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

by Gav Thorpe

  "How many left?" said Ullsaard, getting to the point.

  "Three hundred, maybe three-fifty," said Maalus. "I do not know how many escaped the rout, but I would not expect to see them again."

  "The messenger said you were attacked by a tribal coalition," said Anasind. "What happened?"

  Maalus took another drink.

  "Lukha's dead, his legion destroyed as well," he told them. "Scouts reported a Salphorian army, maybe two thousand strong, twenty miles duskwards of where we were camped. I sent word to Lukha, and we combined our legions for the attack. It should have been easy. Such a small force of barbarians against two legions? Just the sort of fight you told us to pick. About six or seven thousand more Salphors had moved through the forests coldwards of Lukha's camp. They came in behind us the day before we were going to attack. Our only chance was to break through the small army and head duskwards into the wilds."

  Maalus bowed his head and stared into his cup, lips tightly pursed. He did not look at any of the other men as he continued.

  "Seems the scouts were wrong there, too. Not two thousand, but four thousand. They had dug ditches in the fields and fortified the farms. Lots of bows, thousands of them. Savage hound packs, chariots drawn by shaggy creatures I've never seen before. There was no way we could fight. Lukha and I agreed to split. He went to duskwards and hotwards, I went dawnwards. We thought that one of us might get away with our legion intact, maybe mount some kind of rearguard. I think the Nemurians decided to stay to make a fight of it. I hope they killed plenty of those Salphor boy-whores."

  "But that didn't work," said Ullsaard, returning to his campaign throne. He snapped his fingers. "Two legions lost, just like that."

  "Probably three," sighed Maalus. "The Fourteenth were on our coldwards flank, about another two days' march away. I sent Canaasin word of what we were planning to do, but there was no time to despatch a warning when it went wrong. I would not count the Fourteenth in any of your plans."

  "Fuck!" Ullsaard's goblet flew across the pavilion, clanging into one of the carved poles holding up the roof. "Fuck and shit. The Salphors must have been mustering all spring to mount such an attack; and just now, when supplies are so low. It seems too convenient for this to be happenstance."

  "You think that the Salphors have something to do with the supply caravans being waylaid?" said Aklaan, First Captain of the Third Legion. "We have the Magilnadan legions protecting the roads, how could that be possible?"

  "It doesn't matter, not for the moment," said Ullsaard. "Whatever the reason, we can't carry on like this. The enemy have managed to gather their strength, to coldwards at least, but probably elsewhere. Too strong for the legions to take on individually. Something or someone is cutting off our supplies. If word gets out, and it will, those tribes behind us that we've got under control at the moment are going to start making trouble."

  "So, what do we do?" asked Ullasand, another noble-turnedgeneral who had joined the campaign only that spring. "I've emptied the family coffers to fund my legion. You can't call off the advance now, not with everything I've invested."

  "Look at him!" snapped Ullsaard, pointing at Maalus. "He's lost a fucking leg, and you're worried about the return on your investment? If we press on now, the only coins you'll be counting are the ones your widow puts in your grave urn."

  "I can't keep paying for my legion just to stand around with their thumbs up their arses," said Ullasand. "You promised us conquest; so far I've had eighty days of shuffling my legion around and making camps while roads and bridges get built."

  "The empire wasn't built in a day," Anasind said quietly.

  "We fortify," said Ullsaard. He looked hard at Ullasand. "The further we advance without sure supplies, the further we stick our necks out. I'll take the Thirteenth, Fifth and Twentieth back dawnwards to find out what's happening to the caravans. If it comes to it, I'll bloody escort the meat and grain through myself. Send word to the other legions to invest for an extended encampment, no legion more than ten miles from another. We'll have to give ground for the moment, but it's better that than lose everything."

  "And then?" asked Maalus. "These bastards took my leg; please tell me I get to kill some of them."

  "Once every legion is safely back to quarters, we'll have to assess their strengths, maybe combine a few of them. Then we organise into two forces. The first is heading directly for Carantathi. The sooner we have Aegenuis's head on a spear, the quicker the tribes will fall apart. The second will follow behind, mopping up any tribes that were missed by the first army."

  "When?" said Ullasand. "It's almost new year already, half the summer wasted."

  "It's sixty days to Magilnada and back," said Anasind. "Judging from earlier in the year that should still give us more than eighty days of good campaigning weather in these parts."

  "We'll carry on into winter if we have to," said Ullsaard. "It'll be a bitch, but it'll be worse for the Salphors than us. Next time we won't give them the space to lick their wounds."

  The talk carried on past Midwatch, into the early hours of the morning. Orders were drawn up for every remaining legion in Salphoria, logistics were arranged to pool the meagre resources, and the positions of the defensive line were agreed.

  Ullsaard was exhausted by the time his head hit the pillow of his cot. Still dressed in his armour, he was instantly asleep.

  III

  The sand beneath Ullsaard's feet was the colour of rainbows, swirled into hypnotising curves by steady waves of golden water. Whichever way he looked, he gazed out across that auric sea, the spectrum of the beach stretching out endlessly on the periphery of sight. Ullsaard held up his hand. The air shimmered around his fingers like quicksilver. There was no breeze. Even looking directly up he saw nothing but sparkling tide.

