Prince of Wrath (42 page)

Her eyes opened. She was still kneeling by Argan’s side, her fingers clamped to his face and temples. His head was bathed in perspiration and blood was running from his nose. Hastily she got a cloth, wet it, and dabbed the blood away. No more came. She breathed out in satisfaction, then checked his breathing. He was breathing deeply and strongly. Metila smiled tiredly. Not many could say they had faced death and defeated it.

She wiped Argan’s face, cleaning away the last traces of the substances she had put there and from his mouth. The boy moaned and she stopped, then saw his eyes flicker open. “Hello Prince Argan,” she said softly.

“H-Hello,” he whispered hoarsely. “Who are you?”

“Metila, healer to Thetos Olskan of Makenia,” she said proudly. “I heal you.”

“You heal me?” Argan echoed, his eyes roving over the darkened room, then came to rest on the woman. She was funny looking, all that black stuff written on her head, some of it dripping down. Her eyes were big and black, like someone had hit them hard. She had darkish skin – was she Tybar? No, she was small and was showing her boobies and surely Tybar people didn’t do that! “Why are you showing your boobies?” he asked.

Metila looked down, then laughed, and they shook which fascinated Argan. “I get hot using healing power. Not good sweating clothes.”

“Ugh, no,” Argan agreed. His tongue felt like he had been licking rocks. “I’m thirsty.”

Metila fetched a fresh glass of water which she held to Argan’s lips and she helped prop his head forward while he drank. “You feel tired but get stronger over next few days.”

“Mmmm, thank you Metila.” Argan wondered whether she was beautiful or not. She smelled different from other people. He didn’t know what it was but it was strange and he sort of liked it. He was too tired to move and lay there like a tired out old canine in a doorway. “Who wrote on your head?”

Metila giggled again and Argan decided he liked seeing her laugh as it made her boobies jiggle about. “I did – medicine to help make you better. I go get your mother and father. They wait next room. I have done my work. You live.”

“Metila,” Argan called her back. She knelt down again to hear his faint voice. “Thank you, you’re lovely.”

“Thank you, Prince Argan. You lovely boy. I tell your parents.” She got up and grabbed her cloak. It would not do to open the door to the empress showing herself. The emperor would not mind, though, she thought to herself. She hesitated, then reached out and took a jar of ointment, something she used frequently. She applied some of it to her skin around her neck and between her breasts and rubbed in deeply. Argan watched her sleepily. He was very comfy in the bed and for the first time in ages was without that dull pushing pain in his head.

Metila opened the door. Instantly the three in the room got to their feet. Metila stepped aside. “He saved. He wake.”

“Oh!” Isbel gasped and rushed past, her eyes wide with wonder and relief. Astiras followed close behind, glancing at Metila who lowered her eyes. He went into the room and saw Argan being smothered by a weeping Isbel.

Thetos stood before Metila and saw the glistening on her skin in the candlelight. “You wish for him to go to you?”

“I tired, but he wants me. He will demand me.”

“You witch,” Thetos said dully.

“I save Prince Argan. We favoured now.”

Thetos nodded, and leaned forward and, for the first time, gave her a deep and tender kiss. It surprised Metila who was used to being roughly ravished and taken, and when he pulled away she looked up at him, a slow smile spreading across her face. “You love?”

“Yes, I love,” Thetos growled. “You are very important to me, you slut.”

Metila smiled wider and lowered herself to her knees. “You important to me, too.”

Thetos helped her up. “Tonight you have the emperor. I shall make sure the empress does not know.”

In the room Argan was almost overwhelmed by his parents sitting on the bed. Their weight pressed against his legs and side, and he wondered if he should move, but he didn’t seem to have the strength to do it. His mother held his hands and was laughing and chatting away through her tears. Argan wondered why she should be crying and laughing at the same time. Was that right? It was so confusing. His father was more reserved, patting his legs through the blanket, but he looked happy which was good.

