Empire of Avarice (61 page)

Polak wiped his mouth, slowly gaining control. He
planted both hands on the table top and leaned across the table, staring at the
now silent princess, his expression unreadable. Lalaas gripped his sword hilt
and tensed, eyeing the guards standing expectantly behind their commander. Lalaas
checked the floor in a flash. Clear. Lalaas would have to get round the table
and get at the right hand guard before any of them made a move.

Lalaas was confident he could wipe the first guard out,
but then he’d have the second and Polak to deal with. The other problem was the
non-combatants; the scribes and attendants. They’d try to get away and probably
block Lalaas trying to get to Polak. The other option was to vault the table
directly and send his sword blade down into Polak’s throat. He could do that
without much trouble, but they he’d have two armed guards to face. Plus
probably those outside who would burst in at the first sign of trouble.

He glanced at Amne; his duty was to protect her at all
costs. Astiras had been very specific about that. If necessary he was to
sacrifice his life to save hers. He would not use force unless the Mazag did
something stupid. Then he would turn the room into a charnel house. Polak’s
head he’d use as a war mace.

Polak balled his fists, then looked at Lalaas, his eyes
boring into the hunter’s, trying to see his soul; what he was seeking Lalaas
didn’t know, and kept his grey eyes neutral and unblinking, presenting an
impenetrable mask to the Mazag general. Polak looked away. The careful stare
he’d got back gave him little comfort. The princesses’ bodyguard was a
dangerous man. These Kastanians were not the weak, effeminate cowards his
prince had said they were; their men were hard, loyal and masculine. Their
women, if this one was anything to go by, were resourceful, intelligent and
beautiful. “My compliments, ma’am,” Polak said, a wry smile playing across his
lips as he sat down. “You can out-curse the best of my men. Are you sure you
don’t have Mazag blood in you somewhere?”

Amne smiled playfully. “A woman should have secrets; it
keeps men guessing about them, General.”

Polak clapped his hands together. “Ah! You tease me,
Princess. I wouldn’t be surprised if your father or mother had some of our
blood in their veins somewhere in the past. But no matter, I shall order the
document studied and corrected, and not by Theros, as you clearly stated.”

“So he is working for you, now?”

“He offered,” Polak smiled. “He felt his career
prospects with Kastania were limited. And I need an expert in Kastania and your
customs if I am to act efficiently as a friendly governor. I hope you
understand?”

Amne nodded briefly. Theros’s defection was not
unexpected, but unwelcome all the same. At least that would sort out the
problem of whether or not to take him back to Kastan for treason. “We shall
return later to read the corrected treaty. If it is acceptable I shall sign
it.”

Polak bowed and stood as Amne rose up, and, escorted by
Lalaas, left the chamber. The Mazag general remained standing staring at the
now closed door for a few moments. “It matters not,” he muttered under his
breath, “whether it says what you want. We’ll take your lands when the time is
ripe.”

The winds blew hard across the bare rocks and twisted
spires of the Kaprenian highlands. A tortured environment, the region had been
victim of earthquakes throughout time, and it had created a fantastic series of
rock-strewn valleys and jagged mountain peaks. Here and there defiant trees and
shrubs clung to hillsides and slopes, but they were few and far between. What
vegetation existed here lay in the valleys along the infrequent watercourses.

Kaprenia lay to the west of Lodria. The north, near the
Great Sea, was an impassable range of high mountains and nobody ruled there. It
was nominally Kastanian or Tybar, whoever claimed the surrounding lands, but
within those rearing fingers that reached towards the sky, only the animals and
the few hardy outcasts of society existed, ruling no-one but themselves and
subject to nobody.

One main road ran through the region towards the
Kaprenian capital, Imakum, new capital of the united Tybar tribes. The few
settlements of the countryside had been either destroyed in the invasion
thirteen years ago or had been abandoned as tales of murder and rape reached
the defenceless people’s ears.

Now it was mostly a deserted land, populated by nomads,
the occasional shepherd or those subject – so they believed – to no laws. The
Tybar had a few patrols they sent out but Kaprenia wasn’t really controllable
except along the one main road that ran from Kastanian territory to Imakum. Closer
to Imakum cultivable land lay on the wider valleys where rivers met and it was
there that much of the food of the region was produced.

Here, closer to the new frontier there was little, only
a few wild beasts, and one or two military outposts the new masters of Kaprenia
had set up. One such place stood at the head of two converging canyons, formed
centuries past by now vanished watercourses. The land was flat and it was here,
alongside a drinking well, a corralled enclosure had been built out of what
wood had been found lying around. The three buildings were of stone, taken from
the ground or the hills. There was plenty of stone, and a skilled mason could
make anything given the time and enough labour to build what he wished.

