will invade Bragal and head directly for Zofela. You are to take it without delay or failure. Once you have taken Zofela and I Drazino, we will be in the perfect places to move on Turslenka from two directions and crush any force the foolish Kastanians try to put into the field.”

“A sound strategy – although may I point out that I shall be facing harder and tougher opposition, General?”

“Are you seeking excuses already, Commander? Kastania has not won a battle against a foreign army for decades! Their treasury is low, the quality of their soldiers poor and they lack generals. What leaders they have had have been busy fighting one another and dying off in droves. Now all they have is one army in Zofela led by this upstart Astiras Koros. My intelligence is that he has a couple of rag-tag militia companies, one of elite archers and the rest are made up of peasants, irregulars and brigands! All very good in dealing with rebels but they should pose no trouble to Venn’s trained armies.”

“But what of Mazag, General? It is known they have an alliance with Kastania, and surely they would come to the aid of their allies should we invade?”

Alsdro groaned, looking to the web-festooned rafters of the hall. “May Sonos give me strength,” he said. As he looked down the drinks arrived, a couple of tall earthenware mugs brimming with ale. The general took his and quaffed a mouthful, downing it with relish. “Ah, better than that damned journey I’ve had to take to get here.” He watched while Alcazui took a drink from his, then continued. “I have with me a diplomat, Godin Terbar, and he will speak to these Mazag dolts, reminding them of their true friends under the one true god Sonos. Would they dare risk divine retribution by siding with heretics and infidels? The Mazag would be idiotic in keeping to their side of the alliance. Do not worry about them.”

Alcazui was not reassured, but he had to take the general’s word for it. “And what will be my force on this task?”

“I have set aside six hundred and sixty men men for you – two spear companies, one of archers and three squadrons of armoured knights – your shock troops that will crush anything those weakling Kastanians put into the field. Astiras has only three companies and his bodyguard in Zofela, does he not?”

“So I believe, General, yes. Shouldn’t we wait for more men to join us? I cannot besiege a town with just that number successfully.”

Alsdro smiled wearily. “Really, Commander, you’re trying really hard to convince me not to send you on a glorious march that will bring these imperial fools to their knees. Zofela is undergoing an expansion, and they have torn down their walls. You could march into it with a company of women. Now go begin to prepare yourself and plan your supplies. I am not in the mood to argue with you any further on this matter. It is decided, we are going to march in five days’ time, whether you like it or not.”

So the fortress was turned into a hive of activity. Men were grouped into units, split into the two respective armies. Alsdro left first with his force, marching north along the coastal road, escorted out at sea by supply ships so that he wouldn’t have to be slowed down by any wagons. He also refused to permit any hangers-on, sellers, whores, camp followers and the like. His rations would be for his soldiers and nobody else. That was how he had conquered Kral, and this was his template for all his campaigns. Epros now, the rest of Kastania in the future. Let the fool Alcazui tramp through hostile terrain and risk fighting two enemies, he cared not. All that mattered was that he was left to seize more land for Venn and collect the glory that went with it. If Alcazui succeeded, so much the better, but to him the commander and his six hundred and sixty were mere decoys and a distraction. Nobody would come to the assistance of Epros.