by Gav Thorpe
The Grand Precinct is never deserted, Ullsaard. Have you gone yourself to the great door and demanded entry?
"No, why would I? The knock of one man is the same as any other."
You are not any other man, you are the king! You accept your respon sibilities with furrowed brow and sagging shoulders, but make no use of the rights that you possess. Go to the Grand Precincts. I will guide you.
The king considered this. There was no assurance that Askhos could be trusted; in fact, every reason to believe the opposite. Similarly, the Brotherhood was Askhos' tool, and had used every means they had to thwart Ullsaard's claim to the Crown. It was likely they would continue to resist his rule.
Your are wrong, Askhos interrupted his thoughts. The Brotherhood opposed you because you were a usurper and, as Lutaar, I instructed them to. You still act like a usurper, not a rightful king. Re establish the Brotherhood and command them as I did. Show the Brotherhood that you do not fear them, that you have every right to wear the Crown as any man that came before you. You think that the Broth erhood is inactive, simply because they do not carry out your bidding? Better to bring them back into the light of your gaze than leave them to foster their own plans in the shadows.
This last comment struck a chord with Ullsaard. In Askhira, with the burning of Ullsaard's fleet, the Brotherhood had demonstrated their power to work unseen. Even now they could be manipulating the people of the empire. Somewhere, Erlaan and Kalmud were still alive, and no doubt there were those amongst the Brotherhood who would see the previous line restored. Askhos was right. If Ullsaard was to be treated as a king, he had to act like one.
A bell chimed the second hour of Duskwatch. The thought of going to the Grand Precincts as darkness fell unsettled Ullsaard.
"I will sleep on the decision," he said, though the laughter of Askhos in Ullsaard's mind revealed that the dead king knew his true reasons for delaying until the light of morning.
III
Only the drip of the water clock disturbed the silence within the mausoleum-like bowels of the Grand Precincts. Consisting of two bowls set one above the other, the clock sat on the table in the chamber of the High Brother.
Lakhyri stared at the drops of water as they fell, his golden eyes following each from the top bowl to the second. It intrigued and irked him in equal measure, this passing of time, the slow wearing of mortality and entropy. In the Temple he was immortal; here in the world every passing drip was a passing moment of his life. It did not wear on him heavily, but was a slow erosion of his existence like the wind wearing down a mountaintop. The runes carved into his flesh itched, leeching life-giving power from the thousands of small creatures and insects that infested the deserted Grand Precincts, sustaining him with their tiny contributions of force.
He dismissed thoughts of time and turned his mind to more pressing matters. Erlaan was installed as the new figurehead of the Mekhani. He was under instruction to begin a more concerted campaign against Okhar before the end of the year. The situation in Salphoria was confusing to the high priest. He could fathom no reason why Ullsaard had stalled his advance so swiftly. By Lakhyri's calculation, the king should have been smashing down the gates of Carantathi by the end of the summer.
Lakhyri wondered if he had moved too soon. Had encouraging the Mekhani distracted Ullsaard from his campaign? It seemed unlikely. The raids had been carefully planned to add impetus to the king's war, not delay it. Ullsaard was meant to crush Salphoria swiftly so that he could return to deal with the Mekhani attacks. Instead, he had called a halt to his conquest and returned to Askh.
Like many things of late, it perturbed Lakhyri that matters were progressing in ways he had not foreseen. Ullsaard was so unpredictable. Other men, even his brother Askhos, had been simple to manipulate; acting and reacting in ways that had been laid out in Lakhyri's mind like a map. This new king, he caused problems. He was an anomaly. He should never have been born. From that moment, things had started to go awry, even if the full extent of his deviation from the great plan of Lakhyri was not yet fully known.
The high priest reined back his thoughts from such amorphous speculation. He had to focus. The dripping of the water clock rang loudly in his ears, reminding him that the eulanui were losing patience. He could not allow himself to be distracted by the longer consequences of what had gone wrong. The empire had to be complete. Ullsaard needed to conquer Salphoria. At the moment of Ullsaard's triumph, Erlaan would sweep hotwards with his Mekhani horde and take over Greater Askhor, thus uniting the new empire of Askh with the ancient realm of Mekha. As foretold, a single king would rule all of the lands between the seas.
