The carriage rattled slowly and uncomfortably along the track toward Pelasia. Despite the fact that this was the closest she had managed to regaining what she had lost, Asima sat brooding and seething in the rickety vehicle. The encounter with that uncanny bitch at the staging post a couple of hours ago had sent her into a deep sense of disgruntlement and every time she tried to calm her mind or sleep, visions of that unholy ragged desert witch and her keen insights insisted themselves once more upon her thoughts.
“To hell with her.”
Many years ago, as an ‘innocent’ girl, she had travelled this very road in just such a coach with vapid, pointless companions on the way to Akkad. Strangely, that time she had been a virtual slave with an uncertain future and yet she had been relatively at peace. Now, while she was an adult with a sense of purpose, her destiny in her own capable hands and travelling on her own, something gnawed at the edges of her consciousness and made her unsettled. With a sigh she sat back heavily.
Ridiculously, this carriage was so old and dreadful that it was entirely possible it was the same damn coach she’d been sent in that first time.
Everything would be better when she got to Pelasia.
Another deep sigh and she realised that she was staring angrily at the empty seat opposite her. Reaching to her side, she pulled back the black curtain to see one of the cavalrymen riding alongside on escort duty.
The man, armoured lightly for a desert ride, wore his scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face, preventing the cloying sand and dust kicked up by horse and carriage from choking him. He paid no attention to the carriage and for some reason that annoyed Asima more than anything.
“How long until we reach the border, soldier?”
The man turned and raised his eyebrows.
“Should be just before dawn, ma’am” he replied, his voice muffled a little by the scarf.
Asima frowned and grumbled.
“Mind if I ask a personal question, miss?”
Asima shrugged and said nothing.
“Well,” he went on, “we spent the last couple of decades pretty much at war with Pelasia. They’re weird and have strange Gods and their noblemen are all… well, that way inclined, if you know what I mean.”
Asima furrowed her brow.
“And?”
“Well I was wondering why an Imperial lady such as you would want to go there. ‘Specially since the sarge tells me that you’re exiled from the place and you could get done over if you get found.”
Asima narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her lip.
“Outspoken, aren’t you, soldier?”
The cavalryman shrugged.
“Just interested ma’am.”
Asima took a breath of tepid night air.
“A combination of ambition and revenge” she answered darkly.
The soldier’s brow furrowed.
“Ma’am?”
Glowering at the outspoken guard, Asima retreated into the darkness of the carriage and let the curtain fall back into place.
Prince Ashar would hang from the city walls for rejecting and banishing her and putting her through all of this. Her first stop would be the coastal town of Jeresh, where the satrap was a man of at least sixty years and of delicate enough health that he rarely ever visited Akkad and had remained absent throughout the troubles. Only two years ago the man’s wife had died and it was said that he would take no other.
That would change.
What aging lord wouldn’t want such a stunning young woman on his arm?
And once she was with him, that satrap and his son would be the only two people that stood between her and a veritable kingdom of her own. A sizeable army and navy were centred on Jeresh and the satrap was extremely wealthy.
The timing would have to be careful, though. The son would have to die first… perhaps some sort of hunting accident? Hunting accidents happened all the time. Or possibly he would be attacked by brigands on one of his visits throughout their demesne. It would have to be something she could organise that would happen away from the city, in order to keep herself high above suspicion. Also, it couldn’t happen for at least a year after she managed to wed the satrap. Arranging the incident and then disposing of those who could link back to her would be fun; just like the old days of the harem. She was good at that sort of planning.
And then, of course, the old man, already shaken by the loss of his wife and failing to find succour in the arms of his new bride, would be heartbroken at the death of his only son and heir. He would pine away and die in his sleep. Probably in his sleep. Perhaps it would be better if it happened in public?
She realised in the dark carriage that she was smiling for the first time since leaving M’Dahz. She was starting to get her life back in order. Half a year would be enough for her to insist herself upon the aging satrap. Married within the year and sole heir to his demesne, its wealth, title and military within two. That was the way to do things.