“How do you feel, son?” he asked.

“Tired, father,” Argan said. “Metila has cured me, she says. Is that right?”

“Oh yes, yes!” Isbel interrupted as Astiras opened his mouth. “You’re going to be fine, thank the gods!”

“I thought witches were horrid people, so I’ve been told. Why did she cure me, then?”

Astiras slapped Argan lightly on the legs. “There would appear to be some good witches. Metila is clearly one.”

Isbel smiled and clutched the boy’s hands tighter. “You’ll be up and about before you know it, Argan. This whole thing will be forgotten; the sooner the better.”

“I won’t forget being healed,” Argan said. “It was so strange!”

“No, no, I suppose you won’t,” Isbel replied. “I’m going to stay with you until you’re healthy enough to make the journey to Zofela.”

“I’m staying here?”

“For the moment,” Astiras said. “I must continue to Zofela tomorrow with most of the caravan, but your mother, Mr Sen, a few of my guards and Panat and Kerrin will be here. They’ll come with you and your mother to me once you’re strong enough. You’ll soon recover; you’re my son, after all.”

Argan smiled. The closeness of both his parents was comforting. A short while later Astiras got up. “Shall we leave the boy to sleep, dear?”

Isbel shook her head. “I’m not going to leave Argan. If you’re off in the morning – which isn’t that far away now – you’d best get some sleep.”

Astiras kissed Isbel, then smiled encouragingly down at Argan. “Don’t let her mother you too much, Argan. You’re a warrior, not a baby.”

Isbel frowned at her husband but Argan smiled. “No, father. I shall be a good warrior.”

“You will indeed,” Astiras said, then left the room, closing the door. Thetos was seated at his desk, rubbing his eyes. It had been a long night.

“She’s awaiting you in the first room to the left,” he said softly. “I’ll keep the empress here.”

Astiras hesitated, then clapped the old campaigner on the shoulder. “I won’t be long; I’ll go to my room afterwards.”

He walked swiftly, pushed on by a growing desire. That whore had her hooks into him deeply. He barged into the room and shut it quickly. The single bed against the far wall was illuminated weakly by a single candle, and he could see Metila lying under the blanket, her robe hanging from a stand close to the side. Astiras quickly unfastened his belt and buckles and dropped his clothes into a pile on the floor, then strode to the bed, threw the blanket off and onto the floor and gazed at her lying naked there, her legs slowly moving up and down. She looked at him. “You take me. Hard. I want it.”

“You always do, you whore,” Astiras whispered hoarsely. Lust and desire poured through his veins and he slipped between her legs and thrust them apart. No preliminaries, he wanted to release the pent up desire in him. He thrust into her hard and Metila’s eyes widened. “Now,” he said leaning close to her and getting a whiff of that scent again from her skin. It entered his brain and heightened his senses. His organ swelled even more. By the gods, what was this? The room span and his blood burned with passion. Metila sighed and threw her head back. Growling, Astiras slammed into her repeatedly.

He seemed to find strength from somewhere, for he went on and on and on, and the woman arced her back and writhed in pleasure beneath him. She did not have to do any work, the potion she had applied to her skin ensured Astiras would do everything. The bed shook and the emperor panted hard and long as he satisfied his desires on her.

Finally it ended and he lay on top of her, trying to get his breath back. Metila had her eyes shut and concentrated on the glowing feeling of sensitivity down below. It was good. She reached out to the bedside table and picked up a small handful of leaves, and began chewing on them.

“What are those?” Astiras demanded, pulling out of her and rolling onto his side.

“Stop me having child. You not want child from me!”

“Oh, no, of course not – that would be terrible,” Astiras acknowledged. “I must go to my room now. Thank you, Metila.”

“Thank you, Landwaster!”

Astiras grunted and dressed, then went out as fast as he could. Metila swallowed the harshly tasting mixture of leaf and saliva and hummed to herself. The leaves were not a contraception. They were the opposite. She was determined to have his bastard.

