Prince of Wrath (54 page)

Sonos be damned, Vazil thought. “Yes, your grace; I shall do so.” Only one language tolerated, so it seemed. It would rule through the language of the Venn and anyone not able to speak the language would not be permitted to gain any rank of influence. Convert not only in soul, but in heart as well. Forget your heritage, join the Venn and your past be damned. She felt slightly sick at the thought of these priests running loose in the lands of Kastania. There would be so many burnings and hangings, every road would be lined with corpses. Death.

She started whispering what she thought would be a sufficient prayer, asking the god for fortification in her sacred task, and the priest nodded with approval and moved on, already bored with the purity of the acolyte’s belief. The sooner aspiring priests forgot all that and concentrated on enriching themselves, then the easier they would be to control. Their avarice and mendacity would imprison them to the will of the senior clerics, and in return for their ‘loyalty’ they would be promoted within the ranks of the clergy. Such had been the way of the Temple for centuries.

Vazil watched as the priest moved off to speak to another cleric, and the two soldiers bowed low, touching the step before them with their foreheads and then left, their prayers completed. As new people took their place, Vazil got up and, head bowed, moved towards the door she’d seen earlier. She reached it and turned to survey the room. Nobody was watching her so she tested the handle. It gave and a wave of cooler air caressed her as the door opened. Swiftly, smoothly, she slipped in and shut the door quickly, but quietly.

She was in a stone passageway that ran to the left. A short distance away it curved left, going with the slope of the central chamber. Just as it curved out of sight there was a narrow staircase and she moved to this, passing flickering candles set in wall alcoves that lit the way. There were no windows or openings. Up. Up, she went, slowly and cautiously. There were no sounds or smells to alert her, and she came to the next level.

Another passageway, and another staircase. This would lead to the top level, and again she went up. At the top there was only a narrow curving passageway with the roof sloping too, so that the corridor was lower against the right hand side than the left. She stuck to the left and drifted round, until there was a ladder leading up to a closed trapdoor in the ceiling. This was it. She climbed and pushed experimentally at the wooden door which gave inwards. The space beyond was dark, so she climbed down and took a candle from a nearby alcove, and then made her way up through the trapdoor. The candle revealed a dirty, dusty area marked with immense wooden beams and discarded plaster work. This was the space in between the outside and the maintenance walkways, and nobody usually came this way.

She clambered over a few horizontal beams and came to a small staircase that ran up to yet another trapdoor. She pushed this up and sunlight threw itself at her, causing her to blink and screw her eyes up. Leaving the candle on the floor, she emerged onto the roof, shielded from view by the parapet walls running round the edge of the roof. What was even better was that she was higher than the inner walls and could look down onto the inner courtyard. She slipped her hood off and peered over the edge, looking at the soldiers marching to and fro. Men were being put through their paces and shouted at by drill sergeants. Spear formations, archery practice, cavalry riding at targets and hacking at them. It wasn’t long before she noticed men picking up from and leaving weapons in a large oblong building to the left, in the corner of the courtyard against two walls. That was her target. She would have to gain access to the yard and burn it down. At least she now knew where she had to go. Time to plan.

As evening fell she returned to the priest’s accommodation and sat quietly in her cubicle. It couldn’t really be called a room. Many priests fell into two types; temple dwellers or prophets. The temple dwellers were those who stayed in one place, such as a town or city, and prayed at a temple. Prophets were the wanderers who travelled throughout the lands, preaching, converting or chastising, whatever their preference was. These were usually the younger or more radical clerics and they had a compulsion to go to lands far away and spread the word. Many never returned to their homelands. Vazil decided she would pass herself of as one of these. It was easier in many ways – they were fanatical and less likely to be reasonable or amenable and therefore people were adverse to engage them in conversation.

One needed a cause. She slid off the hard, uncomfortable bench and drifted downstairs. She slipped out into the night, wrapping her cloak about her. Many citizens had gone home so that those still out were soldiers or someone on their way to a friend. The traders had retired to the taverns. Vazil knew what that was like and was glad to be away from that atmosphere. The guards of the merchants were an uncouth lot and had few manners and less ability in charming a woman. She hadn’t enjoyed her trip to Rhan with her father.

The gatehouse to the inner courtyard was still open. It would shut at the call of the watch for the middle part of the night. She knew she had some time yet to carry out her plan.

During the day wagons had arrived at irregular intervals, carrying supplies and equipment, and they had been waved through and up to the arsenal. Clearly more military stocks were being brought in. She made her way through the emptying streets towards the outer gate and slipped into a narrow alleyway. From there she could observe the gates and see who and what came in.

