by Gav Thorpe
"Busier than usual," said Furlthia as the two of them sat down on a low bench along the wall.
"Ullsaard's army will be marching in a few days' time," said Lenorin. "Everybody's running around trying to sell their last stock, or secure a contract, or offer their services. It's embarrassing."
Furlthia raised an eyebrow.
"Embarrassing?"
Lenorin nodded, keeping his voice even but there was the faintest curl of sneer on his lip.
"Look at them all," he said, waving a hand to encompass the milling crowds of merchants, chieftains and craftsmen haggling, chatting and arguing. "Like dogs fighting for the scraps from the table of their master. Look at him, the tall one with the red hair. That's Gelthar, one of the Pretari chieftains. The moment he heard of the Askhan invasion, he deserted his tribe and came to the city to become a captain. His family has given blood and sweat for their lands for generations, but as soon as the Askhans show up he forgets all that and wants to sweep away his neighbours. He's not the only one. Half the men in this building are traitors and cowards."
"So, what's the plan to stop them?"
IV
The row of houses along the street was a testament to wealth and privilege. In a city where space was at a premium, the large gardens, high walls and multi-storey buildings were proof of the power of their owners. Each was built from white stone and dark red brick, with slate roofs and heavy wooden beams to support them. When a lot of Magilnadan families shared just one or two rooms, each small palace was a bold extravagance with half a dozen bedchambers, deep cellars, separate kitchens, feasting halls and multiple lounges and rooms of study and relaxation.
Originally they had been the homes of the city's founders and as Magilnada had fallen under the influence of the Salphorian tribes, the chieftains had taken residence. Some still showed evidence of this, with ancient flags hanging from the eaves and weather-beaten shields mounted beneath the upper windows.
The Magilnadan nobility had all been slain over the last couple of years and now the Hill of Chieftains was the select province of Anglhan's favourites; and Ullsaard, who had secured one of the properties for his family when he had taken the city for Askhor.
The king dismissed his bodyguard at the end of the street and walked alone past the fresco-covered walls and brightly painted gates. He came to the third house, its gate a vivid scarlet, the plastered walls adorned with paintings of the mountains, eagles flying above the peaks, golden lions prowling the valleys.
A smaller door opened in the gate as he approached, the servants within warned of his arrival. Stepping inside, the king found himself in a cobbled yard, an empty ailur pen to the right, a covered space for chariots and carriages to his left. A handful of servants greeted him, heads bowed respectfully. The man who had opened the door bowed and introduced himself as Irian. Ullsaard guessed him to be Anrairian or Ersuan by his stocky build and accent.
"Your family awaits your pleasure in the main reception hall, majesty," said Irian.
Ullsaard gestured for the servant to lead the way and dismissed the others back to their duties. He followed Irian across the courtyard and into the shadow of the wide porch. The doors to the house were already open and Irian stepped aside to allow the king to enter first.
Fresh flowers flanked the hall in tall vases and were hanging from the rafters overhead, filling the house with their strong perfume. The floor was lined with a deep red wood and the walls covered with patterned, abstract tapestries. Ullsaard advanced slowly, taking in every detail even as his thoughts were occupied by what he was going to say to his wives. He mentally cursed Anglhan for not delivering Ullsaard's letter, while at the same time he conceded that perhaps talk of divorce was best done in person. He just wished he was not the person who had to talk about it.
He passed several open archways and came to a set of double doors at the end. Irian slipped past at the last moment to fling them in.
"King Ullsaard!" the servant declared, stepping aside.
Ullsaard stopped level with Irian and stooped to whisper to him.
"This is my family, not a faceless rabble to be awed. They know who I am."
Irian shuffled nervously and bobbed his head in mute agreement. Ullsaard straightened and entered the hall with steady strides, unsure what to expect. In his mind, nothing had really changed, but he knew that he was king now and even his family would treat him differently.
