The Crown of blood tcob-1

by Gav Thorpe

  "Please excuse us," he said.

  The group moved out of the way and stood to one side of the tillerman. The sailor kept his gaze solidly ahead, affecting the blank expression of a man who is deaf to all things, as the galley slid towards the nearest quay of King's Wharf.

  "Look at this way," said Noran, keeping his voice quiet. "If there really was some problem with your father, it would have been the king who sent me, and many other messengers beside. Your family are keeping this quiet because there is no cause for alarm, but rumour could be very disruptive."

  "I suppose you are right." Erlaan folded his arms and bit his lip.

  With a rough scraping and a couple of thuds, the galley was brought in alongside the wharf. Thick cables were thrown over to the landsmen who had swarmed out of the buildings along the length of the pier. A short, heavyset, sweaty man in a thick blue robe puffed and wheezed as he pulled himself over the side of the ship on a rope ladder.

  "Token," he said, reaching out an open palm towards Eoruan.

  "Here it is," said the captain, holding the golden crown between thumb and forefinger, forcing the jettymaster to take it from him with a frown. The functionary pulled a small wax tablet from his belt. Line after line of perfectly formed script almost filled the tablet.

  "Make your mark," he said, thrusting the tablet to Eoruan. The captain turned towards Noran.

  "It's your mark that's needed, not mine," Eoruan said.

  Noran gave a huff of annoyance and crossed the deck. He took up the official's stylus and wrote his name into the wax. The jettymaster brought forth two thin sheets, almost transparent, and a block of charcoal. He made a rubbing of the impression in the wax on each piece and handed one to Noran. The other he carefully folded and placed in a bag at his belt. He smeared Noran's mark out of the wax and returned the tablet and stylus to his belt.

  "Token," prompted Noran, beckoning with a finger. Absentmindedly, the jettymaster handed back the royal seal.

  He dragged himself back over the ship's side without another word and disappeared into the crowd of labourers waiting for instructions from the ship.

  "We'll get the ailurs off first, and be out of your hair," said Ullsaard, slapping a hand to the captain's shoulder. "My people will unload the rest of our baggage."

  "It's been no burden for me," Eoruan said with wink and a nod to the cargo being made ready for unloading. "Crown business never is."

  As always, Ullsaard was conscientious and deliberate during the disembarkation of the ailurs, while the crew heaved and pushed the abada down the gangplanks to the dockside and the servants loaded the wagon with their master's baggage. It was almost nightfall by the time they were ready to leave the quayside, and Ullsaard decided that they would spend the night in Narun.

  They found lodging in the house of Araan Nario, a fleet owner who had regular dealings with Noran's family. The wiry, elderly merchant was more than happy to put up such esteemed guests when Noran sent one of the servants with word of their presence in the harbour town. They spent the evening in the company of Nario and his mercantile friends, fending off questions regarding their business in Askh. Glad of no repeat of the incident in Geria, they left Narun mid-morning the next day and headed dawnwards towards the Askhor border.

  II

  There was much traffic on the road as traders moved their wares between Askh and Narun. Abada pulled carts from the capital laden with stone and metals from the mountains, or carried finely spun linens in bushels on their backs. Towards the city the merchants ferried grain for the most part, the interior of Askhor being unsuitable for widespread farming. Though plentiful in game and fish, the highland pastures were good for goats and a few hardy cattle and little else. Fish came from the Sea of the Sun to dawnwards, but animal fodder was always in high demand, as were the more exotic gems and spices of hotwards, and the wool and textiles from coldwards in the lands of Ersua and Enair.

  The prince, herald and general were the subject of much attention, their ailurs advertising their status more than anything else, but other travellers on the road did not involve themselves other than to exchange pleasantries and occasionally break bread.

  They made steady progress and three days of riding brought them to the edge of the Askhor Mountains, which reared up steeply from the flatlands of Nalanor. Snow-capped all year round, the impressive peaks formed a wall that stretched from coldwards to hotwards as far as could be seen. Low clouds shrouded the peaks, but in the foothills the summer air was clear and hot.

