The Crown of the Conqueror (55 page)

  "So you must at least fight," insisted Medorian. "Do your lands, your people mean so little to you?"

  "Does being king mean so much to you?" countered Aegenuis. He pointed to his war-helm, left at the end of the table. It was made of precious iron, rimmed with gold, its mask decorated with a silver wolf's face, a ruby set at its brow. "Take it, wear it, if you want to be king, for all the good it will do you."

  "I will," said Medorian. He took a step towards the table, arm outstretched. "Our people deserve a leader that does not abandon them!"

  Aegenuis grabbed Medorian's wrist and twisted, kicking at his ankle to send him tumbling to the ground. The young man struggled against his father, swinging and missing with a fist. Aegenuis twisted again, turning Medorian to his belly, and placed a knee in the small of his back.

  "You do not deserve it!" hissed the king. "I suffered the same vanity as you. I killed my father, as you want to kill me right now. I thought I was great, a leader worthy of these lands. I have been proven wrong. I look to dawnwards and I see an empire that will crush us or swallow us, it cares not which. That empire was founded by another king, and his will has won over ours. We have fought for rulership, and built nothing. We spilled the blood of our own while Askhos's followers raised cities and armies that we cannot match."

  Releasing his hold, the king stepped back.

  "It is no great mystery," he continued, as Medorian rolled over and sat up. "The spirits have abandoned us. We are at the mercy of the Askhans and all we can choose now is to preserve those lives the spirits have entrusted to us with their passing. I'll not be responsible for the deaths of women and children born under my rule. Future generations may not remember me, but if they do, they will thank me for putting their prosperity above my pride."

  Medorian snarled and sprang up, snatching a knife from his belt. Aegenuis easily slapped his son's arm aside and drove his forehead into Medorian's face, crushing his nose. The prince stumbled back, blood pouring onto his shirt.

  "Take him!" Aegenuis called to the chieftains. For a moment they hesitated, but Aghali seized Medorian, ripping the dagger from his hand, and the others followed his lead, grabbing the king's son by the arms and neck. "I could have you slain on the spot for drawing a blade on me. However, I would not see my last act as king be the execution of my son. I killed my father and to this day I have not regretted it. You shall live, and reap the benefits of my mercy."

  He waved the chieftains away, but then called for Aghali to stay when the group reached the door. When the others had gone, Aegenuis motioned for Aghali to sit beside him on the bench.

  "Spread the word to any chieftain that will listen," said the king. "They are to offer no resistance to the Askhans. They are not to provoke them in any way. I will send word to Ullsaard himself and invite him to Carantathi. There I will hand him my crown, bow my knee to the Askhan king and offer him my throne. Do you understand?"

  The old chieftain's eyes glimmered with tears. He grasped the king's shoulder and squeezed tight.

  "I never had no love for you, nor your father," Aghali admitted. "Your son has the same failings. But if it means anything, I am happy to call you king now. There are those as won't like it at all, and the Askhans will deal with them in their way. But you are right, we can't fight no more. Let's not spill the blood of our children for land they will never own. The past is past. We need to bury it with our dead."

  The two of them stood and gripped each other's arms in parting. Aegenuis walked with Aghali to the doors and stepped onto the street outside. The sun was bright overhead, the air dry on his skin. He felt as parched as the land, and had no tears to offer.

  A group of warriors stood guard a short distance away, sheltering under a ragged awning. As Aghali walked away, the king turned to the men and called out.

  "Send out the word to the camp. Find me someone that can write the words of the Askhans."

  They signalled their compliance and Aegenuis returned to the hall to compose his letter to King Ullsaard of Greater Askhor, soon-to-be ruler of Salphoria.

 

The mountains ahead were wreathed with clouds, though the sky above was clear and the sun scorching hot. To coldwards, on the edge of sight, more hills rose up, dark with trees. The tramp of thousands of feet brought up a great swathe of dust that swirled in light wind and settled on the armour of the legionnaires. At the front of the Askhan column, ahead of the worst of the cloud, Blackfang panted heavily as she padded alongside Ullsaard on her rein. He patted her flank out of reflex, pleased to be reunited. She was, he considered, more loyal than many he had once considered friend or ally.

