Prince of Wrath (31 page)

Vosgaris thumped his chest and stared at the prince’s back as Jorqel moved off along the corridor. “I’ll put a harness on and carry you round the parade ground, too, sire,” he muttered in disgust. He moved off himself, but in the other direction. His headache was the security of the wedding and it was clearly beyond the ability of the administration to handle it. He had two jobs to do and there were not enough watches in the day to do them efficiently. He was looking forward to going to Zofela; at least there the place to look after would be small and the possible problems reduced as a result.

Jorqel himself was missing his right hand man, Gavan. So many problems that came his way on a day to day basis could be handled by his lieutenant, but he wasn’t there. He was busy taking care of moving the Army of the West down to Aconia. He acknowledged the salutes of the guards as he reached his room. He closed the door and exhaled noisily. After being out in the wilds of Bragal and then Lodria these past five years or so, he had got used to more primitive surroundings. The luxurious drapery and floor rugs didn’t fit well with his mind. It was as if he were in some foreign palace, not the palace of his own lands. The chaos of Slenna castle was something he was more used to, and the huge poster bed in his bed chamber was something he’d never slept in before, even when growing up. His family had been just another noble House of Kastania and their domain had been centred on Zofela, which was a poor provincial town. They’d made their money from timber, mostly, and timber was what they had built their residences from, rather than stone or marble.

He recalled his father had scoffed at the marble residences of the richer families of Zipria and Makenia, stating timber was easier, cheaper and more workable. The cost of transporting stone or marble to their Bragalese estates would have been prohibitive, not to mention the ‘commissions’ the other Houses would add on top of them for taking the raw material from their lands. They reckoned that as a House of the empire they could afford these extra fees. Astiras had told them to put those where the sun didn’t shine. He hadn’t endeared himself to the other Houses.

Jorqel supposed Astiras was getting his own back on them now. What their reaction would be when he ascended the throne was anyone’s guess. Astiras was a strong man, a giant. His reputation, forged out of years of pitiless suppression of the Bragalese revolt, as well as brilliant tactics against the Tybar in the hopeless cause in Kaprenia, was well-founded. Anyone who took him on knew they were likely to lose. But what of his son, Jorqel? Was he cut from the same cloth or was he a pale shadow? It was something Jorqel himself wrestled with on occasions. He felt a crushing pressure to live up to his father’s reputation. He could not afford to lose a battle. Astiras had never lost one, and this was what helped promote the aura of Koros invincibility. One bad battle and all that would be broken.

He unbuckled his belt and threw his sword and scabbard onto a chair and slumped into another, set against the writing desk by the right hand wall. He ran a hand through his dark hair. This Lombert Soul affair would have to be settled quickly. He knew his men were better than the rebels, but he had to pick and choose the right place to fight. The enemy had spearmen and cavalry. He would use archers. Therefore he had to pick the right place to hurt them and protect his archers at the same time. An open plain was not suitable. Southern Bathenia was, fortunately, not plainland.

He had to think clearly and logically, and not let his anxiety about Sannia cloud his mind. Sannia. He put his head in his hands. Now he was away from everyone else, he could show his worry and concern. It was all he really wanted right now, that beautiful, bright ray of sunlight. She had lit his life up and he knew she was the right one for him. She was not as those other women he’d known and loved. Most of those had been brief liaisons and happenstance, and a quick passionate act behind a closed door, or in one or two cases a hayrick and on a river bank. Being a nobleman’s son had made him extra desirable to women, but he’d never been serious about any of them; he’d taken advantage of their wishes but at the same time never wishing to get close to them. Then had come his entry into the army and that had taken him away from those wishful women. To be sure, there had been a couple of occasions he’d spent a night with a woman but it was during a campaign and he’d moved on the following day and that had been all there was to that.

