Prince of Wrath (68 page)

The room seemed full of people. Astiras was stood in the middle, stripped down to his padding. His armour was piled in one corner. He was dictating the victory message to Pepil. Isbel and Frendicus were to one side while the Mazag diplomat Meri was deep in conversation with Cleric Waylar, two people Vosgaris thought he would never see together. He sidled up to the empress. “Ma’am; this banquet tonight.”

“Yes, Captain, what of it?”

“Alenna – well, she says she had no fitting outfit for it.”

Isbel sighed. “I see. Very well, I shall send my fitter to her now. It’ll be a quick fit, so I hope she’s got a normal shaped body.”

“Oh, yes ma’am, that she does,” Vosgaris grinned.

Isbel pursed her lips, then smiled as Vosgaris moved away. That man!

The news spread round the empire rapidly. Town criers announced the victory in town and city squares, and posters were stuck up in prominent locations. The relief and jubilation was palpable, for many had feared the worst when the war had been announced. Now perhaps there was a feeling of cautious optimism.

Thetos Olskan was realistic, however. He knew Turslenka was right in the path of any Venn invasion, and it would be their first target. He looked out of his office window, lost in thought. He’d received Astiras’ letter from that strange boyish looking priest on his way to Kornith, warning him to be as prepared as he could. Thetos shook his head slowly. He had enough men to man the ramparts and nothing else. Any concerted effort from Venn would surely break in and put them all to the sword.

Still, the defeat at Zofela would make the Venn cautious now. Their dilemma would be whether to invade again or to fully investigate why they had lost. Were the Kastanian armies stronger than believed, or Venn’s weaker? Was the victory down to Mazag help? Were their tactics faulty? There were a number of variables, but Thetos had little doubt the enemy would come again.

What did he have to defend the city with? Two companies of militiamen and two companies of regulars. Five hundred and fifty men. Not much. Alright sitting behind the walls of the city but not good enough to go marching out. Would the emperor come to assist should they be put under siege? It was all unknown. Thetos would have to make an inspection of the walls and make sure they were up to the task of resisting a siege. Wooden walls tended to rot over time. They had small towers at regular intervals, but they were merely there to buttress the walls rather than serve as strongpoints. They had three gatehouses which were the strongest part of the defences. Once they were breached the plan would be to fall back to the city square, block the roads and try to stop the Venn from capturing the governor’s residence.

A knock came on the door and a guard leaned in as it opened. “Sire, a visitor.”

“I’m seeing nobody, you know that.” Thetos had become a semi-recluse since Metila had gone.

“Yes, sire, but I think you’ll want to see this visitor.” He stepped aside and a small figure entered, the door closing behind him. The figure was cloaked and hooded in grey. The face was in shadow.

“Who are you?” Thetos demanded.

The figure straightened and threw back the hood. Thetos gasped. Metila stood there, a half smile on her face. “You not want to see me?”

“Oh, by the gods…..” Thetos trembled. “Metila!”

Metila lifted off her pack that was slung over one shoulder and dropped it to the floor. Her cloak was fixed by a single clasp around her throat and she unclipped it. The cloak dropped too, and she stood there naked. “You want?”

Thetos groaned and strode over to her, taking her by the arms. “Yes, yes! Metila – where have you been?”

“No talk, love,” she breathed and clamped her mouth onto his, her tongue pushing into him. Thetos grunted and began running his one good hand over her body, feeling the familiar sensual and lithe form of the woman. Metila writhed against him, enjoying the knowledge he was getting excited. Today she would not need any potions. Thetos would perform to her fulfilment, she knew.

___

Jorqel dropped the victory announcement onto his desk. So his father had won; Kastanian honour was restored. It would raise morale and engender a feeling of pride in all the armed units throughout the empire. Perhaps now was the right time to put his plan into action. Throughout the summer he had been working on his invasion of Romos. Kiros Louk had secured the landing spot. The spy had wormed his way into the militia volunteers to patrol the coastlines, and Kiros had been happy to accept a spot on a sandy stretch close to the eastern tip of the island. It was just about the most remote spot, but away from the sheer cliffs that rose along most of the shore.

