The Crown of blood tcob-1

by Gav Thorpe

  "You are right, Anglhan. Killing Aroisius would favour nobody, and would mean I have wasted a great deal of effort and money."

  Anglhan edged forward with a hopeful expression.

  "What do you plan to do, Lord?"

  The man looked at Anglhan with a flicker of annoyance.

  "Why the fuck would I tell you what my plans are?"

  Anglhan retreated two steps, shocked. As he recovered his composure, he found himself feeling a mixture of respect and awe for this man. There was a streak of ruthlessness about him that Anglhan admired.

  "You do not have to tell me anything, Lord," Anglhan muttered. He looked earnestly at the Askhan. "But if there is something I can do to help, please tell me."

  The noble examined his fingernails for a moment as if he had not heard the offer. He looked up sharply at Anglhan, as though an idea had just come to him.

  "There is one small thing you can do for me, Anglhan. How well do you remember your journey here?"

  Anglhan wrinkled his lip and shrugged.

  "Most of it, Lord."

  "So you could find your way back to your camp?"

  "To the general area, yes."

  The noble stood and walked around the foot of the bed to a bronze-bound strongbox against the wall. He lifted the lid, revealing a mess of scrolls and wax tablets. He pulled out a map and tossed it to Anglhan.

  "I am sure this would help," the Askhan said with a lopsided smile.

  Anglhan looked at the map and at the noble's cruel amusement, realisation sinking in.

  "If I am to guide you to our camp, I would like to know something first."

  "Yes?" The Askhan showed surprise for the first time.

  "Your name, lord. If I am to betray Aroisius, I would like to know the name of my new master."

  "Of course you do," said the noble, and for a moment Anglhan thought he was going to be denied an answer. The Askhan stepped across the room with a hand outstretched.

  "I am not a lord, so you can forget all of that," he said. "Just call me Urikh."

  Erusan Foothills

  Winter, 209th Year of Askh

  I

  A haze of fine rain swathed the camp as bells rang out the start of High Watch. There were muffled calls from the walls as the guard companies changed. The clatter of hammer on metal, the shouts of the third captains drilling their men, the slap of canvas in the wind blurred with the constant patter and splish of raindrops.

  Noran hurried across mud-spattered wooden walkways with his cloak drawn over his head, stopping when he reached the awning of his pavilion. Shaking the wet from his clothes, he turned inside. Neerita sat in a low chair wrapped in blankets, her pale face shivering among layers of blue and red wool.

  "The Fifth's surgeon gave me this," said Noran, holding up a fistful of dried leaves. "He said I should boil them for half a watch, and then use the water to make you some porridge."

  Neerita nodded hesitantly inside the hill of cloth. She flipped back the edge of a blanket and rubbed her swollen belly.

  "I wish there was a loremother," she said. "It's coming soon."

  "You mean he is coming soon," said Noran. He tossed the medicine onto a small table and knelt beside his wife, his hand on hers. Neerita chuckled.

  "A little Noran, that would be perfect," she said. "Have you decided on a name yet?"

  "I though perhaps my grandfather's — Noridan." "And if it is a girl?" Noran shrugged and stood up.

  "If it is a girl, you can choose the name," he said. The herald stopped and listened for a moment, hearing nothing. "Where is Anriit? She should be here with you."

  "My sister is asking Allenya if we could have one of Ullsaard's maids." Neerita struggled to get to her feet. Noran sprang to help her. "We'll need all the hands we can get once the baby is born."

  "I should have thought of that," Noran muttered as he put an arm around Neerita's shoulders and helped her into the screenedoff bed area. He lowered his wife onto the bedding — more blankets piled atop each other — and kicked off his boots. Throwing his cloak over a stool, he settled beside her on the bed and smoothed her hair.

  "You'll be a wonderful mother," he said quietly. Neerita reached out and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand.

  "And you will be a fine father," she said. Noran snorted.

  "A fine father it is that brings a child into this," he said, waving a hand to encompass the tent and, by extension, the camp beyond and everything else that had happened of late. "Our son should be born in Askh, with a loremother and a dozen servants to hand; not in a grubby field surrounded by soldiers."

