The Crown of blood tcob-1

by Gav Thorpe

  "So am I," Ullsaard said quietly.

  The shock of Urikh and Luia seemed to silence all noise across the camp. Mother and son stared at Ullsaard, utterly taken aback.

  "I'm Lutaar's bastard," Ullsaard said, answering the question that was doubtless in the minds of the other two. Ullsaard glanced back towards the bed compartments from where his mother's voice could just about be heard. "I did not know until recently."

  Even sharper than his mother, Urikh was the first to make the next leap.

  "That means I am of the Blood as well! I am your heir!"

  Ullsaard recognised too well the look of greed and calculation that came over his son. The general grabbed Urikh's arm tightly and pulled him close.

  "Tell nobody of this!" Ullsaard hissed. "Do not even tell Pretaa that you know!"

  Urikh nodded and tried to pull his arm free, but Ullsaard's grip was unmoveable.

  "Swear to me," the general growled. He shifted his glare to Luia. "You too! No one is to know this until I am ready to announce it."

  "You have my word," said Urikh, struggling against his father's grasp. "Not a hint to anyone."

  Ullsaard released his hold and sat back, face flushed.

  "I can see why we do not need Aalun," said Luia. "You could take the throne for yourself!"

  "Do not think that for a moment," said Ullsaard, alarmed at the suggestion. "I just want the king to listen to my demands for a Salphorian campaign. What I want hasn't changed."

  "You cannot openly challenge Aalun unless you are prepared to reveal who you really are," said Urikh.

  "I cannot simply slit his throat in his sleep," replied Ullsaard. "Such an act would turn the legions against me."

  "Leave it with me," said Urikh.

  "What do you plan to do?" asked Ullsaard.

  "Do you really want to know that?"

  Ullsaard saw the look in his son's eye and decided that ignorance would be better.

  "You're right," he said. "Whatever it is you do, if you get caught you're on your own."

  "You cannot say that," said Luia. "Urikh is your son."

  "It is all right, mother," Urikh said. "I can look after myself if I need to. I had to in the past, I see no reason to stop now."

  IV

  A piercing scream broke the stillness of the night. The shrill wailing continued, rousing the whole camp. Ullsaard woke immediately and was on his feet in a heartbeat, dragging on his kilt and a thick tunic.

  "What is it?" Luia asked groggily from the bed behind him. "Where's Urikh?"

  "I don't know," said Ullsaard as he pulled on his boots. Another ear-splitting scream cried out.

  Ullsaard dashed outside to find the camp in uproar; sentries shouted from the walls; captains bellowed at the companies spilling from their tents; legionnaires babbled to each other. When the scream sounded again, Ullsaard located it. It was close at hand, not far to his left. Turning that way, he saw Noran stumbling half-naked through the mud, his hands and chest covered with blood.

  "What is it?" Ullsaard demanded as Noran grabbed hold of him.

  "There's something wrong," Noran said between sucking sobs. "She's bleeding! There's so much blood!"

  Ullsaard realised with horror that Noran was talking about Neerita. He collared a second captain running past, almost hauling the man off his feet. "Send for the surgeons!" Ullsaard ordered. "Which one, General?" the startled captain asked.

  "All of them!" Ullsaard shoved the man away and followed Noran back to his tent.

  Anriit appeared like a bloodstained ghost in the doorway, her light gown ripped and stained. Ullsaard realised the screams had stopped, but he did not know if that was good or bad news. Anriit held up her crimson-coated hands and looked at Noran with blank eyes.

  "She's dead," said Anriit.

  "No, she can't be," wailed Noran. He tried to push his way into the tent, but Ullsaard grabbed him and dragged him back.

  "Best not to see," Ullsaard said quietly. Noran lunged towards the tent again but Ullsaard did not let go.

  "Bastards!" shrieked Anriit, ripping at her hair in madness. She looked venomously at Ullsaard and turned her wild gaze on the other soldiers gathering around them. "Murdering bastards!"

  Her eyes fell upon Noran, half-collapsed in Ullsaard's arms.

