The Crown of the Usurper (43 page)

  COMING. NOW.

 

Only scattered cloud broke the blue sky and the white walls of Askh were bathed in afternoon light. Half a mile from the city, Noran caught the glimpse of sunlight sparkling from helms and speartips on the ramparts of the curtain wall but he had no idea how many men still protected the city. Contrary to Ullsaard's hope the gates were closed; there had been no uprising in support of his return. There was more than duty and high reward keeping the men of the First and the blackcrests at their posts, of that the herald was certain. Urikh was not a man to inspire loyalty with speeches and charisma, so it had to be fear that drove the soldiers to muster against the five legions deploying for battle around the city. Whether that fear was spun by spiteful words from Urikh – perhaps claiming that Ullsaard would see the city sacked again and all within slaughtered – or had a more sinister origin was impossible to know.

  "Desperate men fight hard," said Ullsaard, seeming to guess Noran's thoughts.

  "Perhaps if you offer mercy they will see sense," replied Noran. "I would wager what little I have left that Urikh has them convinced they have no alternative but to fight."

  The king stared at the city, considering this advice. He nodded to himself and his lips moved in speech, though Noran could not hear the soft words spoken. To anyone else it would seem that Ullsaard had lost grip on his mind and talked to himself, but Noran knew that such a conclusion was not quite the truth. He recognised the signs that the king was conversing with the spirit of dead Askhos. Noran wondered what counsel the ancient king gave, but whatever it was it appeared to tally with Noran's recommendation.

  "We will send embassy, and maybe there will be someone at the gate willing to parley," said Ullsaard. Noran knew well the look in the king's eyes and realised suggestion had been taken as consent to perform the task.

  "Are we sure they will accept the peace of parley?" said the herald. "Nervous men do stupid things. I do not want to be spitted by a bolt."

  "That's always the risk," replied Ullsaard. "I'll come with you if you think it'll help."

  "No, that would only make it more dangerous. Some smart legionnaire might decide that killing you would save us all a lot of grief. I will take Anasind and a guard of men."

  "Thank you," said Ullsaard, surprising Noran. The king noticed his astonishment and shrugged. "What? Your words on the road have finally sunk in. I should not take your service or your friendship for granted. Don't make me change my mind."

  "Of course not," replied Noran, bowing formally. "To hear praise spill from your lips is the greatest reward I seek, my King."

  "Piss off, you sarcastic bastard," said Ullsaard, though his smile softened the words.

  With a more sincere nod of the head, Noran left the king and sought out Anasind, who was overseeing the dispersal of the army around the walls. He passed on the king's intent to seek peaceful accord with the soldiers at the gates and soon was striding towards the city at the head of fifty men, the general walking beside him.

  "Do you think they will listen, really?" asked Anasind.

  "I actually have no idea," replied the herald, "but it must be worth the effort. Too much Askhan blood has been spilt over this city these last few years, it would be better to seek less violent resolution."

  "Your eloquence is already showing," said Anasind, laughing. "What man could hear your entreaty and resist?"

  "I cannot say for the effect on men, but I can assure you that it has served me well with women for many years," replied Noran, grinning broadly.

  There was activity on the towers and rampart of the gatehouse as the delegation approached. Noran stopped within shouting distance, the legionnaires forming up around him and Anasind to provide protection against attack. Noran was always slightly envious of the dedication of the common soldier, willing to place himself in harm's way for their betters; it was a trait he did not share with them often.

  Askh stretched across the Crown of a high hill and from his position Noran could see the summit stretching up beyond the walls; the Royal Mound that held the palace and the Grand Precincts of the Brotherhood. He wondered if Urikh stood looking back at him, perhaps surveying the army spreading like a gold and red sea around the city. Did Lakhyri stand atop the pinnacle of the Grand Precincts, sneering at Ullsaard's resistance?

  The wind was growing chill and the clouds thickening overhead when a man with the crest of a second captain came to one of the embrasures on the rampart.

