by Gav Thorpe
Noran's lip wrinkled in distaste at the suggestion. Servants waited to take their clothes as they entered the steam-filled bathrooms. There were only two baths, in fact; one cold, one warm. Despite Noran's modesty it was a rare civility to find in a private house outside Askh. Ullsaard lowered himself into the water with a groan of pleasure. He splashed around for a while before he noticed Noran had not joined him.
"Better than washing in river water, eh?" he said.
There was no reply and he turned to see that Noran had left. A blank-faced functionary stood by the door, holding a fresh robe for Ullsaard.
"Where did he go?" Ullsaard demanded. The servant looked towards the doorway pointedly and returned his gaze to impassively staring ahead. Ullsaard pulled himself from the bath with a snarl at the mute orderly. "Fucking Maasrites."
As Ullsaard was pulling on the robe, Noran reappeared, a concerned look on his face.
"Shit!" he said. "It seems that you can't ride a couple of ailurs through the centre of a town without someone running off to tell the governor. Probably someone from the Brotherhood. Nemtun's invited us to his palace for a feast tonight."
"Tell him we're very sorry but we're in a hurry and are setting off at first light. It's not really a lie, after all."
"It's Nemtun, he won't take no for an answer, and if we don't go to him he's bound to come to us, with all of the fucking about that will entail. Shit, I really could do without this."
Ullsaard tied the belt of the robe tight and smirked.
"I'm not sure why it's such a problem. We'll go to the palace, have a few drinks, eat some of his food and then be back here before midnight."
"It's Nemtun! How many times do I have to say it? Aalun was very explicit that he didn't want any of the governors, least of all the king's brother, coming to Askh at the moment. I've no idea why, but he only wanted you."
"Then why in Askhos's name did you have us stop off here? We could have sailed on to Paalun in another two days and Nemtun would have been none the wiser."
"Because I'm a fucking idiot, sometimes." Noran strode back and forth across the bathroom cursing inaudibly. He rounded on Ullsaard with a gleam in his eye. "I've got it! You can go and see Nemtun and I'll stay here. That way Aalun can't blame me if Nemtun finds out about Kalmud's illness."
"Not a chance," growled Ullsaard, crossing his arms. "If you think I'm going to be the one to tell Nemtun his nephew might be dying, you can think again."
"No, think about it. You can just tell Nemtun you've been summoned to Askh, and don't know why. Nemtun doesn't have to find out anything."
"I'm not lying to Nemtun just because you wanted to show off your fancy villa. He may be an arsehole, but he was a commander of the legions and is still a Prince of the Blood. That deserves some respect."
Noran paced some more while Ullsaard watched with wry amusement. The general quickly grew bored and threw off the robe, slipping back into the relaxing bath. A thought occurred to him.
"Wait a moment," he said. Noran fixed a hopeful stare on Ullsaard. "Don't get excited, it's just something that doesn't fit. Kalmud would have come back along the Greenwater from where he was campaigning. How is it that Nemtun doesn't know already that the prince is ill?"
"Well, clearly…" began Noran. He scratched his chin as he sought an answer. "You're right. Word gets around, no matter how clever you are. The ship carrying him back to Askh would have to put in somewhere along the Greenwater, and it's only a sailor's tongue away from becoming common knowledge."
"That still doesn't help you out of the shit you're in."
"Maybe it does, maybe it does," Noran said slowly, wagging a finger at Ullsaard. His gaze drifted away as he fell into thought. "Yes, that might work."
"What might?"
Noran looked down at Ullsaard lounging in the bath, startled from his contemplation.
"Oh, nothing. Just let me do the talking when we first see Nemtun."
"Is this going to be political?" asked Ullsaard with a wary sigh.
"Oh yes. The heir to the empire doesn't fall dangerously ill without a whole shitheap of politics falling on the rest of us…"
II
A troop of forty legionnaires stood in ranks either side of the palace portico. They had white crests on their helmets, denoting that they were the governor's guard. Ullsaard didn't like that; he never had, even though he had started as guard to Allon of Enair. To his mind there were just legionnaires of Greater Askhor. Giving them different coloured hats didn't change that. What it did was make some governors think they were military commanders, when most of them – Nemtun excepted – had never come closer to a battle than hearing about it from a herald.
Something else irritated Ullsaard as he and Noran walked towards the shallow steps leading to the palace entrance. He stormed towards the guard captain, who recoiled as the general stopped just short. He couldn't have been more than twentyfive years old, his eyes bulging with sudden apprehension.
"Stand up straight!" rasped Ullsaard and the captain went rigid, his gaze hovering over Ullsaard's right shoulder. Ullsaard leaned closer, his voice a hiss. "When a general of the legions and a herald of the king arrive, I would expect a fucking salute!"
"Present spears!" screamed the captain, his voice almost breaking. The guard lofted their weapons in salute with shuffling feet. The lines of spearheads bobbed uncertainly.
