The Crown of the Blood

by Gav Thorpe

  "It is good to see you as well, my friend," Ullsaard said. "On the road you will have to tell me what you have been doing with yourself these past two years."

  "Well, maybe," Noran said with a wink. "There's a few tales I'm not sure that I trust you with!"

  Noran gave a nod of reassurance and turned towards the doorway. At the edge of the rugs he turned back to look at Ullsaard.

  "And get your feet washed, I could smell them as soon as I came in," he said with a grin.

  Ullsaard nodded and smiled, and watched his friend leave the pavilion. He suppressed another sigh. A trip back to the capital was no small diversion, even if there was the promise of a more profitable command at the end of it. His servants would have to pack up everything needed, gather supplies from the storehouses; there were wagons and abada to requisition, handlers needed for the ailurs.

  There was also the question of whether or not to take a bodyguard. There was little physical danger travelling to coldwards; the Greenwater was patrolled by the galleys and soldiers of Askhor and prosperity had swept away most of the brigandage that had plagued the empire in earlier generations. On the other side, it was expected that a general of Askhor travelled with a certain amount of style and gravitas. Tradition and appearance were considered by many to be as important as practicality.

  On balance, it would be less of a pain to leave the soldiers and travel with servants alone. The presence of legionnaires escalated matters; they needed officers, their own supplies and other considerations that would turn what was already a considerable journey into a major expedition.

  "Attend me!" yelled Ullsaard and moments later a dozen servants came scurrying from amongst the wooden screens.

  VI

  Hills rose up on either side of the rude turnpike, crowned by stunted trees and thorny bushes. The bell-laden harnesses of the abada jingled pleasantly as the beasts of burden plodded along the stony track that led dawnwards towards the Greenwater. Six abada carts rumbled and pitched over the uneven roadway, each pulled by a team of four beasts. Red and white awnings were hooked onto poles over the wagons and amongst the chests and sacks Ullsaard's servants dozed while the drivers flicked long switches across the backs of the abada to keep them plodding on.

  Ullsaard, Erlaan and Noran rode ahead of the wagons, their ailurs panting in the heat. The sky above was cloudless and the sun beat down relentlessly as it had done since they had left the camp earlier that morning. Noran noted that Erlaan was quiet, no doubt wrapped up in thoughts concerning his father. Ullsaard was his usual taciturn self, so Noran was talkative enough for the three of them and had entertained Ullsaard with tales for two solid watches.

  "So I was on Neerita's balcony, with nought but my scabbard to shield my dignity, when her father returned," Noran was saying. "I saw his chariot come through the gates and hid behind the parapet, all the while listening to the shrieking of Neerita's mother from through the open doors."

  "Isn't her father Neerat Aluuns?" said Ullsaard. "He's Prince Aalun's treasurer!"

  "Well, Aalun will need to find someone else to keep his accounts, I'm afraid," said Noran. "Neerita confessed all, and my involvement in the affair, and old Neerat called me out on it. The prince tried to persuade him otherwise but he was insistent. I killed him on the bloodfields at dusk the next day."

  "So you've finally settled down," said Ullsaard. "Good for you. Did any sisters come with your new bride?"

  "An older one, and a sour-mouthed, ill-eyed, poison-tongued bitch at that," snarled Noran. He shuddered as he remembered his first encounter with the icy Anriit. "Suffice to say, she shares my roof but not my bed! Still, Neerita is game enough for the bedroom athletics, and may be bearing me a child. We'll know for sure once she has visited the loremother."

  Ullsaard shook his head in disbelief.

  "I leave you to your own devices for two years and you end up a husband and probably a father," said Ullsaard, leaning across to slap Noran on the arm. "You'd avoided it for so long I thought you were going to join the Brotherhood."

  At this Noran broke into a deep laugh, almost falling from the saddle.

  "My father would have loved that, I'm sure," said Noran. "The Astaan lands around the city would have made a fine addition to someone else's inheritance. Suffice to say, the Astaan legacy is now safely mine once more. I'll not be ceding my lands to the throne and running off to a Brotherhood precinct, I'm afraid. You'll just have to conquer some more of Mekha if you want new farms."

  "I can't say I ever saw you as fit for the Brotherhood," said Ullsaard. "Well, for a start, you'd have all that reading to do first. I'd bet half a third-born's dowry that you haven't picked up a copy of the Book of Askhos since you left your father's house."

  "I didn't even read it before then, I must admit," said Noran with a guilty smile. "What's the point of the Brotherhood dedicating their lives to understanding its meanings if we all go out and make it up for ourselves?"

  "To find personal enlightenment, perhaps?" said Ullsaard, suddenly serious. "I never figured you for a heathen."

  "Heathen?" said Noran with a choking cough. "Have you actually read that book? It's so tiresome."

  "They are sacred words," warned Ullsaard, directing a glare at the herald. "They guide us, and give us meaning. The great Askhos laid down some pretty specific instructions for his descendants. You'd know that if you bothered to read the book."

  Noran held up his hands in surrender.

  "I did not intend to offend," he said. "As you say, I am a man of means and responsibilities now, so perhaps I will pay more attention to the mighty ancestor's teachings."

