The Crown of blood tcob-1

by Gav Thorpe

"That's funny, I thought you were spawned and raised by a court whore in Enair, and succeeded with your own blood and fucking sweat. Doesn't that count for anything?"

  Ullsaard would have laughed if it had been anyone else saying these things.

  "It's that same blood and sweat that's got me to where I am now. I have earned this day, friend. I will become king."

  Cosuas turned his back again. Ullsaard called out to him.

  "You don't have to join me. Just don't get in my way. There's no need for you to get involved. Let me pass, march your troops back down the Greenwater and spend the rest of your life by the sea. I don't fucking care, do whatever you want to do, just don't make me destroy you. You don't deserve that."

  "You want to do something for me?" said Cosuas. He picked up his mace and shield and squared off. "Give me a chance to end this now."

  Ullsaard shook his head as the old general beckoned him closer with his shield.

  "Why not?" snarled Cosuas. "Afraid?"

  "I don't want to kill you," said Ullsaard. "Don't you understand?"

  "Why not?" Cosuas said with a shrug. "If I let you do this, what's the point in staying alive? I swore an oath to the king and the empire. That actually means something to me! I can't serve you, and I can't turn the other way and let you destroy Askhor. This is my only choice."

  Ullsaard picked up his shield and spear and trudged away.

  "Ullsaard!"

  The general stopped and looked back. Cosuas was striding down the road after him, mud splashing up his bare legs, caking his sandals. Ullsaard continued to walk away.

  "You have to kill me, Ullsaard! It's either now, or your men do it on that hill!"

  That stopped him. He looked at Cosuas, saw desperation and hurt in his eyes. Cosuas knew he couldn't stop Ullsaard, but he couldn't bear the shame of failing in his duty. It would be a worse fate for Cosuas to see his army routed and survive with that knowledge.

  "All right," said Ullsaard, turning back, hefting his spear into a fighting grip. "I'll make it quick."

  "You fucking wish you could!" shouted Cosuas, breaking into a run.

  IV

  Ullsaard set himself to receive the attack, legs braced apart, shield to the front, spear jutting beside it. Half-a-dozen paces away, Cosuas slid to a stop and stooped, bringing his foot up to fling mud into Ullsaard's face. Spluttering and partially blinded, Ullsaard reacted on instinct, bringing his shield across his body to block the blow he knew was coming from his right.

  Cosuas' mace crashed against the shield, driving it down, its lower edge scraping painfully along Ullsaard's shin. Ullsaard stepped back, trying to wipe the mud from his eyes. He caught a shadow of movement to his left and twisted, ducking to his right as he brought up his shield. Another blow crashed down, numbing Ullsaard's arm.

  "By fucking Askhos, you're stronger than you look!" spat Ullsaard, clearing his eyes in time to see the head of Cosuas's mace swinging towards his ankles. He sprang back and the mace splashed into the mud.

  Ullsaard acted on instinct. He lunged, right arm stretched out. The spear caught Cosuas in the hip, just below his breastplate. Ullsaard pulled the spear free.

  "Shit," he said, stepping close to Cosuas. Blood leaked from the wound as Cosuas tripped and fell to his rump. Red flowed into the puddles of the road. The veteran general tried to push himself up but fell to his right side in a splash of mud.

  "Finish it!" Cosuas hissed. "You said you'd make it quick."

  Ullsaard threw aside his spear and dragged his sword free. He drew his arm back for the killing blow, looming over Cosuas.

  The old man's mace crashed into Ullsaard's body and the general felt ribs crack, breath exploding from his body. Staggering back, he stumbled to one knee as Cosuas pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and limped closer, mace in hand.

  "Fucking idiot," said Cosuas. "You think I'd make it that easy?"

  Two crashing blows rained down on Ullsaard's upraised shield before he forced himself upright. He raised his sword to block the next, but Cosuas's mace smashed into his hand, shattering fingers. The sword tumbled from Ullsaard's mangled fingers. He looked at Cosuas and saw a sneer curling the old general's lips.

  "Have it your way," Ullsaard growled as the two circled each other.

