destiny's queen 5

 

Chapter 5

 

“We need a base of operations,” said Harkon, to Ralthur.

“That’s one reason we brought a lot of money,” said Ralthur.

“But if we buy a place, someone will know, and it won’t be secret,” said Harkon. “I think we should take in one of the loyal people as suspect, and use their house.”

“We don’t need to,” said Ralthur. “I just thought. We can use the house of Thea Drex.”

“So we can,” said Harkon. “What’s the chance of She of the Bleeding Moon telling anyone she’s lost her one and only heroine?”

Ralthur sniggered.

“Next to none,” he said. “So nobody is likely to come poking in.”

 

The Drex mansion was a three-storey building, with a wide entrance into the first courtyard, where a pool and fountain might be seen. The main building was white marble with insets of blood red porphyry. The portico over the door showed Selen graciously welcoming all races to serve her, the moon inset behind her in porphyry. Harkon reached out to Zog, and made a few subtle changes; each figure now carried a weapon, to menace the red moon.

“Everyone’s a critic,” laughed Ralthur, at Harkon’s efforts.

The two men marched into the entrance as if expected. Harkon knew by the general layout, slightly different to the way things were done in the city states of Limnesthos, that to their left would be an office where the house’s master or his steward would receive creditors to pay bills and debtors to pay their bills, freed slaves who owed duty and service, and any business partners. On the right was a room for the doorkeeper, typically a freed man, often an ex-gladiator, who acted as greeter and bouncer. His job was to be on the lookout at all times, and to answer the door if it was knocked on during the hours of the night.

The man who came out had a slight limp; he was a grizzled veteran with muscles in the right places for a warrior, and a few scars showing white on his weatherbeaten skin.

“Sirs, may I help you? I am Crondion, doorkeeper to Thea Drex; the mistress is away from home,” he said.

“Crondion, look at me,” said Harkon. “I think you can tell by my features that I am your mistress’s brother. I and my friend will be staying here.”

“Oh! I see; if you will come into the first courtyard and recline in the shade, I will fetch Gordius Larth, my lady’s steward,” said Crondion.

“Crondion,” said Harkon, “Are you personally loyal to my sister?”

“Aye, my lord. She bought me out of the arena when she first had position; I trained her when she was sent there, just a little girl. Meant her as a comic turn they did, but I taught her enough to survive and then they was laughing on the other sides of their faces,” he added in grim satisfaction.

“Do you remember her real name?” asked Harkon.

“Aye; she asked me to help her recall that she was Sjurgi, but in later years, she hasn’t cared to ask to be reminded...”

“Crondion; do you worship Thanus?”

“I sacrifice power to him. I worship Alethos.”

“Friend Crondion, so do we; and Sjurgi is free, and if you will join us, we will tear down this filthy empire.”

“My lord, I am your man.”

“I will not tell you my true name yet, but I am going by Aquilix Drex,” said Harkon. “You will have to tell us who may be trusted.”

“Not Gordius Larth,” said Crondion. “He is ambitious”

“Thank you,” said Harkon. “Show us in, anyway, and have him assign us rooms. On the ground floor as is proper for the mistress’s family, her brother and friend.”

“Yes, my lords,” said Crondion. “Now I understand the prophecy of that blind man in the market place, ‘Bide your time, the harrowing will begin with the brother of the broken child and his companion.’”

“It is, indeed, an age of prophecy,” said Harkon.

“I... I could find people who want to overthrow the empire,” said Crondion.

“Good; that will help,” said Harkon. “We will need more room than we have here.”

“Leave it to me,” said Crondion. “I will need some time off, but there are mansions belonging to those who have gone to war, and whilst they are away, we can make use of their mansions.”

“Appoint someone you trust to take your place whilst you are busy. Clodus and Thorus Mils are dead,” said Harkon. “We can also use the house of Ralthur Kron; Lasur Kron and Clodax Dren are not going anywhere.”

“Well, now, that’s a bit fortunate,” said Crondion. “The Kron complex is across the street; but my lord knew that, didn’t he?” he looked at Ralthur.

