by Gav Thorpe
"That settles the matter," said Udaan. "Your brother himself claims fit to rule."
"It matters not," snapped the king. He lifted his hand to quell Aalun's protest and continued in a calmer voice. "The succession stays as laid down in the Book of Askhos. To break from that now would invite disaster in generations to come. The Book of Askhos does not give us advice, does not give us guidelines. Its rules are absolute and must be followed as such."
Lutaar stood and stroked Kalmud's forehead. He paced in front of the throne, stooped and weary, and laid a hand on Aalun's shoulder.
"I know that you do not say this out of malice for me or your brother, and I do not deny you out of malice either. There can be no contention over the succession. If we were to equivocate, then we open the door for further exception. It matters not who wears the Crown, other than that he be the legal heir of the Blood. That is the rule. It matters not his merit or standing, his physical condition or his personality. There can be no other claim to the Crown other than that laid down by Askhos, for it means that there is no ambition from others to claim it for themselves. It matters not what you think, for the Crown will accept no other than the rightful heir."
"What do you mean?" asked Aalun. "The Crown is a symbol, it does not have a say in this."
Lutaar hesitated, again glancing toward Udaan.
"It is more than a symbol, it is the embodiment of Askhos. It carries his wisdom and his strength. What does the Book tell us? 'He who wears it will be without weakness.' Trust in the Blood, trust in the Crown. For two hundred years we have prevailed over our foes, and that will not change when your brother becomes king."
"I understand," said Aalun, though his eyes confessed a different opinion. The prince stood, kissed his father's hand and turned away. He gestured for Ullsaard to follow.
"By your leave, Majesty," said the general. Lutaar smiled and nodded.
"Spend some time with your family," said the king. "Whether it be to Mekha or the Greenwater, I will not send you on your way too soon."
"Thank you. You are considerate as well as wise; a true inheritor of Askhos' legacy."
The king smiled, eyes alive with humour.
"I am."
V
The inner gardens were dark, lit only by the scattered light from courtyard windows. Erlaan stared at the distorted shadows through the thick glass, trying to see past his reflection, his eyes constantly returning to his slender face and light brown eyes. Weak eyes, he thought, with neither the depth of his grandfather's not the brightness of his father's. Average eyes providing a window onto an average intellect and character.
He turned away, sickened at himself. His father needed him to be strong now, stronger than before. But how could he be, when everything he had drawn strength from was now so weak?
He paced back and forth across the carpet of the apartment's main chamber, alongside the low table crammed with stuffed birds, roasted swine cuts and bowls of nuts; to the fireplace, empty for the summer, and back to the tapestry hanging by the door. He stopped to look at it again; Askhos in all his fiery glory, purging the hills of the Demeetris. Even in blue and white and black thread, the First King's eyes held more life than Erlaan's.
He turned about and ambled towards the fireplace again, eyes fixed to the watch-candle burning on the shelf above. It seemed to shrink so slowly; surely more time had passed since the gong had signalled the Watch of Howling.
He started as the main doors thudded open. Suddenly selfconscious, Erlaan threw himself down onto a couch, and affected an interest in the hidden view beyond the window.
Four burly servants entered; Enairians by their wide build and thick beards. Between them they carried a bier of polished wood, Erlaan's father lying on the thick mattress amongst redand-gold pillows. It was the first Erlaan had seen of him since arriving in Askh and his heart fell at the sight. Forgetting any pretence of decorum, he hurried across the room as his father was set down beside the table.
Kalmud's eyes were closed and there was a thick sweat upon his face. Dried blood crusted his nostrils and the corners of his lips. His thick hair was unkempt, plastered over his scalp. His chin was thick with bristles, some dark, others grey. The servants lifted him from the bier and carried him to a couch, where they lay the prince carefully, leaning him against its curved back. Two maids entered as the porters left, carrying dishes and wet sponges. Erlaan was fixed on his father's face as the two elderly women dabbed at his skin, washing away the sweat.
