The Crown of blood tcob-1

by Gav Thorpe

  The Brotherhood upheld the law — even governors and kings had to obey it. They collected the taxes, but did so without favour, and sometimes they even paid people money if they could prove they had suffered a bad year. They wrote lots of things down, Gelthius had heard. Who was born and who was dead, who was married and who had what jobs. They arbitrated disputes between merchants and families, judged those who broke the law and kept everything working.

  It was a huge difference from the chieftains and their cronies who ruled the Salphorian tribes, from the king on down. Gelthius had long ago accepted that his betters would be self-serving bullies, until he had met the Askhans. If Gelthius had a complaint about Naraghlin, chieftain of his people, there was nothing he could do but shut up and bear it. If he had something to say about Captain Leagois, he could speak to the second captain, Aladaan. Not that any legionnaire ever did make a complaint, but they could if they really wanted to.

  But the Brotherhood made Gelthius uneasy. He glanced over his shoulder as the black-robed man disappeared down the road. For everything they did, the Askhans never liked talking to them, and for Gelthius there was something deeply wrong with a whole bunch of men who claimed to know the will of a man dead for two hundred years and who denied the existence of the spirits. That denial scared him more than anything. He had realised in Magilnada that he owed the spirits nothing for the woes he had suffered under their gaze, but that was a long throw from going out of his way to insult them by pretending they didn't exist.

  Caught up in his thoughts, Gelthius wandered into the path of a patrol of legionnaires. There were twenty of them with heads of ailurs painted on their shields, from the Second Legion commanded by Nemtun. Seeing the soldiers reminded Gelthius of his mission — and of several dozen other men sent by the general — prompting him into action.

  Unslinging a small bag from his shoulder, Gelthius tripped in front of the soldiers, spilling its contents. Bunches of spring berries scattered across the paving slabs in a shower of red and purple. He fell to his knees and hurriedly gathered them up, with a glance of apology at the patrol's officer.

  "Morning there, Captain," said Gelthius. He noticed the men looking at the fruit he scooped back into the sack. "I'll be out of your way in a moment."

  "Where'd you get those?" the captain demanded, pointing at Gelthius's bag.

  "These?" Gelthius replied innocently. "Picked them meself, I did. You boys look hungry. D'you want some?"

  He proffered the bag towards the legionnaires, who stepped up with arms outstretched until their captain barked at them to stay in line.

  "Where you from, stranger?" the captain asked. "You talk funny."

  "I do talk funny, Captain. I'm from the Free Country, thought I'd try to see if things were better up here. Things haven't been going so well since the rebels took Magilnada."

  "The renegades have taken Magilnada?" This was from a young, round-faced legionnaire. He stepped back into line as the captain rounded on him with a snarl.

  "Keep your fucking mouth shut!" The officer turned his temper on Gelthius, grabbing him by the scruff of his jerkin. "What do you know about the rebels?"

  "Not your rebels, captain," Gelthius said as he squirmed in the captain's grip. "Some other lot. Took the city to spite King Aegenuis, I reckon, and now they're raiding left and right without a care in the world. It's been hard, there ain't nothing coming from duskwards, I tell you. Not a piece of tin, nor a plank of wood nor drop of beer. Still, I'm sure you boys'll be all right. Got your own stores and everything, right enough."

  The captain shoved Gelthius to one side.

  "Mind your own business."

  "I was lucky, got saved by one of your legions when I thought I was done for," Gelthius continued. "Drove them rebel bastards back into the hills quick enough when they came for us. Like the spirits of vengeance themselves they came down on them brigands."

  Gelthius threw the bag of fruit to the captain, who caught it awkwardly out of instinct.

  "You boys saved my life; I reckon you should have these more than me."

  "We didn't save anybody's life," said the captain, his anger replaced with confusion. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

  "I told you, legionnaires what chased off the rebels in the hills. I saw them meself. Black shields, red crests."

