The Crown of the Usurper (51 page)

  "Erlaan!" The king's shout was swallowed by the darkness but the figure above moved, turning towards him.

  "Ullsaard."

  With quick strides, the king reached the ring of light around the fire and saw the Prince lit by the flames. Erlaan's armour was in dire need of a good polish, the rivets that fixed it to his flesh showing tarnish and wear.

  "Do you want to finish our fight?" asked the king, hand on the pommel of his sword.

  "Not yet," replied Erlaan. "But if you do not keep your words civil I will end what was begun at the villa."

  "I am pleased to hear that," said Ullsaard, relaxing. "I knew that the Mekhani army was to gain my attention. Well, you have it. What do you want?"

  "I want to know what you will do if you win," said Erlaan. The flames glinted from golden eyes and Ullsaard detected sadness in the Prince's voice.

  "I haven't thought that far ahead," Ullsaard replied. He lowered himself to the dirt and sat down, the fire distant but large enough to bring out sweat on the king's face. He pulled a piece of bread from his bag and broke it in half, offering one portion to the Prince.

  "I am not hungry," said Erlaan. Metal scraped on metal as he lowered to his knees and sat back on his heels. The Prince sighed heavily. "I have been blinded by my jealousy, Ullsaard. Lakhyri never intended the empire for me, no more than he intended it for you or wishes it to be ruled by Urikh. I thought I would bring the Mekhani back and take it from both of you, but I am too late."

  "Of course you were never going to be king," said Ullsaard. "I told you as much at the villa."

  "And I thought hard about what you said," said Erlaan. "It is time for me to choose a side."

  "The fact that you haven't beaten in my face tells me you have already decided," said Ullsaard, munching on the bread.

  "You misunderstand me. I do not have to choose between you or Lakhyri. I choose myself. I shall wait to see which of you prevails in the battle to come, and then I will destroy the victor. It is better that you are alive, to prolong the fighting as long as possible."

  "You think I'll lose?"

  "I know it."

  "So why tell me?"

  "Because I do not want you to lose," said Erlaan. He sighed again. "The people will never accept me as their king, will they?"

  "The Mekhani don't have any problem with you, I suppose you might grow on the citizens of the empire in the same way."

  "The Mekhani think I am the incarnation of the giant that once ruled them; Orlassai, who led them in an ancient war for the Eulanui."

  "The what?"

  "The shadows from beyond the veil are the Eulanui, Ullsaard. That is the name of your enemies. Well, the name given to them by the Mekhani. The Mekhani have had myths and prophecies for fifty generations telling of my rebirth. My tongue, my lips, form words that they cannot disobey."

  "You were saying, about the people of the empire accepting you?"

  "I was the heir of the Blood, Ullsaard. It was my right to become king one day. But I have thought of what you said, about Askhos and the true legacy he left to his descendants and I realise that you spoke the truth. I would never have been king except in body."

  "I'm sorry. I really am, if that means anything."

  Erlaan's right hand formed a fist and Ullsaard tensed, expecting an attack. Instead the hulking prince punched the ground softly, his frustration obvious.

  "Fight with me, Erlaan," said Ullsaard, coming to a decision. "I don't want the empire. You can have it, or what's left of it. Truth is, with everything that's happened I doubt there is any empire left; Salphors invading from duskwards, the Brotherhood being pulled apart by angry mobs, legions against legions… You're welcome to it."

  "If you lose, do you think they will come into Mekha?"

  "I don't know. I only know what you've told me. I think that if the Mekhani once worshipped these things, the Eulanui will probably want them back. But perhaps not. Maybe the empire will be enough."

  "You would give me the throne of Askh? Why should I believe you?"

  "I'm not fighting for myself this time. I mean it. If you want the empire, you can have it. Even if I win, I'm not staying as king. You can fight it out with everyone else who wants to be my suc cessor. My word as a man of the legions, I swear to you that if you fight with me and we both survive, I will name you as my heir. Fuck, that's about as good a claim as anybody else has."

  Ullsaard waited for the Prince's reply, gazing into the flames.

  "Do you remember this place, Ullsaard?" said Erlaan, standing up.

