The Crown of blood tcob-1

by Gav Thorpe

  "Heathen?" said Noran with a choking cough. "Have you actually read that book? It's so tiresome."

  "They are sacred words," warned Ullsaard, directing a glare at the herald. "They guide us, and give us meaning. The great Askhos laid down some pretty specific instructions for his descendants. You'd know that if you bothered to read the book."

  Noran held up his hands in surrender.

  "I did not intend to offend," he said. "As you say, I am a man of means and responsibilities now, so perhaps I will pay more attention to the mighty ancestor's teachings."

  The two rode in stiff silence for a while longer. The light was beginning to fade and their shadows lengthened on the dusty cobbles. Eventually, Noran turned back to Ullsaard with a twinkle in his eye.

  "I don't suppose you could direct me to the pages where old Askhos had any advice on what to do with axe-faced second wives, could you?"

  Their laughter drifted across the hills to join the background chorus of buzzing insects and birdsong.

  VII

  That night, they made camp under open skies. Not since a hunting expedition n Ersua more than a year before had Ullsaard been away from the company of several thousand other men for more than a watch. He took delight in the peace, and wandered away from the camp as his servants prepared the evening meal.

  His stroll took him coldwards and dawnwards from the road, towards Askhor, his adopted home. Cresting a hill a few hundred paces from the wagons, Ullsaard stopped and gazed around him, savouring the cooler night air and basking in the chirrup and chitter of small wildlife. Bats flitted above him, and darted towards the circle of light surrounding the camp to feast upon the many flies and other insects brought out of hiding by the fires.

  There must be caves not far away, he considered as he watched the bats. He did not know for sure and the bats could have flown some distance searching for food. The thought brought more depressing one: how much of these lands did he really know? His holdings in Askhor had been mapped by the best cartographers many decades ago, but this new realm hotward of the border was as unknown to him as the Straits of Lerbrieth or the source of the Greenwater.

  There were no people here yet, that was the problem. He needed to build the town so that settlers could come and tame his newly acquired dominions. For that to happen, he needed to build that damn bridge and move on with the army; something that was not going to happen while he was away pandering to Aalun's whims.

  Angry with himself for bringing up to troubling thoughts, Ullsaard moved down from the hilltop into the dark shallow beyond. His boots slid on the sandy slope and he stumbled over roots and tussocks of thick-bladed grass. Picking his way through these obstacles by the light of the stars, he couldn't help but wonder how much more of the world there was to see? How much further did the lands spread before they reached other seas? Would he live to see them all?

  Askhos had proclaimed it the destiny of his line to rule over all the lands between the seas, and for two hundred and eight years the First King and his successors had laboured towards that goal. Who would be the first wearer of the Crown of the Blood to lay eyes upon all of the domains under the sun?

  As was his wont, Ullsaard's musings turned from reflection to action. Things didn't happen just because one wondered about them; things happened because great leaders made them happen. The empire had taken two hundred years to grow as large as it was, and it would take many more years before Askhos's goal was accomplished, but Ullsaard chafed at the thought that his generation would not be the ones to succeed. Cosuas had a few more years left at most, and while Ullsaard could happily look forward to another twenty years at least, there was no guarantee that would be long enough.

  In that darkened hollow on the edge of the Mekha desert, Ullsaard vowed to live to see all that the world had for him, life willing. Greater Askhor certainly had the resources and the means. All it required was the will, and he had that aplenty even if others did not appear to share his ambition. In this king's reign or the next, Ullsaard would lead Askhor to the greatest heights of power and create a legacy for his children and grandchildren that no other could match.

  Erlaan's voice drifted on the breeze, calling Ullsaard's name. Ullsaard ignored it for the moment, determined to mark this place in some way so that he could return here when he had accomplished his dream, and say to his descendants, "Here I stood when I decided we would rule the world."

