by Gav Thorpe
"It isn't as if a king since Askhos has actually led a legion. A king's far too valuable to risk on a battlefield." The prince considered this realisation for a while. "When you think about it, surely an heir is as valuable as a king? I'm a king-to-be. If anything happens to me before I have an heir… I really should do something about that. Find some wives. The sooner the better, in fact."
Erlaan sat deep in thought, drawing circles in the dirt with his booted toe.
"I'll speak to my father when we reach Askh. I'm sure he and my mothers have already lined up some likely candidates for me to think about, that's the sort of thing parents do. Askhan, obviously. Pure families. Dark-haired and dark-eyed beauties, with any luck. Three would be nice; one my age and a couple a little older. They say experienced women make the best wives. Full breasts too, and hips you can grab onto without worrying about breaking them. Good for breeding and good for bedding. Hmm, I think that was one of Nemtun's sayings. Perhaps I should go for small tits and thin hips to spite him."
Erlaan sighed long and deep. Thinking about women was giving him an erection. He absentmindedly rubbed his crotch through his tunic.
"I haven't been with a woman since the winter," complained Erlaan. Out of the prince's sight, the Maasrites exchanged alarmed glances and pointed at each other insistently. "It's a shame Ullsaard doesn't have any maidservants. Hopefully my balls won't burst before I get back to Askh."
The Maasrites breathed quiet sighs of relief and ducked out from under the awning that would serve as the prince's shelter for the night. Erlaan looked up at their approach.
"We need to be ready to leave by dawn," he said. The Maasrites nodded in understanding. General Ullsaard had been quite specific with his instructions. "Wake me up at the start of Dawnwatch."
The Maasrites patiently nodded again and followed the prince to his mattress, quickly helping him undress. When he was under the blanket, head sunk into the pillow, they turned away and shared a conspiratorial smile. As they tidied the camp, Erlaan began to grunt quietly with pleasure. They kept their gazes away from his tent.
"Wanker," signed Aminea. The other Maasrite bit his knuckle to suppress a laugh and they headed to their rough pallets, sneaking a jug of fiery Enairian spirit from their packs. They took a swig each and giggled quietly as panting began to sound from Erlaan's bed.
"Not a lot," Keaila signed. "Early start."
Aminea nodded, took one more mouthful and stashed the liquor. The frenetic sounds of self-pleasure from Erlaan died down. The two mute servants looked past the guttering fire and saw the prince burying himself deeper into the bedding.
"You wash sheet in morning," Keaila signed to his friend.
"Fuck you," Aminea signed back with a grin.
VI
The galley's boat picked up Erlaan and the two servants not long after the next day. Noran and Ullsaard were both aboard already, nursing sore heads. The prince was happy to keep to himself, while Ullsaard and Noran were in no fit state for conversation and winced every time the sailors' bare feet padded on the boards or the sail cracked in the wind. Ullsaard was relieved that a steady duskwards wind carried them against the sluggish current without need for the sweeps. The thump of the drum and creak of the oars would just about have broken him.
The ship was brimming with fresh supplies from Geria. Barrels of pickled fish and salted goat meat filled the hold and were roped onto the deck. Bales of white Okharan linen had been stowed as well, for dyeing in the towns of Nalanor before being shipped to markets across the empire. The captain had also used the opportunity to acquire some slabs of Okharan marble — jadeveined stone highly prized in Askh — which he had distributed throughout the ship as expensive ballast. Up in the bow two bulky abada munched at their feed, thick ropes through their nose horns tying them to rings in the deck. No patch of deck was wasted, everything bound tight and close-packed.
There was little cloud and the captain made use of the pleasant weather to set his crew to cleaning and maintaining everything from bow to stern. Bronze fixings were polished, planks scoured, the mast lacquered with thick resin from Maasra, knots were tightened, ropes spliced and a hundred other things besides that kept a ship afloat and orderly. All was done with a quiet bustle that carefully avoided the guests when possible, as if they were a necessary inconvenience rather than the purpose of the journey.
