The Crown of the Usurper (16 page)

  He tried hard to concentrate on other advantages to his credit, rather dwell on the number of men ranged against his tiny force. He could hear the distant noise of the approaching army; the jingling of armour and tramping of feet was unmistakeable, even though it was barely audible yet. It was a noise that brought back so many memories; thirty years of fighting, in the ranks and as a commander.

  The king remembered something Muuril had said to him after the men had been dismissed to their duties in the morning: "They'll fight for you, and they'll die for you. You've never been beaten, and they ain't ready to start losing now."

  It was true that Ullsaard had succeeded time and again, when defeat had seemed likely, if not outright certain. Gelthius had said something similar when the king had been sneaking back into Greater Askhor, avoiding the army of Anglhan. Whatever happened, history would not forget King Ullsaard, he was sure of that; the man who had defied a king and conquered the most powerful empire in the world. What was fifty men against three thousand compared with that?

  
You did not achieve that greatness by blind faith in yourself.

  "I wondered if you would show up," said Ullsaard. "You show your usually perfect timing."

  
In moments of heightened emotion, your thoughts are stronger and I can latch on to them, like a rope thrown to a drowning man.
Askhos seemed less bombastic, and when he spoke of drowning men Ullsaard had a flash of recollection; of that endless gulf of stars and dust that swallowed everything.
Yes, my disassociation from the Crown is beginning to wear on my good nature and optimistic outlook. If you die, I shall be set adrift in the abyss, until madness consumes me and eventually my will to live can last no more and my essence evaporates into the void. It has been many years – longer than the two hundred and twelve since I founded this empire – since I feared death. Now oblivion seems certain, and I find that I do not wish to accept it meekly.

  "There is nothing certain about death today," growled Ullsaard. "I'm not finished yet."

  
I did not say today would see our deaths, but it will come one day.

  "You've picked a bad time to rediscover your mortality, you old bastard. If you haven't got anything useful to add, keep quiet. I'm thinking."

  "I see none," said Ullsaard. The axis of weakness was a concept passed down by the Book of Askhos; the flaw in the enemy's organisation or deployment that had to be exploited for victory. "If we leave the sanctuary of the compound, we will be surrounded and annihilated. Even though they perform their manoeuvres like Mekhani, I cannot seize upon their inexperience."

  
You are missing my point. How can you forget so many hard-learnt lessons when you really need them? The axis of weakness here will not be military, it has to be personal. What are the weaknesses of the men you face?

  "They are inexperienced, scared. They have drilled but only a handful will have seen actual battle and bloodshed."

  
Not the legionnaires, their commanders! Asuhas is a coward at heart; what about Lutaan? Will he give in if he does not have the easy victory he expects?

  Pausing to consider this, annoyed that it had taken Askhos to point out how narrow Ullsaard had allowed his thoughts to become, the king considered the measure of the men leading the Twenty-First.

  "Lutaan is innovative, brave. Donar trained him well, but he is not the most organised and has no experience of battlefield command; not of a whole legion. It could be that he will panic if he becomes flustered. Asuhas will want nothing to do with the fighting; he'll stay as far away as possible in his wagons."

  
Good. So how do you make Lutaan flustered? What pressure can you apply?

  "Myself," said Ullsaard. "He was on my staff for a long time in Salphoria, before I sent him back with my recommendation to Asuhas. If he can look me in the eye and still order the attack, I'd be surprised."

  
Not when you start talking about how loyal his uncle is, and how well Donar has been faring under your patronage.

  "That counts for nothing though, if Lutaan thinks he is up against the whole empire. When I toppled you, it was the first link in the chain to break that was the hardest. The fact that his legion is so dismal counts against me – I can't pretend that with the Twenty-first I have a chance of taking on Urikh."

  
Then let us consider something that you can control. What do you hope to achieve by fighting?