The reception hall was about thirty paces long and twenty wide. It opened onto an internal garden at the far end and a long table ran almost the full length of the room. The floor was covered in a mosaic depicting a flock of red-feathered birds flying across a sky, the circle of the sun beneath the chair at the head of the table.
Ullsaard's family clustered around the chair, eyes fixed on the king; his wives, Allenya, Luia and Meliu; two of his sons, Ullnaar and Urikh; and his mother, Pretaa. A little further away stood another pair — two daughters-in-law, one of them holding Ullsaard's granddaughter Luissa.
The king saw none of them save for Allenya. His eldest wife looked at him with a mixture of relief and happiness and stepped forward to accept his long embrace when he crossed the room. Ullsaard buried his face in the thick curls of her hair and stroked the back of her head. The two of them held each other for some time, saying nothing, enjoying the moment of reuniting.
Eventually Ullsaard pulled himself back, planting a kiss on Allenya's lips. Meliu was the next to greet him, skipping up to receive his kiss on her forehead. She planted her own welcome on each bearded cheek. Luia nodded politely, but even her severe expression softened and a smile played on her lips when Ullsaard bowed his head to her. He shook hands with Urikh and Ullnaar, ruffled Luissa's hair and then waved for them to be seated at the table, which the servants were quickly lading with all manner of food.
He stood behind the head chair for a moment, hands on its back, and looked at his gathered family. Only Jutaar, his second son, was missing. Instated as First Captain of the First Magilnadan legion he was at the main camp overseeing his men's preparations for the invasion.
"It seems like an age since we've all been together," said Ullsaard. He shook his head, not quite believing himself. "Without all of you, I would have failed. Now I am king, and you are the most powerful family in Greater Askhor. It makes me so proud to be your husband, your father, and your king."
He sat down and grabbed a cup of wine. In one long draught, he emptied the cup and slapped it back onto the table. Smacking his lips, he grinned at Allenya.
"This may not be Askh, but it's good to be home!"
He was about to help himself to some chicken when he caught sight of Meliu gazing intently at him. Seeing her suddenly reminded him of something he had forgotten in the excitement of his homecoming. He rose to his feet so quickly that his chair toppled back to the floor.
"Where is Noran?" he asked, looking at Meliu. She flushed red, remembering her indiscretion with Ullsaard's friend.
"He is upstairs," said Allenya. She leaned across the table and laid a hand on Ullsaard's arm. "Please, eat with us. Enjoy your meal. You can see Noran when we are finished."
Ullsaard nodded. He waved away the pair of servants that stepped forward to help him right the chair. Sitting down again, Ullsaard leaned forwards, elbows on the table.
"Let's eat."
V
A bird chirped happily to itself in a gilded cage, answered by others of its kind from a tree in the gardens outside the window. Ullsaard barely noticed the bird as he entered. His attention was fixed on Noran. The former herald to King Lutaar lay on a low cot, sheets pulled back, his yellowish chest and shoulders catching the sun coming through the window. As well as its jaundiced tint, Noran's skin had a thin, weathered look to it. There was little fat and muscle left, his face gaunt, his limbs withered.
Meliu followed Ullsaard into the small bedroom, a bowl of broth on a tray. She placed the soup on a table beside the bed and knelt down next to Noran. Spoonful by spoonful, she fed him, dr
ibbling the liquid between his parted lips.
"He breathes, and he swallows, but that's about it," Meliu said when she was done. She pulled a spindly hand from beneath the covers and held it, locking her fingers with those of Noran. "I have to let the servants clean him up and change the sheets."
Ullsaard looked at his youngest wife.
"Do you want to be with him?" he asked.
She did not stir from gazing at Noran's pinched face.
"I don't think he would want to be with me," she said. "After… After what we did, he would not have anything to do with me."
"I want to give you a divorce," Ullsaard said, blurting it out.
Meliu turned horrified eyes to the king, tears instantly reddening them.
"Why? I am sorry for what happened with Noran. You said you understood. Why would you do this to me? I know you don't love me like Allenya, but I've b-"
"Forget it," snapped Ullsaard. "I thought it would be something you wanted, so that if Noran recovers you could be together."