"Fetch someone to shave him and clean his hair," the prince snarled. "It's a disgrace that you allow him to look like this."
One of the maids bowed and left. Erlaan sat on the floor beside his father and gently laid a hand on the sheet wrapping his body.
"Give that to me," Erlaan said, taking the cloth from the remaining maid. "You'll wake him up with your heavy pawing."
The maid placed the bowl next to Erlaan and pattered out of the room on bare feet, casting a glance over her shoulder before she was out of the door.
"Is there anything else, Prince?"
Erlaan ignored her and placed the back of his hand on his father's brow. The skin was flushed, hot to the touch. Erlaan wrung out the sweaty cloth onto the floor and dipped it into the water bowl. He carefully laid it on above his father's eyes.
There was tightness in his chest as memories came back to him; of sitting watching the maids do the same for his mothers and brother when the flux had swept the palaces ten years ago. None of them had survived; his cousin and aunts also had been taken. Though Uncle Aalun had married again, Erlaan's father had refused to take a new wife and had instead thrown himself into his command of the legions. The thought that Kalmud might die was too much for Erlaan to contemplate. His father was so strong, it was impossible that anything could end him; not the flux, and certainly not this foreign disease.
Kalmud's eyelids opened hesitantly, Erlaan's heart fluttering with them.
"My son…" Kalmud smiled and tried to lift a hand, but struggled to pull it from the confines of the binding sheet. Erlaan put an arm beneath his father's back and lifted him up, loosening his coverings. Supported by his son, Kalmud ruffled Erlaan's hair slowly. "You look well."
"Have no concern for me," replied Erlaan, fist clenched unseen behind his father as he fought to control his emotions. "Save your strength for your recovery."
"I see Ullsaard brought you back. Is he treating you well? Is he teaching you how to be a leader?"
"He has been dutiful in his attention, though he does not spare me the more odious chores of his officers."
"Good, I would not have you learn only the privileges of command."
"I wish that you could teach me yourself."
"Family complicates things." Kalmud motioned for Erlaan to allow him to lie back. He wheezed as he settled. "Just ask your uncle what it was like to serve with Nemtun."
"But you are not him, and would be a far better teacher."
There was a delicate cough from the doorway. A short man with olive skin stood there holding a small towel and barber's tools.
"What do you want? Wait outside! Can't you see we're busy?" Erlaan turned back to his father, not sparing the servant a second glance. "Sorry about the disturbance. Do you need some rest?"
Kalmud shook his head slightly and swallowed hard.
"Why does he have no water?" bellowed Erlaan. "Would you have an ill man suffer from thirst?"
The maid who had left scurried in with jug and cup, spilling water onto the carpet in her haste. She dithered, caught between pouring the water and cleaning up the spillage.
"Just give me that," snapped Erlaan, snatching the ewer from her. She held the cup out in a trembling hand as Erlaan poured. He set the jug on the table behind him and took the brimming cup from the maid, dismissing her with a glare. Erlaan lifted his father's head to allow him to drink, as much water dribbling down his chin as passed his cracked lips. Erlaan dabbed away the excess with the edge of the sheet and put the cup aside.
"You'll make a fine soldier," his father said as he settled back against the couch.
Erlaan sighed and his father looked at him sharply, his eyes regaining some of their former life for a moment.
"You think otherwise?" said Kalmud.
"The killing… I have little stomach for it. Ullsaard and Cosuas, they take it all in their stride. But when I saw all of those bodies being carried back to the camp, it choked me."
Kalmud nodded and weakly stroked at Erlaan's arm.
"I'm not a coward, you understand?" Erlaan continued. "I'd happily match a foe with spear or sword, in battle or on the bloodfield."
"Of course you would," said Kalmud. "You're of the Blood; there is no fear in you."
"But war, that's something else. Thousands of men putting their lives in my hands? I don't know if I could take that. And to think that one day I'll be king, and the fate of millions will rest on my shoulders… I am not ready for that."
