The Crown of blood tcob-1

by Gav Thorpe

  "It's an honour, accept it for what it is," Ullsaard told him, guessing what might be occupying his thoughts. "You deserve it."

  Cosuas nodded uncertainly and left. Ullsaard sat brooding until it was growing dark outside. He did not like deceiving Cosuas in this way. Yet for all his guilt, the general knew it was the right thing to do. Cosuas was loyal to Lutaar in every muscle and bone, and any hint of dispute would bring him to the king's defence. It was better for Ullsaard and Cosuas that the aging veteran was gone, out of harm's way, when this dispute came to light. He heard the watch captains calling Dusk and pushed himself to his feet. Cosuas was not the only man who had a long march to prepare for; the difference was that Cosuas did not have to hide his plans.

  II

  Silence filled the pavilion following Ullsaard's announcement that the army was packing camp and leaving to march coldwards. His five First Captains, each a legion commander, looked at each other in amazement.

  "Coldwards?" It was Anasind, the burly Enairian First Captain of the Thirteenth that voiced the question they were all thinking. "Where are we going?"

  "Somewhere a lot better than Mekha," Ullsaard replied. He did not want to go into the details of the plan; it sounded far too much like lawyer talk for him to be comfortable.

  "But what about the town?" asked the Sixteenth's commander, a lean, short man called Luamid.

  "Just another camp. We'll take what we can, burn the rest. No point leaving anything for the Mekhani to plunder."

  "And the settlers?" This was from Donar, leader of the Fifth. His wife and three children were amongst those that had travelled hotwards to populate the town.

  "We'll be travelling with full baggage. Any civilians come with us as far as Okhar. After that, it's up to individual families. They might as well return to their previous homes; we will be going on campaign again later in the year."

  "That sounds good. I'm sick of all this sand." This was from Rondin, another sturdy Enairian, who had been born in the same town as Ullsaard. Though Rondin was half his general's age, they got on well.

  "Keep this to yourselves for the moment, but if what I have in mind comes to pass, we can look forward to a summer in Salphoria!" Ullsaard said. The First Captains goggled at the significance of this, but Ullsaard held up his hand to silence any further questions. "You have your orders. Dawn tomorrow, I want to be ready to leave. That includes all families and non-legion persons. Let them know that stragglers will be left behind."

  The First Captains raised their fists in salute and filed out, chattering like fish wives. Jutiil, Twelfth's First Captain, stopped at the curtained doorway.

  "The king must think very highly of you, to give you such a command," he said.

  Ullsaard could think of nothing to say and merely nodded before waving away the officer. When the First Captains had gone, the servants came in and began to remove the furniture, carefully breaking down the panels and rolling up the rugs. Ullsaard plonked himself in his chair, arms folded across his chest. Normally at a time like this he would be out in the camp, ensuring that everything was proceeding properly. Today he could not bring himself to show his face for fear that he might betray the uncertainty that had gripped him during the three days since Cosuas had departed. It had been one thing to discuss this whole affair in the comfort and privacy of Aalun's chambers; it was another entirely to issue orders that set him on a confrontation with the king.

  III

  A groom stood close by, holding Blackfang's reins. Dust swirled in the air in a cloud raised by the tramp of thousands of marching legionnaires. The last of the companies filed from the town, where smoke was already rising from dozens of fires. The rearmost legionnaires carried kegs of oil with them, which they splashed onto the bridge as they crossed. Jutiil came with a lit torch and handed it to Ullsaard. Normally the general would have been at the head of the column, but he had decided that he would perform this simple act.

  It was nothing unusual in itself; Ullsaard had ordered the destruction of bridges before. It was common Askhan practice to deny such infrastructure to the tribes not yet under the sway of the empire. Today was different. Today Ullsaard knew that he was figuratively as well as physically burning a bridge. He and Aalun had set in motion a sequence of events that was about to become unstoppable. From this point on, there would literally be no way back.

  "Would you like me to do that, General?" said Jutiil.

  "No," replied Ullsaard.

