House of Lust (8 page)

Argan stopped.  “Move aside,” he said curtly.

The Bragalese youth looked round in mock surprise.  “Oh, forgive me, your highness,” he made the title sound like an insult.  “I didn’t see you there.”

The second one smirked infuriatingly.

“So are you going to move?” Argan asked, seeing the first one still hadn’t moved.

“What?  Oh yes, forgive me,” and he smiled in that false way everyone knew was insincere before stepping back leaving just enough for Argan to squeeze past.

The prince regarded the two.  Istan had associated himself with this pair as they were clearly the most unpleasant and obnoxious duo in Zofela of that age.  They were perhaps a year younger than Argan.  Istan had decided that he needed two who were bigger and older than he, just to intimidate the other youngsters, and it had worked.

Argan knew they would not actually lay a hand on him, as that was akin to the death penalty, but they would push the boundaries elsewhere.  He moved past them and thought he heard something vulgar in Bragalese muttered by one of the two.  He turned.  “You two seem to have nothing to do.  The porcines need mucking out in the yard.  Come with me.”

“We’re not servants,” the bigger one replied insolently.

“You will do what I say or I’ll have the pair of you thrown out of the castle and you won’t return,” Argan said in fluent Bragalese, just to drive home the point.  “You’re nothing but a couple of idle people here doing nothing of use.  This cannot continue.  Follow me.”

“We follow Prince Istan,” the other one said.  “He’s our master, not you.”

“When you speak to me you will address me by my position, little boy.  Now move or I’ll have both of you arrested and put in the dungeon.”

The bigger one stood up to Argan, flexing his arms and Argan stood facing him, his eyes boring into the sullen peasant boy’s.  With a sneer the boy turned and waved his companion to accompany him down to the ground floor.  Argan took the lead once they were down and showed them out to the pens.  A couple of workers were standing by the wooden fence.  “Two helpers,” the prince announced to them.  “The porcines need cleaning.  Make sure these two do a good job.”

The workers grinned and bowed.  Nobody liked the duo and were pleased that somebody had at last taken them to task.

Feeling happier, Argan made his way to his quarters and lay down quietly for a short while, then changed into his rough clothes and made his way back out to begin his afternoon swordplay lessons.  He went via the kitchen on the ground floor and grinned at the cooks who passed him a wooden platter with a few thin slices of meat and a sweet bread on it.  Argan nodded his thanks and sat at a bench, eating his lunch.

Kerrin appeared and sat opposite, helping himself to the platter.  “Your brother isn’t happy with you, ‘Gan.”

“He never is,” Argan washed down his food with a beaker of water.  He cared little for the rich ostentatious food the nobility seemed to prefer.  “What’s his grump this time?”

“You ordered his two friends to muck out the animals.  He’s really cross, threatening to kill you and everything.”

Argan snorted.  “He couldn’t hit a fantor with a spade.  He’s a silly grump who just likes to hate people for something to do.”

Kerrin nodded.  “Even so, his two friends complained and your brother has gone to your mother about it.”

“How did you hear this?”

“I was looking for you upstairs and I passed your mother’s room.  Istan was screeching like a rusty door at her.  You should have heard the way he was talking!  Ordering her to have you arrested and put in the dungeon!”

“Huh, he’s got no hope of that.  If he carries on like that he’ll be the one locked up.  Maybe I’ll put a porcine in with him to show him eating manners.”

Kerrin choked on his food laughing.  Argan slapped his back, seeing adults having done that in the past.  As he was busy pounding on his friend’s back, a guard turned up.  “Excuse me, sire,” he bowed to Argan, “but the empress wants you in her quarters.”

“Oh, alright.  Thank you,” Argan said.  He sighed and looked down at his red-faced companion.  “Might as well listen to grump and mother.  Come on, you can stand outside while I get told off yet again.”

The two made their way back up to the top and Argan felt a churning in his guts.  He always had a bad feeling when summoned to his mother.  She always seemed to be hard on him about everything, while excusing the younger Istan.  He wondered why that was so – he never worried about being told off and it only made him more spiteful.  Why didn’t someone stand up to him?

