The Crown of the Usurper (21 page)

  "I didn't," Lutaan admitted. "Asuhas wanted you alive, but the king's order was alive or dead. Now, come on, I just need to tie your hands like the rest of your men. Or are you too important to surrender under the same conditions as you laid upon your soldiers?"

  Saying nothing, his eyes enough to convey his murderous thoughts, Ullsaard held out his hands, wrists together. The officer with the rope came closer and threw a few loops around the king's wrists and then tied a complex knot. A length of the cord was left dangling and Lutaan took a step and bent down, one hand reaching towards it.

  "If you try to lead me around on a leash, I will kill you, right here, right now, and fuck the consequences," growled Ullsaard. Lutaan's hand stopped with his fingers a short distance from the rope.

  "I understand," said the first captain as he straightened. With a nod, Lutaan turned towards Asuhas and waved him to approach. "He's secure."

  The governor showed no pleasure as he looked up at Ullsaard's face. When he spoke, it was in a matter-of-fact way.

  "I think it is more fortunate that we have claimed you, rather than Brother Leraates and his blackcrests. We will treat you decently enough."

  "Why?" Ullsaard's question hung answered while Asuhas considered his answer, the governor toying his bottom lip with a fingertip. The king felt no need to elaborate.

  "Urikh has the Brotherhood, which means he has the power to depose me should he wish," said Asuhas. "They have been recruiting blackcrests like you would not believe, and with most of the fighting legions in Salphoria, we governors have had little choice but to accede to your son's demands. Even so, I think he may carry through Leraates' threat."

  "What threat could cow all of the governors of Greater Askhor?" said Ullsaard, his anger not dissipated but his raw fury diminished by genuine interest. "Even with all of the blackcrests in the empire, the brotherhood could not overthrow every province."

  "They don't have to," said Asuhas. "The Brotherhood have learned since you disbanded them. Between military muscle and the ability to shut down all commerce, taxes and the general running of the empire, the Brotherhood has all of the high dice in their favour. As Leraates pointed out, does Greater Askhor really need governors?"

  "There is something else, something you aren't telling me," said Ullsaard. He could sense fear in Asuhas; a tremor in the voice, a shake of the hands when he mentioned the Brotherhood. It was more than potential loss of privilege and position that kept him in check.

  "They have their means," the words coming quickly, propelled by the governor's eagerness to speak of something else, "and it was Murian who folded first, and as soon as Anrair was loyal to Urikh, what choice did I have? Divide and conquer, I'm afraid. Urikh learnt from your successes there, Ullsaard."

  The former king was not about to take his son's deviousness as a compliment.

  "And what are you planning to do with me?" said Ullsaard. "You speak of me as if I'm some kind of prize to be fought over with Leraates."

  "You are a prize, the most valuable in the empire." This answer came not from Asuhas, though Ullsaard recognised the Salphorian-tainted accent well.

  "Anglhan!" The word was snarled between gritted teeth as Ullsaard shouldered aside Asuhas to confront the fat man walking across the compound. The former governor was smiling, his podgy, beringed fingers splayed over his gut, thumbs hooked into the pockets of a sleeveless jerkin worn over a bright red shirt.

  Ullsaard lowered his head and charged at the treacherous Salphor, but Anglhan was nimble for his size and dodged aside. Grabbing a spear from one of the nearby legionnaires, Anglhan swung its haft into Ullsaard's knee as he awkwardly tried to turn for another attack. Already off balance, the king tumbled to the floor. Two more blows, to his shoulder and the side of his head, dazed the king sufficiently for Anglhan to feel confident enough to approach.

  "Thought you had seen the last of me, didn't you?" the former governor asked with glee, slashing the end of the spear butt into Ullsaard's ribs. Ullsaard heard a shout and sounds of fighting, Out of the corner of his eye he spied Muuril being forcefully put down by his guards. Several others from the Thirteenth were also sent to the ground with clubbing blows. "You destroyed my fucking city, killed thousands of people who had done nothing wrong. I may have been a traitor, but you are a monster."

