House of Lust (51 page)

“But the cost!” Lord Anglis protested.  “The treasury cannot afford the expense; we’ve had this argument so many times.  Why revive this now?”

“Because, Anglis, Venn is at war with us, and they have already invaded Bragal and left a swathe of destruction behind them.  What cost would be counted should they invade Makenia and lay waste to the countryside, which includes your estates, may I add?”  Astiras pointed a stubby finger at the nobleman.  “Should we baulk at the cost of maintaining a larger standing army able to meet such attacks before they cause thousands of furims of damage?  Weigh up the cost, Anglis.  Pay for a large army able to keep our people and estates safe, or not and allow said people and estates to be destroyed at greater cost to the empire?”

“And will the effect of this be to squeeze more taxes out of us all?” Lord Kanzet asked, his hands clenched together.  “Will we pay for the Koros to police us more effectively, perpetuating their House’s rule over us for eternity?”

“Oh, Kanzet, you’re beginning to bore me,” Astiras said in exasperation.  “Do us all a favour and volunteer yourself to go to Venn and negotiate the return of our countrymen.  At least I won’t have to listen to your whining voice all the time.”

“Koros, you don’t change; you’re still an uncivilised barbarian with little in the way of social graces and manners.  I will not waste my time in asking an enemy for the return of people who matter little to me.”

Astiras pointed at Kanzet.  “And there is proof that the Kanzet family are no good for Kastania.  No wonder your forebear’s rule was a total disaster, if this is an example of the House of Kanzet’s attitude.”

Kanzet angrily threw one side of his long robe around his knees and looked away.

“My father is one of those held by the Venn,” Vosgaris said softly.  “You categorically refuse to help him?”

Kanzet curled a contemptuous lip.  Vosgaris stood and went over to him.  Isbel gasped; she knew what was coming.  She went to speak out but the emperor laid a hand on her forearm and shook his head, smiling.

“Stand up you gutless man,” Vosgaris growled to Kanzet.

“And if I don’t?  I refuse to acknowledge you as a legal member of this Council.  You’re a whelp with no class or standing.”

Vosgaris’ hand blurred as it slapped Kanzet across the face, and then came back to strike the other cheek with an open palm, a symbol of a total insult.  “You’re no man, and you’re no Lord.”

Kanzet hissed and stood, clutching his stinging flesh.  “I’ll burn your estates to the ground, Taboz.  You’ll be ruined.  You’ll be mourning the loss of a mother as well as a father.”

The scraping of a sword being pulled free filled the chamber as Vosgaris stepped back, arming himself.  “Defend yourself, Ebril Kanzet.  Only one of us is going to leave this room alive.”

“Stop this!” Anglis stood, his hands planted on the table top.  “Sire, you can’t allow this to proceed!”

Astiras shrugged, his hands wide in a gesture of helplessness.  “On one hand you object to my interfering in Council matters, yet then you ask me to do so.  I can’t see how I can overturn a noble’s right to challenge.”

Kanzet unfastened his robe and draped it over the back of his chair.  He slid his own sword, a bejewelled ornate weapon, from its scabbard.  “Now, Taboz whelp, we shall see how good you really are.”

Elbril Kanzet stood in a classic stance, one leg forward, the other back, his weight in the centre.  His sword was held low but pointed up.  Vosgaris flexed his blade and stood more upright.  “Well, aren’t you going to go into stance?” Kanzet demanded impatiently.

“I am ready – I don’t bother with the unnecessary; that’s the domain of show-offs and those who don’t really know how to fight properly.”

Kanzet gritted his teeth and sprang forward, his blade arcing up underneath Vosgaris’ throat, seeking to open it up.  The younger man stepped to one side quickly and slapped the blow aside, then slammed one foot down hard and hauled his blade back the way it had come in a vicious back-handed strike.

Kanzet stood in disbelief at the rip in his rich jacket.  He grasped it and staggered back three steps, bumping into a chair.  Red was beginning to stain the ruined clothing.  The blow had hit him from left shoulder to right hip.  Some of it had gone in deep, too.

“You disrespectful gutter-dweller,” Kanzet gasped in pain.  “That will cost you everything.”

Vosgaris stood where he had been at the start, once again holding the tip of his sword in his left hand.  “I have trained to fight on a battlefield, not a woman’s bed chamber, Kanzet, and I have witnessed battle and seen how dirty and merciless it is, so unlike the prim and proper manner you have learned with rules.  There are no rules in battle; its kill or be killed.  You fight with your sword, teeth, nails, feet, everything.”