  "She should never have been here!" Anriit leapt at Noran, her fingers clawing at his face. "You killed her!"

  Noran raised a weak arm to defend himself, but blood streamed from scratches across his cheek and brow. Ullsaard tried to push Anriit away, but she stormed at him, kicking and screaming. He grabbed her by the throat and with one swing of his arm tossed her to the ground.

  "Get this crazy bitch away from me," he growled, looking at the legionnaires close at hand. They dropped their shields and spears and wrestled Anriit away from their general.

  "She's right," sobbed Noran, sinking to his knees. He looked at his blood-soaked hands and back at the tent. His voice was a choked whisper. "She needs a loremother… She needed proper attention… The cold, and the wet…"

  There was another shrill cry from behind Ullsaard and he turned to see what new horror had been visited upon him. Meliu ran barefooted between the tents, her hair streaming, robe open at the front, belt trailing behind her. Ullsaard made no attempt to stop her as she plunged into Noran's tent. He heaved Noran to his feet and almost carried him away.

  "Let's get you some clothes and a drink," Ullsaard said. "There's nothing to be done here."

  V

  Smoke spiralled through the light rain, the flames of the pyre hissing and spitting as they consumed Neerita's linen-wrapped body, her arms arranged around a tiny bundle of cloth and flesh. Noran felt nothing as he watched the flames crawling across her body and listened to the cracking of bones and the popping of fat. He was dimly aware of Ullsaard's bulk next to him, and felt his friend's hand on his shoulder.

  "It was a boy," Noran said softly. "Noridan. He was called Noridan."

  Ullsaard said nothing, which Noran was vaguely grateful for. He had suffered through the platitudes of Prince Aalun that morning, who had lost his own family years before; and the mewling pity of Meliu and Allenya. Their words were meaningless; nothing could be said that would bring back his wife and son. Anriit's scorn had been the most honest response.

  "We should go back to the camp," Noran said dully.

  "We can stay here as long as you need," replied Ullsaard. "There isn't any hurry."

  Noran slipped from Ullsaard's touch and walked back towards the army camp, half a mile away. He looked at the ditch and banked earth walls; the small figures of sentries making their rounds; the guards at the open gate as companies filed back in after a morning's foraging. The legions were unchangeable, their routine regulated by the drip of water clock and flicker of watch candle.

  He didn't know what to think and his thoughts churned between desolation and resignation. Last night his wife and child had died, and the legionnaires kept to their schedule as if nothing had happened, uncaring of events. But there was also reassurance in that timeless discipline; men who walked hand in hand with death every day who knew that, until their time came, life went on.

  "I don't know if I can stay," Noran said as Ullsaard caught up with him.

  "I don't think it's a good idea to be on your own right now," said the general. "But if that's what you want, I'll do whatever I can to help; protection, supplies, servants."

  Noran plodded on with Ullsaard at his side, pulling his cloak tighter as the drizzle soaked into his clothes and chilled him. A respectful distance behind them, a guard of legionnaires followed with a jingle of armour and splash of sandaled feet.

  "What a waste!" he exclaimed. "What a vanity it is, that we aspire to change kings and forge nations, but we can't stop a woman from dying. It's all so fucking pointless."

  "We have one life to lead, friend," said Ullsaard. "Our achievements are all that we can lay claim to. Men are born and die, but their actions live on down the generations. History is o
nly the tales of the lives of men that came before us."

  "And what history do I write?" Noran was bitter, his words snarled between gritted teeth. "What achievements have I? I could not even bring a son into the world. I have not even given that small gift to the future."

  "You are not dead," Ullsaard replied, quiet but stern. "Your life goes on. You can choose to abandon your dreams now, or you can be strong and strive for them again."

  "I do not know if I have the strength," said Noran.

  "Only time will judge that," said Ullsaard, gripping Noran's arm. "Do not let this misery destroy you. What has happened is sad, but to throw away the rest of your life because of it would turn sadness to tragedy. You are better than that."

  Noran said nothing and the pair of them walked on in silence. Behind them, the flames burned higher.

