by Gav Thorpe
The lord of Magilnada turned back to Jutiil with a clap of hands and a smile.
"That all seems agreeable. I shall ensure that your men have every cooperation they need, and I shall put out the word that under the protection of General Ullsaard the merchants will be safe to travel into Ersua and Anrair. The treasury will be opened and you can begin recruiting your new legions after my investiture."
"That's good to hear," said Jutiil. "I have to attend to a few other matters in the city. I suggest you stay here for the next day or two, until the general arrives. I'll be leaving my men here for the time being, for your protection, of course."
"Yes, for my protection," said Anglhan, knowing the legionnaires would be gaolers as much as guardians.
Anglhan left the main hall for a side chamber which he had turned into a secluded office. Furlthia followed him in and closed the door.
"Are you mad?" Furlthia said in a low voice.
Anglhan ignored the question and sat behind a table littered with parchments and scrolls. He cleared a space and leaned on his elbows, chin in one hand.
"Listen to me, friend," said Anglhan, gesturing for Furlthia to sit down opposite. "I need your help as much as I ever did. You know that if I don't take this governorship, Ullsaard will have me killed and will thrust that bastard Urikh into the position. Whether you like it or not, you have to admit I'm the better choice."
Furlthia did not sit. He paced back and forth, shaking his head.
"I don't like it one bit. I told you before; I don't want to be an Askhan. Aegenuis isn't going to like this one bit either."
"Aegenuis can go fuck his mother," snapped Anglhan. "He hasn't got the will or the money to retake the city by force, not against a legion or two. Give it a few more days, everybody here will get over the shock and it'll be business as usual. If I'm in charge we can make sure the Askhans don't do anything excessive."
Annoyed by Furlthia's pacing, Anglhan walked around the table, grabbed his friend by the arms and thrust him into a chair. A question occurred to him.
"How did you get into my bedroom?"
"Your headman, Lenorin, is one of our group. He tells us what you've been up to."
"You've been spying on me?"
Furlthia shrugged.
"Even when I was your first mate you didn't tell me everything that was going on, why would that change?"
"True enough," said Anglhan, slumping back into his chair. "This group of yours, who else is in it?"
"I'm not saying. People here and there; some came with us, some lived in the city before. Folk interested in making sure the Askhans don't get out of hand."
"Well, you can add me to that list," said Anglhan. "Ullsaard thinks he can make me his creature, tame me like an ailur, but I'm not going to simply roll over for him. I'll need your eyes and ears, friend. It's situations like this when you need to know as much as possible. Can you do that for me?"
Furlthia looked uncomfortable and rubbed his forehead in thought. He took a long look at Anglhan, weighing him up.
"All right. If I hear of anything you need to know, I'll pass it on. But let's be clear about something: I'm not your man any longer. I don't like you, I don't work for you."
"But still you came to warn me, to take me to safety…"
"Yeah, I did. I hope I don't regret it."
II
Ten thousand legionnaires formed a guard of honour for Ullsaard and Anglhan as they paraded along the narrow street through the centre of Magilnada. Ullsaard wanted to put on an impressive show and Jutiil had not failed him. The men looked pristine and a good crowd had been turned out, although the reception of their new governor veered towards the sullen rather than celebratory. It didn't matter to the general; the whole point of the investiture was to make it plain to even the dullest Magilnadan that Anglhan was in charge, backed by an Askhan general with a large number of well-trained soldiers.
Ullsaard glanced across at the new governor as Anglhan waved to the crowd, a beaming smile on his face. The general knew that inside Anglhan's mind gears were turning like the machinery of a mill, looking at every possible means to gain an advantage. He was a slippery ally at best, but he was also the most useful one Ullsaard had at the moment, out of a very slim choice.
In a way, Ullsaard had Murian to thank for his recent success. If it hadn't been for the governor's complaints about Magilnada, Ullsaard might have never realised the importance of the city to the duskward and coldward provinces. While Nalanor, Maasra and Okhar were self-sufficient, the newer regions were still developing their irrigation and their farms, clearing space for settlers. It took several generations to get a province into full working order, and that vulnerability had given Ullsaard his chance.
With the half-hearted shouts of the Magilnadans ringing from the high buildings alongside the street, Ullsaard wondered if he'd been lucky so far. Was it luck that Urikh had been involved in an insurrection against Magilnada's rulers? Perhaps there was an element of fortune about it, Ullsaard decided, but he was sure that what had come next had come about from good planning and hard work. Provinces didn't capitulate to a general because of luck.
They reached the steps that led to the first level of the richer residents' houses, where a wooden stage had been built overlooking a wide plaza. Behind a cordon of armed soldiers, the people of Magilnada followed the procession and filled the square.
Was it luck? The question continued to irk Ullsaard. If he had been lucky so far, that made the future that much more uncertain. It was certainly luck, or fate, that Kalmud had fallen ill, but Ullsaard had been well-positioned to exploit the opportunities as they arrived.
He ascended the steps to the stage behind Anglhan, shield and spear in hand, and stood to one side as the governor moved to the front and raised a fist above his head. The assembled legionnaires beat spears against shields and raised such a shout that the square was filled with noise.
