The Crown of the Usurper

by Gav Thorpe

  Lakhyri had other concerns as he pushed open the doors to the Hall of Askhos. Within, he found Urikh and Luia deep in conversation. The king looked up as Lakhyri approached.

  "Where have you been?" Urikh demanded, rising from his throne.

  "Attending to the security of the city," Lakhyri replied. "Sit down."

  Urikh looked as though he would argue, but a whispered word from Luia made him comply with the high priest's demand. The king's mother looked at Lakhyri with narrowed eyes as he approached.

  "You intend to wait for Ullsaard's assault?" she said. "If I thought you were an idiot I would be concerned, but I know that you are not. Word comes that Ullsaard has five legions with him, so what defence do you have against his attack?"

  Lakhyri ignored her and addressed his next words to the king.

  "I am told that you attempted to leave the palace," said the high priest. "It is not safe for you."

  "I will not be caught like a rat in a trap, no matter what you caution against," replied Urikh. "Nor will I surrender calmly to my father's judgement. You assured me that Ullsaard would be dead, and now he is here, seeking my head upon a spear. You have failed me."

  "It is you that have failed," rasped Lakhyri, dropping all pretence of servitude. Acceding to the king's foolish scheming had been a bruise to Lakhyri's pride and now that the moment of truth was swiftly approaching, he could bear the charade no longer. "Do not forget who it was that placed you upon that throne, boy. If not for your interference, Ullsaard would have been upon his pyre a long time past. I told you what had to be done, but you would not listen."

  "It was you that thought Anglhan was suitable to the task," replied Luia.

  "A criticism that does not hold greater weight for being voiced so frequently," said the high priest. He turned his golden gaze upon the queen and she took a step back, alarmed by the hatred in his eyes. "You mistake your place in the new order that will rule the empire. Be thankful that I still require one of the Blood as my figurehead, to ease compliance to my wishes. Your continued presence is a salve to resistance, not a necessity."

  "Was it not you that came to me, asking for my aid?" replied Urikh. "I remember well the day that I first lay eyes upon you, while my father still waged war in Mekha. You told me that you would see me upon the throne of the empire and the Crown of the Blood upon my head." Urikh reached up to the gilded iron at his brow. "You warned me to be patient, and I was. As you promised, the rule of Lutaar failed, but then you placed my father upon the throne instead. Still you assured me that my time would come soon, but I watched as you raised up Erlaan, creating a half-Mekhani mongrel beast to take my place. They would destroy each other, you claimed, and the path would be set for me to ascend to my rightful position. My father failed you, and Erlaan failed you, but I held on to my desire and have delivered what they could not."

  "A tool long kept on the shelf only remains useful while its work is unfinished," said Lakhyri. "I was sent to you by the masters, and I found you, nurtured your pride and gave you coin and influence. The promises I whispered were nectar to your ambition, and you fed deeply upon it. My brother, with Aalun and Ullsaard, even Erlaan, were too focussed upon each other that they did not see the weaver working at the loom. All that has passed, not without delay or setback, has been as I desired. When I needed you, I used you. Hope that I do not need to replace the tool with one sharper and more fitting to the task."

  Possessed of a similar temperament to his father, Urikh did not take this bald statement well. The king rose from the throne again and took hold of the collar of the high priest's robe.

  "You are a weak, pathetic thing, Lakhyri. I may not be the warrior my father is, but I have enough strength in my grip to throttle the life from you."

  Lakhyri grinned, baring yellowing stubs of teeth.

  "Would that I needed to draw breath like some pitiful mortal creature, your threats would have foundation."

  "A spear or knife, then," suggested Luia. "Perhaps you would find immortal existence more testing without your heart or throat."

  "Do not waste time with this misplaced bravado," said Lakhyri. He felt the presence of the master coalescing in the hall; a drying of the air that he had become accustomed to during many long rituals. Luia gasped and raised a hand to her mouth as the Eulanui seeped up from the tiled floor, becoming corporeal as it spread out gangling limbs and sinuous fronds.

  "Perhaps you wish to beg for my protection?" Lakhyri asked as Urikh freed his grip and staggered back to the throne, stepping around an uncoiling tendril. The king looked to make some cutting remark but held his tongue, fear outweighing spite.

  COMING.

  The thought-message thundered through Lakhyri's brain, flaring with pain behind his eyes. Luia fainted from the mental assault, to fall draped over the arm of the throne. Hissing, Urikh attended to his mother, face flushed with pain.

  "Yes, my master, soon we will have prepared the way," the high priest gasped.

  The Eulanui continued to grow darker, the shadow of its body deepening. With rune-tainted vision, Lakhyri could see the sinews and muscles warping into existence, layering over contorted bone and cartilage. It reminded him of the awakening of the Last Corpse, but there was no such altar-node through which the master could manifest.

  "What is it doing?" snarled Urikh as snake-like appendages slithered across the hall, stretching from one wall to the next. Like some grotesquely hideous octopus pulling itself from its lair, the Eulanui heaved it bulk across the veil between realities. Eyestalks swivelled, crystalline orbs regarding Lakhyri, who saw himself reflected in a thousand mirrored facets.

  "It is too soon, master," said Lakhyri, falling to his knees. "There are still precincts to build, to extend the weave of your power. There is not the energy to sustain you."

  COMING. NOW.

  III

  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.

  IV

  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, unsheathin
g 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.