The Crown of the Conqueror (The Crown of the Blood)

by Gav Thorpe

"Ullsaard courts danger like a mistress," said Urikh. "I grew up half-expecting to hear of his death, and I have always known I have to be ready to take his place as head of the family. Now that he is king that is truer than ever."

  Luia said nothing, uncomfortable with the thought of Ullsaard dying, especially now that he had achieved far more than she had ever hoped he would. The two of them sat in silence for a while until Luia chose to change the subject.

  "What about Neerlima and Luissa? Will you take them with you to Cosuan?"

  "Why would I?"

  Her hair now bound in a long plait, Luia stood, allowing the servants to wrap a dark blue dress around her. She tightened the belt, adjusted the fall of the sleeves and sat at the end of the bench where her son lay. The servants disappeared through the curtain over the door.

  "To show them the lands you now govern," said Luia. "Neerlima will be proud, and Luissa is nearly eight years old, it is time she started being seen."

  "And by 'being seen' you mean on the market for a future husband? Who will ever meet your standards, mother? You once said that she would only marry a prince; now she is a princess."

  "Another first," said Luia with a puzzled expression.

  "What do you mean?"

  "She is the first girl of the Blood to be born. Always the Blood have sired sons."

  "Surely in two hundred years… Now that you say it, I realise you are right. Why do you think that is?"

  A doubt crept in Luia's mind but she did not speak it; that perhaps Luissa was not the child of Urikh. There was no proof, of course, and such a thing would only harm Urikh. It was best not to speculate.

  "Perhaps in previous generations, the daughters have been whisked away by the Brotherhood; like your grandmother was supposed to be."

  "Pretaa was a court harlot, not a daughter of the Blood."

  Urikh sat up and swung his feet to the floor so that he was sitting beside his mother. He leaned forward, elbow on knee, chin on fist, and stared into the still water of the bath. Luia feared for a moment that he was considering the possibility of Neerlima's infidelity.

  "It is astounding to think about it," said Urikh. He shook his head in bemusement. "What a slender chance it is that we are here. Or that I am here, at least."

  "What slender chance? You mean Ullsaard's defeat of Lutaar? No, that was not chance. For all that he annoys me with his crude ways, your father can be a great man. And do not forget, you played a large part in his success as well."

  "No, not that," said Urikh. He scratched his chin, eyes narrowed. "Pretaa should have been taken by the Brotherhood because she carried the seed of one of the Blood but was not a wife. It was chance that Cosuas helped her to escape. Who can say what course would have been charted if not for that tiny thing?"

  "Yes, dear, but to think of all the chance circumstance that brought us all here is to invite madness. My grandmother was rescued from Ersuan brigands by my grandfather. But for that, I might not exist. Last week it rained and I did not go to the market. The smallest thing, maybe, but who can say what might have happened had the sun shone? Maybe I would have overheard a conspiracy, or bought a dress that attracted the eye of a handsome man, or perhaps berated a jewelsmith for charging too much, leaving him annoyed so that he beats his wife when he gets home.

  "Do not second-guess what has happened in the past, and do not think that chance has no part to play in the future. But chance and luck are not the same thing. The gambler relies on luck, and you are no gambler, dear. The man who plans, the man who thinks, a man like you, knows when chance favours him and seizes the opportunity."

  Urikh sat up, a half-smile on his lips. He leaned over and planted a delicate kiss on Luia's cheek.

  "What was that for?" she asked, startled by the uncharacteristic gesture.

  "Thanking chance that I have your intelligence, and not father's," Urikh said. "Ullsaard undervalues you."

  "You are wrong," said Luia. "How many other men would tolerate me? I openly defy him in front of others, and my appetite for other men is no secret. I was the same when he married Allenya, and he has had ample reason and opportunity to do away with me."

  "It is only for Allenya's sake that he has not."

  "In part. He loves Allenya, and lusts after Meliu like she is a bitch in heat. He keeps me around for a different reason."

  Luia stopped herself. She did not want to say too much. She could not admit that in her heart she respected Ullsaard, even loved him for being the father of her son. How could she explain that it was not perversity that made her wayward, but a desire to see her husband strong, though on occasion she did get some delight from seeing him fume and splutter at her behaviour?

  In the depths of the building a servant chimed the turn of Howling. Luia stood up briskly and patted Urikh on the cheek. He squirmed at the matronly gesture; he had done the same ever since coming of age, and Luia loved that it infuriated him.

  "Dinner will be served shortly, get dressed," she said. "And think carefully about Neerlima and Luissa. You cannot keep either of them hidden in the palace forever. Just think on it."

  Urikh nodded, lost in thought, brow creased with troubles.

  He will make a fine king, Luia thought as she left him to his concerns.

