Prince of Wrath (63 page)

Once he had broken their army and taken their capital, then the priests would come in and convert the populace to Sonos on pain of death. Nobody would be allowed to argue, for they would be burned on the spot. He smiled.

___

Jorqel was woken in the early hours by Sannia’s gasps. “What is it, my love?” he asked, solicitous. Sannia had grown very big in the past few sevendays and she was finding the latter stages of her pregnancy very uncomfortable indeed.

“I-I think it’s time!” she said. “My waters…they have broken.”

Jorqel was out of the bed even before he knew it. Throwing on his pants he went to the door and called out to fetch the physician and birthing women. He then grabbed a shirt, slid it over his head and knelt by Sannia’s side. She was looking at him pale-faced and afraid. “It will be alright,” he reassured her, “these people know their duty. You are in good hands.”

“Jorqel, I’m frightened… what if something goes wrong?”

“It won’t – the gods are looking over you, take my word for it,” he smiled, and then kissed her gently. There came a knock on the door and Jorqel left Sannia to those who were skilled in the art of delivering a new born into the world.

The prince sat in his day room and shoved on his leather boots, his heart racing. Gavan sauntered in, yawning, a cup of klee in each hand. “Thought you could do with a pick-me-up, sire. It’s going to be a long night.”

“Who got you up?” Jorqel asked accusingly, taking one of the mugs. Even as he said that, Sannia’s handmaiden Henne came into the room, rubbing her eyes. She smiled coyly at Gavan who grinned back, and she glided into the bed chamber, shutting the door behind her. “I suppose that’s answered my question,” Jorqel sighed and shook his head at his bodyguard. “You were told to go easy on the woman, for Kastan’s sake.”

“Yes but nobody told her to go easy on me, thankfully,” Gavan added with a grin. “By the gods, she’s a lively one. So, we sit here and wait, do we?”

“You can go back to bed, old friend,” Jorqel said, eyeing him over the rim of his mug, “I’m going to sit here and worry my arse off.”

“She’s a good woman,” Gavan said, “and young, tough and fit. She’ll be fine, mark my words. You’ve got the best we’ve got in there with her. That old crone with more wrinkles on her face than an old bed sheet, she’s birthed more brats than I’ve had women.”

“Well that’s a huge reassurance to me, Gavan. I thank you for staying. Get the castellan to take over things in the next couple of days. I won’t be in a fit state to do much else.”

Gavan nodded. “I’ll pass it on. Meanwhile I think the word will be spreading round the town, even at this time of night. By morning everyone will know and be besieging the castle. Don’t expect much rest!”

“As long as they don’t use burning oil to get in I don’t care much. I won’t want too many visitors – we’ll need peace and quiet and I think the child will too, the gods willing it should be a healthy one!”

“They will,” Gavan said, and looked towards the closed door to the bed chamber.

On the other side of the door, Sannia was lying on the bed, knees up, one woman tending her head and upper body, wiping the sweat from her with a damp cloth, dabbing it into a bowl of water by her knees. The older woman sat in a chair on the other side, chanting and speaking words of encouragement. Henne held one of Sannia’s hands and gave her support while the physician kept on checking the princess.

The pain was increasing. Ripples of it flowed through her abdomen, causing her to gasp and pant. It would fade and she would relax, but just a few moments later back it would come, even worse than before. The lump in her belly weighed heavily in her and she desperately wished it out.

The pain washed over her sharply. Without knowing so, she cried out. Her voice penetrated the door and was clearly heard by Jorqel and Gavan. The prince sucked in his breath sharply and stood up, facing the door. Gavan rose, too, his hand out. “Sire, you can do nothing. Those people in there will do all they can for her.”

Jorqel thumped the table top in frustration. “I feel so damned helpless, Gavan! Here I am, a prince of the blood, and this is totally beyond my control! She is my wife, my beloved, and there is nothing I can do to help her.”

