The Crown of the Conqueror cob-2

by Gav Thorpe

  Erlaan glanced back to the window and then focussed on the man, trying not to stare into those metallic-looking eyes.

  "You have lots of questions," said the man before Erlaan could speak. "Let me answer some of them. My name is Asirkhyr. I am one of the chief acolytes of the temple where you now stand. You are safe."

  Erlaan looked at Kalmud, and again Asirkhyr spoke before the prince could ask the question.

  "Your father is no better and no worse than he was when you left Askh. The journey here has been a strain for both of you. I cannot explain how you came to be here in terms you will understand, but it takes a toll on the mind and body. You father's ill health means it will take longer for him to recover, and he may not recover at all."

  Shaking his head, Erlaan sat down. He stared at Asirkhyr for a long time before opening his mouth to speak. Once more, the man cut him off.

  "We are a priesthood, the founders of the organisation you know as the Brotherhood. The one you have known recently as Udaan will be here shortly to tell you more."

  "I need water, and something to eat."

  Asirkhyr looked startled by the question. He took a moment to compose himself before replying.

  "There is no food and no water in the temple. We do not need these things to sustain ourselves. You will not need them either. Please, rest for a while longer prince, and do not look out of the window."

  The man turned sharply on his heels and stalked away, disappearing down the corridor. Erlaan toyed with the idea of ignoring Asirkhyr's warning and glanced up at the window. The strange light that seemed to seep like oil through the gap in the stones put Erlaan on edge.

  He decided it was better not to investigate and lay back on the slab, clasping his hands across his chest. As soon as he closed his eyes, he fell into a deep sleep, free from thought and dreams.

  II

  Sitting in his plain chair, Lakhyri was as immobile as a statue. Only the high priest's eyes moved as he watched his followers swaying and bowing around the Last Corpse, chanting their eternal chant, hoarse voices echoing from the chamber stones. The transference from the grand precinct to the temple had been arduous; Lakhyri had been forced to sustain the ailing Kalmud with his own vitality, draining his deepest reserves.

  He had hoped to replenish his strength from the temple, but the ethereal energies that sustained him were at their lowest ebb, almost consumed. Drastic measures would be required. The loss of Askhos disturbed him greatly. He felt no loss or sadness at his brother's death, but the break in the line of the Blood verged on catastrophe for his plans concerning the Askhan Empire. The usurper's dissolution of the Brotherhood was another setback, cutting off another avenue for new life to be brought to the temple.

  The grand precinct had been sealed, gateways and doors barred by ancient mechanisms and powerful wards. Its secrets were safe. Yet without Askhos, without the Brotherhood, the Askhan Empire had become a folly, just another frail kingdom without purpose. The saving grace was the rescue of Kalmud and his son. While the true heir to Lutaar still lived and the Crown remained intact, perhaps there was some small chance that the plan could be restored.

  A disturbance in the air, a fluttering on the edge of consciousness, stirred Lakhyri's thoughts. One of the masters was close at hand. He felt the throbbing in his gut, the tremble along his nerves of an eulanui manifesting itself. He slowly turned his head to the black block of stone and bone that was the Last Corpse. No entreaty had been made, no ritual of audience performed. What was coming through, and for what purpose?

  The sickly light of the temple churned as the master coalesced, the essence of the eulanui imbuing the Last Corpse with a semblance of life.

  Awkwardly, the creature rearranged its spindly limbs, unfurling from the carcass-altar. Black flesh bubbled and writhed while multi-faceted, golden eyes swept the rings of supplicant worshippers. Tendril-fingers lashed in agitation.

  HUNGER.

  The force of the word-concept stunned Lakhyri, blinding him, making his ears rings, his heart shudder. The runes and patterns on his skin froze nerves and muscle, burning with their coldness as life force was leeched from his flesh. Worshippers fainted, collapsing outwards like a ripple in a pool. The youngest convulsed as they fell, heads hitting hard against the stone floor, limbs twitching.