  "I'm going to kill you, and when I do I'm going to make sure it is drawn out and painful," replied Ullsaard, getting one leg underneath him. He was sent sprawling again as the spear shaft rapped against his knee, sending pain surging up the king's leg and spine.

  "You're not going to kill anybody," said Anglhan. "You're going on a journey, all the way to Askh. And when Asuhas and me present you to King Urikh, he will be pleased and he will see that we are men of value to him."

  "You bargain me to buy favour with my son?" Ullsaard twisted to glare at Asuhas. The little man nodded morosely and shrugged.

  "It is an unsafe world, Ullsaard. I need all of the allies I can get, especially the king."

  "I am your king!" roared Ullsaard, but in his heart he knew it was no longer true.

  "You are nothing," said Anglhan. The Salphor knelt down next to Ullsaard, lips not far from the king's ear. His next words were a whisper. "But I will make you great again, have no fear. You don't trust me, but I am your best hope of staying alive."

  Anglhan then spat in Ullsaard's face and rose up, his massive form dark against the cloud-filled skies. Anglhan kicked Ullsaard hard in the face, heel connecting with the king's jaw, and the sky spun into darkness.

 

It was bitterly cold and snow was falling again, but despite the weather Anasind made his daily rounds of the wall, checking on the new fortifications and the men on duty. He trudged along the frost-covered stones – the first job of each watch rotation was to clear the snowfall of the previous Watch – checking the mortar on the ramparts and to ensure that the stones weren't cracking. In such cold conditions, it was easy to overlook small flaws in the construction only for them to turn into much larger problems within a few years. It was the Askhan way to do a job properly and Anasind was not going to hand over a city that was unfit to defend or was a terrible drain on resources to maintain.

  He had no idea what had possessed the Salphorian kings of old to build their greatest city so far into the mountains, but the freezing conditions were certainly a discouragement to anybody who wanted to rule from here. He had a pair of gloves fashioned from sheep hide and stuffed with wool, and still his fingertips were numb. Like all of his men, he did not wear the traditional legion kilt; woollen Salphorian trousers kept the snow and biting wind from his legs. Some of the men grumbled, particular the Enairians who were no strangers to inclement weather, and Anasind had even caught a few wearing their kilts over their trousers in silent protest at the concession made to the climate. As the winds had strengthened and the snows had fallen more heavily, the sense of the Salphorian clothing was made clearer and the complaints had stopped.

  He received raised spears in salute from the men at their posts, and nods from those at the braziers in the timbered shelters every two hundred paces. There were only four proper towers, one at each corner of the walls, and the main gatehouse, so Anasind had quickly supervised the erection of palisades and wind breaks, which served as cover from both attack and frostbite.

  The city had gone into a kind of hibernation once the snows had started falling every day. Most of the people stayed in their homes, and the city was covered in a layer of smoke from their fires. The livestock that had been put out on the mountain pastures had been brought into the city, accompanied by the extended families that tended the animals, and so the halfempty streets had bustled with beasts and people for a short while, but now all but breeding stock had been slaughtered, the carcasses salted and put into the natural caves beneath the hill on which the long hall was built.

  Most of the legions had been despatched across Salphoria, to make winter camp overlooking the rivers and roads that would be the lifeblood of the new territory of Greater Askhor. The Askhans had done their fair share of burning and pillaging on the advance duskwards, and now they did their best to organise, ration and distribute the food stores that remained, supplemented by forage and game taken by the legions themselves. Anasind had impressed upon his first captains the need to be even-handed, and although the legions would not go without proper meals, where once the favour of chieftains had decided who would feed and who would starve, now the Askhans would show that all were to be treated equally.

  Only six companies of the Thirteenth remained in the city, about as many soldiers as the food stores could supply on top of the condensed populace, supplemented by a local militia overseen by Aegenuis. Some of the sergeants had, on their own initiative, started to take Salphorian recruits into their drill sessions, while the elders of Carantathi passed on what they knew about surviving the cold of the mountains, urged on by Aegenuis. The deposed king of Salphoria had been good to his word to Ullsaard and did his best to accommodate the needs of Anasind, and to tamp down any flames of resentment amongst his people. In all, the winter forced Salphor and Askhan to work together.

