The Crown of the Conqueror (9 page)

  "So you would sacrifice my people instead?" Asdargil shouted at Linghal. "Just like a Hadril whoreson to think like that."

  "At least we tried to fight," Linghal snapped back. "We didn't come running to the king like kicked dogs, whimpering for help."

  "It was your tribes that took half our stores last winter, you old bastard," said Asdargil. "The Askhans came before the harvest, what else are we going to do? Starve to death so you can build higher walls around your homes using timber stolen from our forests?"

  Accusation and counter-accusations engulfed the chieftains as old alliances and enmities sprang forth again. Aegenuis found another jug of beer and pushed his way through the jostling chieftains. He slumped back into this throne.

  We're all going to be killed, he thought, and took another drink.

 

Dryness scratched at Erlaan's throat and crusted his eyes. He was lying on his back, on something hard, in a place with no light. He could smell nothing, nostrils blocked. He tried to lick his lips, but there was no moisture at all. He reached up to his face with a hand that felt like lead, fingers rubbing at his eyes.

  Prising one eyelid open, Erlaan looked at a ceiling of yellow stone blocks. The air seemed yellow too; strange light ebbed from his right, like the glow of a lamp wick but more sickly, lacking any kind of warmth. Turning his head, Erlaan saw a slitlike window. He could see nothing outside, only a sliver of pulsating light.

  Still lacking the strength to sit up, he turned his head in the other direction. On his left, someone else was lying on a slab of stone, level with him. He dully recognised his father, Prince Kalmud, a layer of white dust coating his skin. With much effort, Erlaan lifted his hand again and saw the same chalk-like substance covering him. It was like the powder used inside the moulds he had seen used to make slabs of wax for writing.

  He tried to remember how he had arrived here. The last thing he could recall was being called to the throne room by his grandfather, King Lutaar. Most of the palace staff had been there, along with Udaan, the Chief Brother. Lutaar had told them all that General Ullsaard had breached the Askhan Wall and was marching on the city.

  Kalmud was very sick.

  The memory came back in a flash. Erlaan's father could barely walk, and Udaan had helped him up from his bier as the guards and servants listened to the king's instructions. There was to be a calm and efficient evacuation. The throne chamber had emptied slowly, until only the king, his son, his grandson and Udaan had been left behind.

  His father had said something that Erlaan had not heard. The king had smiled and shaken his head.

  "The Brotherhood will take care of you both," he had said.

  More Brothers had entered, silver-masked and cowled in black, and taken Kalmud away. Udaan had asked Erlaan to stand up and he had done so. Then the Chief Brother had done something with his hands, and Erlaan could remember nothing more.

  Erlaan realised he was neither hot nor cold, though he lay naked without any sheet or blanket. Feeling was returning to his limbs, bringing strength. He sat up.

  The room was square, no more than ten paces to a wall, and save for the tiny window the only other opening was an archway beyond which Erlaan could only see more of the same yellow stone receding into the distance. He tried to swing his feet to the floor but failed, his vigour not yet wholly returned.

  He lay back and caught his breath, surprised by how much he had exerted himself. Every breath seemed to stick in his lungs and he coughed hard, tasting more of the dust in his mouth. Raising a hand to his cheek, he rubbed away some of the patina on his skin, feeling no stubble beneath his fingertips. He was as freshly shaven as he'd been in the throne room, but had the strangest sense that time had passed, as if waking from an unplanned sleep only to find the next watch had chimed even though it felt like only moments had passed.

  With a grunt, he tried again to push himself upright. He managed to move himself to a sitting position on the edge of the slab. As sensation returned, it brought with it a dull ache, which reached down into his joints and bones.

  On wobbling legs, Erlaan stood and tottered across the small chamber, his head almost brushing the ceiling despite his weak stoop. He steadied himself with a hand on the edge of his father's slab and bent closer. He could hear breath whistling through Kalmud's slightly parted lips and sighed with relief.

  The chamber had all the appearance and feeling of a tomb; though the window was strange for a mausoleum. Confidence growing, Erlaan pushed himself up and took a step towards the window to see what was outside.