Labour there was in abundance. Slaves taken by the Tybar
when they had conquered Imakum had been put to use, building what the Tybar
demanded, and the miserable ex-Kastanian populace existed in a nightmare world
of servitude, beatings and exploitation. They had been betrayed, so they had
been told, by their gods, their emperors and their military. So now they were
to serve the mighty Tybar and their one true god, Lamka. One of the three
buildings was a slave blockhouse. The second was the command post-cum-barracks
for the Tybar soldiers, and the last a stables.

The stables were what Gavan and his seven men were
interested in. They were here to steal as many of the Tybar steeds as they
could get their hands on. They would, if things went to plan, breed an entire
military machine to fight the Tybar at their own game. It may take a decade or
so but by the gods they’d deliver back ten-fold what had been inflicted on
them. Gavan lay on his stomach staring down the hill at the movements of the
enemy soldiers. There appeared to be twenty or so. A captain commanded the unit
and there were nineteen soldiers including a sergeant. All were equipped with
an equine, padded armour, a curved sword that helped a rider make efficient
cuts while in the saddle, and one of those dreaded horn and wood bows the Tybar
had.

Well, this time they would meet like with like. Four of
the men with Gavan were elite Taboz archers. Taboz, until it had thrown off
Kastanian rule, had always supplied the empire with archers of unmatched
quality. They were tough, strong and had huge shoulders. They needed to be
tough to draw and use the Taboz Bow, a huge wicked weapon that struck fear into
the hearts of anyone who faced it. So the emperors had made them subject, and
recruited them into their armies, not surprisingly.

The four archers were silent, waiting. They had grown up
in the wild mountains that thrust themselves up from the northern shore of the
Balq Sea where Taboz was located. It was a wild, hard region and they had honed
their skills well until being recruited by the Kastanians into their army. They
were amongst the last of their people to be recruited, for the whole region had
declared itself free of Kastanian rule the following year. Not many archers had
returned to the mountains, having found that life was much more pleasant in the
Kastanian army with food, clothing, warmth, shelter, women and a wage, most of
which weren’t guaranteed back home.

Gavan nodded and led the other three down in his wake,
trying not to dislodge any stones from the hillside. The occasional shrub
helped mask their approach. It was late afternoon and the Tybar were mostly in
the main building eating their dinner. Three guards only could be seen; one was
guarding the slave block, the second patrolling the far side and the third
looking bored along the roadside.

Gavan reached the bottom and drew his sword. He was
three lengths of the long house away from the wooden fence that marked the
boundary to the whole complex. He could cover the distance in no more than the
time his heart would beat ten times. But long enough for a Tybar guard to draw
his bow and skewer him. He crouched in the lee of a boulder and allowed the
three others, all members of his bodyguard unit, to join him. He then signalled
to the archers waiting in their places to take out the guards when the chance
came.

He led his companions out onto the road. They got
halfway before the road guard spotted them. He stood amazed for a moment, then
grabbed his bow that was slung over his shoulder. One of the Taboz archers on
the hillside rose up, arrow already nocked. He took aim rapidly, and then the
arrow was flying through the air. It was a long shot but the arrow flew
unerringly to its target. The guard staggered with the impact and wondered at
the short length of wood sprouting from his chest with feathers neatly glued to
it, then darkness claimed him and he fell backwards into the dust, arms out-flung.

Gavan ran hard for the stable block, sword held tightly.
His three companions spread out and vaulted the fence as one. They ran round
the main accommodation block in two groups of two. The second guard, standing
against the slave block, came fully awake as the four men came into sight at
once. The archers on the hillside couldn’t get a clear shot, but it mattered
not, for the distance to the guard was short enough for Gavan to reach him
before he could use his bow. The guard realised that in an instant and instead
pulled out his curved sword.

“Get the equines,” Gavan snapped to the others and
slashed at the guard. The blow was met above the guard’s head and the Tybar, a
thin, sharp-faced man with dark skin, gritted his teeth in effort and hatred
and counter slashed, intending to open Gavan’s guts with a wild swipe. Gavan
met it fully, the sound of the blades ringing clearly across the complex.

The third guard, standing a fair distance away, heard
the sound and turned his head in curiosity. His surprise was clear and he
fumbled for his bow. The four archers on the hillside could see him and put
arrows to their strings and raised their weapons, gauging the distance. The
Taboz bow could kill at huge distances and the Tybar guard was well within the
lethal range, especially as he wasn’t armoured. Four arrows winged through the
clear sky and landed around him. Two missed, landing with deep impacting noises
that distracted the guard, and he could do little else as the other two arrows
struck. One took him in the thigh, the other the left shoulder, spinning him
round. He hit the ground noisily, gasping in pain and shock.

Gavan pushed the remaining guard up against the slave
block, trying to keep his face away from the hooked fingers of the Tybar
soldier as he sought to shred flesh from his face. Gavan’s free hand reached
across and held the sinewy hand and they struggled there for a few heartbeats,
feet scrabbling in the stony soil, attempting to gain some sort of purchase.