Kanzet fell over his chair, his strength ebbing.  His jacket was soaked in blood.  “You – will – regret – this…”

Vosgaris looked on dispassionately at the head of the House of Kanzet fell onto his back, clutching his ruined clothing.  His sword fell with a metallic clang to the floor and he lay there, staring up at the ceiling.  Others went to his side and saw that there was little they could do; the man would be dead in a few moments.  One of them, Lord Bosua, looked up.  “You could be ostracised for this, Taboz.  Killing a leader of a House is a serious offence.”

“Even if I was attacked first, Bosua?  What can you do?  Bar me from the Council?  Make decisions without my contributions?”  He shrugged, wiping his blade.  “In the first instance I don’t really have the time to partake in these things as I have a busy schedule in Bathenia, and I’m only here on the express wish of the emperor because my father is not able to be present.  And with respect to the other, domestic affairs are not mine to get involved in; I am too busy with military matters in the west.  So whatever you decide, I doubt it’ll inconvenience me in the slightest.”

Lord Bosua stood up, a stern look to his features.  “If it were not for the fact you’re on the Council I would put forward a motion that you be removed from your duties and punished for this act of… barbarity.”

Vosgaris turned to the emperor.  “Sire, it seems the Council wish to punish me in some way.”  He bowed and sat back down, holding Lord Bosua’s gaze.

Astiras stirred and stood.  “Gentlemen, Lord Kanzet challenged Lord Taboz and paid for it with his life.  I am of the opinion that honour was satisfied in this instance.  If any of you challenge another, you know the consequences.  Lord Kanzet paid the ultimate price.”

Lord Bosua clenched his teeth and looked away.  The body of Kanzet was lifted up and carried out of the room, most of the delegates returning and sitting down once more, a much more subdued atmosphere reigning.

Astiras waved both Jorqel and Isbel closer to listen to his lowered voice.  “In one fell swoop we have removed the rebels’ leading voice, and cowed the rest into obedience.  Vosgaris deserves a reward.”

“Another?” Isbel queried.  “That would send a bad message to the Council, surely.”

“I concur,” Jorqel said.  “Perhaps something secret?  He will be returning to Kastan City with me so I could speak to him on the journey, father.”

“We will discuss that later, Jorqel,” Astiras nodded, and the three sat up in their seats, ready to discuss the next item, the budget for the forthcoming six months.

Lord Kanzet had already been forgotten.

Metila had settled back in Turslenka after her trip to Zofela, but what she had not told anyone about was her side trip to see her son in a remote Bragalese village in the mountains.  The boy had reached five and was showing signs of growing into a strong child.  He had a shock of black hair and had tanned skin but was not as tanned as a normal Bragalese child.  Klandesi, the boy, had been unsure at seeing Metila but once he had been assured that she was his mother, had allowed her to sit him on her lap and speak to him.

She had spoken of his destiny one day to be a great leader, a king, for he had royal blood in him and would unite the people of Bragal and lead them to greatness.  She did not know how much the boy had understood her but the old women in the village had and had promised to teach him about his heritage.

She had stayed three days before returning to Zofela; any more time away then someone might have begun to ask questions.  She had explained her absence on visiting her family in her home village, which wasn’t strictly true.  She knew that the emperor wanted to find out where the child was, but also knew better than to try to get the facts out of her.  Too much of a fuss and others would have learned the truth, and that would not have been good for either of them.  Astiras, as it would have caused a dynastic problem within his own family and maybe caused him to fall.  Metila needed Astiras to remain emperor for her own child to inherit his power and status, and for Metila it would have made her position untenable.  Thetos would also probably be taken down in her fall, and she didn’t want that.  The rest of the Koros would have hunted Klandesi and too many looking for him would have ultimately uncovered his hiding place.

Metila had wondered long and hard whether she should have told the emperor in the first place, but how else could Klandesi have been acknowledged?  The emperor still had not done so, and she would have to think on how to get it out of him.  One day the two would have to meet, but only under conditions Metila would be satisfied with.  Once that had happened, and Astiras had acknowledged paternity, then all use that the emperor had for her would be done.  She hoped her son would be strong enough to become the leader she wished amongst the Bragalese people, for they needed a leader they could rally to and expel all foreigners from the land they saw as their own, Kastanian or any other.  She knew she would probably not live long enough to see the day, but perhaps she would be remembered in time as the mother of the greatest king in Bragalese history.  The thought sent a glow through her – not bad for a peasant girl from southern Bragal.  The use of the female body could sometimes be to her advantage.

Turslenka was unchanged when she returned – or was it?  People were more tense and the soldiers more alert.  Thetos was a worried man, yes, and she quickly went to work on him and got out of him the cause of the concern.

