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This is towards the middle of the book. The main character, Caric, has arrived in the outer provinces of his Father's realm to take up his command in the Conerax.
CHAPTER 11 GASERIC
CONERAXIA 1079 VP
“Not exactly pretty is it!” Caric announced to no one in particular. Herk and Dagal made no reply to the Prince’s despondent remark. To their seasoned eyes, the township of Coneraxia wasn’t that bad; they had definitely been in worse places. Caric was standing at the window of the small room that had been assigned to him as his work office. He was looking out at the muddy lane that led from Legate’s command post, down into the warren of streets, that made up the trading township of Coneraxia.
It was a far cry from the ordered cities of Inner-Janter and the cultured settings of the theatres and racing stadia of Nanter. It is squalid, thought Caric miserably, his dreams of high adventure and exotic landscapes, disappearing quickly over the horizon of the steppes. The seemingly endless steppes of the Far- East, had a disquieting effect on the young Prince. They held a certain soulless quality to him, a large expanse of emptiness that bore down on Caric, and reaffirmed the absolute reversal of fortune he had recently suffered.
Caric turned back to his desk, to contemplate the papers scattered across it. The missives held information on his command, the names of his Janterian officers and the make up of the various clans that his cavalry troopers were drawn from, in the Burgundian tribe. They, the troopers, had yet to arrive at Coneraxia; the recruitment was still ongoing in the high lands of the Steegel. A thousand men, that was what the tribal leaders had to supply to the Conerax under the various treaties between the crown of Janter and Burgundian Drightens. A rather one sided agreement, Caric reflected. Seating himself at the desk, Caric gave his guards a baleful look.
“Well! Have you anything to do? Or are you just going to stand there looking ugly,” Caric said.
Dagal suddenly smiled and gave Herk a nudge.
“As a matter of fact we have just come from Gilles Del Brioc and he had a rather novel suggestion, but considering the circumstances…..” Dagal said trailing off, indicating the paper strewn table, with a sweep of his hand.
“Out with it,” Caric snapped.
“I don’t think it would be wise to go ahead with it, in light of Caric’s present predicament,” Herk said.
Dagal held that annoying smile of his, in place.
“Well Brother, there will be an exchange of coin this time…” Dagal said, and paused. The response was instantaneous.
“A brothel, you have discovered the whereabouts of one,” Caric said, not disguising the delight in his voice. Of course, he should not have been surprised. Dagal, who was a notorious lecher, and they were his own words, would have made instant enquiries as to the whereabouts of all the local fleshpots upon their arrival in the town. Hence the growing friendship with Del Brioc, a born rake if ever there was one.
“Well,” Dagal said.
Caric eyed the parchments on the table. He really should be studying their contents, familiarizing himself with the command structure. Tosaran Stedarsson had included profiles of his officers and he had urged Caric to study them. In fact, on the morrow, the Legate expected a report from the Prince on the strengths and weaknesses of his junior officers. Caric thought for a moment, his libido fighting with his sense of duty. Bollox to it all!
“Let’s go,” he said.
Proceeding from the office, Dagal led them unerringly through the dark, narrow streets of Coneraxia. It really was a **** hole, thought Caric, looking at the shuttered dwellings on either side of them as they walked. All three of them were armed, giving heed to the warnings from the Legate about certain unsavoury denizens of the town.
Frontier settlements were the same the world over, in that they attracted all kinds of vermin, from sell swords to murderers. The Conerax were a military force and policing the town was not within their remit. Collect taxes, patrol the Steegel highlands, and repel any unwanted incursions from the march lands of the Dakar Empire, that was their job and Tosaran could not give a fiddlers about the apparent lawlessness of Coneraxia. Let the town elders look after that and what matter if they were corrupt, as long as the King’s taxes arrived on time.
“You were already here?” Caric asked, as they hurried along.
“Of course, last night to be precise. Del Brioc brought me along for a visit and I must say that I was pleasantly surprised,” Dagal replied.
“Really,” Caric said happily, for Dagal was a connoisseur when it came to bawdy houses.
“Now compared to the delights of Nanter, the ladies of the night here lack that certain bit of sophistication but they certainly make up for it in energy,” Dagal explained, warming to the subject.
