Empire of Avarice (30 page)

The last man tried to flee, seeing that it was one-on-one
now, but Vosgaris kicked a stool across the floor into the man and sent him
tumbling noisily into a table which crashed down on him. Vosgaris stepped up to
him and pulled him up by the collar with some effort – the man was quite
solidly built. “Now, either you tell me or you end up like your friends there.”

The man stared at the dripping blade and felt real fear.

____

Terror had come to Bragal. From the village Astiras had
sent out his mercenaries to spread fire and destruction to the district. The
message was clear; submit to the empire or die. It took three villages to be
burned to the ground along with their inhabitants, save for a few who were
deliberately allowed to escape, for the rest to come to their senses. No more
the civilised approach by the Kastanians, that was sneered at and taken
advantage of by the rebels; now fire was being fought with fire and it was the
outclassed Bragalese who were the ones being hunted.

Astiras moved on from the first village after all the
buildings had been used for firewood and all the beasts for food. They moved to
a second village that also foolishly resisted and it suffered the same fate. Anyone
looking down on their route from a high hilltop would see that the army’s path
was inexorably south-east, heading straight for Zofela along the only
recognisable road in the region.

Now the villagers were offering food, women and animals
to the army as it approached. They had learned that Kastania would no longer
tolerate murder, theft and defiance, nor be hampered by those within Kastan who
whined about their right to rule themselves. Astiras brought law and order to
Bragal at the point of a sword, and woe betide anyone who thought of resisting.
Only in one place did the locals try to stop them, and that was probably at the
behest of the man ruling Zofela. This man, Elmar, had styled himself ‘King of
Bragal’, and had ordered the stand as a last desperate attempt to thwart the
advancing Kastanian army.

The road was blocked with barricades of fallen trees and
piles of snow and ice. Behind them the Bragalese massed, armed with their axes,
spears and swords. Astiras slowly walked his mount out in front of his halted
army and studied the road block, almost contemptuously. At his rear the
mercenaries waited eagerly, and beyond them the two militia spear companies
stood, wondering whether they would, at last, be pressed into proper action. They
were still not trusted by the emperor, and had so far been limited to road
clearing and camp building on the campaign. Behind them were the imperial
archers, acting as rearguard.

Teduskis came alongside and studied the block. “How many
do you think they number, sire?”

“A hundred, no more. You agree?”

Teduskis nodded almost absently. “That barricade is of
wood, sire. We have archers.”

Astiras grinned suddenly. “Fire? Good thinking, man. Go
arrange it.”

The two archer companies were ordered to form up in
front of the army and prepare their arrows. Then the spear units were pressed
into making fires in the camp pots, using oil. The flames flickered into life
and the archers pressed cloth onto their first arrow, tying it to the shaft
just behind the metal head, then dipped them in more oil that was poured into
vessels at their feet. Two hundred and forty archers waited, looking at
Astiras.

The emperor raised his arm. “Archers, one volley, light
arrows!”

The archers dipped their oil soaked arrows into the
braziers and their faces were illuminated by the flames that sprang up. It took
a few moments for them to step back into line and stand there, the fire taking
hold on their arrows.

“Archers, draw!”

All stood sideways on to the target, the barricade, and
thrust their left arm forward, clutching the bow. At the same time they pulled
back on the string, pulling the flame close to their left hand.

“Archers, loose!”

The flames roared through the air as the arrows were
released and tiny pin points of light sped towards the wood of the road block. A
few extinguished themselves in the air, but the majority struck the barricade
and immediately flames were licking at the branches, twigs and trunks of the
trees. Some even found their way to those behind the barricade and cries filled
the air.

“Reload!”

A second time the archers dipped their arrows into the
oil and then ignited them. “Loose!” Once more a stream of fire sped into the
wood and added to the flames already spreading across it. Some of the defenders
were throwing snow over the wood in a desperate attempt to extinguish the
flames, and succeeding to some degree.

“Normal volley – present!”

Now the archers nocked their arrows without setting fire
to them. Astiras knew what they had to aim at now. “Pick your targets – aim for
the guts!”

The men drew their strings back fully this time as there
was now no worry about burning their hands or faces. The mercenary archers with
their mountain bows and the imperial archers with their much more powerful
composite ones paused. “Loose!”

