The Crown of the Usurper (23 page)

  Her worries were mounting. The loss of Ullsaard had been a bitter blow to Luia's hopes of securing the future of her family. Urikh was clever and able, but he was too young to be king; especially with the likes of Lakhyri trying to take advantage. She had tried her best to steer her son towards the correct decisions, but he was determined to be a man alone, disregarding her advice out of hand.

  Urikh had once listened to everything his mother had taught him, but since taking the Crown he had become more and more distant from her. Luia suspected that Lakhyri was inserting himself between mother and son, to bring the king to his own agenda. It certainly appeared that the High Brother's plans were bearing fruit; Urikh was keen to strengthen the power of the Brotherhood. The king claimed that a bold and dynamic Brotherhood was a symbol of a bold and dynamic empire, but Luia was not yet convinced of the wisdom of offending the governors and nobility. Under Ullsaard, the Brotherhood had proven that their support was invaluable to a king, but there had to be balance. Soon the Brotherhood would not need the authority of the king at all.

  With this thought, Luia stopped mid-step, so abruptly that a servant who had been looking to step behind her was forced into a flailing spin by his drastic attempt to avoid her. She glanced down at the youth as he sprawled on the floor, the corner of her mouth rising in a sneer.

  Dismissing this distraction, Luia sat down in a chair beside the fire. She could not believe that Urikh did not see that he was making himself redundant to the power of the Brotherhood. Luia knew that he had a plan; her son was too canny and too careful to let his power be given away piece by piece without some objective in mind.

  If only Urikh would take her into his confidence as he once did, Luia would be reassured that all was well. At the moment, she was frustrated, able to speak to her son only in the presence of others. That had to change.

  "Naami, please convey my regards to my son, and have my staff attend to me," the queen said to her chief handmaiden. "We have a feast to arrange."

 

There was a light frost on the ground, covering the terraced hillsides with its pale blanket. The early morning sunlight glittered from the empty vine frames and frozen cisterns. Everything seemed sparkling and fresh, even the clear blue sky above. The air was crisp with the cold, but not unpleasant, and Noran took a moment to watch the cloud of his breath dissipating. He took in another deep breath, enjoying the sensation of clean air in his lungs, and let it out in another burst of vapour.

  The view to hotwards was stunning, showing the Greenwater carving its way through landscaped hills and dark fields. Turning his head just a little, Noran could see the wood and stone buildings of Geria clustered around the dock piers. Even now there were ships coming and going on the great river, the latest cargoes being carried to and from the colony of Cosuan at the end of the Greenwater. Cranes and teamsters were in constant action, loading the final harvests and winter wares, or unloading the strange fruits and spices that had started to come coldwards along the river. Out on the water, pilot boats guided ships to and from their berths, the strokes of their oars leaving faint trails like the footprints of insects on blue earth.

  A little further inland stood the palace of the governor, Urikh. The grey stone building looked more intimidating than ever with its new barracks block built to dawnwards, overlooking the river. Noran had not seen Urikh since paying the governor a courtesy visit on his return in the spring. He had received neither summons to the governor's house nor had Urikh deigned to visit his father's old friend at his villa.

  The arrangement suited Noran well. He had harboured no desire to spend time with Urikh in the past, and Noran's selfimposed exile from Ullsaard benefited greatly from the lack of contact with the king's family. It was possible for Noran, now and then, to forget everything that had happened to him since he had journeyed to near-Mekha to summon Ullsaard back to the capital.

  The time in Geria had been restorative, both physically and mentally. He was even on speaking terms with Anriit, his eldest and only surviving wife. They were not intimate by any means, but they could now spend time in a room with each other without their conversations devolving into insults and accusations. The relationship was helped somewhat by the fact that Anriit was currently in Askh, spending the winter months in the capital with her family.

  "It is a very pleasant day, Artiides," Noran declared to his chief steward, who was standing a little further up the slope with his master's coat folded over his arms. A former second captain in the Seventeenth Legion, Artiides was the same age as Noran, with wiry muscles and a keen mind for organisation.

