Prince of Wrath (36 page)

Outside the couple emerged to a roar of delight. The guards formed a cordon around the bottom of the five steps to stop anyone getting closer. Amne and Elas stood in the middle while Jorqel stood below them, his sword still bared, while Astiras and Isbel stood to one side and Elas’ parents the other. Isbel leaned against Astiras. “Oh I’m so glad it’s over,” she breathed, “and that horrible plot stopped! Now we can look forward to getting Argan sorted and us all moved to Zofela.”

“Yes, my love,” Astiras answered, waving to a knot of rather enthusiastically cheering citizens, “we can all relax once we’re in our respective centres of power. I don’t like all of us being in one place; too many plots, too many enemies. I know it means we go our separate ways as a family but for the good of Kastan we must make this sacrifice.”

Isbel squeezed his arm. She was happy to be away from Kastan City. She had finally come to realise her unhappiness was down to her being away from Astiras and constantly having to run the empire’s administration. Now she was to be with her husband all the time gave her a greater sense of security, and it also meant she would be away from Amne, someone she had come to resent in recent times. Amne could now run Frasia with her own husband here while the empire was administered without Amne constantly arguing with Isbel. It was going to be wonderful.

The only cloud on her horizon was Argan, but Astiras was insistent that this Metila was capable of great healing powers, and if anyone could save the boy, then it was this Bragalese woman. Isbel was uncertain, but she really had little choice other than to go ahead and trust both her husband’s judgement and an unknown woman with the life of the seven year old.

The procession made its way back through the square, the guards opening up the way ahead and then allowing it to close behind, forming an island in a sea of people. Both Amne and Elas waved to the people, Amne throwing her flowers high into the air for someone to catch. The newly-weds stopped to talk to some of the citizens, speaking across the straining guards, striving to hold back the happy throng. Accordingly the journey back to the palace took many times longer than the walk to the Temple had.

Finally, as the day was drawing to a close, they arrived back at the palace. Vosgaris and Lalaas were there in their ceremonial uniforms, both as captains of the palace guard. The next four or five days would be the handover period as Vosgaris passed the post onto his successor. Amne smiled gratefully at Lalaas as she reached him, while the hunter merely bowed formally. They all made their way to the banqueting hall for the after wedding meal, along with the privileged guests who had been in the Temple.

Naturally talk was of the attempted murder and the shocked realisation the Fokis were behind it. It was a pity in some ways, for it would have been better if talk had been primarily about the wedding and the future of the couple. Elas and Amne sat at the head of the table and answered any questions that did come their way, but there weren’t as many as they might have expected.

“Did you know of the plot, Elas?” Amne asked her husband part of the way through the evening.

“No – I understand that the details were only known last night and I was not on hand to learn of it. Understandable of course.”

“I was in the palace but nobody bothered to speak to me about it!” she complained.

“Perhaps they did not wish to worry you unduly? You did look very nervous when you arrived today at the Temple,” Elas observed. “Imagine how you would have felt if you had been told there was a definite plot on your life?”

Amne pouted. “Treated me like a child – don’t worry the poor girl, she won’t be able to handle it!” she said bitterly.

“I’m sure that’s not how they felt,” Elas said soothingly. “In any case, your father, brother and Captain Lalaas handled it very professionally and expertly. An excellent shot, if I may say. Technically difficult, given the angle, space and unknown elements such as air movement in a confined space.”

“Well I’m glad you feel that way, Elas,” Amne said acidly. “What if Lalaas had misjudged it and shot me in the back?”

“Do you think he would have?”

Amne said nothing. She drummed her fingers on the tabletop.

“Neither do I,” Elas said. “However, I must say that I would have recommended a postponement in the ceremony if I had learned of the plot. Risking your life is not justified, no matter the situation.”

“Why Elas, that’s nice of you to say so,” Amne said.

Her husband waved a dismissive hand. “As your husband my first thought is of your protection.”

Amne looked thoughtful, then her attention was drawn by Lord Pelgion, her new father-in-law.

Later, as midnight approached, the two made their excuses and retired to Elas’ new chamber. It was next to Amne’s and had been decorated and furnished over the past few days, under instruction from the man. As the new Governor of Frasia and a Prince of Kastania, he of course had to have a chamber of his own in the palace.

Amne paused at the doorway, suddenly nervous. She had never been with a man. Custom dictated that a noble woman was a virgin on her wedding night. She had spoken to her two handmaidens about it and both had giggled but told her what to expect, having drawn on their own, rather mixed, experiences. Amne now hoped that her first experience would be memorable. Being aware of her own attractiveness to men was one thing, but when it came to the action it was down to ability, not how one looked.

Elas opened the door and took her by the hand, leading her in. The room was the same layout as Amne’s but the mirror opposite. The décor was very masculine and austere, rather like Elas, and Amne decided she would not spend any more time here than she had to.