  VI

  Though camp life continued as normal for the next two days, Ullsaard was aware that the death of Neerita had cast a gloom over his army. It was difficult to understand, for few in the camp had known the woman, and accident and disease were no strangers to army life. The general noted the subdued mood as he made his morning rounds. The men saluted sharply enough as he passed, but he heard the mutterings, saw the look in their eyes; the inactivity was giving them time to think, to wonder what was happening, to ponder the future. In short, the legions were bored, and bored soldiers could be dangerous.

  Ullsaard summoned Anasind to his tent to discuss the matter.

  "They're not sure what they're doing here," the First Captain said. "And soldiers are a superstitious lot. They think the woman's death is a bad omen. It's a bad mix, making uncertainty become fear. They're not sure who the enemy is, who they're meant to fight or if they're meant to be fighting at all. It's no surprise they're restless."

  "I want the companies on double-drill, and longer foraging," said Ullsaard. "Keep them busy, keep them sharp, stockpile more supplies. Make it look like something is happening; that we're not just sitting around with our thumbs up our arses."

  "Is something happening?" asked Anasind. Ullsaard realised that the First Captain had been talking about the upper ranks' uncertainty as much as the common soldiers.

  "Soon, I hope we'll be able to tell the men some good news," Ullsaard said. "I won't mind if a few rumours start spreading that we might be moving out. That'll keep their minds off the cold and the bad omens."

  "I understand, General," Anasind said with a slight smile. "If I'm asked if there are any new orders, I'll firmly deny anything is happening."

  "That's the trick," Ullsaard said with a wink. "There's no better way than going around saying nothing is happening to convince soldiers that something definitely is!"

  When Anasind had gone, Ullsaard set off into the camp to find Urikh. His son was throwing dice with a bunch of second captains from the Twelfth Legion.

  "Don't gamble with this one," Ullsaard said as the ring of men looked up from their game. "He'll own your wives and mothers by nightfall!"

  As the men laughed, Ullsaard motioned for Urikh to join him.

  "You can keep your womenfolk for the moment," Urikh said as he stood up. "Your tin and salt is worth more."

  Light-hearted jeers followed them as Ullsaard led Urikh back through the camp.

  "Whatever your plan is to deal with Aalun, how soon can you do it?" Ullsaard asked in a hushed tone.

  "As soon as need be," replied Urikh.

  "Then do it as soon as you can. I don't know how long we can hold things together here, and the weather in the mountains isn't getting any better."

  "By this time tomorrow, Aalun will no longer be a problem."

  VII

  As in every other part of camp life, Prince Aalun had a precise routine, which Urikh knew well. Every morning at the third hour of Gravewatch, Aalun walked and groomed his ailur, Destiny. It was probably a habit of many years; growing up in the palace, learning how to look after the beasts. Though Urikh had never owned one of the prized cats himself, he knew enough that regular contact was needed to reinforce their loyalty, and Destiny was no exception.

  So it was that a little after the second hour of Gravewatch, Urikh made his way through the camp. It was still dark, but the blackness was broken by torches on the distant camp walls and braziers every ten tents along each row. Even at this hour there were plenty of men up and about; the guard companies walking their patrols; kitchen masters gathering breakfast from the stores; armourers stoking up their forge for the day's labours.

  Urikh made no attempt to hide; such behaviour would arouse more suspicion. Instead he sauntered along streets of wooden planks sunk into the mud, heading for the stretch of latrines close to the dawnwards wall — downwind of the prevailing breeze from the mountains. He relieved himself into the deep trench, whistling tunelessly.

  Leaving the latrines, he headed back by a different path to the low, black tent covering the ailur corral. A quick glance around assured him that nobody was paying the slightest attention, and he slipped inside. The three ailurs were sleeping, deeper shadows in the gloom, but they stirred as he entered. Heavy chains clinked as they moved in the darkness, against a backdrop of heavy breathing.

  Urikh found the barrel containing the offal and bones from the kitchens and prised off the lid. With a grimace, he pulled out a handful of deer guts, while he opened a pouch at his belt with his other hand. From this he produced some shredded leaves, which he rubbed into the guts. The ailurs were now on their feet; he could hear them padding around in the darkness, the tent filled with pants and loud sniffing.

