The Crown of the Usurper

by Gav Thorpe

  "It was Urikh that had you dragged to Askh, do you think he will simply forget about you?" said the king.

  "He will have other matters on his mind, I am sure of it. He is about to discover that power borrowed rarely lasts long."

  "You think Lakhyri will move against him? If so, that's all the more reason to make sure we're ready to strike."

  "Stop saying 'we' and 'us', Ullsaard! You assume that I am with you. You always assume that I will back you. Not this time. No, not this time." Noran took a few paces back and forth and then looked imploringly at the king. "I am scared, Ullsaard. You are not pitching yourself against a… against a natural power this time."

  Ullsaard sat back and placed the wax tablet on the bench beside him. His gaze lingered on Noran for quite some time while the king seemed to be making a decision.

  "You saw something, didn't you? At the palace."

  "What makes you say that?" replied Noran. He regretted answering with a question of his own – simple evasion that even Ullsaard recognised as such. The king leaned forward, arms resting on his knees.

  "Something strange? Not of this world?"

  "Strange does not cover it," Noran said with a sigh, admitting defeat. It did not matter if Ullsaard thought him touched in the head, he had to tell somebody what he had seen in the Hall of Askhos.

  "It was a beast of shadow, but not there really. It… devoured Asuhas. I mean, it swallowed him up, every fibre of him, every drop of blood. I have…" Noran could not describe what he had seen. It was making his heart race and his gut twist just thinking about the horrifying experience. "It was something I never want to see again. You cannot fight that, Ullsaard. Come away with me, and leave Urikh to his folly."

  "What about Meliu?" growled Ullsaard, eyes narrowing. "You would abandon her."

  Noran shrugged and looked apologetic.

  "I am not a hero, Ullsaard. She had her chance to come and she chose to stay, for your benefit, rather than leave with me. Her priorities are clear."

  "And you thank her for protecting us by deserting her?" Ullsaard rose to his feet, fists clenching at his sides. "What kind of man are you?"

  "One that very much wants to stay alive," said Noran, but he could feel his resolve wavering. Last night, in the brief moments in bed before long overdue sleep had swept over him, he had been adamant that he would stay a few days only and then he would get out of Greater Askhor. The shadow that eats men haunted his dreams, and he was not going to sacrifice himself to such a fate for anybody. Now that Ullsaard mentioned Meliu, Noran saw her sweet face and he hated himself for the decision he had already made.

  "There are other messengers," he said, the lameness of the excuse plain even to Noran. He spoke the words but without any conviction.

  "It is you that I trust," said Ullsaard. "Or I thought I did. Perhaps I should just let you go. You can run away and we'll stay and fight to protect what's important to us. Enjoy the rest of your life on your own."

  Noran shook his head and laughed, bitterness fuelling his words.

  "You do not fucking own me, Ullsaard! You are not even king any more. Why will you not leave me be?"

  "Because I need you," snarled the king. "Because who else do I have?"

  "Oh, so I am your only choice? Thank you for the confidence."

  "The things that will control the empire if Lakhyri is not stopped do not care for men and women. Meliu, Urikh, Luia, Ullnaar; they will all die."

  "Urikh threatened my family with that thing," said Noran. "They could all be dead already for all that I know."

  "Nonsense, we both know that a threat carried out loses its strength." Ullsaard looked sharply at Noran and the nobleman felt even more uncomfortable than when the king had looked to raise his fists against him.

  "What is it?" Noran did not like the predatory gleam in Ullsaard's eyes. "What are you looking at?"

  "Is that it?" demanded the king. "Has Urikh turned you against me with his threats? Maybe I cannot trust you anymore. Perhaps Urikh has managed to take away something I never thought I would lose."

  "Now you are talking nonsense, Ullsaard. I am still your friend. If I was Urikh's man, I would not have helped you escape." The look had not passed from the face of Ullsaard and Noran threw up his hands in defeat. "As you would have it, then so be it. If you cannot trust me, let me go. I will leave, today, and you will not have to worry about me any more."

  Ullsaard's expression softened and the king gently shook his head.

  "We cannot do this," he said. "If we divide, we will lose everything. Do you think that you could run far enough to get away from Lakhyri? Do you think you can escape your nightmares? Yes, I see that you know what I mean."

  "And staying with you will give me that, will it?"

  "I know that if you turn away you will wonder if it was the right decision for the rest of your life. I know that you did not wish it, but we are bound together now. My life is your life."

  Noran looked away, silently cursing his friend. Why would Ullsaard bring up that piece of history now? Noran started to walk back towards the guesthouse.

  "One message and one favour," Ullsaard called out after him.

  Noran stopped and looked back. If he agreed, Ullsaard would let him leave. Once he was away from the villa he could go wherever he wanted. If he chose to flee to Cosuan, that would be his choice. Looking at the king, Noran realised that Ullsaard was not stupid. The king knew as well as Noran that he had no way of making Noran stick to his word; except their shared past and their friendship.

  "You are a bastard," growled Noran, turning back. "Why did I ever like you?"