“There is, sire. Stay away. We men can only get in the way, or so I once heard a birthing woman say. We have no idea what to do.”

Jorqel glared at his bodyguard for a moment, then nodded heavily and sank his head into his hands, sitting back down. “Oh, by the gods, please help my wife through this!”

Gavan winced as another cry of pain came to them. “I once heard of a tale of a husband being with his wife in labour and she almost choked the life out of him – she was in so much pain that she vowed to castrate him if he came near her again.”

“Where did you heard that?”

“Oh, Kastan City in my younger days.”

“These are your younger days – how old were you and what were you doing listening to such tales?”

“You forget sire, I was from the back streets of Kastan City. People lived there – they probably still do – in run-down apartments and two-room hovels and if a woman went into labour then it was usually the husband who was there to help, unless there were helpful neighbours and daughters old enough to do the job.”

Jorqel nodded, leaning back tiredly. “Yes, yes, I forget about our different lives before we met.” Another cry of pain had both looking up in distress.

Guards came and went, and other members of the castle household appeared at irregular times. The screams from Sannia could be heard throughout most of the keep and many came to offer their support to Jorqel who was grateful but wished for some peace and quiet to worry alone. He knew it wasn’t possible. Gavan got up on one occasion and glanced out of an arrow slit. “People gathering outside. They’re selling cakes. It’s a blasted carnival out there!”

Jorqel looked himself. “They may well celebrate if there’s good news. I can’t stand this damned wait; it’s interminable!”

The dawn was beginning to touch the sky when the sounds from the bed chamber quietened. The prince wondered if that was a good thing or bad, and paced up and down the small room. Suddenly the door opened and the physician emerged, looking tired and drawn.

“What is it man?” Jorqel was on him in an instant. “What news?”

The physician smiled wearily. “Your highness, you are the father of a healthy baby girl. Congratulations,” and he bowed.

“A girl?” Jorqel repeated, then bolted past the man and barrelled into the chamber, heavy with the smell of blood and alcohol. He had eyes only for Sannia who was lying propped up in bed with a small bundle lying on her chest, wrapped in a blanket. The other women were standing back, respectfully, holding blankets, bowls and cloths. Some were soaked with blood.

“Sannia,” Jorqel said, kneeling by her side. He looked at both her and the sleeping child, red-faced, the skin slightly wrinkly, a faint covering of black hair plastered to the skull. “A girl?”

Sannia nodded slowly, her eyes dark. The birth had taken a lot out of her, but she was at last comfortable and relaxed, albeit sore and weak. There had been a lot of blood lost, and she just wanted to sleep. “Her name, husband?”

“What is the name of your grandmother?”

“Merza,” Sannia said in a whisper.

“Then that is her name. Merza Koros.”

Sannia’s lips twitched in a smile, and her eyes closed. “I’m so tired, Jorqel. I want to sleep now.”

He stroked her head, still wet from the ordeal. “Then sleep you shall, my love,” and he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. He reached across and touched the child. She didn’t move, being content to rest against her mother’s chest where her heartbeat lulled her into a deep sleep. The child, like the mother, had been exhausted by the trauma of birth.

“Your highness,” the elderly woman said gently, “you must get some sleep too. The princess will be watched carefully and any needs will be attended to.”

Jorqel nodded and heaved himself up with an effort. It had been a mind-numbing time for him, and although not physically tired, his emotions had exhausted him nonetheless. He came into the day chamber and found a number of people standing there, all wishing to congratulate him and ask how the princess and child were. Jorqel assured that both were fine if tired. A cheering came to him through the opening that looked out onto the town and clearly word had passed round of the birth.

Jorqel smiled and made his way to the nearest guest room. For the moment Sannia and Merza would sleep uninterrupted, and he needed it, too.

Letters went out far and wide. It wasn’t long before most places in the empire had been told of the imperial birth. Celebrations were planned in all the major towns and cities and bunting came out, shaking off the dust and detritus that had collected over the winter. People needed an excuse to celebrate and this provided them with it.