It was quiet. The people were mostly indoors. A military fortress had fewer attractions than a town or city. A little while passed, then the gates rumbled up and a wagon came through, stopping by the guardhouse. Two equines pulled it, and two men sat on the riding board at the front. The wagon was piled with unidentifiable items underneath a large white covering. Vazil strode out from the alley and made her way swiftly to the wagon, slipping in between the narrow gap between the guardhouse wall and the wagon. Both men had stepped down and were speaking to the guards on the other side of the wagon, looking at the documents by torchlight, and Vazil was in deep shadow. She moved to the rear and almost gasped.

A further guard was standing no more than ten paces away, his back to her, peering out into the countryside. Without delaying, she lifted the covering, a cloth that had seen better days, and slipped in underneath it. She was pressed against two barrels and a lumpy package of some description, and lay as still as she could. Her breathing was rapid so she fought to control it. Surely they would hear her?

Nobody apparently did for suddenly there came voices and the two men climbed back up, judging by the motion of the wagon, and then they were moving again into the town. Vazil breathed out in relief and huddled herself underneath the cover. It wasn’t long before they arrived at the inner courtyard and Vazil panicked again. What if they checked underneath? She tried to push further into the wagon but there were too many objects so she forced herself to relax. After a couple of discussions the wagon jerked into motion again and the rumble of wheels on cobblestones sent her teeth jarring.

The wagon turned slightly, then stopped. Vazil didn’t hesitate. She slipped out of the back and went under the wagon, hoping nobody saw her. No shout came, and she edged forward cautiously. Two sets of legs tramped past and began unloading, gabbling away in Talian, complaining about the poor contract they had. Vazil paused close to the front of the wagon and the rear of the equines.

At that moment one decided to defecate. She shrunk back in disgust. The two men walked up to the door of the storehouse and the guard there opened the door. One guard only. She waited until the next time the two supply men took objects to the store before slipping out and scuttled across the short distance to the wall of the building. She was on the other side of the doorway to the guard, and he was standing a few paces from the wall, so she was outside his field of vision. The position of the wagon and equines meant he had not seen her as she had come out from under cover.

The two men emerged and went towards the rear of the wagon once more. The guard watched them so Vazil nipped into the cavernous storeroom and quickly dropped behind a rack of spears. The two men came back in, carrying barrels, and deposited them a short way in. As they went back out she made her way deeper into the arsenal.

The chamber was immense and very dark. She had to stop to avoid falling over some unseen object, so she crouched down once more. It was safer there since the two men didn’t come anywhere near her. Three more trips and they finally left, the door closing behind them, plunging the warehouse into deep blackness.

Vazil now went to work. There was a spear in a rack next to her; she’d seen it when the door had been open, so now she lifted it out. Taking off her belt, she opened the pouch, working in the dark, and brought out the vial and a length of steel and a small flint. Next, from the inside band of the belt, she unwrapped a long cloth. This she wrapped round the head of the spear. Fumbling in the dark she then opened the top of the vial. An odd smell came to her nostrils and she wrinkled them. It wasn’t that pleasant but it was bearable. It was unlike anything she’d smelt before.

She let a few drops fall onto the cloth, then replaced the lid. Now the put the spear down by her feet and began striking the steel and flint together. She had been shown how to use this in Zofela, and had practiced it a couple of times. It was amazing how many sparks it produced. The sparks lit up the immediate surroundings, and the cloth began to smoulder. Suddenly it caught and the flames touched the drops that had soaked into the cloth. Flames burst up and she shrank back in surprise.

Now she could see she hefted the spear and picked up the other objects, replacing the flint and steel in her pouch, and held the vial in her other hand. She wandered down the narrow path in between the stacks of weapons and equipment and whistled low. Venn were being serious. Someone was going to get an army down on their heads before long. There weren’t enough soldiers in Rhan at present to both garrison it and attack anywhere, but she guessed an army would be shortly turning up to pick up the contents of the warehouse.

Close to the rear she found what she wanted; three wagons lined up side by side with a mass of heavy metal bars packed on them. She frowned, not knowing what the bars were for. Propping the spear up she placed the vial on one of the wagons and examined the bars. They seemed to be of a light metal and thought it might be bronze. It didn’t reflect the light very well so she wasn’t entirely sure. Three wagons of them? She would have to speak to Teduskis or the emperor, or maybe her brother on her return.