  Ullsaard fended off a few tentative strikes from his opponent, his gaze flicking to the stream of red pouring down Cosuas's left leg. For all his grit and stubbornness, the old man was already dying. It was just a matter of time.

  Cosuas knew it too and swung his mace at Ullsaard's head. Ullsaard angled his shield to deflect the blow and swung back, smashing the rim into Cosuas's brow. Skin ruptured and bone split from the blow. Cosuas fell backwards, eyes glazed, blood pouring from his nostrils.

  Panting, his ribs sending stabs of pain through him, Ullsaard cast aside his shield and snatched his sword from the mud with his left hand. Shaking his head woozily, Cosuas weakly raised his shield, but Ullsaard kicked the other man's arm aside and stepped on his wrist, pinning it to the muddy road.

  "You tried," Ullsaard said quietly, driving the point of his sword into Cosuas's throat.

  The old man spasmed for a moment, back arching as blood erupted from the wound and foamed from his lips. Then he fell still, eyes staring into the blue skies.

  Ullsaard let the sword fall from his fingers and dropped to his knees. He bent over Cosuas and laid a hand on his mentor's chest. He kissed Cosuas on each cheek and rocked back, slumping to one side.

  The tears came quickly, washing away the grime in Ullsaard's eyes. His ribs made every breath a torture and he could feel nothing of his right hand. He gazed numbly at his fingers and saw his middle and index finger splayed at awkward angles. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the fingers back into place with sharp cracks and bent his brow to Cosuas's chest, wracked by sobs.

  Taking a deep breath, Ullsaard got to his feet, good hand holding his damaged ribs.

  "You old bastard," he sighed between painful gasps of air. "Can't leave you here."

  He bent down and tugged Cosuas's shield from his arm and pried his mace from his dead grip. Awkwardly, hissing in pain from every movement, Ullsaard hauled Cosuas over his left shoulder. He seemed even smaller now, almost no weight at all.

  With slow, painful steps, Ullsaard walked back to his army.

  V

  Ullsaard growled as he tried to flex his splinted knuckles. Luuarit stepped back to admire his handiwork, stroking his fingers down his moustaches.

  "I've set the bones in your hand as best I can," said the surgeon. "Give it a few weeks before you try anything strenuous. There's not a lot I can do about your ribs more than the bandages. If you start pissing or shitting blood, or you feel water in your breath, come to me immediately. There's no telling if there's any damage inside you."

  Ullsaard nodded absently and sat back in his campaign throne. It had been brought to the ridge by Anasind, so that the general could watch the coming battle in a little more comfort. Looking to the left and right, Ullsaard saw his legions spreading out around the hill occupied by the opposing army. Heavy bellowsarrows flew between the two forces as kolubrids skirmished for position on the lower parts of the slope. From higher up, spear throwers hurled their shafts down the hill, cutting wounds into the neat formations of the advancing phalanxes.

  Cosuas had been right; it was a good defensive position.

  Ullsaard's army did not attack from all sides. He had left an opening in his line to duskwards, allowing the enemy room to flee if they chose. Had they been surrounded he had no doubt the proud legionnaires, veterans of the Greenwater campaign, would fight to the death; by offering them a route out, Ullsaard hoped that the bloody toll would be less on both sides.

  After bringing Cosuas's body back, Ullsaard had sent messengers to the First Captains now facing him, but to a man they had refused his terms. In a way, Ullsaard was pleased; their general slain, outnumbered and certain to lose, still the legions would not surrender. He knew he expected every man that follo
wed him to act the same and had told his officers to fight this battle with pride and honour.

  Not that he wanted a battle, not any more. He glanced at the body of Cosuas laying on a bier to his left. Ullsaard had no qualms about shedding blood if necessary, but enough was enough. After today he hoped no legionnaire would kill another.

  As he watched the blocks of bronze and black and red converging on the hill, he wondered how many more lives would be lost today. He felt no regret at his actions thus far, but Cosuas's words troubled him. He thought back to his conversations with Noran — how he missed Noran right at that moment and Allenya too — and wondered if he had unleashed something he could not control.

