by Gav Thorpe
The news from the fleeing tribes also confirmed the king-messiah's suspicions that the Askhan force that had been shadowing and raiding his army for the last twenty-six days was but a small force, also intended to slow the Mekhani advance and delay their attack into the heart of the empire. This too would fail. Annoying as the loss of foraging parties were, as irksome as the flurries of night-time ambushes on the camps, the threat from the Askhans was easy to dismiss.
Once they were over the mountains, circumventing the Askhan forces no doubt gathering at the coldwards border with Anrair, the Mekhani would have the riches of Nalanor to pillage at will. Even in his most pessimistic predictions, Ullsaard would not have considered the Mekhani crossing the mountains where the peaks were highest. In this respect he had not accounted for the Behemodons. Thought sluggish in the cool weather, the massive beasts could carry far more than a whole caravan of abadas, and such was the skill of their riders the treacherous paths and trails of the pass were no obstacle.
Erlaan turned to Asirkhyr and Eriekh, who had not left the king's side since his decision to decline battle after crossing the Nakuus. They had been soft in their admonition for the choice Erlaan had made, and were evidently becoming more aware of their precarious position, cut off from their fellow priests of the Temple and the network of the Brotherhood. Not that this stopped them from reminding Erlaan on occasion that he derived his power from their sorceries.
"The weather will improve once we cross the shoulder," he told the two priests. "The descent will be much swifter. We should be able to attack Aarisk in three days at the most, probably two."
"There is a Brotherhood precinct in that town," said Asirkhyr. "They will send word to the Brotherhood of our attack. It would be better if our passing across the mountains would go unnoticed."
Erlaan shrugged sending a stream of water cascading from his armour.
"There is nothing our foes can do to stop us," said Erlaan. "It would take twenty days for a legion to march around the mountains, thirty if Ullsaard wants to come up from Mekha, by which time we will be hundreds of miles away. I think it might be a wise course to spread the word of our arrival. We can save time and bloodshed if the towns in our path are given the chance to surrender."
"And who would you send on such a delegation?" said Eriekh. "The Mekhani cannot negotiate and you cannot leave the army."
"You will go," said Erlaan, pointing at Eriekh. "You will be my herald, with a bodyguard of, say, a thousand warriors."
"Your herald?" Indignation wrinkled the aged priest's face. "I am a hierophant of the eulanui, not your messenger boy."
"And you will be returning to Mekha," Erlaan told Asirkhyr, ignoring the other's protest. "This is, after all, just the vanguard of my army. At least another fifty thousand warriors will have gathered at Akkamaro. You will lead them against Ullsaard's forces, if they remain in Mekha. If not, a second attack towards Geria will meet little resistance. It would be foolish to think that a single army will win us Askh. I will subjugate Nalanor and Anrair, while you will secure Okhar and Maasra. Ullsaard knew what he was doing, isolating Askhor from the other provinces."
"I do not think he will repeat the mistakes of Lutaar and Nemtun and concede such territories without battle," said Asirkhyr. "I am no military commander, and we cannot trust the shamans to fare any better against the legions. You would throw away thousands of warriors for little gain."
"I do not need you to win battles, simply to fight them," said Erlaan. "Ullsaard cannot fight both us and the Salphors at the same time. If he withdraws his troops from Salphoria, his enemies there will sweep to the border and retake Magilnada, and I cannot see how the usurper will allow that to happen. His entire goal has been the conquest of Salphoria, and his arrogance is such that he will believe he can defeat me whilst maintaining his strength to duskward. He will bring together what legions he can to defeat me, leaving the hotwards and dawnwards provinces ripe for the picking. It is my intent to give him no opportunity but to surrender."
"You think that is likely?" said Eriekh. "He will not relinquish the Crown while he lives, that is the extent of his stubbornness."
"And should he refuse, he will make an enemy of the governors," Erlaan said with a toothy grin. "With certain assurances to their continued power, they will be happy to endorse me as the rightful heir of the Crown and withdraw their support from Ullsaard. He forgets how easy it was for him to turn the provinces against Lutaar, and I shall use the same weapon."
The two said nothing, searching for further arguments but finding none. Eriekh sneered as he spoke.
"Do not fall victim to overconfidence," said the priest. "It is one thing for the governors to accept a renegade like Ullsaard; it is another for them to bow to the rule of the Mekhani."
"That is why I will offer to send the Mekhani back to the desert if the governors recognise my claim," replied Erlaan. "I am monstrous and unnatural, and it will be hard for them to accept me, but I will offer no alternative. As my followers they will see the empire expanded with Mekha, and against such strength Salphoria cannot hold. As Ullsaard did, I will show them that the protection of the king is worthless. If they refuse, I will destroy them, one by one."
Obviously still rankled by his appointment to herald, Eriekh stalked away, sour-faced and grumbling to himself. Asirkhyr remained, distaste at Erlaan's edicts written in his glare.
"What of the Brotherhood?" said the priest. "You cannot reveal to them the secrets you have learned, and they cannot be cowed by your threats."