Meliu stood up, still holding Noran's hand.
"If you want to get rid of me, be honest about it. Do not pretend that it is for my benefit. You have always wanted Allenya alone, we know that."
Ullsaard backed towards the door.
"I made a mistake," he said. He looked at Noran again. "It's not going to matter anyway."
Meliu's face scrunched into the fiercest scowl she had ever mustered, taking Ullsaard by surprise. Fists clenched, his wife advanced across the room until she was right in front of him, the top of her head barely reaching up to his chin.
"You are a selfish bastard, Ullsaard," she snarled. "Would you prefer it if your friend died? Do you care about nothing except yourself?"
Ullsaard pushed her away, as gently as he could manage.
"I would prefer it if he died swiftly, not this lingering half-death. Maybe it was a mistake to keep him alive in the first place."
"Look at him!" shrieked Meliu. "He is alive. He just needs more time, to build his strength."
Ullsaard laughed and instantly regretted it.
"I am sorry. I don't find this funny, but you are lying to yourself if you think he will recover. You cannot keep him alive forever. I have never seen a man looking so ill." Ullsaard pulled the small knife from his belt and tossed it onto the bed at Noran's feet. "I would end his misery, but I leave it up to you."
Meliu looked with disgust at the knife. She snatched it up and for a moment Ullsaard thought she was going to attack him. Instead, she slapped it back into his hand, hilt-first.
"Murder whomever you like," she said. "Do not expect me to be as heartless. If you want him dead, do it by your own hand, not mine."
Ullsaard walked out, brushing aside the curtain of beads that covered the doorway. He heard Meliu's sobs as he continued along the landing. Servants were moving about the house lighting lamps. Ullsaard stopped at the top of the curving stairway, feeling awkward and out of place. This house already had its own life, its routines and small traditions, and he was not part of them. He was about to embark on the ruthless conquest of Salphoria, but it was in this quiet, domestic realm that he felt like a true invader.
Halfway down the stairs, he met Allenya coming the other way. She smiled, linked arms with him and turned him back towards the landing. Saying nothing, she gently guided him to a bedchamber at the back of the house.
"I have missed you," Allenya said as she drew the heavy curtain across the door. She pulled free two clasps and her long dress fell to the floor, revealing tanned skin. She lay sideways on the bed, pulling up one leg, stroking a hand down her thigh. "I hope being king has not tired you out."
Ullsaard looked down at his wife and grinned.
"Not a chance," he said.
He threw off his kilt and shirt and flopped on to the bed beside Allenya. Holding back his desire, Ullsaard ran his fingers across Allenya's breasts and down to her belly. He leaned forward to kiss her on the thigh, moving slowly down her leg towards her ankle. His hands moved beneath her, turning Allenya to her back as his lips moved on a return course up the inside of her leg.
A gentle but insistent tug pulled him alongside Allenya and she held his face in her hands, staring into his eyes. They shared a long kiss, tongues meeting tentatively at first. Ullsaard eased his leg over Allenya's, feeling the touch of the hair between her legs on his thigh. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, their kissing become fiercer.
Allenya broke away with a giggle, running clawed fingers through Ullsaard's chest hair, fingernails lightly scratching the skin.
"You are a great man," she said, barely breathing the words. "I loved you as a captain and I love you as a king."
"And as captain and king, I love you," said Ullsaard. "I would give up the empire for you."
"That will not be needed," Allenya said with a smile. "Though I must share you with Greater Askhor, there are some things which are mine alone. But you will never have to share me. This is for your eyes and no other."
Ullsaard straightened, allowing the evening sun to paint Allenya's body a golden brown. He looked at every part of her; her lips, her slender limbs, her firm breasts, her soft eyes. Ullsaard bent forwards to kiss her neck, but stopped as lips brushed skin.
Something Allenya had just said was percolating the fog of his desire.
"Is something the matter, my husband?" she asked, noticing his sudden hesitation.