But the war machine of Venn was gathering momentum.

The army snaked through the long winding valleys of Kral. High peaks that were lost in the clouds rose to either side of the straggling column. Scouts were out in front, riding well away from the main body, ensuring that no ambush was set anywhere. Their progress was slow; Kral was no place to travel fast. It was hard country, and the roads few and far between.

Alcazui sat in his saddle and watched as the spearmen walked past. There was no smartness to their pacing; they had been over twenty days into their campaign and so far they had not even passed into Kastanian territory. Men limped, sore, hot, tired. Grumbling rose from them. This was not the warfare they liked. The land was harsh, the people surly, the towns non-existent. They had to camp out in the open each and every night, and this had been the pattern since leaving Rhan.

The armoured knights rode slowly on the flanks, providing support and cover for the lumbering wagons that carried their supplies. It were these that dictated the army’s speed, and where the single muddy track that passed for a road climbed up to the next pass, they almost slowed to a halt.

At the rear marched the second spear company, constantly moaning about having pulled the worst job, getting the dust and muck from all those ahead of them. Alcazui worried about the time it was taking them to get to the frontier, but there was nothing else they could do.

Kral was a wild and untamed region. What centres of civilisation they had were much further south, near the capital Zaros. Here the only likelihood was that brigands and bandits would prey on them. Kral may be officially Venn territory but it was another thing telling the locals hereabouts; they bowed to nobody, no matter who held sway in Zaros or who sent tax collectors out. Many of them didn’t return.

Alcazui’s senior captain reined in besides him. “How far to the frontier, sir?”

“I don’t know, Captain. Another two-three days, perhaps? Then another couple of sevendays up to Zofela. There’s no way our approach will be unobserved. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Kastanians were waiting on the border with their army.”

“We should be able to drive through them, sir,” the captain said confidently. “It would do the men good, too. They need some action to raise their morale.”

“They probably have spearmen equal to ours,” Alcazui said, looking at his men making their way past, “but we certainly have the edge in cavalry. We outnumber their Army of the East, if the figures I’ve been given are accurate. I’m just concerned as to what the Mazag are going to do. They may or may not have an army nearby; I don’t want to fight them as well. We’ve got a long way to get back to safety.”

“Once we’re comfortably inside Zofela, you’ll be glad you came on this march, sir,” the captain grinned. He was very confident of victory. Venn hadn’t lost a battle for decades, and had been successful in the recent past against Kastanian or former Kastanian provinces.

Alcazui nodded slowly. He still worried that for the first time they would be going head to head against an established power, moreover one that had been around for a thousand years or so, one with a long tradition of war and great generals. It was just his luck, he reflected, that he was going to have to pit his wits against the one general of any quality the Kastanians had, and that was their emperor, Astiras Koros.

___

In Zofela the black flag had been hauled up the flagpole. Astiras came stamping down the corridor, yelling mightily. “Get all the scouts out over the countryside now!” he roared to Teduskis, standing straight in the imperial day chamber, his helmet under his arm. “I want to know where these black-hearted foul dirt-dwelling bastards are! I want daily reports; I want their numbers, their heading, their composition, their state, Teduskis. You’re in charge of the outriders. Get them off their arses and out now!”

Teduskis saluted and span on his heel, pleased to be once more in action. Vosgaris and the castellan, Captain Sepan, stood stiffly to attention. “Bring that Mazag ambassador to me at once, Captain Vosgaris.”

Vosgaris saluted and left at double speed. In this mood, Astiras was not one to irritate by tardiness. The black flag flying from the ramparts was indicative of this; the war flag of Kastan, flown in times of conflict. Although no formal declaration had been made, Astiras was in no doubt it was war, and too early for Kastania to be able to face Venn alone. The news that Epros had fallen to one Venn army had come as a nasty development the previous sevenday, but it had given them false hope that this was where Venn’s ambitions lay for the moment. Not so – for now news had filtered down from the borderlands that a large Venn army had been spotted making its way directly to the border, numbering at least equal to the army in Zofela, if not slightly more.