The door was ajar and Argan passed the two guards on duty and went in.  His mother was seated behind her desk and Istan was standing before it.  He turned round and his face was furious.  “You don’t ever tell my friends to do anything ever!” he screamed, red-faced.

“Shut-up,” Argan said and looked at his mother.  “What has this horrible thing been crying to you about?”

Istan shouted in fury and swung his fist in a wild swing, intending to catch Argan around the face.  Argan saw it coming, and his training with the weighted swing on the martial training field came to him.  He swayed back smartly at the waist and the blow passed harmlessly by.  Without even thinking Argan’s riposte was on the way, striking his brother under the ribs.  Istan doubled up clutching his midriff and sank to the ground gasping.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Isbel screamed, on her feet.  “Argan – how many times have I told you never to hit your brother?”

“But you never tell him about hitting me, mother.”

Isbel came round the desk, her eyes flashing in anger.  “Don’t answer me back, young man.  You’re getting too far above yourself.”

“As a prince, how far is that, mother?”

Isbel sucked in her breath and bent to help a crying Istan.  The boy angrily shook off her hand and got to his feet, tears streaming down his face.  “You hit me!  Mother, you saw that!  That’s the death penalty!  Nobody can strike a prince.  Have him hung in the yard!”

“Istan, don’t be silly,” Isbel said soothingly.  “You struck out first.”

Argan looked at Istan in contempt.  “Always starting fights and can’t win without running to mother.”

“Shut up you!  I’ll go to father and have him sign your execution!”

“Istan, be quiet!” Isbel snapped.  “Argan, I want you to apologise to Istan for ordering his friends to muck out the porcines.”

“I shall not, mother.  If you force me to do that, then they shall continue with their horrible behaviour knowing I have no authority over them.  Bragalese peasant boys being protected from a prince of the House of Koros?  What next?  Father would be furious.” 

The empress set her lips together in a thin line.  Things were getting beyond control with the two’s constant squabbling.  In trying to be equitable and fair to both, she had fallen into the trap of not pleasing either.  “Very well, since both of you speak of your father, let him decide on this matter, since neither of you are prepared to listen to me.  Follow me.”  She strode angrily past them and jerked the door wide.  “Out.”

Argan glared at Istan who sneered and both kept a wary eye on the other as they slowly made their way out into the passageway.  Isbel was seething.  Let her beloved husband sort this one out; time he actually had some interaction with the two boys anyway.  She was tired of trying to be the peacemaker.  It was just one thing too much for her in her present state of mind.  Argan waved to Kerrin to remain where he was.  This wasn’t a situation he could get involved in.

They stopped outside the emperor’s office.  Isbel motioned the guard to open the door which he did, and Isbel pushed both boys into the room ahead of her.  Heads looked up in surprise as the three entered.  Astiras was in the act of telling Frendicus what funds to set aside for paying the garrison and he frowned, his eyes narrowed.  “What is this?”

“Your sons are arguing – yet again,” Isbel announced.  “This is a family matter.”

Astiras hesitated a moment, then slapped the parchment he was holding into Frendicus’ hand.  “Go.  Return here once this matter is concluded.  The rest of you – out.”  The tax man, Pepil the major domo and the few others in the room hurriedly left, not liking the tone in the emperor’s voice, nor the icy glare they were getting from the empress.

“Very well, what is this deadly important matter I must make a decision on?”

Isbel filled him in, jabbing her finger at each boy in turn.  Argan stood still, staring fixedly straight ahead, while Istan affected a hurt expression and kept on looking at Argan, then back to his father.

“I see,” Astiras said, sitting on the edge of his desk.  “Argan, I cannot see what wrong you have done, except perhaps not advising your younger brother what you were going to do.  Istan, your associates must learn to respect other members of my family.  I will not permit you teaching them to disrespect the House of Koros.  If you fail to do so then I will take those people away from you and you will not be allowed to have any more until you reach the Age of Maturity.  Do I make myself clear?”