  Mandibles clattered and joints creaked as the eulanui stepped over the ranks of still worshippers, feeder tentacles swaying as they tasted the air. Regaining his senses, Lakhyri studied the creature, trying to recognise it. Its bearing was upright, lordly. More than that, there was an aura of shadow about the eulanui, which seemed to glitter like the night sky. Only once before had Lakhyri seen such a thing.

  The high priest caught his breath. The apparition was huayakaitoku, leader of the eulanui. Not for more than a thousand years, as reckoned by the annals of the Askhans, had the ruler of the eulanui appeared. Fear gripped Lakhyri; a sensation he had not felt in all of that time. For the huayakaitoku to risk a fully material form was a grave matter indeed.

  Lakhyri toppled out of his chair, falling to his knees.

  "Greatest of the great, master of the masters," he moaned. "I am humbled by your presence."

  The creature's head snapped around, its golden orbs fixing Lakhyri with their insectan stare. He saw his pinched face and dread-filled eyes reflected a thousand times back at him.

  FEED.

  The huayakaitoku slewed away from Lakhyri, clawed appendages dancing lightly over the bodies of the fallen worshippers, secondary tongues flicking out from slits in the flesh. It quickly passed the eldest, attracted to the vitality of the newest adepts. Banded tendrils lifted up three of the acolytes, wrapping around their chests, the tips plunging into their gawping mouths, jointed finger-stalks clasping limbs and heads.

  Rearing up on its hind legs, the eulanui lifted the trapped youths towards gaping mouths. The sphincter-like openings had no teeth, but fronds of whisker-like hair erupted from ridged gullets, stroking the flesh of its victims. One tiny piece at a time, the acolytes disintegrated, the energy binding them together sucked from their bodies: skin, muscle, bones, nerves, arteries and veins, livers and hearts, teeth and brains, every part drained, falling to the ground as a haze of dead cells.

  When nothing was left of the three, the huayakaitoku looked again at Lakhyri. Its flesh was slicker, the light in its eyes even brighter, gorged on the essence that sustained it.

  DISTANT. SACRIFICE. SEEK. KING. CHILD. RESTORE.

  Lakhyri nodded in understanding, remembering the same message from the last visitation.

  "It shall be as you say, master of masters," gasped the high priest. "We will pave the way."

  RETURN. IMMINENT.

  Immortal bones slid while stone-like flesh slipped, as the huayakaitoku returned to the centre of the chamber and collapsed in on itself, folding back into the gap between dimensions, leaving the square block of the Last Corpse lifeless and dull.

  Lakhyri swallowed hard, frightened by the encounter. With groans, the collapsed worshippers stirred from their unconsciousness. Lakhyri quickly pushed himself back into his chair and assumed an undisturbed pose. His mind raced. The eulanui were getting desperate, to feed directly on their followers. What did 'imminent' mean? The empire would not be ready for years unless Ullsaard could be stopped soon.

  Lakhyri shuddered again at the conclusion he was forced to draw, the image of the dissipating acolytes at the front of his mind; what he had offered the eulanui by way of trade, they would take by force if necessary.

  Nalanor

  Autumn, 211th year of Askh

  I

  A dawnwards wind brought the chill of the mountains to the town of Geria. The Greenwater was ruffled with spray and square sails slapped against masts while the wind carried away the shouts and drums of the oarmasters on the galleys. Hair and cloak tousled, feeling the tinge of drizzle on his face, Urikh stood with hands on hips glaring at the docks, lip curled with anger.

  "Why are three ships empty, sti
ll waiting to be loaded?" he asked the dockmaster cowering next to him. "You promised me four ships loaded or unloaded every hour."

  The dockmaster fumbled with the armful of wax slates in his arms, each covered with manifests and work logs. Droplets of rain gathering on his bald head, eyes fixed on the cobbled ground, the dockmaster mumbled something Urikh could not hear.

