House of Lust (41 page)

The enemy force collapsed, men flinging away their weapons and fleeing wild-eyed.  Vanist roared in glee.  “Cut loose and kill as many as you can!”

It was a slaughter.  The Venn army ran as fast as they could uphill, their cavalry breaking loose but the infantry were not so fortunate.  They were herded into a loose circle and pounced on from all sides.  Men threw themselves to the ground and pleaded for mercy.  The blood-soaked Mazag infantry and cavalry didn’t heed them, hacking them to pieces, turning the slopes into a bloody mess.

Vosgaris turned away and grimaced.  “We take prisoners, General.”

“Hah!  For what purpose?  Kill them.  Kill them all!”

“Building our roads, digging in our mines, they may even join our armies.  Replacements for those lost in battle are always welcome.”

Vanist snorted in derision.  “Soldiers who lose a battle are useless.  Do not trust those who surrender and change sides, for they would do the same if they fought for your side.  Kastanian armies really use prisoners in their armies?”

“We used Bragalese rebels in our army outside Zofela, and we have had a history of using defeated people in our armies.  It has served us well in the past.”

“Pah!  A policy of folly; it will bite you in the arse, mark my words.”  Vanist surveyed the scene of carnage.  Most of the Venn army lay broken all over the reddened slopes of the hill facing him.  His army was picking over the corpses, taking anything of value.  The general grunted in satisfaction.  “Well, that’s their pox-ridden Army of Kral well and truly destroyed.  I trust you learned something today, Captain?”

“Yes, sir.  Never take on a Mazag army.”

Vanist threw back his head and roared in delight on hearing the translation.  “Very good!  I shall be sending news of this victory to Branak.  I trust you will be sending news to your emperor?  Good, then in that case please extend my compliments to him.  I hope he does not take insult at us returning to Valchia immediately, for I have been ordered to do so once this battle was won.  My liege wants us back in our lands just in case another invasion comes elsewhere.”

“I understand.  How many did you lose today?”

“I don’t know yet – the counting will take some time, but we lost half our cavalry.  No matter, plenty more where they came from.  Now, if you please, Captain, I must attend my army’s needs.  Good day.”

Vosgaris saluted and rode back to his tent, just over the hill behind the Mazag army.  By tomorrow the Mazag army would be on their way back and he would have to report to Astiras at Zofela.  It wasn’t something he was looking forward to.

The ride back took him and his two aides two days.  The battlefield had been left by the victors, the piles of dead Venn left where they had fallen, stripped and looted.  The Mazag dead were buried in a large pit, dug by the few prisoners that had been taken.  Once the dead Mazag had been laid to rest, each prisoner had been made to kneel by the side of the hole they’d dug, and on a command from Vanist, had been decapitated and their corpses arranged at the feet of their victors.

Vosgaris had watched the pit being covered over by the weary soldiers, and with one last curt conversation, Vanist had ordered his troops to march off westwards, bound for the nearest crossing over the Ister.

Even as the three Kastanians had walked their steeds off northwards, dark figures had been seen scurrying towards the field.  Bragalese peasants, hoping to loot something someone had missed. 

The rain had come, washing away some of the grime from Vosgaris’ hands and face, but not from his mind.  It had been a dirty battle, with neither side showing any mercy or pity.  Come the day Kastania fought one of these alone, it would be a real test of their mettle. 

Zofela appeared on the horizon, now assuming a vaguely threatening posture, but that was merely the dread of having to face the emperor and his disapproval.  He desperately wanted to see Isbel again, but that seemed a remote possibility.  Therefore it was with a general air of despondency he entered through the western gate and finally dismounted.  His two assistants would take care of all three beasts, and he was led up into the keep, his legs leaden, his heart pounding.

He was shown into the Great Hall where Astiras was holding Court.  Flanking him were scribes, guards and Pepil, a familiar look of haughty disapproval on his face.  To one side was Isbel, looking thoughtfully at him, her expression strictly neutral.  He wasn’t fooled, though.  He knew she was as pleased to see him as he was her.  To distract his attention from the empress, he glared at Pepil, clutching the hilt of his sword threateningly.  Pepil’s eyes followed the movement, and he sneered, but edged slightly closer to the side of Astiras nonetheless.