  Almost directly to dawnwards lay the Askhor Gap, where the mountains were parted by a steep valley. The road cut straight and true through the steep hills leading up to the gap, and by mid-afternoon of the third day Ullsaard and the others laid eyes on the Askhor Wall.

  The Wall stretched the entire width of the gap, nearly twenty Askhan miles almost directly from hotwards to coldwards. The lowering sun shone bright from the grey and black granite and glinted from bronze speartips and helmets. It took the four patrols, each a thousand-strong, two whole watches to march from one end to the other, each patrol being roughly thirty thousand paces long. Some five thousand more soldiers were stationed in twenty fortified towers along its length. The Wall ran across the narrowest point of the valley, its rampart as level as a race track so that where the hills were highest it stood no more than three times the height of a man, and where the ground was lowest it seemed as much as ten times as high. As well as two hundred and fifty men, each garrison tower housed three bellows-launchers capable of hurling a spear-sized projectile a considerable distance, and a small lava-powered forge similar to those taken on campaign by the legions. Each tower held enough stores to feed its men for fifty days.

  There were six gates, but only the main gate was ever in regular use, wide enough for four carts abreast and guarded by two massive bastions twice as tall as the Wall itself. Lava throwers jutted from the towers in the lowest levels while murder holes and bow slits punctured the upper storeys. The gates themselves, now wide open, were low and broad, made of bronze-clad wood as thick as Ullsaard's outstretched arms. They were opened and closed by means of counterweights and a water wheel fed by an aqueduct that redirected one of the mountain streams, and ran the length of the Wall to provide the garrison with fresh water.

  For nearly two hundred years the Wall had stood; a testament to the power and ingenuity of the Askhans.

  In all of that time, it had never been attacked.

  "Just a day's more travel before we're home!" announced Noran with a clap of his hands. "I can almost smell the city already."

  "It is a most welcome sight," said Erlaan. "Though I have seen the Wall several times from this direction, this is the first time I have laid eyes upon it after being so long away." Ullsaard merely grunted. "Not happy to be back?" asked Erlaan.

  "I will be when we reach the palace," Ullsaard replied. "This is just a wall."

  "It's more than just a wall," said Erlaan as they rode between two high embankments where the road cut straight through a hill, heading directly towards the main gate. "It's the Askhan border. Here Greater Askhor ends and true Askhor begins. Surely that means something."

  "It's a big wall, that needs several thousand good legionnaires and countless artisans to maintain," replied Ullsaard. "It is a magnificent wall. I am sure that the Nalanorian hordes who capitulated to Askhos shortly after it was completed were very impressed by its size. Since then, it has had no useful purpose other than to drain resources from the legions."

  "You are in a surly mood," said Noran. "It's the Wall! It's on the king's coins, and celebrated by a dozen murals and a hundred poems. Everything that is Askhor and Askhan: ingenious, dependable, unbreakable."

  "And pointlessly expensive," added Ullsaard. "Just who is it defending, and against what? The Salphors? They'd have to cross all of Greater Askhor to even get here. The Nemurians? The Mekhani?"

  "And what would it say to the people of Greater Askhor if it was just allowed to fall into ruins?" snapp
ed Erlaan. "Would you have us abandon our heritage and let the great monuments from our past tumble to nothing?"

  "Spoken like a poet and not a soldier," Ullsaard replied calmly. "I think the people of Greater Askhor would far rather have the stone and the men used to build bridges and homes and man forts elsewhere in the empire. On the Salphorian border, perhaps. It may be a symbol of Askhor's past, but surely the empire is about the future and where we are going as much as it is about where we come from?"

  "You have a dull spirit at times, Ullsaard," said Noran. "I would say it is because you are a soldier and soldiers have practical minds, but it is more than that. Surely you see some merit in maintaining such a glorious structure as a testament to Greater Askhor's strength?"

  "Askhor's strength," Ullsaard said quietly.

  "What's that?" asked Erlaan.

  "Askhor's strength," Ullsaard said, louder than before. They passed through the defile and the Wall could be seen again, dominating the valley. "The Wall was built by Askhor, not Greater Askhor. It is not a symbol of the empire, it is a symbol of Askhor itself."