“Damn their eyes, Sepan! I thought we’d given ourselves time by destroying their arms stockpile, but it was all for nothing! I’d gambled on knocking down the walls here now, and they’ve gone and made their move with our pants down and my arse hanging out of the gap in the walls here! I want the garrison to help get the stone here from the quarry – the sooner we get the wall up the better!”

Sepan saluted and was gone. Isbel, Pepil and Frendicus were carved from stone, three statues in the room. Vasila and Cleric Waylar were the next to be turned on by the red-faced emperor. “Is your training completed, young woman?”

“Yes, your highness,” Vasila bowed. “Cleric Waylar says I’m as knowledgeable as any acolyte fresh out of the temple colleges.”

“Then pack your belongings, pick any of the small equines from the stables and get going. You are to go via Turslenka, taking a letter for me to the governor there; he needs to be prepared. You will take another letter for the castellan of Kornith castle which you will personally deliver. From now on you are Vazil Taboz, priest to Kornith. Keep an eye on developments there and bring me seasonal reports. I am counting on you to be my ears and eyes up there.”

Vasila – now Vazil – bowed and left. Cleric Waylar regarded the animated emperor. “Your highness – I recommend a spate of devotions to the gods amongst the people here; they will need fortification of their souls at trying times such as these.”

Astiras nodded, flicking his fingers in dismissal of the priest. The priest narrowly avoided colliding with the arrival of Vosgaris leading the Mazag ambassador, Ganag Meri, a short, stocky dark haired man with a large nose and a wide smile that fooled nobody. “Sire, the Mazag ambassador,” Vosgaris announced and stood still by the door.

“Ah, Ambassador Mari,” Astiras switched moods and beamed widely at the new arrival. Must play the game. “A pleasure to see you, especially now, of all times.”

“I have heard the news, your highness,” Meri said deeply, his thick black eyebrows almost meeting in a frown. “Is it true?”

“Regretfully, it would appear so. I trust your noble people will stand by our alliance of mutual protection?”

“I would say so, sire. I will of course, need to send a letter to Bukrat for confirmation, but I can see no reason why Mazag shouldn’t stand shoulder to shoulder with our friends.”

“That brings joy to my heart, Ambassador,” Astiras smiled. “Would your King send an army to assist us in defending our sovereign soil against an aggressive move from Venn?”

“If I know my liege, he will. An army under General Vanist is just over the border and I shall request they stand ready to come to your assistance.”

Astiras nodded in satisfaction. That was what he wished to hear. Without Mazag help there seemed little anyone would be able to do to stop the Venn army marching down and arriving outside Zofela. Astiras spent a few more moments speaking to the ambassador before permitting him to return to his room to write to Bukrat. He pointed to Vosgaris. “You, Captain, will accompany me outside in a moment. While I’m gone,” he turned to Isbel, “carry on with the normal day-to-day issues. I’m going to be too busy dealing with this crisis to waste my time on petitions and how many shovel fulls of dung one must store for the next order. I have every confidence in you, dear.”

Isbel smiled momentarily, not quite reaching her eyes. “You really are too kind, dear,” she responded. She sighed as Astiras ushered Vosgaris out into the passageway. “Ah well,” she looked at both Frendicus and Pepil, “just like old times in Kastan City. Shall we get down to business?”

Vosgaris was pulled along the passageways like a piece of chaff before the wind in the wake of the emperor. People bowed as they passed; Astiras waving a lazy hand in an almost distracted manner in response. They went down to the courtyard where riders were mounting up and galloping off out into the town and then out into the countryside, people standing in groups watching in an almost dazed manner.

