by Gav Thorpe
"I have the right to grant my legions the privilege of sacking conquered territories. For years I have been forced to throw you the scraps left behind by others, filling your purses with the dust and sand of Mekha. I offer you something no other man can. In the spring, I shall become king; my legions will get the riches of the capital. The city will be yours, by right of conquest, to take what you have earned through sweat and blood.
"You, the legions of Ullsaard, have my permission to sack Askh."
The reaction was muted at first, the army unable to comprehend what they were being offered. Wiser soldiers made the point clearer: the legions would be allowed to plunder and rape their way through the richest city in the world. Even split amongst the many thousands in the legions, such a prize would make them wealthy beyond anything they could imagine.
As realisation spread, the cheers began. Legion mottos were shouted into the air, but soon all voices turned to chanting Ullsaard's name, over and over, the air split by the thunderous cries. Ullsaard took the ovation impassively. His name ringing in his ears, he turned Blackfang around and rode away from his army.
Ullsaard would have the Crown. The disgust churning his stomach was just another part of the price to pay.
NALANOR
Spring, 210th Year of Askh
I
"I'm surprised such a fat man can run so fast," laughed Anasind.
All that could be seen of Nemtun's army was a cloud of dust spreading towards the distant shadow of the Wall. A few ships and boats burned along the quays of Narun, and there were signs that the retreating prince had attempted to torch the city, but with little success. A smouldering warehouse here and there was testament to the hasty, clumsy arson.
"I didn't expect him to fight," said Ullsaard, standing with Anasind and his other First Captains on the roof terrace of a merchant's house overlooking the docks. He looked at Donar. "He isn't stupid. He has the Wall to hide behind."
The First Captain of the Fifth looked shamefacedly at his feet, feeling the dig at his pride for his unsuccessful attack on Nemtun's army at the start of the year. Ullsaard allowed Donar to stew in his embarrassment for a little while, before clapping him on the shoulder with a smile.
"You'll be able to get even soon enough," said the general. "Nemtun's trapped in Askhor now, he won't be able to run anymore."
"So when do we go for the Wall?" asked Luamid. "I can't see much point in waiting."
"We don't," replied Ullsaard. The half-circle of commanders around the general exchanged confused looks. "I didn't spend a fortune building a fleet in Maasra to needlessly throw my legions at the Wall."
"So we'll be marching to Askhira?" asked Jutiil. "That's a trek and a half."
Ullsaard smiled slyly.
"You have a plan, don't you?" said Anasind.
"Let's go downstairs to discuss it," Ullsaard told them. "I think it's one of my best."
II
Eleven legions on the march, the largest army Jutaar had ever seen: the Thirteenth, the general's own men; the Fifth, Tenth, Twelfth and Sixteenth from the campaigns in Mekha; the First and Second Magilnadan – Ullsaard had been incensed by Anglhan naming his legions after the city where they were raised; the Ninth, Fourteenth, Seventeenth and Eighteenth from across Greater Askhor, taken from the governors under Ullsaard's heel.
In all, nearly seventy thousand men marched from Narun and the people of the city came out to wave them off. They had not enjoyed their brief rulership by Nemtun over the winter and were glad to see Ullsaard back in charge. Another legion, the newly raised Twenty-third, had been left as garrison in the city.
Jutaar had wondered at this. Nemtun had already proven he was capable of sallying forth from the Wall to take Narun, and the fifty-day march to Askhira would give him plenty of time to do so. Ullsaard had emptied the provinces of all but the most skeleton force and if Nemtun realised this, he would be able to run free. Without Ullsaard around to protect them, the governors would quickly flip sides back to the king if Nemtun arrived at their capitals with his five legions. Once the first one toppled, the rest would follow, just as they had when confronted by Ullsaard's army.
"Don't worry about it," Jutaar's father had told him. "Leave the strategy to me."
Jutaar did worry about it, but his concerns were tempered by the trust he had in his father's judgement. It was that judgement that had placed Jutaar in charge of the massive supply caravan and tens of thousands of camp followers. Jutaar had thought his experience building the fleet in Askhira had been daunting, but it had become little more than practise for the monumental task of keeping forty thousand civilians in line.
He'd been given half the companies from the Sixteenth to help chaperone a column that stretched for five miles, following behind the army. The people were everything the legions were not: slovenly, intractable, selfish, disorganised and petty. Not a day went by that did not see Jutaar cajoling a powerful merchant into line; or preventing families following different legions all but declaring war on each other over camp space; or settling a dispute over whose turn it was to travel at the front, closest to the legions.
"Another forty days of this will drive me mad," Jutaar confessed to his father on the fifth evening since they had left Narun.
"I'm sorry, son," said Ullsaard.
It was just the two of them in the main room of Ullsaard's pavilion. The general's servants had brought in a table and low chairs and the two shared a simple meal together, the first in a long time.
"It's going to get worse for you," said Ullsaard.