  "Looks like any other piece of near-Mekha. Why, have I been here before?"

  "We sat at a fire down there," the Prince pointed to hotwards, "and you spoke to me about the Blood. We did not know that it was in your veins too. You told me that the quality of the metal determines the worth of the blade forged from it. You also said that I needed to learn when to change events."

  "I don't remember," said Ullsaard. He stood up and looked around. In the dark it was hard to be sure, but he accepted Erlaan's account that he had been here. And then the memory returned.

  "Fetch me a brand from the fire," he said. Erlaan narrowed his eyes in anger. "Please. It is too hot for me to get one for myself."

  "As you asked nicely," said the Prince. He strode towards the flames, into heat and smoke that would have felled a normal man, and returned quickly with a burning branch in one hand. Ullsaard took it and headed down the hill to dawnwards, waving the brand left and right as he scanned across the stubby blades of grass. Erlaan followed close behind.

  "Fuck me…" he said, catching sight of the thing he sought in a patch of dirt. He handed the branch to Erlaan and squatted down to dig with both hands, pulling free a smooth stone a little wider than his outstretched fingers. On one side was a crudely scratched rune of the Crown. "It's still here!"

  "What is it?" Erlaan bent down, bringing the brand closer to see what Ullsaard held.

  "I placed this here on that night. I don't know why I did it."

  "The destiny of the Blood, perhaps?"

  "Fuck that," said Ullsaard. With a grunt, he slung the rock out into the darkness. He turned back to Erlaan and drew his sword. "Men make their own destinies. Which one do you want to make? Are you going to fight with me or not? If it's the second, I am going to attack you here and now. Just so you know."

  Erlaan laughed and pulled himself up to his full height. In the light of the brand the Prince's golden eyes seemed like pools of fire.

  "I think you are right. You are the bastard son of a whore and a king, Ullsaard, and somehow it falls to you to be the defender of the world of men. It is not the destiny you chose, but it is the one you have created. I will fight with you."

  "Good to have you with me," said Ullsaard, extending his hand.

  "And my ninety thousand warriors," Erlaan added, engulfing Ullsaard's hand in a mass of bulging knuckles and curved talons. "Be glad you have persuaded me."

 

Against the bright sun of the desert, even the shadow-cloud of the Eulanui failed to bring night to the day. From his vantage point atop his palanquin, Urikh surveyed his army with pride. By the morning after the next Ullsaard would be brought to battle. If he continued to retreat, the swift advance of Urikh's forces would catch them on the march and the king knew his father would not allow that to happen. The thought of the reckoning being so close at hand made Urikh laugh.

  "The red-skinned scum will not help them," he declared, looking at Lakhyri, who had brought the news that a large force of Mekhani had joined with Ullsaard. He waved a hand towards the mass of writhing, black-skinned creatures following in the wake of his tame legions, like goads driving a herd. "When their gaze falls upon my host they will run screaming for their desert hovels or fall down to their knees to grovel for my mercy."

  "
Your
host?" said Lakhyri. The priest turned his golden stare upon the king but Urikh did not care.

  "I am still king, and this is my army; the grand army of Askhor. I do not know why you delayed so long in bringing them. Too cautious by far. If you had brought me these allies when you first approached me I would have swept aside everybody without all of the fuss."

  "The Eulanui do not serve any but themselves," said Lakhyri, leaning closer. "Without the precinct network carefully harvesting the energy of the world to sustain them, they will devour everything, as they did with the civilisation of Mekha. I was rash then. This time was meant to be different."

  "Well, it does not matter, does it? We are where we are."

  "If our masters countenance for one moment that we are not wholly dedicated to them, it will be you and I that are consumed. You have lost your mind and should still your tongue before it gets us both killed."

  "Look, my idiot general approaches," said Urikh, spying Lutaan and a body of men walking back down the advancing column. "He will complain that the men are exhausted and in no condition to fight, just as he did yesterday and the day before. If he mentions it again, I will have him killed for distracting me with his insubordination."

  The king spoke a word to the men leading the abada and his throne-wagon slowly came to a halt to allow Lutaan and the others to approach. Amongst the knot of helmeted men, Urikh saw a familiar face: Noran Astaan.