Ullsaard lay on the deck, a coil of rope for a pillow, eyes closed, sleeping in short snatches. He found his troubled stomach could handle the rising and falling of the ship better than when upright. In the periods of wakefulness, he thought about his confrontation with Nemtun. Should he have held his tongue? He dismissed the regret. Both he and Nemtun wanted to take over the Greenwater campaign in Kalmud's absence. They were going to become rivals anyway, so Ullsaard's little outburst didn't matter. If anything, it might discourage Nemtun from getting too carried away, knowing that a fully active, experienced general was offering to continue the advance along the river.
Thoughts of the Greenwater campaign banished any chance of catching up on lost sleep. Ullsaard's mind filled with the possibilities. So much more could be done than in Mekha. An easy, constant supply line meant he would be able to push hotwards as far as the river would take him. Who could say what was waiting down there? The sea, at some point, and that probably meant a harbour. The Greenwater was the main artery of Ersua, Nalanor and Okhar, and doubtless in the uncharted reaches of the river there were undiscovered tribes and towns that depended on the river. For all that Ullsaard knew, it was a prize worth even more than Salphoria. He would sooner risk the wrath of Nemtun than let the bloated fart get his greasy paws on the Greenwater without a fight.
"Here," said Erlaan. Ullsaard opened his eyes to find the prince standing over him with a jug of water and a cup. He sat up and took them with a nod of thanks.
"Now I remember why Askhos forbade hard drink in the legions," Ullsaard said with a grimace. He downed two cups of water swiftly and emptied the remaining contents of the jug over his head with a gasp.
"Thank Noran, it was his idea," said Erlaan, sitting down next to Ullsaard. "He was throwing up over the stern when I last saw him and was begging for some water. I thought you might appreciate some as well."
"You don't approve of drinking?"
"Nothing wrong with indulging now and then," Erlaan said with a shrug and a grin. "I know I've not had much experience of life, but I've had a few wine-filled evenings. I've learnt that they're best reserved for when one has nothing to do for several days after."
"True, too true," said Ullsaard. He studied the prince and scratched a bearded cheek. "I got into something of an argument with your great-uncle."
"You were drunk?"
"No such excuse. No, he just annoyed me."
"I wouldn't worry too much about that, he annoys everybody. I'm pretty sure he and my grandfather used to have fights all of the time. I don't think he's ever got over the sad fact of his birth."
Ullsaard raised himself to one elbow.
"What do you mean?"
"Second-born of the Blood," explained Erlaan. "As soon as my father was born he was next in line, meaning Nemtun was not going to become king. I think that's why he couldn't stand to stay in Askh and decided to lead the legions duskwards."
"I hadn't considered that," said Ullsaard. "Must be hard knowing that you're never going to be at the top no matter what you do." "You seem to handle it without any problem." "What? I'm not of the Blood."
"Which means that you'll never be king, either. It's not a problem for you, why should it be a problem for Nemtun? And Uncle Aalun is very supportive of my father. He doesn't seem to be jealous."
"Maybe you're right. Maybe it is just jealousy." Ullsaard saw small wooden houses crowding the banks of the river, fishing boats bobbing up and down on their moorings outside. The Greenwater was even wider here and barely a sound could be heard from the banks. His head throbbed again, the previous night's drinking not quite ready to free him of its effects.
"Believe me, it is jealousy," said Erlaan. "Askhos was always careful never to give his followers any reason to doubt the right of the Blood to rule. My father has always told me that although being of the Blood gives us the right to rule, the reputation of the Blood depends upon all of us to rule with dignity and fairness. It is not only a privilege, but also an honour that needs to be lived up to."
"One that I am sure you will," said Ullsaard, guessing that Erlaan was worrying again about his inheritance. It would be better to change the subject than listen to more of the prince's self-indulgent woes. Unfortunately, Ullsaard couldn't think of anything Erlaan wouldn't complain about.
"I should leave you to recover in peace," said Erlaan, mistaking Ullsaard's silence. The general affected a grateful smile and lay back with his eyes closed. Erlaan's footsteps receded across the deck and Ullsaard drifted again into sleep.
