by Gav Thorpe
Ullsaard raised himself to one elbow.
"What do you mean?"
"Second-born of the Blood," explained Erlaan. "As soon as my father was born he was next in line, meaning Nemtun was not going to become king. I think that's why he couldn't stand to stay in Askh and decided to lead the legions duskwards."
"I hadn't considered that," said Ullsaard. "Must be hard knowing that you're never going to be at the top no matter what you do."
"You seem to handle it without any problem."
"What? I'm not of the Blood."
"Which means that you'll never be king, either. It's not a problem for you, why should it be a problem for Nemtun? And Uncle Aalun is very supportive of my father. He doesn't seem to be jealous."
"Maybe you're right. Maybe it is just jealousy." Ullsaard saw small wooden houses crowding the banks of the river, fishing boats bobbing up and down on their moorings outside. The Greenwater was even wider here and barely a sound could be heard from the banks. His head throbbed again, the previous night's drinking not quite ready to free him of its effects.
"Believe me, it is jealousy," said Erlaan. "Askhos was always careful never to give his followers any reason to doubt the right of the Blood to rule. My father has always told me that although being of the Blood gives us the right to rule, the reputation of the Blood depends upon all of us to rule with dignity and fairness. It is not only a privilege, but also an honour that needs to be lived up to."
"One that I am sure you will," said Ullsaard, guessing that Erlaan was worrying again about his inheritance. It would be better to change the subject than listen to more of the prince's self-indulgent woes. Unfortunately, Ullsaard couldn't think of anything Erlaan wouldn't complain about.
"I should leave you to recover in peace," said Erlaan, mistaking Ullsaard's silence. The general affected a grateful smile and lay back with his eyes closed. Erlaan's footsteps receded across the deck and Ullsaard drifted again into sleep.
VII
They sailed past the slate-roofed buildings of Paalun and continued upriver, the mountains of Nalanor and Askhor growing larger every day. The vine terraces and grassy meadows of Okhar gave way to Nalanor's crop-rich fields, swathes of gold and green as far as the eye could see. Here the Greenwater narrowed, the current growing stronger. The wind kept strong across the flat plains of Nalanor, but every dusk and dawn it stilled and the sailors brought out the oars for a watch to keep the ship at its steady pace.
The tedium of the voyage gnawed at Ullsaard and he became irritable. Without the needs of command to distract him with its everyday inconveniences, the general realised just how repetitive life could become. There were no disciplinary matters to oversee, no provisioning requests, no scouting parties to send or officers to instruct. Every few days, Ullsaard ordered the captain to put into the bank to allow the ailurs some exercise. Ullsaard, Noran and Erlaan would ride along the bank, easily keeping time with the ship, and board again in the evening. The general enjoyed these short excursions, and listened patiently to Noran's exploits in Askh or Erlaan's hopes for quickly finding some suitable wives. He let their babble wash over him, paying just enough attention to answer the occasional question or respond with suitable comment when it was required.
The Greenwater curved dawnwards towards the Askhor Mountains and the banks grew steeper, reed beds giving way to chalky cliffs cut with zigzagging paths. River traffic grew with each day they came closer to Nalanor's capital, Parmia. The grey city dominated the hills to coldward of the river, across five mounts that dropped steeply to the shores of Lake Parmia. The Greenwater disappeared into the inland sea and the wind died, broken up by the surrounding ring of hills. The crew bent their backs to the sweeps for five watches out of eight, as the steersman guided the galley around other ships and the low, tree-filled islands that broke the lake's surface.
The ship stopped in Parmia for two days while the captain exchanged some of his cargo for Nalanorian goods. Ullsaard and Noran had no desire to repeat the fiasco of Geria and stayed on board lest Governor Adral became aware of their presence. They left the city without incident and carried on dawnwards along the Greenwater, every day bringing them closer to the docks at Narun and the border of Askhor.
NARUN
Summer, 208th Year of Askh
I
Though it lacked the general splendour of Askh and could not compete with the sheer size of the Askhor Wall, Narun was perhaps the greatest achievement of the Askhan Empire, at least in Ullsaard's mind. Just hotwards of the sprawling docks the Greenwater ceased to be a river; for three miles the river broke into a dozen channels created by a series of lock gates and dams. Each channel was divided and divided again into a criss-cross of canals and aqueducts, creating a huge gridded area of waterways, wharfs and dry docks.
Teams of abada trudged in circles around capstans to open lock gates or pump water along the aqueducts. Thick-beamed cranes – more than ten times as many as were found in Geria – loomed over the still waters, more beasts of burden chained and roped to the sprawling network of pulleys and levers. Swarms of dockhands busied themselves on the ships' decks and wooden quays, loading and unloading, a constant stream of wagons and handcarts arriving and leaving with the goods of the empire. A stepped hill had been built to duskward, rising in twenty levels reached by winding ramps, each tier filled with cavernous warehouses.
Along the waterside overseers cajoled and bullied their teams with cudgels and curses, warning off rivals with hoarse shouts. They haggled unloading fees with ships' masters as they passed and called out to Ullsaard's ship to make dock at their quay. Pilots sat in boats on the water, offering their services to captains unfamiliar with the maze-like harbour.
