Empire of Avarice (6 page)

“And you’ve got your insufferable one on! You need to go
to the practice yard and get that energy out of your system. I don’t fancy
sharing a room with you if you’re going to be in this sort of mood.”

“You don’t normally say that, dear,” Astiras touched his
forehead in a mock salute. “I can browbeat priests, the nobility and lawyers,
but my wife is another matter altogether.”

“Just you try,” Isbel wagged her finger at her husband.

“Can’t be bothered,” Astiras slumped even more into his
chair, assuming an almost horizontal position. “I’m too tired. It’s been a busy
day. Have you had any further pleasantries with the Palace Guard Captain,
Mercos, Amne?”

“Astiras…” Isbel began.

“I’m asking if that amphibian has bothered our daughter
again, dear,” Astiras said, exerting a great deal of patience. “If he tried
once he may try again.”

“No, father. He’s kept clear of me.”

“Good. I’m thinking of replacing him. Even I get the
jitters around him. Isbel darling, is there anyone you have in mind? Someone
reliable, loyal to our family, pretty good with a blade, and not inclined to
fondling maidens?”

Amne blushed and put her head down. Isbel compressed her
lips and sent him a look that ought to have shrivelled him on the spot. “I
don’t know what’s got into you, Astiras. As a matter of fact I may have someone
in mind. A young man from the Taboz family. Know them?”

Astiras screwed his face up. “Taboz? Oh yes, you mean
the landowners from east of here? Most of their land is around the port of
Kalkos, isn’t it?”

“Yes. One of their sons is serving in the garrison here.
He got posted last year as soon as he got his captaincy.”

“Paid for by his family, I suppose,” Astiras said.

“Yes, but he’s not like those useless fops you’re
thinking of. Why don’t you ask to see him? Make you own mind up about him.” Isbel
smiled sweetly at him.

Astiras grimaced, then nodded. “Pepil, what’s my
schedule for tomorrow?”

The major domo stepped forward, parchment already
unrolling. He examined the inked squiggles written upon it. “After breakfast a
meeting with Frendicus’ office, sorting out the tax regime. Pre-lunch, throne
room audience with the various nobility requesting imperial favours or action
in connection with their properties etcetera etcetera. After lunch you have an
appointment with the office of public works to see which public buildings
require maintenance. Pre-dinner a number of requests for nobility engagements;
daughters wishing to marry into other families – including your own, your
majesty.”

“What?” Astiras twisted in his seat and stared up at the
major domo. “There are requests to marry Jorqel?”

“Well it would hardly be Argan or Istan over there,
would it, dear?” Isbel could be caustic, Astiras decided.

“I’m afraid, ma’am, there are one or two….” Pepil looked
apologetically at Isbel.

“What?” she sat up straight and looked across at the two
children playing innocently in the corner. “They’re only four and one!”

“I’m afraid we’ve had a flood of marriage requests from
noble families already, and I expect more to come from other parts of the
empire once news of your successful ascent to the throne reaches them, your majesty.”
Pepil leaned back, drawing himself up to his full height. He looked as
disapproving as Isbel felt.

“This won’t do!” Isbel exclaimed. “Astiras, you must
announce tomorrow an end to this!”

“What, and alienate those noble families I haven’t
already today?” Astiras frowned. He clicked his fingers at the drinks servant. “Ale.”
The servant bowed and glided off.

“But to ask for the hand of a one year old is simply not
right!”

“What’s the socially acceptable age? Twelve?” Astiras
asked out loud. He got a few nods in reply. “Right, I’ll make some kind of
proclamation tomorrow to that effect. Pepil, do me a draft speech, can you?”

“Of course, your majesty.” Pepil was obsequiousness
itself.

“They’re trying to jump on the imperial line,” Isbel
commented. “A new family with children. There hasn’t been that for a while, has
there? Well as their mother I have a duty to protect them! Jorqel can handle
those requests sent his way, but Amne here and the boys are a different
matter.”

“Mother!” Amne protested indignantly, “I’m twenty!”