He led her to the bed chamber and she was surprised to see a very large four poster bed with hangings and sumptuous cushions scattered about. “Oh!”

“Surprised?” Elas asked. “My father commissioned it the moment he heard I was betrothed to you. It was only assembled this morning. It is the first I have seen it myself. Not a bad item.”

“No…” Amne said, walking over to it slowly.

“Now, Amne,” Elas said, taking hold of her by the shoulders and turning her round, “time to act like husband and wife.” With that he kissed her hard and pushed her onto the bed. Shocked, Amne had enough time to register she was on a very comfortable and soft surface before he was atop her, kissing her hard again and tugging at her clothes. It got very confused and hot for the next few moments and Amne’s head was spinning. She felt out of control and now her hands were pinned to the bed and she wasn’t entirely comfortable about that.

Elas ripped her dress, getting it off her and she cried in dismay. It had been such a beautiful dress, despite her fears her behind would be too big in it. There was no tenderness in Elas thrusting her legs apart and without warning he was thrusting into her. There was a sharp pain and she cried out. He grunted in her ear five or six times and then she felt him ejaculate. He stiffened for a few heartbeats, then he sank onto her and lay there, breathing heavily for a few moments. Then he levered himself off and walked into the bathroom, naked.

“Was that it?” Amne asked herself, lying there in a daze. She had a few aches and throbbing pains and slowly slid off the bed and looked at herself in the single silvered mirror in the room. There were scratch marks on her and her facial makeup had smeared. “By the gods – I look like a street courtesan after a riot!” She had never seen one but to her that was what she thought it would look like.

Hesitantly she put her hand down below and hissed with pain. It was tender. There was also a sticky fluid and she pulled a face. “Ugh!” Her handmaidens had hinted at something like this. Locating a small torn piece of her dress lying on the rug, she wiped herself. “If that’s what it’s like, then its hugely over-rated!”

Elas reappeared. “You may go to your chamber now.”

“Pardon?”

“Go to your chamber. We have consummated our marriage, Amne, and I see no further need for you to be here.”

“Don’t order me about like that, Elas Pelgion! You can ask me, but never order me like that!”

Elas took her roughly by the arm and marched her to the door. Amne gasped and struggled but Elas was too strong for her. “My clothes Elas – you can’t throw me out naked! What would everyone think?”

Elas released her, picked up the dress and threw it to her. “I would appreciate from now on you wearing attire appropriate to a married woman, not that of a courtesan.”

Amne gasped in outrage, then dressed as best she could, sighing at the wreckage of her dress. Holding it onto her to stop it falling off, she slowly left the chamber, ignored the guards who saluted her nonetheless, and made her way into her own rooms. The dress fell to the floor in a ruined heap. Kiri and Selana were sleeping in their rough beds to either side of the day room, so she crept into her own bed chamber and threw herself gratefully onto her own bed. Was this what being married to Elas was going to be like?

Jorqel didn’t sleep at all that night. A hurried departure shortly after Amne and Elas had gone, a final farewell to Astiras and Isbel, and he had ridden on a borrowed equine to the harbour where the commander of the mounted archers, Deran Loshar, was waiting. The rest of the men were already aboard the two ships of Admiral Drakan, and ready to depart. Jorqel left his equine with the harbourmaster and ran up the gangplank of the flagship and greeted Drakan who was impatiently waiting for him.

“Good, now we can go,” Drakan said with relief. He waved to his men to cast off and made his way to the poop deck. Jorqel accompanied him, along with Deran Loshar. The rogue Tybar officer had made this crossing once before, but in the other direction, so it was odd that he now was returning to the west.

“How long will it take till we make land on the other side, Admiral?” Jorqel asked.

“Not long,” Drakan grunted, “but this is a foul time to cross, I can tell you! With that tide, it’ll be a wonder we end up anywhere close to where we want to be! We can put you down at Aconia – I won’t risk beaching these ships, and to be honest it’s the only place we can safely disembark the animals. Sunrise, I’d say.”

“Thank you, Admiral.” Jorqel turned to go. “I’ll leave you to your job while I’ll get ready for mine.” He went down to the main deck of the warship and spoke to Deran. He wanted to know the condition of the men and their beasts, and equipment. This was to be a one-off fight, and afterwards they would be returning to Kastan City. He was keen to see for himself how the mounted archers would perform in battle. It was, after all, a step towards forming an army capable of taking on and defeating the Tybar.

Deran gave Jorqel a quick appraisal of the men and animals. He called the three squadron commanders over to join them. All three were young, bright-faced and eager. They saw themselves as the future, no matter that some had mocked their choice of military career. They prided themselves that they were different from the usual type of Kastanian soldier; no spearmen, swordsmen or heavy cavalry were to be found here.