VII
They sailed past the slate-roofed buildings of Paalun and continued upriver, the mountains of Nalanor and Askhor growing larger every day. The vine terraces and grassy meadows of Okhar gave way to Nalanor's crop-rich fields, swathes of gold and green as far as the eye could see. Here the Greenwater narrowed, the current growing stronger. The wind kept strong across the flat plains of Nalanor, but every dusk and dawn it stilled and the sailors brought out the oars for a watch to keep the ship at its steady pace.
The tedium of the voyage gnawed at Ullsaard and he became irritable. Without the needs of command to distract him with its everyday inconveniences, the general realised just how repetitive life could become. There were no disciplinary matters to oversee, no provisioning requests, no scouting parties to send or officers to instruct. Every few days, Ullsaard ordered the captain to put into the bank to allow the ailurs some exercise. Ullsaard, Noran and Erlaan would ride along the bank, easily keeping time with the ship, and board again in the evening. The general enjoyed these short excursions, and listened patiently to Noran's exploits in Askh or Erlaan's hopes for quickly finding some suitable wives. He let their babble wash over him, paying just enough attention to answer the occasional question or respond with suitable comment when it was required.
The Greenwater curved dawnwards towards the Askhor Mountains and the banks grew steeper, reed beds giving way to chalky cliffs cut with zigzagging paths. River traffic grew with each day they came closer to Nalanor's capital, Parmia. The grey city dominated the hills to coldward of the river, across five mounts that dropped steeply to the shores of Lake Parmia. The Greenwater disappeared into the inland sea and the wind died, broken up by the surrounding ring of hills. The crew bent their backs to the sweeps for five watches out of eight, as the steersman guided the galley around other ships and the low, tree-filled islands that broke the lake's surface.
The ship stopped in Parmia for two days while the captain exchanged some of his cargo for Nalanorian goods. Ullsaard and Noran had no desire to repeat the fiasco of Geria and stayed on board lest Governor Adral became aware of their presence. They left the city without incident and carried on dawnwards along the Greenwater, every day bringing them closer to the docks at Narun and the border of Askhor.
Narun
Summer, 208th Year of Askh
I
Though it lacked the general splendour of Askh and could not compete with the sheer size of the Askhor Wall, Narun was perhaps the greatest achievement of the Askhan Empire, at least in Ullsaard's mind. Just hotwards of the sprawling docks the Greenwater ceased to be a river; for three miles the river broke into a dozen channels created by a series of lock gates and dams. Each channel was divided and divided again into a criss-cross of canals and aqueducts, creating a huge gridded area of waterways, wharfs and dry docks.
Teams of abada trudged in circles around capstans to open lock gates or pump water along the aqueducts. Thick-beamed cranes — more than ten times as many as were found in Geria — loomed over the still waters, more beasts of burden chained and roped to the sprawling network of pulleys and levers. Swarms of dockhands busied themselves on the ships' decks and wooden quays, loading and unloading, a constant stream of wagons and handcarts arriving and leaving with the goods of the empire. A stepped hill had been built to duskward, rising in twenty levels reached by winding ramps, each tier filled with cavernous warehouses.
Along the waterside overseers cajoled and bullied their teams with cudgels and curses, warning off rivals with hoarse shouts. They haggled unloading fees with ships' masters as they passed and called out to Ullsaard's ship to make dock at their quay. Pilots sat in boats on the water, offering their services to captains unfamiliar with the maze-like harbour.
"Where are we going to berth?" Ullsaard asked the shipmaster, Eoruan, who thrust a hand into a leather pouch at his belt and pulled out a gilded crown-shaped token.
"King's Wharfs," Eoruan said with a grin. "Your friend, the herald, knows all the right people."
With slow sweeps of the oars, the galley slid serenely between the ships, coracles and boats filling the waterway, the smaller vessels hurrying out of its path as it headed implacably coldwards along the main canal. The water opened into a large artificial lake, broken by anchored rafts on which were piles of wood for fires. The clean-hewn banks of the reservoir jutted steeply at the water's edge, and there stood high beacon towers.
