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

by Gav Thorpe

  The Salphor recovered and lifted up his arm, a javelin in hand. Ullsaard swayed to his right as the missile left the man's grip, the sharp tip passing just a hand's breadth over the king's shoulder. A feral roar from Blackfang warned Ullsaard to centre himself. He swung back into position just as the ailur leapt across the lupus's back, one paw raking its shoulder, her jaw latching on to the back of the other beast's neck.

  Traces parted and the yoke snapped under the lunging attack, pitching the chariot into the muddied earth. Ullsaard jabbed out with his spear, catching the javelin-thrower in the shoulder, pitching him from the side of the light chariot. The driver had been half-pulled over the front and floundered to throw down the reins and regain his balance. Ullsaard's spear tip caught him full in the side of the face, punching through jaw and cheek.

  With a plaintive howl, the lupus died, Blackfang's dagger-like teeth clamped into its spine. The enemy close at hand were running away, many dropping shields and weapons as too cumbersome. Through his battle-fever, Ullsaard remembered to close Blackfang's war-mask; almost immediately she calmed, contenting herself with mauling and chewing on the dead lupus.

  Through a haze of excitement, Ullsaard tried to see what was happening. The Salphors had been thrown back by the arrival of the Thirteenth, but were by no means broken by it. Already, the fleeing warriors were mustering around their chieftains and returning to the battle.

  "For victory!" bellowed the king, waving his legions forward with his shield. "For Askhor!"

  CARANTATHI

  Autumn, 213th year of Askh

  I

  The road was wide, but treacherous, in places the rock split by wide cracks and crumbling where the mountainside dropped down to a sheer cliff on the right. The base of the cliff was hidden in the white murk of a thick mist. The upper towers of the Salphorian capital could be seen ahead over the shoulder of the mountain, grey tiled roofs shining with rain. The downpour sent rivulets across the roadway and rattled on the armour of the legionnaires.

  Rounding a sharp outcrop, Ullsaard found himself almost bumping into the back of a group of legionnaires. The road was packed with soldiers, who pressed against the rock away from the edge, fearful of the drop.

  "What's the delay?" he demanded. "The Salphors?"

  "Can't move forward," answered someone from the tightly packed men. "Everyone ahead has stopped."

  Ullsaard turned around and shouted to the captain of the following company.

  "Call the halt! Pass on the order! Call the halt!" He returned his attention to the throng of men in front. "Make way for your king."

  The legionnaires did the best they could, opening a gap just about wide enough for Ullsaard to squeeze through sideways. The situation got no better the further he went, several hundred men all cramped together. He spied the crest of a captain and pushed his way to the officer.

  "What is holding everybody up?" said the king. "Is it the Salphors?"

  "Don't think so, king," said the third captain. "I heard someone shout that the road ended."

  "Road ended?" Ullsaard frowned and shoved his way onwards, pushing men aside to find out what was going on.

  After some time, he finally reached the front of the halted column. Men stepped aside at his approach and he immediately saw the problem.

  A few paces ahead, the road did indeed end. With an edge as clean as a cut, the mountainside dropped away sharply, at least ten times the height of a man, down to a swift river and jagged rocks. Seventy or eighty paces ahead, the road resumed. A mass of ropes and timbers hung to one side; a bridge of some kind the king assumed. On the opposite side of the gorge stood a small knot of men.

  "You must be Ullsaard," one of them called out, hands cupped to his mouth. He wore heavy plates of bronze armour and a shining warhelm decorated with a gem at its brow. His beard was thick and braided and his hair hung past his shoulders.

  "You must be Aegenuis!" Ullsaard shouted back.

  The man raised a hand in acknowledgement.

  "You should know that I did not send those tribes to attack you," said the Salphorian king. "That was my son. I thought I had him under control, but some of my chieftains helped him escape. I have not broken my word."

  Ullsaard considered this but was not sure whether he believed the man or not.

  "Your Askhan is very good," he said.

  "I thought it wise to practise more, considering the future."

  Ullsaard could not help but smile. The Salphorian king seemed to be the sort of man he could deal with.

  "Now you have to keep your word," yelled Aegenuis. "If I give you the city and my crown, you must swear there will be no looting, no rape, no burning."

  "And if I don't?" Ullsaard replied.

  "Enjoy finding another way in," said Aegenuis. Laughter echoed from the walls of the canyon.

  "This?" said Ullsaard, waving a hand at the ravine. "I'll be across that in ten days at the most."

  "I think not! We have engines and archers above you. It would be bloody work."

  "All right, twenty days. My engineers will dam the river and build a new bridge. I have men from Ersua and Anrair; men that grew up in the mountains. They'll take care of your engines and archers easily enough."

  "And then? This is but the first of many obstacles. Carantathi has strong defences."

  "So did Magilnada and I took that city in four days!"

  This silenced Aegenuis for a while and he conferred with the chieftains around him. Eventually he stepped out from the group.