For Jorqel and Sannia, the journey north to Slenna had been a gentle and relaxing one. They had initially gone back to Aconia to pick up supplies from Kastan City, shipped over by a compliant Elas Pelgion as one of his first acts as Governor of Frasia, and Sannia had spent time there cleaning up and erasing the marks of her incarceration.

Thereafter the two had ridden along the Lodria Road, the same one that Jorqel and his army had marched four years previously to retake Slenna. A small escort had come with them while the rest had gone on ahead to spread the word of the approach of the prince and his betrothed. People came out from their villages and farms to cheer the couple on their way, and Sannia had been especially delighted by the reaction of the people. To Jorqel it was nothing more than what was expected. He was a prince of Kastania and therefore they should show such enthusiasm and deference. If they didn’t, then there was something horribly wrong. It was a useful indicator of feeling towards the regime, something the Duras and Fokis had ignored at their peril in the recent past.

The closer they had got to Slenna the more strident the cheers, and then they had crested the last rise before the town and Sannia had gasped in surprise at the change. The town was over twice the size it had been before. The new wooden walls were complete as were the gatehouses and towers, and the castle itself, raised on its artificial earthen mound, was nearly so. Flags fluttered from the castle ramparts and the walls, and townsfolk lined the approach to the main gates.

Jorqel had smiled and waved to the happy folk and had kept on sliding his eyes sideways to see how Sannia was dealing with the attention. She had seemed to love it all and had been gaily speaking back to those bold enough to address her. Jorqel had felt a sense of satisfaction; Sannia indeed was the perfect one for him. She seemed to slip into the role without any trouble.

They had spoken much on their journey and learned more about one another, such as what their loves and dislikes were. Jorqel found her to be very curious about things and was quick to learn. She also told him about many things he did not know, such as the flora and fauna of the region, and he listened, for such things may be of benefit to him in the future. This was his province and he ought to take an interest in all of it.

Later, after a day spent in the castle getting used to the new arrangement and layout, Sannia had gone on to her family’s estate, escorted by Jorqel and three guards. The guards were to stay there until Sannia moved in with Jorqel, rotated every three days from Slenna. Once he returned to Slenna Jorqel set about the one remaining unresolved issue, that of the Duras. He was determined to crush them once and for all, and for what they had done and had nearly done infuriated him.

He spoke to the castellan, Fostan Caras, who confirmed that Lord Duras and his two sons had turned up a sevenday or so back with a small group of soldiers, expecting to find nobody manning the ramparts, and had been shocked to find two whole companies of imperial spearmen lining the walls. They had beaten a hasty retreat and where they had gone, nobody really knew. One snippet of news had been the arrival of Nikos Duras at Efsia along the coast, and he had been greeted by a soldier who had given him a mount and the two had ridden off north.

“North, eh?” Jorqel rubbed his chin. “Nothing along there except the wilds and the coast. Best I send out patrols to find out where those scavengers went.” Jorqel also put up posters offering a reward of 50 furims for the heads of any of the Duras, but nothing had happened. It was a bit too much to expect.

He was still wondering where the Duras had gone when he received a message from Kiros Louk. He opened the scroll eagerly. Louk was an imperial spy in his employ currently on the pirate-held island of Romos just off the Lodrian coast and was there to spy on the pirates, assessing their capabilities and pass any useful information on to him. He had arranged for a harvesting vessel to pick up any messages during the spring-summer-autumn seasons when it was safe to sail in between the channel.

He slowly read the message, his eyebrows vanishing up into his hair. Gavan, watching him from across the other side of the desk, was suitably curious.

“Interesting news, sire?”

“You could say that,” Jorqel said slowly. “Useful information on the pirate numbers, vessels, defences and capabilities as I’d expect, but here at the bottom is something very interesting indeed.” He flipped the scroll over to his bodyguard who unrolled it and went over the message, then whistled.