“But that’s not fair!” Istan burst out, aggrieved.  “You always take Argan’s side!  He’s such a cry-baby!”

Argan’s hands balled in anger, but Astiras stood up straight and pointed a finger at the younger boy.  “I certainly do not!  If you cannot work out right from wrong, then you certainly are not fit to be a governor, let alone an emperor.”

Istan seethed and lapsed into a hurt silence.  Argan relaxed and looked directly at his father.

“There, that’s settled.  No apology is warranted,” Astiras folded his arms across his chest.  “I do not wish to hear of any such squabble again.  Do I make myself clear, you two?”

“Yes, sire,” Argan replied.

“Well, Istan?” Astiras asked softly.

Istan nodded tightly, his face red.

“Good.  Now please let me get on with running the empire, if that’s alright by you two?”

Isbel sucked in her breath deeply.  “Don’t forget tonight is the Council Meeting.  Delegates are arriving as we speak.”

“I’m aware of that, dear,” Astiras said.  “I’m settling the day’s chores before preparing for the meeting.  I shall see you there.”

“Indeed you will.  I’ll let you get back to running the empire, dear,” she said acidly, and waved the two boys out.

As they walked along the corridor Istan kicked out at Argan in spite.  Argan saw it coming and rode the worst of the blow, then slapped Istan across the jaw.  Isbel swung round furiously.  “Stop it!  Stop it, both of you!  I’m sick of the two of you!” and she slapped both, something she hadn’t done for a long time.  Argan clutched his arm in reflex, although the blow hadn’t hurt that much, but Istan cried out in rage and swung his arm in a wild blow.  Isbel stepped back hastily, alarmed, as his fist narrowly missed her.

“Don’t you dare strike at mother!” Argan snapped and sent a fist into Istan, knocking him back against the wall.  Istan clutched his jaw and screamed, then came at Argan, hands clawed.  Argan stood his ground and sent his brother staggering onto the other wall, then followed up with another hefty punch that sent the boy to the ground.  “You try that again, Istan, and I won’t stop hurting you – ever.  Never – ever! – touch mother, you understand?”

Istan sat on the ground, his eyes wide and brimming with tears.  Isbel sighed and went to step forward, but Argan held out an arm and stood up straight, looking her in the face.  His head was now up to her throat level.  “Mother, no.  He’s only doing it for sympathy, wanting you to feel sorry for him.  He feels nothing that he shows.  He’s evil and selfish.”

Istan’s face changed even as Isbel watched.  Something beyond frightening.  He got up and scowled at his brother.  The tears vanished.  “I’m not going to forget this, you girl.  You’re not a proper prince.  I’m more of a proper prince.  You’ll be sorry when I grow up.”

“You don’t frighten me, Istan.  Now go away and start behaving like a proper prince, and not like a spoiled child.  Mother is no longer going to wipe away your false tears.  Are you, mother?” he looked up at a dumbfounded Isbel.

“Istan, go to your studies,” Isbel said softly.

The youngest prince huffed and stamped off, muttering to himself.  Argan rubbed his knuckles.  “That hurt,” he said to Isbel, grimacing.

“Argan – thank you.  I didn’t know he was going to do that.”

“I know I shouldn’t say this but you’ve helped make him that way by letting yourself be fooled by his behaviour.  He likes to get me into trouble and he does that by pretending he’s always the one picked on – but he starts it.  Always.”

“Argan….” Isbel didn’t know what to say.

“Come, mother,” Argan held out his hand, and Isbel dumbly took it.  “You’ve been sad for quite a few days now.  I think you need a cuddle.”

Isbel allowed herself to be taken to Argan’s room, tears rolling down her face.

The candles flickered around the long room set deep within the stone walls of the Grand Palace of the Regal Holder of Somor.  The Grand Palace was a vast complex set in the heart of the city of Somor, and here the elected Regal Holders resided along with their elite bodyguard, the Paprinian Guard.  The Regal Holder was not a hereditary post, but one held by a member of the Eastern Temple hierarchy, those who preached the faith of Sonos, the one permitted god in the eastern lands.  Theoretically the Regal Holder commanded the spiritual guidance of all those who lived in the lands of the east and used his influence to bend the wills of kings, dukes and other rulers of realms in the region to his wishes.