  "That's the Thirteenth, Captain," muttered one of the legionnaires.

  "I know that," said the captain, forgetting to admonish the soldier for speaking out of turn. The officer bore down on Gelthius once again and grabbed him by the collar. "You fucking idiot, the Thirteenth are the rebels. How did they look, how many of them were there?"

  "Thousands of them, and they was hungry for a fight. Butchered them thieves good and proper, the ones what they caught."

  "What about their gear?" the captain continued. "How did that look?"

  "Bright and shiny as a new askharin, I'd say. Not that I've ever seen an askharin, but I can imag-"

  "Where was this?" The captain let go of Gelthius, looking worried.

  "Somewhere between here and Magilnada, Captain. We kept walking for quite a time before we got here."

  "How long? How many days?"

  "Sorry, Captain, I can't remember rightly and I'm not so good at counting. I'd say more than less."

  "You're no fucking help," said the captain. He waved his men to continue, the sack of fruit still in hand.

  Gelthius watched them go and chuckled. The Second's legionnaires were getting all sorts of news about their enemies, and none of it matched up. The general had given each of those sent to Talladmun a different story to tell, some putting him far to hotwards, others claimed he was just a couple of days' march away. Some of the tales had the legions as a bedraggled remnant of their former glory preying on whoever they could find, while others spoke of an army numbering fifty thousand well-equipped soldiers. Gelthius guessed all of the bad information was really Anglhan's idea; it smelt like the sort of thing he would think up.

  It was a mean trick to play on men already missing their first three supply shipments, intercepted by Ullsaard's legions before they reached Talladmun. Hungry and confused, after a rough season quartered in the Anrairian cold and rain, the legionnaires would be dispirited.

  No doubt the patrol Gelthius had just met would enjoy their fruit back in camp; unfortunately for them it was laced with canaris juice, which made it pretty much certain they would be throwing up their guts before the end of the watch. Gelthius had been assured that he wouldn't be poisoning anyone, just making them ill for a few days. The aim was to get the Second to refuse orders or disintegrate by desertion. Gelthius didn't really care whether they drifted away or fell down dead, as long as it meant there were less spears pointed at him when the Thirteenth had to face them.

  Pleased with his first success, Gelthius turned back towards the house he shared with some of the others, to get another bag of fruit.

  Magilnada

  Early Spring, 209th Year of Askh

  I

  The city bustled with activity. Every market square was filled, and men at the gates claimed never to have seen so many people coming to Magilnada. Anglhan stood on the long balcony at the front of the old lord's hall and looked over his city. The wind was still fresh down from the mountains, and the sky was overcast, but he was warmed from within by a deep glow of satisfaction.

  Everybody was happy, and that was the key. Anglhan had lowered the taxes — not by much but just enough — and had emptied the city's coffers to make some much-needed repairs and improvements. The fire-damaged buildings had been torn down and were being replaced by new houses and businesses. Anglhan had also made generous offerings at the garden of shrines on behalf of the city, which had confused his Askhan underlings, but been well-received by the citizens of Magilnada.

  When he had bought his first debt, Anglhan had realised that in order to make money it was necessary to spend some, and he had taken that philosophy with him through life. Back then it had been half-a-dozen
debtors and two handcarts, his caravan growing in size each year until he had enough money for the landship. That had been an extravagance; he could have just as easily been a caravan captain and moved as much cargo. But the pleasure had been in the ownership of such a vessel, of knowing that he was in charge and answerable to nobody.

  He had left the landship in the mountains. He wondered if it was being looked after or mouldering into ruin, or had been pulled apart and used for firewood. He felt no pangs of guilt about abandoning the landship to its fate; he had a far greater domain to control.

  And the spending had worked, as he had known it would. Everything from Salphoria had to come past Magilnada; between Ullsaard's legions and the hill tribes in the general's pocket, that meant everything stopped at Magilnada. Anglhan had been building new storehouses as quickly as possible, and almost every room in the city was filled with guests or paying visitors. The shrine attendants were happy, the craftsmen were happy, the traders were happy, and that meant Anglhan was happy.