  "What is that doing here?" the king demanded, rising to his feet to jab an accusing finger at the traitor. "Kill him now before he lies to me again."

  "A moment, supreme majesty," said Lutaan, falling to his hands and knees in deference. "We caught the herald trying to pass our army last night."

  "Do not execute him yet," snapped Lakhyri. "We know he was trying to hire Nemurians. We must know if he was successful."

  "Very well, if that is your counsel," said Urikh. He gestured to the guards holding Noran. "Bring him here."

  The herald did not resist as he was guided past the abada to stand at the side of the palanquin. This duty fulfilled, the legionnaires swiftly retreated, not once raising their eyes to the platform.

  "Hiring mercenaries against me, Noran?" said Urikh. "Just how treasonous have you been? I am sure your funds stretched to a few hundred. Tell me, how many will be joining my father?"

  "See for yourself," said Noran. He turned and pointed hotwards. There was a low cloud of dust in the distance, which Urikh had thought to be a small sandstorm. The cloud was quickly lengthening to hotwards, kicked up by the tread of many feet – many, many feet.

  "How many?" Lakhyri demanded.

  Urikh did not like the sly smile on the herald's lips and repeated the priest's question. Noran pretended to count on his fingers and then shrugged.

  "All of them."

 

Lutaan and his legions were doomed, that much was obvious, but the desire to die fighting rather than face the terror of the Eulanui forced them to attack. The shadow-creatures made no move to support the men as they advanced, twenty thousand against more than ten times their number. The army of Ullsaard was spread along a line of hills, the Askhan legions forming the centre, the mobs of the Mekhani out on the flanks where they would not impede the manoeuvring of the phalanx.

  The desert-dwellers had brought twelve behemodons with them, and groups of lacertil riders with slings and javelins. The war beasts grunted, bellowed and hissed as the kolubrid riders advanced from the line, predators and prey forced alongside each other by the chains and reins of their respective masters.

  Spear throwers and lava throwers were drawn up in batteries, sited amongst the spear companies, two protecting the Fifth and Thirteenth at the centre and another two guarding each end of the line. Crews readied their engines, drawing back the torsion bows of the spear throwers, pumping the bellows of the lava machines.

  Into the heart of this, the legions of Urikh slowly advanced, the men dragging their feet from fatigue, barely able to hold up spear and shield. Their narrow-faced icons of Urikh were collected at the centre, where Lutaan led the other first captains and their guards from the back of an ailur.

  "Poor bastards," muttered Muuril, standing to Gelthius's right. Beyond the Companion stood the king, next to the icon of the Thirteenth. Ullsaard turned his head as he heard Muuril.

  "They made their choice," the king said grimly. "We'll put them out of their misery soon enough."

  It did not seem right to Gelthius and he could not keep his opinion to himself. The king was hardly like to punish him for speaking out of turn, not there and then. And if the day went with the king, Gelthius would be glad to live to suffer such punishment as would be due.

  "It's not their fault, king," he said. "They got homes and families just like us. Homes and families they had to protect the only way they could, right enough."

  "Feel free to offer yourself up to their spears, captain," the king replied. "Or maybe you think you could ask them nicely to… Wait. You might have a point."

  The king stepped out of the front rank and turned to call to the right, where Anasind was leading the second company of the Thirteenth.

  "Hold position! We're going for a short walk."

  The general's response was lost in the laughter of the company as Ullsaard waved for the men to follow him. They broke from the line at a steady pace, a few steps behind their commander. His course was obvious, heading directly for the opposing commanders. Despite the bedraggled appearance of the other army, Gelthius was acutely aware that he was one of only one hundred-and-twenty men marching to face off against more than fifteen thousand.

  Lutaan recognised what was happening and his command staff stepped up their pace, moving ahead of the rest of their army. The two contingents met roughly halfway between the two lines, stopping a few dozen paces apart. Lutaan looked uncomfortable perched atop the ailur, awkwardly holding a golden spear in one hand and the gilded links of the reins in his other. The general's mount become more agitated, flicking her ears, swaying her head and pawing the ground while a bass growl sounded against the backdrop of tramping and scuffing steps.