The Crown of the Usurper (13 page)

  Loordin directed a plaintive look at Gelthius.

  "Right enough," the Salphor said with a sigh, admitting the truth of the sergeant's words. "And if word gets out that there's men from the Thirteenth back, it could cause other problems too."

  "Right, well you can tell Maagri that when I do get to see her, right? It'll be your balls, not mine, right?"

  "If she's as understanding as my Maredin, I'm sure your balls'll be fine," said Gelthius. He met Loordin's stare with a straight face for as long as he could, which was not long, and then the pair of them burst out laughing.

  "I'll take Maagri over Maredin, any day," said Loordin. He stood up and clapped a hand to Gelthius' shoulder. "You don't have need for that pair of hairy prunes anyway, do you? You haven't used them in years."

  Gelthius smiled but said nothing. Faasil had been quiet throughout, making no mention of his sister and two daughters in Thedraan; his wife had died after the birth of their second child. He wore the same determined stare he had been directing towards the legions.

  "Get us on, right enough," said Gelthius, pointing at the reins that hung beside Faasil. "Five days at least until we reach Menesun."

  There had been less clatter and clamour around the villa in the past few days. Dor was running out of improvements to make to the defences, and Ullsaard was running out of patience with Dor's more outrageous suggestions for defensive fortifications and devices. Work was still ongoing on the outer rampart of earth and stakes, and walls were being built further up the road leading to the villa, to provide rally points and cover for archers defending the approach. The spear thrower had been finished and hauled into position to the roof tower, mounted on the same system of wheels and gimbals as the ones of the Askhan Wall, apparently. It could traverse almost all of the way around a circle, leaving only a small blind spot to duskwards where it could not point. The tower itself was sparse, made of wooden beams and rope, with no real cover for the men at the top – anything more substantial might prove too heavy for the villa walls, Ullsaard had been informed.

  Dor was currently in Menesun commandeering the small forge that the locals ran. He needed to make bronze heads for the bolts, and there was no way of doing that properly at the villa. He had also commissioned a large number of clay pots from the brickworks outside Genladen, which he intended to fill with oil and stopper with wicks to create firebombs. There was also a need for more arrows, though they would have sharpened, fire-hardened wooden tips rather than proper arrowheads because there was not enough bronze for everything.

  Standing on the balcony of the main bedchamber, Ullsaard could see the gate, the courtyard and down the hill towards Menesun. If he looked to his right, he could just about see a loop of the lake shore. The largest part of the villa was three storeys high, and the king's chambers were on the top floor; the other two floors had been turned into dorms and additional storage for his company of men. On the coldwards end of the villa, to the king's right, a single-storey wing jutted out from the front of the building, inside which Blackfang was housed in a dark pen.

  The villa itself was made of stone blocks, heavily plastered, capable of withstanding even a direct hit from a catapult. The paint was cracking in places, the plaster's off-white showing in patches through the dark ochre and patterns of red and blue spirals. The roof was not so secure, being made of red clay tiles. Dor had been into the attic space under the roof and secured heavy canvas sheets between the tiles, toughened with strips of leather to prevent shrapnel scything down into the upper storey, but there was nothing to stop a well-placed boulder plunging down through every floor.

  There were smaller, timber-built structures inside the wall of the compound – a storeroom, tool shed and other outbuildings. To hotwards, about fifty paces outside the wall, was the abada corral. Three of the beasts plodded about inside the reinforced fence, munching on the long grass. The road leading from the gate bent sharply left about a hundred paces from the compound wall, turning to Menesun that lay three miles to hotwards. Everything else was a mixture of grassy pasture, and gorse and heather-covered hills, until Ullsaard could see only a green and purple blur in the distance.

  The wind was strengthening, bringing a chill off the lake, and he had a cloak wrapped around his shoulders, over a shirt, jerkin and breastplate. He remembered complaining to Cosuas about the scorching heat of Mekha, but a long and cold campaign across Salphoria, and the dampness in the air now, made that seem like a lifetime ago. It was less than two hundred miles to the official border with near-Mekha, where the plains of Ersua eventually gave way to the sun-baked lands of the Mekhani.

  He had never felt the cold like this before, and wondered if he had caught something in Salphoria, or if it was just his age. He would be fifty at the start of the next year. Askhans did not celebrate birthdays, but reckoned their age from the midsummer new year after they were born. It was a good age, not the longest lived, but older than many he had known. Longevity was most likely another gift of the Blood.

  Although everything was shaping up nicely, the king was beginning to regret his course of action, as sensible as it had seemed at the time. There had been no runners from the men in Marradan for nearly eight days, which meant that either something bad had happened to them, or there was nothing worthwhile to report. This latter possibility made Ullsaard wonder if he should have gone directly to Marradan instead of scurrying down to Menesun to make a bolthole. It had been the cautious, sensible option, and that almost made it the bad choice in Ullsaard's eyes.

  He had been burnt too many times to not watch his back though, and the present situation required a delicate approach; not Ullsaard's strongest trait. This was not war, not yet, at least. They were still in the realm of pure politics, and that was a world that was muddied and vague, and still something of an undiscovered territory to Ullsaard. He wished he had Noran with him, to be that voice of calm and caution, to weigh in against the king's natural desire to act.

  
You have me.

  "When you choose to interfere," Ullsaard replied quietly. It was the first time since leaving Carantathi that the ancient king had made his presence known. "Where were you before I crossed into Ersua? Advice might have been helpful then."

  
Without the Crown as my anchor I… drift, and it is hard to settle in your thoughts
. For the first time, Ullsaard felt that he not only heard Askhos' words but could feel something of the man within him; he felt the old king's uncertainty.
I admit, I do not know what is going to happen to us now. The Crown was the lock and the key, the ship and the anchor. I think Lakhyri sought to cast me out altogether.