The only issue with that place was that the tides were strong there as they ebbed and flowed around the tip, joining the Aester Sea. It would take a good sailor to perform the job, and sadly Admiral Fostan would not be the man to do it; he’d lost his life in a recent storm that had battered the Lodrian coast along with sixty crew. Both his vessels had been beached to be repaired properly, and now were almost ready to go. It had to be in the next seven days or so as the autumn storms were becoming frequent, and winter time would not be the best time to launch his move.

The third and last squadron of mounted archers had been passed out, and he now knew that Efsia and Aconia had to supply all the merchant vessels they had to transport the equines to Romos. Including his bodyguard there would be nearly three hundred of the beasts, and that required a lot of space. Fortunately the sea voyage would not be too long. The only other issue was to persuade Sannia to come along with little Merza.

He left his quarters and sought out the castellan, Fostan Carras. The castellan was, as usual, studying the accounts and scribbling hard on a parchment. “Carras,” Jorqel said from the doorway of the castellan’s quarters, “I would speak with you.”

“Sire,” Carras stood, bowed, and waited for the prince to seat himself in the spare chair before sitting back down himself.

“I am shortly to depart for Romos. I shall be gone some time, maybe a few years. I trust that the work I have begun here will be continued under your stewardship? I am putting a lot of trust and faith in you to follow my orders here, since you shall be, in effect, the governor.”

Carras bowed. “I understand, my lord. Fear not, I shall follow your orders in all matters. What units will remain behind to defend the province?”

“All except the mounted units. I am taking them and none others. You will have command of the Army of the West. You will be given the honorary rank of Commander. I shall of course continue to send you letters from Romos and expect you to reply accordingly. Now, next year I wish you to oversee the second rebuild of Slenna.”

“Another build, sire? We have only just got used to the enlarged town.”

Jorqel nodded. “I understand, but people are still coming here, many from former imperial lands further west, and we need to expand yet again.” He slid out from his tunic a folded piece of paper. “A castle and wall of stone.”

“Stone, sire? Where shall we get the material? None is to be found around here. The cost!”

“Fear not, Carras. One of the reasons I’m taking Romos now is to make the seas between Zipria and here safe from piracy. Our stone will come from Zipria, since they have already built a castle and town wall out of stone. They have the material and the experience. I shall arrange for engineers to journey here once Romos is secure, and seal a contract for the delivery of stone to Efsia. From there the journey is short to our walls here, so a number of wagons should be able to carry the material without any trouble. You shall arrange that.”

“Sire.” Carras took the sheet and opened it, smoothing it on the table top, examining the schematics of the new design. “Hmmm. Two gatehouses, west and south. The keep to be set on an earthen mound….. yes…. The wall to be roughly rectangular with towers at regular intervals. Good…. It should take two years to build without hindrance.”

“My assessment exactly. I am leaving you two thousand five hundred furims to pay for it all in the treasury below. Spend it wisely. I expect you to be within budget.”

Carras looked shocked. “So much sire? How did you…… oh, apologies, it is not my place to ask such questions.”

“No it is not. You will encompass the mounted archer stables in the new boundaries.”

Carras bowed. Jorqel left, now escorted by Gavan and two other guards. They went outside and walked down the slope to the town, then turned left and made their way along the damp earth track towards the gatehouse. Once stone was used for the walls and castle, the roads and streets would be paved, too, and no more would they pick up mud and other filth from their outside walks.

Outside the recent rains had left some small puddles and they walked round these to the mounted archer school. The riders were practicing galloping and loosing off arrows. The ground was churned up in a long straight line, about five men’s length in width. The senior captain, Loriz Hammarfell, a young, tall man with a mop of shaggy hair the colour of straw, bowed as he caught sight of the prince. He left the other men taking notes of the accuracy of the shots and met them by the entryway. “Welcome, sire. Have you come to check on how we are progressing?”

“Not exactly, Hammarfell. Shall we talk indoors?”

They were led to a small cluttered office. There was a lack of wall hangings. The unit had not yet bloodied itself. Jorqel and Hammarfell sat while Gavan and the two guards remained standing. “Sire?” the LIMM officer spoke, slightly nervous about the formal attitude of his visitors.

