The Crown of the Usurper

by Gav Thorpe

  The sergeant glanced at the press of men piling against the remnants of the gate; they would be through in a matter of moments. He looked at Gelthius, hoping that the captain would say what to do, but the Salphor just stood there staring in horror as the first legionnaires pushed through the gap between the gates. One of the Thirteenth grabbed his spear and lanced it through the attacker's thigh, blood splashing onto the timbers of the shattered gate.

  "Fall back!" roared Muuril, taking matters into his own hands. His voice rang out as he grabbed Gelthius and pushed him towards the main doors of the villa. "Back to the villa! Pass the word! Fall back!"

  VIII

  Ullsaard could not totally comprehend what had happened as he watched the men of the Thirteenth streaming back across the compound. The battle had been hard-fought, but the king had not expected such a reverse barely an hour into the fighting. He had not seen exactly what had happened at the gate, but from his vantage point on the balcony it had seemed as if one of the Twenty-first had somehow slipped over the wall and attacked his men.

  As legionnaires ran back towards the main building, Ullsaard saw Muuril on a divergent course, heading towards the tethered abada. Behind him trailed a limping Gelthius, who kept looking over his shoulder as the gates were heaved apart, while more soldiers of the attacking legion clambered over the undefended walls.

  Muuril used his sword to slash through the ropes holding the abada struck the beasts with the butt of his spear, waving for Gelthius to get out of the way. The Salphor officer hobbled towards the villa's main doors as the abada snorted and started to move. The Companion's high-pitched shrieks and the crack of his spear on grey flesh made the lumbering creatures pick up speed.

  The men pouring through the gate did not realise their predicament, as more of their comrades pushed in from behind and stormed over the walls. There were at least fifty men in the courtyard when the closest abada broke into a thundering run, head lowered, snorting with anger. The other three followed, a mass of muscle and horns charging out of the smoke into the legionnaires of the Twenty-first. Cries of panic and pain rang around the courtyard as men were gored and trampled. Bones were crushed and flesh punctured and torn as the abada tried to push their way out of the gate, stamping on the men that had fallen, slashing left and right with their horns.

  A bolt from the spear thrower slashed through the smoke, passing above the stampeding beasts to cut down three men in the gateway. The impetus of the abada charge had slowed and those of the Twenty-first forced to confront the beasts by the press of bodies behind stabbed out with their spears, opening up cuts on the bodies of the abada. This only enraged the creatures more and they started to rampage again, shoulderto-shoulder, two in front of the other two, sweeping away everything between them and the gate.

  Arrows from the upper floors of the villa started to pick off the soldiers that had come over the walls or somehow managed to avoid the rampaging abada. Ullsaard checked on Muuril and saw the Companion helping Gelthius, the captain with one arm over the sergeant's shoulders, heading towards the rear of the villa.

  Ullsaard was not the sort to ask questions of why something had already happened when there were still consequences to deal with. He had known the outer wall could not hold forever, and had made contingency for a retreat back to the villa. Looking back from the balcony, he saw a dozen men in the command room already, bows in hand, firing into the back gardens as well as through the front windows. Most of the men would be on the ground floor, barring the doors and guarding the windows.

  When the abada had finally charged their way clear of the men at the gate, the Twenty-first advanced again to support those who had already climbed into the compound. There seemed to be some confusion though, and Ullsaard heard laughter from his men as two companies tried to pass into the gate at the same time. A bolt from above scything down one of the rank sergeants did not help the concentration of the attacking soldiers.

  Ullsaard then heard horns blowing the withdraw order. This caused more anarchy as the companies that were entering the compound had to turn around, while the men inside were only too happy to fall back, having been the target of concerted and persistent bow fire since they had entered. As well as the carnage at the gates, another dozen or more bodies littered the flagstones of the yard by the time all of the Twenty-first had retreated back beyond the wall.

  "What the fuck are they up to?" asked Muuril, joining Ullsaard on the balcony. A glance showed the king that captain Gelthius was sitting on the floor in the room behind them, massaging his left leg.

  "I have no idea, sergeant," said Ullsaard. "It seems that Lutaan did not make himself very clear to his officers, whatever he intends."

  "Sorry about Faasil, King," said Muuril. "I should've spotted he was wrong."

  "What are you talking about, sergeant?" Ullsaard glared at his Companion, annoyed by the distraction. The king was trying to study the movements of the Twenty-first through the smoke, to discern what Lutaan's next move might be.

  "Faasil, he was a traitor," explained Muuril. "Gebriun escaped and brought word."

  "Gebriun escaped? From where?" As he asked the questions Ullsaard realised that the answers were irrelevant, especially in the heat of battle. What had happened could not be changed. What was about to happen was very much in the balance. "Never mind, just check you've got trusted men at every door and window, we don't need any other mishaps."

  Chagrined, the Companion saluted and left Ullsaard. The king could see something being pulled up the slope towards the villa, and could hear the rumbling of wheels on the stone road. When it came into sight, he heard murmurs from the men around him, and he felt a momentary twinge of fear too; it was a lava thrower.