  "I am Captain Geert, who are you?" he called down. He had the manner of the nobility, groomed for an officer's position in the First since he was a child. Noran was used to dealing with such men. "What do you want?"

  "You have the privilege of addressing Noran Astaan, herald of Ullsaard, rightful king of Greater Askhor. We seek to resolve the dispute between the king and his son, and I can assure you that no retribution is intended towards those misled by the Prince's deceptions."

  "Assurances from Ullsaard carry little coin in this city," Geert replied. "There are widows and orphans who remember the last time he came to Askh to seek an audience with a reigning king."

  "Urikh seems to have found himself a zealous spokesman," Noran muttered to Anasind. He raised his voice in reply. "And the promises of Urikh are worth a piss in a pot against five legions, my friend. No harm is intended to the city or its people, but Ullsaard is not a man renowned for his patience. Open the gate and put aside resistance. Your dedication to your duty will be rewarded by the true king once he has settled matters with his usurper son."

  "It takes one usurper to know another," said Geert.

  "Perhaps you should talk to him, one military man to another," Noran suggested, taking a step back and looking to Anasind. "Make it clear just how fucked he is if he resists."

  As Anasind took several steps forward Noran shivered, as though a cloud had passed across the sun and brought sudden coldness. The herald looked up and saw that the sky above the city was darkening, the clouds growing thicker and blacker as he watched. He shivered again, but it was not the temperature that caused it.

  "Wait," he said, grabbing Anasind's arm to pull him back. "This is not good."

  The general looked up, following the herald's gaze.

  "A storm gathers, that is all," said Anasind. "It should not delay the assault."

  Noran could tell that this was no natural storm. The thunderheads gathered quickly above, lightning starting to flicker through the darkness. There were quiet mutterings from the legionnaires around Noran.

  "Silence!" barked Anasind.

  "We should withdraw," said Noran. He could see Geert and the others on the gatehouse looking up as a deafening peal of thunder rumbled across the city.

  "The storm will dampen the spirits of the defenders, it is of no concern," said Anasind.

  "What storm have you seen that seems bound by the confines of a city's walls?" said Noran, pointing to dawnwards and duskwards. It appeared as though the dark clouds formed almost a perfect circle, following the boundary of Askh's curtain wall. They were slowly spinning, their heart centred above the Grand Precincts of the Brotherhood. "And why is there no rain?"

  "I…" Anasind's voice failed as lightning forked down from the cloud, striking the summit of the Brotherhood's building. Half-blinded, Noran blinked hard and through the after-image of the strike he thought he saw a pale yellow sky filled with wisps of strange colour.

  "We need to go," Noran insisted, though his legs did not seem to agree with his head as he stood rooted to the spot, staring at the spectacle unfolding over the city. Armour jingled as the legionnaires started to take steps backwards, giving voice to alarmed whispers despite their commander's order.

  The herald watched as the Grand Precincts shimmered, a dark shadow spreading down its levels from where the lightning had struck. More flashes of light tore the sky, but they were like no lightning storm Noran had seen; each bolt streamed slowly from the whirling cloud, ripping through the air to leave blazing rents in reality.

  The Grand Precincts were almost encased in blackness that pulsed with the fury of the storm raging around the summit of the Royal Mound. The creeping darkness seemed to seep across the divide, burrowing into Noran's chest, its freezing touch clasping around his heart. Flocks of birds streamed up from Askh, cawing and shrieking, accompanied by the howls of dogs and screams of women and children carried over the wall by the wind.

  "Run," said Noran but his feet would not obey him.

  Lightning of all colours flared across the sky, emanating from the Grand Precincts, not the clouds above it. When Noran's sight returned, the Grand Precincts had disappeared. In their place stood a seven-tiered ziggurat of weathered sandstone. The sky around it pulsed with ochre energy, drawing in the power of the storm. The sky churned, the blue of the summer giving way to yellow and green and purple, falling like a veil over the hideous temple.

