by Gav Thorpe
"I already have his support," said Urikh. The king turned away and stalked back to the feast. He snatched up a cup and swallowed a mouthful of the contents. Urikh's hand was shaking slightly as he put the cup down and turned to look at Noran, leaning back against the edge of the table. "There is something that you alone can do for me."
"Time is running out for what?" Noran asked, catching up on the words of the king's tirade. "What can be so urgent?"
"Ullsaard is not dead," said the king.
The words took a moment to settle into Noran's brain. When he had been told of his friend's death, he had thought it the most shocking thing he could have heard; he had been wrong. Unable to comprehend what he had just been told, he listened dumbly as Urikh explained.
"Ullsaard is not dead, and he has returned to Greater Askhor, or will try to do so soon," said the king. To Urikh's credit, he did not try to meet Noran's gaze, but looked up into the dome above the hall. "I am already dealing with the immediate problem that poses to me, but I have a far more insidious issue to contend with. That is where I need you."
"You took the Crown whilst Ullsaard is still alive? Are you mad? Do you know what he is going to do to you?"
"He is going to do nothing," said Urikh. The king gave an exasperated sigh. "Let me make this simple. My father may be alive for the moment, but that is not going to continue for long. He will be apprehended shortly, if he is not, in fact, already dead. The rumour of his return, that is another matter entirely. I have already taken steps to spread the myth that he is not the real king, but an impostor. When his body is brought here, you will act as witness to the fact that the man is not Ullsaard, but someone claiming his name. You were his best friend, and you have nothing to gain by falsehood, so the testimony you give will be accepted and my version of events will prevail."
"If I have nothing to gain from falsehood, why will I lie?" Noran thought he knew the answer already, but it was better to hear it from the lips of Urikh himself.
"You will help me, because if you do not it will cause heartache and shame for my family. In turn, I will kill you."
"What if I do not care whether I live or die?" asked Noran. It was not an idle question and Urikh could see from the herald's expression that this was the case.
"I will also kill your family, and perhaps even Meliu," Urikh replied quietly. There was regret in the king's voice, but no shame. Though Noran had been expecting such a reply, Urikh's pragmatic attitude was like a dagger in the belly, sending a twist of pain through the herald's gut. He saw a calculating look in the king's eye that sent a chill through him. "Do not think to test me on this. I will have my way, and I will be king, but it is better that we make this as painless possible for the empire and the people we love."
Noran had always known of Urikh's ambitious streak, and it was not much of a surprise that he had usurped his father. What confused Noran was that Urikh seemed to be doing such a bad job of it.
"Why did you not simply have Ullsaard killed before taking the Crown?" said the herald. "I know that would not be easy, but it must have been a better alternative than this tapestry of lies you are now forced to weave."
"The time of the empire as you know it is coming to an end," said Urikh, and Noran saw the twitch of cheek and fingers he had noticed earlier. It was nervousness. "If I had not taken the Crown when I had, another would be here now and I and all of my family would be dead. I have… allies who make demands of me. If Ullsaard must die to protect the empire and my family, I will pay that price."
Noran had no idea who these allies might be. The king believed everything he said, and it was clear from the look in his eye and the surety of his voice that he believed he was doing the right thing. A man who believed he had no alternative was possessed of a certain kind of desperation, and Noran recognised this in Urikh.
"Who am I to argue with the king?" said Noran, and he meant what he said. "If Ullsaard needs to die to save the empire, and my family, I will lie for you."
III
The cart shuddered over cobbles and Ullsaard guessed that they had passed into Askh. He lay bound by hand and foot in the back of a covered wagon, a gag between his teeth. For most of his incarceration he had been tied only by the hands, but now that they reached the heart of the empire Asuhas and Anglhan were not taking any chances.
You can take heart that we are not yet dead.
"Only because Anglhan and Asuhas want to present me alive to my son, hoping for greater reward," growled Ullsaard. Though his words were muffled by the gag, his intent was known to Askhos. Ullsaard spoke out loud only because it allowed him to keep his thoughts separate from the spirit of the man inside his head. When they communicated without words, Ullsaard felt himself bleeding into Askhos, losing sense of himself. Whether this was because of the broken connection with the Crown, or whether Askhos was trying to exert more influence over the king Ullsaard did not know; he was not going to risk losing his independence to find out.
On the long journey from Menesun the dead king had been an occasional companion, though his insights had been limited and advice undesired. The closer they came to Askh, the more Askhos seemed to strengthen, and for the past eight nights Ullsaard had experienced vivid dreams in which he had walked amongst the stars with his ancestor. He was not sure why this would be the case, when Askhos' tie to the Crown had been severed.
It was never the Crown, Ullsaard. It is merely a window to the place where I continued. The strength of my presence depends upon the Grand Precincts of the Brotherhood. It is a bridge, or a door if you like, to those otherworlds of which I have spoken. The closer I am to the precinct, the easier it is to project myself from the place where I dwell.
