Empire of Avarice (81 page)

The next morning he trudged down the hill towards the
watercourse to replenish his drinking supply. Once he’d done that and had a
quick meal, he climbed the other side, having used some of the rocks as
stepping stones to get over the stream, and reached the top of the ridge. The
rain had stopped but the sky was dull and clouds raced across it.

There, ahead in the distance, he could see the town of
Romos, the ancient capital of the island, once home to a mighty race of giants,
so the legends went. The giants had died out centuries before men had come to
Romos, but apparently those who first built what would become the town did so
on the ruins of some fantastical long-dead civilisation. No trace remained of
what may have been there originally, and Kiros had no faith in such stories
anyway.

Shrugging his pack higher, he began the journey down the
long slope towards the town. Before him the land dipped and rose gently, and
there were plenty of copses and small woods to conceal him from prying eyes. He
would have to enter the pirate-held town at night when conditions favoured him
better. He had little doubt anyone trying to enter Romos from the countryside
would be detained by the authorities and undoubtedly put to death if there were
any suspicions as to their identity.

As evening approached he reached the last rise before
Romos and lay below the crest, looking over the top at the wooden walled town. Sentries
patrolled the ramparts and there was a castle within the walls. Off to the
left, on the shore, ships with their high masts could be seen tied to the
jetties of the harbourside, and the roofs of the houses peeked up just above
the top of the ramparts. Romos was not a particularly large town, but it was
the largest settlement on the island.

From where he lay he could detect the occasional whiff
of fish, and the smell of ordure and rotting garbage that had been dumped
outside the walls. Most settlements had a waste disposal ditch somewhere close
to the perimeter, and it was almost certainly on this side facing him. Kiros
would have to tread carefully. He had no wish to wade into a stinking,
festering moat. It probably had dead canines and felines mixed in amongst it,
and rodents probably feasted to their bellies’ content at night there. He
pulled a face.

Newcomers into Romos would be viewed suspiciously. Should
a ship sail into the harbour then he may be able to sneak in; the ship’s crew
might see him as a dock worker helping offload their cargo, while the dock
workers might think he was one of the crew. Against that was the fact these were
pirates and likely to know everyone in their organisation. There were probably
about ten ships all told. It wasn’t exactly like a kingdom or anything like
that – it was a loose collection of outlaws and those who had turned their
backs on outside rule to go their own way. Romos, being on a small island that
was hard to self-sustain, needed to trade. Who would trade with pirates? Nobody,
so they took to raiding shipping and the nearby coastlines of Lodria and
Izaras. He doubted they attacked Venn-held Cratia since Venn had a decent fleet
and that may bring a full-scale invasion down on their heads.

He studied the land he would have to cross before he got
to the town, and as darkness fell he got up, wet and cold, and trudged down
into the valley ahead of him. At the bottom was a dry stream bed with stones
and he almost fell crossing it. It was now fully dark and he took his time
climbing the other side, concerned that he may end up with a broken ankle.

Night avians called out as they hunted, catching either
rodents or insects, and he once heard the eerie howl of a wild kroll somewhere
out in the hills. He made faster time after he got to the top, being guided by
the distant lights of Romos and the fact he was now walking along definite
paths, made by the townsfolk for the cultivation of the fields and orchards. He
was skirting an orchard and its low stone wall, and it helped him follow a path
away from the cess pit that lay between the fields and the town.

He got to a place just outside the range of the torches
on the ramparts, and knelt behind a creeper-infested wooden split plank fence
on the edge of a field that probably was used for herd beasts, if the smell of
faeces was anything to go by. There was a rude looking wooden water trough a
little distance off, and the ground was very churned up around it.

The wooden walls were patrolled by bored looking
sentries, and Kiros made a mental note of how frequently one passed by. It
appeared that the same man had the same stretch of wall to guard, walking back
and forth, keeping the next man in sight doing the same job on his piece of the
walkway.

Kiros pulled out the rope with the hook. It was wrapped
with cloth so wouldn’t make a noise, and tensed, watching the guard walk past
the spot closest to where he was hiding, then as the man passed along the
walkway, got to his feet and scampered, bent low, towards the foot of the wall.
He pressed up against it and waited there, breathing shallowly so as not to
make any noise or emit any tell-tale clouds of condensation.