“I won’t confirm or deny,” said Ralthur.

“You went out of your way to help me, once, when you were hardly more than a boy, when others jostled me,” said Crondion. “Aye, and your own class, too.”

“All Krons look much alike,” said Ralthur.

“But not all have a minute scar by the left eye,” said Crondion. “Though I wager few people have noticed it. But I can mention that all Krons look alike if anyone asks.”

“I had no face furniture when I left,” said Ralthur.

“It hides who you were very well, my lord,” said Crondion.

“That’s the idea,” said Ralthur.

“We need trógling,” said Harkon, scratching his own beard. “Though reasons for buying trógling might raise suspicions.”

“Put a pair of male trógling in the sort of tunic worn by little boys, and most people will draw their own disgusting conclusions about our predilections,” said Ralthur. “They don’t, after all, know about how we have disconcerted the army; because do you think the commanders are going to actually confess that trógling caused them trouble?”

“An honest commander tells it like it is,” said Harkon.

“This is why I was shuffled into being regional governor, not supreme commander of the armed forces,” said Ralthur. “Too honest. It embarrassed my family, but they could not fail to give me some position. And put a spy on me; Quirinus Lex.”

“A mean family, by all accounts,” said Crondion. “And what, my lord, of Vaudia Cass?”

Ralthur shuddered.

“I’d as soon drink great toróg urine as be married to her,” he said. “I don’t admire women who are soft and well-curved, and more to the point, I don’t admire women who are bone idle. If she was unwell, she could not help it, but there’s nothing wrong with her, and she lies around all day reading novels, eating sweetmeats, and declaring that she’s bored. She whines and complains, and sometimes I long to have her in a troop of recruits to make her run about until she gets a glow of health to her face rather than too much make-up, and learns to use her legs. She says she adores dancing, but that’s only when watching others do it.”

Harkon shuddered; he had been offered the dubious charms of Vaudia Cass by the goddess Zeandine, as a bribe. Presumably some men admired her lush, overblown looks.

“You’ve always fancied my sister, haven’t you?” said Harkon.

“Since she saved the Empress and acceded to the name ‘Drex,’ and moved in next door,” said Ralthur. “I think she had had a series of less than stellar lovers to escape the arena and move up; she was not looking for anyone once she had a name, and the patronage of the empress.”

“She was bought out of the arena by a fat old man,” said Crondion. “I believe it was the last time she wept.”

“I will avenge my sister,” growled Harkon.

“Rumour has it that she kills any man she has slept with; but I don’t think she does,” said Crondion.

“Don’t worry, dear ones, she had a chaos taint as a ‘gift’ which made those close to her suffer bad luck. I removed it when I accepted her, and she knows this, so she knows she does not have to be aloof any more,” the voice of Alethos filled the minds of Harkon, Ralthur, and, it seemed, Crondion, who fell to his knees, eyes streaming with emotion.

“It... it was him...” he said.

“You get used to it,” said Harkon. “But I truly give him thanks for aiding Sjurgi.”

A fussy-looking man erupted from a door under the shading cloister around the pool.

“Who are these and what is going on, Crondion?” he demanded. He took in the fine clothes the pair were wearing, and sneered at the long hair, and excess jewellery that they wore.

“Aquilix Drex, taking up residence in my sister’s house, and my friend, Fadabius Kron,” said Harkon, sneering back. “Did you want to take it up with Julus Helio? I’m working directly under him, and Fadabius is, as you might say, working directly under me....” He leered at Ralthur, who batted his eyebrows. Gordius Larth, the steward, paled and looked sick. He was significantly outranked socially by both of them.

“Don’t overdo it,” said Alethos. “Those of my worshippers that way inclined rarely show it, and certainly not so blatantly.”

“That’s the idea,” said Harkon. “To be so blatant that it’s all people think about. Whilst they concentrate on socially unacceptable behaviour, they are not looking for us stirring up trouble and fomenting war; they think they have understood us.”

“Risky; but I can see how it may work,” said Alethos. “You will offend others who are so inclined.”