Dagal’s words seemed to speed their steps onwards. To Caric’s mind it seemed like an eternity since he was last with a woman and considering what had happened the last time, it was no surprise that the carnal delights of the opposite sex had paled for him. But he was young and as they say, time heals all wounds. And it was now two months since the disastrous events in Nanter. Two months of abstinence was definitely punishment enough and as Dagal said, there would be an exchange of coin, so where was the harm in that?
Conscience salved, he marched on with a swing in his step and a warm sense of anticipation in his loins.
“Here we are,” Dagal suddenly stated, halting before a garishly coloured door in a luminous red. Above it, creaking in the slight wind, hung a battered sign with the legend, 'The Swordsman’s Sheath', inscribed upon it. From within came the sound of raucous laughter and music.
“Before we enter a word of advice,” Dagal said, eyeing his two companions.
“The Weshnanian lasses, stay clear of them. They are filth,” he said.
“Filth you say,” Caric said, brightly.
“If you fancy the good health of your **** then I advise you to keep well clear,” Dagal warned as they stepped into the smoked filled, dimly lit tavern. It took a moment for Caric’s eyes to grow accustomed to the smoky interior.
“Gentlemen, welcome. Welcome to my humble establishment,” a small, portly man said to them. His wide, smiling face and warm greeting was in sharp contrast to the beady, hard eyes that seemed sunken into his features.
“Good innkeeper, a table for my friends and three tankards of your fine wheat beer,” Dagal said, allowing the innkeeper to lead them to a corner of the tavern less populated than the others.
Taking their seats the trio glanced about them in silence.
“Rough,” Herk grunted. Indeed the atmosphere of the place, although loud and full of laughter, held a certain edge.
Caric concurred with Herk, but felt completely relaxed as he settled into his chair. At the bar, a group of Burgundian tribesmen roared out their abominable dirges, as they swilled tankard after tankard. But for the most part the patrons sat at tables, throwing dice or entertaining doxys on their laps.
The innkeeper returned with the beer.
“Three coppers, good sirs,” he said as he placed full, frothing tankards on the table.
Dagal fished in his pouch for the price and inquired after other Conerax officers in the premises.
“Ah yes, Commanders Del Brioc and Lambert are already ensconced above with some very lovely lady friends,” the innkeeper beamed.
“Will there be anything else?” he asked.
Caric looked expectantly at Dagal. He was the leader in this little adventure and had already blazed a trail here and a rather expensive one too, if the look on the innkeeper’s face was anything to go by.
“We shall expect some diversion later on. Burgundian or Caradian I should think, and unused ones at that,” Dagal said.
“Of course but unfortunately as you can see I am rather busy and…,” the innkeeper was saying when Dagal cut him off.
“We will pay well, just reserve three of your finest.”
With a bow the innkeeper withdrew.
“Toad,” Caric said, taking a long pull on his beer.
“Marvellous,” he remarked, smacking his lips.
Dagal was looking intently at one table of dicers. Intrigued, Caric followed his look to the table. Four men, garbed in riding leathers were dicing with a quiet intensity. Scarred hands held the dicing cup, shook and threw. Coins were exchanged in silence and dice thrown again.
“Do you know them?” asked Caric.
“I know one of them, at least I think I do. He looks older and greyer but it is definitely him. What do you think Herk?” Dagal said.
“It could be, but then I heard he had been killed during the fall of Lefnar ten years ago,” Herk replied his voice sounding troubled.
“Rumour, that would suit him, the world thinking he was dead,” Dagal replied.
“Who is he?” Caric asked staring at the table in the far corner of the tavern. Which one were they talking about? It was no friend he concluded listening to the edge in their voices. The four men were all attired in a similar manner and the smoke from dozens of pipes obscured their features but he could see their swords and one wore a baldric with a number of throwing knives sheathed in it.
“A ghost,” Dagal responded to Caric’s question, and then he turned from the group of dicers. Herk downed his beer and hailed a passing serving girl for three more.
“Slow down, Herk,” Caric said.
“Light weight. Drink up boy!” Herk bellowed.
“Aye,” Dagal shouted gulping back his own tankard.
“sh*t,” muttered Caric, knowing where this night was going to end up, a sore head in the morning and a couple of itchy balls for the day.