  "Ah, I see!" said Noran. "As someone born outside the Wall, perhaps you resent what it represents?"

  "It is a division between Askhor and Greater Askhor, for sure," Ullsaard admitted. "I have done well and made something of my life, but for some the fact that I was born on this side will mean I can never be a proper Askhan, though I have achieved more for the empire than most who happened to be spawned behind its stones."

  "I did not realise you were so ashamed of your lower birthright," said Erlaan. "I think it is marvellous that you have attained the station you have despite your humble beginnings."

  Ullsaard reined in Blackfang and swung towards the prince with a glower.

  "Ashamed? I'm bloody proud of what I've done. From legionnaire to general in twenty-seven years, through all the blood and piss on the way. But I would have done it in ten if I'd been born in Askh."

  "And perhaps not at all if not for the patronage of my uncle," Erlaan said, stopping next to the general, his voice and gaze steady. "I think you overlook the favour of the Blood."

  Ullsaard ground his teeth for a moment and saw nothing but incomprehension in the eyes of Erlaan and Noran. It really was that simple for them; they were born Askhans, nobility even, and had never had to face the obstacles Ullsaard had overcome in his career. He realised he was treading on uncertain ground, and his reaction to seeing the Wall confused him. He had ridden past it a dozen times or more and had never felt this way before. Perhaps it was the irritating presence of the prince that was really the cause. The general frequently forgot that Erlaan was one of the Blood and not just another junior officer.

  "It's just a bloody wall, eh?" Ullsaard said with a forced smile. "I hate the last days of the journey, so close to where you're going but not there yet. Forgive my gruff manner."

  "Of course, Ullsaard," said Erlaan with a magnanimous look. "You have your wives waiting for you so close at hand and here's us chattering away about symbols of Askhan glory."

  They rode on for a little while longer as the shadows lengthened and the air grew cooler.

  "He built Magilnada as well, you know," said Noran.

  "Who?" asked Ullsaard.

  "Beruun, the man who constructed the Wall for Askhos."

  "Never heard of him."

  "Why should you have?" said Noran. "He turned out to be a traitor and a thief. Fled to Salphoria with half the workforce and built that damned city for their king."

  "How do you know this?"

  "While you were learning how to gut Mekhani and avoid the boy-fondlers in camp, I had my nose shoved into Artus's Chronicles and Conjectures by my father. He thought it important that every noble son of Askh should learn his history, to understand where we come from."

  "And yet you have an utter ignorance of the most important book from history. The Book of Askhos."

  Noran shrugged.

  "I've never claimed to be even-handed. I didn't enjoy the learning, but some of it sticks in the mind despite numerous attempts to wash it away with fine liquor and rampant sex." Noran turned to Erlaan with a wink. "Those taught me far more important lessons about life than any number of dusty old scholars."

  "I'll be sure to broaden my education when I have the chance," replied the prince.

  Ullsaard ignored them as they continued to talk about their tutors and upbringing, maintaining a grumpy silence until they reached the Wall. The sun was almost set and the traffic on the road was all but gone.

  "You two should enjoy the hospitality of the garrison," said Noran.

  "And you?" asked Erlaan.

  "I need to ride on, to bring news of your impending arrival to the palace. I'm sure they wish to organise a suitable welcome."

  Ullsaard shook Noran's hand and clapped him on the shoulder.

  "Ride safe, friend," said the general. "It's been good to see you again. Your wives should make arrangements with mine so that our families might spend some time together."

  "I wouldn't be surprised if the whole thing hasn't been planned already," laughed Noran. "I'm certain they've already got festivals and celebrations in mind. Askhos knows how much it's going to cost us!"

  The herald gave a nod to Erlaan.

  "It is a pleasure to have met you, Prince."

  "Likewise, Noran. I am sure I will see you around the palace in the days to come."

  "Your father will be heartened to hear that you will be joining him very shortly. With any luck, he'll be back on his feet and ready to go, and this whole journey will have been a waste of time."

  "With luck," Erlaan said quietly.

  Noran looked at the two of them and then through the great gate to the darkening hills beyond.