  "Admiring your own little empire?" asked Noran as he joined Anglhan.

  "Certainly," Anglhan replied. "It's important to enjoy the benefits of our labours."

  Noran laughed but there was no mirth in his expression.

  "Labours? What labours have you done to earn this?"

  Anglhan turned a smile upon his companion.

  "Only last night I had to endure a meal with three chieftains from the Vestil, who could talk about nothing except pig farming and fucking. And I'm not sure they realised there's a difference between the two."

  "A terrible hardship, I am sure," said Noran, leaning against the balcony rail, eyes on Anglhan. "I have no idea why Ullsaard trusts you."

  "You're a fine one to talk about hardships," said Anglhan, his mood spoilt by Noran's accusations. "I pulled myself up from the filth of my parents' village to make myself the man I am today. Who the fuck are you? An Askhan noble who has never known a day's hard work. You've been given everything you ever wanted; I had to take what I needed. Don't talk to me about what I've done to earn this."

  "The price levied on me for this winter can never be repaid," said Noran. He glowered at Anglhan and left, the door slamming behind him.

  Anglhan looked at the city again, at the crowds meandering through the streets and gathering around the wagons in the markets. He missed Furlthia and wondered if his old mate was still in the city somewhere, or if he had really left.

  The lord of Magilnada sighed and wandered back into the hall, pushing aside his glum thoughts with a dream of golden pillars and serving boys.

  II

  Noran shoved his way through the crowds, ignoring the shouts of annoyance that followed as he plunged through the streets towards the house he shared with Anriit and Ullsaard's family. He knew why he was in such a foul mood; the deaths of Neerita and his son still hung over him; and when he thought about this whole ludicrous enterprise, their deaths seemed entirely pointless. Noran had said nothing, but Ullsaard's claim to become the next king of Askhor was clearly insane. He had no chance of taking on an empire and winning, no matter how clever he thought he was or how great his legions were.

  As he cut down an alley between two low halls, Noran kicked out at a stray dog eating scraps from the gutter. The mongrel yelped and scurried away. Noran felt a sudden pang of guilt at his becoming so thoughtlessly cruel. His self-loathing ignited his simmering anger again and by the time he reached the modest house where he lived, he was in a mood to kill someone, or himself, or both.

  The servants opened the doors as he approached and he strode inside, fists and jaw clenched. He knocked aside a tray carrying a cup of water, sending the servant reeling back, the cup smashing on the floor. He stomped up the stairs and flung open the door to his bedchamber, where Anriit sewing sat by the narrow window.

  She looked so much like Neerita at first glance, but there was nothing save disdain in her expression. It was a harsh reflection of the face of his dead wife, full of malice and accusation. Anriit had never liked him, but every glance and word from her since Neerita's death was filled with hate.

  "Get out," he snapped, pointing to the door.

  "Get out yourself," Anriit replied.

  Noran crossed the room, snatched the canvas and thread from his wife's hands and tossed it out of the window.

  "Out!"

  She refused to move until he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to her feet. She clawed at his face but he swatted away her arm and switched his grip to her hair, pulling her shrieking to the door. With a final thrust, he propelled her onto her knees on the landing. Anriit hissed at him over her shoulder as he slammed the door

  Noran flung himself down on the bed.

  Exhausted, he tried to rest. There had been few nights when he did not wake up in a sweat, plagued by dreams of his bloodstained wife, the ruin that had become of her and his son. He lay there with his eyes closed, trying to picture Neerita's welcoming eyes and full lips instead of Anriit's scowls; the two kept merging so that he saw the face of his dead wife twisted with anger.

  He heard the slamming of the main doors and breathed with relief that Anriit had left. Noran lay for a while longer trying to relive happier memories, but his vision kept coming back to that bloody night in the camp.