Anglhan motioned for silence and the legionnaires quit their clamour immediately. Ullsaard allowed his thoughts to wander further as Anglhan launched into what would undoubtedly be a long and tedious speech. Ullsaard was a more direct orator and believed in three simple things: inspire the men, tell them what you want, and tell them what they get out of it. Anglhan was of that breed of men who loved the sound of his own voice, and Ullsaard listened vaguely as the governor went on at length about a new age of prosperity, a dawn of renewed civic pride and the welcoming of a time of plenty for all.
Suppressing a yawn, Ullsaard tapped a marching beat on the haft of his spear. The sun was bright, the sky cloudless. It would be a great day for a battle, and Ullsaard wished he was many miles away in Nalanor, hunting down Nemtun. He had left Anasind in charge of the legions, camped three days duskwards of the Greenwater. There was no point in moving any further towards Askh until Ullsaard knew where Cosuas and his legions could be found. To advance without that knowledge was asking to be trapped. It was also the reason Ullsaard wanted to move full legions raised from Magilnada, so that should it come to a straight fight against Nemtun and Cosuas, Ullsaard could at least match their numbers.
But nothing had been heard of Cosuas since he had left Maasra. No soldier, no farmer, no trader had heard anything of the legions fighting to hotwards. Perhaps the king had underestimated Ullsaard initially and ordered Cosuas to stay on campaign, but that seemed increasingly unlikely. What worried Ullsaard was the idea that Cosuas had found some route back into Greater Askhor, perhaps circling hotwards of the Mekha desert and coming back through the mountains duskwards of Okhar. Even now, Cosuas could be marching on the rear of Ullsaard's army.
Though the general's instinct was to go for the killing blow now, he was reluctant to strike while Nalanor, Okhar and Maasra were still loyal to Lutaar. As it was, Ullsaard controlled half of the empire, but by far it was the poorer half. If he delayed too long, more legions would be raised against him in an escalation of armies he couldn't hope to match, but if he acted too swiftly, his blow might fall astray; and
he reckoned he would have only one chance at victory. Any significant defeat, any hint of weakness, and his support from Murian, Allon and Kulrua would evaporate quicker than an Enairian morning mist.
With some relief, Ullsaard realised that Anglhan had just about finished his inaugural speech. He was announcing three days of celebrations, more donations to the shrine gardens, and ended with a general call to all men of strong arm and fair mind to enlist in the new legions.
"Imagine the glory that awaits such men," said Anglhan. "The first of a new breed of legionnaire, a place in history. The Askhan legions have proud traditions and they pay good gold for those that place their lives in danger for their fellow men. Such are the benefits of the Askhan way – food and a livelihood for you, money for your families. No longer will you have to toil in field or workshop for little reward, only to be asked to put down your hammer and scythe for a spear. You will be numbered amongst the most powerful army in the world, the Magilnadan First."
Ullsaard shifted uneasily at this announcement. Legions belonged to all of Greater Askhor. Even though he defied the king and waged war against other legions, Ullsaard was still firm in his belief that he did so for a better Askhan future. Anglhan's two legions were to be the Nineteenth and Twentieth, raised and trained and equipped by legal means, not the private army of Magilnada.
Ullsaard cleared his throat meaningfully and stepped up beside the governor. Anglhan glanced at the general and brought his speech to a hurried close. Ullsaard lifted his spear above his head.
"Magilnada, I salute you!" he cried. "For generations you have laboured under the tyranny of weak kings and self-serving nobles. This day things change. This day you become Askhans. To be an Askhan is to be proud of where you were born, but also to put the good of all above the wants of the few. I am an Enairian and also an Askhan. I grew up in a small village in the forests coldwards from here. Only in Greater Askhor could I have dreamt of becoming who I am today. Each of you can hold that same dream. To be master of your destiny; to raise your children without fear; to feed your families every day.
"I too have suffered from the cruel indifference of a distant king. I am not a meek man, and so I do not sit at the table and grumble into my wine about it. No, I am a man of action more than deeds, and I will march to Askh and take the Crown of the Blood from the head of a man who does not deserve to wear it.
"I can make a promise to you today. Every man of Magilnada who joins my legions and marches with me through the gates of Askh will have done his duty. I will give him a house and a farm, and money for crop and livestock. One year with me guarantees freedom and prosperity for the rest of your lives!"
This announcement drew a far greater reaction than all of Anglhan's long-winded endorsements. The legionnaires began to chant Ullsaard's name, and their enthusiasm spread into the crowd. Raising shield and spear high, Ullsaard turned to the left and right, basking in the growing cries of adulation. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Anglhan looking on with jealousy. Ullsaard directed a cocky wink towards the new governor as a reminder: the power is mine, not yours.
III
Anglhan's new reign as governor of Magilnada began with a feast, and the lord's hall was packed with as many tables and benches as could be found; the former laden with food, the latter filled with dignitaries who had begged, borrowed or stolen an invitation. Music formed the backdrop to the ceaseless chatter and, much to Anglhan's delight, naked serving boys waited on the tables with Askhan wine and Salphorian ale. He sat at the head table with Jutiil to his left and Ullsaard to his right. Midst the hubbub, Anglhan had to raise his voice to have a simple conversation.