  His mind wandered back to the discussions with Aalun, and the chaotic time of the empire's founding. That time would come again under Ullsaard's rule. The empire would grow larger than ever and generals would be granted the rewards of their success. The hungry, living creature that was Greater Askhor would be filled with new vigour, and Ullsaard would steer it teeth and claws to new heights of power.

  Looking at the armies about to clash, thinking of the blood that had been spilt and the dubious acts he had committed and allowed, Ullsaard felt no guilt.

  He was doing Askhos's work.

  VI

  Noran had been right; Askh was far grander than Magilnada. Gelthius had never seen such a place, and it was as far from the mud-and-wood house he'd grown up in as an ailur was from the cats that chased rats around a barn. Peering over the shoulders of the legionnaires in front, he could see the white stone of the palaces and the dark shadow of the Grand Precincts rearing above a sea of tiled roofs. He saw the sun gleaming from golden domes, and minarets jutted from behind the walls like slender fingers, topped with colourful flags. These were places he had not even heard of less than a year ago, and now he was looking at them with his own eyes.

  There was excitement in the legion. Today the city would be theirs. Gelthius heard scatters of conversation, as soldiers discussed the merits of what to take.

  "No gold," said one. "It's too heavy and the markets will be full of it after we're done. Gold is for fools. Gems and cut stones, that's another matter. Easy to fill a bag with that stuff and it'll never lose its value."

  "I reckon I'll get me some tapestries and carpets," said another. "Send them back to the wife in Parmia. She'll be dead proud with covered floors and walls. That'll shut her mother up for a change, the craggy-faced bitch."

  "Head for the markets," a third man had advised Gelthius. "You want to make a quick bit of money, get all the grain, flour, fruit, vegetables, meat and milk you can. You'll need some wagons of course, but the first thing people need after something like this is food. All them with pockets of silver and jewels will give you a handful of their spoils for some apples and a leg of pork in a few days, mark my words."

  "I'm gonna find me one of those dark-haired Askhan women and fuck her 'til my cock's raw," came one man's promise, which rather unsettled Gelthius. In his younger days Gelthius had taken his fair share of loot from a raid on another tribe, but had never got on with the rape side of things. He liked to spend a bit of time with a woman, but years on the landship had worn out his lust to the point where the only thing he wanted from his wife, when he eventually got home, would be a kiss on the cheek and a bowl of her wonderful lamb stew.

  "Listen up!" barked Captain Anasind. The Thirteenth's commander prowled up and down in front of his men, his stare unforgiving. "The general's got three rules. Break them and you're dead. Rule one: three days. Anyone not back in camp by Midwatch on the third day will be a deserter. Rule two: no burning. We've fought our way all across the empire for this place; let's not have it going up in smoke. Rule three: nobody touches the precincts, palaces or colleges. They belong to the general."

  Captain Anasind continued, explaining which parts of the city had been allotted to the Thirteenth. Gelthius shook his head in disbelief. The Askhans even organised their looting! Company by company, Anasind divided the legion's bit of the city. So this is civilisation? he thought. Calmly talking about who could rape who, and who could steal what? It all seemed a little strange to the Salphor. Yet the more Gelthius thought about it, the more it made a horrible kind of sense. Nobody wanted the legions to be fighting each other over the spoils. If everybody got their fair share, there'd be no backstabbing, nobody stealing from each other, setting company against company, legionnaire against legionnaire.

  When they were given the order, the Thirteenth moved out in formation. There was no mad dash, no greedy sprint for the open gates. As Ullsaard's favourites, they would be the first into the city, and the officers had made it clear that the eyes of the army would be on them.

  Smartly in step, icons held high, spears shouldered, the companies of the Thirteenth entered Askh. The city was quiet; thousands had fled in the night fearing what was to come. The companies split along the streets and after a while Gelthius could hear the splintering of doors being kicked in, angry shouts from those that had remained. He heard a scream from behind and turned to see a middle-aged woman running out of an alley, two legionnaires in pursuit. One tripped her with the butt of his spear and they grabbed an arm each, dragging her back to where she had come from.

  At a crossroads, Gelthius's company ran into the fifteenth company and he saw Lepiris amongst the crowd. The two exturncranks met at the corner of a tall townhouse.