  "That would not be advisable, prince."

  The cracked voice caused Erlaan to turn towards the door. A short man stood in the archway. He was naked, devoid of all hair. His whole body was emaciated, bony joints sticking out through thin flesh. Eyes bulged in their sockets and glinted strangely in the light. Most remarkable was the covering of scars and tattoos that crawled across the man's skin; swirls and spirals that made Erlaan's eyes ache to follow them, connecting and broken by strange symbols.

  Erlaan glanced back to the window and then focussed on the man, trying not to stare into those metallic-looking eyes.

  "You have lots of questions," said the man before Erlaan could speak. "Let me answer some of them. My name is Asirkhyr. I am one of the chief acolytes of the temple where you now stand. You are safe."

  Erlaan looked at Kalmud, and again Asirkhyr spoke before the prince could ask the question.

  "Your father is no better and no worse than he was when you left Askh. The journey here has been a strain for both of you. I cannot explain how you came to be here in terms you will understand, but it takes a toll on the mind and body. You father's ill health means it will take longer for him to recover, and he may not recover at all."

  Shaking his head, Erlaan sat down. He stared at Asirkhyr for a long time before opening his mouth to speak. Once more, the man cut him off.

  "We are a priesthood, the founders of the organisation you know as the Brotherhood. The one you have known recently as Udaan will be here shortly to tell you more."

"I need water, and something to eat."

  Asirkhyr looked startled by the question. He took a moment to compose himself before replying.

  "There is no food and no water in the temple. We do not need these things to sustain ourselves. You will not need them either. Please, rest for a while longer prince, and do not look out of the window."

  The man turned sharply on his heels and stalked away, disappearing down the corridor. Erlaan toyed with the idea of ignoring Asirkhyr's warning and glanced up at the window. The strange light that seemed to seep like oil through the gap in the stones put Erlaan on edge.

  He decided it was better not to investigate and lay back on the slab, clasping his hands across his chest. As soon as he closed his eyes, he fell into a deep sleep, free from thought and dreams.

 

Sitting in his plain chair, Lakhyri was as immobile as a statue. Only the high priest's eyes moved as he watched his followers swaying and bowing around the Last Corpse, chanting their eternal chant, hoarse voices echoing from the chamber stones. The transference from the grand precinct to the temple had been arduous; Lakhyri had been forced to sustain the ailing Kalmud with his own vitality, draining his deepest reserves.

  He had hoped to replenish his strength from the temple, but the ethereal energies that sustained him were at their lowest ebb, almost consumed. Drastic measures would be required. The loss of Askhos disturbed him greatly. He felt no loss or sadness at his brother's death, but the break in the line of the Blood verged on catastrophe for his plans concerning the Askhan Empire. The usurper's dissolution of the Brotherhood was another setback, cutting off another avenue for new life to be brought to the temple.

  The grand precinct had been sealed, gateways and doors barred by ancient mechanisms and powerful wards. Its secrets were safe. Yet without Askhos, without the Brotherhood, the Askhan Empire had become a folly, just another frail kingdom without purpose. The saving grace was the rescue of Kalmud and his son. While the true heir to Lutaar still lived and the Crown remained intact, perhaps there was some small chance that the plan could be restored.

  A disturbance in the air, a fluttering on the edge of consciousness, stirred Lakhyri's thoughts. One of the masters was close at hand. He felt the throbbing in his gut, the tremble along his nerves of an eulanui manifesting itself. He slowly turned his head to the black block of stone and bone that was the Last Corpse. No entreaty had been made, no ritual of audience performed. What was coming through, and for what purpose?

  The sickly light of the temple churned as the master coalesced, the essence of the eulanui imbuing the Last Corpse with a semblance of life.

  Awkwardly, the creature rearranged its spindly limbs, unfurling from the carcass-altar. Black flesh bubbled and writhed while multi-faceted, golden eyes swept the rings of supplicant worshippers. Tendril-fingers lashed in agitation.

  
HUNGER.