  Destiny was the closest. Urikh tossed the meat towards her, but it landed short; the ailur strained at her chain to reach it, kept in check by a long pin driven into the earth. With a grunt of annoyance, Urikh picked up the drugged food and threw it closer. Slurping and chewing followed. Urikh sank to his haunches and waited for the soporifics to take their effect.

  When the blotch of darker shadow that was Destiny no longer moved, Urikh approached cautiously. He prodded her with a foot, but there was no response. Now came the most dangerous part, and Urikh's heart was thumping in his chest as he edged closer.

  With trembling fingers, he found the riveted straps holding the ailur's face mask in place. With a small knife, he prised off the rivets where they attached leather to bronze. He did this twice more, so only a single strap remained in place.

  Retreating quickly, he put the lid back on the barrel of food and wiped his hands on a rag. Taking a deep breath, he sauntered out of the tent and headed back to his bed.

  VIII

  Dawn was still hours away as Aalun stepped sharply through the camp, a loop of reins in his hand. He nodded in return as legionnaires and officers saluted him. As he reached the ailur tent, he unhooked a lamp hanging on the pole inside the door and lit it from a nearby brazier. Ducking inside, he turned to his right, where the tack and grooming tools were hung on a wooden rack.

  He heard a growl from behind him but thought nothing of it as he placed the lantern on top of a box. Uncoiling the reins, he turned towards Destiny, who was lying facing away from him. The ailur growled again, and he stopped, wondering what had agitated her. She was pawing at her face. Sitting up, the ailur turned towards him, and something glittered in the darkness.

  At first Aalun took the light to be a reflection from the lantern. He stepped a couple of paces and stopped. The glimmers in the gloom were like two tiny fires; flickering horizontal ovals of red and orange. Perplexed, he took a closer look; the tiny flames hovered just in front of Destiny's face.

  With a cry of realisation, he straightened. The flickering glow came from Destiny's unmasked eyes.

  Aalun had taken no more than a quarter-turn towards the door when the ailur attacked.

  Destiny leapt through the air, chain snaking behind her. The ailur's forepaw caught the prince on the side of his face, claws ripping through skin and tearing out an eye. With a scream he fell, clasping his ruined face. Destiny jumped onto his back, pushing Aalun to the
ground as her long teeth sank into the muscle of his shoulder, biting through to the bone.

  Blackfang and Thunderbolt rose to their feet, sniffing the air and snarling. They strained at their chains but could not reach the blood they could smell.

  With another cry, Aalun tried to crawl to safety but the ailur was too heavy for him to throw off. Releasing her jaws, Destiny raked her claws down his back, shearing through tunic, shirt, skin, fat, muscle; right the way down to his ribs. She drew back and pounced again, clamping her teeth into the back of his neck. Tossing her head from side to side, Destiny snapped the prince's spine, leaving Aalun's limp corpse dangling like a doll.

  With her prey killed, Destiny settled down beside the corpse. Soon the tent was filled with the crack of snapping bones and the wet sounds of flesh being torn.

  IX

  Aalun's cremation was a far grander affair than Neerita's. The officers and first companies of all five legions stood in attendance at the pyre, their spears lowered in tribute, five golden faces of Askhos reflecting the flames.

  Beside the great pyre burned five smaller fires; the bodies of the first legionnaires who had investigated Aalun's dying screams. It had taken numerous arrows and spear thrusts to slay Destiny, who had attacked the soldiers with unearthly, almost feminine shrieks. The incident had unsettled the whole army, not least because it had happened so soon after the death of Neerita. That one of the Blood had been slain in their midst gave the men grave concerns, and the whisper around the camp was that the Brotherhood had cursed them.

  Ullsaard and the First Captains had done what they could to quell the growing dissent, but Ullsaard could sense that he was in danger of losing control of his legions. It was with much trepidation that he addressed the funeral guard. He began by speaking at length on the qualities of Aalun, impressing upon the men that they should be proud to have served under one of the Blood. He reminded them of their duty to Askhor, and to their companions.