“And the empire’s number one eligible woman,” Isbel
replied. “You’ll be flooded with marriage requests. You won’t be able to
cope….” Isbel looked at her husband. “Perhaps sending Amne to Mazag may not be
such a bad idea after all.”

Astiras grinned and looked smug. Too damned smug, Isbel
thought.

The city of Kastan was old, very old; built on an even
older town seven centuries ago, it had grown as the new capital of the empire
after the constant menaces from the west had compelled the emperors in those
days to shift the capital westwards, thus ensuring the dangers to the empire
could be addressed more quickly and the imperial army had less distance to
travel should danger rear its head. The disadvantage was to the eastern half,
and the people there had never forgotten this ‘insult’. A civil war had
erupted, splitting the old empire in two. Each half had insisted it were the
true empire. Each continued on its way, separate and parallel, until the east
had imploded two centuries after the split and vanished. This had left the west
to continue as the Kastanian Empire, the lone survivor of the former mighty
one.

Kastan had become a glittering jewel, a capital of a
mighty empire, the centre of trade and commerce, the seat of rich and opulent
emperors. But the centuries had seen highs and lows, and the empire had
gradually shrunk from an extent that covered much of the known world to now only
five provinces. With this contraction the wealth had gradually dribbled away
and the riches had been slowly stolen by other kingdoms. But Kastan was still
envied, desired and wanted by its neighbours. Visitors to the city walked
around gazing in admiration at its public buildings, built in a time when the
Empire had the wealth to construct them. This ensured that belief around the
known world that Kastan was still a rich glittering gem at the centre of the
world. All wanted to be first to possess it. Previously only those who ran the
empire knew of the precarious state of things, and they kept this truth from
everyone, even themselves. Not so now, not since Astiras had come to power and
revealed to everyone the true state of the empire.

The city was enclosed within a high wall and divided
into quarters. Some quarters were richer than others, and in one such richer
quarter a meeting was taking place. The few guests who arrived by carriage kept
their cloaks tight around their heads, lest they be seen and reported to the
authorities. They did not wish that.

The house belonged to the Duras family, a rich and noble
family that had provided emperors in the past. Many members had held positions
of power in the provinces, positions that had allowed them to divert much
revenue meant for the treasury into their pockets. It was said that the Duras
family were richer than the imperial treasury these days. It was not hard to
believe.

Vitlis Duras was head of the family, and he had called
the meeting, using contacts and messengers, so that if one be intercepted he
was above any implication. Unlike the emperor, he was not averse to displaying
his wealth, and it was on show in his home, displaying to the visitors that he
was a man of substance, of bearing. Gold cups and plates adorned shelves and
paintings of haughty and imperious figures hung from picture rails set high in
the passageways and around the rooms. In the rooms the furniture was of a superior
quality. One or two could be said to have come from cities lost to the Tybar
tribes recently, but just how these had been smuggled out was something not to
be discussed.

The visitors were helped off with their cloaks in the
hallway and were shown to the meeting room, a library, the windows covered in
thick curtains so they were all hidden from prying eyes. Servants provided them
with drinks and then left, leaving them to discuss with their master those
matters which did not concern them. Better they did not hear.

“Thank you for coming here tonight,” Vitlis began
solemnly. He stood with his back to the huge fireplace, the fire unlit as it
was warm enough at this time of year. The wintertime would be a different
matter altogether. “I have called this meeting to discuss with each of you the
serious matter of the new emperor and his avowed policies. Policies which I
know all of you have reasons to oppose.”

He sat down in his favourite chair, a worn looking
leather backed armchair with dark wood rests. Carved hunting feline heads stood
on the edges of the arm rests, and hunting felines’ feet at the bottom of each
leg. His five guests did likewise, finding a seat closest to where they were. They
arranged the seats so they were looking at one another. Vitlis acknowledged the
presence of Vacan Fokis, a member of a rival family. Because of this they
rarely spoke to one another; but this evening they had a common cause, and any
enmity they might have felt towards one another was put aside. Temporarily, at
least. Next to Vacan was seated a senior priest, a florid, brown haired man
with a long sharp nose and receding chin. “My thanks for attending, Cleric
Dinosi. I’m sure it is a difficult time for your temple.”

