The Crown of the Usurper (12 page)

  "The captain and his four mates?" said the legionnaire, eyebrows raising. There was a twitch at the corner of his lips.

  "Not my best," answered Muuril, talking out of the corner of his mouth in an attempt to still look grim and determined.

  "That's as bad as 'The king and the four princes'," said Loordin, as the twitch became a smirk, which broke Muuril's resolve. The sergeant chuckled and sat back, shaking his head. Gelthius let out the breath that he had been holding and turned his attention to Faasil.

  "Gebriun?" asked the captain, gesturing for the reins. Faasil handed them over and continued his story.

  "I had the abada all hitched up and the wagon by the gate when he comes running through the store yard, all panicked. 'They're after us, all the Thirteenth boys!' he yells at me, and there's Captain Daasin and twenty lads running after. The men on the gate hears this and start coming out of their little tower, shields and spears up and looking to mean business, and I know that unless that abada starts moving now, they're going to be on me and dragging me off that cart in a heartbeat."

  "So you left Gebriun behind?" said Muuril.

  "I had to!" Faasil's voice dropped to a pleading whisper. "I had to go, sergeant, otherwise they would have us both."

  "You did right," said Gelthius, darting a look at Muuril, who twisted his head left and right with a couple of cracks of his neck, a sign of irritation, but said nothing to contradict the verdict of his captain. Gelthius patted Faasil on the arm, knowing that the legionnaire was feeling as sick as anything for leaving his friend behind. The man was hunched, shoulders and jaw tight with tension. "Gebriun will be fine. He wasn't even in the palace. He might get locked up, but he'll be fine."

  "We can hope," said Loordin.

  "More than hope, right enough," said Gelthius. "All Gebriun's done is get signed up with us. Nothing against him."

  "Except attempted desertion and aiding a deserter," said Muuril, his voice low, his expression grim. "Flogging and company punishment, at best."

  "Good news is they won't kill him," said Loordin. All of the men looked at him, surprised.

  "It is a killing offence, aiding a deserter," said Gelthius, his heart heavy. "What makes you so sure?"

  "Because they'll be needing him for information, won't they?" replied Loordin. "He's one of us, so they'll be interrogating him instead, not just slitting his throat."

  Faasil moaned as if in physical pain, struck by the thought that he had abandoned his companion to torture.

  "Better than both of you," said Muuril, "like you said. Anyhow, ain't like the Brotherhood to be that crude. More than likely Gebriun has been offered a chest of askharins for his troubles and is putting us right in the shit."

  "What makes you say that?" Faasil said sharply. "You don't think Gebriun would turn on us. I thought we was tight."

  "I'd sell you out for a hundred askharins," Loordin told the legionnaire. "Maybe fifty."

  "But not the king," said Gelthius. The others looked at him with surprise and he shrugged. "That'd cost a thousand, at least, to turn on Ullsaard, right enough."

  The three other men contemplated this for a little while, and it was Muuril who spoke first.

  "I figure if you're going to drop the top man in the shit, you better make it worth your while," said the sergeant. "Three thousand askharins."

  "Why stop at three?" said Loordin. "I'm sure the brotherhood could afford five."

  "You lot are wrong, just wrong," snapped Faasil. "Stop joking about it, okay? Gebriun isn't going to turn on us, right?"

  "Just saying, is all," said Loordin.

  "Get some sleep, you look like you need it," Gelthius told Faasil. As the legionnaire jumped over the board into the back of the wagon, Gelthius looked at Muuril and Loordin. "You two as well."

  "I can drive, if you're needing to close your eyes for a while," said Muuril, leaning an elbow on the board.

  "No, I'm not tired anymore," said Gelthius. "I need to think; figure out what we're going to do next, right enough."

  "That's easy," said Loordin, lying down with a flour sack as a pillow, his sodden cloak pulled over him up to his chin. "Keep heading hotwards until we reach Menesun. Then we tell the king's what happened, and leave it up to him."

  "They'll be after us," said Faasil. "Can't take the main roads, they'll catch up with us for sure."