At that moment a shadow fell over the table. Looking up into the fearsome face of Tosaran Stedarsson, Caric smiled weakly.
“Good evening, sir, would you care for a drink,” Caric said, determined to make the best of what was turning out to be a bad situation.
“Never touch the stuff, addles the brain,” the Legate growled taking a seat at the table.
The innkeeper returned fussing over Tosaran offering him this, that and his wife. Suddenly Caric found himself smiling at the absurdness of the little man as he scraped to Tosaran Stedarsson.
“Just apple cider, Gelos,” he said calling the innkeeper by his given name.
"Used to be my Quarter-Master, can you believe it," remarked Tosaran as the little man scurried off. Caric took a sip of the beer and wondered what brought the Legate here. From what he heard, the commander was a fervent aesthetic since the death of his wife and abhorred all things venal.
“I take it your reports are finished for the briefing tomorrow and you are prepared to take command of the cavalry wing,” Tosaran said to Caric.
“The Burgundian contingent is here,” Caric said.
“This very night and very fierce they look too. A fine group of men, they are exactly one thousand in number as requested. One thing about these barbarians, you can always count on them to honour their word. Their leader is a man named Gaseric and I would suggest that you promote him to an equal rank as Gregorious,” Tosaran said.
Caric nodded and smiled but the joy of the night was gone for him.
“I will be away then as I have a demanding day a head of me,” Caric said, getting up from the table.
Herk rose with him not attempting to hide the disappointment on his face.
“I will stay a while and follow on later,” Dagal said.
Leaving Tosaran with Dagal, Caric heard his guard say to him.
“You know Taris Atiryns is…..”
Back out into the night and the long dismal walk up to the barracks Caric and Herk trudged. That name I have heard it before, Caric thought. Yes he had heard his father speak that name many years before, he was sure of it.
“Taris Atiryns, where have I have heard that name before?” Caric asked Herk.
Herk paused in his tracks for a moment and then continued on without answering Caric’s question.
“Herk!” Caric demanded.
“Never heard the name,” was the muted reply. Herk was a terrible liar and Caric knew it, but the guard was also stubborn and the Prince knew that if he didn’t want to answer him then he would not. With a disconsolate look back at the bawdy house, Caric continued on.
CHAPTER 11 GASERIC
CONERAXIA 1079 VP
“Not exactly pretty is it!” Caric announced to no one in particular. Herk and Dagal made no reply to the Prince’s despondent remark. To their seasoned eyes, the township of Coneraxia wasn’t that bad; they had definitely been in worse places. Caric was standing at the window of the small room that had been assigned to him as his work office. He was looking out at the muddy lane that led from Legate’s command post, down into the warren of streets, that made up the trading township of Coneraxia.
It was a far cry from the ordered cities of Inner-Janter and the cultured settings of the theatres and racing stadia of Nanter. It is squalid, thought Caric miserably, his dreams of high adventure and exotic landscapes, disappearing quickly over the horizon of the steppes. The seemingly endless steppes of the Far- East, had a disquieting effect on the young Prince. They held a certain soulless quality to him, a large expanse of emptiness that bore down on Caric, and reaffirmed the absolute reversal of fortune he had recently suffered.
Caric turned back to his desk, to contemplate the papers scattered across it. The missives held information on his command, the names of his Janterian officers and the make up of the various clans that his cavalry troopers were drawn from, in the Burgundian tribe. They, the troopers, had yet to arrive at Coneraxia; the recruitment was still ongoing in the high lands of the Steegel. A thousand men, that was what the tribal leaders had to supply to the Conerax under the various treaties between the crown of Janter and Burgundian Drightens. A rather one sided agreement, Caric reflected. Seating himself at the desk, Caric gave his guards a baleful look.
“Well! Have you anything to do? Or are you just going to stand there looking ugly,” Caric said.
Dagal suddenly smiled and gave Herk a nudge.
“As a matter of fact we have just come from Gilles Del Brioc and he had a rather novel suggestion, but considering the circumstances…..” Dagal said trailing off, indicating the paper strewn table, with a sweep of his hand.
“Out with it,” Caric snapped.
“I don’t think it would be wise to go ahead with it, in light of Caric’s present predicament,” Herk said.
Dagal held that annoying smile of his, in place.