The man known as Slavis had begun using terror tactics on the city, causing fires here and there, nothing big, but just enough to get people on edge.  Then he had begun on a campaign of murder, killing up to that point three important figures in the merchant community.  There was no pattern or no connection between all three.

Letters were pinned to walls or posts in important places, stating that Slavis of Makenia would bring down the Kastanian misrule of Governor Olskan by the spring, and he would take the ineffective puppet of a tyrannical emperor’s place.  The sabotage and murders would continue until the people of Turslenka tired of them and ejected the Kastanians and welcome him in their place.

Thetos grumbled to Metila as she lay against his chest that night.  “Damned man hides like a ghost.  I don’t know who he is, where he is, who he has, what they are.  Nobody knows anything!  There could be agents of his in this very residence!  What a mess.”

“Tomorrow I try find out.”

“You?  What can you do, slut?”

Metila smiled and curled herself around him, her warmth sending delicious shivers through his body.  “I do many things you no understand.  Trust me,” she breathed in a husky voice that gave him a tingling feeling, and he felt her slide her hand down below and gently squeeze him into full arousal.  “Now pleasure me.”

Thetos needed no second bidding.  He rolled onto her, and she placed her hands up by the bed posts.  There were leather loops fixed to them and she slipped her hands into them, then pulled down, trapping her wrists.  Thus tied, she was unable to move her arms.  Thetos chuckled and caught hold of her hair, holding her head back.  Then he slid into her and thrust deeply.  Metila emitted a deep, throaty groan of pleasure and wrapped her legs around his hairy back.  “Hard – you go hard!”

The bed shook to his efforts, and the room was filled with grunts and groans.  Metila was back.

The following morning Thetos summoned his senior officers to the meeting room after breakfast, including Argan.  Argan sat with Kerrin, needing his friend to listen in on the talk.  Thetos eyed the assembled people around the rectangular table.  “We know that this Slavis will strike either today or tomorrow.  He usually does something every two to three days, and it’s been three days since the last incident.  There’s only so much the militia can do, so we need to take the initiative.  Captain Frink, any suspicious people entering or leaving the city?” 

The captain, a thin, serious looking man, shook his head.  “None we could tell, sire.  Merchants, citizens, a few travellers, but nobody who we could even consider as being suspicious.”

“We could be dealing with just a couple of people, or a very well organised group of twenty or more.”  The governor stroked his chin worriedly.  “We need to send a sweep through the back streets and find out if anyone new is controlling any gang or criminal group, or any organisation.  Other than that, then it must be that Slavis is outside somewhere and getting messages into the city.  How?  Gentlemen, question people, use your contacts, I need something – anything – that is out of the ordinary.  No matter how insignificant it might be, please record it and bring it to me.”

The soldiers broke up, dismissed.  Argan sat quietly with Kerrin, wondering what he was there for.  He had not even been spoken to.  Thetos looked up at him.  “Well, sire, it does not look good for us, does it?  We don’t know when and where Slavis will strike again, but my guess is it’ll be today or tomorrow.”

“But Governor, can we not question known criminals and ask them?”

Thetos smiled.  “Criminals would not wish to speak to us; they would rightly be concerned they would be arrested.  They do not like us, and avoid us.  If we send soldiers into their alleyways they disappear like smoke, and reappear once we have gone.  Known criminals are either in prison or have fled.”

“Then why send the soldiers out?  Aren’t you wasting their time?”

Thetos chuckled.  “No – they are being seen to be doing their duty, being visible.  Everyone knows we are in trouble, under threat, and to do nothing or being seen to be doing nothing, would send out a bad message to people.”

Argan thought for a moment.  “Oh.  So, even though it will actually do nothing, by doing that you show you are in control.”

“Indeed, Young Prince.  A valuable lesson for any ruler.  Be visible in any time of danger – show the people you are there, a high profile.”

“So – why am I here now?  I am supposed to be having a lesson this morning with Kontas Bosua.”

“Because you are to help me with an important task.  Metila has asked that you are present.”  Thetos looked at Kerrin.  “I’m sorry, young Kerrin, but this is a matter of provincial importance and only the Prince and I are to be present.”

Kerrin nodded and stood.  “Then I shall go to the lesson.  I shall see you later, sire?” he asked Argan.

“Yes, ‘Rin, I shall be with you later.”

Thetos took Argan to his room and pointed to the open door into Metila’s chamber.  “In there, sire, Metila awaits us.”  He shut the door to the corridor after telling the guards nobody was to enter, and led the apprehensive fourteen - almost fifteen – year old to the doorway of Metila’s chamber.   “You have already experienced her powers, sire, haven’t you?  So do not be surprised at what she is about to do.”

