The Crown of the Blood

by Gav Thorpe

  Realisation crept across Jutaar's face like the dawn spreading across the harbour.

  "It's a bit like when Urikh and I were kids," he said. "He was always saying 'I'm telling Father what you did', even when I hadn't done anything wrong."

  "Yes," said Ullsaard. "But when I've left and you need to remind people of the consequences of ill discipline, I wouldn't use those exact words."

  III

  Ullsaard's crackdown on the Brotherhood and the other malcontents in Askhira rapidly brought work back up to speed. Though Jutaar was still behind on delivering the fleet his father needed, the pace was quickening and there was still a chance that they would be ready to sail with the legions before the winter.

  Five days after his father had departed, Jutaar discussed this with Urikh; Ullsaard had left his eldest son in Askhira to help Jutaar ensure progress went smoothly. The two of them were making a tour of the docks, followed by a coterie of scribes with wax tablets and styluses making notes of the work being done.

  "This is the sixteenth of the thirty warships we need," Jutaar was saying as they stopped to look at the skeletal timbers of a trireme. Hundreds of men were cladding the ribs with hull planks and putting down decking. "We have four hundred and eleven of the six hundred and fifty transports too."

  "It is still taking too long," said Urikh.

  Jutaar had always known his brother to be an industrious, ambitious, busy person. Even as a child Urikh had constantly devised ways to take advantage of his younger siblings and their friends, persuading them to lend him money for some scheme or other; money that he almost inevitably failed to repay due to the poor sense or bad luck of someone else. Urikh's apparent appetite for this operation outstripped anything he had shown before. The promise of becoming the heir to the Crown was clearly the greatest incentive Jutaar's brother had ever felt. Since coming to Askhira, he had thrown himself into every aspect of the endeavour, berating any foreman whose team so much as laid one plank or hammered one nail or tarred one seam less than was required each day. Jutaar was pleased that Urikh was around to deal with the more unpleasant practicalities of controlling a work force and Urikh had even admitted, somewhat drunkenly and aggressively the night before, that the two of them made a good team.

  "More men won't help," said Jutaar. "There's only so much space to build and so many things that can be done at once."

  "That does not solve my problem," said Urikh, squinting in the sunshine. He was obviously suffering from his over-indulgence of wine the night before. "Give me answers, not excuses."

  Jutaar thought about the problem as they moved onto the next dock where a flat-bottomed transport was taking shape, waiting only for its mast and cabin to be built.

  "Lanterns," he said.

  "What's that?" Urikh replied absently, having snatched a tablet from one of his attendants to scribble down some thought of his own.

  "If we bring in some of those large camp lanterns the legions use, maybe thirty or so, we could extend the shifts into the night by another watch before it gets too dark to work."

  Urikh stared at his brother as if he had suddenly turned a strange colour and spouted Nemurian.

  "What?" said Jutaar. "What's wrong with that?"

  "Nothing!" Urikh exclaimed with a grin. "It is brilliant! I should have thought of that."

  "Well, you didn't, brother," said Jutaar, feeling pleased with himself.

  "So, where do we get these lanterns from?"

  Jutaar hesitated. He hadn't got that far ahead in his thinking.

  "We'll have to send for them," he said.

  "That will take too long," said Urikh as they resumed their tour, walking along a stone wharf as the waves lapped over its edge and crept towards their sandaled feet. His smile disappeared and became a frown, but that soon vanished as he came to an answer. "We will get the artisans in the Tenth to make them. I'm sure they have everything they need and it is not like they have much else to do at the moment."

  Jutaar thought about this and could find no fault with the plan.

  "That would work. An extra watch each day should increase production by another fifth. We would have the fleet ready in time."

  Urikh laid a brotherly arm around Jutaar's shoulders and slapped him on the belly.

  "With a fleet, we take Askhor," Urikh said. "When we have Askhor, we take Askh. After that, father becomes king. And we will be Princes of the Blood!"

  Jutaar nodded and smiled. That certainly sounded good.

  IV

  Something woke Urikh in the early hours of the morning. He guessed it to be during Gravewatch. He glanced across the bed to see his wife, Neerlima, still asleep. He slipped out from under the blankets and padded barefoot to the archway and into the adjoining room. He peered into the darkness at Luissa in her small bed, nothing more than a splay of dark curls against a white pillow. He watched for a moment but his daughter did not stir, as sound asleep as her mother.

  As he turned back to his bed, Urikh realised what seemed amiss. He could smell a hint of smoke in the air, as if one of the servants had improperly put out a cooking fire. Urikh could not understand why he would notice such a thing at this time of the morning. As he was about to slip back under the covers, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and looked towards the windows. Between the slats of the shutters he saw a flickering.

  Filled with sudden foreboding, he dashed across the room and flung open the shutters. He looked towards the harbour and saw smoke rising from flames aboard three ships, slowly drifting towards he docks. He recognised them as ships Jutaar had mounted with legion lamps, now ablaze from stem to stern.