And when that happened…
A gong echoed along the corridors. For a moment, Lakhyri thought that he was back in the Temple, hearing the call to prayer. The moment passed and as the gong sounded twice and thrice, he realised what was happening. The lingering presence of Udaan stirred in a corner of the body Lakhyri had stolen from the High Brother and the meaning of the three gong notes became clear.
The new king was paying a visit.
He picked up the silver mask lying next to the water clock and pulled its straps over his head. Lifting up the hood of his robe, Lakhyri stood, mind abuzz with concerns at this development.
With long strides, he navigated his way along the corridors and halls until he came to the large double doors of the Grand Precinct's main portal. Pulling a rope, he activated a series of counterweights. The doors ground inwards, sweeping two arcs through the dust that had settled on the stone floor.
Morning light streamed inside, silhouetting a large man stood with legs braced apart, arms folded across a muscled chest. He was dressed in a simple tunic and kilt. Lakhyri noted with interest that he did not wear the Crown, and there was no sword at his waist.
So this was Ullsaard, who had stolen the Crown of the Blood. Lakhyri measured up the man in an instant. Physically powerful, self-confident, ingrained with the assumption of command. Prideful. He had come here unarmed, which showed that he was either arrogant or naive. Lakhyri detected the singular presence of the Blood, lingering beneath the surface of the man.
Remembering that he currently played the part of the High Brother, Lakhyri dropped to one knee, eyes locked on the newcomer.
"Welcome, King Ullsaard, to the Grand Precincts of the Brotherhood."
IV
Lakhyri ushered the king into the reception hall, noting the man's roving eyes and tenseness in his body that conflicted with his affected air of confidence.
"You're not Udaan," said Ullsaard. "Even without the eyes, I can tell you're someone else by the way you hold yourself."
The high priest did not waste his precious time with denial.
"My name is Lakhyri. I am the custodian of the Brotherhood's secrets. If I can be of any service, please inform me."
Ullsaard paused for a moment, the slightest of frowns creasing his brow, as if he was listening to someone whispering in his ear. He gave a slight, involuntary shake of the head.
"Show me everything," said the king. "The Archive of Ages, the lava tanks, the ailur pits."
"There is little to see, my king. There are no Brothers here except for me."
"And we both know that you are not really a Brother," said Ullsaard, a lopsided smile briefly twisting his lips. "You are something far more important, aren't you? And you can dispense with calling me 'king'; I know that you have no loyalty to me."
Lakhyri stifled a hissing intake of breath. He scoured the king's face, searching for clues as to his intent. The high priest detected amusement, curiosity. And something else, something Lakhyri could not place, momentary distractions of attention.
"You are well-informed," said Lakhyri. A glimmer of an answer was born in the depths of the priest's mind, but it was indistinct, as yet nascent. "Unnaturally so."
"King Lutaar was very helpful before I slit his throat," said Ullsaard.
The implied threat was immature, an unnecessary reversion to basic animal insti
nct. Lakhyri smiled thinly behind his mask, certain that the usurper was far less sure of himself than he was pretending.
"It is not a tour of the Grand Precincts that brought you here," said Lakhyri. He waved for Ullsaard to follow and turned towards the corridor that led to his adopted chamber. "If you would come with me, we can discuss these matters in more… comfort."
Ullsaard stepped forward quickly; catching up with Lakhyri in four strides, anxious not to be trailing behind the man he considered his inferior. Again, the king's eyes were taking in every detail; the stonework, the dust on the tiled floor, the faded murals all were subjected to his active gaze.
"The Grand Precincts are older than Askh, right?" said Ullsaard.
Lakhyri glanced to his left to see the king trailing his fingertips along the wall, perhaps trying to get a sense of the place by touch when eyes and ears had failed. Lakhyri considered something else. Ullsaard clearly had the Blood, and as one of the Temple's interfaces in this world, the Grand Precincts resonated with the king on a level he probably did not understand.
"Many thousands of years older," said Lakhyri.