“Well Brother, there will be an exchange of coin this time…” Dagal said, and paused. The response was instantaneous.
“A brothel, you have discovered the whereabouts of one,” Caric said, not disguising the delight in his voice. Of course, he should not have been surprised. Dagal, who was a notorious lecher, and they were his own words, would have made instant enquiries as to the whereabouts of all the local fleshpots upon their arrival in the town. Hence the growing friendship with Del Brioc, a born rake if ever there was one.
“Well,” Dagal said.
Caric eyed the parchments on the table. He really should be studying their contents, familiarizing himself with the command structure. Tosaran Stedarsson had included profiles of his officers and he had urged Caric to study them. In fact, on the morrow, the Legate expected a report from the Prince on the strengths and weaknesses of his junior officers. Caric thought for a moment, his libido fighting with his sense of duty. Bollox to it all!
“Let’s go,” he said.
Proceeding from the office, Dagal led them unerringly through the dark, narrow streets of Coneraxia. It really was a **** hole, thought Caric, looking at the shuttered dwellings on either side of them as they walked. All three of them were armed, giving heed to the warnings from the Legate about certain unsavoury denizens of the town.
Frontier settlements were the same the world over, in that they attracted all kinds of vermin, from sell swords to murderers. The Conerax were a military force and policing the town was not within their remit. Collect taxes, patrol the Steegel highlands, and repel any unwanted incursions from the march lands of the Dakar Empire, that was their job and Tosaran could not give a fiddlers about the apparent lawlessness of Coneraxia. Let the town elders look after that and what matter if they were corrupt, as long as the King’s taxes arrived on time.
“You were already here?” Caric asked, as they hurried along.
“Of course, last night to be precise. Del Brioc brought me along for a visit and I must say that I was pleasantly surprised,” Dagal replied.
“Really,” Caric said happily, for Dagal was a connoisseur when it came to bawdy houses.
“Now compared to the delights of Nanter, the ladies of the night here lack that certain bit of sophistication but they certainly make up for it in energy,” Dagal explained, warming to the subject.
Dagal’s words seemed to speed their steps onwards. To Caric’s mind it seemed like an eternity since he was last with a woman and considering what had happened the last time, it was no surprise that the carnal delights of the opposite sex had paled for him. But he was young and as they say, time heals all wounds. And it was now two months since the disastrous events in Nanter. Two months of abstinence was definitely punishment enough and as Dagal said, there would be an exchange of coin, so where was the harm in that?
Conscience salved, he marched on with a swing in his step and a warm sense of anticipation in his loins.
“Here we are,” Dagal suddenly stated, halting before a garishly coloured door in a luminous red. Above it, creaking in the slight wind, hung a battered sign with the legend, 'The Swordsman’s Sheath', inscribed upon it. From within came the sound of raucous laughter and music.
“Before we enter a word of advice,” Dagal said, eyeing his two companions.
“The Weshnanian lasses, stay clear of them. They are filth,” he said.
“Filth you say,” Caric said, brightly.
“If you fancy the good health of your **** then I advise you to keep well clear,” Dagal warned as they stepped into the smoked filled, dimly lit tavern. It took a moment for Caric’s eyes to grow accustomed to the smoky interior.
“Gentlemen, welcome. Welcome to my humble establishment,” a small, portly man said to them. His wide, smiling face and warm greeting was in sharp contrast to the beady, hard eyes that seemed sunken into his features.
“Good innkeeper, a table for my friends and three tankards of your fine wheat beer,” Dagal said, allowing the innkeeper to lead them to a corner of the tavern less populated than the others.
Taking their seats the trio glanced about them in silence.
“Rough,” Herk grunted. Indeed the atmosphere of the place, although loud and full of laughter, held a certain edge.
Caric concurred with Herk, but felt completely relaxed as he settled into his chair. At the bar, a group of Burgundian tribesmen roared out their abominable dirges, as they swilled tankard after tankard. But for the most part the patrons sat at tables, throwing dice or entertaining doxys on their laps.
The innkeeper returned with the beer.
“Three coppers, good sirs,” he said as he placed full, frothing tankards on the table.
Dagal fished in his pouch for the price and inquired after other Conerax officers in the premises.
“Ah yes, Commanders Del Brioc and Lambert are already ensconced above with some very lovely lady friends,” the innkeeper beamed.