  "It was not your fault," Neerita said, not for the first time. "Things will settle down, you'll see. It will be a great story to tell him when he is older."

  Noran kissed her lightly on the lips and pushed himself to his feet.

  "I should get to work on that herbal porridge," he said.

  "See? Who needs servants around when I have you? You are doing a wonderful job."

  Noran snorted again, unconvinced.

  "Making porridge is one thing; looking after a newborn is something else!"

  "The common people manage it just fine without servants, we will as well," Neerita said sleepily.

  Noran stayed at the doorway watching his wife until her eyes fluttered closed. He went back into the main compartment and snatched up the leaves.

  "Right," he muttered. "Porridge. Where can I find a pot?"

  II

  Ullsaard continued to stare at the map, but no matter how long he looked at it, the situation never changed. If they moved further hotwards they would come too close to Parmia; dawnwards and coldwards put them closer to Nemtun, now camped no more than thirty miles away.

  The only choice if Nemtun continued to advance would be duskwards, into the mountains. Ullsaard was desperate to avoid that. Keeping thirty thousand men and their baggage together was hard enough under the best circumstances; in the mountains it would be all but impossible to find somewhere to camp them all. He'd have to divide the legions, and that ran a greater risk of desertions and attack. There was the problem of the hillmen — an offshoot of the old Ersuan tribes that still had many villages in the mountain passes. An Askhan column and supplies might prove too tempting for them to ignore, even with the bad weather.

  He studied the map yet again, wondering if they could double back on their route and head coldwards again, slipping between Nemtun and the Enairian coast. It was a possibility, and if such a plan worked, they would have the whole of Enair stretching dawnwards to move into.

  But if Nemtun found out…

  Ullsaard and Aalun's army would be trapped against the sea with nowhere left to run. They had no clear idea of the size of Nemtun's force, whether he still had Nemurians with him and how many, or of the quality of the troops they would face. Ullsaard had avoided a confrontation with Nemtun not because he was afraid of defeat, but because it would be yet another escalation from which they could not back down. Prince Aalun still hoped that he might come to some agreement with his father that would end hostilities in the spring.

  Ullsaard's thoughts were broken by the stamping feet of the sentries outside the tent. He heard a brief exchange and Urikh entered, looking pleased.

  "You've been gone a while," said Ullsaard, sitting down behind the map table. Urikh grabbed a chair and sat opposite his father. "I don't understand how you can think of business at a time like this."

  "I have some good news, and it is all because of my business," said Urikh. "I have found somewhere to stick out the winter."

  "Is that so? Where is this sanctuary?"

  "In the mountains," said Urikh, planting a finger on the map.

  "I've already considered that," Ullsaard replied. "It's a refuge of last resort."

  "What if I told you that there was already a camp, which could house all of our men and baggage until the spring?"

  "My men," said Ullsaard.

  "What?"

  "These legions are my men. Not o
urs. Don't get grand ideas."

  "Are you interested in this camp or not?"

  Ullsaard drummed his fingers on the table and studied his son. Urikh seemed genuinely excited by what he had to say, in stark contrast to his usual chilly disposition. No doubt this plan was not solely for Ullsaard and Aalun's benefit.

  "All right," Ullsaard sighed. "Tell me."

  So Urikh related the whole story; how he had been sponsoring Salphorian rebels to attack grain shipments coming past Magilnada to drive up the prices; how he had paid the hillmen to team up with those rebels for an attack on Magilnada in return for preferential trade; and how he now knew where the rebel camp was.

  Ullsaard stared in disbelief as Urikh unveiled this plot, as casually as if he had been describing what he had eaten for breakfast.

  "So, what do you think?" asked Urikh. "The rebels could easily accommodate us until spring."

  "Wait just a fucking moment," Ullsaard snarled, surging to his feet, fists balled on the table. "By Askhos's giant prick, what do you think you've been doing? Are you trying to start a war with Salphoria?"

  "Well, you are," Urikh snapped back.