The wagons were of wood and would burn well. Her decision made, she removed the lid and threw it away. Next she began gently dripping the viscous contents of the vial over the edge of the first wagon and then onto the second. She ran out before she got to the third but it didn’t matter. The empty vial was discarded and she picked up the spear and dipped the blazing head against the first wagon.

With a shocking suddenness it was ablaze, the flames spreading almost as fast as she could comprehend. In moments the side of the wagon was well ablaze. She repeated it on the second wagon and now retreated towards the door, a growing light spreading behind her. There was no more need for the spear so she threw it deep into a pile of objects, hoping perhaps that would set something else alight.

The fire was getting a hold of the surrounding items now, and by the time she got to the front of the arsenal it was reaching the roof. Smoke billowed up and began filling the space underneath the roof, spilling across towards the centre of the building. Vazil crouched by the door and gauged the right time to act. The fire was by now out of control, consuming the contents at the rear of the building, so she knocked on the door and slid back away from the portal, waiting.

The door’s bolt slid back and the door opened slowly, the guard puzzled as to why someone would be on the inside. What met his eyes shocked him and he gaped in horror at the sight of the burning stores, then turned and ran shouting wildly, leaving the door wide open for Vazil to scuttle out and, crouching low, made for the inner wall just to the right. In shadow she made her way along the bottom towards the gatehouse, pausing in the corner where the towers jutted out.

Men came running from all parts in a panic, yelling loudly, and Vazil slid round the base of the tower and under the still raised portcullis, down the ramp and onto the streets of Rhan. She trotted round to the priests’ lodgings and retrieved her equine, mounting up and walking the beast away from the glow that dominated that part of the town. At the outer gates the guards were unsure whether to let the priest out or not, since it was curfew and the gates were shut, but a quick shake of the sun symbol in their faces and a promise of damnation in the afterlife was enough to persuade them to lift the portcullis and Vazil rode out into the night, a wicked chuckle bubbling up past her throat.

Another day, another argument. The palace in Kastan City was used to them by now. The office of Prince Elas was the usual venue for these domestic differences, and Amne’s screaming voice could be heard in the adjoining corridors. Elas’ deeper, calmer voice could not. The guards on duty affected not to hear the raised voice of the princess, but her words carried to them all the same.

“Stop treating me like some child, Elas! I’m your wife, not some errant daughter of yours!”

“Then stop acting as if you were,” Elas stated evenly. “I do find it difficult to reason with you if you continue to behave unreasonably. The matter is not up for debate; Lalaas remains here in the palace.”

Amne clenched her fists in frustration. “You allowed him to come with me to Slenna!”

“That was because it was an official function and an important one. Your brother’s marriage isn’t a trivial affair, and I rightly assessed that Lalaas ought to accompany you as both a bodyguard and further evidence that we here in Kastan City take matters relating to the Koros family seriously. However,” he spread his hands wide and looked at his desk top behind which he was sitting, “your visit to Zofela is not an official visit. It is something you have decided. I have no objection to you going….”

“Oh, well that’s generous of you, Elas!” Amne interrupted, her cheeks red with anger. “I’m so pleased you allow me to visit my father!”

Elas looked at his wife with ill-concealed exasperation. “If you permit me to finish? I was going to say I have no objection because at present there are no official functions that require your attendance here. However, taking the Captain of the Palace Guard with you wherever you chose to visit is not part of your control. I run the palace, and I decide whether Captain Lalaas goes or not.”

“You decide?” Amne shouted. “Since when have you judged you are the decision maker over my wishes?”

“Since we married,” Elas stated flatly, his hands locking together on the desk. “I outrank you socially now. Ask your father. Ask your brother. Ask any courtier here. Fact. I decide who should accompany you to Zofela, Amne. If you do not agree then I shall have you locked in a secure room and you won’t be going anywhere.”

“You wouldn’t!” Amne screamed in fury. “You’d stoop to locking up your own wife? What sort of man are you?”

“One who has a hard job of putting Frasia and Kastan City in order. I was hoping you would assist me in all of this but from the start you have made it perfectly clear you are more interested in riding, carousing and flirting. Not a responsible set of priorities for one of the ruling House, but I suppose one cannot have equanimity throughout any given family.”

Amne screamed in rage, her hands clenched, raised up to the ceiling. “Listen to yourself, you pompous bore! By the gods I must have been mad to marry you!”

“Proving madness is reasonably easy,” Elas said, looking levelly at Amne. “Your behaviour would lead any onlooker to that conclusion.”

Amne glared at her husband, and stamped her foot. “I suppose you’d find that pleasing? Having me locked away so you can do what you wish here without me to stop it?”