"I'll get the hang of it, I'm starting to work out who the troublemakers are and who I can trust," said Jutaar. He popped a grape in his mouth and chewed laboriously. "They'll get into the routine of it too."
"You don't understand," said Ullsaard. "From tomorrow, you'll be on your own."
Jutaar stopped, another grape halfway to his mouth.
"You're right, I don't understand."
Ullsaard looked apologetic as he pushed aside his plate and laid his hands on the table.
"This march is a ruse," said the general. "So is the fleet in Askhira. I've got no intention of trying to land an army on the Askhan coast. There's no more than ten places where I could offload so many soldiers, and you can be sure our enemies have them closely watched. If we failed to get a landing, we'd be driven back into the sea."
"It's not… I don't…" muttered Jutaar.
"It's bait for a trap," Ullsaard continued with a self-satisfied smile. "Of course Narun looks weak, I want it to. Donar may have bollocksed up his attack on Nemtun, but he had the right idea. This time when he comes looking for an easy win, I'll fall on him with ten legions! We'll see how the fat cunt likes that!"
"So who will I be taking to Askhira?"
"The First Magilnadan and the whole of the caravan. You're to make as much noise and mess as possible marching to Maasra; make it look like fifty thousand men came through. I want the king looking towards the sea for as long as possible. When Nemtun comes snuffling out from behind the Wall, we'll smash his army and be into Askhor before anyone realises what's happening. It'll be too late for the legions guarding the coast to come back duskwards and Askh will be ours."
"You're sending me on a diversion?" said Jutaar. "I want to be there when we win. Why can't Urikh do this?"
Ullsaard stood up and gripped his son's arm.
"I'm sorry, but I don't trust anyone else to do this for me. It has to be utterly convincing, and Urikh isn't a legion man. You are. You have the most important job of anyone."
Jutaar understood the truth of his father's words, but it made him no happier.
"I want to fight, Father," he said. "I want to be there when you lead your army. I want to be the first through the Wall with you, and the first into Askh. You're trying to get me out of the way, keep me out of trouble. I don't want to be the prince that led the wives' army!"
"Stand up," said Ullsaard. Jutaar did so. "You will be leading an army, and not just of mercha
nts and children. I'll be making you First Captain. The man Anglhan has in charge of the First Magilnadan is an idiot, some hairy-arsed son of a chieftain Anglhan wanted to keep happy. I'm replacing him with you and giving you some quality officers to help out. You'll be Prince Jutaar, First Captain of the legions."
"First Captain?" Jutaar never thought he would hear those words. He imagined his pavilion at the heart of the camp, every second and third captain doing his bidding. No more tiresome watch rotations. No more drills in the snow and rain. He would be the man in charge.
"Aye, First Captain Jutaar," Ullsaard said, shaking his son's hand. "Congratulations."
MAGILNADA
Spring, 210th Year of Askh
I
It was a solemn crowd that gathered around Noran's bed in the house of Ullsaard's wives. Meliu sat with Noran's limp, clammy hand in her tight grip. Allenya was there too, in a chair by the window, her thoughts and expression distant. Anglhan had come to pay his respects to the friend of his ally, and to perform another duty which he was in two minds about.
"Look who is here," Meliu said in overly sweet tones. "Governor Anglhan."
Anglhan looked at the dull features of Noran. His chest barely moved, his hair lank on the pillow, a thin trace of spit drooling from the corner of white lips, flesh a nauseating yellow. His eyes were closed, for which Anglhan was thankful. The last thing he wanted to look at was a pair of near-dead eyes staring blankly back.
Looking around the room, the governor of Magilnada saw that the comatose man was being given every comfort. Noran lay beneath thick blankets, on embroidered pillows, spring flowers arranged in vases around the room. There was even a blue songbird in a silver cage hanging in the corner, though it was quiet for the moment.
"He seems to be well looked after," said Anglhan.
Meliu smiled up at the governor.
"The physicians see him daily. Ullsaard sent more money to ensure we could afford it. I think the spring air will do him the world of good."
Allenya sighed and moved listlessly.
"And how are you?" asked Anglhan, turning his attention to Ullsaard's oldest wife. "I know it must be a heartache for you to be here, but your husband left you in my protection and if there's anything I can do, let me know."
"Can you spirit Ullsaard here?" she said. Anglhan shook his head sadly. "Not that he would want that. I have never worried so much. He has always been away for long times, on campaigns, fighting battles. I always believed he would come back to me."
"I am sure he will be back," said Meliu, reaching out a hand to her sister. "He always is."
"I am not so sure, not this time," said Allenya. "He sent me a letter with the men that brought Noran. It reads like the words of a man not sure if he will write any more."
"This is his first, last and best chance for victory," said Anglhan. "If he fails, the legions and the governors – the other governors – will lose confidence in him. I've not known Ullsaard long, and know him far less than you, but he doesn't strike me as the gambling sort. If he's ready to go, you can be sure it's because the time is right. The next letter you receive from him will be signed King Ullsaard, you'll see."