"Where are we going to berth?" Ullsaard asked the shipmaster, Eoruan, who thrust a hand into a leather pouch at his belt and pulled out a gilded crown-shaped token.
"King's Wharfs," Eoruan said with a grin. "Your friend, the herald, knows all the right people."
With slow sweeps of the oars, the galley slid serenely between the ships, coracles and boats filling the waterway, the smaller vessels hurrying out of its path as it headed implacably coldwards along the main canal. The water opened into a large artificial lake, broken by anchored rafts on which were piles of wood for fires. The clean-hewn banks of the reservoir jutted steeply at the water's edge, and there stood high beacon towers.
"You should see this place at night," the captain said. "It's not called the Harbour of a Thousand Fires for no reason. The firelight glittering on the water, the shadows and silhouettes of a hundred ships. Makes my old heart stir, it surely does."
Ullsaard nodded but said nothing. He had seen plenty of firestorms by night; when Lehmia had burned; when his legions had put the torch to Mekhani settlements hotwards of Khar; when lava-throwers had torched enemy encampments. He chose not to share the memories with the ship's master.
"About time," muttered Eoruan.
"What's that?"
"The harbour authorities have talked about a halfway bridge for the past three years. Good for unloading light, perishable goods without having to dock fully. You know, using just boats. Looks like they're finally doing something."
The captain pointed to a long pontoon bridge stretching about a third of the way across the lake from the coldward bank. Dozens of men laboured on the extended bridge, naked save for black scarves that covered their heads and shoulders; slaves taken by the legions and criminals labouring to atone for their acts against the empire, under the watchful gaze of robed members of the Brotherhood. Soldiers with black crests stood at regular intervals along the line of labourers, carrying long clubs rather than spears. More coloured hats, thought Ullsaard. Black hats to match the black robes of the Brotherhood. More nonsense.
The King's Wharfs were built of stone blocks, unlike the wooden quays and jetties that made up the rest of Narun. On solid piles sunk into the bottom of the lake, three wide piers speared into the water, each large enough to berth four ships, two to each s
ide. Only one was in use at the moment, the middle quay providing mooring for a bireme and a small yacht. A blue banner embroidered with the gold symbol of the crown fluttered at the masthead of the smaller vessel.
"Prince Kalmud's ship," said Eoruan. "Was here when we left. I guess the prince has been spending some time in Askh."
"Very likely," grunted Ullsaard.
"I thought he was hotwards along the Greenwater," Eoruan continued.
"He was," said Ullsaard. "Now he isn't."
The captain caught Ullsaard's stare and quelled whatever he was going to say next. He coughed self-consciously.
"We'll be in berth soon enough. Time to start getting the stores ready to unload."
"Right," said Ullsaard. "Do that."
With another glance at Ullsaard, Eoruan headed along the deck, bellowing for the crew to muster. The pounding of feet on the deck roused Noran, who sauntered from belowdecks. Erlaan was behind him.
"Not long now, eh?" Noran said to the prince as they joined Ullsaard. "Soon we'll be back in Askh, chasing the women and drinking the finest wines."
"I am more concerned with my father's health," replied the youth.
"Of course, of course," said Noran. "I didn't mean to be dismissive. It's just… I'm sure there's no cause for serious concern."
Erlaan's eyes were fixed on the dawnward shoreline.
"I hope not," he said. The prince turned and his gaze moved between Ullsaard and Noran. "I know you think me inexperienced, and you're probably right. But I know enough to wonder what's happening when my uncle sends a herald so far hotward to bring back his favourite general."
"Probably the Greenwater campaign," said Ullsaard, meeting Erlaan's look. He smiled in the most encouraging fashion he could. "It doesn't mean anything, really. I'll probably just be sent to keep an eye on his troops while your father recovers. We'll be back kicking sand at the Mekhani next year."
Erlaan shook his head.
"Why bring you to Askh just to send you all the way back down the Greenwater again? Seems like an awful waste of your time."
Ullsaard looked to Noran to provide an answer. The herald shrugged, earning himself a frown.
"I just know what I am told," said Noran. "Prince Aalun gave me no instructions other than to bring you back to Askh; and no information other than Prince Kalmud had been taken with an illness."
"You don't think it's something worse, do you?" asked Erlaan, grabbing Noran's arm. "About my father, I mean."
"Not at all, young prince," said Noran, patting Erlaan's hand. "Your father was not well, but far from death when I left. His condition did not seem to be worsening, and with the attentions of the Brotherhood there is no reason to think things are so bleak."
Erlaan was about to say something but the captain intervened. There was a gaggle of sailors behind him, with ropes and lading hooks.
"Please excuse us," he said.
The group moved out of the way and stood to one side of the tillerman. The sailor kept his gaze solidly ahead, affecting the blank expression of a man who is deaf to all things, as the galley slid towards the nearest quay of King's Wharf.
"Look at this way," said Noran, keeping his voice quiet. "If there really was some problem with your father, it would have been the king who sent me, and many other messengers beside. Your family are keeping this quiet because there is no cause for alarm, but rumour could be very disruptive."
