The Crown of the Conqueror (The Crown of the Blood)

by Gav Thorpe

  Looking across the street to the great hall right on the summit, Aegenuis could see that the doors were open and bright firelight flickered within. Shadows moved across the glow and he could hear loud chatter over the quietness of the rest of Carantathi. Curious, he hurried through the mud and up the wooden steps.

  Within, the four men who had visited him earlier were sat at the table, eating and drinking. Platters of meat, loaves of bread and bowls of vegetables were laid out as if for a banquet. A few men and women were working at the fire pit, tending to half a roast pig and the great cauldron hanging over the flames.

  Aegenuis recognised Furlthia, sitting to the right of the throne, where the king's heir would normally sit. All four of the men looked up as Aegenuis entered.

  "So you think you can…" Aegenuis's rebuke died away as he saw the state of the hall. The dogs crunched fresh bones in the newly laid straw. The great chimney had been scrubbed; Aegenuis's embroidered banner had been strung between two poles behind the throne; the benches and table had been scoured clean and the gilded plates and cups gleamed in the light of a hundred fresh lamps.

  The men stood together, the benches scraping across the floor. Furlthia raised his cup and the others followed.

  "King Aegenuis!" Furlthia announced. "The blessings of the spirits upon this hall and its master."

  Frowning with suspicion, Aegenuis stalked along the hall and sat in his throne, eyes never leaving Furlthia. The man passed a cup to the king with a short bow. Aegenuis sniffed the red liquid within, smelling rich fruit.

  "Wine?" he said.

  "Askhan wine, king," Furlthia replied with a sly smile. "From grapes that were grown in Ullsaard's own vineyards."

  Aegenuis had to laugh. He took a mouthful of the wine and swilled it around his mouth before swallowing.

  "It's good," said the king. "I must remember to congratulate that cat-fucker when he gets here."

  "He won't get here," said one of the other men.

  Aegenuis had not paid much attention to the man that morning. He was dressed in a hooded robe, much like the ones worn by some of the hermits that had dedicated their lives to the worship of one spirit or another. The cloth was a flawless black and hung from bony shoulders. The hood was drawn back, showing a face with high cheeks and a narrow nose; typically Askhan features.

  The king balanced the cup on the arm of the throne, noticing as he did so that the grime had been cleaned from the deep grain of the wood and his lion's pelt cloak had also been freed from the muck and grime of drunken tumbles. He leaned towards his self-invited guests, hands in his lap.

  "Tell me all your names," he said.

  "I am Furlthia, as you know. The elderly man next to me is Serbicuis, a chieftain from the Altes hills. My companion in the robe is Leraates; an Askhan, as you have guessed. The last of us is Kubridias, until recently of Magilnada."

  This last name Aegenuis actually recognised, though he could not recall the man. He was one of the chieftains of the Free Country; or had been, until Ullsaard had started his invasion.

  A serf appeared at Aegenuis's shoulder, a bowl of chicken stew in hand. With a glance at Furlthia, he set the meal down before Aegenuis, brought a platter of bread closer and quickly retreated to a place next to the fire pit.

  "You run my hall better than me," said the king. "Think that you might run my lands better as well?"

  "Not at all," said Leraates. "It is because we want you to stay king, and Ullsaard to leave your lands, that we are here."

  "Go on," said Aegenuis, waving a spoon at the Askhan, mouth full of chicken.

  "Ullsaard does not have total support within Greater Askhor. His attack on Salphoria is against the wishes of many. We would rather the agreement of King Lutaar was maintained."

  "I'm not the one that broke the treaty," said Aegenuis, dunking a fistful of bread into his stew. "You can take that up with your oath-breaking king."

  "We plan to do better than that," said Leraates. He pushed his plate to one side and leaned his elbows on the table. "When Ullsaard is defeated in Salphoria, we will restore the true line of the Blood to its proper place."