“Captain, prepare the men for a journey. All of them. We are leaving Lodria and crossing by sea to Romos. Your unit will be renamed the Romos Imperial Mounted Militia.”

“That’s great news, sire. The RIMM? It might attract a few comments, sire.”

“Let them. Our task is to take the town, destroy the pirates, and arrest the Duras helping them. I want them to hang. We shall end this matter once and for all. You and your men are to accompany me in this mission.”

“We shall not let you down, sire.”

“Of course not. I have complete faith in you. Get supplies and equipment ready for ten days’ time. We must sail then. I want no slackness, you understand?”

That done, Jorqel returned to Slenna and stood for a moment, looking around the bustling streets. So much had been done in the few years he’d been there, and the town now looked to be once more a vibrant, busy centre of trade and population. So many had left during the bad years, now they were returning, plus more. It had been impossible to know just how many people had gone. The censuses that were held every so often could only register those living in the towns, villages and cities. Many went un-registered; those wandering in the countryside, some living in remote places, vagrants, vagabonds, homeless. The list went on.

Jorqel felt he had done enough. Slenna would carry on growing, thanks to his efforts, and the castellan would ensure his wishes were followed. Now he had to take the next step in rebuilding Kastania’s greatness. Romos had to be regained now before Venn stepped in, and the shipping lanes to Zipria had to be restored, and that could only be achieved with the destruction of the pirates.

The ships would gather in Efsia or in the vicinity and they would embark in ten days. Supplies were now being taken down the road to the port. It wasn’t big enough to handle everything at once, so ships would moor, load up, then sail out to the coast beyond and anchor. Jorqel just hoped that no storm would hit – another like the one that had killed Fostan would destroy his plans.

He made his way back to his offices. Sannia was there, looking tired. “Morning, my love,” he greeted her. “Merza being a handful?”

“Some,” Sannia admitted. “She’s teething. Nurse is taking care of her.”

Jorqel sat next to her. “I’ve made my plans for the invasion of Romos. In ten days we go.”

“So soon?”

“I’m afraid so. The weather is still good and I have no idea how long it’ll hold out. We’ve got Admiral Drakan’s two ships to transport the men, and cargo ships from Aconia are coming down in the next few days to load up the equines. Supplies for the army are being loaded up in Efsia, and Kiros Louk on Romos says he can only guarantee being in his post for another ten or fifteen days before they rotate. It has to be in ten days.”

“Why then?”

“Tides. In ten days the tides are at their highest and the moons are dark. After that they pull the wrong way and it gets lighter at night and we could be seen. Then we’re deep into autumn and the weather just isn’t reliable. I don’t want to go the same way as poor Admiral Fostan.”

“No, of course not! Have they replaced the poor man yet?”

“Another Drakan – or is it Dragan? They sound so similar. It’ll get confusing.”

“Must be the name – they’ll have to change the name of one of them!”

Jorqel grunted. “I intend taking Romos very quickly. Kiros has his orders. Once he has carried out his part, the pirates will have no option but to meet us in battle. Against the RIMM, they should be easy targets.”

Sannia frowned. “The RIMM?”

Jorqel explained. He continued. “I will send for you and Merza to join me once I have secured the town. We shall remain on the island until I am satisfied it is capable of defending itself.”

“But the Venn are just across the sea. What if they invade?”

Jorqel grunted. “They could as easily land here, but yes, I agree Romos would be a more likely target. I want to get there first, and outflank them. Cratia will have to be taken by the empire sooner or later if we are to prevail in this war. First, though, we must make our towns and cities strong so the Venn will have to use lengthy sieges to get anywhere. You remember how this place looked not so long ago – I will do a similar rebuilding scheme to Romos.”

“You will be careful, won’t you, Jorqel? I don’t want Merza growing up not knowing who her father was.”

“Sannia,” Jorqel stroked her face gently. “I have no intention in being reckless or stupid. I am no Duras.”

She shook her head slightly. “Your obsession with the Duras is clouding your judgement, Jorqel. This vendetta you have could be the end of you!”