Then, of course, she would have to expand. A failed coup just did not bear thinking about. When she went for Ashar’s head, it would have to be with certainty that she would succeed. The second step would require another powerful satrap. Perhaps a young and naive one next; one with either money and influence or with military power. Didn’t matter too much, so long as she was assured of being the one in control. Then, with the resources of two large and powerful demesnes, she would be able to buy or frighten a number of others into her cause.
It would take a while… could even take a decade, but her own rather tight timeline was worked to a five year plan and she would try to stick to that.
She sat back, the tiredness finally beginning to settle over her, now that the thoughts of that old crow woman had been washed away by the plans of her future. As she closed her eyes and began to drift, she floated on through her future, picturing the day her army escorted her into Ashar’s chamber and he stood before her, contrite and helpless. Would she bother with the immense satisfaction of executing the man herself or would that be beneath her?
Yes, she’d have to have him dealt with by her men. It would be unseemly to dirty her hands when she was about to grip the crown with them.
Of course she would be the power behind the throne, with her as-yet-unnamed naive consort as the true King of Pelasia; but only for a year. Long enough to change the laws and become lawfully an equal ruling partner. Then she’d have to find a way to get rid of him, but that would be easy.
“Nice and easy” she said quietly, smiling in her half-doze.
And then? Then she would have to turn the power of Pelasia to her own goals. That horrible island of pirates would already have been dealt with by the governor at M’Dahz or his superior at Calphoris. But Samir and Ghassan would be free. She was in no doubt that Samir would already be out somewhere and probably with Ghassan.
Was there no regret even deep down that she would have to deal with them?
She raised an eyebrow.
No… no regret. They had become an itch that she would have to scratch sooner or later. Not only would they both be harbouring a grudge against her after the events in M’Dahz, but also they knew enough about her that they’d inevitably find a way some day to try and take her on.
No. When she had the unlimited power of the ‘God-Queen’, she would demand both their heads of the Imperial governors. For certain, the authorities would not be happy with such a demand from a foreign power, but then one was a pirate and the other a traitor, and they would be hard put to find a reason to help them at risk of angering such a powerful neighbour as Pelasia.
Ghassan and Samir swinging out over the parapet above the sea at Akkad, creaking as they dangled in the wind. Perhaps…
Sleep swept over Asima like a comforting blanket, her smile one of sheer contentment as she ruled her dream-kingdom, drafting dream-laws and wreaking revenge on her dream-enemies.
The curtain lifted gently and two dark eyes sparkled as they gazed in on the sleeping occupant. The drape fell once more, masking the gentle snore that melded so perfectly with the rumble of carriage wheels on stony ground.
Samir pulled the scarf down a little to wipe his itchy nose. Why, in the name of Ha’Rish’s fourth face, would people ever join the cavalry? Were these people numb from the waist down? Riding a horse was like spending hour after hour seated upon a bag of broken furniture. Still, that was about to end. It had been difficult and complicated waylaying and incapacitating one of the soldiers and taking his place in the escort; more difficult even than replacing the hired teamsters from the staging post with trusted men from the underbelly of M’Dahz.
He’d been hovering, even after everything she had done, on just leaving Asima to the fates to deal with. But he just had to know. He’d asked of her motives for returning to Pelasia and, though she had clearly spoken of ambition and revenge, he’d expected that anyway. What had clinched it for him, and Asima probably hadn’t even been aware of it, was the slight sneer that crept into her expression when she said it and the deeply wicked and, frankly, evil look that welled up in her eyes as she spoke the words.
Whatever schemes she had laid out, and Samir was sure she’d planned ahead for this, they would be at the expense of innocent people including King Ashar, the legitimate ruler of Pelasia and the man who had stabilised the realm and brought peace and reparations with the Empire. No. Whatever she was planning, she had to be stopped.
