Empire of Avarice (18 page)

Amne breathed out in relief. It hadn’t been an enjoyable
experience, and she was still more than a little scared. The wind was blowing
from the south, never a good sign, and it carried with it an edge to it that
had been born in the vast open plains that were blanketed with ice and snow in
winter. Theros dismounted with a grunt and steadied himself. He had nearly
fallen over there. Best to be careful and not lose dignity.

“Why are we here?” Amne asked, standing by her mount,
looking lost.

Lalaas found a handy tree and tethered his charger to
it. He looked up unenthusiastically at the sky before replying. “Your father
gave me specific instructions on your safety and made it clear I was to risk
nothing on this journey. He then gave me the freedom to organise the journey as
I saw fit. He advised me to tell nobody, not even himself, of what my plans
were. So here we are, away from the route your father will take on the morrow.”

Theros stood awkwardly in the background, holding the
reins of his charger. “And now?”

Lalaas swung his head round. “We set up camp here.”

The rest stood silently looking at him. Lalaas eyed them
all, then put his fists on his hips. “Do any of you know how to erect a tent,
to feed a charger, to unsaddle a charger?”

There were four mute shaking of heads.

Lalaas sighed. It was going to be a long journey indeed.

____

Compared to the silent and furtive way in which Amne and
her small group had left Kastan during the darkness of the night, Emperor
Astiras’ march had all the pomp and ceremony of a triumph. Crowds lined the
main road that led to the Turslenka Gate, the eastern gate of the city, and flags
and pennants fluttered from windows and from the hands of people being kept off
the street by guards.

Astiras rode at the head of the army he commanded,
dressed in full parade armour and clothing, a gaily coloured outfit designed to
catch the eye. Even his charger was dressed up with plumes and feathers
sprouting from its mane and tail, and the imperial bodyguard riding behind him
held their lances to the sky, dressed with red and blue coloured paper to
present an even more dazzling display. Behind them marched the two militia
spear companies, not quite in step but smiling at the adulation they were
receiving. Pieces of paper and coloured cloth were being thrown into the air
along with dried flowers. It all made a spectacular sight.

Teduskis, riding alongside the emperor, smiled at the
cheering. It had been some time since an emperor had actually embarked on a
military campaign, and this was a war that virtually everyone in Kastan was in
agreement with. The Bragalese needed to be brought to heel. Everyone badly
needed some good news.

Bringing up the rear were the elite imperial archers
that had been based in Kastan since before the coup. They looked smart,
confident and, unlike the militia, marched in step. They had seen some action
before and had some idea of what was awaiting them, unlike most of the
militiamen. As a result, their faces were not so happy.

As they neared the gate, the emperor pulled to one side
and watched as his force tramped past, all turning their heads to acknowledge
him. He surveyed them with a keen eye, his expression severe. It was important
to look the part of soldiers of the empire and to instil in the populace faith
that they would carry out their task. As the archers passed through the open
gate, Astiras turned to face the people who had come forward, crowding over the
road.

“People of Kastan,” he boomed, “I, your emperor, will
ride forth to the heartland of the vile Bragalese and conquer them once and for
all. I shall not rest until my banner is fluttering over the battlements of
Zofela and the revolt is crushed. Victory!” he yelled, raising his sword to the
sky.

“Victory!” the people echoed, cheering.

Astiras waved once more and then rode off after his men,
leaving Kastan to be run by the empress and her advisors. He had faith in her
to do what was right; he now had much more important things on his mind, and he
galloped past his marching men and came alongside Teduskis at the head of the
column. “We ride for another league, then let’s get this rubbish off and get on
with things.”

“Of course, sire,” Teduskis nodded. “Do you think
they’ll be waiting for us up ahead as we arranged?”

“They’d better be,” Astiras growled. “I haven’t brought
most of what’s left in the treasury with me for nothing. Once they feel gold,
they’ll come over to us.”