Ullsaard could say nothing. What was he to tell her? That he had suddenly realised that perhaps they were not alone in the room? That the spirit of a dead king lived on in his mind, and perhaps was at that very moment ogling her naked body with Ullsaard's eyes?
Askhos had said he saw and heard everything that Ullsaard saw and heard. The Crown was more than a thousand miles away in Askh, but there was part of Ullsaard that was no longer him.
The thought revolted him. He imagined Askhos's face, twisted and leering as it shared Ullsaard's moment of intimacy. Did the dead king feel Allenya's nipples between his fingers, or smell the scent of the wetness between her legs? Would Askhos share the climax that was to come, experience the passion and release of that most personal of moments?
With a growl, Ullsaard flopped sideways onto the bed. His excitement had evaporated, his member flaccid at the thought of Askhos intruding upon this entirely personal situation.
Saying nothing, Allenya used her hands to work Ullsaard back to full manhood, but her attentions were in vain. The more Ullsaard looked at her, felt her grip on his shaft, the more the thought of the dead king lurking in his head sickened him. Even the lust that burned through Ullsaard was not enough to fight back the disgust welling up inside at the thought of sharing Allenya with another man, alive or dead.
"I am sorry," he told her. He pushed her hand away from his groin and held her close. She wrapped her arms around him and stroked his hair.
"It does not matter," said Allenya. "We are together. That is enough."
Ullsaard tried to keep the rage and frustration in check as he hugged Allenya tightly, but could not prevent hot tears from spilling down his cheeks, just for a moment. With a free hand, Allenya drew the sheets over them, Ullsaard nestled closer, head on her breast, drained in mind and body.
Sharing a cocoon of warmth and love, he drifted into a dreamless sleep.
VI
While a small band of legionnaires aggressively emptied the main hall of petitioners, Lenorin reappeared from the throng and told Furlthia to follow him. Furlthia found himself being led into a part of the palace he had not seen before; judging by the clean look of the stone blocks and the smell of fresh paint, the corridor he was walking along had not been built when he had last been in the city.
At the end, the corridor branched out into a circular vestibule, with steps leading around the wall to an open gallery above. Lenorin took the steps two at a time, his energy not diminished by his senior years. Furlthia was a little out of breath by the time he reached the top, having completed
a full circuit of the domed chamber to access the gallery.
A small wooden door, almost hidden between two framed paintings of the city — from duskward and dawnward it appeared — opened at Lenorin's touch. The two of them had to duck a little to gain entry. Inside was a small room no bigger than a dozen paces across, filled with shelves holding stacks of clay tablets and piles of scrolls.
Anglhan sat behind a narrow desk, scribbling onto a wax tablet.
"Just making my notes for the day," the governor said without looking up.
Lenorin retrieved a canvas-seated stool from somewhere and invited Furlthia to sit down.
"I shall leave you two to your business," said the chancellor.
Furlthia watched him go. The room darkened measurably as the small door was shut; the only light was a candle lamp hanging from a chain in the centre of the ceiling. Furlthia cleared his throat but Anglhan held up a hand to quieten him before he could say anything.
"Just a couple more things…" Anglhan was so intent his brow was a deep frown, the governor regularly licking his lips with concentration.
Finally he placed his stylus onto the desktop and looked up.
"A while ago, you said that Aegenuis was calling a council of chieftains," said Anglhan. "Well, the Askhans are invading right now, so what's Aegenuis's plan?"
Furlthia dragged the stool closer to the desk and leaned forwards.
"To stop them," he said. "He knows that no single tribe is strong enough to hold against the Askhans. He wants to bring as many chieftains together as he can and form a single army."
Anglhan's shake of the head was doubtful. He scratched his nose, sorted through the pile of papers on his desk and brought one forth.
"Ullsaard has unleashed almost every legion in Greater Askhor," said the governor. "Nearly one hundred thousand soldiers by the last count. I'm in the process of raising a new legion at the moment. Aegenuis's only hope of survival is to accept the inevitable; he has to treat with the Askhans."