  "Made it this far then?" said Lepiris. Gelthius nodded. "Up for some looting?"

  Gelthius shook his head. "I think I'd rather get some sleep, right enough."

  Lepiris grinned. "I'm sure we can find some beds somewhere, and maybe something to eat."

  Arms on each other's shoulders, the two of them headed after the others.

  Askh

  Spring, 210th Year of Askh

  I

  The sounds of looting echoed from Askh as Ullsaard rode towards the gate on Blackfang. He couldn't bring himself to come to the city earlier; better that he didn't see that first rush of the beast he had unleashed.

  Just inside the shadow of the gatehouse he saw two figures sitting side by side, backs against the wall, legs outstretched with shields and spears leaning next to them. Several empty bottles littered the ground around them, along with bones, fruit skins and cores and other detritus of a sizeable meal. One seemed asleep, the other lazily blew smoke from his mouth, a bowl of gently glowing dried leaves held in his hand. Ullsaard caught the pungent whiff of hennek as the man slowly inhaled; a drug from Maasra favoured by the younger generation of Askhan nobility. The legionnaire looked up at Ullsaard, recognised him with widening eyes and attempted unsuccessfully to stand up. He wobbled in an uncertain crouch for a moment before falling back against the wall.

  "It's all right," laughed Ullsaard. "No ceremony today."

  He recognised the face of the sleeping man.

  "Weren't you two part of Aroisius's lot?" said Ullsaard, stopping Blackfang with a tug on the reins. He pulled her head to one side, away from the stupefying smoke of the hennek.

  "Well, Anglhan's really," drawled the legionnaire. "I'm Lepiris. My companion is Gelthius. I apologise for his state, as he has, alas, been overcome with weariness. And not a little wine, which he has not drunk before today. I think he mistook it for the strength of ale."

  "Enjoy yourselves for the next two days," said Ullsaard. "But don't be late back to camp."

  "No, General, right enough," said Gelthius, rearing up from his stupor and banging his fists against his chest in salute. He collapsed backwards, helmet tipping over his eyes.

  Ullsaard laughed again and urged Blackfang through the gate. He rode quickly through the city, heading directly up the Royal Way. The last time he had been here, Ullsaard had been fleeing the city, fearful of a mob. The time before he had been parading in triumph with Aalun, the masses of Askh cheering his name. Today, those people cowered behind their doors and shutters, terrified of him.

  Give it time, he thought. They'll be cheering your name again
when you bring them the wealth of Salphoria.

  There were no guards at the palace, and it looked deserted. Taking Blackfang to the stables himself, Ullsaard saw the evidence of a hasty evacuation. Once inside the palace itself, the emptiness was even more pronounced. Statues and tapestries had been taken, and there were empty alcoves where once golden vases and silver busts had stood. He had not seen a legionnaire so he knew the palace had not been looted — not by his men at least, but he suspected the king's servants had taken what they could once the king had fled.

  His bandaged ribs ached as he walked along the corridors and halls, and it was with a weary hand that he pushed open the doors of the audience hall.

  "I expected you earlier," Lutaar rasped. Ullsaard looked along the hall in surprise.

  The king sat in his throne, wearing a golden-threaded robe, a scarlet cloak hanging from his shoulders. And on his head sat the Crown.

  "I thought I'd have to hunt you down," said Ullsaard as he walked towards the king.

  "I'm not running away from you," said Lutaar. "Besides, what would be the point?"

  "And Kalmud? Erlaan?"

  "They are not here. They have been taken somewhere safer."

  "You know that you don't have to die, don't you?" said Ullsaard, striding up the steps to the throne's dais.

  "If you want this," Lutaar took the Crown of the Blood from his head and waved it at Ullsaard, "then you'll have to prise it from my dead fingers."

  Ullsaard unsheathed his sword but Lutaar held up his hand, staying the blow.

  "Listen to me before you do this deed," the king said. There was no scorn in his voice; instead his words were edged with sadness. "Please do not do this. I do not ask you for myself, but for the empire. As I once implored Aalun to understand, Kalmud must become king; it is Kalmud's destiny to wear the Crown. Rule the empire as you wish, use him as a puppet if you must, but do not make yourself king."