“You will bow before the emperor,” Pepil said.

Vosgaris did so, trying hard to keep the resentment from his posture.  He waited until he got permission to rise.  It did seem to be a longer wait than usual.

“So, Captain, I understand that the Venn have been defeated.  Your message was brief.  Please tell me of the finer details.”

Vosgaris gave his eye-witness account of the battle.  The Venn army had been destroyed, the final body count had been sixteen hundred with perhaps two hundred managing to flee, but it was unlikely that they would get away from the vengeful Bragalese.  In contrast, Vanist’s Army of Valchia had suffered under two hundred dead and a similar number wounded.  He also gave his opinion of the respective strengths and weaknesses of both armies, and the Mazag attitude towards the Kastanians.

Astiras rubbed his chin.  “So, they see us as weak and deficient in military abilities.  Very interesting.  Long may they continue to do so.  Captain, I thank you for your service.  Your abilities are clearly wasted here as garrison commander.  I am assigning you to Niake to take command of the imperial forces of Bathenia.  You will formulate a plan to patrol the entire region and provide plans of what to do in the event of a Tybar invasion or raid.  It will take some time to do this, and you will take over the military affairs of the region.  Governor Extonos will retain full control and authority over civil matters, but he will be subordinate to you in all matters military.”

Vosgaris shot a quick look at Isbel who was sat with her eyes shut.  Astiras was intent on keeping the distance between them.  The emperor leaned over and picked up a parchment sealed with the imperial mark from one of his courtiers and passed it to the captain.  “These are your orders, and a similar order has been sent to the governor, so he will be expecting you to arrive shortly.  By the time you get there your quarters should be ready.  You have also been promoted to Commander and will be paid the salary appropriate to your rank.  Congratulations, Commander.”

Vosgaris took the scroll and bowed low, thanking Astiras.  He would forego any promotion if it meant he could be with Isbel.  His blood boiled.  That
kivok
Pepil would suffer, he would see to it.  “Sire is very generous,” he managed to say.

“Now go prepare your belongings.  You shall depart in the morning.  Take anything of a personal matter that can be carried in your packs.  Should you have anything bigger, then arrange it with the castellan upstairs and it shall be transported at a later date.”

Vosgaris backed away and walked stiff-backed up the stairs, looking down once at the still head of Isbel.  On his way up he almost collided with Istan.  The boy, now eleven, looked almost like a miniature Astiras, another reason why Vosgaris disliked the boy.

“Hah, I see you’re on your way to Niake.  Good.  The less I see of you the better.”

“Majesty,” Vosgaris said with sarcasm and bowed just enough to avoid any accusation of disrespect. 

“It’s getting better here; all those I want away are going.  You know I will one day be Governor of Bragal?  I won’t want you here at all.  I hate you, and if you’re stupid enough to step foot in Bragal when I’m governor, I may well have you arrested and thrown into the dungeons here.  With luck, you’ll be locked up with my girl of a brother.”

“Majesty is wise to give his humble servant such advice,” Vosgaris said dully.  What could he say to such a difficult person as Istan?  Best to be sarcastic and insincere.  It was just about the only thing he could get away with.

Istan stood before him, thumbs in his belt, sternly looking up at the stone-faced officer.  He was lost for words for a moment, not having expected Vosgaris’ reply.  “Hmm, yes, don’t forget I’m wise.  I have not forgotten the beating you gave me in Kastan City, and I intend getting even for that.  Stay a long way from me, Taboz.”

“Sire will receive no trouble from me.”

“You’d better not.  Now be on your way.  Captain Bevil is a better garrison commander than you – he knows not to make me angry.”