“Very difficult, indeed,” Dinosi said in a thin,
high-pitched voice. “I should rejoice as I stand to be promoted to High Cleric
of Kastan in place of Burnas, but this is something that has been blocked by
the emperor.”

Vitlis smiled thinly. The ambitious Dinosi clearly
didn’t care a damn for his disgraced superior, but the fact he was then
prevented from replacing him had caused him to oppose the emperor. The other
three men were a mixture of souls. The greying figure of the palace guard,
Mercos, waited impatiently for the meeting to progress. Next to him was a
portly man, with double chins, a balding head and gold teeth, and wore rich
clothes. He was Wylan Grother, a merchant of some standing, and representing
the Merchants’ Guild, a loose confederation of businessmen who set the prices
for goods coming into and going out of the city. Things had been good for them
the last few years; profits had multiplied, and even if some markets had been
lost thanks to the advance of the Tybar tribes in the west, at least in the
east trade had gone on with the merchants of Venn and Zilcia. Losing territory
to those people didn’t matter, and in fact it made things much more lucrative
as the tolls on imports into the empire gave them extra money. So it was better
if the empire lost more land. They would get richer.

The last man was a dark, small, shadowy creature,
preferring to sit in the corner with his back to the wall. He was a senior
figure in the Thieves’ Guild, and had an interest in the meeting as he wanted
to know what these people planned to do with the emperor and his family; any
decision to kill the man would necessarily involve the Thieves’ Guild, as an
agent would have to be employed to do the job. Vitlis’ money had already bought
his discretion and silence.

“We are here tonight to determine the right course of
action against Astiras and the Koros family,” Vitlis began. “All of us have an
interest in returning to the previous state of affairs we were all enjoying. The
emperor is threatening to undo everything we have worked hard for over the past
few years. What is certain is that he has no respect for tradition or the
structure of the empire’s hierarchy. This is what happens when soldiers are
allowed to take control!” He looked at Mercos. “You helped in that to a large
degree, Mercos.”

Mercos shrugged. “It seemed the right decision at the
time. I was wrong.”

“Well, we all hope you can assist in the correction of
that decision.”

“Of course. My loyalty is to you.”

Vitlis smiled briefly again. What Mercos meant of course
was that his loyalty was to Vitlis’ money. Astiras had made the mistake of not
paying Mercos any more ‘loyalty’ money after his accession. “What of the Fokis
family? Do they back your intention to replace the Koros family at the palace? And
which family should we promote to take their place? Do you have ambitions to
the throne yourselves? After all,” he said, smiling thinly, “one of your House
has taken control of Lodria.”

Vacan inclined his head. “My family back me in every
manner.” Following his public humiliation his family had expressed their
support for him. “As to the succession, I have taken the liberty of examining
the legal documentation held in the judiciary office, and there are two
possible candidates. We have the Palanges family or the Kanzet family. They
have eligibility from marriage from the old emperor Ronis who died in that
terrible battle ten years ago. His daughters married members of both the
Palanges and Kanzet families. The senior House are the Palanges, but if they
refuse then we can ask the Kanzet. I’m confident one of them at least will
accept our offer. As for my family, we are merely demonstrating our opposition
to emperors who do not provide us with the right contracts and financial
incentives. Lodria will trade with Kastan provided all contracts come through
the Fokis family.”

“What of the army?” Wylan Grother, the merchant, asked. “Unless
they support the coup, surely it will be doomed? We would have civil war yet
again.”

“With Mercos here commanding the palace guard, we
already have some support within the palace. And you, Wylan, can grease the
right palms to allow the town militia to sit back and do nothing.” Vitlis waved
a hand in the air. “That leaves the imperial army. Now, most of them are with
the emperor’s son so all we have to worry about are the few who are in the
palace. Mercos, can you arrange for our shadowy friend over there,” Vitlis
pointed at the thief, “to send in agents to slit their throats at night?”