  A flippant answer sprang to mind, but Ullsaard let it die before it reached his tongue. Whether of its own accord or prompted by Askhos, his mind lurched back to a sleet-filled sky and a narrow mountain road leading to Carantathi. He thought of Aegenuis, a king who had been a vain, proud man, and a man fuelled by drink, but who had sense enough to sacrifice his own rule for the protection of his people. What would Ullsaard achieve by resisting Asuhas? The death of fifty men? He had ruled for less than three years, his legacy would be a footnote in the chronicles.

  
I did not seek to sow doubt, but to ask a genuine question.

  Ullsaard looked at the men by the road, their arrows in small bundles in the grass next to them; on the step built inside the wall and at the murder holes cut into the gate. Muuril had said they would die for their king, but did they have to? He saw the King's Companion walking back across the compound, followed by a dozen men leading the abada.

  "Companion!" Ullsaard called out. It took a moment for Muuril to realised the shout was meant for him

  "Yes, King?" the sergeant bellowed back.

  Ullsaard considered his next words, for he was taking a risk, but he trusted his instinct.

  "This battle does not have to be fought. Do you think I should give myself to Asuhas peacefully, Companion?"

  "Not fucking likely, my King! That arsehole Asuhas means you harm, and as your Companion I can't let it happen. These men would rather die than spend the rest of their lives with the shame of knowing they laid down spear and shield to let their king be killed."

  "Bollocks to Asuhas!"

  Ullsaard was not sure where the shout had come from, but it was followed by several more colourful declarations of loyalty. Then someone, somewhere called out the king's name and this too was answered. The men on the wall turned and lifted their spears in salute, and the shouts were even heard by the archers up the road, who rose up from their places and waved their bows.

  The chant then changed, led by a voice from up on the spear thrower tower.

  "Thirteen! Thirteen! Thirteen!"

  Leaning forward, Ullsaard craned his neck and could just about see Captain Gelthius raising his spear in time to the shouting. It echoed from the walls of the villa, and rang inside the chamber behind Ullsaard. The king grinned as he straightened.

  "It doesn't matter what I want, these men will never let me surrender. I suppose I better win this battle for them."

  Despite his bravado, Ullsaard was much of the opinion that winning or losing would not be down to his actions but those of his opposing commander, Lutaan. Ullsaard would have a better chance to get a measure of the man as a first captain soon – there was a delegation of soldiers advancing up the road beneath the icon of the Twenty-first. Ullsaard had a runner take a message out to the archers that the embassy was to be allowed to approach unmolested.

  It was better that Lutaan did not get to see just how few men Ullsaard had; though if the other commander was worth his rank he would have got a fair idea from questioning the folk in Genladen. To ensure that Lutaan did not use the pre-battle pleasantries as a means to spy out the villa's defences, Ullsaard would meet him on the road, some distance from the compound. He called for Blackfang to be made ready and then put on his cloak, picked up his shield and golden spear and headed down to the courtyard.

  Muuril was waiting for the king at the main doors, another legionnaire next to him holding the ailur's reins while a third tightened the cinch on her saddle.

  "How many in the bodyguard?" the Companion asked.

  "Just you," replied Ullsaard. "Lutaan really isn't going to try anything underhand."

  "Are you sure? I'm handy with a spear, and you're no slouch, King, but the report is that Lutaan's got twenty men with him. If he wants to grab you, there's nothing we'll be able to do to stop him."

  "We'll wait for him with the first line of archers. That'll give him something to think about."

  "Aye, King, that'll suit me."

  Ullsaard pulled himself up into Blackfang's saddle and signalled for the men at the gate to pull it open. With Muuril striding on his right, the king rode out of the compound. They walked about a quarter of a mile down the hill and then waited for Lutaan and his entourage to reach them. Ten men were crouched within a three-sided enclosure beside the road, their bows in hand, bundles of arrows laid out on canvas mats behind the stone wall of their redoubt.