  "Where? Where would you be cast out to?"

  
Do you remember when you dreamt you were in my tomb, Ullsaard?
The king shuddered, which was all the answer Ullsaard needed.
That is right. It was in endless nothingness of stars and dust, you said. The Crown was my tomb and my womb. The only beacons I have left in that emptiness are your thoughts.

  "How can the Crown be a place?"

  
Do you really want to know the answer to that question?
Ullsaard did, and the old king knew it. There was the mental equivalent of a sigh.
When looked at from the top of the hill in front of you, this villa might seem solid, yes? That what you can see is everything there is to see?

  "Like a box, with its lid closed?"

  
Exactly. You have a good mind, Ullsaard. Something else I gave to you through the Blood. It is a shame you use it so sparingly.

  Ullsaard's impatience flared and he felt a reaction from Askhos, as if the king had flinched. The current king did not mention what he had felt, and Askhos continued his explanation without remark.

  
All things are like this house. They seem to us solid because we look at them from far away. We do not have eyes powerful enough to see inside the little windows and doors. In that space, between the smallest pieces of what a thing is, you can hide entire universes. The Crown appeared to be a thing of gold and iron, as solid as the floor or your head, but it was a gateway into another place, filled with nothing save for my consciousness and… Well, it does not matter what else is in there.

  It was there again, the hesitation and fear Ullsaard had felt before. There was a lot that Askhos had never told him, and never would, but just as the ancient king could see Ullsaard's thoughts, Ullsaard now had a sense of what Askhos was thinking.

  "There are other things in the void between, aren't there?"

  
None of this is relevant to your present predicament. Do you wish to have my help or not?

  "You might have something to say that is useful," said Ullsaard, resolving that he would return to the subject of the place in-between when he had the opportunity. If Askhos' grip on reality was as bad as the king claimed, it made sense for Ullsaard to take what he could from Askhos' knowledge and experience while he could.

  
You fear that through inaction you have surrendered the advantage to your son.

  Ullsaard watched as the guard was changed below. The men at the gate sloped off towards the kitchens while the new legionnaires on duty took up their positions. It did not matter whether they were in the mountains of Salphoria, the deserts of Mekha or a well-appointed village in Ersua, soldiers were always the same; the first thing on their minds after getting off duty was a bite to eat and something to drink.

  
Are you ignoring me? You haven't asked me what I would have done in your position.

  "I don't want to know what you would do; I'll make a decision for myself."

  
I would have brought the legions back with me. You've conquered Salphoria once, you can always do it again if you are forced, but you only need to lose the empire once.

  "Maybe you're right, but that doesn't matter now. I made my decision, now I have to live with it."

  
It's not too late. Send messengers to Salphoria and bring back the legions.

  "And do what with them? Start another war?"

  
You are a general, one of the finest to have ever lived, and you keep hiding from that fact.

  "I'm not going to turn this into a war, not again," said Ullsaard. "I'll not have thousands of my men dying because of Urikh's vanity."

  
Then give up your claim to the Crown. Disappear and become an ordinary man, and let Urikh rule. One day, not too distant, you will die of old age anyway, and your son will be the true king.
Ullsaard could not allow that, and it was more than just pride that stopped him from slinking away to Cosuan or Salphoria.
Of course, the lovely Allenya, pillar of your life.

  "Don't even think about her!" snarled Ullsaard. A couple of men in the yard below glanced up at the balcony; the king's anger had added volume to his voice. Keeping his words quiet, Ullsaard continued. "I'm not going to abandon her, or let her think I am dead."

  
So, what you mean to say is that you'll not have thousands die by your vanity, but you will for the love of your wife.

  "Allenya would not have it, so neither can I," said Ullsaard. He turned around and leaned back against the balcony rail, closing his eyes. "I would drown Greater Askhor in blood to be with her again, but she would not take a man who could do that."

  
You are a man who could do that, and still she loves you.

  "None of this is helping," said Ullsaard. He opened his eyes and crossed his arms. "I do not have my legions to hand, and I am not going to start a war. Accept that, and tell me what you think."

  
You must make embassy to the governors, as you have already concluded. Urikh cannot command the direct loyalty of any legion except perhaps the First and the soldiers of the Brotherhood. As you robbed me, as Lutaar, of my forces, you must have every other legion loyal to you. The threat of force will be enough to bring Urikh to his knees, without having to spill a drop of blood.

  "That's it? You tell me what I already know and call it advice?"

  
Go in person, do not send messengers.

  "Why not? It would take a long time to visit all of the provinces."

  
When I sent heralds to the tribal chieftains, they ignored my pleas and demands. Some of the chieftains even slew my messengers because what I asked of them was so outrageous. My heralds having failed, I went to the chieftains myself. No ambassador, no herald, can ever argue with the full weight of your authority, nor give concession or make demand like a king in person.

  Ullsaard considered this. His primary concern had been to keep his return secret. He had failed in that goal, even if Urikh was not yet aware of his father's homecoming. The only course of action left to Ullsaard was to control, as best he could, the way the news of his survival was spread. The more people that saw him, the harder it would be to deny his return as a baseless rumour.

  
Now you are using that brain of yours.
Ullsaard felt a moment of warmth, of genuine pride from the shade of his ancestor.
It is a shame that I had to take control of all my sons, I am sure they would have made me very proud as kings.

  Hearing excited voices for below, Ullsaard returned his attention to what was happening in the courtyard. The main gate was being opened for a man in kilt a tunic – Ullsaard recognised him as the runner he had sent out the previous evening, Kaathan. The soldier was talking with the men at the gate as he came in, and they turned and pointed to the balcony.