  He searched around in the twilight until his fingers came upon a smooth, flat rock slightly wider than his outstretched hand. Picking it up, he ran his hands over it — it was hard but not so unyielding that he could not etch a mark onto its surface. Drawing his knife, Ullsaard began to scratch the rune of the Crown upon the stone, working by touch rather than sight. After some considerable work, he drew his fingers over the roughly carved sigil, confident that the engraving was deep enough to withstand the depredations of wind and sand for many years.

  With a deep breath, Ullsaard looked up to the stars once more and closed his eyes. He felt the stone heavy in his grasp, knowing that upon it he had sworn an oath to himself and to Askhos. Opening his eyes, he crouched and placed the stone at his feet, reverently pushing it into the thin soil. He stood and turned back towards the camp, strengthened by his private ritual. The flickering of the campfire entranced Erlaan. He sat alone, the remnant of a half-eaten meal scattered about the clay plate on his lap. The young prince was troubled by the news of his father's illness, a mixture of concern for his family and for himself. If his father died, Erlaan would become heir to the Crown of the Blood. His grandfather, Lutaar, was old, and within a few years Erlaan might become king. The thought repelled him, though he had known since childhood that it was his destiny. He didn't feel ready at all. The campaign with Ullsaard was meant to be a stepping stone towards learning the craft of the ruler but it had so far left him wanting nothing to do with war.

  All he had learnt was that Greater Askhor was a huge wilderness, devoid of the comforts he had been raised to enjoy. His handful of servants could barely provide a decent meal and he had already been away from noble company for more than a hundred days. Back in Askh, fashions were changing, friends were drifting away, girls were casting their eyes elsewhere. He was left to grub around in the dust and sand like a dog scavenging for scraps, and it seemed most unfitting for one of the Blood.

  There was also the question of the veteran generals. Cosuas seemed deferent enough, in his own crude way. Ullsaard treated him like an inferior sometimes, barking orders and giving Erlaan menial duties. He might be only a Second Captain by rank, but he was a prince by the Blood. It occurred to Erlaan that Ullsaard was punishing him in some way, simply for the benefit of his birth. Just because the general's meagre heritage — a bastard no less if gossip was to be believed — had forced Ullsaard to claw his way to the top from being a lowly legionnaire, there was no reason Erlaan had to suffer similar indignities.

  "Care to share your thoughts?" asked Ullsaard, appearing on the opposite side of the fire. The general was stripped to the waist, his muscles carved in shadow from the fire. Erlaan glanced guiltily at Ullsaard and saw a warrior-born, utterly unlike himself. The prince was short and thin, utterly at contrast with the tall, athletic officer.

  "Not really," Erlaan replied. He picked up a stick and tossed it into the flames.

  "You are worried about your father," said Ullsaard, sitting on the ground a little way to Erlaan's right, looking at the fire rather than the prince.

  "Of course," said Erlaan.

  "I had no father," said Ullsaard. "Well, no father to raise me, though obviously a man exists who gave his seed to my mother."

  The rumours had been true. Erlaan looked across at the general and saw that Ullsaard's gaze was fierce, directed at the flames as if they were somehow responsible for his hard life. The prince said nothing and simply waited for Ullsaard to continue.

  "I became a legionnaire and it was Cosuas who raised me up to be an officer, and your uncle who supported my rise, all t
he way to the position of general."

  "I know this," said Erlaan.

  "Yes, but you are missing my point," said Ullsaard. "Had you asked me twenty years ago what man I would become, I could not have said. My horizon was the next battle, the next march. Now? Now I have three wives who have each borne me a strong son and I lead the greatest army in the world. Circumstance shapes us every day, Prince. You must learn to recognise when events are changing you and when you are changing events."

  "And right now events are changing me?"

  "No, they are not, and that is what should concern you," said the general. He grabbed a brand from the fire. Stoking the flames, he turned his gaze upon Erlaan, the fire glittering in his eyes. "You do not wish your grandfather and father to die. That is understandable. Yet, all men must die and even those of the Blood are no different. You have the certainty of fate on your side. Your lineage stretches back to Askhos himself and in your veins runs his strength."

  "But what if it doesn't?" blurted Erlaan.

  Ullsaard laughed, but his humour was not born from mockery.