He sensed that Ullsaard already knew this. He was probing, questioning Lakhyri in a manner more subtle than his questions suggested, trying to get a measure of the priest, judging his honesty. Lakhyri was happy to be open for the moment. The more Ullsaard understood about what he faced, the better the chance that he would accede to Lakhyri's demands when they were made. Already the high priest was reconsidering his schemes, intrigued by the possibility that Ullsaard might be prepared to take up where Askhos-as-Lutaar had failed, without the need for too much subterfuge.
They reached a junction in the passageway and Lakhyri noticed that Ullsaard was turning to the right, towards the chamber, before the priest had indicated the path they needed to follow. It was a small thing, but it raised fresh suspicions in Lakhyri's mind; Ullsaard already knew this place. It was impossible. No mortal save for the members of the Brotherhood had stepped foot inside this building, and even the most gruesome torture would not make them reveal their secrets. For all that, Ullsaard's existence had meant to be impossible, yet here he was, literally as large as life, towering over the wizened priest as they reached the study chamber.
Lakhyri held aside the curtain of beads across the door, dipping his head to indicate to Ullsaard that he should enter. As the king passed, the priest's golden eyes bore into Ullsaard, looking past the flesh and bones, trying to see the web of energy within. The Blood glittered in Lakhyri's altered vision, and there was an odd haze about the king's head that he had not seen before. It was another clue, but the meaning and importance Lakhyri could not yet divine.
Ullsaard sat on a stool beside the table with the water clock, smiling at something unknown to Lakhyri. The priest sat on the other side and laid his palms on the worn wooden table, achieving a moment of stillness that calmed his racing thoughts.
"This place, the Brotherhood that inherited it from its founders, is dedicated to a single purpose," said Ullsaard. His eyes were fixed on Lakhyri, never once straying to look at the bound scrolls on the shelves around the walls, nor the cracked mosaic underfoot. "You desire an empire; one that covers all of the lands from dawn to dusk, cold to hot, sea to sea. Our goals are in accord, and there is no reason for us to be enemies."
Lakhyri thought about this, sitting absolutely still, allowing his mind to swiftly process this new information and gauge a response. On the face of things, Ullsaard spoke the truth. He had not once claimed personal ambition for taking the Crown, but pretended that he had done so for the benefit of Greater Askhor. The priest detected no deception in the king, but self-deception was always a possibility. For the moment, Ullsaard believed the truth of what he said.
"They are, and there is not," said Lakhyri. "Yet you made an enemy of the Brotherhood. You chose to set yourself against the king that they supported."
"A king that you supported also," said Ullsaard. "Perhaps I wish to make peace with my enemy. I am king now. Support me."
The king's tone hovered between request and demand. Never one to take such things at face value, Lakhyri took stock of his options, appraising Ullsaard's intent and sincerity. Taking all the factors into account, the king's offer was an unexpected boon. He was clearly feeling the pressure of two costly and potentially disastrous wars. For a brief moment, Lakhyri was conflicted. If he refused his support, his plan with Erlaan and the Mekhani might bear fruition even sooner than he had calculated. On the negative side, such a victory would still leave the necessary conquest of Salphoria unresolved. The best outcome would be to help Ullsaard defeat the Salphorians whilst leaving him open to being toppled shortly after. Lakhyri had two plans in motion and it was in his best interest to keep them both moving forwards. He made his decision.
"If you wish to rebuild the Brotherhood, I will assist you in whatever way I can," said the high priest. "Under my guidance and your leadership, the empire will prevail over its current problems. I would see you conquer all of the lands between the seas, as Askhos decreed."
Again Ullsaard hesitated before speaking, distracted for a moment, a smirk playing across his lips for a moment.
"Then it is agreed," said the king. "I shall remove the injunction against the Brotherhood, release those under arrest and restore the power of the precincts. You will use the means you have to inform the Brothers that their oaths of allegiance to the empire apply equally to me as they did my predecessor."
Ullsaard stood and held out his hand. Lakhyri looked at it for a moment, confused, before he remembered that it was a gesture of trust. By accepting it, he would be symbolically sealing the nature of their agreement. His spindly, rune-etched fingers closed around the rough hand of the king and they shook on the deal.