  "Right enough," said Gelthius with a nod. He reached out to Muuril. "Still got that Ersua map?"

  The sergeant ferreted around in his stuff and produced a tarred canvas envelope. He shook water droplets from the map case and handed it to Gelthius, who pulled the map from its cover and handed the envelope back to the sergeant. By the light of the lamp he could see the carefully painted greens, blues and reds of forests, rivers and roads.

  "I'll figure it out, you lads get your sleep," he said.

  Between the hectic, exhausting day, the sleepless night and the rocking of the cart, it was not long before the captain was accompanied by the snoring of the three men. Gelthius studied the map, but finding a safe route to Menesun was the least of his concerns.

 

Although he was still confident that he could resolve Urikh's challenge without bloodshed, Ullsaard was not taking any chances. While there was nothing in the report sent by his men in Marradan to suggest imminent conflict, there was always the possibility that if Urikh learnt of the true king's whereabouts he might persuade Asuhas to send a force to deal with matters.

  The king's lakeside villa a few miles outside of Menesun was looking more like a legion fort than a summer retreat now that he and his small company had spent some time there. The main wall was surrounded by another made up of an earthen ramp set with sharpened logs about which was dug a ditch as deep as the embankment was tall, also filled with stakes. The side gate had been bricked up, and the flimsy main gate replaced with a barrier of heavier timbers riveted with bronze to break axe heads.

  On the lakeside, which formerly had been a gentle white pebbled beach, Ullsaard had placed more stakes just beneath the surface of the water, to hole any boat that came within a quarter of a mile of the shore. That had been a laborious task of planning and careful execution. The king had, more by fortune than intent, brought Naamas Dor amongst his contingent, and the engineer was enjoying the chance to exercise his inventiveness in the fortification of their new encampment. Dor had devised timber-framed squares of tarred linen that could be lowered into the soft bottom of the lake to create a sort of lock system, allowing water to be pumped out and the lake bottom to be dug for the insertion of the spikes.

  The landwards wall of the villa itself covered with scaffolding at the moment, surrounding the wooden skeleton of a new tower overlooking the approach from Menesun. Meanwhile Dor had teams of legionnaires working in the courtyard sawing and chiselling pieces of wood and twining thick rope into springs, to make a spear thrower that would be hauled up to the tower when complete.

  The engineer had other plans too, and had spent the afternoon explaining them to Ullsaard as the pair had watched the unfolding works.

  "It's not like we'll be able to hold off a legion or anything, but we can sleep a bit safer at nights," said Dor as the two of them walked along the stone beach. He had just been explaining his idea of tar-filled pits behind the walls, which could be set alight if the enemy tried to break through or climb over.

  "I don't want another Askhan wall," said Ullsaard, glancing at the engineer. Dor was a solidly built man, though much shorter than the king. His face was constantly darkened with stubble, and his scalp was the same. As he spoke he gestured frequently with grime-stained, knobbly-knuckled hands with broken fingernails. He walked with a slight limp; a pale scar ran along his right shin from foot to knee as evidence of some accident or battle injury in the past.

  "I don't understand, king," replied Dor. "The Askhan Wall is a marvel; even more of an achievement when it was built."

  "And completely pointless," said Ullsaard, stopping. "If someone comes here looking for a fight, I want to be ready, not half-prepared to weather an attack from the whole empire. We don't need to be legion-proof, just able to defend ourselves.

  "It would help if you were to tell me who might be attacking, king," said Dor, not meeting Ullsaard's eye. "The Mekhani are the closest threat, do we need to dig behemodon traps?"

  "Are you taking the piss?" snapped the king.

  "Not at all!" Dor replied hurriedly, and Ullsaard could tell from the shock on the engineer's face that his suggestion had been serious.

  "I don't think behemodon pits will be needed," said Ullsaard. Dor was still looking crestfallen at the king's accusation. "If it comes to it, I'll just punch them, eh? Look, these works are just precautionary. I am going to be spending a bit of time here, so I want to feel secure."