  He took a step and flung the torch out onto the bridge. The oil caught quickly and the flames spread along its length and lapped up the rails. As the wood caught, dark billows swirled within the roiling cloud of dust. Ullsaard watched for a short while, hoping that his ambitions, his career — his whole future — wasn't going up in smoke as well.

  He mounted Blackfang and turned to Jutiil.

  "I want a full march, no delays. No point wasting time."

  Temple

  The silence that had so often acted as bedrock for Lakhyri's thoughts now threatened his equilibrium. Each moment seemed inexorably long, a sensation he had not felt since his youth. The silence was symptomatic of his worries; no sound from the masters and no word from his outside agents. Too long had passed since he had instructed Udaan to deal with the issue of the Askhan succession. His usual patience was wearing thin.

  The only evidence of this disturbed mindset was the tapping of Lakhyri's finger on the arm of his chair. It was a slow, measured percussion, barely making a sound, but in comparison to his normal immobility, it was the same as another man running around in a screaming panic. Lakhyri's followers sensed his unease and cast worried glances at each other. They too felt the absence of the eulanui; usually so reassuring in their oppressive, otherworldly presence, now strangely distant.

  The situation was intolerable. Lakhyri was loath to act, but it was now plain that he needed to take steps to ensure things progressed as outlined in the Great Plan.

  He stood, causing a tremor of surprise to flutter through the worshippers around him. He looked at Asirkhyr and Eriekh, who nodded in understanding. Asirkhyr beckoned to a youthful acolyte and the three of them followed their master from the circular hall.

  The group ascended the stairs that wound up through the centre of the temple, keeping pace with Lakhyri's slow, measured stride. Upon reaching the upper tier, they turned left through a square archway into a small, roofless room. Above, the dusty air swirled, the sky yellow and sickly. The boy was directed to lie on the stone slab. Eriekh whispered an enchantment, his fingers weaving patterns in the air in front of the adept. The boy's look became glazed and his body relaxed, arms flopping to his sides.

  Asirkhyr took a stone box from a shelf on the wall and lifted off the lid. Reaching inside he pulled out a small ingot of gold, which he passed to Eriekh. He took out several small pins, with which he fastened the youth's eyelids open. When this was done, he produced a needle-thin blade, one end wrapped with cured skin for a handle. He gave a similar instrument to the other hierophant, though this had a flattened tip like the nib of a pen.

  Asirkhyr turned to the boy on the slab.

  With tiny, precise movements of his fingertips, Asirkhyr drew the tiny blade across the surface of the boy's eyes. He carved miniscule lines and coils around the pupils while Eriekh placed the gold into a small clay crucible, which he handed to Lakhyri.

  The high priest clasped the crucible in both hands and muttered words of alignment and power. The scars and tattoos across his skin heated, the faded grey ink releasing wisps of smoke that coiled around the high priest's body forming awkward, unnatural sigils. The crucible began to blacken and crack while the gold bubbled.

  Dipping his knife-pen into the gold, Eriekh hunched over the boy and allowed the shining liquid to dribble into the fine tracery of lines on the acolyte's eyeballs. The gold flowed in hair-thin curves and cooled to form an intricate web of lines and symbols.

  When the gilding was complete and the tools restored to the stone box, Asirkhyr said
a few more words and passed his hand over the boy's face. With a panting screech, the youth returned to awareness.

  His golden-flecked eyes roved around their sockets, seeing nothing. "Where am I?" he asked in a shrill, panicked voice.

  "What do you see?" said Lakhyri. The high priest's voice soothed the boy's mood and he lay back.

  "Clouds. Storm clouds."

  "Where do you see them?"

  "Over mountains. I see a city, girded by a wall, on the face of a cliff."

  "Magilnada," said Asirkhyr, earning himself a piercing glare of annoyance from Lakhyri.

  "The city slumbers," the boy continued. "The rains sweep across the slate roofs. There is something else. My eye is drawn to it."

  "Do not fight it. Let your eyes see what they must see." Lakhyri's tone was as monotonous as ever but the boy seemed comforted.