  "You have Kalmud somewhere, do you? Or maybe Erlaan."

  Leraates was taken aback.

  "Don't mistake a drunkard for an idiot," growled Aegenuis. "And I'm not drunk at the moment. Carry on."

  "It's simple," said Furlthia, raising a hand to hush Leraates reply. "Ullsaard's rule in the empire is new and weakly held. It is only fear of his legions that brings him anything like loyalty from his governors. Without the threat of the Askhan armies, he is nothing. Those inside Askhor want to see him fail as much as we do. If we can deal a blow to Ullsaard in our lands there are those who are backing him that'll withdraw their support."

  "Sounds fine when you say it like that," said Aegenuis. "Simple enough, yes. All I have to do is defeat the most powerful army in the world, and this Askhan cat-buggerer will do the rest?"

  Leraates took the insult without reply. Furlthia picked at the scraps on his plate as he continued.

  "If you can retake Magilnada, the whole campaign fails."

  Aegenuis laughed, spearing his knife into another piece of chicken. He plucked it from the blade with his teeth and chewed noisily.

  "You might have noticed," the king sprayed gravy as he spoke, "that the whole Askhan army is between Carantathi and Magilnada. Oh, and I don't have an army. "

  "You wouldn't have to lift a sword," said Serbicuis, talking excitedly over Furlthia. "Anglhan will turn on Ullsaard."

  "Anglhan?" The king's voice dropped to a harsh whisper, the name forced through gritted teeth. "That oathless, traitorous, shit-eating, corpse-fucking smear of an arse stain! He steals a city from me and then promises to give it back?"

  "By right of the treaty with King Lutaar, Magilnada was not your city," said Leraates.

  "None of that matters," said Furlthia, cutting in before Aegenuis could react. "At the moment, like it or not, Anglhan is governor of Magilnada and the lands around the city. He's offering to return to the Free Country agreement that existed before Ullsaard moved in. Anglhan's a greedy bastard, don't forget, and I wouldn't trust him as far as I could spit, but if we can offer him something that makes it worth his while, it gives us all chance to get what we want."

  The other men looked to Aegenuis for a reply. The Salphorian king said nothing, still fuming at the gall of Anglhan trying to trade off a stolen city. Aegenuis chewed laboriously as he considered his options. Part of him wanted to walk away without anything further said. Being king had brought him wealth and influence, but ruling over the Salphors was an uncertain privilege at the best of times. The most likely reward for turning back the Askhans, if it could actually be done, would be a knife in the back from Medorian or one of the chieftains looking to become king over a newly secured Salphoria.

  "Perhaps Anglhan has the right idea," said the king. He held up his hand to silence Furlthia, who was leaning forward eagerly. "You misunderstand me. Perhaps I should treat with Ullsaard directly. It seems to me I'd be better off as a governor for Askhor than a defeated king."

  "No, you cannot do that," said Kubridias.

  "Why not?" said Aegenuis. "Seems to be that the future of an Askhan governor might not be so bad."

  "Let me make myself clear," said Kubridias. "There are those of us that will not suffer Askhan rule by any means. We consider any man who works with the Askhans as a traitor to our people. You would not live long enough to make such a deal with Ullsaard, and if you did you would not enjoy the position for long."

  Aegenuis's plate crashed across the table as the king rose to his feet, smashing dishes and cups.

  "You come to my hall and threaten me?" roared Aegenuis. "You deal with that cock-hungry mongrel in Magilnada and call me a traitor? I'll cut your balls off for that!"

  Kubridias stood as well, angrily wiping spatters of wine and gravy from his face. Serbicuis lunged across the wide table, snatching at the other chieftain's arm as he reached for h
is knife.

  "Everybody sit down," said Leraates. His voice was like a blade on stone, cutting through the snarled insults and posturing of the men around him. Aegenuis looked incredulously at the Askhan, astounded by the man's affront; the others quietened immediately, cowed by his tone.