  "It's a fucking dream," he said. "Where are you?"

  "Where I will always be, Ullsaard," Askhos replied behind him. "In your mind."

  Ullsaard turned quickly. The dead king sat on a rock of black glass shaped like two cupped hands. He wore a plain white tunic and kilt of dark leather, sandals on his feet and a sash of red across his chest. Jewels glittered in Askhos's braided hair and beard. He seemed younger. The light of the golden sea reflected in dark eyes made them dance with life.

  "I thought I was too far from the Crown," said Ullsaard. "I thought I was rid of you."

  The apparition of Askhos shrugged.

  "I do not know how this works anymore than you," said the empire founder. "We both march across uncharted lands. In your case, quite literally. It is disappointing that you have had to halt your advance."

  "So you know what has been happening?"

  "I only know what you know. I told you that last time. Oh, and thank you for sparing me the embarrassment of rutting with your wife."

  Ullsaard leapt at the king and seized his throat in one hand, dragging him to his feet. Ullsaard was shocked that such a thing was possible. He had acted out of instinct, half-thinking that Askhos would be formless and his hand would go through him as if he were smoke.

  "I am real, as much as any man's mind can be said to be," said Askhos, unperturbed by his predicament. "What do you hope to achieve?"

  "Perhaps if I kill you here…" Ullsaard squeezed tighter, until his fingertips touched thumb, the king's neck impossibly constricted.

  "Your mind is not made up of flesh and bone, is it? Throttle me for as long as you like. Neither of us has bones to break, or lungs to choke."

  The former king illustrated his point by poking a finger in Ullsaard's eye. He felt nothing except a sense of pressure, much like when skin is prodded. Letting go, Ullsaard stepped back.

  "Did I bring you here? Did you bring me here?" he asked.

  Askhos directed a patronising look at his dream-companion and said nothing.

  "You said your tomb was a real place," Ullsaard said, kicking the multicoloured sand with his bare foot. "Is this a real place somewhere as well?"

  "What is your obsession with reality
, Ullsaard? You say things are real, as if that has any proper meaning. Are thoughts real? Are dreams real? Is love real? You are a terribly narrow-minded man."

  "Everything I know tells me that this place is impossible. It is just a dream. It is… unreal."

  "Do not confuse reality with the physical. You might just as well ask why water is wet, or what air tastes like." Askhos waited, but received only an uncomprehending glare in reply. The former king sat himself down again and crossed his arms and legs. "Let us talk reality. Your army is stuck, you have no supplies, and your campaign will fail."

  "It has stalled, but it has not failed," said Ullsaard. "I will put things right soon enough."

  "For the moment, perhaps, but what about the next setback, and the next? Do you think I was able to create Greater Askhor by sheer force of will? Of course not. Empires need to be organised. Endeavours need to be coordinated. No single man can control something as vast as Greater Askhor. Even your governors struggle to maintain their provinces."

  "So, we are back to this? You will tell me to restore the Brotherhood. I'm not an idiot. I see where this conversation goes."

  "But you will not admit the truth that can be found at its destination. I was the greatest leader Askhor has ever seen. The loyalty amongst my subjects was absolute. I wielded powers you do not know exist, had allies you are not aware of, and even I needed the Brotherhood. They are the empire."

  "Not any longer."

  "You are all muscle, but you have no skeleton. The Brotherhood is the bones that keep everything else together. This little supply problem of yours? Expect it to get a lot worse. You have more enemies than you realise; the ones you know about and the ones you do not yet see. A thousand and one tiny cuts will destroy you. The Brotherhood is the salve for those little wounds."

  "And your means to dispense with me completely and restore your immortal rule. You think I would sharpen the axe for my own execution and freely hand it over? No, I will never do that."

  "Then you will die, and I with you, and the empire will fall. It is that simple."

  "So be it."

  IV

  It took a further three days for Ullsaard to finalise his plans and despatch orders for the entrenchment of the Askhan position. When all was set in motion, the king lifted his camp and marched dawnwards with the Fifth, Thirteenth and Twentieth Legions. Along newly-laid roads, across bridges whose stones glistened with fresh whitewash, the eighteen thousand-strong army snaked back towards Magilnada.

  On the nineteenth evening of the march, as the scouts returned bearing news of sites suitable for camp, one patrol brought back disturbing intelligence. Atop a hill a few miles from the road, the ruins of a legion camp had been seen. On hearing this, Ullsaard rode out on Blackfang, accompanied by Anasind and a bodyguard of five hundred legionnaires. Following the scouts, the detachment turned coldwards while the rest of the army continued on to set up camp.

  "We should have made contact with the First Magilnadan by now," said Anasind, stepping easily alongside Blackfang's loping gait. "They were stationed to guard this stretch."

  "Jutaar will have followed his orders," said Ullsaard. "He would have sent word if something was amiss."