  "In the mountains, a hidden rabble. I see a cave. Many caves. They bicker and swear at the weather."

  "Tell me of Askh," said Lakhyri.

  The boy's eyes roved fro a while before focussing again.

  "The sun still shines, but the trees bend in the strong wind. I see the precincts of the Brotherhood, and the palace. There is a chariot race on the circuit. There is nothing to see here."

  "See what must be seen," said the high priest, leaning closer.

  "I fly towards the desert. There is flame and smoke."

  "A battle?" asked Lakhyri.

  "No battle. The soldiers have left. I see them now, a day's march coldwards of the fires. They are the legions of Askhor."

  "Who leads them?"

  "A large man rides a grey and black cat. He has a short beard and carries a spear of gold. I count five icons, five bearded faces of gold. They march at speed. Wagons follow them, with women and children on their boards and walking beside. Some are unhappy, others have smiles."

  The boy fell silent. At a gesture from Lakhyri, Eriekh removed the pins from the boy's skin, allowing him to blink. The acolyte looked at the three priests as if seeing them for the first time. He reached out towards Lakhyri.

  "So bright," he whispered. He met Lakhyri's cold gaze. "Such a web of colours." "You may go," said the high priest. "Send another acolyte to us." The youth nodded and left with a glazed look and a half-smile. "What does this mean, master?" asked Eriekh. "I do not know. Perhaps Udaan can give us some answers."

  Askhor

  Late Autumn, 209th Year of Askh

  I

  An Askhan column on the march was the epitome of efficiency. From Enair to Maasra, every legionnaire and officer was ruthlessly inculcated with the routine of war. Whether the army was a small patrol of five hundred men or, as Ullsaard now led, five full legions numbering more than thirty thousand, daily life was always the same.

  At the call of Dawnwatch the men would breakfast, feed the animals and begin to break down the camp. Every company would begin by dismantling their tents and stowing them with the baggage. Each was assigned a sector of the camp wall to dismantle. The guard companies, a tenth of the army, stood ready to respond to any threat while the rest of the force carried out its tasks. A legionnaire worked in his armour and was forbidden from ever being more than ten paces from his shield, helmet and spear. Infractions were always applied to the whole company — usually in the form of extra rotations on the most demeaning duties such as digging and filling the latrines, or extra stints on the guard duty just before dawn, known as Gravewatch. This meant that the legionnaires were always watching out for the discipline of their comrades, and any who brought the company into disrepute could expect a severe beating from his fellows.

  Breaking camp took two hours, half an Askhan watch, after which the whole force would be ready to move out. Like all other duties, the task of vanguard and rearguard was cycled through the legions and each would move out in its appointed place, their baggage gathered in a single train at the centre of the column. Kolubrid-riding scouts fanned out ahead and to either side of the advancing column, alert for danger.

  The army marched without pause, through the rest of Dawnwatch, Low Watch and Noonwatch, ten Askhan hours. At the prescribed pace the army would cover twenty-five Askhan miles over this time, a mile being one-tenth the distance a legion could cover in a full watch. Ullsaard pushed his troops hard each day, so that by the time High Watch came about in mid-afternoon they had instead covered forty miles. When High Watch was called the scouts reported suitable camping sites and the legion would erect their temporary town over the course of the next four hours, until Duskwatch was rung in. By this time, the tents would be erected, organised by company and legion; wooden walls were built, either from locally cut wood if available or timber brought with the baggage if lumber was sparse, with ditches around them. The cook fires would be burning, the transportable forge lit and the night duties detailed out to the companies.

  Families and other non-combatants that were often left behind by the pace of the march caught up with their soldiers in the evening and made their own rough camp outside the walls — no closer than a bowshot to ensure their tents and carts did not provide cover to an attacking foe.