Allenya looked unconvinced and she returned to gazing out of the window, fingers picking at a loose thread on her skirt.
Anglhan took a deep breath, wondering if the moment was right for the announcement he had to make. He looked at Allenya and Meliu, both distracted.
"Where's Luia?" he asked. "I have something to say that she should hear as well."
"Making trouble somewhere, probably," said Meliu. "She's being more of bitch than normal, ever since Ullsaard shipped Urikh off to Maasra. I know how she is feeling; it has been so long since I have seen Ullnaar. I know he is safe, but he is growing into a young man and I have not been there to help him."
"It'll be finished soon enough, and your family can be together again," said Anglhan.
His hands fiddled with the letter from Ullsaard, which he had brought as proof of Ullsaard's wishes. With all this talk of families, it didn't seem right to reveal the letter's content. It was something Ullsaard could better deal with in person.
"What is that you have?" asked Meliu. "Is it something to do with what you want to talk to us about?"
Anglhan crumpled the letter into his jerkin pocket.
"It doesn't matter, it'll wait," he said.
He stood there feeling uncomfortable for a short while, but it was too much to bear.
"Thank you for your time, ladies, I hope to see you all at the lord's hall soon," he said, edging towards the door. "With any luck, Noran will be able to come as well."
"That would be nice," said Meliu, standing up. Allenya glanced in Anglhan's direction and nothing more.
"Right, I'll be off."
Anglhan hurried out of the house, feeling like a coward, though he tried to assure himself he was simply being sensitive to circumstance. Ullsaard's letter had included a request that as governor Anglhan legally annul the general's marriage to Meliu, and that of Noran and Anriit. Though it was obvious that Meliu felt something for Noran, Anglhan was not convinced she would be happy to learn that the man about to become king wanted to divorce her.
No, thought Anglhan, I'm not getting involved in that one. He can settle it himself.
II
Furlthia was waiting outside the house. Anglhan's bodyguard of legionnaires closed in on the former landship mate as he crossed the street, but Anglhan called them off.
"Sorry about that," Anglhan said as Furlthia fell into step beside him, pitching his voice so that the soldiers could hear him. "Put a uniform on them and they turn into idiots."
"You're the one that gave them uniforms," Furlthia reminded him quietly.
Anglhan replied with a non-committal grunt.
"Anyway, I've got some news for you," Furlthia continued.
"Am I going to like it?" asked Anglhan, heaving himself up the step of a carriage.
Furlthia walked around the other side and pulled himself through the curtains.
"No," he said. "Aegenuis is calling a council of chieftains. He wants the tribes to unite and take back Magilnada."
Anglhan slouched back into the thick cushions and shrugged.
"What he wants and what he gets are different things. Aegenuis could probably count on the tribes that were moved out of the Free Country, they'd want to get their lands back. What does anyone else care?"
"He knows what's going on in Askhor, and the turmoil your friend Ullsaard is causing. He's going to tell the tribes that after Magilnada they're going to move into Anrair."
"That's war with Askh," laughed Anglhan. "Nobody's that stupid, not even the chieftains."
"You haven't been duskwards for years, you haven't got any idea what it's like out there," said Furlthia, leaning towards Anglhan in agitation. "It's getting crowded and all the best timber, ore and grain is coming this way because the Askhans can pay more for it. People are starving, Anglhan, even with plentiful harvests! You don't understand how much hatred there is for the Askhans. Aegenuis has been frightened of poking the beast that's left him alone so far. By taking Magilnada, your general has shown Aegenuis that he can't expect the peace to last much longer. Either the tribes attack now, or suffer later."
Furlthia had been right; Anglhan did not like the sound of this. Not one bit.
"How long?" Anglhan asked, dreading the answer.
Now it was Furlthia's turn to shrug.
"By the end of the summer, surely," he said.
"Ullsaard will be king by the time spring is over," said Anglhan, speaking with confidence, though he was far from certain. "He'll not let Magilnada fall."
"And if Ullsaard fails? What happens then?"
Anglhan didn't answer. I'll be stuck between Lutaar and Aegenuis, he thought. Neither of them wants me here. He put on a brave smile and looked at Furlthia.
"Ullsaard won't fail."
NALANOR
Spring, 210th Year of Askh
&nb
sp; I
There was so much shouting; the bellows of the officers, the cries of the men around him, the roars of the enemy. Gelthius never realised battle would be this noisy. He winced as his company crashed into one of Nemtun's phalanxes. As a new hand, he was in the back ranks. All he had to do was shove the man in front and keep his spear from hitting any of his own men. The veterans at the front and along the right side of the phalanx would be doing all the hard work.
It was a far cry from the fights he had been in, stealing cattle from the neighbouring tribes in Salphoria. In those scraps it was every man for himself, and Gelthius fancied himself as quite a handy swordsman in his prime. Age might have slowed him a bit, but on the first charge he had realised why they had spent so many miserable days marching back and forth across the drill squares, raising and lowering their arms, setting their shields and walking in step shoulder to shoulder.