  SALPHORIA

  Late Autumn, 211th year of Askh

  I

  The wind flapped at the fabric of Ullsaard's pavilion and brought a pattering of rain. The king sat in his campaign throne, brow knotted as he stared at the large map spread out on the rugs before him. To his right and left sat two of his First Captains, Anasind and Jutiil, and two others, self-appointed army commanders who had raised their own legions for the war; the first was Arrak Maalus, head of one of Askh's oldest noble families, a squat man in his fifties with a clean-shaven chin and head, but with jutting side whiskers that reached to his shoulders; the other was a Maasrite fleet captain, Lukha, who had arrived with three thousand legionnaires and twenty Nemurian mercenaries.

  Ullsaard liked neither of the men, but suffered their amateur suggestions in silence, knowing it was the price he paid for having them help to finance his campaign. Of the five extra legions so far raised by the nobles, two had been all but destroyed, and the other three had achieved little except to spread fear and confusion amongst the Salphors. It did not matter; as long as the Salphors were under constant attack they would never have the time to gather their forces. In the wake of the ad-hoc invasions of the others, Ullsaard would sweep duskwards and tidy up, until he was camped at the walls of Carantathi. He felt some guilt at the legionnaires' lives being wasted in this way, but in the long run the campaign would prove to be less costly.

  "Enough squabbling," said the king, stepping down from his chair. "Maalus, you will take your legion coldwards of here, the Aaglios River. That secures these forested hills. There are likely to be tribes in the forest itself, so don't try anything spectacular, you'll simply be ambushed. Lukha, you need to keep moving duskwards along the Aaglios, until you take this group of settlements here, at this fork in the river. I have it from my Salphorian allies that there is a town on the lake island. I figure with your expertise with ships that shouldn't be too much of a problem."

  Lukha looked sourly at the map.

  "So, Maalus gets hundreds of miles of the finest fir trees, while I have a lake and an island? What am I supposed to profit from? Fish?"

  Ullsaard wanted to strangle the man, but fought the urge.

  "We don't know where the Aaglios leads, but it is bound to be an important route duskwards to the sea," Ullsaard explained, not entirely hiding his irritation. "That island will be the perfect place for a dock. It'll be as large as Geria; maybe even as big as Narun if there's as much land to duskwards as I think there is. Maalus will be paying your port fees to ship that timber to the coast."

  Maalus was about to object, but was stopped by Ullsaard's raised hand.

  "And before you complain, Maalus, consider this," the king continued. "Docks mean wharfs and ships, and th
at means timber. This stretch of river could be the centre of Askhan expansion in Salphoria, and there's going to be enough coin for everybody involved."

  The two men exchanged a glance filled with suspicion. Maalus looked at the map again, rubbing a hand over his scalp.

  "That is quite a way from Magilnada," he said. "I would not want to be sticking my neck to the block. Perhaps another legion or two would make the situation more secure?"

  "No," said Ullsaard. "Winter's coming, and there's no time for you to raise any more legions. We need this advance to happen as soon as possible."

  "I know I cannot raise a legion overnight, but you have five of them sitting here with nothing to do…"

  "No."

  Maalus frowned and stood up with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  "I am not going to wander into the heart of Salphor territory with just one legion." The noble took two steps towards the tent door before Ullsaard grabbed his arm and hauled him around.

  "You will march your legion tomorrow," said the king, speaking slowly and quietly. "If you do not, I will find someone who will."

  Maalus tried to shrug off the king's grip but failed. He met Ullsaard's stare with a look of contempt.

  "You cannot force me to do anything," said the noble. "If you want my men, you will allow me to choose where and when they march. I am not one of your captains, to be ordered around at your whim."

  Ullsaard tightened his fingers until Maalus was squirming, knees buckling.

  "This isn't Askh," hissed Ullsaard. "And I am still your king. I could cut your fucking head off right now and there is not a man in this camp would raise a word about it. I have offered you ample reward for your efforts. Do not test my patience."

  The flush of anger drained from Maalus's face as he saw the look in Ullsaard's eyes. The king pulled Maalus back to his feet, let go of his arm and waved towards the door.

  "Feel free to return to your legion now," said Ullsaard. He glanced over his shoulder to his First Captains. "Jutiil will accompany you back to your camp to help you make everything ready for your departure."

  Jutiil stood up, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He smiled at Maalus and nodded for the noble to lead the way. Ullsaard watched the two of them until they had left and then turned to Lukha.

  "Any questions or objections?" the king asked.

  Lukha smiled hesitantly and shook his head.

  "No, my king, that all seems to be perfectly clear."

  II

  The track was a ribbon of slurry, created by the constant drizzle and thousands of feet. The legionnaires sloped their shields above their heads to keep the rain from wetting their kit, giving the column the appearance of a snake three miles long, with round scales banded in sections of red, black, blue and bronze.

  Ullsaard pulled Blackfang to one side of the winding track, heading up a shallow rise, the high grass leaving a wet swathe in the ailur's fur. For eight days he had marched, almost directly duskwards, following the muddy road alongside the Annillan River. From the Altes hills the waterway plunged down into the plains and then veered lazily through the grasslands, almost half a mile wide in places. The only evidence of people had been the clusters of abandoned huts clinging to the muddy flats around the river; the Salphors had fled before the advance of the Askhans.