"You should see this place at night," the captain said. "It's not called the Harbour of a Thousand Fires for no reason. The firelight glittering on the water, the shadows and silhouettes of a hundred ships. Makes my old heart stir, it surely does."
Ullsaard nodded but said nothing. He had seen plenty of firestorms by night; when Lehmia had burned; when his legions had put the torch to Mekhani settlements hotwards of Khar; when lava-throwers had torched enemy encampments. He chose not to share the memories with the ship's master.
"About time," muttered Eoruan.
"What's that?"
"The harbour authorities have talked about a halfway bridge for the past three years. Good for unloading light, perishable goods without having to dock fully. You know, using just boats. Looks like they're finally doing something."
The captain pointed to a long pontoon bridge stretching about a third of the way across the lake from the coldward bank. Dozens of men laboured on the extended bridge, naked save for black scarves that covered their heads and shoulders; slaves taken by the legions and criminals labouring to atone for their acts against the empire, under the watchful gaze of robed members of the Brotherhood. Soldiers with black crests stood at regular intervals along the line of labourers, carrying long clubs rather than spears. More coloured hats, thought Ullsaard. Black hats to match the black robes of the Brotherhood. More nonsense.
The King's Wharfs were built of stone blocks, unlike the wooden quays and jetties that made up the rest of Narun. On solid piles sunk into the bottom of the lake, three wide piers speared into the water, each large enough to berth four ships, two to each side. Only one was in use at the moment, the middle quay providing mooring for a bireme and a small yacht. A blue banner embroidered with the gold symbol of the crown fluttered at the masthead of the smaller vessel.
"Prince Kalmud's ship," said Eoruan. "Was here when we left. I guess the prince has been spending some time in Askh."
"Very likely," grunted Ullsaard.
"I thought he was hotwards along the Greenwater," Eoruan continued.
"He was," said Ullsaard. "Now he isn't."
The captain caught Ullsaard's stare and quelled whatever he was going to say next. He coughed self-consciously.
"We'll be in berth soon enough. Time to start getting the stores ready to unload."
"Right," said Ullsaard. "Do that."
With another glance at Ullsaard, Eoruan headed along the deck, bellowing for the crew to muster. The pounding of feet on the deck roused Noran, who sauntered from belowdecks. Erlaan was behind him.
"Not long now, eh?" Noran said to the prince as they joined Ullsaard. "Soon we'll be back in Askh, chasing the women and drinking the fin
est wines."
"I am more concerned with my father's health," replied the youth.
"Of course, of course," said Noran. "I didn't mean to be dismissive. It's just… I'm sure there's no cause for serious concern."
Erlaan's eyes were fixed on the dawnward shoreline.
"I hope not," he said. The prince turned and his gaze moved between Ullsaard and Noran. "I know you think me inexperienced, and you're probably right. But I know enough to wonder what's happening when my uncle sends a herald so far hotward to bring back his favourite general."
"Probably the Greenwater campaign," said Ullsaard, meeting Erlaan's look. He smiled in the most encouraging fashion he could. "It doesn't mean anything, really. I'll probably just be sent to keep an eye on his troops while your father recovers. We'll be back kicking sand at the Mekhani next year."
Erlaan shook his head.
"Why bring you to Askh just to send you all the way back down the Greenwater again? Seems like an awful waste of your time."
Ullsaard looked to Noran to provide an answer. The herald shrugged, earning himself a frown.
"I just know what I am told," said Noran. "Prince Aalun gave me no instructions other than to bring you back to Askh; and no information other than Prince Kalmud had been taken with an illness."
"You don't think it's something worse, do you?" asked Erlaan, grabbing Noran's arm. "About my father, I mean."
"Not at all, young prince," said Noran, patting Erlaan's hand. "Your father was not well, but far from death when I left. His condition did not seem to be worsening, and with the attentions of the Brotherhood there is no reason to think things are so bleak."
Erlaan was about to say something but the captain intervened. There was a gaggle of sailors behind him, with ropes and lading hooks.
