by Gav Thorpe
Not the legionnaires, their commanders! Asuhas is a coward at heart; what about Lutaan? Will he give in if he does not have the easy victory he expects?
Pausing to consider this, annoyed that it had taken Askhos to point out how narrow Ullsaard had allowed his thoughts to become, the king considered the measure of the men leading the Twenty-First.
"Lutaan is innovative, brave. Donar trained him well, but he is not the most organised and has no experience of battlefield command; not of a whole legion. It could be that he will panic if he becomes flustered. Asuhas will want nothing to do with the fighting; he'll stay as far away as possible in his wagons."
Good. So how do you make Lutaan flustered? What pressure can you apply?
"Myself," said Ullsaard. "He was on my staff for a long time in Salphoria, before I sent him back with my recommendation to Asuhas. If he can look me in the eye and still order the attack, I'd be surprised."
Not when you start talking about how loyal his uncle is, and how well Donar has been faring under your patronage.
"That counts for nothing though, if Lutaan thinks he is up against the whole empire. When I toppled you, it was the first link in the chain to break that was the hardest. The fact that his legion is so dismal counts against me – I can't pretend that with the Twenty-first I have a chance of taking on Urikh."
Then let us consider something that you can control. What do you hope to achieve by fighting?
A flippant answer sprang to mind, but Ullsaard let it die before it reached his tongue. Whether of its own accord or prompted by Askhos, his mind lurched back to a sleet-filled sky and a narrow mountain road leading to Carantathi. He thought of Aegenuis, a king who had been a vain, proud man, and a man fuelled by drink, but who had sense enough to sacrifice his own rule for the protection of his people. What would Ullsaard achieve by resisting Asuhas? The death of fifty men? He had ruled for less than three years, his legacy would be a footnote in the chronicles.
I did not seek to sow doubt, but to ask a genuine question.
Ullsaard looked at the men by the road, their arrows in small bundles in the grass next to them; on the step built inside the wall and at the murder holes cut into the gate. Muuril had said they would die for their king, but did they have to? He saw the King's Companion walking back across the compound, followed by a dozen men leading the abada.
"Companion!" Ullsaard called out. It took a moment for Muuril to realised the shout was meant for him
"Yes, King?" the sergeant bellowed back.
Ullsaard considered his next words, for he was taking a risk, but he trusted his instinct.
"This battle does not have to be fought. Do you think I should give myself to Asuhas peacefully, Companion?"
"Not fucking likely, my King! That arsehole Asuhas means you harm, and as your Companion I can't let it happen. These men would rather die than spend the rest of their lives with the shame of knowing they laid down spear and shield to let their king be killed."
"Bollocks to Asuhas!"
Ullsaard was not sure where the shout had come from, but it was followed by several more colourful declarations of loyalty. Then someone, somewhere called out the king's name and this too was answered. The men on the wall turned and lifted their spears in salute, and the shouts were even heard by the archers up the road, who rose up from their places and waved their bows.
The chant then changed, led by a voice from up on the spear thrower tower.
"Thirteen! Thirteen! Thirteen!"
Leaning forward, Ullsaard craned his neck and could just about see Captain Gelthius raising his spear in time to the shouting. It echoed from the walls of the villa, and rang inside the chamber behind Ullsaard. The king grinned as he straightened.
"It doesn't matter what I want, these men will never let me surrender. I suppose I better win this battle for them."
Despite his bravado, Ullsaard was much of the opinion that winning or losing would not be down to his actions but those of his opposing commander, Lutaan. Ullsaard would have a better chance to get a measure of the man as a first captain soon – there was a delegation of soldiers advancing up the road beneath the icon of the Twenty-first. Ullsaard had a runner take a message out to the archers that the embassy was to be allowed to approach unmolested.
It was better that Lutaan did not get to see just how few men Ullsaard had; though if the other commander was worth his rank he would have got a fair idea from questioning the folk in Genladen. To ensure that Lutaan did not use the pre-battle pleasantries as a means to spy out the villa's defences, Ullsaard would meet him on the road, some distance from the compound. He called for Blackfang to be made ready and then put on his cloak, picked up his shield and golden spear and headed down to the courtyard.
Muuril was waiting for the king at the main doors, another legionnaire next to him holding the ailur's reins while a third tightened the cinch on her saddle.
"How many in the bodyguard?" the Companion asked.
"Just you," replied Ullsaard. "Lutaan really isn't going to try anything underhand."
"Are you sure? I'm handy with a spear, and you're no slouch, King, but the report is that Lutaan's got twenty men with him. If he wants to grab you, there's nothing we'll be able to do to stop him."
"We'll wait for him with the first line of archers. That'll give him something to think about."
"Aye, King, that'll suit me."
Ullsaard pulled himself up into Blackfang's saddle and signalled for the men at the gate to pull it open. With Muuril striding on his right, the king rode out of the compound. They walked about a quarter of a mile down the hill and then waited for Lutaan and his entourage to reach them. Ten men were crouched within a three-sided enclosure beside the road, their bows in hand, bundles of arrows laid out on canvas mats behind the stone wall of their redoubt.