  "Spear thrower!" Ullsaard bellowed up to the tower. One of the men leaned over the rope fence and raised a hand.

  "Already on it, my king!" the soldier called down. "We'll aim for the bellows, that'd be easy enough to pierce."

  Ullsaard waved a hand of approval and turned his attention back to the war machine being dragged along the track. It was larger than those he had used in the desert, with curved bronze plates protecting the thick wooden barrel that served as the lava reservoir. Ten men hauled at ropes and the same number had their backs bent, hands clasping handles set into the structure of the engine.

  Something blurred past the machine and sent up a shower of shards from the stone of the road; the spear thrower's first shot. Arrows arced over the wall from the windows to the left and right of the king, and one of the men at the ropes stumbled as he was hit. There was no shortage of manpower though, and as two legionnaires darted in to pull the man clear of those following, ensuring he was not crushed by the wheels of the engine, another took up the place of the injured soldier.

  The murmurs and whispers from the Thirteenth became louder and more worried as the large engine turned the bend in the road, and could now be seen directly through the gates. It was about a hundred paces away, and Ullsaard tried to work out what sort of range it might have. A normal lava thrower could fire about fifty paces, so a conservative estimate would say seventy-five for such a beast of a machine. Well within bow range, although several dozen archers from the Twenty-first were now gathering just outside the wall, doubtless to target any archers inside the villa that showed themselves for too long.

  All the effort to take the coldwards wall had just been a feint; the gate had been Lutaan's target since the first attack. All he needed was a clear line of fire for that monstrous engine. Ullsaard had not guessed; during the campaign in Salphoria he had taken no lava throwers and they had completely slipped from his thinking.

  Another spear launched from the thrower clanged off the metal casing, leaving a score across its surface but doing no serious damage. The crew had the engine about sixty paces away now and a flurry of arrows sailed into the air from the archers outside the compound, forcing Ullsaard to retreat inside the villa. The missiles clattered against the walls and on the balcony, and from below he heard a c
ry of pain as a shaft found someone unfortunate or stupid enough to still be at a window.

  The crew of the lava thrower had detached their ropes and four of them were using hammers to drive pitons through metal loops attached to the wheels to make the whole engine stable. Ullsaard could see the lighting rags being stuffed down the flared muzzle of the machine, while a safe distance away a long torch was lit. When the pegs had been secured, three men set to work on the bellows, stripped to the waist, the sweat glistening on their bodies as they built up the pressure inside the engine.

  The soldier with the long torch suddenly flew backwards, a spear from the tower jutting out of his chest. The brand tumbled from his grasp and a ragged cheer went up from the men of the Thirteenth. The joy was short-lived though, as another soldier stepped up and seized the brand. The man with the burning rod looked back and Ullsaard saw a second captain a short distance behind the machine raising his arm in preparation to give the order.

  They had no defence against this. Though stone and brick, the villa was not impervious to lava. It would pour through windows and set fit fire to the doors, clinging to everything. Water just served to spread the flammable liquid, so sand and dirt were the only way of extinguishing flames that burned an unsettling dark red and black, and there was nothing inside the villa to douse such a blaze. Ullsaard was not sure how many shots would be held in the reservoir, but he expected four or five at least – more than enough to have the villa blazing from one end to the other; the smoke would kill the men inside before the flames got to them.

  Ullsaard watched with narrowed eyes as the captain in charge of the engine turned his head. Following the man's gaze, the king saw Lutaan just a few steps away, half-hidden behind a body of men. It seemed a cowardly way of winning the battle, but Ullsaard admired the ruthlessness of the plan; never have a fair fight, he reminded himself.

  He saw the captain nod and his stomach clenched, as did the king's fists at his sides. He heard swearing from the legionnaires behind him; they had backed away from the windows and some were edging towards the door leading to the landing and stairs.

  With a growl, Ullsaard ran out onto the balcony.

  "You show them cockless pigs!" shouted Muuril, reading the king's actions as a sign of defiance. The sergeant's assumption could not have been any further from the truth.

  "Parley!" bellowed Ullsaard. "Parley for surrender!"

  IX

  It was the looks of disappointment and shame on the faces of his men that bit into Ullsaard's heart. There was resignation in the look of some, fear in those who were not sure what would happen to them next. There was condemnation from others; Muuril was seething, the men holding the rope that tied the sergeant's hands struggling more than their companions who had brought Blackfang out of the stables. The ailur sensed something was wrong, and at a word from Ullsaard would rend and bite anything nearby, but he stayed silent for the same reason he had ordered his men to disarm themselves; unleashing Blackfang's fury would only get the ailur slain.

  The judgement in the eyes of Muuril and a few others was justified. The Thirteenth had never surrendered; not under Ullsaard's command and not before. They were one of the Unbreakables, the seven legions who had never been defeated nor disbanded since their founding. Although it was less than a third of a company present, each man represented the legion as a whole, and each man knew the full weight of what Ullsaard had done, and the burden of their failure was great indeed. The First had traditionally been the legion of the king's bodyguard, but the Thirteenth were Ullsaard's favourites and they had not protected him. A few of the men were openly crying, more stifled tears.