Teduskis nodded again. Using mercenaries was always an
expensive matter, but at times like this necessary. Clearly the inexperienced
force they had wasn’t up to the job of firstly invading Bragal, then fighting
their way to Zofela and finally actually capturing it. What was needed were
tough professional soldiers not averse to dishing out pain and suffering. The
only problem Astiras could foresee was the rivalry between the mercenaries and
the regular imperial troops; there was normally little love lost between the
two. The regulars resented the amounts paid over to the mercenary units while
the mercenaries looked down on the regulars. Quite often the regulars weren’t
as good as the men for hire.

They had ridden for a while, stopping once to discard
the ceremonial garb and hangings, and to change into more practical and
comfortable gear. The equipment was stored in the wagons that rumbled in their
wake, a regular feature of any army. The wagon train also carried supplies and
food, and as a result was heavily guarded. Here in Frasia there was little
threat, but as they got closer to the border with Bragal, they would have to
exercise more caution.

Ahead, on the roadside, a camp came into view. Fires
sent smoke up into the leaden sky and tents of all colours and sizes lay
scattered untidily to one side. Astiras reined in and regarded the messy camp. Teduskis
came alongside and pointed at a group of men assembling by the roadside. “That
looks like the reception committee, sire.”

“Very well,” the emperor sighed. “Let’s get on with it. Tell
the men to take a break, then come with me.”

The two slowly rode up to the group of men standing by
the roadside. Here the road had been paved but it wasn’t further ahead. There
were road gangs visible beyond the camp, working on the road surface. The men
waiting were dressed in dull brown and most wore soft caps. Many had beards or
were unshaven, but all looked tough. Within the camp target butts had been erected
and men could be seen practicing archery. Teduskis leaned forward on the pommel
of his saddle. “Our archers may be a little put out, sire.”

“Too bad,” Astiras said sharply. “We need more men for
where we’re going. This lot are perfect for the job.”

Teduskis dismounted and walked forward. Astiras remained
on horseback. Teduskis raised a palm upwards as he neared the dozen or so men
waiting for them. “Hail! Well met, men of the mountains.”

One of the men stepped forward and made a similar
gesture. “Well met, Kastanian. Do you have the gold you promised?”

Teduskis was briefly taken aback. He’d expected some
discussion before they got down to the matter of payment. He fished out a
leather bag from his belt and clinked it in his palm. “Of course. What should I
address you as?”

“Captain Cupran will do. So you wish for our services in
Bragal?”

“How do you know it’s Bragal?” Teduskis asked. Nobody
had mentioned the destination.

“A blind man would know where you’re bound. I’m
surprised the empire can raise a force to face them. But also I’m not surprised
you wish to hire me and my men. It isn’t pleasant there.”

“I’ve fought in Bragal, Cupran, so I have experience of
what it’s like.” He tossed the bag to the mercenary captain. “You will fight
for the emperor. Your task is to provide tactical support as skirmishers or to
protect our flanks. And, of course, to – ah – help persuade the locals in
accepting imperial rule.”

Cupran smiled evilly. Then he weighed the bag and looked
surprised. “I heard the treasury was exhausted. Who did you rob to get this?”

“There’s no need to start our relationship by insulting
us, mountain man. We have raised taxes. Perhaps we ought to send our taxmen
into the Bakran Mountains?”

Cupran laughed easily. “And have them returned in pieces?
What a waste that would be.”

Teduskis faintly smiled. The mountains of the Bakran
range, a wild, inhospitable range of mountains to the east, bred tough men who
fought amongst themselves or anyone who ventured too deeply into their domain. Only
where the imperial roads crossed through was it deemed safe, and even then on
occasions bandits raided travellers. “You must swear an oath of loyalty to the
emperor before we proceed.”

“For this amount I’d swear allegiance to a scorpion!” He
turned and barked a few words in a guttural tongue. The hundred and twenty men
in the camp came forward, some still holding their horn and wooden bows, and as
a group went down on one knee before Astiras.