Such power carried with it the corruption these positions always did, and it was a widely acknowledged fact that the Regal Holders were about as corrupt as any in the world.  Riches poured into the holy coffers and the Regal Holders paraded their wealth in vulgar displays of adornments.  Rings, crowns, gold, gems, whatever caught the eye of the one in power.

The current incumbent was a florid-faced clean-shaven man who displayed the marks of rich living on his features all too well.  Regoris, the seventh of that name to hold the office, laid his pudgy hands on the flat, polished surface of the grand table and regarded the assembled people to left and right of him.  “Counsels, I bid you welcome to my humble abode, and I thank you for attending this committee meeting I have called.”

The various people present inclined their heads.  They were a varied group, some dark, some fair, some tall, others short.  They came from many lands.

“As you know, we have a question to solve.  The question is this: what is to become of the Kastanian Empire, and the souls of the people that currently live within the boundaries of that land?  I have called you all here to formulate a united policy against this heretical empire that just will not lie down and die.”

One of the delegates present, a swarthy, curly-haired individual, stirred and straightened in his seat.  Immediately the Regal Holder pointed to him and indicated that he could speak.

“Nebino Delpinius, representing the Duke of Venn.”  He stood and nodded to all the others.  “Thank you, your eminence.  Gentlemen, as you know, the Duke of Venn has prosecuted a war against Kastania in an effort to bring it to an end and carry the word of Sonos to those poor souls who are misguided by their evil leaders in their worship of false gods.  As you also know, our efforts have been thwarted by the king of Mazag who has inexplicably sided with these infidels!”

The council rumbled with anger.  Eyes switched to the Mazag delegate, a dark-haired man sat not quite opposite Delpinius.  He sighed and rose to his feet, bowing ironically to the Venn diplomat.  “Your eminence, gentlemen.  Orlos Ganay, representative of the King of Mazag.  What my esteemed colleague neglected to mention,” and Ganay glared at the hostile Delpinius, “as Venn always do, is that the invasion went through Bragal, which is in the Mazag sphere of influence.  It is well known that Venn covets Bragal as theirs, and this is something that Mazag will not countenance.  Is it not enough that Venn has already taken Kral, Cratia and Riliyan?  Is it not enough that they have in addition conquered Epros, which, may I remind everyone here, is in Zilcia’s sphere of influence?  It is clear, gentlemen, that Venn wants the whole of Kastania, and this is something that my liege will not permit.”

“And Mazag is happy for Kastania to remain inviolate?” Delpinius snapped.  “As you did nothing, then the Duke decided that Sonos should be brought to these heretics at the point of a Venn sword, rather than a Mazag tongue!”

“And what of Zilcia?” Ganay shouted above the babble of voices that broke out.  “Perhaps we should hear what Zilcia have to say?”

The shouting subsided and a tall, fair-haired man rose to his feet.  Big, blue-eyed, he possessed huge hands.  “Geros Carid, representing the King of Zilcia.  We are not pleased with Venn’s conquest of Epros, as our plans to take it were in the final phases, and we have already made our views on this plain to everyone.”

“What is Venn’s view on this?” Regal Holder Regoris asked, fixing Delpinius with what he hoped was a kindly look.  He desperately wanted to unite the kingdoms present in order to attack and destroy what he saw as the last bastion of heresy against the final triumph of Sonos, blessed be His name!

“Your eminence, Venn believes that to hesitate is fatal; Kastania is showing signs of revival, surprising though that may be to the council here.  Our agents confirm a much more militaristic attitude amongst the garrisons and armies of that empire than has been until recently.  It may well be that in time to come Kastania’s armies might begin to look outwards once again.  And should that come,” the Venn delegate looked around the assembly, pausing for dramatic effect, “then all those of you who share borders with them may come to regret not crushing them when they are, as they are now, lying prostrate before you.