"Lutaan's going to know you're here anyway, might as well show yourselves," Ullsaard said to them as he reined Blackfang to a stop next to the fortification. The men stood up and nocked arrows to the strings of their bows, watching the group of legionnaires marching in time up the hill. Their golden standard was shiny in the dull autumn sun, bright against the drab stone of the road. A glance up showed Ullsaard a sky filled from horizon to horizon with low, grey cloud. It was dim and miserable, and the wind was picking up. There was rain in the air and he hoped it would break before too long; an assault on the villa would be much more precarious on muddy ground and over slick stones.
Beside his icon bearer, Lutaan was garbed in his full regalia. He wore a long green cloak with a grey fur trim. His spear was iron-tipped and tied with a pennant of the same colours, and his shield was silvered, crafted into the snarling face of an ailur, the edge rimmed with more iron. The first captain had profited well from his exploits before returning from Salphoria, that much was obvious.
Lutaan held up a hand to halt his guard and carried on alone, quickly covering the remaining fifty paces to where Ullsaard waited. The King watched carefully and next to him he felt Muuril stirring, ready for action. The Companion's head turned left and right as he scanned the hillside pastures and scattered trees and bushes for signs of foes.
"I wish we had our icon," Muuril said quietly.
Ullsaard did not reply, but was glad that the icon of the Thirteenth was nowhere near Menesun; there was enough hinging on the next few hours without the future honour of the Thirteenth being put at stake. He dismounted from Blackfang and led her to a bare tree hanging over the road. Tying her reins around its slender trunk, he rejoined Muuril just at the other commander was reaching the sergeant.
"Hail Ullsaard," said Lutaan, stopping about ten paces away; well clear of a lunging spear thrust.
The king had seen Lutaan dozens of times before, attending to Donar, but this was the first time he really paid the man any attention. The first captain of the Twenty-first was lean, with tight muscles. His face had little fat and was clean shaven, his nose also thin, leaning slightly to the right from an old break and there was a s
hort, ragged scar under his right eye. Eyes as grey as flint regarded Ullsaard solemnly. Lutaan had the same weathered flesh as most men in the legions, but a spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks betrayed a once-fair complexion.
"You remind me of your uncle," said Ullsaard, hoping that a reminder of the ties between the king and Lutaan's family would count in his favour.
"I'm taller," said Lutaan. "And smarter."
"And more arrogant," said Ullsaard.
"Perhaps," replied the first captain.
"You're, what, thirty summers old? It takes longer than that to get more wily than Donar."
"Thirty-five, I look young for my age," said Lutaan.
"Before we carry on, I should point out your first mistake."
"Well, yes, that would be useful, thank you," said Lutaan. The man was surprised and seemed genuinely intrigued by what Ullsaard was going to say.
"When you greet me, you should say 'Hail King', or 'Hail King Ullsaard'. You forgot my title."
"I see. That was intentional, not an accident. You are not the king now."
"I remember you swearing an oath to me when I sent you to Asuhas. By the way, where is your paymaster?"
"Urikh is king now. Times change. You should know that more than anybody. It's not personal, it's just that with you off in Salphoria, you took your eye away from the prize and it has been snatched from under you. Urikh has the Crown and sits in the palace in Askh. The Brotherhood proclaims him king. That's good enough for me."
"Donar wouldn't have been threatened by that. He wasn't, in fact."
"I'm not Donar, and though he's a good commander, don't think I respect him so much that I would throw away my future to emulate him. He guessed you had the beating of Lutaar. I've seen you do incredible things, Ullsaard, but there is a new power in Greater Askhor now and you can't beat it."
Ullsaard absorbed this, pleased and annoyed by Lutaan's bluntness. On the one hand, Lutaan was proving to be of strong character, straight talking and focussed. On the other hand, he was setting himself against Ullsaard, and that would not be tolerated.
"Is this the point when you ask for my surrender? To save us the trouble and protect the lives of our men?"
"You've already considered it, I hope," said Lutaan. He took off his helm and placed it under his arm. His hair was dark brown with a hint of bronze about it and was cut at shoulder length. The first captain wiped sweat from his forehead. Ullsaard answered with a cold stare and Lutaan sighed. "I will ask you to reconsider, for the lives of my men."
There was a cough and a scuff of feet from Muuril. Ullsaard looked at the sergeant and then turned his attention back to Lutaan with a smile.
"My Companion, Sergeant Muuril," said Ullsaard, nodding towards the man. "You had something you wished to say, sergeant?"
"How many?" Muuril asked quietly, looking at Lutaan.
"How many what?" replied the first captain.
"How many of your men do you think you'll save if we surrender now?" The sergeant was fearless, glaring at Lutaan from the shadow of his helm's brim. The commander of the Twenty-first looked up at the villa and then turned to gaze back at his army, still marching into its positions.
"Three hundred," said Lutaan. His assessment was delivered in a deadpan tone. "Most of the people in the village couldn't count past their fingers, but a conservative estimate from what they said would place your numbers at a hundred. Probably less. I think you could take down three times that number before I have control of that building."