"Pathetic," said Ullsaard. "Practice that until we come out. I expect a smarter farewell than the welcome we got. Do you understand?"
"Yes, General," the captain replied.
Ullsaard stalked away and rejoined Noran as he reached the steps.
"Fucking soft-arsed captain, I bet his spear's never seen a drop of blood," muttered Ullsaard as the two of them mounted the steps. The heavy wooden doors swung inwards to reveal a pillared hallway down the centre of the palace, archways along each side leading to other chambers.
"Temper your mood before we see Nemtun," cautioned Noran.
"I'll try."
A bowing factotum appeared in front of them, dressed in a blue linen kilt and sleeveless white vest. His head was shaved and he had a golden ring piercing the side of his nose.
"General, herald, please follow me," he said with another bow.
"Fuck me, a talking Maasrite," chuckled Ullsaard. The factotum directed a weary smile towards the general.
"Not everyone from Maasra takes the Vow of Service, General," the man explained, speaking softly. "It is only those committed to the life of domestic service that do so."
"I knew that," Ullsaard lied quickly. "Just never met one of you lot who wasn't a servant."
The functionary nodded in understanding and led them to the end of the hall and turned right, passing through an archway into a broad, square chamber. Rugs were scattered on the stone floor and the walls were covered with patterned hangings. Young, half-naked maids walked with trays amongst the clusters of Nemtun's guests, offering wine, water and fruits. Ullsaard ignored them though Noran quickly lifted a clay cup from the tray of the closest and filled it with undiluted wine. Ullsaard directed a questioning look at his friend.
"I need something strong before I see Nemtun," Noran explained before taking a long draught of the drink. He smacked his lips appreciatively.
Ullsaard walked through the throng of merchants and ship captains. He suddenly stopped, spying a middle-aged, handsome woman standing at the centre of a knot of aging admirers.
"Is that…?" he asked, turning to Noran.
"Lerissa? Yes, that's her."
Ullsaard gazed at Nemtun's wife, admiring her smooth, tanned skin and firm limbs through the slits in her dress.
"I didn't realise it had been so long since I last saw her," Ullsaard remarked quietly. "She's certainly matured well. I hope Nemtun looks after her properly."
"This is where listening to the gossiping Meliu and Neerita comes in useful," replied Noran with a wink. "Apparently Nemtun is besotted with Lerissa, but has never once laid a finger on her. They
don't even share a bed."
"Why would any sane man pass up the chance of bedding such a woman?"
"Are you interested? Apparently Nemtun isn't too fussy about who his wife chooses as her lovers, that's why all those wrinkled vultures are circling so intently."
"I hope she doesn't settle for these old goats," Ullsaard said with a disconsolate shake of the head. "I can't imagine any of them having the necessary endurance."
Lerissa looked across the room and caught Ullsaard's gaze. Her warm smile melted another piece of his heart. He nodded in acknowledgment and turned away, cursing his faithless thoughts. This was no time to get distracted. He had to keep an eye on Noran to make sure he didn't get himself, or Ullsaard, into more trouble.
The Maasrite functionary coughed politely to catch their attention. He looked pointedly towards an archway barred by a heavy curtain of black and red beads.
"Governor Nemtun would like to speak with you in private before he joins the festivities."
"In there?" Noran asked with a gesture towards the curtain. The factotum nodded. Ullsaard heard Noran taking in a deep breath as he plunged towards the archway. "Best not to keep him waiting."
III
The small room beyond the curtain was filled with brightly patterned divans, and low wooden tables brimming with fruits and various dishes made from the fish of the Greenwater. Nemtun reclined in the dim light from the room's one narrow window, his gross form filling the couch on which he sprawled. He looked up at the clatter of beads and smiled, droplets of sweat dripping from his heavily lined brow and bald scalp.
"Ah, my special guests!" Nemtun declared in his bass voice, jowly cheeks wobbling. He raised a beringed hand in greeting but made no effort to sit up.
"Governor," replied Noran with a nod. He glanced towards a divan and Nemtun motioned the pair to seat themselves. "Thank you for the invitation, but I must start with an apology."
"Eh? How so?" Nemtun's crumpled forehead deepened into a frown. "You've only just arrived; you can't have got into that much trouble already, Noran!"
"Not at all, Governor," Noran said with a light laugh. His face grew sincere. "We must apologise for not being able to enjoy your hospitality for long."
"Got an early start," added Ullsaard with what he hoped was a look of disappointment. Noran shot him an exasperated look, piqued by Ullsaard's interruption.
"As the general says, we must be away by dawn tomorrow to make all speed to Askh, and I've never had much of a stomach for boats at the best of times."
"Shame."
Noran blinked in surprise at the governor's flat retort. He rallied quickly. "We are also eager to learn if you have heard any further news of Prince Kalmud's condition."
Now it was Ullsaard's turn to be surprised. Wasn't Noran supposed to keep the prince's illness secret from Nemtun?