  "Have I fallen so low that even here, in my own hall in Carantathi, an Askhan is telling me what to do?" Aegenuis said.

  "Yes," replied Leraates. "Sit. Down."

  The Salphorian king's eyes bulged with anger, but his stare was met with a look of such cold malice from the Askhan that his ire froze in his gut. In that moment, Aegenuis realised that he had misjudged the situation. Furlthia was representing Anglhan, and both were mistaken in their view that they were in charge. As the other Salphors heeded the Askhan's command like hunting dogs called to heel, the king saw where the true power in this group was found. An Askhan did dare to give him orders in his own hall, and with good reason; in time these lands would belong to Askhor, one way or the other. Leraates was offering Aegenuis an alternative to direct rule by Ullsaard, though the deal had not yet been spoken.

  Aegenuis knew who Leraates was, in type if not individually. His robes, his style, his wish to see the plans of Ullsaard dashed pointed to one conclusion: the Brotherhood. What little Aegenuis had heard of the strange Askhan sect had been unpleasant. He had not the slightest doubt that Leraates was here because he had a use for the Salphorian king. If Aegenuis proved unsuitable to that use, he might as well slit his own throat on the spot.

  Hesitantly, Aegenuis lowered himself back onto his throne, his eyes never leaving Leraates.

  "Thank you, king," said the Askhan. He studied Aegenuis for a moment. "Everything you are thinking is true, Aegenuis. Anglhan is not to be trusted, but that is not your concern. One step at a time, king. Let me make the situation clear for you. Ullsaard has overstretched his reach. He thought he could conquer Salphoria in a single season. At this moment he is making winter quarters hundreds of miles to dawnwards, tightening his grip on the lands he has held. Masons and engineers and labourers will come in the winter. They will build roads and towers, fortify towns and erect bridges over the rivers. By the first sun of spring, armies will be able to move from Magilnada to Daruin in thirty days rather than sixty. Grain carts and other supplies will be like the cord of a newborn babe, linking them to the life of Greater Askhor."

  Throughout, Leraates spoke in a measured tone, his language the tongue of the dawnwards Salphorian peoples tinged by his Askhan accent. His eyes pinned Aegenuis to his throne, but his voice, his words, were intended for every man at the table.

  "That cord must be severed if you wish to keep Ullsaard from being at your door within the year. You cannot do that from here. Your son tries to convince the chieftains to attack Ullsaard, but that attack will fail. Only Anglhan is in a position to hurt Ullsaard. He is a toad of a man, and your reputation will suffer dearly, but you must give Anglhan what he wants in return for his cooperation. Refuse and you will be dead before the year is out; either by the hand of Ullsaard or one of your own chieftains. That is a warning, not a threat."

  Aegenuis cleared his throat and took a mouthful of water. There was no reason to believe that Leraates was lying about the situation. Whether Aegenuis held true to his word later, it was clear to the king that he had no choice for the time being. When the immediate danger was passed, he would find a way to bring Magilnada back into Salphorian hands and kill Anglhan. Until then, he would allow this Brother of Askh to weave his plots. Division in Askhor could never be a harm to Salphoria or Aegenuis.

  "Very well," said the king, addressing his words to Furlthia. He made an educated guess at what the governor of Magilnada desired. "Tell Anglhan that he is to leave Greater Askhor and become ruler of the Free Country, with my support and the blessings of the spirits. Tell me, Furlthia, how does he intend to keep Magilnada safe from Ullsaard's vengeance? I hear the new Askhan king has a short temper, and two legions are not enough to hold Magilnada against the might of Askhor."

  "He did not tell me, king, but I have no fear on that account," replied Furlthia. "Anglhan has a talent for self-preservation. He knows that Ullsaard will come at Magilnada with everything and will have some means to counter this. If he didn't, he wouldn't dare cede from the empire, not with a hundred thousand legionnaires within forty days' march of his city. No, believe me, Anglhan has something up his sleeve."