  "Very pleasant, yes," Artiides replied dutifully. "It is also cold, and you should be careful not to chill your blood."

  "Thank you," said Noran, holding out his arm so that Artiides could slip on the long coat over his master's shirt and jerkin.

  "We'll be getting company soon," Artiides remarked as he straightened Noran's collar. The steward pointed down the hillside to the road, where a detachment of legionnaires was marching towards the villa. Their green and red shields marked them out as men of the Seventeenth – Okhar's garrison legion.

  "I see a second captain with them," said Noran, staring down at the approaching troops. "Some message from Urikh, no doubt."

  "I am not so sure," said Artiides, laying a hand on Noran's arm to guide him back towards the villa. "Why send a captain to do a herald's job?"

  "What are you doing?" Noran demanded, pulling his arm from his servant's grip.

  "There are more soldiers in the fields to coldwards," said Artiides, indicating the direction with a flick of his eyes. "Best not show that we have seen them."

  Noran looked out to the fields and saw several dozen legionnaires, in two groups standing at junctions on the road leading coldwards. They were formed up in ranks, not idly lounging.

  "I see," said Noran, his heart sinking. He nodded to Artiides and the two of them set off back towards the villa at a quick but not untoward pace. "Have you any idea why they might be here?"

  "None at all," said Artiides. "I still have friends in the Seventeenth. If there had been anything brewing I would have heard it."

  "It will still be half an hour before they arrive, let us not waste any time," said Noran.

  "I'll get everything ready, have no fears," said Artiides. "If there's any trouble, leave it to me."

 

Noran stood just inside the doorway of the villa, at a vantage point where he could see and hear what was going on at the main gate. He watched Artiides, sword at his belt, gathering a handful of the men, who also carried weapons from the stores. Artiides opened the small postern gate, bowed his head and stepped back to admit a tall, rangy man in the uniform of a second captain.

  "Captain Juutan, Seventeenth," announced the officer.

  "I know who you are, Juutan, why the formality?" replied Artiides. "And why the heavyweights out there?"

  "I bear news for the master of the villa, Noran Astaan," Juutan said stiffly.

  "And I'll make sure he hears it as soon as he is back from his morning walk," said Artiides.

  "Please, friend, don't be awkward about this. Just take me to Astaan now."

  "What news?" Artiides said. "What news is so important that it needs fifty men to escort it?"

  "Ullsaard is dead, Urikh is now king," said Juutan, shaking his head. "Now, take me to Astaan."

  "Urikh is king?" Noran could not tell if Artiides was playing for time or genuinely shocked. "Since when?"

  "I have orders, all right. Let's do it the simple way, eh?" Juutan's hand strayed to the hilt of his sword, and Artiides took a step back. There was the sound of unsheathing blades around the courtyard as the other servants bared their weapons.

  "Let's not get hasty," said Juutan, holding up his hands. "I just have a job to do."

  "What job?" demanded Artiides. "You've delivered your news, now piss off."

  "That is not the only reason I am here," said Juutan. "Along with the news of King Urikh's accession, First Captain Harrakil received orders that Noran Astaan be detained and escorted to Askh to attend the new king and renew his oaths as his herald."

  "I see," said Artiides. The steward stepped closer and Noran could not hear what was said next. When he stepped back, Artiides raised his voice again. "Very well, you leave me no choice. I will fetch my master here."

  Noran shrank back from the doorway as Artiides turned and strode back into the shadow of the villa. He grabbed hold of the steward as he crossed the threshold.

  "What is happening, Artiides?" Noran said, his grip tight on the other man's arm. "Why do they want me to go to Askh to renew my oaths?"

  "I don't know, but the orders came from Urikh himself," Artiides replied tersely, pulling free from Noran's grip and leading him further into the entrance hall . "He claims that Ullsaard has been killed, and he has taken up the Crown."