  "What did you say?" said the governor. "Do me the courtesy of making your pathetic excuses audible."

  "The morning shift at dock three are not working because they haven't been paid, governor."

  Urikh lifted the man's chin with a finger and stared into his narrowed eyes.

  "You know what my next question is going to be, don't you, Liirat?"

  The dockmaster nodded and shuffled his feet. A tablet dropped from his grasp and broke on the ground. Two more tumbled out of his arms as he stooped to retrieve the pieces.

  Urikh's kick caught the man in the ribs, sending him sprawling, wax plates falling around him.

  "They haven't been paid because you are an imbecile!" Urikh rasped. "Money comes out of my treasury and the payment coming in disappears somewhere between the docks and my vault. That is not just my fucking money; it is the empire's money!"

  One hand nursing his side, Liirat crawled in a circle, gathering up the scattered slates. He piled them neatly and rose to his feet, a look of sudden defiance on his face.

  "I ain't stealing your money, governor. It ain't my fault, honest. The Brothers used to work the payroll, taking out the taxes and such, but I don't know how they worked it out. There was twenty of them, used to run these docks, and now there's just me."

  "Can you count?" said Urikh, calming himself.

  Liirat nodded.

  "Then count one tin to the taxes for every askharin in pay. It is not difficult. That means one whole askharin for every twenty the ship captains pay you for berthing. Do I need someone else to do this for me?"

  "No, no, governor," said Liirat. "I can do that. But… Maybe I could have some help with the wages, someone who looks after the money going the other way?"

  Urikh tapped his foot impatiently and folded his arms.

  "I have sixteen wharfs and four harbour masters," he said slowly. "Three of those harbour masters are having no problem at all. Why should I spend more money hiring another person when I could replace you at no extra cost?"

  "Please, governor…" The dockmaster wrung his hands and fidgeted with the belt of his robe. "I'll try harder. I need this work."

  "The empire needs many types of men, Liirat. Perhaps you would be better suited to a hoe and plough than a tablet and stylus?"

  "It's my back, governor. Can't work the fields, not with my back."

  Urikh sighed, shook his head and considered what to do. It had been a lie that there were no problems with the other dockmasters. Across the whole river harbour a third less ships were being passed through each day. Now was the worst time to remove an official while he found another, with the harvest cargo and last surge before winter moving up and down the river.

  "Go on, get back to it," he said, waving the dockmaster away. Liirat scurried along the quay, only to turn at a shout from the governor. Urikh pointed at the pile of wax tablets still on the wharf. "You will need these! Get the men paid and get them working."

  Urikh heard laughter and turned to see three pilots leaning against the planks of a warehouse a short distance away. The men sheltered under the eaves of the roof as the rain fell harder, chewing strips of cured meat. They straightened up as Urikh stalked over to them.

  "Enjoying an early lunch?" he asked. The men shrugged. Infuriated, Urikh grabbed the shirt collar of the closest and dragged him around the corner of the building and pointed out across the river. "See that? That's a berth at dock five empty. And you see that? That's a ship in mid-channel waiting for a pilot to bring it through the flats. Why are you here?"

  "No boat, governor," the pilot replied sullenly. "Can't get out to a ship without a boat."

  Urikh let go of the man and clenched his fists, causing the pilot to shrink back, fearing a punch.

  "Why are there no boats?" Urikh barely stopped a scream of frustration.

  "They're all up round docks ten and eleven, governor," came the reply from one of the others. "The rotation is all out of order, governor. Boats not coming back to where they started and leaving from docks where the ship ain't coming in. It's a mess, governor."

  "Let me guess; the rotation was organised by the Brotherhood?"

  There were nods of agreement. Urikh walked over to the pilot who had spoken and laid his arm across his shoulders, pulling him close. When he spoke, the governor kept his anger in check, his tone mild.