A volley of arrows hissed through the air and struck
wood, snow and the flesh and bone of the defenders. More cries came from those
behind the barricade which was now burning in a few places and smoking in
others. The arrow storm had cut down those trying to throw snow onto the
burning sections and now the flames were taking hold.

“Volley by section,” Astiras called out. “Captains, give
the commands!”

The emperor turned his mount around and walked back,
accompanied by Teduskis, to the spear companies. He looked down at Captain
Sepan. “Well, Captain, your time has now come. Ahead are Bragal rebels. Your
task is to clear them away from the road and get that barricade out of my way. There
are fewer than a hundred of them now the archers have done their work; I want
to see if you and your men are up to this task.”

“Sire!” Sepan saluted. He turned to his men. “Dirt
Eaters! To the front, march!”

The other captain issued a similar order to his company.
A hundred and ninety men stepped past the archers and prepared themselves. Ahead
the barricade was blazing away and behind it they could hear curses, cries and
shouts of defiance. Astiras leaned back in his saddle and looked briefly at
Teduskis, his expression deliberately neutral. Teduskis shrugged slightly, then
waited like the rest of the army.

Sepan motioned to the other captain to circle his men
around the barricade to the left, while he would take his men to the right. On
command the two companies marched off, at the double rate, and plunged into the
snow on either side of the road. They ploughed through the calf-height
whiteness, kicking it up in showers of powder, and bore down on the Bragelese
position. The untrained peasantry behind the barricade saw the threat coming at
them from both sides, determined men with gleaming spear points aimed at them. There
were about twenty men lying close to the barricade, not moving, and others
slowly making their way back down the road holding wounds. The men remaining
behind the barricade were outnumbered nearly three to one by the spearmen.

One raised his axe and threw it at the approaching men
but a shield came up and the weapon bounced off it and fell harmlessly into the
snow. He uttered a vile invective and turned away. “Let’s get out of here,” he
muttered and began running. Suddenly the entire group scattered, throwing away
their weapons and running as fast as they could. The spearmen roared in delight
and broke ranks to pursue the fleeing villagers.

Astiras saw the rout beginning. “Teduskis, I want a
prisoner, just one. Go get him!”

Teduskis grabbed his mount’s reins and slapped its rump.
“Hah!” he snapped and set off through the snow towards one individual who was
floundering up a slope, scattering snow in his panic to get away. Teduskis
narrowly missed a spearman running after the peasant, then bore down on the
man, his sword raised high. As he came alongside the man he slapped the blade
down, catching the unfortunate on the skull with the flat of his blade,
knocking the man to the ground. He slowed, stopped, and turned around. The
peasant was lying stunned in the snow, moving feebly, the spearman approaching
fast, his face red and his breath clouding the air ahead of him.

“Very good,” Teduskis acknowledged the spearman’s
efforts. “Go take him to the emperor with my compliments.”

“Sire!” the spearman nodded, a serious-faced man of
about thirty years. He didn’t look like a soldier, and was probably a former
clerk or the like. The spearman grabbed the villager by the collar and hauled
him up with difficulty, leaning on the spear. The villager stumbled around,
shedding snow, and looked terrified. “C’mon, you,” the spearman prodded the man
with his blade in the back, “get moving.”

Teduskis watched as the prisoner was pushed back towards
the road, then, satisfied the Bragal villager wasn’t going to give trouble,
walked his mount back to where the so-called ‘battle’ had occurred. The
spearmen had been called back to clear up the mess and bodies were being thrown
into the drifts on either side, and the burning branches and chopped up trees
were being dragged aside gingerly, the spearmen using their spears or untouched
lengths of wood to do so.

Astiras was talking to the prisoner from his saddle and
it was clear he was giving him instructions. Ahead the road snaked through a
few valleys, surrounded by hills, and vanished into the distance. On the other
side of those hills was Zofela, their destination. Teduskis began barking out
orders to the groups of men standing by the roadside doing nothing, and they
stepped off the road and began searching through the undergrowth just in case
anyone was hiding there. Teduskis tutted sadly; these raw recruits still had
plenty to learn, judging by their lack of attention. In the past that had
caused plenty of deaths, and there was no way they wanted a repeat of that.

Fortunately they now had the supreme authority with
them, rather than being hundreds of leagues away and with no idea of the
situation, difficulties and condition in Bragal. The last emperor had been
advised by fools and people with hidden agendas, always working against the
achievements of the army and often championing the heroic struggle the rebels
were putting up to gain independence.