  "Lutaan's going to know you're here anyway, might as well show yourselves," Ullsaard said to them as he reined Blackfang to a stop next to the fortification. The men stood up and nocked arrows to the strings of their bows, watching the group of legionnaires marching in time up the hill. Their golden standard was shiny in the dull autumn sun, bright against the drab stone of the road. A glance up showed Ullsaard a sky filled from horizon to horizon with low, grey cloud. It was dim and miserable, and the wind was picking up. There was rain in the air and he hoped it would break before too long; an assault on the villa would be much more precarious on muddy ground and over slick stones.

  Beside his icon bearer, Lutaan was garbed in his full regalia. He wore a long green cloak with a grey fur trim. His spear was iron-tipped and tied with a pennant of the same colours, and his shield was silvered, crafted into the snarling face of an ailur, the edge rimmed with more iron. The first captain had profited well from his exploits before returning from Salphoria, that much was obvious.

  Lutaan held up a hand to halt his guard and carried on alone, quickly covering the remaining fifty paces to where Ullsaard waited. The King watched carefully and next to him he felt Muuril stirring, ready for action. The Companion's head turned left and right as he scanned the hillside pastures and scattered trees and bushes for signs of foes.

  "I wish we had our icon," Muuril said quietly.

  Ullsaard did not reply, but was glad that the icon of the Thirteenth was nowhere near Menesun; there was enough hinging on the next few hours without the future honour of the Thirteenth being put at stake. He dismounted from Blackfang and led her to a bare tree hanging over the road. Tying her reins around its slender trunk, he rejoined Muuril just at the other commander was reaching the sergeant.

  "Hail Ullsaard," said Lutaan, stopping about ten paces away; well clear of a lunging spear thrust.

  The king had seen Lutaan dozens of times before, attending to Donar, but this was the first time he really paid the man any attention. The first captain of the Twenty-first was lean, with tight muscles. His face had little fat and was clean shaven, his nose also thin, leaning slightly to the right from an old break and there was a short, ragged scar under his right eye. Eyes as grey as flint regarded Ullsaard solemnly. Lutaan had the same weathered flesh as most men in the legions, but a spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks betrayed a once-fair complexion.

  "You remind me of your uncle," said Ullsaard, hoping that a reminder of the ties between the king and Lutaan's family would count in his favour.

  "I'm taller," said Lutaan. "And smarter."

  "And more arrogant," said Ullsaard.

  "Perhaps," replied the first captain.

  "You're, what, thirty summers old? It takes longer than that to get more wily than Donar."

  "Thirty-five, I look young for my age," said Lutaan.

  "Before we carry on, I should point out your first mistake."

  "Well, yes, that would be useful, thank you," said Lutaan. The man was surprised and seemed genuinely intrigued by what Ullsaard was going to say.

  "When you greet me, you should say 'Hail King', or 'Hail King Ullsaard'. You forgot my title."

  "I see. That was intentional, not an accident. You are not the king now."

  "I remember you swearing an oath to me when I sent you to Asuhas. By the way, where is your paymaster?"

  "Urikh is king now. Times change. You should know that more than anybody. It's not personal, it's just that with you off in Salphoria, you took your eye away from the prize and it has been snatched from under you. Urikh has the Crown and sits in the palace in Askh. The Brotherhood proclaims him king. That's good enough for me."

  "Donar wouldn't have been threatened by that. He wasn't, in fact."

  "I'm not Donar, and though he's a good commander, don't think I respect him so much that I would throw away my future to emulate him. He guessed you had the beating of Lutaar. I've seen you do incredible things, Ullsaard, but there is a new power in Greater Askhor now and you can't beat it."

  Ullsaard absorbed this, pleased and annoyed by Lutaan's bluntness. On the one hand, Lutaan was proving to be of strong character, straight talking and focussed. On the other hand, he was setting himself against Ullsaard, and that would not be tolerated.

  "Is this the point when you ask for my surrender? To save us the trouble and protect the lives of our men?"

  "You've already considered it, I hope," said Lutaan. He took off his helm and placed it under his arm. His hair was dark brown with a hint of bronze about it and was cut at shoulder length. The first captain wiped sweat from his forehead. Ullsaard answered with a cold stare and Lutaan sighed. "I will ask you to reconsider, for the lives of my men."