  The shadows engulfing the ziggurat started to fracture, spilling sickly yellow light from within. From its tip burst forth a stream of what at first appeared to be black smoke. In moments the billowing cloud resolved into many-limbed monsters formed of darkness and glinting eyes. Like spiderlings erupting from an obscene egg they spilled down the sides of the building, first dozens, then scores, then hundreds. Tentacles lashed as the monstrous beings propelled themselves down the mound and into the city.

  "What are they?" yelled Anasind, eyes wide and wild.

  "Just. Fucking. Run!" each word torn from Noran in a scream until he was finally able to follow his own advice.

 

Fire burned through Ullsaard from his toes to the top of his head, painful and exhilarating at the same time. The Blood coursed through him, feeding on the tears between his reality and the otherworld. Through the shadow and cloud he saw the same starry gulf that surrounded Askhos' tomb and knew instinctively that he was looking through a gaping wound into the half-dreamt realm he had traversed with Lakhyri; the parallel existence of nightmares where Askhos still dwelt.

  Breaking from his trance, the king looked to his left and right and saw the companies of his army turning to run. The men were filled with a primal, unreasoning terror.

  "Stand and fight!" Ullsaard roared, unsheathing his sword.

  He turned about, but there was nobody behind him – even the brave Thirteenth were set to flight by the horror unfolding across Askh. A hot wind washed down the hillside, bringing the stench of decay and death with it. Ullsaard choked on the stink.

  
You cannot fight them.

  Ullsaard watched as the unnatural creatures clambered over the palace and descended from view into the city.

  "I'm no coward," he said.

  
These are the Eulanui, the masters that Lakhyri serves. You cannot hope to defeat them. You cannot stay.

  The noise of running men was as loud as the thunder that had instigated the rout. Ullsaard looked around desperately for any that would fight beside him, but we he was alone. He saw Donar and the standard bearer of the Fifth off to his left in a knot of legionnaires; the first captain was waving for his men to retreat.

  
There is no battle here. Do what you must to survive and restore your army. Take them with you or they will scatter to the winds.

  Askhos' words sunk into Ullsaard's whirling thoughts. He had to turn rout into orderly retreat or all would be lost. The creatures that had emerged moved awkwardly on spindly limbs, and had yet to reach the wall of the city. There was yet time to restore order.

  "Rally to me!" he bellowed, lifting his sword high. Ullsaard glared at the city for a heartbeat longer and then turned from it, running to catch up with Donar. "Rally to me and withdraw to the Wall! Rally to me!"

  Hearing his king, Donar stopped and turned, aghast at what had happened. Grabbing a nearby musician by the collar of his breastplate, the first captain snarled something at the man. The legionnaire raised his horn to his lips and sounded the signal for rally and retreat, repeating the notes again and again. The order was taken up by others across the Fifth and spread through the legion and then to the others.

  Horn calls reverberated all across the hills of Askhor, as Ullsaard reached Donar. Whether they would be heeded, the king did not know, but he had to trust that a lifetime of training and discipline would overcome blind fear.

  This was not a battle he could win, but Ullsaard was certain he would have an army to fight another, when the time and place were right.

 

It was difficult for Ullsaard to remember how it was to be ignorant of the true nature of the world. For some years had he suffered the intrusions of Askhos into his thoughts and through veiled hints and threats from the dead king Ullsaard had gained some measure of understanding of the otherworld, or so he thought. Even prepared as he had been to the darker truth of the empire's existence, it was hard to reconcile a lifetime's surety against the unnatural events of Askh.

  For his subjects, who had for generations been taught the very opposite of the truth, the realisation that there existed things beyond mortal comprehension bordered on cataclysm. A full third of his army had been unaccounted for when finally the legions had mustered again at Narun. There were those who had fled in unreasoning panic, and those who had deserted during the march duskwards to seek out family and perhaps to hide from the horror of what they had witnessed. It was only Ullsaard's uncompromising attitude and constant attention that stopped the army from fracturing altogether.