The emperor sat still, watching as the Bakran
mercenaries swore to defend and protect the emperor and to serve him until the
campaign came to an end. Astiras bowed in response. “Men of the Bakran Mountains,
it is well known that there are few who exceed you in bravery and valour,” he
said clearly. “We are grateful and delighted that our army is strengthened by
your presence. You are welcome!”

Cupran nodded. The expected pleasantries, clearly lies -
but the gold made that irrelevant - had been exchanged and now they could get
on with what they were good at. Killing.

Cupran had one piece of interesting news for Astiras. It
appeared that up ahead towards the border with Bragal, there was an army
assembling; an army designed to block the emperor’s route into the troubled
province. The Bakran mercenaries had been approached by Nikos Duras with
promises of gold and other luxury items if they joined his army, but since he’d
not actually paid them anything, Cupran had led his men down to the plains and
the meeting with Astiras. “I would rather fight with you, sire, than against
you. I know of your reputation!” the swarthy mountain man chortled, his frame
shaking. “And up ahead are Bragal mercenaries, waiting for you. They have no
love for the Duras, either. They know you are on your way back into Bragal and
wish to join your army. They will have better details of the Duras army.”

Astiras smiled wolfishly. “Bakran archers and Bragalese
levies? This gets better and better! That idiot Duras thinks he can best my
army with his motley assembly? I’ll have his head!”

But even as he congratulated Cupran for the information,
Astiras was silently thanking the gods that he had indeed sent Amne off on a
separate path.

____

The wind blew hard through the wilderness of southern
Frasia, sweeping in from the Balq Sea. The icy edge had the five people hunched
in their thick clothing as they plodded along on the backs of their beasts,
lost in their own thoughts. The journey had so far been miserable; only Lalaas
had any knowledge of how to put up a tent, and the princess had been helped by
him in getting hers up, but Theros and the two clerks had been left to their
own devices. Lalaas had commented that men ought to be able to look after
themselves no matter where, and apart from demonstrating to them how to drive
pegs into the ground and how tight to make the ropes, he’d done nothing to help
them.

Consequently Theros and his assistants had spent most of
the night awake and fighting a tent that threatened to blow away across the
plains. When Theros had asked Lalaas to help, the guard had replied quite
sharply that he had been asked to look after the princess, not anyone else.

Lalaas often stopped and allowed the others to pass;
Amne followed by Theros, then a couple of pack animals and then the two clerks
and the rest of the pack beasts. The clerks had the ropes to the spare chargers
fixed to theirs so that none could escape. Lalaas had made it clear that it was
their responsibility; his was the princess, theirs were the spare animals.

The land became sandier and the wind blew harder, and
now they could smell the sea. Topping a rise they came into sight of the shore,
a wave-struck length of sand, littered with detritus. Wood, dead birds,
seaweed. These and other objects washed up onto the shore stretched in clumps
as far as the eye could see. The smell of sea was very strong, predominantly
tainted with rotting seaweed.

“At least we cannot get lost,” Lalaas commented, his
voice muffled through the cloth over his face. The wind was cutting here.

“When can we stop?” Amne asked through her face cloth. Only
her blue eyes showed, contrasting against the red of her muffle.

“There,” Lalaas pointed to a particularly large group of
deadwood on the beach. It was fairly high above the shoreline and likely to be
dryer than those closer to the waves. “I ought to be able to make a fire.”

Just back from the shore the grass grew in huge tussocks
and the ground rose and fell. It provided some shelter and the beasts were
tethered in a group and they began happily to chew on the thick stemmed
undergrowth. It was succulent if lacking somewhat in nutrition.

Lalaas hauled a shattered stump of a tree up to the camp
site and brought some broken branches and twigs to start the fire. Amne watched
fascinated as the soldier pulled out a leather bag from his pack and brought
forth a wooden block, a straight piece of wood and some twine. The princess
looked on as Lalaas looped the twine around the straight piece of wood, then
pulled out yet another, one that was bowed. He fixed the twine to either end of
this, then placed some soft down he had in his pocket onto the wooden block,
placing the point of the straight piece of wood on top of this.