“The Duras? They’re on Romos?”

“According to my contact.” Jorqel did not divulge Louk’s name, not even to Gavan. “I have no reason to doubt him. It seems the Duras have taken refuge there and have promised those carrion feeders great riches provided they follow their lead.”

“Ha,” Gavan snorted, “that won’t do them any good, in that case. They couldn’t lead a canine up a street.”

“All the more reason to send a force to destroy those slitherers. I shall write to the Council and recommend re-conquering the island for the empire. Now we have secured Lodria, I feel confident we can spare troops for the mission.”

“You think we’re ready for that now, sire?”

“No, but next year we will be. I want mounted archers trained up by then. It’ll be a good testing ground for them.”

Gavan scratched his jaw. “We have two squadrons undergoing the basics currently and enough new people are coming forward to possibly begin training a third in the near future. Slenna is filling up fast with immigrants. All those people you freed from the Duras estate are settled in and quite a few have volunteered for the new archer squadrons. They’re keen to hit back at them.”

“If I tell them it’s likely we’ll be going after the Duras, that should encourage more volunteers,” Jorqel said. “In the meantime, Gavan, I’m going to go on a walking tour of Slenna. I want to see how it’s coming along.”

Gavan heaved himself up out of his chair. “We’ve almost got it finished, sire. Just a few touches to the castle here and then all’s done.”

“I want to see for myself,” Jorqel said and waved for Gavan to lead the way. They went through the castle keep first, a larger, rectangular construction as opposed to the circular one that had preceded it. It was still atop a mound but it looked lower. There had been a large amount of ground moved to accommodate it, and some of the old centre of Slenna had vanished underneath it. In Gavan’s words it was no loss as the demolished buildings had been ‘shit holes’ anyway.

The castle was on four levels; a cellar/basement that doubled as a store and a prison, then the ground floor where the garrison mostly were stationed along with the food preparation chambers. The actual cooking was done outside to lessen the danger of fire. Above that were the day quarters with the banqueting hall, offices and audience chamber. Lastly at the top were the sleeping chambers for Jorqel and the permanent inhabitants of the castle. Each level was accessed by a staircase from the level below, but in a different location than to those above or below, so that anyone trying to capture all the levels would have to fight their way through the entire place.

Outside the land around the castle was bare of grass, having been dug up and over during the building. Some land had been levelled for the new central square to be created and this formed the heart of Slenna. Where the original walls had been were now sewerage ditches, created when the old walls had been dug up. Jorqel didn’t want the place filling up with refuse and ordure, so he’d taken the opportunity to get at least a rudimentary system in place. In time hopefully there would be the chance to build a proper sewer system.

Where the roads crossed the new ditch, long planks of wood had been laid, forming bridges. Across from the castle, on the other side of the square, the old centre of Slenna still lay. It was a warren of old rickety buildings and narrow lanes. Jorqel stood pondering. “Hmmm…. I don’t like this area. Perhaps we can clear it in time for municipal buildings?”

“I could find out how much it’d cost to flatten it and build a new administrative hall,” Gavan offered.

Jorqel shook his head. “No, not yet. Lodria needs work done on it. There’s precious little money available for works, and the roads need improving throughout the region. That’s where we’ll have to concentrate our efforts for the rest of the year. I hope to have it done by mid-winter.”

“All the roads in Lodria, sire?” Gavan asked, astonished.

“There aren’t that many, Gavan! Look,” he began ticking off his fingers. “The main trade route running from Bathenia down to Efsia. That’s one. Two,” and he ticked a second finger, “the highland road running west up into the moors and eventually to Kaprenia. I need to go have a look up there anyway just to see how far the Tybar have come. Their armies may not be on the march but I’m more concerned with their people, moving in and taking away lands from our people. That’s got to stop.”

“I can send patrols out there; its summer so the weather should be good.”