  The two rode in stiff silence for a while longer. The light was beginning to fade and their shadows lengthened on the dusty cobbles. Eventually, Noran turned back to Ullsaard with a twinkle in his eye.

  "I don't suppose you could direct me to the pages where old Askhos had any advice on what to do with axe-faced second wives, could you?"

  Their laughter drifted across the hills to join the background chorus of buzzing insects and birdsong.

  VII

  That night, they made camp under open skies. Not since a hunting expedition n Ersua more than a year before had Ullsaard been away from the company of several thousand other men for more than a watch. He took delight in the peace, and wandered away from the camp as his servants prepared the evening meal.

  His stroll took him coldwards and dawnwards from the road, towards Askhor, his adopted home. Cresting a hill a few hundred paces from the wagons, Ullsaard stopped and gazed around him, savouring the cooler night air and basking in the chirrup and chitter of small wildlife. Bats flitted above him, and darted towards the circle of light surrounding the camp to feast upon the many flies and other insects brought out of hiding by the fires.

  There must be caves not far away, he considered as he watched the bats. He did not know for sure and the bats could have flown some distance searching for food. The thought brought more depressing one: how much of these lands did he really know? His holdings in Askhor had been mapped by the best cartographers many decades ago, but this new realm hotward of the border was as unknown to him as the Straits of Lerbrieth or the source of the Greenwater.

  There were no people here yet, that was the problem. He needed to build the town so that settlers could come and tame his newly acquired dominions. For that to happen, he needed to build that damn bridge and move on with the army; something that was not going to happen while he was away pandering to Aalun's whims.

  Angry with himself for bringing up to troubling thoughts, Ullsaard moved down from the hilltop into the dark shallow beyond. His boots slid on the sandy slope and he stumbled over roots and tussocks of thick-bladed grass. Picking his way through these obstacles by the light of the stars, he couldn't help but wonder how much more of the world there was to see? How much further did the lands spread before they reached other seas? Would he live to see them all?

  Askhos had proclaimed it the destiny of his line to rule over all
the lands between the seas, and for two hundred and eight years the First King and his successors had laboured towards that goal. Who would be the first wearer of the Crown of the Blood to lay eyes upon all of the domains under the sun?

  As was his wont, Ullsaard's musings turned from reflection to action. Things didn't happen just because one wondered about them; things happened because great leaders made them happen. The empire had taken two hundred years to grow as large as it was, and it would take many more years before Askhos's goal was accomplished, but Ullsaard chafed at the thought that his generation would not be the ones to succeed. Cosuas had a few more years left at most, and while Ullsaard could happily look forward to another twenty years at least, there was no guarantee that would be long enough.

  In that darkened hollow on the edge of the Mekha desert, Ullsaard vowed to live to see all that the world had for him, life willing. Greater Askhor certainly had the resources and the means. All it required was the will, and he had that aplenty even if others did not appear to share his ambition. In this king's reign or the next, Ullsaard would lead Askhor to the greatest heights of power and create a legacy for his children and grandchildren that no other could match.

  Erlaan's voice drifted on the breeze, calling Ullsaard's name. Ullsaard ignored it for the moment, determined to mark this place in some way so that he could return here when he had accomplished his dream, and say to his descendants, "Here I stood when I decided we would rule the world."

  He searched around in the twilight until his fingers came upon a smooth, flat rock slightly wider than his outstretched hand. Picking it up, he ran his hands over it – it was hard but not so unyielding that he could not etch a mark onto its surface. Drawing his knife, Ullsaard began to scratch the rune of the Crown upon the stone, working by touch rather than sight. After some considerable work, he drew his fingers over the roughly carved sigil, confident that the engraving was deep enough to withstand the depredations of wind and sand for many years.

  With a deep breath, Ullsaard looked up to the stars once more and closed his eyes. He felt the stone heavy in his grasp, knowing that upon it he had sworn an oath to himself and to Askhos. Opening his eyes, he crouched and placed the stone at his feet, reverently pushing it into the thin soil. He stood and turned back towards the camp, strengthened by his private ritual.

  The flickering of the campfire entranced Erlaan. He sat alone, the remnant of a half-eaten meal scattered about the clay plate on his lap. The young prince was troubled by the news of his father's illness, a mixture of concern for his family and for himself. If his father died, Erlaan would become heir to the Crown of the Blood. His grandfather, Lutaar, was old, and within a few years Erlaan might become king. The thought repelled him, though he had known since childhood that it was his destiny. He didn't feel ready at all. The campaign with Ullsaard was meant to be a stepping stone towards learning the craft of the ruler but it had so far left him wanting nothing to do with war.

  All he had learnt was that Greater Askhor was a huge wilderness, devoid of the comforts he had been raised to enjoy. His handful of servants could barely provide a decent meal and he had already been away from noble company for more than a hundred days. Back in Askh, fashions were changing, friends were drifting away, girls were casting their eyes elsewhere. He was left to grub around in the dust and sand like a dog scavenging for scraps, and it seemed most unfitting for one of the Blood.