Overhead the guard came treading past, his pacing
clearly that of someone bored beyond words. Probably one of the press-ganged
townsfolk or one of the lowest ranked pirate crewmen, Kiros mused. Either way
he wasn’t going to take him out unless it was necessary; killing a guard was
not the most sensible thing to do, not if he wanted to sneak in undetected. As
the guard passed, Kiros stepped back from the wall, whirled the rope and hook a
couple of times, then released it upwards. The top of the wall was no more than
two men’s height and the hook caught. Kiros tugged hard and then climbed up
swiftly, adept at such exercises. It took him a mere dozen heartbeats and he
was over onto the ramparts, quickly checking left and right.

The guard was nearly at the end of his section so Kiros
grabbed the rope, stepped to the edge of the walkway and peered down. As
expected the drop was half the height on the inside, and he easily made the
jump, bending his knees and rolling to a ball against the inside of the wall. He
waited until the guard had passed by above him once more before getting up and
making his way down the earthen embankment to the level of the town proper.

Now he was in and all that remained was for him to find
a place to stay in and get a ‘job’. That way he would be in the perfect place
to spy on the pirates and their activities. He hoped Prince Jorqel appreciated
his efforts.

____

Jorqel was at that moment studying the half-built lines
of Slenna’s new wall. It went well beyond the limit of the old wall which had
been torn up and, in most places, re-used. But because the wall was bigger,
much more had to be erected and that required wood. Timber was expensive given
the shortage caused by the war in Bragal, so most of what they imported came
from Makenia, but now this too had dried up because of the blockaded port of
Kalkos. Things were getting difficult indeed. How was he to host a wedding if
his town was still unfinished?

He walked with two guards slowly along the streets of
Slenna. The lighting provided by oil lamps suspended from poles along each
street helped brighten up the place, and it had been his idea to do this. The
oil was costly, but he subsidised it partly through the new citizen tax, a head
tax levied on all townsfolk. There had been grumblings and mutterings about
this but the amount was small and everyone had to pay it, including those at
the top, Jorqel included. He made a show of contributing his furim at the town
hall, a shabby, peeling building that really needed knocking down and
replacing, but funds were not yet there to do this. He had then watched as the
other leading members of Slennan society paid their dues.

The example having been set, the townsfolk had then
little option but to follow. Those who found it hard to raise the money could,
on signing a document, pay a quarter per season. Not a big amount and it helped
fund some of the town repairs and upkeep, including a six-man militia employed
to keep the streets safe. Two were on duty at any one time and two more could
be called out if needs dictated. If any more were required, Jorqel reasoned
then that it would need him and his bodyguard. But dealing with the occasional
drunk or domestic argument or neighbour dispute was down to the new militia and
he really couldn’t be bothered to deal with such trivial matters.

The new street pattern was laid out and the foundations
of the new quarter already there to see. The building of the new houses would
come with the better weather and, hopefully, more timber. He also thought about
the requests for military intervention in Bathenia against this Lombert Soul,
and perhaps he would have to march down there and take care of the matter, much
as though it galled him to do so. His attitude was that Bathenia’s governor
ought to deal with it and not him, but perhaps a show of strength from the
Koros might be the right thing to do.

The new mounted archer stable block was still outside
the line of the new walls but not too far, and the beaten earth track from the
stables to the new gateway, which was completed and standing proudly on its own
because the wall there was not built, had been completed. The farms that he and
his men had been using during the siege were now right up against the new town
limits, and some of their fields had vanished inside the new Slenna. Jorqel had
cleverly designated them as garden allotments, to grow vegetables inside the
town, so that the townsfolk could grow their own produce and be more
self-sufficient. It also made some of the food supply for the town safe from
any possible banditry and other predatory action. The farmers had been told to
plough new land and were given it free by Jorqel in compensation for the loss
of the land to the town. All in all he thought he’d been reasonable in his
decision making. Of course there had been complaints but you never did anything
without someone somewhere moaning.