  "With the full support of the king and the whole fucking empire!"

  "And how is that going, eh? Besides, I have the king's support. Half the damn loan I took was guaranteed by Lutaar."

  Ullsaard slumped back in his chair, stunned.

  "You've got a deal with Lutaar?" The general struggled to comprehend the implications of this revelation. "The king? The same man that currently wants to cut off my balls and feed them to me?"

  "This started a long time before all of that happened," Urikh said calmly. "It was his idea, for the most part. He provided me with some extra money to cause trouble for the Salphors. He has his own plans for duskwards."

  Urikh spread his hands and leaned back in his chair.

  "You know, if Aalun hadn't twisted you into his own plotting, you might have been successful in asking for a campaign."

  Ullsaard growled and grumbled wordlessly at the thought that Urikh was right. He thumped a fist onto the map.

  "That still doesn't explain what in Askhos's name you thought you were doing, getting involved in something like this."

  Urikh shook his head, stood up and took a few paces, wringing his hands in front of him. He spun back to face Ullsaard.

  "Stop avoiding the issue with excuses," Urikh said. "The rebel camp; do you want to know where it is or not?"

  "It's not just for me to decide," Ullsaard replied, pushing his concerns about Urikh's schemes to the back of his mind. "It is Aalun's decision as much as mine."

  "Well, let's find the good prince and see what he thinks," said Urikh, heading for the door.

  "Wait!" Ullsaard rose to his feet again. "I'll talk to the prince; you can stay here and wait for me."

  "But…" Urikh said with a pleading expression.

  In that moment, Ullsaard was reminded of the many occasions his son as a young boy had protested his innocence against some accusation or other, or had tried to persuade his father to allow him to do something that he had expressly forbidden. Urikh's scowl had never changed, nor his habit of squeezing his hands into tight fists when he was being denied. The years slipped away, and Ullsaard saw again the bright, conniving Urikh, shaped by Luia's scheming, craving his father's approval, yet showing him no respect.

  "Urikh, listen to me," Ullsaard said sternly. The effect was instant; his son's hands dropped to his sides in surrender. "It is best if Aalun hears this from me, and the less he knows about your involvement, and his father's, the better it will be. Trust me, son."

  Urikh flopped onto his chair with a reluctant nod, pouting, his hair falling across his face. Ullsaard bit back a laugh and patted his son on the shoulder as he walked past. As he reached the door, Ullsaard looked over his shoulder.

  "And sit up straight; you're not some lazy fucking poet."

  III

  Servants moved around the main chamber of the pavilion lighting the oil lamps hanging on the wooden partitions. Ullsaard finished explaining the situation and sat back to wait for the prince's response. Aalun's answer was immediate.

  "No."

  Aalun lifted his cup and took a sip of wine, his eyes following one particular servant. Ullsaard waited for an explanation or a counter-proposal, but none was forthcoming.

  "I think you should consider this," said Ullsaard, choosing his words carefully.

  "It is unthinkable," said Aalun, turning his attention back to the general. "I am a Prince of the Blood, and I am not about to start scraping around in the mountains with a ragged bunch of dirty Salphors and hairy hillmen. What would you have them think of us, running for their help with our tails between our legs? This is an Askhan affair, it has nothing to do with foreigners."

  "Do you have a suggestion for what we should do next?"

  "We stop running, Ullsaard," said the prince. "It is about time we face up to Nemtun and look him in the eye. He will back down, I am sure of it. I have always said we should make a stand rather than let ourselves be chased all over Greater Askhor."

  Ullsaard knew Aalun had never said anything of the sort, but opted for discretion.

  "Nemtun wants to prove he's still the big man, an army commander," said Ullsaard. "He doesn't give an abada's turd about the consequences, he'll attack just out of spite for me."

  "We will stay here, build up the fortifications. Even Nemtun will think twice about attacking five legions in a strong position."

  "I think you misjudge your uncle's desire for renewed glory. He'll happily send his men to the spear just to prove he's still got what it takes."

  "Not all of the men are his," Aalun said, wagging a finger in disagreement. "I shall send messages to Allon."