“Pleasing? No, not in the slightest. I would take no pleasure in doing that, but if circumstances dictated I would have little choice.”

“You Kivok! You have slept with me for the last time! I won’t let you anywhere near me from now on! I shall ask father for a divorce!”

Elas shrugged. “Go ahead. I shall merely remarry and continue regardless. Your father would no doubt keep you up in Zofela and seek to marry you off to someone else. However I would write to him and list the endless issues you have been responsible for, and your irrational behaviour. He may well support my recommendations to have you locked away somewhere.”

“You carry on as before?” Amne spat, “ha! By the time I’ve finished with you he’ll order Lalaas to lock you up in the deepest dungeon in Kastan and you’ll rot there forever!”

“And what would I have been guilty of, Amne? You really are quite an emotional person, aren’t you? It clouds what little judgement you possess. Everyone here has seen how emotionally unstable you’ve been. Take, for example, this very issue. You’ve flown into a tantrum simply because I refuse to allow you to have Lalaas go with you to Zofela. Totally irrational.”

“Lalaas is my bodyguard….”

“No, he is not,” Elas slapped the desk, causing Amne to jump. “And I believe that is where your argument falls down. He is the Palace Guard Captain and his place and duties are here, not by your side wherever you go. I am prepared to provide an escort of the Kastanian Mounted Militia to go with you, since I still believe the roads are not entirely clear of danger. Shall we say fifteen?”

Amne fumed, standing before him. “You are a cold-hearted monster, you know that?”

Elas sighed. “I try to be reasonable, Amne, I am at a loss as to why you continue to show such senseless attitudes. I agree to you visiting Zofela; I agree to sending an escort of fifteen men with you. Why do you still argue? You are like a spoilt child, Amne, and a poor reflection on your father who, I am sure, would be appalled at such an outburst.”

“Don’t you dare try to say what my father would think!”

“I believe him to be a sensible, intelligent, straightforward man with honour. You do not do him any justice, Amne. I cannot see any point in continuing this discussion any further since you are not prepared to listen, and I will not waste my time arguing against an unreasonable person.”

“Ooh, you infuriate me, Elas Pelgion! Just what is it that excites you?”

Elas looked up at her blandly. “I do appear to infuriate you, but I have done nothing to do so. You puzzle me, really you do.”

“Showing some passion would be a nice change!” Amne yelled, and turned on her heel and stamped out, slamming the door behind her. She stood in the corridor and became aware of the two guards’ presence. “What? Anything amusing?”

The two guards stood to attention, staring into infinity.

“Agh! The Corpse’s zombies!” she exclaimed and strode off stiffly, leaving the guards to relax visibly, puffing their cheeks out. She stormed along the passageways and pushed past a couple of courtiers who turned in surprise as she breezed past them without even acknowledging their existence.

Lalaas saw her coming and frowned. “Trouble, your highness?”

Amne stopped and stared at the man. “Prince Elas just will not see sense! I have specifically asked if you could accompany me to Zofela and he refused! Refused me! How dare he?”

Lalaas waved the two guards with him away to their duties and stepped in line with her. “I’m sorry – he what? When was I supposed to go with you to Zofela?”

Amne sucked in her breath and turned to face him. “I’m going to see father up in Zofela and of course I asked for you to accompany me, I mean, why shouldn’t I?”

Lalaas looked staggered. “Princess – I’m not surprised the Prince said no – I mean my duties are here. I can’t accompany you everywhere! Things are different from a few years ago. I’m not longer the hunter that went with you through Bragal, I’m an imperial Captain and have my duties here.” He shook his head. “You forced that appointment on everyone, ma’am, even your father, if I recall rightly.”

“Ooh Lalaas, don’t be such a bore! If I can make it, I can un-make it!”

Lalaas grimaced. “Not anymore, ma’am; Prince Elas runs the palace and he makes the rules here now, and the appointments.”

Amne pursed her lips in displeasure. “I see. So you’ve thrown your allegiance from me to my husband. My back is stinging through all these blades being thrust into it.”

Lalaas shook his head sadly. “It’s not like that, ma’am; I hoped you and I would share many happy times here, which is why I accepted this post in the first place. I’m not stabbing anyone in the back. I take my tasks seriously, and I can’t abandon this post on a moment’s whim. What would happen to me if I resigned this post? I’d be thrown out of Kastan City!”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Amne said heatedly, “you said you wanted the outdoor life!”