All had changed though when he’d caught sight of the young Sannia. There was not just her beauty that had drawn him to her. No, not just the aesthetics, as a companion of him had often said in times gone by. She had that intellectual attraction too, a bright and witty personality that he found just as desirable. There was for Jorqel the added necessity in getting together with a woman who would almost certainly one day be empress, and would be needed to show sense and a cool temperament in dealing with the many problems that would come her way when she did become that. Sannia looked as if she were the perfect woman for that role, and although only sixteen or thereabouts now, by the time Astiras died she would be much more mature and prepared to step into Isbel’s shoes.

To let her slip through his fingers would be terrible; he needed her. He would need her in the future and he needed her now. The longer she was kept a prisoner the greater the chance something awful would happen. The feeling of urgency was growing day by day and he couldn’t hold it off much longer. He had to bring Soul to battle and to rescue his beloved sooner rather than later.

His eyes wandered to the wooden clothes rack standing in the far corner of the room next to the door that led to his bed chamber. Draped over it were his best velvet clothes. He smiled briefly. Someone had been efficient. Gavan probably in Slenna, and Admiral Fostan. Fostan was patrolling the Aester Sea, making sure no pirates sailed in to threaten the trade routes, and he had agreed to bring the army to Aconia. He couldn’t wait in Kastan City for Jorqel, so he’d resupplied and set sail again into the deep waters. It meant the army would be already in Aconia waiting for him.

His sense of urgency grew.

___

Another whose sense of urgency was growing was Vosgaris. The conversation with Prince Jorqel had made him think that perhaps the vague report from one of his spies was in fact a real threat. Talk in the city taverns and streets often was of irrelevant and trivial things, but sometimes something was said, often in the back rooms of dark and shady places, that led to something.

His spy had merely stated he’d overheard one of the mercenary captains who worked freelance say somebody had asked about the availability of someone proficient with the bow and that was it. Nothing more, nothing less. The point was that it was in one of the less salubrious ale houses in a poor district, and people there cared little about who ran the empire or Kastan; their lives were little changed no matter who made the laws. They were too poor to be bothered by the taxman and as a result were left alone except in times when the army needed recruits, or a canvasser visited wishing to whip up support for one regime or other. Sometimes a patrol would pass through, watched with sullen eyes, but they rarely lasted long.

Robberies, fights and illegal activities were the norm here and it was unusual for anyone born in this district to ever leave. They would die here having never seen any other part of Kastan City, let alone anywhere outside.

However there were times when things got so bad that suddenly, as if by some unspoken command, the citizens would pick up tools, weapons or anything else that came to hand, and pour out of the alleyways and riot. In fact they had done so twice over the past ten years and now the general feeling in the palace was that if they could do so twice in such a short space of time, they could do so again. Hence Vosgaris had been ordered to ensure an efficient early warning system was in place, in the form of paid eyes and ears in strategic places.

More than one barkeep was on his payroll, as were whores, rent collectors, tramps and beggars. Vosgaris needed to know more about this rumour, so he changed quickly into street clothes, made sure his sword was belted tightly, a dagger inside one boot, and a wide brimmed stained hat on his head.

He left via the back door, leaving a message to Lalaas as to where he was going, then made his way through the streets of the city to the south side. Here were the less attractive places and he slipped into one of the long and dark alleyways that led to the poor district. Rodents scuttled away from his footsteps, and foul-smelling ordure was piled up on either side of the narrow cobbled street. He kept to the middle. The eaves of the warped wooden buildings leaned out on either side, as if trying to touch above his head, and the once white plastered walls were stained with black and green, showing here was rot and damp.

The Setting Sun tavern was just like any other drinking establishment, unremarkable for the area. It seemed to have an air of despondency all to itself and the doors creaked loudly, the hinges not having seen any lubricating oil for years. Laughter floated out from the interior and Vosgaris adjusted his hat before plunging into the dark interior. He’d been in such places before, and dressed just how other weapon-carrying young men of the district did. He couldn’t do much about his fresh looking skin or the lack of stubble, but beggars could not be choosers.