“Do that. Once every seven to fifteen days. Vary it; don’t be regular. I don’t want the Tybar to get used to a pattern.”

Gavan nodded. “Good idea, sire, I’ll get onto it.”

The two walked left and over the ditch to the new part of Slenna. Here, the buildings looked new and tidy. The land in between the buildings not yet overgrown with weeds or grass or cluttered by tired looking and disintegrating fences. The people here hailed him and he waved back with a smile. These were his people and he was keen to be one regarded as being seen and not some inaccessible mystery whom nobody could bring any problems to.

“In time, Gavan, I want a town hall, barracks, stables, archery ranges, a proper sewer system, a temple and so on.”

“Slenna will be a mighty place to live in that case, sire.”

“I hope so. When I leave I want to pass this onto my successor in a decent state.”

“Is that likely to be soon, sire?” Gavan asked.

Jorqel shrugged. “I hope to persuade the Council to launch an invasion of Romos, more so now I know those Duras canines are there. If they agree I’ll personally lead it. In which case this place will need a temporary governor.”

They walked along towards the new gate, a double gated construction, flanked by wooden towers with guards manning them. Two men were in each tower, looking out over the countryside and inwards over Slenna. Not all threats came from without every time. The guard duty fell to the imperial spearmen and archers. The garrison numbered over six hundred and fifty, a large number of men, but not all were housed in the castle. Many had now taken up the offer of a home in the new part and were settling down with a woman.

More people were coming to visit and hoping to stay now the prince was there and he was revitalising the town. There were more jobs to be had, something that hadn’t been the case in the latter days of the previous emperors, and even the refugees from further west hadn’t stayed, wishing to cross over the Aester to the eastern part of the empire, for they had seen nothing in Slenna that had filled them with any confidence of keeping the Tybar out.

Now, however, having the heir to the throne here along with the army, and his proven intent in expanding the town, the people of Lodria saw hope in the future. The Tybar had not come. There were new buildings going up all the time in the town, and Jorqel had announced work for a total upgrade of all roads in the province and wanted workmen and surveyors and all other industries connected with that to come to him and offer their services.

He needed material and so calls for quarrying had gone out; he needed tools for his workforce so the blacksmiths had been asked to supply two tools each; food needed to be supplied to the workforce and so offers had been made to provisioners to set up roadside shops – temporarily – to feed and keep happy the people who would be working all through the autumn and into the winter. The army would supply units to patrol the area to ensure nobody interfered with the work, whether it be thieves or bandits.

Lastly Jorqel had offered a free pardon to all who had fought for the rebellion, and had even offered places in his army or the workforce for the roads to these people. He had sworn on his name and on the gods that he would not harm them. A few had come out of the wilds, hesitantly, but once they saw Jorqel was as good as his word, and that his word got back to the others, more came trickling into Slenna and even Niake, Aconia or Efsia.

Farms were happy now the depredations of bandits and the threat of the Tybar had receded. All this meant that Jorqel was greeted cheerfully as he and Gavan roamed the streets of Slenna. The soldiers on duty on the walls looked smarter and walked with pride and confidence. Gavan noted this. “Sire, the men are all proud to be in the army once more. It was dreadful under the Duras and Fokis when we were derided and spat upon.”

“Spat upon?” Jorqel stopped amazed. “Really?”

Gavan nodded, his face grave. “The nobility got it into their heads the army was solely responsible for all the ills of the empire, and passed down to the people this opinion. Many men who wished to join the army were prevented by their families who didn’t wish their names to be smeared with being associated with it, and people were encouraged to abuse the soldiers in the streets.”

“How ridiculous, and stupid!” Jorqel snapped. “How else could they be protected from foreign aggression and who else could stop brigandage? I knew of the feelings against the army by other Houses but not of the abuse in the streets! If this happens again – anywhere – I must know of it, do you hear, Gavan?”