  "It seems like a waste of time and blood to not have to give your word," declared the Salphorian leader. "Why not promise me what I want, and I'll walk you through the gate myself. You'll have me as hostage, and I you."

  Looking back at the soldiers clustered behind him, Ullsaard saw shadowed eyes and haggard faces. They had marched and fought for nearly two thousand miles. Soon the rain would become snow, and the road treacherous with ice. He certainly couldn't starve out the Salphors over the winter.

  "You have my word," he called out. "With the brave men of the Thirteenth as my witnesses, I swear that there will be no violence unless provoked by you."

  Again the Salphors huddled together in discussion. Evidently they agreed to the terms. More men hurried to the bridge contraption. They heaved on ropes and laboured at wheels, swinging the mass of wood around to the gap in the road. Rain drummed on timbers as the bridge extended, heavily hinged sections straightening across the gorge. Ullsaard and the foremost legionnaires were forced to retreat a short distance as the bridge thumped down.

  "Wait here," he told his soldiers. "If these bastards kill me, slaughter the lot of them."

  There were savage growls of assent from those close by.

  Aegenuis walked to the middle of the bridge and waited. Taking a breath, Ullsaard set out. He was taking a considerable risk, he realised. The Salphors could probably raise the bridge before two dozen men had got onto the span. He stopped a few paces onto the thick boards, wondering whether it might not be better to dismiss any deal and take the city by force. He scrutinised Aegenuis as best he could, but could see little of the man's face behind the silver visage of a wolf.

  "Fuck it," the king muttered. "If you're dead, you're not going to care what happens next."

  He strode across the bridge with more confidence, stopping just in front of Aegenuis. The other king was a little shorter, and nowhere near as broad. The scabbard at his hip was empty and Ullsaard saw no knife in his belt.

  "I am unarmed," said the Salphor.

  "Nice hat," said Ullsaard, nodding towards Aegenuis's helm.

  "It will be yours soon," said the Salphorian king.

  Ullsaard shook his head and extended his hand.

  "I think not," said the Askhan. "I have enough troubles with the crown I've already got."

  Ullsaard bit back a laugh as he saw bemusement in the eyes of the other man. Aegenuis grabbed Ullsaard's forearm and squeezed tight, the king of Greater Askhor returning the gesture. They
parted and Ullsaard turned around and raised his fist, eliciting a cheer from the legionnaires that could see him. The Salphors were understandably less jubilant.

  "I think I still have some of your wine somewhere," said Aegenuis, putting his hand on Ullsaard's shoulder as the king turned back from his soldiers. "We should share it."

  "How did you get my wine?"

  Aegenuis laughed and slapped Ullsaard on the back.

  "I'll tell you on the way to Carantathi," he replied.

  II

  With a smile, Ullsaard drained the last of the wine from the cup and placed it on the table beside the bed. He stripped off his armour and flopped on the woollen bed covers in kilt and jerkin and boots, exhausted. He listened to the clink and pad of the legionnaires on the other side of the chamber door and closed his eyes.

  He had deigned to allow Aegenuis to stay in the king's hall; some unfortunate chieftain had been turfed from his house to make way for Ullsaard and his officers. Billets had been found for the Thirteenth in the city, which was half-empty. Aegenuis had bluffed well; less than two thousand warriors protected Carantathi, nowhere near enough to defend against Ullsaard's army. The rest of the Askhan army was returning to camp at the base of the mountain.

  He did not begrudge Aegenuis the peaceful resolution he had wanted. Over the course of a somewhat frugal banquet, Ullsaard had come to the conclusion that he liked the Salphorian king, though not enough to let him stay king, he had pointed out.

  Tomorrow Aegenuis would formally hand over power to Ullsaard. It was not the end of the Salphorian campaign, the king knew, but it was the start of the next stage of conquest. Ullsaard thought he would feel triumphant at this moment, but from the swirl of emotions going through him, it was relief that felt strongest. Once again his vision had been vindicated. Perhaps even more than when he had wrested the Crown from Lutaar, he had many times wondered whether he would be victorious.

  Feeling sleep tugging at his eyelids, he divested himself of his boots and kilt, flinging them to the bare wooden floor. Certainly Carantathi could benefit from a few Askhan improvements, such as carpets and baths. All of that would come in time.

  He listened to the rain drumming on the roof and walls and rolled to his side. Allenya was in Askh, three thousand miles away or more. He wondered what she was doing. Probably sleeping as well. He would have to spend the winter in Salphoria, establishing his rule, sizing up which chieftains could stay and which would have to be killed. Come the spring, he would return to Askh, leaving Salphoria to Aegenuis, Anasind and others.

  It was a pleasing thought that carried him to the cusp of sleep.

  Ullsaard sat up sharply, hand clasped to his temples as agony flared through his mind. A howl of pain was wrenched from him as he twisted and fell to the floor, daggers piercing his thoughts. He did not see or hear the door slamming open as a pair of legionnaires rushed in. He felt nothing but burning, a flame that consumed his brain, seared his eyes and scorched through his Blood.