The three others got to the stables and began looping
harnesses over the surprised equines’ heads. They left the saddles behind as
Kastanian men were generally bigger than the Tybar and the saddles would be too
small. Gavan, meanwhile, had stepped back, narrowly being missed by the guard’s
desperate down swipe. The guard yelled out in alarm, but the other Tybar were
already looking out of the windows, having been alerted by the sounds of the
fight.

Gavan stepped back and then forward, swinging up. The
blade took the Tybar under the chin, almost cutting his head off. The man
crashed back into the block house, bright red arterial blood spraying out into
the sunshine. As he slumped into an untidy heap, Gavan swung round. The doors
were opening at either end and angry Tybar were pouring out. Time to be gone.

An arrow took the first in the shoulder blades, pitching
the man onto his face where he kicked his fading strength away spasmodically. The
others jumped over him, blades held high. Three grabbed their bows and were
fumbling arrows onto the strings, but they were unable to use them as the first
of their comrades were in the way. Instead they turned to see where the arrow
had come from.

A second arrow buried itself into one of the Tybar
archers’ ribs, puncturing the right lung, knocking him back against the wall. He
groaned, gripped the few fingerlengths of arrow that protruded from his body,
and slid to his backside, leaving a smear of red against the wood, for the
arrow had exited out of his back.

The two remaining archers split left and right, eyes
wide in horror. They’d never faced such a weapon before. One raised his bow and
desperately looked to see where one of his adversaries were, but he only
received a numbing blow in the sternum. The dull crack of the bone registered
but then he could feel or hear nothing. He was lying spread-eagled in the road
with an arrow sticking out of the centre of his chest. The last archer lost his
nerve and scampered back into the block house, whimpering in fear.

Gavan ran for the stables and yelled to his three men to
get up on equine-back and get out of there. One man came out, leading four
beasts by the reins. Gavan grabbed two and hauled himself up onto the back of
one of the startled beasts. He didn’t often ride bare back but at such times as
this one didn’t stop to worry about minor details. The damned beast was going
to take him out of there even if he had to insert the point of his sword up the
animal’s rectum.

The others came out on equines, dragging two each by
their reins. The animals were reluctant to move but a few slaps on their rumps
with the flats of swords got them going. The first Tybar soldier came up to
Gavan, intending to cut him down but Gavan rammed the heel of his foot into the
man’s face, smashing his nose. The satisfying crunch of splintering bone and
cartilage pleased the Kastanian soldier and he bolted past two pairs of
grasping hands. Something tugged on his trousers and then he was free, two
Tybar tumbling into the dust, having been knocked over by the equines.

The others came in his wake, kicking up a cloud of dust,
and the Tybar roared in outrage. Twelve of their beasts were being stolen from
under their noses. The captain screamed in fury and waved at his men to shoot
the thieves down. The line of Tybar dropped their swords and un-slung their
small composite bows, reaching for the first in their sheaf of arrows.

They had forgotten about the Taboz archers on the
hillside in their anger.

That was corrected when four shafts cut down four of the
group, pinning one to a fence post, killing two others and leaving the fourth
screaming in agony from a gut shot and thrashing in the dust.

Swearing mightily, the captain dived for cover behind
the fence, joined fairly swiftly by his remaining men. They watched impotently
as the thieves and their steeds vanished round the corner of the hill, then up
on the hill above them the four archers began moving across to the brow and as
one dropped out of sight.

“Go see what equines are left!” the captain barked to
one of his men cowering behind the fence.

The soldier looked fearfully up at the hill.

“Fool of a dung beetle!” the captain cuffed him around
the head. “Those canines have gone! Now go!”

The soldier reluctantly got up and scuttled swiftly
around the block house. The captain slowly got to his feet and scowled at the
scene of carnage. Bodies lay scattered all over the roadside and verges. The
man with the gut wound was still screaming. The captain stood above him, then
sent his sword blade across his throat. “Silence!” The man abruptly ceased
making a noise and flopped to an inert state at the captain’s feet.

The sergeant shakily came up to him and stood stiffly to
attention. “Most honoured sir, I beg to report ten dead and three wounded.”

“Filthy porcines of Kastanians! They shall all regret
their actions!” the captain growled, turning round. “How many beasts did they
steal?”

“Honoured sir, they took twelve. We have eight
remaining.”

“Then, sergeant, take two men and ride back to Imakum
and take news of this attack to the honoured governor. He must learn of this as
soon as possible.”

The captain wandered back to the yard that separated the
block house from the slave quarters. Two men escorted him. The captain slowly
regarded the slave building. “We should send a message to the Kastanians,” he
said slowly. “To teach them the consequence of coming to our lands and
committing acts of such barbarity. They will have to learn that they cannot
simply think we will do nothing. It is time they were reminded of why they fear
the West so much.”