  "Right," he said, quietly as if to himself. "I'll be going then."

  Ullsaard watched his friend ride through the gate and signalled the captain of the watch who had come out of the gatehouse to greet the general.

  "Beer, bread and bed, Captain," said Ullsaard. The young officer nodded in understanding and headed back to the gate, snapping orders.

  Ullsaard looked at his companion, hiding his annoyance that Noran had abandoned him with the prince. At least he only had to tolerate his company alone for one day. He waved Erlaan ahead.

  "Welcome back to Askhor."

  Salphoria

  Summer, 208th Year of Askh

  I

  The clanking of chains from the debtors' cranks filled the sweaty confines of the landship's hull. The planks vibrated and rumbled with the grinding of the wheels beneath. Stripped to the waist, shackled men bent their backs to the turn shafts with metronomic regularity, stooping and heaving to the steady banging of the drivemaster's drum. Skins of many hues glistened in the yellow light from the three lanterns swaying upon the hull beams. All eighty of the labouring men had closecropped hair to prevent the spread of mites and other parasites, and their chests, cheeks and chins were clean shaven for the same reason.

  Grimaces of pain were writ upon the faces of the newcomers; the old hands stared stolidly at the backs of the debtor in front with expressions of detached determination. They worked with hands bound with leather thongs, gripping wooden shafts smoothed to a polish by a generation of internees, on benches eroded into dipping shallows by countless buttocks.

  Anglhan Periusis walked along the narrow aisle between the two rows of his workers, checking hands and feet for blisters, examining joints for inflammation. Behind him his second-incommand, Furlthia Miadnas, ladled water to the perspiring prisoners. Even with the hatches open it was sweltering in the bowels of the landship and Anglhan regularly dabbed at his forehead and fatty jowls with a sweat-soaked rag.

  "Only four more days, Gelthius," Anglhan said, patting a grizzled debtor on the shoulder. "I bet you thought the day would never come."

  "Never did, right enough," the man replied, puffing between the words as he continued to push and pull at the turncrank. "Fourteen years, right enough."


  "I'll be dropping you off in Magilnada," the ship master said, hooking his fingers into the belt holding up his baggy trousers. "It's a day earlier than I should, by rights, but we're heading all the way to Carantathi after that and I wouldn't abandon you at least a day's walk from civilisation."

  "Magilnada?" wheezed Gelthius. "Free Country, that is. Take me forever to work my way back to Landensi."

  "You're welcome to join the deck crew at full pay, until we head back towards the central plains," Anglhan offered. "An experienced hand like yourself, that doesn't go unrewarded."

  "I might do that," said Gelthius.

  "Just let me know in the next day or two and I'll make the arrangements one way or the other," Anglhan said with a warm smile.

  "Right enough," said Gelthius.

  Anglhan continued the inspection of his detainees, marking off another day's service in his ledger for each of the debtors. He noticed that three of them would be finished paying their way before they reached Carantathi. He would have to transfer them to another debt guardian in Magilnada, or come up with some other form of arrangement so that they did not labour longer than was allowed.

  "Everything seems in order," he said to Furlthia, who nodded in agreement.

  "This new lot are as fit as a rat catcher's dogs," Furlthia said. "That was a good deal; don't usually get so many last this long."

  "Aye, Byrantas earnt his commission this time," said Anglhan as he stepped onto the bottom rung of the ladder leading up to the main deck.

  The fresh breeze that swept over Anglhan as his head popped through the hatch caused him to stop and savour the air for a moment. A not-so-subtle cough from Furlthia goaded him into action once more and he heaved his portly frame the remaining few rungs onto the upper deck. The wind was freshening, tugging at his scarlet tunic, tousling his mop of blond and grey hair.

  With a quick eye, Anglhan checked that all was brisk and ready; crew stood by the spear throwers along each side of the hull; the lines of the single square sail were taut and the canvas full. Atop the mast four men stood upon the crow's-nest, eyes shielded against the low sun. Casting his gaze further afield, the captain could see the dust from his outrunners spread out around the landship. Should danger approach they would light warning flares and sound their curhorns.