  The ground underfoot was baked hard, the sparse grass withered and brown. There were no roads and no rivers to follow, so the army marched straight to duskwards. Ahead, somewhere in the mountains, lay Carantathi, the seat of the Salphorian king, soon to be Ullsaard's second city.

  Twenty days ago he had received Aegenuis's offer of peace. He had marched the next morning, and for twenty days not a single tribe had offered resistance to his advance. Companies were despatched as garrisons to the settlements they passed, while two of the eight legions that had set out had been sent to hotwards to deal with any chieftains that objected to the new state of affairs.

  Ullsaard had been met by elders and war chiefs, and each had accepted him as their new king. In the last twenty days he had taken more ground than in the previous two years. There had been times when he had doubted he would achieve his goal; when he had been slipping into Ersua fearful of discovery; when Erlaan had led the Mekhani horde into Greater Askhor.

  The king harboured no illusions that the future would be simple, but he could dream as such. He could enjoy the peace for a few years, at least. He had not had time to commemorate Jutaar's life properly, and there were many rifts with his family to seal. The taking of Carantathi would be symbolic, but there would be many Salphors who would continue to resist. The Brotherhood would have to extend their reach into these untamed lands and instil the ethos of Askh into the hearts and minds of the barbarians. The Mekhani were ever an issue to be dealt with, and in a few years he would bring them under the sway of his empire too.

  Despite these things, perhaps even because of the challenges he still faced, Ullsaard was in a good mood. He had an army thirty thousand strong at his back and a land to conquer. After so many tribulations, he was pleased to be up against the simple obstacles of war. He had left behind the distractions of kinghood, the worries of family and the politics of home. Here he faced the trials of logistics and discipline, strategy and disposition; obstacles he greeted with the contentment of familiarity. The reassurance of routine coupled with the hundred details of each day served to steady Ullsaard. It was this life, not the blood and glory of battle, which held his heart, though he would never shirk from bloodshed.

  It was an odd feeling, to be marching to victory knowing that no enemy army awaited him. It was a vindication of everything he had done, a bloodless end to his ambitions in Salphoria. He had some respect for Aegenuis. The Salphorian king had fought hard to keep his place, and Ullsaard would expect nothing less. He had also shown sense and humility to accept Ullsaard's inevitable triumph, and as much as his canny strategy, it was this that earned Aegenuis the Askhan ruler's good opinion.

  There was no need to be vindictive about the war. Even Aegenuis's alliance with Anglhan was excusable; had not Ullsaard himself raised up the treacherous dog? Salphoria was too large to be governed by one man, but Ullsaard had decided that should Aegenuis wish it, he could stay on as ruler of a province in Carantathi. That would bring some problems, the king was sure, but it solved many others. Ullsaard was determined not to let the example of Anglhan poison his thoughts against the idea of the local chieftains retaining positions of power.

  Salphoria was almost a second empire in itself, and so it was from Askhos's original plan that Ullsaard took his vision for these new lands. He would accept and legitimise those warlords who accepted him, and give them dominion over those tribes that resisted. Their fate would be inextricably linked to the fate of the empire, just as in those early years.

  He heard footfalls hurrying up from behind and looked back to see Anasind marching briskly to join him. He slowed for a moment to allow the general to catch up. Anasind's expression showed urgency, excited not apprehensive.

  "Some fresh news to break the monotony of the march?" said Ullsaard when Anasind came alongside.

  "True enough," replied the general. "Our scouts report sighting a Salphorian force a few miles ahead. Five or six thousand, at least. They did not appear ready to lay down their weapons peacefully."

  "What do you want to do about it?" said Ullsaard.

  "I thought it might be nice to kill them," Anasind said with a grin. "A peaceful occupation is all well and good, but I would rather my men earned their pay with their spears now and then."