"I suppose you are right." Erlaan folded his arms and bit his lip.
With a rough scraping and a couple of thuds, the galley was brought in alongside the wharf. Thick cables were thrown over to the landsmen who had swarmed out of the buildings along the length of the pier. A short, heavyset, sweaty man in a thick blue robe puffed and wheezed as he pulled himself over the side of the ship on a rope ladder.
"Token," he said, reaching out an open palm towards Eoruan.
"Here it is," said the captain, holding the golden crown between thumb and forefinger, forcing the jettymaster to take it from him with a frown. The functionary pulled a small wax tablet from his belt. Line after line of perfectly formed script almost filled the tablet.
"Make your mark," he said, thrusting the tablet to Eoruan. The captain turned towards Noran.
"It's your mark that's needed, not mine," Eoruan said.
Noran gave a huff of annoyance and crossed the deck. He took up the official's stylus and wrote his name into the wax. The jettymaster brought forth two thin sheets, almost transparent, and a block of charcoal. He made a rubbing of the impression in the wax on each piece and handed one to Noran. The other he carefully folded and placed in a bag at his belt. He smeared Noran's mark out of the wax and returned the tablet and stylus to his belt.
"Token," prompted Noran, beckoning with a finger. Absentmindedly, the jettymaster handed back the royal seal.
He dragged himself back over the ship's side without another word and disappeared into the crowd of labourers waiting for instructions from the ship.
"We'll get the ailurs off first, and be out of your hair," said Ullsaard, slapping a hand to the captain's shoulder. "My people will unload the rest of our baggage."
"It's been no burden for me," Eoruan said with wink and a nod to the cargo being made ready for unloading. "Crown business never is."
As always, Ullsaard was conscientious and deliberate during the disembarkation of the ailurs, while the crew heaved and pushed the abada down the gangplanks to the dockside and the servants loaded the wagon with their master's baggage. It was almost nightfall by the time they were ready to leave the quayside, and Ullsaard decided that they would spend the night in Narun.
They found lodging in the house of Araan Nario, a fleet owner who had regular dealings with Noran's family. The wiry, elderly merchant was more than happy to put up such esteemed guests when Noran sent one of the servants with word of their presence in the harbour town. They spent the evening in the company of Nario and his mercantile friends, fending off questions regarding their business in Askh. Glad of no repeat of the incident in Geria, they left Narun mid-morning the next day and headed dawnwards towards the Askhor border.
II
There was much traffic on the road as traders moved their wares between Askh and Narun. Abada pulled carts from the capital laden with stone and metals from the mountains, or carried finely spun linens in bushels on their backs. Towards the city the merchants ferried grain for the most part, the interior of Askhor being unsuitable for widespread farming. Though plentiful in game and fish, the highland pastures were good for goats and a few hardy cattle and little else. Fish came from the Sea of the Sun to dawnwards, but animal fodder was always in high demand, as were the more exotic gems and spices of hotwards, and the wool and textiles from coldwards in the lands of Ersua and Enair.
The prince, herald and general were the subject of much attention, their ailurs advertising their status more than anything else, but other travellers on the road did not involve themselves other than to exchange pleasantries and occasionally break bread.
They made steady progress and three days of riding brought them to the edge of the Askhor Mountains, which reared up steeply from the flatlands of Nalanor. Snow-capped all year round, the impressive peaks formed a wall that stretched from coldwards to hotwards as far as could be seen. Low clouds shrouded the peaks, but in the foothills the summer air was clear and hot.
Almost directly to dawnwards lay the Askhor Gap, where the mountains were parted by a steep valley. The road cut straight and true through the steep hills leading up to the gap, and by mid-afternoon of the third day Ullsaard and the others laid eyes on the Askhor Wall.
The Wall stretched the entire width of the gap, nearly twenty Askhan miles almost directly from hotwards to coldwards. The lowering sun shone bright from the grey and black granite and glinted from bronze speartips and helmets. It took the four patrols, each a thousand-strong, two whole watches to march from one end to the other, each patrol being roughly thirty thousand paces long. Some five thousand mor
e soldiers were stationed in twenty fortified towers along its length. The Wall ran across the narrowest point of the valley, its rampart as level as a race track so that where the hills were highest it stood no more than three times the height of a man, and where the ground was lowest it seemed as much as ten times as high. As well as two hundred and fifty men, each garrison tower housed three bellows-launchers capable of hurling a spear-sized projectile a considerable distance, and a small lava-powered forge similar to those taken on campaign by the legions. Each tower held enough stores to feed its men for fifty days.
There were six gates, but only the main gate was ever in regular use, wide enough for four carts abreast and guarded by two massive bastions twice as tall as the Wall itself. Lava throwers jutted from the towers in the lowest levels while murder holes and bow slits punctured the upper storeys. The gates themselves, now wide open, were low and broad, made of bronze-clad wood as thick as Ullsaard's outstretched arms. They were opened and closed by means of counterweights and a water wheel fed by an aqueduct that redirected one of the mountain streams, and ran the length of the Wall to provide the garrison with fresh water.