  "And what will your messages say, Prince?"

  "Allon is a nobody, Ullsaard. He is governor of Enair, the arse end of the empire, and at the moment Nemtun and my father make him feel important. I shall offer to transfer his governorship to somewhere more to his liking when I become king." Aalun smiled at a thought. "Probably Okhar if Nemtun continues to push his luck."

  "But that depends on Allon believing you can deliver on your promise. What if he thinks you're already on the losing side? What can you bargain with?"

  "Enough with the 'ifs' and 'buts', man!" Aalun stood up, fists on hips. "I have told you my decision. I thought you were a general of Askhor! If Nemtun wants a fight, you should give it to him. Unless you think you cannot beat him?"

  It took all of Ullsaard's resolve not to bite on the bait. He stood up slowly, pressed his fist to his chest in salute and left. The evening routine occupied the camp as he stepped out of the pavilion. A few soldiers gave him odd looks as he marched stiffly back to his tent, keeping his boiling temper in check.

  Inside, Urikh was still waiting for him, joined by Luia and Pretaa. Ullsaard almost left again at the sight, but refused to be chased out of his own place by his family.

  "It looks like you don't approve of whatever Aalun had to say," said Luia. Ullsaard darted her a foul look but she continued. "Urikh has told me everything he has been doing. It is most enterprising."

  "The prince wants us to stay and wait for Nemtun," Ullsaard said, flopping down into his chair. He looked around for something to drink but the table was empty. "Bring me some wine!"

  "When did Aalun become commander of your army?" said Luia. "He sits in your tent, is served by your household, and now he gives the orders."

  "Hush, Mother, Aalun is one of the Blood," said Urikh with a mocking tone. "We have to do what he says."

  At this remark, Ullsaard's eyes met his mother's. Her thoughts were easily guessed. A servant appeared at Ullsaard's shoulder with a jug and cup, and he was glad to look away. Taking the drink, he focussed on Urikh.

  "How many of these rebels and brigands are there?" Ullsaard asked.

  "Oh, few hundred, maybe a thousand," Urikh replied. "From what their leader tells me, they have plenty of space. They are holed
up in some caves just above Magilnada, easily defended if Nemtun is stupid enough to come after us."

  "If you defy Aalun, are you sure your men will follow you?" asked Pretaa. "That is what you are thinking, isn't it?"

  "There is no reason why that should be a problem," Urikh said quickly, cutting in before Ullsaard could reply. "Aalun is not as all-powerful as he might like us to think; not away from Askh, at least. He needs us more than we need him, for the moment."

  All eyes turned to Ullsaard, expectation on the faces of Luia and Urikh, concern on Pretaa's. He drank more of his wine, collecting his thoughts. He looked directly at his mother when he spoke, though his words were addressed to Urikh.

  "You're right, we don't need Aalun." Ullsaard tugged at his bottom lip, still thinking. "His succession is worth less than piss to me. There are other ways we can force the king to deal with us evenly."

  "He could still cause us problems," said Luia.

  At that moment Meliu entered the tent with Neerita. The two were chattering gaily until they felt the others staring at them.

  "What is the matter?" asked Meliu. "Why does everyone look so glum?"

  "Nothing to worry you, sister," said Luia. She glanced at Pretaa, who smiled warmly and stood up.

  "Come with me, sweethearts, I have a few things to tell you that I cannot say in the company of men," said Pretaa, ushering the two women towards the back partitions. "Childbirth makes them squeamish."

  "Is there any chance you could force Aalun to agree with your plan?" Luia continued in a hushed voice when they had left. Ullsaard shook his head.

  "He's a stubborn bastard, I can't see him changing his mind."

  "Sounds like someone else I know," muttered Urikh.

  "It's probably best if I just kill him," said Ullsaard. Luia's eyes widened with shock, but Urikh simply nodded in appreciation.

  "Direct," said Urikh. "I like it. But if you just stab Aalun in the heart it will turn some of the men against you. For all my jokes, Aalun really is one of the Blood."