"Lakhyri controls the Brotherhood, as he has always done. They are the least of our problems."
Erlaan was tired of the priest's protests and turned his back on Asirkhyr. The king called for his council to attend him and as the shamans gathered, he watched Asirkhyr hurrying off to catch up with Eriekh. The king-messiah was sure the priests thought he overstepped his mark with his plans and commands, but he did not care. Their schemes were convoluted and timeconsuming. If Erlaan had learnt anything from his grandfather's faltering and Ullsaard's usurpation, it was that direct action brought the swiftest and surest results.
The army marched on up the pass, the rain unrelenting. Erlaan moved through the column, offering words of counsel and encouragement. Wherever the king-messiah passed, the hearts of the Mekhani were lifted, his presence enough to bolster their resolve.
A windy and wet night followed, during which Erlaan's followers found what shelter they could at the height of the pass. Though food was low, the meltwater and rain provided plenty to drink, and grumbling stomachs were easier to ignore with thoughts of Aarisk's large grain stores and fertile pastures just two days away.
Dawn brought some relief as the mountain storm dropped in severity, reducing to a constant drizzle. As the morning light spread up the pass, Erlaan could feel the hopes of the army rising as well. The path down was steep but widened quickly and the sun continued to strengthen, occasionally breaking through the clouds. By noon, the head of the column had reached the floor of the valley, and word came back that foraging parties had some success, killing deer, goats and birds by the score. They had also found two swift rivers, alive with fish, and with nets and ropes, more was added to the stockpile of food. It would be far from a feast, but little fare was better than none at all.
Erlaan renewed his promises of what was to come, and described the riches that awaited the Mekhani once Askh was theirs, though he knew that they would share little of such plunder. He felt no guilt at using them in this way. The red-skinned tribesmen were still lesser people. Despite everything, Erlaan considered himself still an Askhan; purebred of Askh and the legitimate heir to the Crown of the Blood no less.
As he walked along the files of warriors wending their way down the pass, he conceded that the Mekhani were not as savage as he had once thought, and the knowledge that they were but the remnants of an advanced civilisation gave him some pause for thought. For all that, an upbringing built upon prejudice and disdain could not be easily overcome
and Erlaan considered his new allies clever animals at best. Their superstitions alone were reason enough to dismiss them as anything more than useful minions. Come the war with Salphoria, Erlaan would put his trust in good, honest Askhan legionnaires. If the Mekhani proved capable he would consider admitting them to the legions in due course.
With such thoughts occupying him, Erlaan passed the long day of marching. He felt not the slightest fatigue from his walking, his body sustained by the same aura of energy that the denizens of the Temple existed upon. Part of him hoped the people of Aarisk would put up a fight; he had already felt the small thrill of feeding upon his near-dead father and the thought of drawing on the essence of several thousand deaths filled him with excitement.
The day and night passed without incident; apparently Ullsaard's shadowing force had thought better of coming into the mountains after the Mekhani. They were most likely dashing back to hotwards to inform their master of Erlaan's cunning change of route. Though he tried hard not to listen to the false praise of the shamans and his warriors, Erlaan realised that he was truly marked out as special. Each day, testing himself against Ullsaard and the elements, Erlaan felt stronger and wiser. There was not a challenge he could not overcome.
Early in the following day's march the rain came again, hard and steady. At first the Mekhani had delighted in the water that fell from the sky, so rare in their lands. Now they endured the wet and cold in silent misery, quietly pining for their sun-drenched homes and the cool evenings of the desert. Erlaan barely felt the pattering on his thick skin, though the rattle of rain on his armour became a thunderous din if he concentrated on it.
Mile after mile the army trudged, down towards the plains of Nalanor. Though he had hoped to come upon Aarisk that day, the constant rain made even the surest path a quagmire to wade along, and the king-messiah was forced to call a halt at dusk; the terrain was too treacherous to press on through the night.
"The town will wait for us," he assured his followers with a smile. "Before the sun sets again, you shall see for yourselves our next prize."
Erlaan no longer had the need to sleep, though sometimes he would lie down and close his eyes, picturing the palace of Askh or the fields of Nalanor. There were coughs and sneezes from across the camp, each sounding near at hand to Erlaan's supernatural hearing. The thought of disease reared in his mind; something he had not previously considered. The chill and the damp might prove more of an enemy than he had thought. He would do well to head dawnwards from the mountains, towards the border of the Greenwater between Nalanor and Maasra, where the climate was hotter. He considered towns along the route that would make suitable stopping points and drew up a mental map to follow. When he had marched with Ullsaard, he had not paid a second thought to the problems of feeding and equipping an army; all of that had been carried out by lesser officers. The Mekhani had no such appreciation of logistics and so he would have to do his best in absence of quartermasters and caravans.