“Will there be anything else?” he asked.
Caric looked expectantly at Dagal. He was the leader in this little adventure and had already blazed a trail here and a rather expensive one too, if the look on the innkeeper’s face was anything to go by.
“We shall expect some diversion later on. Burgundian or Caradian I should think, and unused ones at that,” Dagal said.
“Of course but unfortunately as you can see I am rather busy and…,” the innkeeper was saying when Dagal cut him off.
“We will pay well, just reserve three of your finest.”
With a bow the innkeeper withdrew.
“Toad,” Caric said, taking a long pull on his beer.
“Marvellous,” he remarked, smacking his lips.
Dagal was looking intently at one table of dicers. Intrigued, Caric followed his look to the table. Four men, garbed in riding leathers were dicing with a quiet intensity. Scarred hands held the dicing cup, shook and threw. Coins were exchanged in silence and dice thrown again.
“Do you know them?” asked Caric.
“I know one of them, at least I think I do. He looks older and greyer but it is definitely him. What do you think Herk?” Dagal said.
“It could be, but then I heard he had been killed during the fall of Lefnar ten years ago,” Herk replied his voice sounding troubled.
“Rumour, that would suit him, the world thinking he was dead,” Dagal replied.
“Who is he?” Caric asked staring at the table in the far corner of the tavern. Which one were they talking about? It was no friend he concluded listening to the edge in their voices. The four men were all attired in a similar manner and the smoke from dozens of pipes obscured their features but he could see their swords and one wore a baldric with a number of throwing knives sheathed in it.
“A ghost,” Dagal responded to Caric’s question, and then he turned from the group of dicers. Herk downed his beer and hailed a passing serving girl for three more.
“Slow down, Herk,” Caric said.
“Light weight. Drink up boy!” Herk bellowed.
“Aye,” Dagal shouted gulping back his own tankard.
“sh*t,” muttered Caric, knowing where this night was going to end up, a sore head in the morning and a couple of itchy balls for the day.
At that moment a shadow fell over the table. Looking up into the fearsome face of Tosaran Stedarsson, Caric smiled weakly.
“Good evening, sir, would you care for a drink,” Caric said, determined to make the best of what was turning out to be a bad situation.
“Never touch the stuff, addles the brain,” the Legate growled taking a seat at the table.
The innkeeper returned fussing over Tosaran offering him this, that and his wife. Suddenly Caric found himself smiling at the absurdness of the little man as he scraped to Tosaran Stedarsson.
“Just apple cider, Gelos,” he said calling the innkeeper by his given name.
"Used to be my Quarter-Master, can you believe it," remarked Tosaran as the little man scurried off. Caric took a sip of the beer and wondered what brought the Legate here. From what he heard, the commander was a fervent aesthetic since the death of his wife and abhorred all things venal.
“I take it your reports are finished for the briefing tomorrow and you are prepared to take command of the cavalry wing,” Tosaran said to Caric.
“The Burgundian contingent is here,” Caric said.
“This very night and very fierce they look too. A fine group of men, they are exactly one thousand in number as requested. One thing about these barbarians, you can always count on them to honour their word. Their leader is a man named Gaseric and I would suggest that you promote him to an equal rank as Gregorious,” Tosaran said.
Caric nodded and smiled but the joy of the night was gone for him.
“I will be away then as I have a demanding day a head of me,” Caric said, getting up from the table.
Herk rose with him not attempting to hide the disappointment on his face.
“I will stay a while and follow on later,” Dagal said.
Leaving Tosaran with Dagal, Caric heard his guard say to him.
“You know Taris Atiryns is…..”
Back out into the night and the long dismal walk up to the barracks Caric and Herk trudged. That name I have heard it before, Caric thought. Yes he had heard his father speak that name many years before, he was sure of it.
“Taris Atiryns, where have I have heard that name before?” Caric asked Herk.
Herk paused in his tracks for a moment and then continued on without answering Caric’s question.
“Herk!” Caric demanded.
“Never heard the name,” was the muted reply. Herk was a terrible liar and Caric knew it, but the guard was also stubborn and the Prince knew that if he didn’t want to answer him then he would not. With a disconsolate look back at the bawdy house, Caric continued on.
.