  Anasind was just completing his rounds, coming up to the guard tower on the right hand side of the gate, when he saw a figure approaching up the road. The snow drifts were high, and the man was swathed in furs, wading as much as he was walking. Perhaps the shutdown of the city had made Anasind doubt anybody ventured outside the walls, but he rubbed his eyes and looked again, fearing some kind of snow-blindness was affecting him. Despite this, the man was still forging his way through the whiteness.

  As he came closer, it was clear that the approaching man was dragging a bundle behind him on a small sled – easier than carrying it on his back, Anasind realised. Bundled up in furs, his head wrapped about with the same, it was impossible to tell the age or build of the man. However, there was something distinctive about him. On his sled were stowed a spear and a shield; the gear of a legionnaire.

  There were encouraging shouts echoing down the pass as some of the men on the walls saw the new arrival, but Anasind knew that a lone legionnaire braving the terrible winter mountains was not a good sign. He wondered which of the possibilities it represented: a legion camp attacked; a town starving; a column ambushed. Another thought occurred to the general as he signalled for some men to go down to the ground and open the small door within the main gate – the death of the king, perhaps?

  Worried by this sudden thought, Anasind followed the men despatched to the gate, and waited with them while the man hauled himself and his sled through the gateway. Ice crystals had formed around the brim of his fur-lined hood and his cheeks and chin were hidden by a bushy beard. Long straggles of hair escaped from the confines of his headgear; a man the opposite of a neatly presented legionnaire. Anasind was instantly suspicious and put a hand to the hilt of his sword. With a thud, the other men closed the gate door.

  "Whoa general, don't gut me yet," the stranger said, throwing back his hood. Black hair, tousled by the wind, flowed from the man's scalp, but as he swept it away from his face, Anasind recognised him. "It's me, Caaspir. The king sent me."

 

After relinquishing Caaspir of his sled and harness, Anasind had the man taken care of and then brought to his quarters in one of the old noble's houses on the mound by the long hall. The general's neighbour was Aegenuis, and sometimes Anasind overhead the man when he was drunk, lamenting his demise or arguing with his family. Occasionally there was also noisy sex, but he had learned the warning signs that the former king was feeling amorous, and would find excuse to visit the long hall or one of his officers for the night.

  Having been given something hot to drink and some food, Caaspir arrived half an hour later, a small waterproofed packet under his arm and a grim look on his face. Anasind met him in one of the dining chambers, where the fireplace was largest. Timber was scarce, though there was coal in the mountains, and it was prudent to have the least number of fires burning at any time, so the dining room and the main bedroom were the only chambers in the house that were warmed.

  Caaspir's sudden arrival and pensive expression reminded Anasind that something was amiss so the general dismissed his attendants from the room.

  Caaspir looked grateful for the privacy. He still had his ragged beard and hair, but had swapped his smelly furs for some properly-made Salphorian trousers and jacket. He looked more like one of the barbarian chieftains than a member of the king's favoured legion.

  "The last I saw of you, you were heading to Askh," said Anasind. He poured mulled wine for the legionnaire, who took the drink in his free hand and stayed at attention. "You've come back a long way."

  "Yes, general, I have," said Caaspir. He proffered the package, which Anasind took. "Missives from King Ullsaard, general. I was to deliver them to you personally, nobody else."

  "What if I was dead?" said Anasind. He knew the way Ullsaard thought, and such an outcome would have been considered.

  "Then I was to burn them and, according to the king, we'd all be fucked worse than the cheapest whore visiting the barracks."

  Anasind wanted to laugh but it died on his lips; he sensed no humour in the messenger.

  "Do you know the contents of this?" He waved the packet in one hand. It was light, most of the weight from the tarred leather.

  "Letters, general, penned by the king. Nothing else."