Now there was nobody to tell them to surrender their
gains, bought at the cost of blood, nobody to accuse only them of atrocities
and to ignore those committed by the other side. There was nobody shouting in
the streets of Kastan, Niake and Turslenka that they had no right to be in
Bragal. There was nobody claiming that the peace-loving Bragalese only wanted
to be free so they could enjoy their lives without fear of oppression would be
listened to or influence the feckless cowards in the palace.

Teduskis wished he could get hold of those who had
worked so hard at undermining their efforts in the past. He’d have them all put
to death. No doubt they were still around, hiding away, plotting some other
underhand cowardly scheme to weaken imperial strength. Once this war was over,
he hoped that there would be the time and resources set aside to hunting these
traitors down.

He brought his steed up to the emperor and caught the
end of his commands to the frightened prisoner. The man was given a letter from
Astiras to the commander of Zofela to surrender the city to him and be spared,
or to resist and suffer the consequences. Astiras also wanted the prisoner to
tell the inhabitants of the city what he had witnessed for himself, so that
they would know in no uncertain terms what awaited them if they were foolish
enough to resist.

The war in Bragal would be decided at Zofela.

Twice Princess Amne nearly slipped into death, but
Lalaas tended her closely and saw the danger signs, so that he was able to give
her a potion of crushed leaves of the winter evergreen plant hoblis, infused
with hot water made of melted snow. Lalaas knew the berries were poisonous but
the leaves had a curing property, able to lower temperature in the body. Many
ailing animals ate it in winter when they fell ill and it had saved many of
them, and this had been noticed by shepherds and farmers in ages past so, the
plant had become known to those who had field craft skills and practiced
medicine.

Sadly the eastern kingdoms tended to destroy this
knowledge as it went against their religious teachings; only the power of their
priests, in the name of their god, could cure, and if the patient died then it
was the will of their god that this would happen. Anyone who argued was
declared a heretic and burned to death in a frenzy of religious fervour. It
only led to ignorance which, Lalaas reasoned, was precisely what the eastern
religion wished for. That way they could control their populations more easily.

Amne’s fever broke on the tenth day but she was terribly
weak, and it took a further two sevendays to feed her up on the broth Lalaas
made twice a day, and then she had to strengthen her muscles again to enable
her to travel reasonably well. Lying ill for such a long time had a wasting
effect on the muscles, and it took another two sevendays to build her up so
that she could walk, run and ride with any degree of confidence.

During that time the winter faded and spring began to
make itself known. The snows retreated and the temperature climbed. The equines
were allowed out to graze and the owner of the barn began to visit to see when
the visitors would be going. They had outstayed their welcome and only the
continued dribble of coins had stayed their eviction. But now Lalaas was at the
end of his money and tomorrow they would have to leave.

Amne sat holding a hot cup of broth, looking at Lalaas
thoughtfully. The hunter went about making a replacement strap for a saddle
that had frayed, deliberately ignoring her look. Finally, not being able to
stand the silence any longer, Amne spoke. “Lalaas, you saved my life.”

The hunter looked up, shrugged, grinned briefly and
returned to his leather working. “I could do nothing else, ma’am. To be honest
it was an easier task after the others deserted us. I could concentrate on you
rather than worry what the others were up to.”

“And I shall decide what to do about Theros and the
others when this is finished. But to the matter of you tending me. You have
seen me more than any other apart from my mother. I would be grateful if you
didn’t speak of this to anyone, ever.”

“I shall never speak of it, ma’am, to anyone. It is
something private between the two of us. You are still a princess and I am a
mere hunter, and when this journey is completed then we will go our separate
ways and you will have your future in the palace and I shall return to living
off the land.”

Amne put her mug down on a handy bale of hay. “That is
so, but for the duration of this journey I think it best if we become good
companions. I owe you my life and that is something that I can’t repay – at
least while I am here in Bragal. But possibly in the future I might be able to
show you my gratitude in some manner befitting someone of my position. Would
you be happy living off the land like this for the rest of your life, or would
you be happier with a more comfortable job?”

Lalaas put down the leather and knife he was holding. “Ma’am,
I’m a simple hunter; this is what I do. I do hope in the future I marry and
have children, but to be in an imperial office or court is not for me.”