  "I understand, king," said Dor, though he could not wholly mask a dubious look. The engineer quickly looked away, across the lake. Ullsaard followed the man's gaze, seeing the black sails of a few fishing vessels in the distance. The lake was not quite so big that it stretched to the horizon, and the surrounding hills on the duskwards side could be seen, dotted with small crofts that were home to a few scattered goatherds and peat diggers.

  It was a nice, semi-wild spot, and that was why Ullsaard had originally chosen it. He and Cosuas had driven Mekhani invaders back across the hills from here and by ancient right of the conqueror the lands had been given to Ullsaard as first captain of the Thirteenth. It had been that victory that had secured his elevation to General of the Blood, and aside from a brief visit before his attack into Mekha Ullsaard had not been back.

  There was a muted beauty about the place. Ullsaard was not one for landscapes usually; he was too practical. However, the pale blue-grey of the lake, the washed-out purples and greens of the heather-covered hills and the dark canopies of the lakeside woods had an undeniable appeal.

  "Do you need me for anything else, king?" Dor broke into Ullsaard's short reverie.

  The king looked at the distant slopes and followed their line around the lake to where they were split by the Menes river, from which the local town took its name. There were rough pastures on the slopes, where pigs and goats were driven out to feed.

  It was quaint and reminded Ullsaard of the wooded hills of Enair where he had been raised. It was also too easy for an enemy to ford across the mouth of the Menes and attack along the shore.

  "How would you widen a river?" he asked, the question eliciting a smile of approval from Dor.

 

Nonchalantly leaning against the gatepost of a farmstead, Gelthius bit into the dark red apple in his hand. He chewed slowly, watching the column of Legionnaires disappearing into the distance, heading duskwards along the new Salphor road. Ranks after rank of black-crested soldiers marched in ragged lines, a veritable company of Brothers in black robes to accompany them.

  "Ah, the bastards are going the wrong way," said Muuril, standing on the wagon by the gate, one hand held against the watery afternoon sun. The weather had turned fair for the last couple of days, drying puddles that dotted the paved the road the men from the Thirteenth had been following.

  It had been a close run thing for the first two days since their escape from Marradan. They had been only a few miles away from the city when the five hundred blackcrests had marched out. With the Brotherhood's soldiers close behind, Gelthius had stayed on the main road, pushing the abada for a couple of extra hours each evening to open up some distance on the following column. Heading for Thedraan, where he hoped to lay low with his family, the third captain had been torn between avoiding the pursuing force and warning Ullsaard.

  It had been Loordin, unusually, who had convinced the captain to head for the king's villa as quickly as possible, even though they risked being caught by outriders on kolubrids, or by a garrison that might receive word ahead of them. The legionnaire had put it succinctly: "If they get to the king, we're all fucked one way or the other."

  So they had kept to the road and made the best time they could, and had reached the brow of a hill crested by the road a few miles from the streets of Thedraan. The town could be seen to hotwards, almost empty now that the last market had ended and the farmers had gone back to their holdings, and the nobles back to the larger, comfortable towns and cities.

  Gelthius moved back to the wagon, and saw Faasil staring intently at the column of legionnaires heading dawnwards. Even when Gelthius pulled himself up to the driving board beside him, Faasil's gaze was fixed on the departing troops.

  "What now?" asked Muuril. "They clearly ain't heading for Menesun."

  "I reckon Gebriun gave them the run around a bit," said Gelthius. There was a small but noticeable flinch from Faasil when Gebriun was named. "Must have told them the king was in Salphoria."

  "We head back to the king, fast but not reckless, and let him decide, right?" said Muuril. "No attracting attention or anything."

  "Sounds good to me," said Gelthius.

  "We can't see our folks in Thedraan," said Muuril. "Got to keep going past."

  "Why not?" asked Loordin. "My wife won't be happy about that, and I've got a two year-old boy I haven't seen since he were born. She finds out I was only a mile away and didn't come by, she'd tear my balls off."

  "They'll want to come with, won't they?" said Muuril. "If the king's expecting a fight, and it looks like he'll get one, we don't need a bunch of women and kids at the villa."