“Therefore my lord, the Duke Dominik, persuaded our Council to declare war with a view to seizing their lands.  Shamefully Mazag stood against us on the battlefield, else our army would have taken Zofela and now Bragal would be converting to Sonos.”

“Mazag must answer to the charge of siding with a heretical state,” a man with a large nose and collar-length hair said, jabbing his finger into the table.

“Ah, Councillor Bulsuma of Genvia,” Regoris said, leaning back.  “Does Genvia support a war against Kastania?”

“It does, your eminence,” Bulsuma nodded, “but a fair distribution of the lands of Kastania must be shared out to those who partake in the Holy War.”

“Mazag will not agree to any alliance as long as Venn covets Bragal,” Ganay growled, staring long and hard at Delpinius.  “Venn has taken enough of Kastania already; time to sit back and let your neighbours have their fair share.”

“Agreed,” Carid of Zilcia nodded.  “Epros must be handed over to us.  We will agree to Venn’s capture of Cratia, and perhaps allow them to have Romos, although I understand their first attempt to take it ended in failure.”

“A temporary setback,” Delpinius said.  “My liege is unlikely to agree to a surrender of any territory his armies have taken with bloodshed.  Zipria can invade and take Pelponia; it is a large swathe of territory, after all.  Bragal is Venn’s – although my liege may agree to a partitioning of it, split east and west between Venn and Mazag.”

“Is not Kral and Riliyan enough for you people?” Ganay snapped angrily.  “You generously offer half of what is rightly Mazag’s?  My king will laugh at your magnanimity, I am sure!  You can of course try to contest Bragal militarily, but I doubt your much-vaunted armies could prevail; after all, you were whipped in front of the fallen walls of Zofela.”

“You have Valchia, that should be sufficient!” the Venn delegate retorted.

“A malodorous toilet, full of slavers, thieves and brigands.”

“Then that should suit Mazag perfectly,” Delpinius observed.

“Gentlemen!” the regal Holder stood up, his hands raised in a placatory manner.  The two angry delegates slowly sat down, eyes boring into one another hotly.  “I implore you all, we must agree to partition Kastania fairly and equitably.”

“Of course, you are forgetting the west,” Carid observed.  “News from there is patchy and unreliable.  What are the Tybar doing?  What of Epatam?  Are their ships sailing the seas?  Do they represent a threat to us?  They are as much an enemy as Kastania is to us.  We must not allow Tybar to take any more land, lest they become too powerful for us to roll back to the kennels they sprang from.”

“I myself am considering the practicalities of sending a Holy War to the Holiest of cities,” Regal Holder Regoris said.  Instantly all heads swung in his direction.  “Semeljar is under the rule of Epatam, an abomination, with their false god worshipped daily there.  We must bring the Holy City back to Sonos; Sonos demands it, and as His faithful followers, we must carry out His wishes, else we will be damned for all eternity.”

“But – your eminence,” Carid spread his hands wide, “no land route exists without passing through Kastanian territory.  I doubt they will allow passage, especially if Venn agrees to take part.”

Regoris inclined his head.  “Exactly, which is why I am keen to form an alliance against Kastania; destroy her armies, take her cities, and our armies can then march through without any danger at all.  Do you understand the reasons behind me calling this council now?”

“Any army moving to Semeljar will still have to brave the Tybar lands, and once you pass through the lands of Amria, those of Epatam.  It will not be an easy feat.”  Carid had a clear grasp of the situation, having served in the past as a mercenary in the pay of one of the Kastanian rebels during the years of civil strife.

“You see demons where none exist, Ziprian,” Bulsuma of Genvia sneered.  “Is this why Zipria trembles on their side of the Ridatik Sea and fears to cross?”

“You remind me of an old expression,” Carid said, a scowl on his face.

“Which is what?”

“It is best to remain silent and be thought of a fool, rather than opening one’s mouth and removing all doubt.”