Muuril nodded and Ullsaard could sense the veteran's respect. The Companion stepped closer and his voice was still quiet and level.
"What if I make it my personal duty to make sure you're one of those three hundred?"
"Personal threats are worthless, sergeant," said Lutaan, unflustered as he looked up into the Companion's rugged face. "You know that the battle will have long been decided before I approach the compound."
"I would serve a captain like you, but for one reason," said Muuril, chuckling to himself.
"You can serve a captain like me; you'd be welcomed back to the Twenty-first, Sergeant Muuril. It was a shame you had to leave."
"And that's the problem I have, you see. I couldn't fight for a traitorous, arse-licking, honourless cunt."
This finally garnered a reaction from Lutaan, who stepped back, lips twitching. It took a moment for the first captain to compose himself, and he then directed his gaze to Ullsaard.
"There's no need to hurry this," said Lutaan. "I'll be attacking tomorrow, probably about the third hour of Dawnwatch, I reckon. I'm sure you'll still be waiting for me."
"Take all the time you like, we're not going anywhere," replied Ullsaard. "Be sure to look your men in the eyes when you get the chance, and tell them why they'll be dying tomorrow. See if you can guess which three hundred are going to fall."
"This is not my first dance, Ullsaard. The men in my legion aren't like the Thirteenth. They fight because I pay them to, and I have promised them a healthy reward for their victory tomorrow." Lutaan held open his cloak, showing the fur lining. He held up his other hand, gold rings set with rubies and emeralds on his fingers. "Remember when you offered us Askh? You gave the legions the capital to make their whore and their payday, and we conquered the empire for you. Remember when you promised the empire all of the wealth of Salphoria? Well the Fifth did their share of conquering there too. I've done very well for myself. Certainly well enough for a few thousand askharins for my men. It doesn't matter a fuck to them who wears the Crown."
Lutaan turned and strode back towards his retinue, cloak and crest flowing in the wind.
"Stupid bastard don't understand at all," said Muuril. "Loyalty, honour, the pride of a legion. He thinks it's just about the pay and the loot?"
"No, he's right," said Ullsaard as he untied Blackfang and swung himself into the saddle. "This is my doing, I have to fix it."
Muuril darted a questioning look at his king, but Ullsaard offered no extra explanation. He was not in the mood, because Lutaan, intentionally or not, had made the king realise what he had done over the past few years. It reminded him of words spoken by his old mentor, Cosuas, not long before Ullsaard had killed him. The king had not paid them much heed at the time, or since, but now they rose up from his memories as a form of moral indigestion.
He could remember Cosuas, his old, lined faced streaked with rain, standing in a puddle at the gate of a farm. Ullsaard had asked what Cosuas owed to Lutaar and the aging general had replied that he owed the king his allegiance.
"All you've done is reduce the empire to a bauble that men can scrap and claw at each other over."
Damning words, ignored for so long, but they came back to haunt Ullsaard. How had Cosuas been so prophetic? Were Urikh's treachery and the negotiable loyalty of Lutaan simply the saplings of the seeds Ullsaard had sown when he had usurped the Crown?
He rode up the hill, noting how long it would take Lutaan's men to cover the same distance en masse. Ullsaard looked up at the men of the Thirteenth visible on the tower and at the gate. They would give their lives, not altogether gladly but of their free will and for a purpose more than just financial, to see him victorious come the battle. The Thirteenth, and the Fifth and so many others who had stuck with Ullsaard throughout the civil war and the Salphorian campaign, would slowly become something else.
He had to win, to stop the decline that he had started. Ullsaard had not appreciated the true consequences of his actions when he had cut the head from Lutaar, but the discovery that the old king had simply been a physical vessel for the spirit of Askhos had just been the start of Ullsaard's woes. He had dealt a wound to Greater Askhor; it was festering and would kill the empire if he did not do something to stop the spread of the taint. As king he could ensure the legions remained true to their origins, and that the governors and the people found a new respect for the authority of the Blood. Ullsaard would make the Crown mean something again, and restore the pride that his actions ha
d tarnished.
IV
Under the cover of darkness, the men of the Twenty-first had been busy during the night. As Captain Gelthius lit another watch candle and Sergeant Muuril called out the second hour of Duskwatch, flickers of flame sprang into life in the fields lying to coldwards and duskwards of the compound. The prevailing winds came down from the mountains and swept out onto the plains, and this morning was no different, bringing the first smell of smoke to the villa.
Climbing up to the spear thrower gantry, Gelthius could see in every direction. He stopped counting the fires at thirty. Green branches and leaves make the smoke dark and thick, and it was coming in thicker and thicker clouds as the bonfires grew in ferocity. He turned about and looked hotwards at the lake. It was impossible to see anything in the darkness, but the lamps of the sentries were still lit, shining yellow along the shore. If they saw or heard anything amiss, they would sprinkle firedust into the lanterns, turning the light to a warning red. It was not a perfect system – an arrow from the darkness might fell a guard before he knew there were enemy close at hand – but it was better than having a man trying to yell the alarm from half a mile away.