  "You can no more be weak than I could be a red-skinned Mekhani," said the general. "You are what you are, and it is in you to embrace that destiny. You owe it not only to yourself, but to the people you will rule and your forefathers. You are young, like metal soft in the flames of the smith. The skill of the smith can fashion a great sword, but only so far as the quality of the metal will allow. Life will beat upon you and fashion you into something else, but the quality of the bronze, your heritage, is without question. You are of the Blood, I cannot put it more plainly than that."

  Erlaan considered this, nodding gently. His father and all the fathers before him had ruled Askhor since its founding. Each must have had their doubts at times. Ullsaard was right; it was a measure of him as a man how he reacted to his troubles.

  "Thank you," said the prince with a smile, his confidence already a little restored by Ullsaard's words. "You are a thinker as well as a warrior, I see."

  Ullsaard laughed again and stood up.

  "A warrior who does not think is a corpse," said the general, tossing the brand onto the fire. "Get some sleep, we break camp at dawn."

  There it was again; a casual dismissal that betrayed the insincerity of the man. Erlaan hid his thoughts as he watched Ullsaard leave. The prince stood, sparing a last glance at the fire. "The Blood holds its own destiny," he remembered his grandfather once telling him. Erlaan walked to his tent, wondering what that destiny would be.

  The Greenwater

  Summer, 208th Year of Askh

  I

  Noran stood at the starboard rail of the galley's aft deck, enjoying the shelter of the sail while Ullsaard reclined on the deck, his hands behind his head. Clad only in tunic and kilt, the general was less imposing than normal, but even unarmoured and lying down his massive frame and muscular body dominated the afterdeck. Noran idly wondered what it would be like to have such a remarkable body, to have eyes turn to you whenever you entered a room.

  The slosh of the water, the creak of ropes and the warm evening air dulled the senses. Bare feet padded on board as the sailors turned out to trim the square sail, urged on by the quiet orders of their captain. The sailors cast glances at the reclining general as they tiptoed around him, whispering to each other.

  "A welcome sight after so much desert," suggested Noran, pointing to the vine-crowded terraces of Okhar rising up the banks of the river.

  Ullsaard sat up and looked at the fertile slopes.

  "Not as welcome as the streets of Askh, but it's a start," replied Ullsaard with a languid stretch. "Twenty-five days we've been travelling, and we're barely halfway."

  "It'll be quick enough, you'll see." Not for the first time, Noran compared Ullsaard to an ailur; seemingly quiet and passive, but masking a capability for immense violence and destruction. His rank, his affected civilisation, were the blinkers that kept him from going wild. Some of the stories of the general's exploits moving up the ranks had made Noran glad he was a friend; he had resolved to keep that friendship for as long as possible. The tales of Ullsaard's enemies generally ended badly on the bloodfields.

  "We'll pick up a few barrels of wine to celebrate your homecoming. It's been a good summer, by all accounts."

  "Stopped by to check on your estate while you were coming to see me, by any chance?" Ullsaard said, giving his companion a dubious look.

  "I had to resupply somewhere before that interminable trek into the sands! The quays at Geria just happen to belong to my father. That's not my fault."

  "Yes… and I'm sure your visit didn't delay your duties as herald any longer than necessary."

  "I may have sampled an amphora or three while I waited for fresh provisions to be brought aboard. What's a day here or there when you're travelling such a long way, anyway? You're just sour because you could have left all the dust and heat a couple of days earlier."

  Ullsaard grunted and lay down, closing his eyes.

  "It's not natural to have no rain for so long," he said. "Ever been to Enair in the winter?"

  "Thankfully, no."

  "Pisses down every day. I don't mean the little squalls and showers you get in Askhor; I mean solid downpours day and night from harvest to spring. And the wind! Howls down from coldwards, bringing the sea with it."

  "It sounds truly dreadful. I'll be sure to avoid it if I can. No wonder all you Enairians are such a miserable lot." Noran leaned back against the rail and looked down at Ullsaard, becoming serious. "You haven't really told me much about what it was like growing up in Enair."

  "No, I haven't."