Men stood up and shouted, pointing their fingers, siding with one or the other. The Regal Holder stood and clapped for attention, cutting through the heated arguments.  “I am ashamed to witness such squabbling!  Can you not see this is what our enemies want?  As long as we remain divided, then Kastania will remain, mocking us and our one true god.  We must stop our arguments and solve all disagreements.  I implore all of you to work together so that ultimately we can realise my dream of returning Semeljar to the only true religion.”

Ganay smiled smugly.  “Please announce a Holy War, your eminence; Mazag will raise an army and march to Tybar and Epatamian lands, for we are friendly with Kastania and have no worries of being stopped.  Just a few meetings with our respective ambassadors and I am sure the emperor of Kastania will grant us passage.”

The other delegates growled in displeasure, thumping the table.  Regoris shook his head sadly.  “A noble suggestion but in order to guarantee success first we need Kastanian soil to be ours, so that we may set off from much closer to hostile territory, and we also need many armies.  I am reliably informed that the Western kingdoms and tribal lands contain many warriors and it will take more than just one gallant kingdom to bring my dream to fruition.  In any case, I doubt very much that the emperor will permit entire armies of foreign states to march through his domain.”

Ganay scowled and sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin.  “We could open negotiations to assess Kastania’s willingness to allow the free passage of Eastern armies across to Tybar lands.”

“Not with Venn still technically at war with Kastania,” Carid of Zilcia said.  “Venn does have a strong navy, even if half of it is resting at the bottom of the Aester,” he added, eyeing the glowering Venn delegate.  “What price Venn shipping our armies across directly to the coast near Semeljar?”

“Too many storms, pirates, no friendly ports.  Zipria would have to be taken and that would mean going to war with Kastania for certain, and our supply lines would be vulnerable to counter-attacks from Romos or Pelponia,” Delpinius objected.  “Both are being reinforced and would take a long time to reduce.  We would need to strangle them from the land, and that means invading Bragal, Makenia and Pelponia.  Why can’t you see the only way to go is to destroy Kastania?”

“You just want a free hand to enlarge your domain,” Ganay commented.  “You’ve alienated both ourselves and Zilcia, yet you still expect us to agree to your jingoistic campaign to conquer yet more, like greedy porcines.  You want everything and to the Pit of Fire with everyone else.”

“Mazag, hold your tongue,” Regoris commanded.  “Be it known that I am not prepared to wait for you to settle your arguments.  I am going to give you one year to come to an agreement and build up your forces to invade Kastania.  Mazag, you are to invade Bragal and take Zofela.  Venn, you are to launch two attacks; one from Epros into Makenia, the other a ship-borne invasion of Romos.  Zilcia, you are to cross to Pelponia and subdue that region and Kornith.”

“What of Genvia?” Bulsuma asked, his fingers splayed.  “Do we get nothing?”

“For your agreement to partake in all this you will be given Lodria and Bathenia.”

“And Frasia and the capital?” Carid asked, his eyes narrowed.

The Regal Holder smiled thinly.  “That comes to Paprinia and me.  All praise Sonos!”

____

The ride through northern Bragal was uneventful.  Gone were the war bands and bandits that had plagued the region in the time of the insurrection and counter-insurrection.  Signs of depredations were still around if one looked closely enough; a burned-out shell of a building here, bones of some creature or person there.  Vosgaris rode comfortably, his eyes taking in the countryside and marvelling.  A beautiful country, full of sweeping valleys, rolling hills, sharp peaks and chuckling streams.

Animals dotted the land, grazing, and avians flew overhead, mostly hunters, seeking prey or carrion.  Clouds rolled in from the west, some heavy and dark which brought rain, others light and wispy which passed by, changing their shapes as they did.

The two guards made little comment nor made any sign they had seen what Vosgaris had.  They were soldiers and would follow orders and guard the captain with their lives.  That was their remit and that was what they would do.  Vosgaris didn’t find them great conversationalists.  What he did notice was an absence of trees, and they only grew in sheltered folds of land along hillsides or in small woods far away.  He wondered at that.  Perhaps the wood had been taken in time past for building, or fuel.  Or perhaps trees just didn’t grow much here.