  In the event of enemy action, the gates would not be opened for them, so these folk camped nearby woods if they could, which would allow them to flee if they were set upon during the night. Wives and children of legionnaires that had served for many years were no less disciplined than their husbands and fathers, and the life in the civilian camp was a strange mirror of the military routine, with families from the same companies and legions sticking together, organising their own food and sentries. Ullsaard had always marvelled at this spirit, a true demonstration of the discipline and organisation that bound the Askhan people with their empire.

  From Duskwatch to Howling the legionnaires were at their leisure, food being served company by company, repairs made to equipment, the animals foddered. Small amounts of beer were allowed, carefully rationed by the captains — drunkenness was punishable by death. Depending on the locale, companies would also be sent to forage in the surrounding area, and often the kolubrid companies would set out to hunt for fresh meat.

  Any infractions from the day would be dealt with by the officers, and the men would be sent to their blankets at Howling, save for those companies that were called for guard duty. These guards spent one watch patrolling the walls and garrisoning the gate towers while their companions slept. Midnight Watch and Gravewatch passed the night until Dawnwatch when the whole machine set to action again.

  Hour by hour, watch by watch, day by day, Ullsaard's legions marched coldwards towards Askh. Even when they had crossed into the more civilised lands of Okhar, the routine did not change. Though there was little threat of attack, the ritual of life on the march was adhered to. Under hot sun, through driving rains and gales, a legion would always be the same, the familiarity of the life bringing the men together in bonds surer than simple friendship.

  Ullsaard kept to himself for much of the time, either in the vanguard or at the head of the main column as his daily mood took him. Some mornings he woke up eager and he wanted to be at the forefront of the advance, every step bringing him closer to realising his ambition of a campaign against Salphoria. Other days he woke filled with nerves, worried by the prospect of dispute with King Lutaar. On those days he lost himself in the daily matters of his army and stayed with the bulk of the legions, discussing the running of the army with his First Captains. It was easy to drown out the doubts with endless questions about supply, punishments, promotions and the other distractions of a commander.

  It was a source of some pride for Ullsaard that none of his officers questioned his orders as they continued towards Askhor. It was another worry of his that something might happen to test that loyalty and he did his best to treat his First Captains well, gently reminding them individually and as a group that he had their best interests at heart.

  II

  Forty-seven days of hard marching brought Ullsaard back to the Askhor Gap and the Wall. He could have reached the
border sooner, but had chosen to avoid the main road along the Greenwater, instead heading almost directly coldwards from Mekha before turning dawnwards to cross the Greenwater between Paalun and Narun. They had entered the foothills of the Askhor Mountains and marched coldwards again, coming upon the Askhor Gap across a wide ridge that extended out to duskwards from the foot of the mountains.

  Ullsaard's feelings on seeing the Wall were mixed, just as they had been in the summer. Beyond was Askh, which held the key to his future, for good or bad. From his vantage point he stared across the flat plain of the Askhor Gap and saw nothing amiss. Lines of carts moved along the road, meaning that the gate was open. If Lutaar had suspected anything, he would surely have closed the gate and stopped Ullsaard from approaching the city.

  Feeling a little more confident, Ullsaard summoned his First Captains. He tried hard to keep any sign of his nerves from his demeanour, hoping to exude confidence and make his subordinates believe that they were perfectly entitled to march into Askhor whenever they pleased.

  "I'm going to split the column once we are through the gate," he told them. "Donar, I want the Fifth to make their camp ten miles inside the gate. There's a large hill hotwards of the road that you should use. The rest of the legions are coming with me to Askh. We should be there in two days' time. We'll set up camp and I'll go to the city."

  "Wouldn't it be easier to keep the legions outside the Wall rather than marching them in and back out again?" asked Jutiil.

  "Winter's almost here," Ullsaard replied. "We'll not be going anywhere until spring, so we might as well enjoy the shelter of Askhor."

  There were nods of agreement. Ullsaard sent the commanders back to their legions and pulled himself up onto Blackfang's back. He sat there for some time while the order of march was barked out to the companies. He stared at the Wall, arms crossed, part of him dreading that the gates would be closed against him when he approached; part of him hoping for the same thing because that would mean it wasn't his fault if he turned around and headed back to Mekha.