“My squadron commanders,” Deran introduced the three to Jorqel. “They will be under my direct control in this battle, sire. This is the Tybar way of command; they have three distinct arms of war. Foot archers, spearmen and mounted archers. Each arm is under the overall command of a captain who is directly subordinate to the army general. The general, like you have here, is part of a heavy cavalry shock unit. He issues commands to the three captains and they ensure their particular arm carries out these orders.”

His thick Tybar accent irritated Jorqel. To be indebted to one of the enemies of the empire rankled, but Jorqel was pragmatic enough to realise Deran was invaluable. To fight the Tybar they desperately needed to learn how the tribes fought. It would be an interesting battle, Jorqel mused, using Tybar tactics against a likely traditional Kastanian force. If history was any guide, then he would emerge victorious. “My army will consist of two arms only, Captain Deran. Your force of three squadrons will be one, and two companies of imperial archers will be the other arm.”

“All archers, sire? No infantry?” Deran sounded surprised.

“No. This is to be a mobile force. I shall protect the foot archers. My infantry are remaining in Slenna, to garrison it against any move the Duras may make against it. By using your men I can split my forces and deal with each threat separately. I also understand that Lombert Soul’s force has not been trained to deal with archers, and nearly all of my force will be armed as such. I have sent an order to the governor of Niake to supply us with every arrow in his stores. I intend winning this battle through missile barrage. Now,” he looked at the four men evenly, “I want to know what tactics suit you best in order for me to formulate a proper plan to attack.”

The three squadron commanders looked at Deran. They had been drilled endlessly over the past year and a half and their recent victory over the small bandit force at the burned-out farm had given them added confidence. Deran circled his hands in the air. “We ride out separately, usually one to the right, one to the left and one remains in the centre. Then we ride hard for the enemy, shower them with arrows, wheel about and avoid any counter-charge. With such a widespread front, any enemy move will have to disrupt their own neat lines, allowing a counter-charge to punch a hole in them. If the enemy do not move, then we continue to shower arrows down on them until they are too weak to withstand a final charge.”

“Instead, my centre will be the foot archers. We can advance closer to them while your units occupy their attention.” Jorqel nodded. “What form of communication do the Tybar use in battle? Such fluid movement negates verbal command.”

“Flags,” Deran said. “Red to attack, yellow to withdraw, green to circle, blue to return to the main body of the army. The flag is placed next to your battle standard so the commanders here know where to look.”

“And the internal chain of command within each squadron?”

Deran indicated the stockiest of the three, a brown-haired youngster with intelligent brown eyes, to speak. “Sire, I have under me seven squads and a further squad of support troops, taking care of messages, care of the wounded and supplies. Each squad has a sergeant and nine troopers.”

Jorqel nodded slowly. “Very good. This is exactly based on Tybar structures?” he asked Deran.

“Sire,” the rogue Tybar nodded. “It allows flexibility and a greater degree of command. If the commander falls then the senior most sergeant takes over immediately. They are always arranged by colour designations. Red, then yellow, followed by blue, green, brown, black and finally white.”

“The Tybar use colour coding a lot, so it seems,” the prince observed.

“Yes, sire. It is pervasive throughout Tybar society.”

Jorqel thanked the men and allowed them to return to their units and beasts. He went to stand on the prow of the ship, watching as the indigo darkness of the far shore drifted past. They were on the tide running north, and they made good time. He stood there, deep in thought, thinking of his beloved, and of the battle that was coming. If he was endowed with fortune by the gods, then he would emerge victorious. He needed one more piece of information, and that was where the exact location of the enemy camp was.

He got that the following morning in Aconia. Tired, his eyes sore and gritty with a lack of sleep, he stepped off the gangplank onto the wooden jetty and stood for a moment to get his legs used to solid ground again. It had been a smooth passage but even so, the movement of the deck had been enough to make him anticipate the next motion of the waves. Now he was back on firm land, he had to forget the motion.

Gavan waved and approached him, leading Jorqel’s mount by the reins. “Well met, your majesty!” he boomed. “All is in order, sire?”

Jorqel grasped Gavan’s arm. “It is, yes. How are things here?”

“We’re impatient to get going. Word is that the rebels are on the move. There’s a man waiting for you from Niake over there,” the bodyguard gestured to a figure standing apart from the soldiers preparing themselves. “He has information on their camp.”

“Has he, by Kastan!” Jorqel punched his hand in delight. “Bring him here!”

As the mounted archers led their beasts off the two imperial ships, Jorqel was introduced to Demtro Kalfas. The merchant bowed and gave the prince a quick outline of what he knew. “I’ve got information from a contact in the enemy camp. It seems my brother who is inside the rebel army has managed to corrupt one of the officers under Soul, and this man sent me a description of how to get to the camp.”

“Where is it?”