  There was also the question of the veteran generals. Cosuas seemed deferent enough, in his own crude way. Ullsaard treated him like an inferior sometimes, barking orders and giving Erlaan menial duties. He might be only a Second Captain by rank, but he was a prince by the Blood. It occurred to Erlaan that Ullsaard was punishing him in some way, simply for the benefit of his birth. Just because the general's meagre heritage – a bastard no less if gossip was to be believed – had forced Ullsaard to claw his way to the top from being a lowly legionnaire, there was no reason Erlaan had to suffer similar indignities.

  "Care to share your thoughts?" asked Ullsaard, appearing on the opposite side of the fire. The general was stripped to the waist, his muscles carved in shadow from the fire. Erlaan glanced guiltily at Ullsaard and saw a warrior-born, utterly unlike himself. The prince was short and thin, utterly at contrast with the tall, athletic officer.

  "Not really," Erlaan replied. He picked up a stick and tossed it into the flames.

  "You are worried about your father," said Ullsaard, sitting on the ground a little way to Erlaan's right, looking at the fire rather than the prince.

  "Of course," said Erlaan.

  "I had no father," said Ullsaard. "Well, no father to raise me, though obviously a man exists who gave his seed to my mother."

  The rumours had been true. Erlaan looked across at the general and saw that Ullsaard's gaze was fierce, directed at the flames as if they were somehow responsible for his hard life. The prince said nothing and simply waited for Ullsaard to continue.

  "I became a legionnaire and it was Cosuas who raised me up to be an officer, and your uncle who supported my rise, all the way to the position of general."

  "I know this," said Erlaan.

  "Yes, but you are missing my point," said Ullsaard. "Had you asked me twenty years ago what man I would become, I could not have said. My horizon was the next battle, the next march. Now? Now I have three wives who have each borne me a strong son and I lead the greatest army in the world. Circumstance shapes us every day, Prince. You must learn to recognise when events are changing you and when you are changing events."

  "And right now events are changing me?"

  "No, they are not, and that is what should concern you," said the general. He grabbed a brand from the fire. Stoking the flames, he turned his gaze upon Erlaan, the fire glittering in his eyes. "You do not wish your grandfather and father to die. That is understandable. Yet, all men must die and even those of the Blood are no different. You have the certainty of fate on your side. Your lineage stretches back to Askhos himself and in your veins runs his strength."

  "But what if it doesn't?" blurted Erlaan.

  Ullsaard laughed, but his humour was not born from mockery.

  "You can no more be weak than I could be a red-skinned Mekhani," said the general. "You are what you are, and it is in you to embrace that destiny. You owe it not only to yourself, but to the people you will rule and your forefathers. You are young, like metal soft in the flames of the smith. The skill of the smith can fashion a great sword, but only so far as the quality of the metal will allow. Life will beat upon you and fashion you into something else, but the quality of the bronze, your heritage, is without question. You are of the Blood, I cannot put it more plainly than that."

  Erlaan considered this, nodding gently. His father and all the fathers before him had ruled Askhor since its founding. Each must have had their doubts at times. Ullsaard was right; it was a measure of him as a man how he reacted to his troubles.

  "Thank you," said the prince with a smile, his confidence already a little restored by Ullsaard's words. "You are a thinker as well as a warrior, I see."

  Ullsaard laughed again and stood up.

  "A warrior who does not think is a corpse," said the general, tossing the brand onto the fire. "Get some sleep, we break camp at dawn."

  There it was again; a casual dismissal that betrayed the insincerity of the man. Erlaan hid his thoughts as he watched Ullsaard leave. The prince stood, sparing a last glance at the fire. "The Blood holds its own destiny," he remembered his grandfather once telling him. Erlaan walked to his tent, wondering what that destiny would be.

  THE GREENWATER

  Summer, 208th Year of Askh

  I

  Noran stood at the starboard rail of the galley's aft deck, enjoying the shelter of the sail while Ullsaard reclined on the deck, his hands behind his head. Clad only in tunic and kilt, the general was less imposing than normal, but even unarmoured and lying down his massive frame and muscular body dominated the afterdeck. Noran idly wondered w
hat it would be like to have such a remarkable body, to have eyes turn to you whenever you entered a room.

  The slosh of the water, the creak of ropes and the warm evening air dulled the senses. Bare feet padded on board as the sailors turned out to trim the square sail, urged on by the quiet orders of their captain. The sailors cast glances at the reclining general as they tiptoed around him, whispering to each other.

  "A welcome sight after so much desert," suggested Noran, pointing to the vine-crowded terraces of Okhar rising up the banks of the river.

  Ullsaard sat up and looked at the fertile slopes.

  "Not as welcome as the streets of Askh, but it's a start," replied Ullsaard with a languid stretch. "Twenty-five days we've been travelling, and we're barely halfway."

  "It'll be quick enough, you'll see." Not for the first time, Noran compared Ullsaard to an ailur; seemingly quiet and passive, but masking a capability for immense violence and destruction. His rank, his affected civilisation, were the blinkers that kept him from going wild. Some of the stories of the general's exploits moving up the ranks had made Noran glad he was a friend; he had resolved to keep that friendship for as long as possible. The tales of Ullsaard's enemies generally ended badly on the bloodfields.