  Looking ahead, Ullsaard could see little through the gloom, but from his observations yesterday knew that there was a range of mountains somewhere to duskwards. How wide or high they were, he did not know, and whether they could be skirted to coldwards or hotwards remained a concern. From experience, he knew the Annillan would turn one way or the other as it reached the foothills, following the line of least resistance to the sea. Just how far that might be had been a subject of some debate in the camp for the past few days, with no clear decision. Much like the Greenwater campaign, this was a voyage into the unknown.

  Staring at the expanse of wilderness, Ullsaard wondered if he had bitten off more than he could chew. Greater Askhor was vast, but it seemed that the loose conglomeration of lands and people the Askhans glibly called Salphoria might be almost as big.

  It had taken two hundred years for Greater Askhor to be created, and he was looking to conquer a similar territory within a season. He had once said he would conquer Salphoria in a single summer if he had two hundred and fifty thousand men. He had less than half that, and yet had pressed on regardless. It seemed ridiculous when he thought of it like that.

  His contemplation was broken by the approach of Anasind, accompanied by a leather-faced legionnaire. Ullsaard recognised the man as one of the ex-landship crew that had joined the Thirteenth for the attack on Magilnada. He had seen him again at the sacking of Askh, but for his life he couldn't remember the man's name.

  "What's this?" asked Ullsaard.

  "Someone who could be useful, king," said Anasind. "You wanted local knowledge. This is Gelthius, a Salphor in the Thirteenth."

  "Gelthius, that was it," said Ullsaard. He smiled at the legionnaire, who had the expression of a small animal suddenly coming face to face with a hungry lion. Ullsaard was not sure whether this was due to his presence, or Blackfang's. The soldier was certainly keeping as far from the ailur as he could without actually hiding behind Anasind. "Glad to see you're still with us, Gelthius."

  "So am I, right enough," said Gelthius. He glanced at Anasind before continuing. "I heard word that you was asking after people that might know these lands."

  Anasind coughed pointedly and glared at Gelthius.

  "King," the legionnaire quickly added with a bow of the head.

  "So, you know these parts, do you?"

  "Was born on the banks of this river, about three more days duskwards," said Gelthius. "Er, king. These are the lands of the Linghar."

  There was a catch to the man's voice, and a slightly wistful cast to his expression, tinged with apprehension.

  "You have family here?" the king asked.

  "They was here when I got taken as a debtor, king," Gelthius said with a shrug. "I dunno if they still is. That were seven years ago and some."

  Ullsaard regarded the legionnaire for some time, adding to Gelthius's discomfort. With a little nod to himself as he reached a decision, the king leaned over to the legionnaire and slapped a hand on his shoulder.

  "Don't look so worried," said Ullsaard. "Do you think your company could spare you for a while?"

  "Spare me?"

  "You're joining my staff, Gelthius! I need someone like you to help me out."

  "Me? Help you? I dunno about that, king. I don't know much."

  "Neither do I," said Ullsaard with a wink. "But around here, you probably know more than most of us."

  Gelthius looked uncertain, glancing at Anasind for guidance. The First Captain nodded encouragingly.

  "I'll have to make you a third captain," said Anasind. "If you're going to be on the king's staff, that is."

  The thought of the extra pay and privileges of rank seemed to ease Gelthius's concerns immediately and he smiled bashfully.

  "If I can be of help, king, then I'll do what I can." His smile faded and doubt returned. Gelthius looked Ullsaard with pleading in his eyes. "You're not going to burn and kill everything are you?"

  "Not unless I'm forced to," the king replied with a shrug. "Let's hope you can make your people see some sense."

  III

  Smoke drifted across the setting sun, the haze rising from nearly a hundred chimney holes and bonfires. Half-dug into the hillside, their turf roofs extending over stone walls, the houses of the Linghar were squat dwellings, with narrow doors and glassless, horizontal slit windows. There was no wall or palisade; the only obstacles were the animal pens fenced with woven reed taken from the river bank at the bottom of the long slope.

  It was not the homecoming Gelthius had dreamed of; nor the one he had expected.

  For this first time since becoming a legionnaire, he felt uncomfortable in his armour and uniform. Sat in the back of the abada cart, spear
and shield stowed beside him, he was keenly aware of his tanned legs jutting from under his kilt, and the weight of his breastplate. He looked at the other three legionnaires in the wagon: Muuril, Gebriun and Loordin; Haeksin was up front steering the cart.

  "How are you feeling, boss?" said Muuril. "Good to be home?"

  Gelthius said nothing, still uncertain about his position with the others. They seemed to have taken his sudden promotion in their stride, but Gelthius was under no doubts that he was the least experienced of all the men. Muuril especially gave Gelthius problems; three days ago he had been Gelthius's sergeant, now it was Gelthius that was in charge. Muuril had been nothing but supportive, but Gelthius wondered whether the sergeant would really follow orders if it came down to it.

  They were watchmates above everything else, and Gelthius hoped that counted for something; which was why he had brought them with him on this mission. On First Captain Anasind's suggestion, he had picked the men he trusted most. Gelthius hoped they trusted him just as much.