  Ullsaard clapped a hand to his companion's shoulder and laughed.

  "Give a man an army and he wants to fight everything he can," said the king. He saw disappointment in the general's eyes and laughed again. "I agree, but I'm coming with you. We'll split the column. The Thirteenth, Fifth and Seventh will come with us, the rest will press on to find and secure Carantathi. We'll chase down these Salphors and rejoin the main army in a few days' time."

  "I shall prepare the orders immediately," said Anasind, filled with energy. "With your leave?"

  Ullsaard waved him away with a smile. As Anasind hurried back towards the army, Ullsaard was pleased with his choice of general. He would probably need to appoint two or three more fairly soon, to keep the Salphors in order while the Brotherhood set about bringing them into the imperial way of life.

  The prospect of battle quickened the king's heart. Chasing off a few defiant tribesmen might not be the height of glory, but it was a timely distraction from the long march. It would be good to fight with the Thirteenth again.

 

The moon had set and the army marched by starlight and lamplight. The barren stretch of land had given way to more fertile soil as it rose higher towards the hills. For two days and nights, Ullsaard's legions had pursued the Salphors, who had demonstrated their violent intent with several attacks, skirmishing with the kolubrid companies.

  The air was warm and a stiff breeze rustled the long grass as Gelthius and his company followed the lantern carried at the head of the group. The uneven ground made it impossible to walk in step, and two days of forced march with no break had left the legionnaires tired, so that each stumbled and pressed on at his own pace.

  Gelthius looked up at the spray of stars. He had never been this far dawnwards before, though he had heard tales of tribes living in the wooded hills. He had told the king what he knew of these lands, of the few scattered people living in the area. Ullsaard had thanked him for the information and sent him back to the company. There had been no change, and the army had continued after the enemy without pause.

  "Fuck me, my feet are sore," said Loordin. "Feels like I've been marching my whole bloody life."

  "If you don't keep up the pace, we'll never catch the bastards, and then you'll have even more marching to do," replied Muuril.

  They walked on in silence for a few hundred paces. The still was broken by murmuring from the companies in front, growing in volume as news spread back along the column. Second Captain Naasta emerged from the darkness.

  "Campfire sighted, about two miles ahead," he said. "Looks like a river crossing."

  The captain moved on, his voice dwindling as he passed on this information to the other officers.

  "Reckon we'll wait 'til dawn," said Muuril. "If them Salphors are on the other side of a river, it'll be a nightmare crossing and attacking in the dark."

  The sergeant's prediction was borne out. Orders came along the line to make rough camp in half a mile. Double guards would be set and the legions were to muster an hour before Dawnwatch. The soldiers plodded on.

  "What time is it now?" asked Loordin.

  "Just past Gravewatch, didn't you hear the call?" replied Gelthius.

  "Three hours kip," said Loordin. "Better than nothing, I suppose. I hope we don't spook the Salphors and set them off again; the king will want to press on if they do."

  The army spread out as it reached the staging area. Abada carts rumbled up from the rear, bringing the legionnaires their blankets, while fires were set and rations and water distributed.

  "No beer before battle," said Muuril as the company hunkered down around their fires. "That's an odd regulation, ain't it? If ever there was a time for a cup of beer, it's the night before a fight."

  Gelthius nodded in agreement and tore a chunk of salted pork with his teeth. He chewed the tough meat rigorously, washing down the mouthful with a swig of water from his skin. Hunger staved off, he took off his helmet and bunched his blanket into a pillow. He lay down on one side, head propped on his hand, and looked into the fire.

  "All the Salphors will be Askhans soon enough," he said to nobody in particular. "I suppose I should've seen that coming ages ago."

  "Nobody gives up without a fight," said Muuril. "It's the way, isn't it? Don't matter how sensible something might be, nobody likes things to change."

  "Except them Maasrite cowards," said Loordin. "They didn't put up no fight, did they?"

  "They were clever, not cowardly," said a deep voice from the darkness