Outside Argan was trying to steer his equine, urging it to trot round in a wide circle, Panat Afos holding onto the other end of a rope that was fixed to the bridle – the lunge rein – and watching as the pair performed a wide circuit round him. The riders that burst from the town distracted him and he lost control. The mare reared up and the prince fell off with a dismayed yell. Kerrin slid off his saddle and came running over while Panat hauled the fractious equine in and smoothed its neck.

“’Gan, are you alright?” Kerrin asked, concerned. He knelt by his friend’s side.

Argan sat up with a bemused expression on his face. “I landed on my bum. I’m alright thanks. What’s going on with all those riders charging out?”

Kerrin helped the prince to his feet. “Don’t know! Maybe father knows?”

The two went over to Panat, who had calmed the equine down. “So sorry, sire, it was frightened by the sudden appearance of the others. I think we ought to give this animal a bit more training before we let you back on her.”

Argan nodded, rubbing his bottom ruefully. “What’s going on, Panat?”

Panat shook his head, then screwed his face up, squinting in the sunlight to the keep tower. “Oh, no. The black flag.”

“Black flag? What does that mean?”

“War, sire. It’s the imperial war flag. When we’re at war with a foreign power, the black flag flies and isn’t taken down until peace is signed. Someone must have invaded.”

Argan stared at Kerrin. “War! Father will know what to do! Come on, let’s go find out!” The two boys dashed off towards the walls of the town, this portion still intact, being the furthest from the new build.

Astiras meanwhile had led Vosgaris out beyond the castle and he turned to survey the defences of the town. To the left as he looked, the old wooden walls remained. Then, in the centre, rose the wooden castle and keep, atop a slight earthen mound. To the right the old wooden wall had been torn down and this was where the new stone blocks were being stockpiled, ready to build the new wall. “Well, that’s a great gift to the Venn, isn’t it? Welcome and come on in!” he said bitterly. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” he slapped his hands against his thighs in frustration. “I should have guessed those bastards wouldn’t let the matter of their depot being burned down delay them much. My fault, Captain.”

“Sire, no point in pointing any blame at yourself. You’re our leader; what do we do now to stop this army from taking Zofela?”

Astiras sighed deeply. “I want your guard to take over the responsibility for the new wall area. Those volgars will put the shits up those bloody people. I need to know though just how many of them there are and what their composition is. In the meantime I’m going to get the stone blocks piled up in a sort of loose wall with a few gaps in them. That way we can block their attacks in most places and concentrate on the few gaps that remain.”

“Sire – do we have enough to man all the ramparts? The militia can defend the wooden walls, and the imperial archers the castle, but my men can’t take care of the entire eastern half!”

“Fear not, Captain, I have an idea forming in my mind. I just want you to take over the undefended part of Zofela for the time being. Make sure order is kept and assess what lines of defence you can hold. Once they come over that ridge there,” Astiras pointed to the south-east where the road to Kral entered the valley, “then they’ll make for that part of the town. Why tackle walls or a fort when there’s no wall to stop them there?”

Vosgaris looked at the river, now back to its old course. “What about the diverted river, sire?”

“What of it? The current course gives us a bit of protection, but if we re-diverted it back to what I had it during the siege then we’d have none at all.”

“I know sire, but the diverted course runs across their line of approach. The road crosses it on that bridge there. Pull it down, put stakes in the bed, line the nearest bank with more. It’ll slow them down and force them to come in wide and approach from the south. The castle faces due south.”

Astiras rubbed his chin, then clapped Vosgaris on the shoulder. “Good thinking! That woman must be doing wonders for your mind.”

“She’s doing wonders for something, sire,” Vosgaris smirked.

Astiras chuckled. “I bet! Right, get to it. I’ve got a score of problems to think over. I need to see the farmers next. Get their spokesman to come see me. We might have to burn the damned farmsteads to the ground to deny them any food and shelter.”

As Vosgaris loped off, Argan and Kerrin came bounding over. Astiras grunted as he caught sight of the two. How to reassure the two boys? He smiled and stood waiting for them to get to him.

“Father! Panat says the black flag is war! Who are we at war with?”