  There was a knock at the bedroom door a moment before it was opened a crack.

  "It is me, Meliu. Can I come in?"

  Noran sat up but said nothing. The door opened further and Ullsaard's youngest wife crept in, eyes wide with apprehension.

  "I can leave if you wish," she said, her worried gaze fixed on Noran. Being angry at Meliu was worse than kicking a dog and Noran felt no desire to berate her for intruding.

  "Come in," he said with a deep sigh and a wave. "I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you."

  Meliu closed the door behind her and slipped over to the chair where Anriit had been sitting. In the slanting light from the window her straw-blonde hair shone and Noran realised just how beautiful she was; except for the sorrow in her eyes, that was hard to bear.

  "What is the matter?" Noran asked.

  Meliu looked out of the window, the pale sun on her face.

  "I am lonely," she said. "I miss Ullsaard, and Neerita."

  "I miss her too," said Noran. "But there's no need to be lonely, I will keep you company."

  Meliu's grateful smile reminded him so much of Neerita that Noran had to look away. He heard Meliu cross the floor and sit on the bed beside him. He looked at her.

  "Nobody to gossip with? It must be hard."

  Meliu playfully punched him on the arm.

  "We did not gossip," she giggled. "It is important to know who is doing what with whom. I am sure Neerita helped you more than once with something about one of the other noble families."

  "That she did," Noran said with a sigh. "Amongst all the bed-hopping there was usually something about whose farms were doing well, who was looking for a wife or husband, who had no heirs. That is the sort of thing you can make business plans around."

  "I am very sorry she is not here," said Meliu, laying a hand on Noran's arm. "And so sorry about your son."

  "Let's not talk about that," replied Noran, taking her hand in his.

  "Luia says Ullsaard treats me like a whore, but I still miss him so much," Meliu said, her voice a whisper. "At least he likes me, which is more than he does Luia. There is nothing wrong in enjoying a bit of attention, is there?"

  "Nothing wrong at all in a wife that wishes to please her husband," Noran replied. "Neerita was always accommodating in that way."

  Meliu sniggered again.

  "What?" asked Noran, catching her infectious laugh. "What are you thinking?"

  "Neerita and I used to talk about, well, you and Ullsaard," Meliu admitted. "You know, your prowess…"

  "Compared notes, eh?" Noran had always suspected as much. The two of them had talked about other people's sex lives so much it was unthinkable that they did not do the same about their husbands. "I hope
the reports were good."

  "Oh yes!" Meliu became more demure and looked away. "She said you were always very considerate."

  She fell silent and Noran put a hand on her cheek and turned her face towards him. Her eyes were moist.

  "What is it?" he asked. She shook her head. "Tell me."

  Meliu's words came like a spring flood down a river.

  "I know that Ullsaard doesn't love me, not the way he loves Allenya, and Luia's right, he does treat me like a whore sometimes, and I am grateful that he chooses to bed me, but sometimes I wonder what it must be like, to share something more with someone, and I know it's ridiculous because I know he wouldn't look twice at me if Allenya wasn't my sister, so I should be thankful that he does, but it would be nice if…"

  Her voice trailed away as Noran leaned across her, planting a gentle kiss on her lips.

  "Stop talking so much," he said.

  His hand moved from her cheek to her breasts, massaging them through the cloth of her dress. They kissed again, a long, sensuous meeting of lips and tongues. Meliu pulled back with a gasp.

  "What?" Noran asked. "Did I misunderstand something? I'm sorry if I-"

  It was Meliu's turn to silence the chatter, reaching a hand into Noran's trousers to caress his stiffening member. They lay down next to each other, kissing and touching, their hands exploring each other's bodies through and inside their clothes. With an impish smile, Meliu broke off from a long kiss and, pulling Noran's woollen trousers to his knees, lowered her mouth onto his shaft. He gave a grunt of pleasure at the touch of her lips and tongue and stroked the thick curls of her hair as she worked back and forth.