  Others had seen them too and bells rang and gongs were struck in warning, but there was nothing that could be done. Urikh heard Neerlima stirring behind him, asking what he was doing, but he was fixed on the scene unfolding in the harbour.

  The burning ships crashed into the docks, the sea wind fanning the flames onto the canvas and timbers, the barrels of pitch and oil, and soon the fires were spreading from hotward along the crescent of the bay, growing in strength. That same wind brought smoke gusting over Askhira, stinging Urikh's eyes; but there had been tears in them already as he realised how many ships they would lose. It seemed as if they hadn't found all of the Brotherhood's agents and saboteurs after all. He would have to write to his father.

  "Fuck," he muttered, lowering his head into his hands, unable to look any more.

  NARUN, NALANOR

  Late Summer, 210th Year of Askh

  I

  The reports from the scouts had been confirmed: Nemtun's army had left the Wall and was advancing on Narun. After a season content to guard against attack, no doubt having celebrated the new year in comfort, the king's brother had decided to take the offensive. Donar gathered his second captains in the headquarters he had made in an old municipal building. Third captains bustled around the room, gathering maps of the area between Narun and the Wall, collating the disparate reports of Nemtun's army and its progress.

  "Stand or retreat, that is the simple question," the First Captain of the Fifth told his subordinates, fists on hips. "We have one legion and a few auxiliaries from the docks; Nemtun has four by all accounts, two of them newly raised in Askhor. They lack experience but they'll be well-equipped."

  "One legion cannot face four, no matter how fresh they are," said Kluurs, the wrinkled, grey-haired Second Captain of the fifth company. Donar had inherited him from the previous First Captain, and considered Kluurs a dependable if uninspired officer. "Narun has no Wall to defend."

  "We can send word to the Twelfth in Parmia and hold the camp," suggested Arsiil. The captain of the second company was a battered man with ugly ears, a broken nose and a scar running from right cheek to chin. Like Kluurs, he had been with the Fifth when it had been under Nemtun's command and knew the king's brother well. Arsiil waved a hand towards the narrow window. "Let Nemtun have the city; he can't do anything with it with us still on his doorstep."

  "It'd take four
days at least for a runner to reach Jutiil, and six or seven for the Twelfth to reach us, even if they could leave immediately," said Donar. He looked at the maps spread on the table between them. "Nemtun could storm the camp in ten days, no problem. Is there nowhere else we could defend?"

  "I have an idea," said Lutaan, captain of the first company and Donar's nephew. He pulled a map to the top of the pile and turned it towards Donar. "Let's not think about defending Narun, let's think about attacking Nemtun."

  "Open battle against four to one?" Arsiil laughed scornfully. "General Ullsaard will thank none of us for throwing ourselves onto the enemy's spears for no cause. We need every shield and spear for the attack on Askhor."

  "The general will thank us less for giving up the Greenwater without a fight," said Donar. "From Narun, Nemtun can send ships hotwards to Paalun and then retake Geria. The Tenth will be cut off in Maasra and easy to pick off. I don't even know where the general and the Thirteenth are, they could be horribly caught out. We can't allow that to happen. Lutaan, what are you suggesting?"

  "Here, at Pallion, the road passes through high hills," said Lutaan, pointing to the defile on the map. "We ambush Nemtun's column there, before withdrawing coldwards and crossing back over the Greenwater at Denerii Ford."

  "Nemtun's not an idiot," argued Arsiil. "He'll be treating everywhere outside the Wall as hostile territory. You think we could just sneak up on the man that blazed across Anrair? He'll have a picket out and he'll be doubly wary going through Pallion."

  "We'll give him cause to relax," said Donar, liking his nephew's plan more with each passing moment. There was no hope of stopping Nemtun, but at least a short offensive would be something better to take to Ullsaard than a hasty retreat. "We'll make it look like we've burnt the ships, as we would if we were retreating. Nemtun's an arrogant arse, and he knows we can't hold Narun against him. No doubt the king's agents know the legions are spread all over keeping everything under control. Yes, I'm damn sure Nemtun isn't looking for a fight, but he knows if he can take Narun it'll be hard to claim it back before the winter."

  "Why don't we just burn the ships and retreat?" asked Nimruun, the captain of the third company. The slight, fair-haired man looked up from a sheaf of scouts' reports. "Geria is safe if Nemtun has no ships to sail downriver. It'll take him a while to get enough vessels together, by which time we can join with the Tenth in Paalun and wait for him."

  Donar was about to argue with this course of action, but stopped himself. Was he just looking to keep his pride with the general, or was there actually a military reason for risking an attack on Nemtun?"

  Before he could answer, Lutaan spoke.

  "Why not send what ships we can down to Paalun before attacking Nemtun?" said the captain. "That way, we give the old fucker a bloody nose, withdraw with the legion intact and stop him getting anything useful out of Narun."

  Donar looked at his officers, waiting for further criticisms. None were forthcoming, though Arsiil's brow was furrowed, trying to come up with one.