"No boy should be." Kalmud closed his eyes but his hand squeezed Erlaan's arm reassuringly. "You think I was ready at your age? I was interested in drinking as much wine as possible and putting my cock in any girl that didn't move fast enough. You're better than that already."
Erlaan laughed uncomfortably, horribly aware how much he thought about sex.
"I do my fair share of hole-chasing."
"Of course you do." Kalmud's voice was growing weaker and for a moment Erlaan thought his father had fallen asleep. A cough brought him around and his gaze settled uncertainly on Erlaan. "What was I saying?"
"It doesn't matter. Get some rest."
Kalmud's eyes roved across the room for a while, perhaps seeking inspiration. He settled on some anonymous point of the tiled ceiling and when he spoke his mood was distant.
"To rule people is to change, son. Your grandfather taught me that. You have only known him since he was king. Before he took up the Crown he was a gentle man like you, full of compassion. When he became king it changed him. The Crown weighs heavily on those that wear it. It made him stronger, for sure. Stronger, but colder and harder, like hot ore that becomes deadly bronze. It changed him. It'll change me, I'm sure, and you too. Askhor has never had a weak king, and you won't be the first."
These last words were barely a whisper as Kalmud faded away. Erlaan was gripped with panic, certain that his father had died. He laid his head upon Kalmud's chest and gave a sigh of relief when he heard a faint beat and felt a gentle pulse.
Erlaan stood, eyes lingering on his father.
"Don't leave me on my own," he whispered.
VI
Aalun's apartments filled half of the coldward wing of the palace, a sprawling collection of reception rooms, halls, feasting chambers and bedrooms. Woollen rugs patterned with designs from all across the empire covered the floors. The main halls were painted with murals depicting the most famous sights of Greater Askhor: the cataracts above Narun; the four-towered bridge at Karnassu; the white peaks of the Ersuan highlands; the Maasrite aqueduct from Lehmin to Osteris; the ziggurat of the Brotherhood in Oraandia; and many others with which Ullsaard was not familiar. Walking from room to room was like taking a tour of the Askhans' conquests and achievements.
A small army of half-seen servants kept the apartments in order, filling water bowls, replacing dying blooms and wreaths with fresh flowers, washing the marble floors and brushing the hangings.
Aalun led Ullsaard to a circular chamber containing cushioned benches along three-quarters of the wall, the row of windows above showing the city beyond to hotwards and duskwards. The general took his helmet from under his arm and placed it carefully on the bench, gaze drawn to the view outside. The last rays of the sun trickled over the slate roofs as torches sprang into life along the criss-crossing streets and windows glowed from within. The Askhor Mountains stood like jagged teeth against the red and purple, the sliver of the dying sun perfectly centred on the Askhor Gap where the Wall stood.
"A remarkable piece of planning," said Aalun as Ullsaard stared at the view. "My ancestors showed good foresight to choose such a place for their capital."
Ullsaard said nothing. He was still surprised by Aalun's argument with his father and his dismissive attitude to his brother's health. The prince stood beside him and looked out of the window.
"Greater Askhor did not happen by chance," Aalun said quietly. "It was conceived by the intelligence of Askhos, forged by his strength and that of his descendants. The empire cannot be ruled by any man of lesser character or ability if it is to continue to grow."
Ullsaard looked at the prince.
"You think your brother a lesser man?"
"Not in heart or spirit," Aalun said with a doleful shake of the head. "But this sickness, it has weakened his body and clouds his thoughts. Three things keep the empire intact and allow it to expand. Firstly, common cause, self-interest if you will; the benefits of being an Askhan citizen far outweigh the burdens. Secondly, fear of Askhor's legions; men like you who are willing to be ruthless against the few to protect and expand the interests of the many. Thirdly, a strong king who will wield that power in defence of our ideals. A strong king who will temper the greed and ambitions of other men so that those who serve are not reduced to slaves and those that govern do not become corrupt."
"You think that Kalmud would fall prey to these other men should he become king?"
Aalun sat down on the bench and nodded for Ullsaard to sit next to him. The prince leant towards Ullsaard, hands clenched in his lap.