"I had hoped to ask you the same," Nemtun replied heavily. "You're the first man from the court I've seen since poor Kalmud went upriver."
"He was as well as could be hoped when I departed, and I have no reason to believe he will not make a full recovery."
Nemtun shifted his bulk, causing the wooden frame of the divan to creak alarmingly. Once upright, the governor leant forwards, wiped a hand over his sweaty pate and fixed Ullsaard with bright blue eyes.
"And what about you, General?"
Ullsaard managed to avoid glancing towards Noran for guidance.
"I am well, Governor. The campaign in Mekha is slow but progressing."
"Those sand-eaters giving you much trouble?" Nemtun plucked a bowl of roe from a nearby table and scooped a handful of the black eggs into his mouth.
"Not so far," Ullsaard replied, ignoring the cluster of small spheres now stuck to the governor's chin. "The lava-throwers are a match for the behemodons, and they've got nothing else to offer in the way of threat."
"Reckon you should be done by winter."
"I don't know. The Mekhani keep moving around, it's hard to bring them to battle in one place. They split up and disappear into the desert where we can't follow."
"Why not?"
Ullsaard was taken aback by the question; a general of Nemtun's experience should have realised the difficulties of maintaining an army in such conditions. He kept his tone even.
"Not enough to drink, Governor. There're lots of scattered water holes, but each can only sustain two or three thousand men, and many are up to a march apart. The Mekhani would love us to spread all over the place, letting them gather their numbers and come at us while we're divided."
Nemtun grunted in understanding.
"What are you going to do about that?"
Ullsaard considered the question, grabbing an orange to fill the gap before his answer.
"When the bridge is built, we can stockpile better, and then we can launch a proper offensive. I'm just hoping they're stupid enough to have a few more goes at us over the summer."
"Seems like you're making slow work of it."
"When has war ever been speedy?"
"When I brought Anrair into the empire," replied Nemtun. "Two summers, that's all it took to get those barbarians to concede defeat."
"It was a masterful campaign," Ullsaard admitted. "Though Anrair is very different from Mekha."
"The same excuses," Nemtun said, waving away Ullsaard's answer with a flick of his wrist. "Just bloody well get it done. I've got labourers fucking and drinking and doing nothing else while they wait to go hotwards to build your town. I don't know why they were sent here first; dull Enairians and horny Ersuans filling up the streets and barracks, eating my food and chasing the local women."
Ullsaard killed an angry retort and finally looked to Noran for help. The herald was peeling an orange with his knife and looked up at the sudden silence.
"It might not be Ullsaard's problem for much longer," Noran said hurriedly, glancing between the general and the governor. "Depending on Kalmud's state of health, I think Ullsaard might be taking over the Greenwater campaign."
Ullsaard wanted to throttle Noran at that moment. Why had he brought up the Greenwater campaign with Nemtun? The governor grunted again; Ullsaard detected a note of disapproval.
"I am sure Kalmud will be healthy enough to rejoin his legions soon," said Ullsaard, thinking that Nemtun was perhaps annoyed by Noran's assumption that Kalmud would be unwell for some time. "Maybe before the winter, with any luck."
"I don't know why Lutaar doesn't just ask me to do it," grumbled Nemtun. "I mean, who is better placed than me? I'm right on the river already, got plenty of experience."
"I'm su–" began Noran but Nemtun cut him off.
"It's all well and good making sure his sons get in on the action, but I've had my eye on going hotwards along the Greenwater ever since I came to Geria."
"I would have thought being a governor was far more rewarding and comfortable than the campaign road," suggested Noran. "All that bad food and… long marches."
Ullsaard suppressed a smirk, imagining Nemtun waddling along at the head of a legion column, gut bulging between breastplate and kilt.
"You think I'm too old and fat?" rasped Nemtun, heaving himself to his feet to totter towards Ullsaard. "Pah! It's sitting around here every day that got me this way. My heart and lungs are still strong; the fat would melt off me after a few days. Then I'd show you idiot youngsters how to lead a legion!"
Ullsaard could ignore the overstatement of Nemtun's victories but it was more than his mood could bear for his accomplishments to be dismissed so easily. He surged to his feet with a growl and confronted Nemtun, whose eyes were on a level with Ullsaard's chin.
"The Anrair tribes were ready to surrender after one summer, but you decided to take another year so you could add half-adozen pointless battles to your name; battles fought against half-hearted, broken warriors who just wished their chiefs would be allowed to hand over their weapons. If you were such a great leader, why didn't you press on into Salphoria?"
"Be warned, I am not a man to be mocked!" Nemtun
's cheeks and chins trembled with indignation, his face growing ever redder. "I ought to summon you to the bloodfield to teach your generation a few manners."
Ullsaard couldn't stop the short laugh that erupted from his lips.
"I would not meet you there, even if you called my mother a whore," the general said. "You're right; you are too old and too fat to fight, either as a general or a warrior. I'd take no pleasure and no honour from gutting you on the bloodfield, so why would I bother?"