  "Those will be my orders," Donar announced. "We have to move quickly. We need to be at Pallion by midday tomorrow to be sure of getting there before Nemtun. Pass the word to the ships' captains to set sail tonight; tell them that any of them left in the harbour at dawn will have their ship seized and destroyed, that'll get their arses moving. We'll use the camp materials for our fake fires."

  "Double sentries on the roads as well," said Nimruun. Donar's look was questioning so the captain continued. "Obviously Nemtun has one or more spies still in the city, otherwise he wouldn't know we're ripe for attacking. All it'll take is one of them to catch a sniff of what we're doing and get to his army and we'll be walking into a trap, not the other way round."

  Donar nodded and the second captains saluted before departing. The commander of the Fifth walked up the stairs to the second storey of the building and passed through the upper rooms, where former offices and harbour archives had been turned into storerooms and dormitories. Striding between the bunks in one room, he came to a ladder leading to the roof terrace. Pulling himself up, he walked to the dawnwards edge of the terrace and looked at the mountains jutting into the sky, the natural boundary of Askhor.

  "I'll teach you to have a swing at me, you fat swine," Donar said with a content smile.

  II

  The horns sounded the alarm, ringing back along the column as it marched along the road. Donar grinned to himself at the thought of the consternation that would be going through the minds of the legionnaires below, especially those new recruits who had probably been looking forward to a march into Narun without a battle.

  Nemtun had taken the bait, headstrong as always, and had come to the Pallion defile in the late afternoon the day after Donar and his Fifth had left Narun. Nemtun's column was stretched out, the veterans of the Second in the vanguard, the two new legions with their blue shields and freshly forged icons half a mile behind, unable to keep up with the pace of the experienced campaigners. This held back the other blooded legionnaires from the Fourth; the brother legion raised at the same time as Donar's Fifth for the conquest of Nalanor, taken by the Nemtun from Murian before his capitulation to Ullsaard.

  Donar was disappointed that he could see no sign of Nemtun with the Second as they hurriedly moved from their ranks of march into a semi-circle of phalanxes facing coldwards towards the advancing companies of the Fifth. Clearly their captain hoped to hold position until reinforced by the following legions. What he didn't know was that Donar had already set in motion a plan to ensure that relief would be some time in coming.

  "Let's show these spoilt braggarts what a real legion can do!" Donar shouted to his men as he led them down the long slope towards the road, striding with purpose beside his nephew in the first company.

  To his right, black smoke hung in a pall over the Greenwater, where fires still burned fitfully amongst the piers and wharfs of Narun. Everything that wasn't needed had been loaded onto spare boats and rafts made from the logs of the camp wall, and set ablaze in the early hours of morning for maximum visibility, an hour after the last ships had been sent downriver. The conflagration had been something to behold, and Donar had enjoyed some banter with his men as they cheered the pops and explosions.

  Looking to his left, along the road towards the Wall, the First Captain could see three hundred hand-picked men led by the legion's engineers and armourers, picking their way through the boulders at the steepest part of the defile. They carried kegs of fuel taken from the lava-throwers that had been set ablaze along with the rest of the camp baggage; the war machines were too heavy to be taken on the Fifth's hasty retreat that would come later in the day.

  While the companies of the next legion in the column entered the rock-lined canyon at a fast march, the engineers lighted the tapers on their barrels and threw them down the slopes. Some exploded early, others caught on bushes and trees to detonate harmlessly, but dozens of the kegs rolled down onto the road, spraying hot burning fuel over the advancing legionnaires. Where the lava spilt across the pavement of the road, it spread into burning pools, halting further progress. Those soldiers that tried to pick their way around the blaze by climbing the slope were assailed by a barrage of bellows-arrows and slingshot from the men on the defiles.

  There was no time to enjoy the view as Donar raised his sword to signal the charge. Five thousand legionnaires swept down the slope, falling upon the Second with shouts of "Fight for the Fifth!"

  Donar could have remained with his second captains, directing the battle, but the temptation to pit himself in person against his foes had proved too much. The battle plan was simple and he would not be needed if things went well and could do little good if things went poorly. Having hacked down savages in Anrair and Mekha, this was his chance to prove himself against another legion, and his blood rushed through his body at the prospect of a proper fight. With the legion's battle cry on his lips, Donar plunged down the slope with his men.

  The Second were not content
to let fate alone decide their future. Their captain, a wily, political man called Rhantis who Donar had never liked, led five companies on a counter-attack, storming up the hillside to meet the Fifth head-on. Spear crashed against shield as the opposing phalanxes met, the impetus of those charging downhill meeting with the set pikes of those below.

  Surrounded by a wall of spearpoints, Donar led the first company directly into the Second's own premier company, heading for their icon bearer. Wooden shafts splintered around him and a bronze pike head glanced from his helm as the two formations smashed together. Pushed onwards by his surging legionnaires, Donar was thrust into the middle of massive melee. He kicked a booted foot against the shield of the enemy legionnaire to his front, smashing it back into the face of the man beside his foe. Another wave of spear thrusts forced Donar into the cover of the shield carried by the man to his right, accompanied by more shivered shafts and broken pike tips.