He smiled as he remembered the conversation he’s overheard between Asima and his friend the ‘soothsayer’. It had been elaborate as a ruse; possibly overly-so, but as events unfolded in the coming days and Samir put his plan into action, it would be so much more helpful to have Asima going along with things, believing it to be in her own interest, rather than struggling against him every inch of the way.
‘You will achieve your destiny, but you must not fight it.’
Samir smiled as he remembered the look on Tiana’s face as she’d said that. So much furrowed concentration it looked like she was about to implode. What an actress! She was so wasted in the gambling pits when she could be on the stage.
With a smile, he let his horse drop back slightly, allowing the carriage to roll on into the night slightly ahead. Watching the baggage cart rumble past with its additional cargo of eight sleeping men, he grinned and nodded to the driver who touched his forelock in response.
Three more to deal with, then, or possibly just two, and the rearguard was the easiest. Allowing the cart to trundle on ahead, he watched the horseman at the rear catching up with him. As the two closed, the moonlight illuminating them, Samir was amused at the look of quiet incomprehension on the other man’s face.
“What’s up?” the soldier asked quietly.
“Lady in the coach asked if I’d give you this.”
The man frowned as the two converged and Samir reached into his tunic. The soldier watched with interest as the hand came out and reached toward him. Samir smiled as he turned the slow movement into a powerful punch that hit the man square in the face. The rider, stunned by the force of the blow as well as the shock, lurched back in his saddle, only the hand gripping the reins preventing him from toppling over backwards.
Samir smiled as he reached across and prised the fingers from the leather strap. The man, still stunned in the moment, opened his eyes wide as he was suddenly completely detached from the horse and slid gracelessly backwards and disappeared with a thump and a squawk in the night.
‘That did not go as well as planned’, Samir grumbled to himself as he grasped the reins of the riderless horse and trotted forward again. The blow was supposed to knock the man out and Samir had been damn lucky he’d been stunned enough not to bellow out a warning to the others. There was silence now, so the fall had either winded him or rendered him unconscious. Now he could have used Ghassan and those amazing little talents he seemed to have picked up.
Taking a deep breath, he trotted quietly up to the supply wagon and tied the reins of the riderless horse to the leash that connected all the spare horses to the cart. Nodding again at the teamster, he made a ‘V’ sign with his hand and rode on to the carriage. On the far side, opposite where he’d been riding, another of the soldiers sat ahorse, his gaze locked on the moonlit horizon.
Smiling, Samir rode alongside, nodding professionally at his peer. The horseman raised an eyebrow.
“Bored?”
“Hardly,” Samir smiled quietly. “Terribly sorry…”
As the man frowned Samir’s free hand came down behind him, knife gripped tightly, pommel downward. The heavy, carved ivory knob connected with the back of the soldier’s head and he slid from the horse with a sigh, his eyes rolling up into his head. That was more how it was supposed to go.
Narrowing his eyes, he gazed out forward. The rider out front playing vanguard was perhaps a quarter of a mile ahead, paying attention to his surroundings in these sands that sometimes hid bandits. He wouldn’t be looking back often, though. His job was to keep the way ahead clear while the two men with the carriage played close guard. Samir turned and nodded to the man leading the supply cart.
With a grin, the man reached around and unhooked the strap that kept the spare horses tethered to the cart. Stepping as quietly as possible onto the edge of the seat, the driver leapt, landing squarely on one of the unused steeds. With a smile, he began to usher the horses forward toward the carriage. Samir nodded again and then came alongside the carriage and nodded to that driver.
Moments later the carriage and almost a dozen horses veered off to the right, carving a new path toward the coast through the open rocky lands. Samir glanced back over his shoulder. The scout leading the way was little more than a dot in the distant grey, while the unmanned supply cart trundled on with its sleeping cargo, beginning to change direction as the oxen plodded along on their own route.
Samir grinned.
They would probably be early. So long as Ghassan was on time, anyway.