  "Ullsaard dead?" Noran shook his head, disbelieving, but sense prevailed after a moment. Ullsaard had been waging war; it was not beyond the realm of possibility that he had been slain in battle or else killed by his Salphor enemies. "I am surprised that Urikh wants me though."

  "I don't know what it is, but it doesn't sit right in my head," said Artiides.

  "Why send an armed guard?" said Noran. "What reason does Urikh think I might have for refusing a command to attend him? It sounds to me like the action of a man unsure of himself. If Urikh thought he had a legitimate claim to be king he would just send for me and not worry about escorts."

  "So you think that Urikh is acting like a guilty man? You were a friend of his father, perhaps he thinks you're a loose end. It might not be safe in Askh."

  "It might not be safe getting to Askh," added Noran. "Accidents happen on board ship and on the road. What should I do?"

  "Run like fuck. We'll hold them as long as we can."

  There might have been a time when Noran would have demanded to know if there was cause for such panic, and would have stopped to ask Artiides why the need for alarm. The past years had taught Noran the folly of inquiring too deeply during life-or-death situations, so he simply accepted the veteran captain's assessment and bolted back into the villa.

  There was no time to pick up any belongings of note, but Noran did make a quick detour via the kitchens to snatch up some bread and a bag of fruit; he had no illusions about his ability to forage even in fertile Okhar.

  With these provisions secured, Noran darted back through the villa and into the main feast chamber, which opened out onto the gardens through wide screens. The weather had not yet turned cold enough for the screens to be erected, and so Noran had an unparalleled view of the land to dawnwards and coldwards. A hasty look confirmed that one group of legionnaires were still out in the fields; the other could not be seen.

  There were angry shouts from the front courtyard, and a cry of challenge from Artiides. His few retainers would not hold long against a fifty legionnaires, and so Noran ran into the gardens, turning hotwards.

  He knew he needed to have a plan, but for the moment his only concern was to get away from the villa and Geria. Hotwards seemed the most likely route, angling to dawnwards to take him away from the patrols along the Greenwater. His family's estates covered quite a large slice of Okhar, and he would be able to spend the night in one of his tenant's farms. There were too many little farmsteads and holdings for a company of legionnaires to search in a day. After some time to think, he could set out on the following morning for a more certain destination.

  With this in mind, Noran ran across a lawn and ducked through the archway of a wall between the ornamental gardens and the kitchen garden. Plunging across lines of herbs and vegetables, Noran headed straight for the high hedge at the back of the villa, beyond which was a wall and then the open fields. There were scattered woodlands almost directly to hotwards; he could hide out in there.

  He stopped before he reached the hedgerow, realising that up on the terrace he could be seen by the legionnaires on the roads below. His progress would be easily marked. From the kitchen gardens he could follow the wall around to the front of the villa, and make his escape back down the road towards Geria.

  It was a daring plan, sneaking out behind the soldiers that had been sent to take him. It depended on whether the captain leading the contingent had posted any men on the serving entrance through the coldwards line of the wall. In all likelihood it would be clear, but that did not mean there would be nobody watching the road.

  Knowing that he was dithering, and such hesitation might be the difference between living and dying, Noran made a decision. He headed out through the hedge and found the gate in the wall that led out to the vine terraces. With a last glance back at the villa, he opened the gate and stepped out, shouldering his bag of bread and fruit.

  Something hard hit him in the gut almost immediately, sending him crumpling to the ground. Noran looked up to see five legionnaires standing over him, the butts of their spears pointed in his direction from behind a short wall of shields.

  "Come quietly now," said one of the men, passing his spear to his shield hand and then reaching out to help Noran to his feet.

  Noran threw a punch, badly. The soldier ducked back away from the blow, which was fortunate because had it landed Noran realised he would have broken his knuckles on the man's helmet.

  "Grab him, gag him!" snapped the man Noran had swung at, and moments later, Noran was bundled back to the dirt, a rag shoved into his mouth. His wrists were bound in front of him and he was lifted to his feet once more, this time with less decorum.