"We both know that to lead takes stamina, of the body as well as the mind. When we are tired we make poor decisions, when we are hungry we are hasty in our judgements. I have no doubt that Kalmud would rule to the best of his ability, and would never willingly surrender the interests of the empire. But should one of the governors, Nemtun perhaps, or Asuhas, wish to gain some advantage or other they need only wage a gentle war of attrition to get their way."
"But what about your father's argument? To suggest that circumstance might change the succession seeds doubt for the future. If you wish to help your brother and the empire, why not allow him to succeed his father and stay close to him? Between you and Udaan, I am sure you could protect him."
Aalun drew back, folding his arms across his chest.
"Protect him? What sort of leader needs protection? It is unfair to the people of the empire to be ruled by a man in name only. It is also unfair to Kalmud to put him in such a position. Such stress could labour his health further. I would be the last man to wish to hurry him to his pyre."
"I have seen good officers humbled by minor injuries and infections," said Ullsaard. "Still, many kings have ruled well into old age and not suffered. That includes your father."
"Old age and clinging to life are not quite the same things," replied Aalun. He sighed lightly and stood. "I may be worrying about nothing. My father may live several more years yet and my brother may recover. You are a good citizen, Ullsaard; loyal, determined and dedicated. I recognised these virtues in you long ago, which is why I have always supported you. There were those that said a coldlander could never aspire to greatness, but I saw your potential, nurtured your ability, provided you with the means to aspire. In your judgement, have I ever acted out of selfish reasons or against the good of the empire?"
Ullsaard shook his head.
"And do you trust me?" asked Aalun.
"Of course," said Ullsaard. "You have shown great trust in me and you deserve no less in return."
"I am glad to hear that, friend. It is these bonds, between the legions and the Blood, which make our people strong. I will exert what influence I have over my father to grant you the Greenwater campaign. Cosuas has had his opportunities, I think you deserve one now."
Aalun waved a hand towards the door. Ullsaard stood.
"I should not keep you from your family any longer. Thank you for coming."
Ullsaard was taken aback by the abrupt end to the conversation.
"I am happy to be of whatever
help I can," he said uncertainly, picking up his helm. He fidgeted with the crest for a moment. "Thank you for explaining the situation. If you need me for anything else, just ask."
"I am certain I will," Aalun said with a smile.
Ullsaard left the prince's apartments with his thoughts dragged in different directions. Foremost in his mind was the notion of commanding the Greenwater campaign. The prospect filled him with excitement. His mood deflated as he remembered the warning of the king; that he would be away from Askh for a very long time. As he strode along the still stone corridors of the palace, his thoughts began to stretch further into the future. Ullsaard considered the alternatives Aalun had presented. He suspected that Kalmud, and later Erlaan if Kalmud was not to survive long, would be a conservative king. There was little chance that either would endorse an invasion of Salphoria; even less that either would not promote one of their Askhan First Captains to the rank of general to lead such a conquest. Aalun, though, had always acted in Ullsaard's best interests. With his sponsor as king, Ullsaard felt he would be in a position to drive forward Askhor's fortunes.
Bells sounded the third hour of Howling just as he arrived back at his apartments. The main room was empty, save for his chief of servants, Ariid. The aging retainer stood up as Ullsaard entered.
"Your wives have each requested the pleasure of your company for this night," Ariid said as he helped Ullsaard take off his breastplate. The general tossed his helmet onto the main table and stretched, feeling more tired than after a day of battle.
"I shall sleep with Allenya. Bring us both breakfast in her chambers, no earlier than Low Watch."
The servant nodded his acquiescence and withdrew, leaving Ullsaard alone in the quiet. He stood in the hall for a moment and closed his eyes, savouring the stillness. No growl of ailur, no snort of abada or kolubrid hiss could be heard. No clink of armour, scratch of whetstone or pad of sandaled foot. No crackle of campfires, flap of tent door or creak of pole. Everything was still. He smelt roses and hill daisies, burning wax of the watch candles, fresh lacquer on the table.