“Yes ma’am, I did, but I took this post because you wished it, and now this is what I do; I have a responsible post, and an honoured one, and I certainly wouldn’t wish to turn my back on it. How would people view me if I just resigned on a whim? I would be lucky if your father looked at me again!”

Amne curled a contemptuous lip. “Very well, Lalaas, you’ve made your position perfectly clear to me. I shall go to Zofela without you, and have proper men as my escort, not someone too frightened of what others think of them to protect me.” She flounced off, leaving Lalaas sighing with patience in the corridor.

She approached Deran Loshar, the Tybar renegade training the mounted archers in the grounds of the palace, and he was happy to detail fifteen of his men to escort the princess through Bragal to Zofela. Amne thought Loshar a particularly untrustworthy individual with his ready smile, hooked nose and prominent chin, but she disliked the Tybar anyway. She kept her tone neutral towards him, however, since she didn’t wish to antagonise too many people.

By the next morning the preparations had been made and she took her own mount from the stables and rode it at the head of the others, dressed in her riding outfit. The archers each led a pack equine which carried spare clothes and supplies for the journey. They would be riding along the paved roads of Frasia to the border of Bragal, after which they would follow the rough, uncared for tracks of the province to the provincial capital. There were relay stations along the route and, especially in Bragal, small guard stations in which Amne would sleep. All in all it was estimated that the journey would take them fourteen to sixteen days. A rider had been sent the previous day to bring advance notice to the relay stations along the route to expect the princess and make her stay appropriately comfortable and to provide supplies. Amne would not repeat her previous journey four years previously.

Lalaas watched as she rode out, not bothering to look back, and he felt a pang of regret for the distance that had sprung up between them, but he couldn’t see what else he could have done. He waited until the doors from the courtyard had been bolted shut before resuming his morning patrol of the palace. As he passed the main entrance hallway Prince Elas appeared, discussing the day’s schedule with his major domo. He caught sight of Lalaas and hailed him. “Captain, a word with you in my office a moment, if you please.” It wasn’t a request, it was an order.

Lalaas saluted and followed the two along to the room Elas used as his administrative headquarters. A small group of clerks used the next room to produce the orders in writing that Elas made, or collate all letters and messages that came in and pass to the prince those that they could not or would not deal with.

Elas dismissed the major domo with a pile of papers to distribute to the appropriate clerk next door. Lalaas stood before the Prince, staring over his shoulder out of the single window that looked out onto the courtyard. “Captain,” Elas began, “you have, no doubt, been aware of the Princess’ wish to take you to Zofela.”

“Sire. She did express that wish to me.”

Elas put his hands behind his back and walked slowly from one side of the room to the other. “Hmm. I am concerned as to her – attachment to you.”

“Sire, I wish to assure you I have not reciprocated.”

Elas fixed the captain with one of his steely stares. “I am so informed. That is to your credit. I am also aware she shows – affection to other persons, which is something I do not wish her to flaunt. It is not appropriate for anyone, let alone someone of her position and public prominence.”

Lalaas said nothing; what was he to say? A Prince of the empire speaking to him about his wife’s inappropriate behaviour?

“Captain, you are about the closest person to my wife I know of. You are also the commander of the palace guard and the man in charge of security of the capital. I therefore deem it appropriate that you should keep a careful watch on my wife’s activities and report back to me anyone that – submits to her affections. Do you understand me?”

Lalaas stared at Elas. “Sire – you ask me to spy on your own wife?”

“I know it sounds extremely – unorthodox, but believe me I am concerned, very concerned, that some inappropriate incident that may reflect poorly on the image of the ruling House. I understand if you feel uncomfortable about this, given the closeness between the two of you, but I must try to keep her somewhat wayward activities under control. If you feel unable to accept this task then I shall of course have another do it, but they may not have the discretion and – how can I put this? – wellbeing of my wife at heart.”

“Sire, what you ask of me fills me with an uncomfortable feeling, but I shall do as you ask. It won’t be a task that I shall take to with any great enthusiasm but as you rightly point out sire, I am in the best place to carry this out.” Lalaas looked at the Prince without any pleasure.

Elas nodded curtly. “She is a volatile woman and given to passionate outbursts. You are the only man amongst those here who appears to be able to cope with that, and to be able to continue to liaise with her despite your refusal to give in to her advances. It is a great position of trust I put you in, Captain. Please do not let me down.”

“I always do my best to fulfil any task I am given, sire.”

Elas grunted, then nodded. “So I am led to believe. The empire would be a better place if it were served by more like you. You may resume your duties, Captain.”