Vosgaris bowed and watched as Istan strutted away.  “Stupid little
kroll
,” he muttered, and resumed his journey.  His room was as it had been before he’d gone, and he ran a hand over the still crumpled blankets.  It had been here he’d made love to Isbel.  His heart ached.  Wanting something – or someone – and not being able to have one’s desire made the pain worse.  He pulled out his pack from under his bed and morosely began to stuff his personal belongings, of which he had few, into it.

He opened his personal chest and laid his various items of clothing upon his bed.  He’d need a second pack.  His eye caught sight of another object.  A bag of dried leaves.  He picked it up and weighed it in his hands.  Metila had given him these, and the effect they had had on him in Turslenka came to mind.  He briefly thought of how Isbel would react if she used them, and another zephyr of desire brushed momentarily across his mind.  Smiling sadly, he put them in his pack and tied it firmly closed.  He would take them with him to Niake, and maybe one day he might have the opportunity to try them out.

Shutting his door behind him, he went to look for another pack.  The armoury would have them.  Guards acknowledged him and he nodded to them in response.  He would miss the duties, but an emperor’s will was not one to defy.  He would command three companies, from memory of what was posted there, who were regulars.

Opportunities presented themselves only rarely and one suddenly came his way.  On his route to the armoury the lone figure of Pepil appeared, clearly on his way to one of the offices back along the passageway.

Vosgaris didn’t hesitate.  His fist sank deep into the major domo’s gut and the man doubled up, retching.  “If you and I ever meet alone again, you slime, I’m going to tear your tongue out and shove it up your arse.”  Having delivered his message of greeting, the former imperial guard captain resumed his walk.

Pepil thought he was going to part with his last meal, but through deep inhalations and extreme concentration, he managed to keep it down.  A guard came along and saw him sitting against the passageway wall.  An offer to help was rudely brushed aside and Pepil staggered to his feet, still gripping his stomach.  He would get even for that.  He painfully made his way to his offices.

Isbel was there, having left the emperor’s side shortly before.  She was to make sure the paperwork to transfer Vosgaris to Niake was properly delivered.  A messenger was standing before her and she was giving him final instructions.  He would not be the man to actually deliver the message; he would ride as far as Frasia and pass the document over to a relay man, and he in turn would do the same in Kastan city.

As the messenger left with the document, Isbel saw Pepil gingerly make his way to his desk.  “Problem, major domo?”

The tone in her voice was not warm, but nonetheless she had to ensure everyone was in good health, and anyone showing signs of an ailment had to be checked.  Pepil sucked in his breath.  The blow still hurt and he was concerned maybe the punch had done some damage.  It had been so sudden, so violent, and he had been unprepared for it.  “That Captain Vosgaris assaulted me!” he gasped, holding his stomach. 

“Where?” Isbel was all officious at once.  This was a serious accusation.

Pepil gave her the briefest of descriptions.  He sank into his chair, waving away the attentions of a clerk.  “He should be arrested.”

“Guard!” Isbel snapped.  One appeared immediately.  “Go summon Commander,” and she gave Pepil an admonishing look, “Vosgaris to me at once.”

Vosgaris was ambling back from getting a new pack when two guards informed him to report to the empress without delay.  So in no time he stood before her, the second pack slumped flatly over one shoulder.

“Commander,” Isbel said briskly.  “An accusation of assault has been laid against you by the major domo there,” and she nodded over to the pale-looking man.  “What do you have to say about that?”

Vosgaris glared at the man.  Clearly he had not learned his lesson.  “Still spreading vicious rumours about me, are you?  I wouldn’t touch him with a ten pace long pike!”

Isbel looked from one to the other.  Hatred flowed between the two.  She was tempted to leave the two alone in the room to sort it out, but then she would have to detain her lover on a murder charge.  She knew full well Vosgaris had hit the nasty little courtier, but was there any proof?  Unless Vosgaris admitted it there didn’t seem to be any.  “Who witnessed this alleged attack?”

“Alleged?  Alleged?  Ma’am!  He hit me!”

Vosgaris sneered and folded his arms and looked over Isbel’s shoulder.  He radiated fury.  Isbel desperately wanted to take him and reassure him everything was going to be alright, but Pepil was not having any of it.