  MAGILNADIA

  Late Winter, 211th year of Askh

  I

  Moving up the wide stairs to the upper storey of the governor's house, Furlthia felt his skin crawl. Marble busts of Anglhan stood on pedestals flanking the stairwell, and as Furlthia turned onto the narrow landing, he saw a mural of his former master on the far wall. It depicted Anglhan standing at the gates of Magilnada, an Askhan army behind him. Anybody who had ever suffered dealings with the governor would see the lie for what it was; Anglhan had come to the city amongst an army of ragtag rebels and Hillmen, and not entered until several hours after the fighting had been concluded. He had not even raised a finger to stop the Askhans when Ullsaard had revealed his full intent and Askhan legionnaires had scoured the city of the last remaining Salphorian nobility and warrior-chieftains.

  Coming to a set of double-doors, ornately carved with a view down upon the city from the great mountain on whose shoulder it was built, Furlthia took a breath. He fought down his irritation at being kept waiting for three days since making his presence in Magilnada known to Lenorin, the governor's chief aide. Eventually, a runner had come with a message demanding that Furlthia attended Anglhan at his home as soon as possible.

  Furlthia knocked three times and waited, rehearsing what he would say to the governor. He wanted to deliver Aegenuis's agreement and then leave with as little fuss as possible. The more time Furlthia spent in Magilnada, the deeper his distaste for what Anglhan had done to the city.

  "Come in!" came a strained call from within.

  Furlthia opened the door and stepped inside. He halted with just one foot over the threshold on seeing what was within; the sight made him almost physically sick.

  Anglhan bent over a large desk, kilt pulled up around his evergrowing waist, his voluminous body pinning a naked youth face down amongst the scrolls, wax tablets and official stamps of office. Sweat rolled from the governor's face in streams, his thinning hair plastered to his face as he thrust and grunted. Anglhan had the lad's face pressed against the wood with one hand; in the other he held a red candle held so that wax slowly dripped onto the youth's back.

  Anglhan's face was a grimace of deviant pleasure, eyes wide, mouth snarling. Worst of all was the expression on the young man suffering such grotesque attention; Furlthia saw neither pleasure nor pain, just a bored look of indifference as Anglhan huffed and heaved his bulk against the youth.

  "Spirits take my eyes," cursed Furlthia. He backed out and slammed the door closed. He had taken two steps towards the stairs when Lenorin reached the landing at a run. The chancellor stopped as he saw the expression on Furlthia's face.

  "I'm sorry," said Lenorin with a knowing, weary look. "I meant to catch you before you came up here, but something distracted me."

  "I should just stick a knife in the pig right now," said Furlthia, feeling his loathing for Anglhan reaching a new low.

  "I would help, but for the bigger picture," said Lenorin, ushering Furlthia into a small study on the far side of the stairs.

  One wall was covered with a canvas map of Magilnada, every building coloured to indicate the type of dwelling or business. Wooden shelves heaped with yellowing parchment scrolls lined the rest of the room, save for a small window through which the noon sun shone weakly. Pots of inks and brushes stood on a small stand beneath the window, a half-finished painting of a gate tower on an easel beside it.

  "This is where you work?" asked Furlthia, allowing himself to be guided to a wooden stool by the flustered chancellor. Lenorin looked around as if seeing the chamber for the first time, but nodded.<
br />
  "Yes, this is my office," he said. He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head slightly. "It serves me better than sharing a chamber with… that man. I'm within shouting distance when he needs me."

  "Why do you even stay here?"

  Lenorin smiled sadly and sat behind his small desk. He busied himself arranging wax tablets into a neat pile as he replied.

  "It's the same as with him. Better the dark spirit that you know. Where I am, what I do, I can temper some of his worst excesses."

  "You call what I just saw an excess?" said Furlthia. "No chieftain would behave like that to his men."