"But your sons – you within your sons – conquered an empire, taking you far from Askh."
The coronations always took place at the Grand Precincts, where my power was at its strongest. The moment they placed the Crown on their heads they were pushed aside, allowing for my will to enter. Once I was inside their bodies, the Crown was irrelevant, until another son became king.
"If I had been born before Kalmud, I would have been the true heir, and the Blood would have been strong enough for you to take over me, right?" Ullsaard felt the dead king's agreement without words. As well as the length of time Askhos was able to manifest increasing, the bond between the two kings grew more intimate with proximity to the Grand Precincts. In the dreams there had been moments of communion, during which Ullsaard had found it difficult to tell if he was with the founder of the Empire or was the founder of the empire. Memories were becoming blurred by Askhos' spirit being forced to linger within Ullsaard's physical form.
The past is irrelevant; the possibilities of what might have been are of no concern to us. The uncertainties of the future are enough to occupy our endeavours. Most importantly, and most pressingly, how do you plan to escape from this wagon? I know that you have been waiting for us to be brought to Askh, biding your time. Now is the time to act.
"I can think of a lot of words that describe Anglhan, but sloppy isn't one of them," said Ullsaard. He pulled at the rope binding his wrists. The knot was tight, above his hands where his fingers could not work the binding. This rope was tied to the cord that bound the king's ankles, and in turn was looped around a ring riveted into the front board of the wagon. Ullsaard pulled, straining his arms. His right shoulder throbbed, weakened by past wounds that had left scars on the surface and in the muscle. Ullsaard was still a strong man, but even with his feet braced against the board holding the ring there was no give in wood or metal or rope. With a grunt, he gave up. "No, I don't think I'll be getting off this cart until I'm meant to.
"Stop fidgeting," said one of the legionnaires on the driving seat. "Don't make me come back there."
Ullsaard lapsed into immobility, inhaling deeply through his nose to catch his breath. His only hope was if his captors did not want to carry him from the wagon; they would have to free his legs to let him walk. Yet even if he did have a chance to bolt
for freedom, what good would it do?
Better to be free than a prisoner.
"Better to be a prisoner than dead," replied Ullsaard. "As you said, perhaps Urikh wants me alive. If I try to escape, Anglhan and Asuhas would prefer me dead than on the loose in Askh."
Yes, I heard them instructing the guards as well. They will kill you rather than let you get away. Your ears are mine, do not forget.
"So it seems that the best option, the only option, is to wait and see what happens." Ullsaard hated the words even as he said them. For too long he had been on the back foot, responding to the deeds of others rather than imposing his will on the situation.
A gong nearby attracted his attention and he listened to the pattern and count of the strikes: second of Duskwatch. They had come into the city not long before the gates were closed at Low Watch, which meant that it would be dark when they arrived. Ullsaard concentrated on their surroundings, sensing that they had moved from cobbles to flat paved roads. That meant they were at least a mile inside the city.
He had seen from their previous stops that there were only three wagons in their small convoy. Asuhas was travelling without his usual guard and the men of the Twenty-first were out of uniform, so as to attract as little attention as possible. Anglhan and the governor were trying to keep their visit as low profile as they could, and Ullsaard had only counted ten men accompanying them. Even so, ten men were too much opposition for one man, bound as he was. Ullsaard's only real hope was of attracting attention in some way that would not be noticed.
Judging by the increasing incline of the wagon, they were on a steepening hill, probably approaching the Royal Mound. That meant either Maarmes, the palace or the Grand Precincts. He did not know which.
Maarmes is too public. Though they could probably hide us away in one of the disused underground training pits, it is less secure than the palace. My choice, if I were detaining us, would be the Grand Precincts. There are many cells in which to lose us and it is safe to assume that Lakhyri is in league with Urikh and knows of your continued survival. Nobody escapes from the Grand Precinct.
"This is all Anglhan's fault."
Your grasp of our predicament is overwhelming, Ullsaard.
"Not just here and now, you dead bastard. Ever since Anglhan turned on me and tried to take Magilnada for himself I've been one step behind every event. The delays in Salphoria, the appearance of Erlaan and the Mekhani, all of that has kept me away from Askh, and given Urikh time to plot his moves. Anglhan is moving against the Brotherhood now though, so it must be the palace we're heading to."
You overestimate your son's capabilities. He is being an opportunist, and in moving so quickly he has left weaknesses to be exploited.
"And you know what those weaknesses are? You know that I am not able to tie my thoughts into the sorts of knots needed to work out these political riddles. Noran used to guide me in those sorts of matters."
Yes, I am constantly remembering how you tried to be subtle by leaving the legions behind. I wish you had just marched back with the whole army and caused a great big mess. That would have been preferable to this. Regardless, let us consider what we are up against. We know from the report of Captain Gelthius that Asuhas and Anglhan have their own goals in mind, which are separate from the Brotherhood. It is the Brotherhood that appears to be Urikh's main instrument of power, so it is possible to conclude that Asuhas and Anglhan's deception of Leraates is also an attempt to deceive Urikh.