"You might have the hearts of the solders and the common people," Anglhan said to Ullsaard, "but I have the purses of the chieftains, the craftsmen and the merchants."
"Which is why we will make such a powerful pairing," replied the general, raising his cup of wine. "Just don't forget that all of the money in Magilnada can't stop a spear tip."
"And I am sure you will always remember that a simple bronze spear tip is the difference between a soldier and a man with a long stick."
Ullsaard laughed deeply while Anglhan lifted his own mug in salute.
"You've made me governor of Magilnada, and I am grateful," Anglhan continued. "When I help make you king of Greater Askhor, I am sure the favour will be more than returned."
"And I am sure the favour will not be a cheap one," said Ullsaard, his expression losing its humour.
"You can be sure of that," replied Anglhan.
NALANOR
Late Spring, 209th Year of Askh
I
The camp outside Parmia rivalled the largest towns in Greater Askhor. It was one of three such camps, spreading hotwards from the town, each three days from the Greenwater. The legionnaires had dubbed it Ullsaardia, the others being Jutiilia and Donaria after the respective First Captains. Officially they were simply Parmian Barracks One, Two and Three, but Noran preferred the soldiers' names.
The marching camps Noran had witnessed during the winter were nothing compared to the construction of these garrisons. Each housed between fifteen and twenty thousand men and their families, in endless rows of canvas tents around a few wooden buildings such as the First Captains' headquarters, the baths and the armouries. Wooden walls protected the camp, with five rows of stake-lined ditches spreading out like ripples outside them. The forge chimneys billowed smoke day and night as the weapon smiths forged more armour and weapons, fed by a steady stream of ore now coming from the Midean Mountains and the peaks coldwards of Parmia. Supply caravans arrived almost daily, with fresh slaughtered cattle and goats, barrels of salted meat and the first shipments of spring grain from Salphoria. Noran was used to such industry on the outskirts of Askh, in Geria and other cities, but here in a temporary camp in the middle of the Nalanor farmlands it seemed incredible.
Having fled the wrath of Luia, Noran had avoided Ullsaard, despite his promise to confess all to the general. It had not been so difficult; Ullsaard had been busy marshalling his forces throughout Ersua and Nalanor, gathering the legions of Murian, Asuhas and Allon into three army groups to guard against attack from Nemtun on the other side of the Greenwater, and the possible arrival of Cosuas. Noran had kept himself distracted by becoming an unofficial ambassador to Ullsaard's governor allies, and spent more time with them than in the camps. He was far more comfortable dealing with the governors' continual manoeuvring than army logistics, and certainly the accommodation in their palaces was far more to his liking.
But for all the insight Noran was gaining into the governors' motives, expectations and likely ambitions, he could not hide from the fact that he was dreading a confrontation with Ullsaard. The matter became more pressing when Noran learnt that Ullsaard had travelled to Magilnada for Anglhan's investiture. That same night he had considered fleeing, maybe to Maasra. Though the desire to save himself from Ullsaard's inevitable wrath was strong, there was a part of Noran that knew he deserved whatever punishment was coming to him. Grief was no excuse for his betrayal, and that he had betrayed the memory of Neerita added to his burning shame.
He had tried strong wine to wash away the feelings of guilt, but drunkenness just left him in an uneasy fog, leaving him more vulnerable to bursts of depression. He wondered how it could be that he had once been free to leap from bed to bed of any women who took his fancy, yet one natural, grief-driven indiscretion now left him feeling hopeless and scared.
When news came that Ullsaard was returning to Nalanor, Noran knew that it was time for him to make a decision. He wondered whether he could deny the act, but his past was against him; while Ullsaard might doubt Luia's motives for making such a claim, the general would surely believe innocent Meliu. Noran hoped that Ullsaard was not too harsh on his youngest wife. Having already dismissed self-exile, Noran was only left with the option of facing up to what he had done and begging Ullsaard to forgive him.
Most likely it would mean a meeting on the bloodfields, where
men of honour resolved their disputes. Noran was no slouch with a sword, but he knew Ullsaard would butcher him in moments.
It was with such dark thoughts that Noran heard the horns sounding Ullsaard's return early one evening. Seized by a sudden doubt, Noran packed a few belongings into a sack in case his nerve failed him and he chose to bolt for safety. He could not decide whether to approach Ullsaard and throw himself on his friend's mercy, or wait to be summoned by the general.
As the tramp of the column thundered across camp, Noran waited in his tent, biting his nails and fidgeting with his bag of clothes. He heard the officers calling out the halt and could picture Ullsaard saying a few words to his men before dismissing them.
Would Ullsaard send for Noran straight away, or would he deal with his other business before attending to personal matters? Unable to contain his worry, Noran began to pace, rehearsing what he would say over and over. Muttering to himself, he tried to find the words to express how much he regretted what he had done, but they felt empty. They were excuses, not reasons. Had he been a man at all, had he been a true friend, he would have kept his lust in check and sent Meliu away.