  Ullsaard carried his spear and shield with him, and the ring of soldiers waiting in the courtyard widened as the king stepped out of the door.

  "Who will take the weapons of his rightful king?" Ullsaard asked.

  "I will," said Lutaan. The first captain stood next to the icon bearer of his legion, a little way off to Ullsaard's right. Light rain was falling and Lutaan had sought the shelter of the stable doorway. Now the commander of the Twenty-first strode towards Ullsaard with a hand held out.

  "Take it," said the king, tossing his golden spear to the first captain, who caught it easily enough. Ullsaard threw the shield to the floor at the captain's feat. "More riches for you, gifted by my endeavour."

  Lutaan hefted the spear and smiled. He stooped and picked up the shield, assuming the guard position.

  "A little heavy for me, I have not your build, Ullsaard," admitted the commander. A third captain approached at a gesture from his leader and took the captured wargear away. Another followed, a length of rope in his hands.

  "I'll not be bound like an animal," snarled Ullsaard, bringing up his fists. The officer with the cord stopped and glanced at his commander.

  "You will, unless you want every man in this compound butchered here and now." This declaration came from the direction of the gateway. Ullsaard knew the voice of Asuhas and saw the man standing between two burly legionnaires just inside the courtyard. "I don't trust you not to do some harm to me or one of my men."

  "Come and bind me yourself, if you're so insistent."

  "Don't make this worse," said Lutaan, his voice too quiet to carry to the governor. "I will have my men beat you insensible if I have to. I'm here to take you in, and I will."

  "What made you think I wouldn't go up in flames with the villa?" said Ullsaard, glaring at Lutaan. The first captain met the king's stare with a smirk and a shrug.

  "I didn't," Lutaan admitted. "Asuhas wanted you alive, but the king's order was alive or dead. Now, come on, I just need to tie your hands like the rest of your men. Or are you too important to surrender under the same conditions as you laid upon your soldiers?"

  Saying nothing, his eyes enough to convey his murderous thoughts, Ullsaard held out his hands, wrists together. The officer with the rope came closer and threw a few loops around the king's wrists and then tied a complex knot. A length of the cord was left dangling and Lutaan took a step and bent down, one hand reaching towards it.

  "If you try to lead me around on a leash, I will kill you, right here, right now, and fuck the consequences," growled Ullsaard. Lutaan's hand stopped with his fingers a short distance from the rope.

  "I understand," said the first captain as he straightened. With a nod, Lutaan turned towards Asuhas and waved him to approach. "He's secure."

  The governor showed no pleasure as he looked up at Ullsaard's face. When he spoke, it was in a matter-of-fact way.

  "I think it is more fortunate that we have claimed you, rather than Brother Leraates and his blackcrests. We will treat you decently enough."

  "Why?" Ullsaard's question hung answered while Asuhas considered his answer, the governor toying his bottom lip with a fingertip. The king felt no need to elaborate.

  "Urikh has the Brotherhood, which means he has the power to depose me should he wish," said Asuhas. "They have been recruiting blackcrests like you would not believe, and with most of the fighting legions in Salphoria, we governors have had little choice but to accede to your son's demands. Even so, I think he may carry through Leraates' threat."

  "What threat could cow all of the governors of Greater Askhor?" said Ullsaard, his anger not dissipated but his raw fury diminished by genuine interest. "Even with all of the blackcrests in the empire, the brotherhood could not overthrow every province."

  "They don't have to," said Asuhas. "The Brotherhood have learned since you disbanded them. Between military muscle and the ability to shut down all commerce, taxes and the general running of the empire, the Brotherhood has all of the high dice in their favour. As Leraates pointed out, does Greater Askhor really need governors?"

  "There is something else, something you aren't telling me," said Ullsaard. He could sense fear in Asuhas; a tremor in the voice, a shake of the hands when he mentioned the Brotherhood. It was more than potential loss of privilege and position that kept him in check.

  "They have their means," t
he words coming quickly, propelled by the governor's eagerness to speak of something else, "and it was Murian who folded first, and as soon as Anrair was loyal to Urikh, what choice did I have? Divide and conquer, I'm afraid. Urikh learnt from your successes there, Ullsaard."

  The former king was not about to take his son's deviousness as a compliment.

  "And what are you planning to do with me?" said Ullsaard. "You speak of me as if I'm some kind of prize to be fought over with Leraates."

  "You are a prize, the most valuable in the empire." This answer came not from Asuhas, though Ullsaard recognised the Salphorian-tainted accent well.

  "Anglhan!" The word was snarled between gritted teeth as Ullsaard shouldered aside Asuhas to confront the fat man walking across the compound. The former governor was smiling, his podgy, beringed fingers splayed over his gut, thumbs hooked into the pockets of a sleeveless jerkin worn over a bright red shirt.