Amne smiled. “I, too, will marry one day. In my case it
will be a convenient marriage; I shall be expected to produce sons and
daughters to continue the Koros dynasty, and shall be attached to whatever and
where ever my husband’s court will be. But I might be able to grant you land
for your family or a house or so on. Don’t say anything now; I’m not promising
anything as the future is uncertain, but I do intend to return the enormous
favour you’ve done for me.”

Lalaas said nothing, but nodded slightly. Perhaps
something could be done, but he hadn’t saved Amne’s life so that she could
return a favour to him. Instead he changed the subject. “What of Theros? He was
to guide you in the diplomacy once we got to Branak.”

“Him!” Amne snorted. “Feckless man. He shall be punished
for his desertion – if he survives.”

“Do you know he took all the diplomatic papers with
him?”

Amne shook her head, outraged. “Then I’m to conduct the
negotiations without any help at all! You say his tracks led south?”

“I did; it appears he was trying to get to Mazag rather
than return to Kastania.”

Amne thought for a while. “It would seem he is intending
to carry out his own diplomatic mission. What chance does he have of getting
there?”

“Not much,” Lalaas shrugged, picking up the leather and
his knife again. “The winter was bad; he had no survival abilities little
knowledge and no idea of the route to take, except that if he carries on
travelling south he’ll eventually reach the Ister River.”

“And if he crosses it?”

“He’ll not be in Mazag and could easily miss the route
to take. He could end up – if he survives by some freak of chance – in the
wilds of Litania or even Risania.”

“Two lands foreign and hostile; not even you would fancy
your chances there, Lalaas.”

Lalaas smiled faintly. “I may survive; Theros would not.
In any event, the path to take is south-east, not south. The crossing near
Bukrat is the one we need to take; further west are swamps and marshlands and
if Theros headed directly south he’d end up there. That is a wilderness with no
inhabitation save for the wild beasts. Of course, he might have happened across
a Bragal village before then.”

“And if he did?”

Lalaas mimicked drawing his knife across his throat. That
effectively stopped the conversation.

____

The next morning they took their leave of the barn that
had become their home for so long. The animal smell had become very strong and
Amne for one was glad to be in the saddle in the open air. Her clothes had been
washed and dried and she felt clean. Lalaas would have done that while she was
ill, and she wondered once again at just how much of her body he saw and
touched. It put the slap he’d given her into its place, and the least she could
do was to forgive and forget all about that, and indeed had told him so. Lalaas
had thanked her and gone about his tasks as if it were nothing. Amne had been
puzzled by that; she had expected something more, but the longer she was with
this man the more she had come to realise there was little that got him
animated. He was a dour but dependable man, which probably was why her father
has assigned him to guarding her.

They set off, each trailing a pack animal. Even though
Theros had taken some of the pack animals, he’d not taken them all. Their
supplies were low but Lalaas assured her that there would be plenty of food to
find now the snows had gone from the low lands and valleys. The hills and
mountains still had their shroud of white, and the air was chill, particularly
in the mornings, but the sun shone stronger and warmer, and the weather was
improving all the time.

Lalaas told her there would be rains, some quite heavy,
but this was a blessing as in the summer things could get quite dry and hot. He
would take a route that avoided any village and got them to the Ister the
safest possible way. It might not be the most direct route, but now there were
only two of them they had to be even more careful.

They had been gone two days when they encountered
people. Four figures were butchering a carcass close to the roadside as they
crested a rise, and they were seen immediately. Lalaas looked at Amne quickly. “Your
highness, what I may say in the next few moments may offend you deeply, but
please go along with what I’m about to say, as our lives may well rest on
deceiving these Bragalese peasants. Look downcast and say nothing unless you’re
directly addressed. Please.”

Amne looked a little scared, but nodded all the same. Bragalese!
If they knew who she was both their lives would be worth nothing. Fortunately
her riding clothes were rough and weather-worn, and no longer looked clean and
neat as they had when they had left Kastan. A few washes had also left their
mark.

The Bragalese peasants had stopped cutting up the bovine
beast and two had crossed the road so that Lalaas and Amne would have to ride
in between them if they wished to pass, and if they turned about that would
send a clear signal to them that they should not be there. Two were armed with
rough bows, and that was probably how they’d dispatched the beast. The other
two had knives and spears.