He took up a chair to one side, away from the suddenly wary eyes of the patrons. He was a stranger and therefore suspect. Vosgaris wiped his nose along an already dirty sleeve and hawked up some phlegm before spitting on the floor. He swore softly and sniffed again. The patrons looked away. He couldn’t be anything other than of their class if he did that for no noble or middle class fop would ever do that. A couple weighed up the possibility of perhaps mugging him to see if he had any money on him but the sight of the sword stayed their hands.

Serving wenches passed around the tables, picking up empty mugs or depositing full ones down, picking up a few copper coins in return. Hands strayed and felt their bottoms or waists, and they fended off the hungry paws with practiced hands and movements. One, a well-rounded girl of indeterminate age with a birthmark on her left cheek and a wide, pleasant smile, approached him. “What will it be, then?” she asked.

Vosgaris looked up and the light from the dirty window to his left danced across his features. “Hello Larisse,” he said quietly. “I’d like one of your best ales and a little word with you.”

Larisse went very still for a moment, then her wide smile was back again, well-practiced. “Of course, darlin’, a very special ale for you. Long time no see. How’s things with you?”

Vosgaris smiled. “You know, the same old things. Here’s something I’ve been saving up for you.” He passed over a silver coin showing the stern face of Astiras Koros on the front. It was a silver Kastan, one-tenth of a furim, and recognised all over the empire and beyond as legal tender.

Larisse slid the coin into her waist pocket and winked at him. “Oh, I know what you want,” she giggled and turned away, swaying her hips provocatively. Vosgaris leaned back and, catching the eye of the nearest patron, grinned rakishly. The scruffy citizen looked away, mouthing some disparaging observation.

A few moments later Larisse returned with a mug of ale and stood a few paces away. “One room available upstairs,” she said, jerking her head in the direction of the warped, worn and chipped staircase standing to one side of the main tavern room. “You got any more money? What you’ve given me is good enough for half a watch.”

Vosgaris heaved himself up. “Yeah,” he said, mumbling in his best low class accent he could muster. “Got lucky hiring my sword this year.”

“Show-off,” one of the seated drinkers said as Vosgaris passed.

“Shut it,” Vosgaris snapped, gripping the hilt of his sword, “or d’you want me to show how I earned it?”

The drinker scowled and put his head down, staring gloomily into the depths of his mug.

Vosgaris strode after the girl who was halfway up the stairs already. The top of the stairs led to a landing that ran round three sides of the tavern and the guest rooms ran off this. One room Larisse opened and went to the bed, putting the ale down on a small side table. She closed the wooden shutter in the window and the room was plunged into darkness. She had a flint and candle and soon had it lit and placed in a tin dish on the side table next to the ale.

Vosgaris had shut the door and had gone over to the bed by this time. Larisse sat next to him and waited. “Here, something more for you,” Vosgaris said softly, dropping his rough accent and slipping a second silver Kastan into her palm. “I need information.”

“I didn’t think you’d be here for anything else. Isn’t it dangerous you being here? What if someone recognises you? My life here would be at risk!”

Vosgaris waved his hand in the negative. “I’m in disguise and I doubt anyone here has seen me before. Stop worrying. I’m paying you good money.”

“And I’m putting myself in danger, especially when you come here in person. Have you got a place less unsavoury I can work in?”

Vosgaris waggled a finger at her. “A mercenary captain looking to hire archers. He was here a few days back asking. Who is he?”

Larisse sighed and threw herself back onto the bed. “Oh, him! Philas. One of the Fokis captains. Often comes here to hire soldiers or spend his money on girls and drink. Tall, swarthy, goatee beard. Thinks he’s the gods’ gift to soldiering and women.” She giggled. He’s not very good in bed. Too quick, if you know what I mean,” she winked and jabbed Vosgaris in the side with her elbow.

“Uh? Um, not really.” Vosgaris pondered on what she could possibly mean, then decided not to pursue it. “The Fokis, eh? That’s interesting. Do you know if he did recruit an archer?”