  Noran waited but nothing else was forthcoming.

  "Oh, come on! Throw me a bone here. You must have friends there still; perhaps there was a lass or two you tumbled in the rain? What about family? I know your mother still lives there, but haven't you got any cousins, uncles, alluringly mature and experienced aunts?"

  Ullsaard sighed deeply and remained silent.

  "Fine," pouted Noran. "It's not like this journey isn't long enough, without you playing dumb for the whole voyage."

  "If you want to gossip, talk to the crew," mumbled Ullsaard. "I'm sure they'll be happy to tell you about the harlots they've humped in every town along the river, if that's what you're after."

  "You can be such an arsehole, Ullsaard. I try to take an interest in your life and you throw it back at me."

  "Don't be such a woman. We could talk about hunting, or the races, or fighting, but you just want to pry into my sex life. You're as much as a gossip as Meliu!"

  "Tell me about it! I swear she and Neerita are more like old women than any of their sisters once they start jawing. Did you know that Princess Meerina has gilded rose petals scattered on her bed every night in an attempt to entice Aalun to sleep with her? Imagine that, bribing your own husband to fuck you?"

  "I can't imagine that, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to try."

  "Me neither, but it's the sort of prattle I have to put up with once Neerita and Meliu start talking. I swear I'd have Neerita's tongue cut out if it wasn't for all the other things she can do with it. I tell you, she does this thing where she can curl her tongue into a tube, and when she sticks i-"

  "If you finish that sentence I'm going to chop off your balls," growled Ullsaard. "I don't care what you and Neerita put where, just don't tell me about it."

  Noran fell into a sullen silence and watched the sailors returning to the thin strip of shadow beside the duskward gunwale, the sail having been trimmed to the captain's satisfaction. Maybe Ullsaard was right; he would be better off talking to someone else. He looked at the sailors again; most appeared to be catching what sleep they could. It was probably better not to disturb them.

  Noran turned back to the river, scanning the surface for flying fish or other delights to distract him. Here and there a small dhow bobbed on the water, nets trailing behind it while the three or four fishermen aboard lounged in the setting sun. Evening was coming on an
d clouds of midges were rising from the rushes along the bank, gathering over the water. Birds gathered for the feast, diving and sweeping just above the river, snatching mouthfuls of the swarming flies.

  It was pleasant enough, but intensely boring. Back in Askh, someone would be holding a feast, or there would be games held at Maarmes; something to stimulate the senses and the intellect, or at least rouse the flesh. Noran made one more attempt to animate his lethargic friend.

  "These Okharans are a bunch of lazy bastards, aren't they?"

  "Most of them," replied Ullsaard. "Had a couple of Okharan porters a few years back. They were always wanting to take rest breaks. Still, the ones I've got in my legions don't give me any problems. Not officer quality, mind you, but diligent enough when they've been trained, and damned obedient."

  "You'd be obedient too if you have Nemtun for your governor. He scares the shit out of me, and I'm a family friend."

  Ullsaard dismissed his friend's concern.

  "He's the king's younger brother, that's what scares the shit out of you; because you're scared of the king. Nemtun's all talk, a bully. King Lutaar gave him Okhar so that he doesn't come back to Askh too often. Too many willing girls and hot days for him to want to leave."

  "He trained Aalun and Kalmud; he can't be just full of farts."

  Ullsaard yawned again and stared out towards the sunset, shielding his eyes. His tone was distracted.

  "True enough, he was a tough bastard in his prime, from what Cosuas says. Pretty much conquered Anrair single-handed if some of the stories are to be believed. But after that, he couldn't be arsed anymore; he had that one great campaign and has lived off it ever since. He hung around the palace knocking up maids until Lutaar sent Murian to take over Anrair and gave Okhar to him."

  "You see, that's the sort of gossip I'd like to hear from Neerita. Useful stuff to know."

  The pair fell quiet for a while, contemplating the vagaries of the sexes. Noran took a knife from his belt and began cleaning his nails, flicking dirt into the swirling waters. Ullsaard broke the silent reverie, sitting up.