He stood by the open gateway, looking out at the frosty
countryside. It seemed peaceful, but that was all an illusion. The Tybar still
had to be tackled, even though a treaty existed for the moment. Then there were
the problems in Bathenia, and even on Romos with its pirates. Then what of
Venn? It dominated the seas to the north, centred on their possession of former
imperial Cratia, and how long would it be before they looked with hungry eyes
at Lodria and the Aester Sea?

Plenty to do before anyone could feel satisfied with the
way things had gone.

Spring finally dragged its cautious head into the lands
of Kastania, almost reluctant to chase the cold hand of winter away. The snows
retreated, the winds became gentler, and the plants and trees began to stir
into life.

With the coming of Spring, hopes rose around Kastania
for a finish to the seemingly unending conflict in Bragal. The feeling that the
siege was coming to an end had permeated through to every town and city. There
was an underlying feeling in the hearts and minds of most of the people that
perhaps this year there would be something to look forward to, rather than what
had been endured over the past decade or more of despair, retreat and loss.

There was a day that seemed to represent the start of
Spring. A day that was warmer than those that had come before, a day that saw
the absence of wind, rain and the coldness that had gripped the lands of
Kastania for so long. On this day the sun shone, the air was still and full of
insects seeking flowers or even the exposed flesh of unwary victims, and of
avians singing and seeking material for nests. It was a day to lift the spirit,
and in many places people looked out with a smile, or with uplifted hearts.

In Niake, Evas Extonos stood at the window of his office
looking out onto the town square. People were making their way to their place
of work or to the market, or standing talking to one another. Demtro Kalfas was
next to him, holding a cup of Klee, thoughtfully watching the scene below. What
caught his attention in particular was a solitary two-wheeled wagon being
pulled by a single small equine. The wagon was full of animal feed and it
seemed that the produce was being taken out to some country destination,
probably a farm, to provide food for the animals there. There were two people
at the front of the wagon on the driving board, a male and a female.

As it passed along the street out of their sight, both
men turned away and made their way to their respective chairs. As Demtro sat
down, he remained looking thoughtful. “Well, all we can do now is wait.”

Evas nodded. “What if the plan doesn’t succeed?”

“Then Lombert Soul remains with the advantage. With the
campaign season coming closer, I would say that he has the best chance of
striking somewhere unexpectedly. He will have to make his move fairly soon, for
the longer Prince Jorqel is allowed to rule Lodria, the stronger he becomes. The
Duras and Lombert Soul know this, so they will have to act sooner rather than
later. So if our plans don’t work out, they’ll be free to move whenever they
wish without us knowing anything.”

“I sincerely trust that your planning has been good
enough to escape the enemy’s notice. I fear for Clora should they be aware of
your intentions.”

Demtro looked at the governor squarely. “I wouldn’t be
putting Clora into unnecessary danger. Whatever hazards there are she is aware
of and has been fully informed by me as to what to expect.”

Evas laced his fingers on top of the desk and looked
uncomfortable. “But to put all our hopes in the hands of one young female is
risky, Demtro.”

“What other option have you got? You came to me,
remember. Whoever we use must be unknown and unexpected. Clora is perfect for
the role. All I ask of you, Governor, is to make sure your men know what is
expected of them. If anything goes wrong and it’s the fault of one of your
clumsy minions I’ll see to it that not only is that man sent to somewhere dark
and nasty, but you can go with him.”

Evas looked at Demtro for a long time. There was an
uncomfortable silence. Demtro looked at Evas and then took a sip of his drink. Finally
the governor cleared his throat. “I don’t think you need to threaten me,
Merchant.”

“But I do, Governor. Be absolutely aware that we cannot
afford slipshod workmanship. You’re a survivor, and I know you’re not
completely enthusiastic with the Koros ruling Kastania, but as long as you do a
decent job they’ll be happy to keep you in your post.”

“I’m a past colleague of the emperor, and we’ve served
together, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure you pray to the gods every night for good
health to the emperor and his family, but you mess this up you can begin
preparing for a nice one-way trip to the mines of Turslenka. I’ll do my job,
and Clora will do hers. Just make sure you do the same.”