"I suppose if I can trust Anglhan for one thing, it is to place his own objectives above everybody else's. Asuhas is an idiot if he thinks he has the upper hand over that slimy toad." Ullsaard had tried hard not to let his imprisonment get the better of his mood, but the closer he came to their final destination, the more hopeless his situation seemed. Bitterness swelled in the king, shoving aside the grasping fingers of sadness. He would not go meekly to his fate. "Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll kill each other in an attempt to claim sole credit for my capture. We'll slip out while they're busy."
Your sarcasm has some truth to it. Finding some way to divide your enemies further would be prudent. Unfortunately, we have nothing to offer, no power to bargain with and so no leverage to apply to the cracks in their alliances.
The creaking of the axles took on a different tone and the wagon swayed heavily to one side for a short while. Ullsaard concluded that they had moved onto the cambered road of the Royal Way, and had turned left at the Royal Mound; Ullsaard had assumed rightly and they were headed for the palace.
Both fell silent, knowing that they were less than half a mile from their destination. Time was about to run out. The wagon carried on for what felt like more than a half mile, and then stopped. Ullsaard could hear clanking chains.
The supply gates at the back of the mound.
Ullsaard had a vision of large double-gates, heavy enough to need a water-driven counterweight to open. They did not rest on normal hinges, but were arranged on a bronze rail to slide aside, even more secure than the main entrance. A broad tunnel behind led directly into the depths of the palace where vast kitchens and servants quarters sprawled. He had not seen these things himself and knew them only from the memories of the spirit residing inside his skull. It was an unsettling experience and he shook his head as if to clear away the alien thoughts.
The cart jarred into motion again, the wheels banging over the raised rail, jolting Ullsaard from his horror. Only a few heartbeats later, the wagon stopped again and the king heard the drivers jumping down from the board. The flaps of the cart cover were thrown back and three legionnaires approached. They were in a cavern-like space, lit by naked torches. Shadows were long, dancing in the flicker of the flames, and the fumes from the brands made it darker still. The thin smoke made Ullsaard cough, reminding him of the day he had been captured. He glared at the warriors of the Twenty-first as they pulled down the tailgate, letting the board swing down on wooden hinges. One of the men rested his spear against the back of the wagon and clambered aboard, while the other two waited to either side.
The soldier came up to Ullsaard, produced a knife and quickly sawed through the bindings on the king's ankles.
"Up," said the legionnaire, waving the point of the dagger towards the back of the wagon. Ullsaard rolled to his knees and was then able to push himself to his feet. He staggered a step, but the soldier made no move to help the king as he stumbled into one of the timbers holding up the frame of the cart's roof.
Ullsaard eyed the spear left resting against the tailgate. The man with the knife was behind him, the other two soldiers distracted as another wagon rumbled past, Anglhan peering out from the covered back. With his mind's eyes, Ullsaard pictured what he would do. A kick would take out the soldier on the right, and the one of the left was standing close enough for Ullsaard to jump onto him from the cart. Ullsaard's breathing started to quicken and he felt the Blood pulse in his body, sending a surge of power to his limbs. He was older than his captors, but was a powerful runner. Three quarters of a mile, that was all he had to manage. He'd be down into the city proper, and despite the cold weather someone would be on the streets. There was always a chance…
The image faded as the clanking of chains heralded the closing of the gates. There would be no mad dash for freedom. Anglhan huffed and sweated as he lowered himself down from the other cart, his red, round face the last thing Ullsaard saw before a sack was placed over his head.
He was trapped.
IV
Voices raised in heated argument woke Noran from his doze on a couch beside the fireplace in his apartment's reception room. Urikh had allowed him to take up his old residence, though the interconnected rooms seemed empty and quiet without Neerita, and he even missed Anriit's company. He opened his eyes and sat up as he heard the clatter of the bead curtain across the door. A soldier in the livery of the First entered, the white stripe in his helmet crest denoting the rank of second captain. Behind him loitered the head of the household servants, one of Ullsaard's f
ormer men, Ariid.
"I am sorry, but he insisted on entering," the steward apologised with a forlorn flutter of a hand towards the soldier.
"The king demands your presence, herald," said the captain. "You are to come with me."
"It's an hour after Howling, what business can the king have that cannot wait until tomorrow?" Ariid asked as Noran got up. The herald echoed the question with his look.
"The imposter masquerading as King Ullsaard has been apprehended," said the captain.
It took a moment for the true meaning of the man's words to sink in. There was no imposter, it was a rumour fabricated by Urikh, so the only explanation was that Ullsaard had been brought to the palace. Noran scrutinised the soldier's expression but saw only obedient honesty.
"Very well, take me to the king," Noran sighed. He looked at Ariid as he passed. "Please convey an invitation to Allenya and Meliu to meet me here in the morning. I am sure they would like to have the matter of this unpleasant impersonation settled firsthand from me."