  As they continued, the blackened walls of the camp visible in the distance, the king doubted the truth of what he said. His second son was loyal and dogged, but Ullsaard was under no illusion regarding Jutaar's slowness of thought. It seemed incredible that some disaster might have befallen a whole legion without some news of it spreading, but the charred palisade on the hill ahead spoke a strong testimony; burning the camp was established practice when faced with an unexpected threat and something Jutaar would not have ordered without good reason.

  Pressing on further than the scouts had investigated, the small column crested the hill. Ullsaard dismounted and walked amongst the ruin with his First Captain. The exact state of the camp at the time of its destruction told its own tale. Every legion broke camp in the same manner, and it was easy to decipher exactly when the site had been abandoned.

  "This is a march camp," said Anasind. "The ditch is too shallow, the gatehouse not reinforced."

  "No abada or wagons," said Ullsaard, pointing to the empty remains of the main corral. "They had time to send out the baggage train."

  "Why were they here? They were meant to be thirty miles to dawnwards. What made them start out on a march?"

  They wandered along rows of burnt canvas where piled tents had been set alight; between charred stacks of logs; past clouds of flies swarming over the latrines. The stench of smoke clung to everything, but Ullsaard was heartened that he did not smell rotting flesh. There was not a body to be found. It was further proof that the legion had torched their camp rather than been overrun.

  "No way of telling how long ago this took place," said Ullsaard. "Perhaps the same thing that happened to Maalus happened here. They marched duskwards to confront a Salphorian army. They made camp after one day. In the morning they found the enemy stronger than they expected, abandoned the camp and retreated dawnwards with their baggage."

  Anasind nodded, silent and not wholly convinced by this explanation. Through the ragged gaps in the wall, Ullsaard could see several miles further to coldwards. There was a smudge of forest in the distance. Seeing that green canopy reminded Ullsaard again of what had befallen Maalus and Lukha's legions. A quiver of nervousness over Jutaar's fate was becoming an insistent nagging in the king's gut.

  A shout from past the collapsed remnants of the gate drew his attention. From the back of his kolubrid, a scout hailed Ullsaard and waved for him to approach. Sensing the soldier's agitation, Ullsaard strode quickly through the debris, booted feet kicking up ash. Anasind followed on his heel, his silence expressing concern more than any words could.

  "What is it?" Ullsaard picked his way across the fallen timbers of the gateway.

  "Bodies, king," replied the scout. He pointed down the hill to duskwards, one hand held to the brim of his bronze cap to shield his eyes, the leather of his light armour creaking as he twisted in his saddle. His mount's forked tongue flickered in and out, excitedly tasting the air, no doubt the reptile's hunger roused by the closeness of carrion. "Legionnaires. Just left in the open."

  Ullsaard swallowed hard but did not ask whether Jutaar was amongst the dead.

  "Show us," said Anasind.

  He made to lay a reassuring hand on Ullsaard's arm but pulled it back at the last moment, remembering that he was the king. Ullsaard nodded dumbly and waved for the scout to set off. The First Captain and king followed a little way behind, and then came the bodyguard, marching mutely, their questions and gossip silenced by the stares of their officers and the mood of their commanders.

  The flash of metal sparkled far off at the bottom of the hill. The long grass that covered the slope had been flattened by the tread of many feet. It was clear that most of the legion had left the camp by this route, marching down the hill. They followed the trail for some time, until Ullsaard noticed a change. The trampling of the grass spread out. He called the scout to a halt for a moment and pointed out his discovery to Anasind.

  "They formed line," said the First Captain. He paced away to the left, measuring each stride. At a hundred paces he turned and called back. "Looks like they were in formation, drawn up for battle."

  "But no fighting here," Ullsaard muttered. There was some litter still around; mouldy apple cores, a few bits of bone, broken sandal buckles. All of the things that would have been left behind after a break in a march. But there was no blood, no bodies.

  "Over here!"

  Ullsaard turned at Anasind's shout. The First Captain was further down the slope. He held up what looked like a stout stave banded with bronze. It took a moment for Ullsaard to register what it was: the broken shaft of a legion icon.

  Knowing that Jutaar would give his life rather than let the legion icon be taken, Ullsaard broke into a run, almost tripping over as he sprinted down to the level plain where Anasind stood.

&n
bsp; The corpses were easy to see now. Clouds of flies hovered over them, their black bodies crawling across red cloth and bronze armour. The bodies were piled together, marked by wounds and the attention of scavengers. Ullsaard ran past them, paying no heed to the story they could tell. Scavenging birds hopped lazily away, gorged by the feast, their featherless faces slick with blood.

  In his wake, the other legionnaires broke ranks, walking amongst the dead in amazement. Some – the most experienced – wasted little time on wonder and grief; they began to pull belts free, hooked off sandals and searched pouches for food. Ignoring the cloying clouds of insects, with knife tips they loosened spearheads from broken shafts and cut armour straps to free breastplates. Soon, the whole bodyguard were committed to the grim task; the officers organised their men into parties to pile shields and spears, collect water canteens and begin the gruesome job of bringing the bodies to one place so that they could be properly cremated.