Evas looked up from under his eyebrows. “You’re not a
very pleasant man, Demtro.”

“No I’m not,” Demtro agreed, putting the empty cup onto
the desk before him. “But my loyalties are unshakeable. That’s why I’m where I
am today. If you wish to continue in your safe, comfortable post, then keep on
my good side.” He stood up and straightened his jacket. “I’ll keep you informed
should I hear anything but I doubt there’ll be anything for a little while. Let’s
hope Lombert Soul doesn’t make a move any time soon.”

Demtro left, his mind full of worry. The scheme was
risky, and he felt reluctant to put Clora in such a dangerous situation, but
the need to know was greater than any concern for Clora’s safety. What he
hadn’t told Evas of was the fact his older brother was going to be a second
contact. Should anything go wrong with the secrecy of the mission, his brother
was his backup. Best Evas and his people knew nothing of Zonis.

Evas and Demtro were unaware that Lombert Soul had
already made his first move. Far to the north the Nicate homestead stood,
nestled in the green foothills of Lodria that led up to the plateau deeper
inland towards Tybar territory. The farmhands were out tending the fields,
preparing them for the sowing of crops that would come very shortly. The
ravages of the winter were being checked over, with people examining the
fences, walls and bridges on the estate.

Sannia and one of the family manservants were walking
down the slope of one of the gentle vales a short distance from the house
towards a brook where early spring flowers were poking their yellow heads up,
gently waving in the light breeze. Their trumpet-shaped blooms were a particular
delight to Sannia who loved to collect them and adorn the house with them; it
made the place look that much brighter and jolly, so she maintained. It also
was an opportunity to get out of the house at long last and enjoy some sun and
fresh air.

The ground was still wet from the previous day’s
downpour but they knew the route well, using animal tracks through the long
grasses of the meadow. At the bottom of the slope was where the clumps of the
trumpet flowers grew, their deep green stems and narrow leaves showing up
against the lighter green of the grass.

Trees grew along the banks of the brook, many of them
the drooping tree known as the Leaning Bough, named from its habit of its
branches growing out and then down like a fountain. It was nearly always found
close to water. Watching the two people approach were four men, waiting
silently, crouching behind the trunks of the Leaning Boughs, their equines
being held by one of their number. Two more were carrying nets, the last a
club.

As Sannia reached the flowers, she exclaimed in delight
that there were an abundance of them. The manservant hovered close by, keeping
an eye on her, making sure no mishap came her way. He was carrying the bags
into which Sannia would put the picked trumpets.

The four men slowly straightened. Their mission was
clear and had been prepared very carefully. Gold had been provided by the
Duras, loosening one tongue in the Nicate household. One of their staff
preferred the lustre of riches to loyalty and had sold his honour, giving the
Duras the information that Sannia always visited the trumpet flower meadow in
spring. From there it was only a short distance to the main road and so the
group had watched for a few days now, and at last had come their reward.

As Sannia bent down to pick the brightly coloured
plants, the four men mounted up and came out from behind the trees in an arc,
the two net carriers in the middle. The sound of equines splashing through the
brook alerted Sannia and the manservant and they turned and looked in confusion.
Suddenly it became clear that these were people with evil designs in their mind
and Sannia dropped the trumpet flowers, crying out in dismay, and turned to
run. She shouted to her servant to raise the alarm and the man set off up the
slope as fast as he could, but the man in command, riding wide, wielded his
club and chased down the man, striking him on the head, sending him crashing
into the grass to lie still.

He wheeled to see Sannia desperately trying to avoid
being caught but it was a vain hope. One net sailed through the air, landing
full onto her head, entangling her completely and she fell with a shriek of
horror.

The four riders surrounded her trembling figure, tangled
up in the netting. The leader put away his club and signalled to the others to
take care of her.

“What do you want with me?” she demanded as she was
roughly pulled to her feet. “Unhand me, you rogues!”

The leader chuckled, showing black teeth and gaps. “No
chance, my pretty. You’re too valuable to let go. Now behave or we’ll be forced
to be nasty to you.”