As dawn broke on the next day, the day when the Mekhani would fall upon Aarisk like a red storm, the scouts were sent out and the rest of the army prepared to break their makeshift camp. Erlaan was eager to get moving and chivvied the shaman-chiefs into action, impressing upon them the closeness of their goal. Aarisk was built upon the shoulder of a mountain at the far end of the pass, perhaps no more than four hours away. The Mekhani had already passed several huts and lodges and farms – abandoned for the moment – which had caused considerable interest and excitement in the desert warriors. They seemed as enthusiastic for the coming attack as their king.
Tasking the shamans to hurry up, Erlaan headed after the front of the column, wanting to be the first to lay eyes on the Nalanorian town that would become his base for attacks into the rest of the empire.
Midmorning, Erlaan guessed it to be around the second or third hour of low watch, a party of scouts returned. They were agitated as they reported their findings to the shaman council. Erlaan intervened to find out what was wrong.
"The town, it is broken," one of the scouts was saying.
"Broken?" said Erlaan, wondering if he had misheard. "What do you mean?"
"It is broken, great Orlassai, ruler of the skies," the scout said again, struggling for the right words. "It is empty. The walls, they are broken. The fields, they are no more. There is nothing but the dust and the smoke."
"Smoke? Dust? Make sense!" snapped Erlaan.
"Come with us, great Orlassai, and we shall show you." The scout pointed to a ridge that curved coldwards, cutting across the arc of the valley floor. "This way is quickest."
On foot, the scouts led their king up the slope and, picking their way carefully between the rocks and scrubs, they ventured out onto the narrow ridge. The wind was strong, but Erlaan was grateful that the rain was little more than occasional showers.
Following a well-worn goat track, the party made their way along the ridgeline, at times meandering around great cracks in the rocks, sometimes scrambling across fissures and over patches of loose scree. In places the slope dropped down sheer. Though he was certain his toughened skin and flesh could withstand sword and spear, the king-messiah eyed these cliff faces uneasily, not certain if even he could survive such a drop. The Mekhani were labouring by the time they reached the height of the ridge, though Erlaan's heart barely beat any faster and his breath came easily.
He pulled himself up the last stretch of an escarpment after the others. From here he could see down the length of the pass, and into the hills and plains beyond.
Aarisk sat on the shoulder of the pass entrance as it had always done but it was… broken. The scout had been right. The buildings were half-ruined and burnt, and there were gaping holes in the curtain wall. The streets and houses were blackened with soot, and the gateway was unbarred by gates. Towers had been toppled on to the road that wound up the hillside, and a pall of smoke hung over the mouth of the pass. Through the haze, everything was dark. The hillside pastures were dead. The woods further up the mountains were a swathe of stumps and still-smouldering fires.
Everything had been destroyed.
Erlaan growled and clenched his fists. This was Ullsaard's doing. The people of Aarisk had razed their town rather than let it fall into the hands of the Mekhani. The Askhan king was willing not just to sacrifice Ersua, but to employ a scorched earth policy wherever the Mekhani might advance.
"What has happened, mighty Orlassai?" asked one of the Mekhani. "What shall we do now?"
Erlaan looked down at the man's red face, eyes wide with doubt and pleading. It sickened the king-messiah. Every decision was his to make. Every detail, every smallest inconvenience, was his to resolve alone. The Mekhani were pathetic. They were like children, looking to him to solve every problem.
With a surge of anger, fuelled by Ullsaard's ruthless approach and the naive bleating of the scout, Erlaan grabbed the man by the throat. His fingers snapped his neck without effort, blood surging through the king-messiah's grip and splashing to the rocky ground. With a snarl, he hurled the corpse away, tossing it easily from the ridge.
The other scouts cowered back, both afraid and adoring, torn between their love and fear of their strange ruler. For a moment, Erlaan held his anger in check. What good would it do to lash out at these poor creatures? It was not their fault that the runes of the Temple made them slaves to the Orlassai's every whim; it was not their fault they were robbed of reason in the presence of their king-messiah.
The moment passed and loathing returned. What good would their deaths serve? They would sate the king's bloodthirst, which denied by Ullsaard's tricks now raged in his veins; that was cause enough.
Erlaan drew his huge sword and stepped towards the scouts, ignoring the shrieks of the terrified men.
CAVRINA, NALANOR/OKHAR BORDER
Spring, 212th year of Askh
I
"You have to admire their persistence," said Naadlin. The First Captain of the Second shielded his eyes against the morning sun and smiled. "But I mu
ch prefer their stupidity."
"Don't praise stupidity too much," replied Ullsaard, walking up from behind the cluster of legion commanders. "Stupid men don't know when they're beaten and fight on regardless. If this amateur had any idea about strategy, he would have scuttled back to Mekha ten days ago when we nearly had him at Lastuun."
Harrakil looked unconvinced.
"There are still more than forty thousand of them left," he said. He looked at his king. "How far away did you say the Seventh and Twenty-First are?"
"Twenty miles, no more," said Ullsaard. "I sent the messengers back telling their commanders not to dawdle. They'll be here mid-Noonwatch at the latest."