“To the interior beyond the road to Niake. The rebel army will be marching soon along this route. There’s a narrow valley halfway to Niake and its along there. I have sketched a crude map, here,” and Demtro passed over a very creased and stained piece of parchment which Jorqel greedily scanned.

“Excellent. I shall keep this, for I shall ride for this camp the moment I have dispensed with the traitors.”

“I shall come with you as my brother and woman are also there. Their lives will be just as at risk as your good lady’s.”

“As you wish. Now, what else can you tell me?”

Demtro retold the story of the leaf episode and the arrest of the guilty parties. Jorqel’s face grew thunderous.

“You mean that fool Extonos had done nothing to learn of their contacts or their command structure?”

“No, sire. He is content to merely imprison them. He is thinking on whether he had enough ‘evidence’ to keep them or let them go.”

Jorqel shouted in fury. “I shall write to him and inform him in no uncertain manner what he is to do with these people. I am through with being reasonable as far as the Duras are concerned. Now, go get some food because I am going to ride for this valley as soon as my men are disembarked and prepared.”

Demtro bowed and backed off. He had his own food and water, not wishing to rely on the questionable supplies from the port’s merchants and sutlers. By the time he’d finished the army was all armed, supplied and ready to move. The wagons in the port were left there, their provisions and arrows taken. The men were laden with enough food and equipment for one day only. This was going to be a short campaign.

Jorqel led the way, his armoured retinue in attendance, their flags and pennants fluttering in the breeze. The foot archers came tramping next, tough professionals who had already endured the siege of Slenna and knew all about warfare. Lastly, slowly following the imperial archers, were the three squadrons of mounted archers, many of them looking in wonder at the countryside, never having been in this part of the empire before. Demtro rode close to them, being interested in these new style of warriors. This was Jorqel’s secret trick, something he thought would tip the balance in his favour against the largely spearman-based army of Lombert Soul.

At the spot where the narrow valley stood, the army left the road and Jorqel signalled to Deran to send out scouts to spot where the enemy was. Ten riders roamed far and wide as the rest of the army marched along the bottom of the valley. It was the growing season and plants were reclaiming those areas lost to winter’s chill touch, and the leaves of the encroaching bushes and trees were glistening with moisture from a recent shower. It was a beautiful setting and so in contrast to what was about to happen.

In mid-afternoon the scouts returned with news that the enemy army was approaching. Jorqel immediately waved the mounted archers to load up and scatter in three groups, and he then led the two companies of foot archers up the long steep slope of the valley to about halfway, and then they turned and faced the approaching enemy. Jorqel and his men along with Demtro sat in their saddles behind the two imperial companies.

Apart from the occasional blowing of the equines, there was a heavy silence. Then, gradually, movement and colour caught their attention, and men slowly came into view from the crest of the rise at the end of the valley. The enemy halted, conferred, and then a squadron of lancers came out from behind the soldiers.

“That’s the fool Lombert Soul,” Jorqel stated. “Lancers? We’ll have them for breakfast!”

Gavan grinned. “Sport. You up for it, lads?”

The others chuckled and agreed. Lancers were deadly to foot soldiers but easy meat to heavy cavalry such as the armoured bodyguard.

“What about the rest of their army, sire?” Demtro inquired, nervously twiddling his leather reins.

“Spearmen – our archers will cut them to pieces. Archers, by the looks of things, too.” Jorqel leaned forward to the imperial archer captains. “Target those archers first – forget their spearmen for the time being!”

The captains saluted and walked along their front lines, passing on the command. Even as they did so, the deployment of the rebel army went on below them. Two companies of archers stood out in front, but these were rudimentary bowmen with small bows and hardly any protection. They were peasant volunteers who owned bows and were little trained in warfare. The imperial archers licked their lips in anticipation, and began sticking their arrows into the ground before their feet so that they could easily reach for their next missile.

Behind the rebel archers they could see the neatly lined up three companies of the spearmen which was the backbone of Lombert’s army. Jorqel snorted. The rebels had a bigger army, but were clearly inferior to his Army of the West.

“Numbers, Gavan?” Jorqel asked softly.

“Just shy of seven hundred and fifty, sire,” Gavan said, having just quickly counted the heads of the rebels.

“And we have five hundred and thirty.”

“Better men, sire.”

Jorqel grunted. “I trust the mounted archers will be up to the task.” He turned to the rear. Below the hill the mounted archers waited, nervously. They were out of sight of the rebels for the moment but once Lombert came out to parley he would see them. Therefore there was no point in keeping them concealed any longer. He signalled them to take up their initial positions. The equines came up the hill, one group remaining close to the valley bottom, one rode behind and over to the left while the third walked out to the front and then waited, below the long line of imperial archers.

Lombert Soul, sitting astride his personal charger, watched with astonishment as the mounted archers made their way to their respective positions. “What in the name of the gods are those?”