  "I need you to tell Anasind to make for Narun," said the king, accepting Noran's tacit capitulation without comment. "Only the legions with him are to be trusted. Any other legion that gets in his way is to be destroyed."

  Noran approach Ullsaard and held his hand out for the wax slate.

  "I assume that you have written this down," Noran said. "Do I really need to know the details?"

  "This?" Ullsaard held up the tablet and looked at it as if shocked. "This contains orders for Anasind to head hotwards and seize Geria. It would be a damn shame if somehow you were to run into some Brother or legionnaire and accidentally allowed it to fall into the hands of my enemies."

  "Ullnaar was right, you are a much more devious bastard than I give you credit for," said Noran, taking the message slate from the king. "What makes you think that Urikh will believe it?"

  "Because he has to," said Ullsaard. "He must believe that Anasind is arriving with all of the legions, because that is exactly what he does not want to happen. An all-out war will put him at a serious disadvantage. He has gambled that I would not sacrifice Salphoria to regain Askh, but he has not counted on my reaching an accord with Aegenuis."

  "Aegenuis? What has he got to do with all of this?"

  "My own gamble," said Ullsaard, sitting down again. He adjusted his kilt and looked up at Noran, slightly shamefaced. "If I have him wrong, then Aegenuis will be dead and Anasind may have difficulties leaving Salphoria, or my conquest will have been for nothing and the gains lost to Askh. But I don't think so. I am a good judge of character. I think that Aegenuis will keep Salphoria from boiling over in the absence of the legions. Either way, I need Anasind and the army to march on Narun, and Urikh to believe he is heading for Geria."

  "You know that I could take all of this to Urikh," said Noran. Ullsaard nodded solemnly and smiled half-heartedly.

  "Fortunately you are not as foolish as my son. You could go to Urikh and curry favour for a short while, but he will want more and he will still own you. Either get your family to safety or see Urikh and Lakhyri defeated, those are your only options. You know that one bargain with a poor ally will lead to another and another. That was Anglhan's mistake too. They all keep trying to attack me from positions of weakness, using borrowed power: Magilnada, my family as hostages, the governors and the Brotherhood; none of them really control the empire."

  "And fro
m where does your power come from? What makes you so unassailable?"

  Ullsaard clapped his hands to his knees and stood up. He stepped up next to Noran and lay an arm, across his shoulders, pulling him close.

  "I have the legions, my friend; brutal, direct and unstoppable. As soon as I had the legions, Askh was mine, and it has been ever since. Urikh is about to find out that a few provincial garrisons and some blackcrests do not make an army. When I meet up with Anasind and get my soldiers back, my son is going to pay dearly for his oversight."

  Ullsaard broke away and strode back towards the villa, leaving Noran dumbstruck. That was Ullsaard's plan? The legions? He looked down at the tablet in his hand and remembered that Ullsaard had started out with one legion, the Thirteenth, and from that beginning he had taken the empire in two years. When he had become king, he had vowed to conquer Salphoria. Even with the treachery of Anglhan and the invasion of a Mekhani army, it had taken Ullsaard only two more years to deliver on his promise.

  The legions really were the key to Ullsaard's success. The man who controlled the legions controlled the empire.

  SANNASEN, OKHAR

  Late Winter, 213th year of Askh

  A dog barked close at hand, in a yard beyond a high wall to the right of Erlaan-Orlassai. Its noisy reaction to the Prince's presence was taken up by other canine guardians across the neighbourhood. The giant cursed the curiosity that had brought him into the settlement; for many days he had avoided all sign of civilisation as he had tracked Ullsaard. Yet it had been too much to pass by this town, with its smells of spiced food and tantalising firelight. The bark of the dogs was harsh in his highly sensitive ears and he could hear shutters being opened and door latches being lifted.

  The darkness was almost total, the moon and stars obscured by thick cloud, but to Erlaan-Orlassai the low wooden buildings were as clear as if it was noon. The glow of a lamp increased beyond the wall, signifying a door opening, and he padded further along the street to avoid investigation. It was almost Gravewatch, and he knew he was wasting time, but he had spent so long in the dungeons of the Grand Precincts that his lust to be near life was overwhelming. Though there were people woken by the dogs close at hand, he could hear the snores from other houses. The high-pitched call of bats echoed along the short road and black shapes flitted overhead.

  Stopping by a dark, shuttered window, he paused and listened. Heavy, somnolent breathing came to him from inside; three people, one of them much smaller. A man, woman and young child, he realised. Laying a hand against the crude timbers, he felt the warmth of a dying fire through the calloused skin of his fingers, his nose caught the scent of the smoke drifting through the slats of the shutters.

  "Who's there?"

  The call came from about fifty paces behind him and he glanced back to see a small patch of yellow light spreading from a gateway. The man's shouting would rouse others and though he could soothe their fears with his rune-gifted speech – as he had done the captain and crew of the ship that had taken him from Askhor to Okhar – it was better to avoid confrontation. In that respect, Lakhyri had been correct. Travelling by night had meant that he had been unable to catch his quarry, who had the benefit of moving by light and dark. Yet he was closing in, he could feel it. Long strides and unhindered by encounters, Erlaan-Orlassai could cover dozens of miles between dusk and dawn before finding some copse or tree or cave to conceal himself during daylight.