“I can’t help that, but at least if we can bring down the blood moon, they will be then free to love as they wish, instead of only being recruited as secret police and vilified in yet another way,” said Harkon. “I asked for pointers from Evgon and Kuros who finally admitted their feelings and are together.”

 

 

Gordius Larth summoned the slaves to make them known to the – to him – unwelcome guests, and carry their belongings to a pair of adjoining bedrooms. He shouted a lot and gave orders, whilst smiling ingratiatingly at Harkon.

“Just go about your duties as usual,” rumbled Harkon. “I’ll get around to speaking to each of you, but we’re simple soldiers and we eat what is put before us.”

Gordius glared, sulkily. He was a good-looking young man, in a sulky sort of way. He had just had his authority completely undermined.

“I am the steward of this house, and I give the orders here!” he protested, shrilly.

Harkon regarded him.

“You were the steward of this house; you are plainly incompetent and moreover I don’t like your face,” he said. “You’re fired. You have the rest of the day to pack your things and get out. If you don’t irritate me further, I won’t write to your father about you.”

Gordius Larth packed and left in a hurry.

He was only glad that Aquilix Drex had not found the creative accounting he had been censured for by Thea Drex just before she left.

He hoped to attach himself to Erlax Sorn, a second-class noble like himself, and currently in good odour, in a manner of speaking, for saving such of the army as he could from the bumbling of Orgeron Cass.

 

Orgeron Cass had not remained in prison long; the family was powerful, and whilst it was only incompetence which drove him to lose half the army, not disloyalty, he could be permitted to pick up his life again.  The empire survived by keeping the nobles divided and in factional quarrels. He had moved back into the family complex with his sister, Vaudia. He would have to make another betrothal arrangement for her now that Ralthur Kron had defected to the enemy; and he was damned if he would offer her to any lesser family. There had been Lazar Kron, until he was captured. Now? Well, he would militate against offering her to Erlax Sorn, favourite of Thea Drex, low ranking noble and disturbingly efficient, who had hauled his own irons out of the fire with quiet suggestions.

But the whole army was disgraced in its failure; and even Erlax did not come out of it smelling of roses. Orgeron was almost tempted to hand her over to Sanger, chief priest of Aima, goddess of the bloodsuckers. Sanger was a bloodsucker, of course, and he would likely insist any wife work her way up the cult to join him, if he was sufficiently fond of her; but having them as allies was advantageous.  

He did not have to decide immediately.

 

oOoOo

 

“Oh, shit,” said Kaz. “I... I think things are happening.”

Latrika and Phrodine took over, and Lelyn, Rynn, Svargia, and Arana as women who were close to her, as well as glyph-priest Varon, associate priest of Latrika and brother to Arana. Having helped with the healing of the cursed wound of Alethos, Varon was much in favour.

Kaz’s baby was delivered with remarkably little fuss and bother, and she held her daughter.

“Iphianira,” she said. There had been a brief look of recognition in the baby blue eyes before the memory of the dead child Iphianira was dulled in the new baby, at least until she was older.

Alethos gently placed his sword hilt into the baby’s fist, and she grasped it.

“Born to be a warrior,” he said, happily.

“You are aware, are you not, brother,” said Latrika, tartly, “That a baby will grasp anything put in its hand?”

“For sure; but her first feeling is of a sword,” said Alethos. “So, it will be familiar to her.”

“You men and your superstitions,” said Latrika.

“She will be what she wants to be,” said Kaz. “She will learn the martial arts even if she only uses them in self-defence.”

“Quite right,” said Alethos. “Grow up happy, little Iphianira.” He kissed his daughter.

Kaz left the women cleaning up afterbirth as she fed her daughter, and then new mother and daughter both slept deeply.

 

“Death has a daughter,” said Daze. “She must die before she grows up to be the Daykaz; send your people to deal with it.”

“My people are making a mess of a simple siege,” said Selen. “I will tell my priests and priestesses. Surely one of them will be able to kill a baby.”

“How hard can it be?” said Daze. “They must find out who the mother is; or kill all babies in the city.”

“That might be easier,” said Selen. “A disease which kills newborns. I will see to it.”