"The agreement is reached," said Lakhyri, glad that his mask concealed his satisfied smile.
He moved to withdraw his hand from Ullsaard's grip, but the king's fingers remained tight for a little longer. He pulled Lakhyri slightly closer, the high priest unable to resist the much stronger man.
"If I have the slightest suspicion, just the smallest whiff of betrayal, yours will be the first head to be separated from its neck," Ullsaard said with a pleasant smile that was not matched by the murderous glint in his eyes.
Released, Lakhyri took a step back, his smile gone. Such juvenile threats were usually pointless, but there was something about the king's manner that unsettled Lakhyri. He definitely knew more than he had said, and Lakhyri realised the threat had not been idle nor should it be lightly dismissed. There was something oddly familiar about the way Ullsaard acted, the way he carried himself and the things he said, but the high priest could not yet identify exactly what it was. He would have to watch the situation — and this new king — very closely.
Geria
Autumn, 212th year of Askh
I
The docks were thick with ships and boats, the cranes swinging above, loading and unloading the last surge of trade before winter. A grey sky thick with dark clouds hung over Geria, bloated with a coming storm. One wharf was conspicuously empty, and it was to this that the captain of Ullsaard's ship directed the tillermen.
The king prowled the foredeck and scanned the dockside for any sign of ceremony or other nonsense. He had been clear in his letter to Urikh that his arrival was to be conducted with the minimum of fuss. Ullsaard saw a few companies of legionnaires arranged along the open area beyond the quays; his son's ceremonial guard. Other than this obligatory gesture, it seemed as if the docks were operating as normal, much to Ullsaard's relief.
As the boat swung towards the quay, Ullsaard watched the labourers going about their work. He saw the distinctive black robes of the Brotherhood amongst the half-naked men. Askhos had told him that Lakhyri's response would be swift, but the king had still been surprised by the speed with which the Brotherhood had resurfaced. Within a few days, long before Ullsaard's letters to the governors had arrived, the Grand Precincts in Askh had been bustli
ng again. For most, Ullsaard's change of policy had been a relief, and he had been inundated with visits and messages of approval from across Askh as the news had spread.
In part, it was to escape the confines of the palaces that Ullsaard had come to Okhar. He had reason enough to be here; the Mekhani attacks had subsided but had not stopped and it was the king's opinion that they were gathering their strength for some greater move. Urikh had assured him by herald that the extra three legions brought in from other provinces at the king's command were sufficient to contain any threat, but Ullsaard had little faith in his son's military acumen.
With a grind of wood on wood, the ship slid along the wharf, shaking beneath Ullsaard's feet. As ropes were tossed to the waiting men ashore, Ullsaard headed down to the main deck, impatient to be on dry land again. The deck thudded with feet as his accompanying guard of a hundred legionnaires from the First assembled behind him. As soon as the gangway had been lowered, the king strode from the ship, his bodyguard's captain calling out a hasty order for the soldiers to fall in behind their king.
Turning along the wharf, Ullsaard saw Urikh stepping out from his own guard. The king could see Luia standing a little behind her son. She seemed to be in conversation with one of the company captains. Judging by the officer's nervousness, the topic was not to his liking with Ullsaard bearing down upon them with a body of armed men. Ullsaard wondered for a moment if Luia was offering some new proposal, or simply making conversation with a current partner. The king dismissed the thoughts; he had more important things on his mind.
Urikh waited for his father where the quay met the dockside. He looked relaxed and his skin was tanned from the Okhar summer. Forgetting for a moment that he was a king meeting one of his governors, Ullsaard smiled with pride. In his official white robes, the green-and-gold sash of Okhar across his chest, Urikh seemed to have matured by ten years. Gone was the scheming boy who used to trick his brothers into taking the blame for his misadventures; gone was the gambling teen who used to fleece his friends with his wrestling wagers and loaded set of bones; gone was the speculating trader who would risk a fortune on a rumour of a bad harvest or the loss of a cargo ship.