  While his body writhed in torment, in his mind he was carried up, up through the roof, into the clouds and beyond, spreading out beneath the stars. Like a rushing of a gale within him, he felt himself being torn apart, scattering through the air.

  A thunderous clamour deafened him as he speared across the sky, the sun rising ahead, its first rays touching upon the walls and domes of Askh. His being funnelled down, swirling like a tornado, rushing faster and faster, drawn towards the palace on the Hill of Kings.

  For a moment he saw a flash of a person and fell into the man's eyes, sharing his body for an instant, feeling something that froze his heart, even as his mind exploded again.

  With another feral shriek, he surfaced from the fit, panting and wild-eyed. A legionnaire bent over Ullsaard, eyes fearful,

  "King, what is wrong?" asked the soldier.

  Ullsaard replied without thought, telling the man what he had seen in his vision, even as the throbbing pain in his head pounded.

  "Urikh… Urikh has put on the Crown of the Blood."

  About the Author

  Gav Thorpe works from Nottingham, England and has written more than a dozen novels and even more short stories. Growing up in a tedious town just north of London, he originally intended to be an illustrator but after acknowledging an inability to draw or paint he turned his hand to writing.

  Gav spent 14 years as a developer for Games Workshop on the worlds of Warhammer and Warhammer 40,000 before going freelance in 2008. It is claimed (albeit solely by our Gav, frankly) that he is merely a puppet of a mechanical hamster called Dennis that intends to take over the world via the global communications network. When not writing, Gav enjoys playing games, cooking, pro-wrestling and smiling wryly.

  mechanicalhamster.wordpress.com

  A GUIDE TO SALPHORIA, ITS PEOPLES, AND ENEMIES

  The lands known collectively as Salphoria have been home to many peoples and cultures from before the founding of the Askhan empire. It is a large area with a widely dispersed population, bound together only by ancient ancestry and the common foe of Askh. In this appendix, we look at some of the traditions and organisation of the Salphors and their loose nation.

  People

  The Salphors are not a single people, but comprise many different tribes and tribal conglomerates that have mingled over the centuries. The majority of Salphorian settlements are located along its long rivers, on the outskirts of its dense forests and amongst the foothills of the mountain ranges. Most tribes are located within a single town or village, though some have spread further and may be found living in neighbouring settlements; a few are widespread, having been dispersed across Salphoria by migrations in times past due to famine, drought or war.

  The tribe is the basic block of society, an extended family drawing descent from shared ancestors that can number several thousand folk. Each tribe has its unique traditions, and often its own dialect and folklore. Intermarriage between tribes is quite common, as is the kidnapping of womenfolk from rival tribes, so the exact familial boundaries between tribes is often indistinct.

  Several tribes make up each of the Salphorian peoples. The peoples are spread over a much larger geographic area and share common language, coinage and beliefs. Many started out as alliances in the distant past but the cultural identity of a people has grown out of the disparate customs of the founders, creating an identifiable society. A Salphor thinks of himself as one of a people first, his tribe being a subdivision of their identity.

  There is a linked but separate group of Salphors known collectively as Hillmen, living for the most part in the Ersuan Hills. They live apart from the rest of Salphorian society, surviving on brigandage for the most part. Considered savage and backwards by any self-respecting Salphor, the Hillmen are not counted as a people in their own right, but simply a ragtag mass of renegades and descendants of barbarians.

  Politics

  Each tribe is ruled over by a chieftain and his family. The position is traditionally hereditary through the male line, but such is the nature of tribal life a chieftain or would-be heir that does not have the support of the tribespeople will find it very difficult to maintain control.

  The chieftain oversees all matters of local law and presides over weddings, funerals and other ceremonies. He is the warleader of the tribe, and will often be the most accomplished fighter. His chosen band will have the best equipment and be made up of the most able warriors, acting as militia to enforce the chieftain's rule. Sons and brothers typically form the council of the chieftain, along with any other elders who have proven themselves sufficiently wise or favoured. Patronage is the general rule, as the chieftain is ultimately responsible for settling land claims, marriage or inheritance disputes and other disagreements. It is a brave Salphor who risks the displeasure of his chieftain, and those who do not earn his favour will be shunned until they make appropriate gifts or leave in self-exile.

  Amongst the chieftains of a people, rank is determined by a fluid hierarchy of personal ability, old debts a
nd the power of his tribe. The chieftain's council of each people meets irregularly to discuss important issues and resolve inter-tribal disputes, but it is a temporary organisation. In times of war or hardship, a chieftain may call upon his fellow council members for warriors or aid, and the council will decide whether the people will act or not. As with tribal politics, there is little loyalty between the chieftains despite oaths sworn and gifts exchanged. Just as a tribesperson that angers a chieftain is isolated, a chieftain that continually acts against the council's wishes or does not support the council's decisions will find his tribe treated as pariahs.

  The most senior and well-respected chieftains of a people, usually no more than half-a-dozen, form an inner circle to act as representatives to the king. In this role they represent the people as whole – in theory, at least.