  He moved on, although not so swiftly that his war harness would make any noise to give away his presence. Reaching a corner, he turned into another street, which was as dark as the one he had left. Behind him, closer to the market square, torches were on the walls and a handful of watchmen walked the rounds, to guard against thieves and to quieten drunkards, but out here there were no sentries.

  The Prince stopped beneath the branches of a tree overhanging another garden wall. The houses here, though basic by Askhan standards, were solidly built and well-appointed. Traders and craftsmen he guessed, judging by the smell of tanned leather, oil and metal. In the morning would they chatter about an apparition in the night, or would the disturbance he had caused go unremarked as the people got on with their lives? They seemed so innocent now, unaware of the great events that were rocking the empire they thought they knew so well. Urikh had done a masterful job of making his succession seem legitimate, almost reluctant. With the Brotherhood to back him, he was the new king in law and in fact.

  But Erlaan-Orlassai had been to the Temple and knew something of the world into which Urikh was moving. It was not a world of normal men, but of different, gifted individuals like himself. When the time was right, and that time was coming soon, the people would need a leader stronger than a mortal man, and Erlaan-Orlassai would be their saviour.

  Even as he considered his future, a melancholy settled upon the Prince. He lowered to his haunches, back against the stone wall, and rested his arms on his thighs. The time Erlaan-Orlassai had spent in the Temple had seemed to creep past, but even so he knew that he was no more than twenty summers old. He still had not experienced so much of what he had expected as a prince of the Blood. Lakhyri and the priests had given him an enchanted tongue that would make his words fall softly on the ears of any maiden he wished to woo, but would he ever find a woman that wanted to be with him as he was, without coercion or trickery?

  There had been much to think about, whiling away the days in the Grand Precincts, and the thought of what he had allowed Lakhyri to do to him troubled Erlaan-Orlassai's mind. He recalled taking the last of the life-force from his ailing father, and driven by anger and guilt he had been happy to find some way to strike back at Ullsaard.

  Even now the recollection of that name, that face, made Erlaan-Orlassai's heart race, but not with the ferocity he had felt even a short season ago. Without Lakhyri's venomous words, the fire of the Prince's passion grew faint, a glowing coal rather than an inferno. Erlaan-Orlassai was aware enough of his new situation to realise that his enmity was fuelled in no small part by jealousy. Even when he had been a captain in Ullsaard's army, the boy Erlaan had wanted the power and charisma of the general. Now Lakhyri had given him more physical power than any other man in the empire, and yet here he was skulking through a town pining after a life he could no longer have.

  Straightening, Erlaan-Orlassai closed his eyes and tried to sense the presence of his quarry. He could feel no lingering scent of the Blood, and concluded that Ullsaard had not passed this way. The trail was growing colder with each night, and ErlaanOrlassai knew that unless he stumbled on some surer spoor soon he would be searching blindly for the man he hunted.

  There were other ways to find someone, those that did not rely on preternatural senses. The Prince still had his mind and he tried to use it as he loped towards the edges of the settlement, trusting to speed rather than stealth as his armour clinked and his feet splashed through puddles in the dirt road. Ullsaard was not the sort of man to keep running. Despite the adversaries ranged against him, the former king was vain enough and stubborn enough to believe that he could still retake his throne. He would seek a position of safety to gather his strength and plan his strategy.

  Long strides taking him out into the fields that surrounded the town, Erlaan-Orlassai wracked his brains for some insight into where his foe might be. It was the one organ that the priests had not been able to improve, when heart and lungs and bones had all been bolstered by their inscriptions, the soft pile of mush between his ears was no greater than it had been before his ordeal.

  Something ahead of him bolted across the lane, startled by his sudden approach. There was almost no light here at all, but the Prince saw a deer leaping over a fence before disappearing into the gloom. Like all men carved by Lakhyri, he did not need physical sustenance to survive, but the thought of freshly roasted venison stirred a hunger in his gut.

  Erlaan-Orlassai set off after the stag, jumping over the fence with ease. The smell of wet fur, sweat and dung left a drifting trail in the air that was as easy
for him to follow as footprints in fresh snow. He could hear the thud of the deer's hooves on the cold-hardened dirt.

  He quickened his pace, but before the rush of blood, the thrill of the chase became overwhelming, a memory sprang up in the Prince's mind; of Ullsaard telling him about the hunts he had been on before the march to Mekha. Slowing to a stop, all thoughts of the deer gone from his head, Erlaan-Orlassai tried to work out why that memory had come to him at that moment.

  He was hunting, of course, but there was something else, something about Okhar that the general had mentioned in passing.

  The memory was hazy, but Erlaan-Orlassai smiled as he recalled a place that Ullsaard had mentioned during a hunting story: Apili. The former king had one of his villas there, somewhere in the hills to duskwards near the border with Nalanor.

  That would be a good place to take up the hunt.