Lalaas halted a few paces from the first of the Bragal
peasants. “Hail and well met,” he said cheerfully. “A fine kill, good sir?”

“Ours, not yours,” the nearest peasant growled, his face
hostile. “You are not of this area.”

“No. We travel to Valchia, hoping to avoid the war. Not
a place to travel through.”

The peasant grunted. He looked at Amne with interest. “Yours?”

“Of course,” Lalaas answered. “For sale in Bukrat. Keeps
my bed warm at night. By the time she is up for sale in Bukrat she’ll be used
to pleasuring a man the correct way.”

“A slaver,” the peasant said with respect. “How much?”

Lalaas chuckled. “For this one? Far more than you or
your friends would ever be able to afford. But I can fetch you a bed warmer
from Bukrat if you so wish on my return journey.”

He felt Amne’s outrage emanating through the air and
hoped she’d keep her mouth shut. He didn’t look at her – he didn’t dare – for
she was supposed to be chattel, and therefore not worth a look. The peasant
clucked his tongue. “I would have to come with you to choose. I do not intend
travelling that far. But if you come this way again bring a few slaves for us
to use and you will be paid well.”

“Fifteen for a bed warmer, twenty if she’s pretty. A
hundred if she’s a virgin.”

“A hundred!” the peasant gasped. “That is theft!”

“Wouldn’t you like to deflower a young, pretty, unsoiled
virgin?” Lalaas leered at him. “One who does not know a man? Think on it, a
young, firm delicious virgin all for yourself, just a hundred.”

The other peasants were making encouraging noises to
him, all jostling his arm and making obscene noises. “Yes! And when he’s
finished with her we can all take our turn!”

“Shut up!” the lead peasant snapped. “I’m getting worked
up just thinking about it. Very well, a virgin. But these beasts will have to pay
me for their turn at her! Come this way next spring and a hundred will be
yours. Just ask for Lampter at the village of Hekstat; it’s just over the hills
there.”

“Very well,” Lalaas nodded. “A virgin it shall be; but
if you’re not here I’ll take her onto Kastan and sell her to some frustrated
balding pot-bellied middle-aged noble for two hundred and he’ll bite my hand
off!”

Lampter roared in outrage. “No Kastanian swine will have
what is my due! Be here in the spring before the equinox!”

Lalaas tugged on Amne’s bridle. “I shall. Come, wench. Or
you’ll receive another beating.”

Amne lowered her head, as much to hide her reddening
cheeks and blazing eyes than anything else, but she dutifully followed. Behind
her the peasants roared in mirth, then called out for him to ride well and give
the girl a regular beating.

They rode in silence for a few moments, then when they
had gone round a bend in the road, hidden by a slight rise, and followed the
course of a small stream, they halted. Lalaas turned to the still furious Amne.
“Thank you, ma’am. It must have been difficult not to say anything.”

“Difficult?” Amne spat. “Such outrageous talk! Those
peasants deserved a good hiding!”

Lalaas shrugged. “It’s a way of life here, ma’am.”

“Way of life? No wonder father is determined to defeat
them! Barbarians! What do you know of this – slavery?”

Lalaas led the animals to the stream to allow them to
drink. The water was flowing fairly rapidly with melt water, and would probably
be extremely cold, but the beasts were thirsty for all four began to drink
happily, snorting every few moments. “It goes on – men, woman and children are
taken prisoner in the occasional village raid in Bragal and sold in the slave
market of Bukrat. Bukrat is the only place in this region that still carries
out the practice, but it’s widespread in Risania and the western lands.”

“I thought it banned! Kastania stopped it centuries ago,
surely?”

“Kastania stopped it officially,” Lalaas said cynically,
“but it goes on regardless. Slavers make huge profits.”

“I shall speak to my father about this,” Amne resolved
heatedly. “The way I was spoken about – it was degrading! Why, they believed I
was nothing more than an object!”

“Women are frequently treated that way in Bragal,”
Lalaas observed. “Just hope that we’re not captured here. I’ll probably die but
you may well end up a play thing of some Bragalese.”

“I’d rather die!” Amne stated.

“You would be more fortunate if you did,” Lalaas said. “But
if they had tried anything they would have regretted it,” the hunter tapped his
sword hanging from a saddle scabbard.