  The force of the word-concept stunned Lakhyri, blinding him, making his ears rings, his heart shudder. The runes and patterns on his skin froze nerves and muscle, burning with their coldness as life force was leeched from his flesh. Worshippers fainted, collapsing outwards like a ripple in a pool. The youngest convulsed as they fell, heads hitting hard against the stone floor, limbs twitching.

  Mandibles clattered and joints creaked as the eulanui stepped over the ranks of still worshippers, feeder tentacles swaying as they tasted the air. Regaining his senses, Lakhyri studied the creature, trying to recognise it. Its bearing was upright, lordly. More than that, there was an aura of shadow about the eulanui, which seemed to glitter like the night sky. Only once before had Lakhyri seen such a thing.

  The high priest caught his breath. The apparition was
huayakaitoku
, leader of the eulanui. Not for more than a thousand years, as reckoned by the annals of the Askhans, had the ruler of the eulanui appeared. Fear gripped Lakhyri; a sensation he had not felt in all of that time. For the
huayakaitoku
to risk a fully material form was a grave matter indeed.

  Lakhyri toppled out of his chair, falling to his knees.

  "Greatest of the great, master of the masters," he moaned. "I am humbled by your presence."

  The creature's head snapped around, its golden orbs fixing Lakhyri with their insectan stare. He saw his pinched face and dread-filled eyes reflected a thousand times back at him.

  
FEED.

  The
huayakaitoku
slewed away from Lakhyri, clawed appendages dancing lightly over the bodies of the fallen worshippers, secondary tongues flicking out from slits in the flesh. It quickly passed the eldest, attracted to the vitality of the newest adepts. Banded tendrils lifted up three of the acolytes, wrapping around their chests, the tips plunging into their gawping mouths, jointed finger-stalks clasping limbs and heads.

  Rearing up on its hind legs, the eulanui lifted the trapped youths towards gaping mouths. The sphincter-like openings had no teeth, but fronds of whisker-like hair erupted from ridged gullets, stroking the flesh of its victims. One tiny piece at a time, the acolytes disintegrated, the energy binding them together sucked from their bodies: skin, muscle, bones, nerves, arteries and veins, livers and hearts, teeth and brains, every part drained, falling to the ground as a haze of dead cells.

  When nothing was left of the three, the
huayakaitoku
looked again at Lakhyri. Its flesh was slicker, the light in its eyes even brighter, gorged on the essence that sustained it.

  
DISTANT. SACRIFICE. SEEK. KING. CHILD. RESTORE.

  Lakhyri nodded in understanding, remembering the same message from the last visitation.

  "It shall be as you say, master of masters," gasped the high priest. "We will pave the way."

  
RETURN. IMMINENT.

  Immortal bones slid while stone-like flesh slipped, as the
huayakaitoku
returned to the centre of the chamber and collapsed in on itself, folding back into the gap between dimensions, leaving the square block of the Last Corpse lifeless and dull.

  Lakhyri swallowed hard, frightened by the encounter. With groans, the collapsed worshippers stirred from their unconsciousness. Lakhyri quickly pushed himself back into his chair and assumed an undisturbed pose. His mind raced. The eulanui were getting desperate, to feed directly on their followers. What did 'imminent' mean? The empire would not be ready for years unless Ullsaard could be stopped soon.

  Lakhyri shuddered again at the conclusion he was forced to draw, the image of the dissipating acolytes at the front of his mind; what he had offered the eulanui by way of trade, they would take by force if necessary.

 

A dawnwards wind brought the chill of the mountains to the town of Geria. The Greenwater was ruffled with spray and square sails slapped against masts while the wind carried away the shouts and drums of the oarmasters on the galleys. Hair and cloak tousled, feeling the tinge of drizzle on his face, Urikh stood with hands on hips glaring at the docks, lip curled with anger.

  "Why are three ships empty, still waiting to be loaded?" he asked the dockmaster cowering next to him. "You promised me four ships loaded or unloaded every hour."

  The dockmaster fumbled with the armful of wax slates in his arms, each covered with manifests and work logs. Droplets of rain gathering on his bald head, eyes fixed on the cobbled ground, the dockmaster mumbled something Urikh could not hear.