Sannia gasped in outrage as her hands were pulled behind
her and tied, then a gag was put over her mouth and tied behind her head. She
was lifted up and placed, not that gently, in front of the leader on his
saddle. “Now shut up and sit still or you might fall and hurt yourself.”

As he walked his steed away, he passed the groaning
figure of the manservant and pulled out a neatly tied scroll from his jacket. He
tossed it carelessly onto the man’s back and then rode on, the three others
following closely behind.

“Just a demand note,” the leader explained to Sannia,
holding onto her with one hand while he guided his mount with the other. “Your
fiancé will have to cancel the wedding.” And he laughed, echoed by the others
as they galloped away off Nicate lands.

At the same time another wedding was foremost in the
mind of Amne, that of her own. The time was getting closer and preparations
were nearly done. Her step mother had spent much of the winter organising
matters and the ceremony would be carried out in Kastan City’s Temple, and the
reception ball afterwards would take place in the palace ballroom.

Amne was glad the time was close, for the constant calls
for her to be measured for the dress, the never ending rehearing of the
ceremony itself, the repetitive insistence that she learn the words by heart
and the minutiae needed to be checked, approved and authorised by her and her
step mother was becoming tiresome.

Also she was nervous and getting more so by the day. She
didn’t feel any love for her husband to be, and part of her resented having to
marry someone she felt nothing for, but she also knew that it was the only
thing she could do. At least she had got a concession from her father and that
was the one thing that cheered her up.

She was also relieved Argan looked like he would be fit
to attend the wedding. For some time it had looked touch and go. The poor boy
had been badly hurt from his fall, a broken leg, concussion and possible other
injuries that threatened the life of her half-brother. Happily he had recovered
well and was hopping about the day rooms, using his two crutches and showing
everyone the leg that was still heavily bound and splinted. The imperial
surgeon had insisted Argan did not do anything strenuous until he had been
declared fit, and that would not be for a little while yet.

Amne had been present in Argan’s sick room when Isbel
had informed her son that Kerrin was to be dismissed from the palace along with
his father for the boy’s part in the accident. Amne smiled to herself as she
made her way to the room where Argan was studying in memory of the
confrontation, and confrontation it had been.

“Mother!” the young prince had gasped, shocked, “Kerrin
did not push me off that ladder! It broke...”

“I am well aware of what happened, Argan,” Isbel had
interrupted, sat on the end of his bed. “But he was responsible for you being
up there in the first place and I will not tolerate you being put in any
unnecessary danger. He will be dismissed and that is the end of it.”

“No, mother,” Argan had stared at her, white-faced, eyes
dull with pain. “It was my fault we were up there. I led him up and led him
down. If you are to blame Kerrin, that is wrong!”

“Don’t you ‘no mother’ me, young Argan Koros,” Isbel had
said sternly. “I am your mother and you will not argue with me. In any case, I
have made my mind up.”

“It isn’t fair!” Argan had wailed. “Why are you so
horrible? You always tell me to be fair and sensible, but you’re so unfair
yourself!”

Isbel had stood up, furious. Amne, who had been standing
by the door, had smirked at Isbel’s discomfort. Vosgaris, who had been seated
close to Argan’s bed, had made little sign he was enjoying what was going on. “Prince
Argan, you must learn to obey my decisions. How will you ever learn to rule if
you cannot follow commands yourself?”

“I would obey you, mother, if your decisions were fair,
but they are not!” Argan had shouted. “I will not let you send Kerrin away. He’s
my friend. He followed me up the ladder, and I led him down, which was why it
broke when I went down. If Kerrin had been first he would have fallen, not me!”

Isbel had clenched her fists and had then whirled round
as she’d caught the sound of Amne chuckling. “And what is so funny, Amne?”

Amne had theatrically put her hand to her mouth, stopped
laughing, and instead had walked across the room, swaying her hips in the
exaggerated manner she had adopted of late, and had leaned over Argan. She had
kissed him on the forehead. “I’m proud of you, Argan,” she had said, much to
the outrage of Isbel. “You’re going to be a fine prince, standing up for right
in the face of injustice. I applaud you.”