“It can be arranged, yes.”

“Good. Then once they are all dead, the emperor and his
family can be slaughtered at will.”

Mercos cleared his throat. “Can I ask that the daughter,
Amne, is spared? I want to have my way with that she-canine.”

“Your personal wants are secondary to the job in hand,
Mercos. All the Koros family must die, even the two youngest children.”

“I’ll kill her myself, but only after having her. That’s
the terms for my help.”

Vitlis sighed and glanced at Vacan who shrugged. “Very
well, Mercos, you can satisfy your – carnal needs – but you must take care of
her immediately afterwards.”

“And Prince Jorqel?” Wyland asked. “He won’t be so easy
– and if he finds out his father has been murdered he’ll go berserk and march
on Kastan.”

Vitlis nodded at the thief once more. “Our friend here
will arrange for an agent of his to infiltrate the camp and get close to
Jorqel, then eliminate him on a pre-arranged date to coincide with the coup
here. We will have to make sure a successor is ready to step into the vacant
throne the moment Astiras dies.”

“And the replacement must agree to the tax exemptions
and trading privileges we’ve had in the past.” Wyland held Vitlis’ gaze.

 Vitlis nodded. “Your companies will trade with Lodria
on favourable terms, naturally.”

“And I must be appointed High Cleric the day following
the accession,” Dinosi said. “And if so, the Temple will give the new emperor
its support.”

The meeting went on until the small hours but the
essential points had already been covered. The visitors all collected their
coats and cloaks, and stepped out cautiously into the night air. It still had a
slight bite to it but the warmer days heralded the coming of summer. Vitlis sat
in his study and thought long and hard on the plans, going through them again
and again, rejecting the parts that were impossible, and formalising the
details.

The visitors went their separate ways; Vacan and Wyland
by carriage, Dinosi through the streets confidently to the temple on the hill
close to the palace, the thief via the alleyways like a wraith, and Mercos,
alone, towards the palace. His head was covered with a hood and the poor street
lighting cast deep shadows so he was hidden even more from view. But eyes
followed him nonetheless and he was just about to enter the palace gates when
two men stepped across his path. “That’s far enough, friend,” one growled
deeply. “You’re coming with us.”

“What?” Mercos began to protest. His hand grabbed the
hilt of his sword but a third man had stepped up from behind and pressed a
dagger into his back. “One wrong move or a shout and you’re dead,” the third
man hissed in a voice Mercos thought sounded vaguely familiar.

Mercos however didn’t recognise any of the men for their
faces were covered in cloth so that only their eyes were visible, and they,
too, wore hoods so that these eyes were in shadows. Mercos’ sword was removed
and he was taken forcefully by the arm away from the palace and along the main
street to the next turning, then he was whisked off the street and down a long
narrow alley until the black yawning mouth of a set of double doors greeted
them.

Mercos was thrust rudely into the opening and he
stumbled to a halt, trying to see in the near darkness.

The doors closed behind them and one of the men
scratched a tinderbox – Mercos knew what they sounded like – and suddenly there
was light. The closeness of the three men to him intimidated the palace guard
captain, and he tried to shrink away from them. It was as much the menace and
feeling of intent coming from them that made him afraid as anything else.

“Right my friend,” the third man who Mercos took to be
the leader said, “you’re going to tell us what was said at this meeting you’ve
been to and who else was there.” He dragged off his face cloth and Mercos felt
an icy chill run down his spine. It was Teduskis. “Being silent will do you no
good at all. It will only mean more pain and suffering to you.”

“You think you can treat me, the captain of the guard,
like this?” Mercos blustered.

“Yes,” Teduskis said. “Your replacement is already being
considered. Let’s get one thing clear, Mercos. You’re a dead man. How you die
is up to how co-operative you are. My two colleagues here aren’t averse to the
sight of blood; they’ve veterans of the Bragal campaigns, so they’ve seen more
suffering and pain than you can ever imagine.”