They entered the cluttered room, with its usual collection of herbs, plants, containers, beakers, glasses and dead creatures.  At the far end was the bed that Metila had saved Argan’s life on.  She was standing by it now, dressed in a long black cloak, her hair smoothed close to her skull with some unknown lotion, for it glistened as if it were wet.  Her eyes were heavily made up in black and lines ran from her eyes and mouth across her cheeks.  It made her look somewhat frightening.

“Why am I here?” Argan asked.

Thetos dragged a stool against the inner door after shutting it and sat, blocking the way.  Metila held out a hand to Argan.  “I shall speak my language, Thetos.  You sit and watch.”

Thetos nodded and leaved against the door.

Metila bowed to Argan.  “
Lakhani
, I have asked for you because you speak my tongue and what I have to explain to you needs no misunderstanding.  My Kastanian is not complete as you know.  I also have asked for you because you and I are linked.  When I saved your life some of my essence passed into your body, which is why you can speak Bragalese.”

Argan looked alarmed but Metila smiled and put a long, polished black nail to his lips gently.  “No,
Lakhani
, there is no cause for concern.  It was a necessity if your life was to be saved.  My mind touched yours and freed you from death.  Since that time we have been linked, if only in a small way.  It is this which will be of great use now.  I am to free my spirit to seek these people who wish harm to you and Thetos there.  So – I must impress upon you whatever you see or feel or hear, you must not change what I ask of you now.”

“I – I understand, Metila.  I am scared, though.”

Metila nodded.  “Magic does scare people which is why they seek to destroy it and people like me,
Okloka
.  This magic is dangerous, but not to you.  It is to me.  If you let go I shall die.  I am putting my life in your hands,
Lakhani
.”

“What?”

Metila eyed Thetos briefly.  “He does not know.  He would not allow this if he did.  So, please, I ask you, do not let go of me, can you do that?”

“Yes, of course!”

Metila smiled and unfastened the clasp of her cloak.  The garment fell to reveal her naked body – totally naked.  Argan gaped.  Metila raised an eyebrow.  “Never seen a naked woman before,
Lakhani
?”

“Uhh – no!”  His eyes roved over her lithe, slight form.  He hastily looked away as he caught sight of her pubic region.

Metila turned so to present her back to him.  “Now,
Lakhani
, do not resist.  Feel relaxed with my body.”

“But – but…”

She looked at him over her shoulder.  “You must be able to touch a woman without fear,
Lakhani
.  Be at ease.  Feel my body, go on.”

Argan looked at Thetos, red-faced, his eyes almost like wheels.  Thetos, even though he hadn’t understood the dialogue, shrugged.  Metila was the ultimate in unorthodoxy and he had long given up trying to work out how her mind worked.  All he knew was she was hugely addictive to him and he’d do anything for her, a dangerous state of mind he knew, but he couldn’t help himself.  Whatever she had said to Argan, he wouldn’t ask.

Metila took the prince’s hands and placed them on her side.  “Feel, touch, run your hands over me.”  She closed her eyes as he took his first hesitant touches, and when she pressed into his chest, felt him become a little more confident.  “Good – see, your hands do not burn, you do not feel pain.  What do you feel,
Lakhani
?”

“Uhh…. Good things, Metila.”

“As it should be.  But beware – females are very dangerous.  Treat them with respect – do not abuse them, or underestimate them.  Yes?”

“I won’t – I promise.”

“I believe you.  Now, run your hands along my arms, then take my wrists firmly and whatever happens do not release them, until I tell you to.”

Argan nodded, awed by the power of her voice.  He took hold of her wrists and clamped his fingers round them.  He felt Metila mould herself into the contours of his body, aware of the hardness down below where there hadn’t been one a short while before.

Metila smiled and looked at him.  “Not a time or place for that,
Lakhani
, but you will one day with Amal.  I will become outside myself, so keep hold of me – my life is in your hands now.”

Argan wasn’t sure what she meant.  Thetos got up and picked up a container, with a small number of brown dried leaves in the bottom.  Metila nodded and he poured some liquid into it that smelt odd to Argan.  The container began to smoke and Thetos placed it on a stand just under her nose.  He retreated to the stool and sat down once more.  Metila looked round at Argan.  “Do not breathe this smoke in – it would not be good for you.”

“What if it accidentally comes my way?” the prince asked, watching the lazy wisps rise.

“My hair – I have coated it in a substance that will help.  Do not be afraid to breathe in my scent – you will enjoy it, but do not let go of my wrists whatever happens.”

Argan gulped and pressed his face into her slick-backed hair.  It was plastered to her back and he inhaled.  As she had promised, it was quite pleasant, a mixture of whatever it was coating her hair and her natural odours.