  "Do you remember how the rotation worked when the Brothers were running it?" he asked gently.

  "Yes, I do, governor," said the pilot, trying to edge out of Urikh's grasp, his discomfort clear.

  "What is your name?"

  "Kiraan Allin, governor."

  "Tell me, Kiraan, could you run the rotation for me?"

  Kiraan looked around nervously for a moment.

  "But I'm a pilot, governor," he said.

  Urikh smiled, adding to the man's unease.

  "For an extra Askharin a week, I could make you chief pilot, in charge of the rotation. Would that suit you, Kiraan?"

  The pilot smiled, eyes widening as he imagined his wages doubled.

  "I think I could do that, governor, yes I could," said Kiraan.

  Urikh fished into his pouch and brought out a golden coin.

  "You best get started, chief pilot," said Urikh, pressing the askharin into the pilot's hand. Kiraan took a step away but was tugged back by Urikh's tight grip on his arm. "By tonight, I want every boat and every pilot working as fast as possible. If they are not, you answer to me. Is that understood?"

  Kiraan nodded and swallowed hard.

  "Yes, governor. Can I go now, governor?"

  Urikh let the man go and watched all three of them hurry away along the quayside. He slumped against the wooden boards of the warehouse, kneading his forehead to ease the ache there that had plagued him since coming to Geria to take up office. Twenty days of misery, confusion and frustration.

  Without the Brotherhood, nothing was working as it was meant to.

  It had been more than two years since his father had removed the Brotherhood and though there had been problems before, it was not until now, with a province to govern, that Urikh realised how much had changed.

  Without the Brotherhood's calendars, sowing and harvesting crops was haphazard, and the yield was perilously low; without the Brotherhood's records, taxes were not being collected and payments not being made; without the Brotherhood's courts, wrongdoers were left to old tribal justice, with mob beatings and executions increasing at an alarming rate; without the Brotherhood's communications, goods were sitting on wharfs and in warehouses, while ships pointlessly plied the Greenwater with empty holds or slowly rotted at their berths.

  Without the Brotherhood, Greater Askhor was degenerating into isolated towns and villages, breaking apart from within.

  Urikh was not given to despair, but when he contemplated the task of administrating Okhar with the people he had, he was unsettled. He had rounded up every man and woman in Geria that could write and count and pressed them into service as clerks, accountants and overseers. As many of these people came from the nobility, it had taken days of wrangling and concessions to have them leave their comfortable estates to take up office. Most of them were clearly serving their own interests as much as the empire's but they were his only option at present.

  Leaving the riverside docks, he kicked at loose cobbles on the road and wondered whose job it was to fix them. Maintenance of public properties had been another area dealt with by the Brotherhood.

  One sight lifted his heart slightly as he moved out of the shadows of the warehouses into the square behind the harbour; a company of his legionnaires stood in solid ranks waiting for his return. His fathe
r had been blunt in his advice, and had told Urikh that no matter what else his first priority was to keep the legions equipped, fed and paid; without them, his tenuous rule was worthless.

  Urikh had done just that, and for the moment the officers and soldiers of the Seventeenth seemed content enough. Everything else was falling apart around the governor, but his legion was still at full strength and loyal.

  The First Captain, Harrakil, was stood to one side of the troop, in animated conversation with another man. Urikh recognised him as one of the chief Gerian merchants, a man called Liitum; he waved his hands expressively and pointed hotwards while Harrakil continually shook his head in disagreement. The two of them broke off their talking at Urikh's approach.

  "Why are you haranguing my First Captain, Liitum?" Urikh said. "I thought you were bound for Cosuan?"

  It irked Urikh that his father had seen fit to name the new town at the mouth of the Greenwater after his dead mentor, but he had been wise enough not to argue the point. A large part of the task he faced as governor was sending men and supplies to the fledgling territory over two thousand miles to hotwards.

  "I was due to leave this morning, governor," said Liitum. "Have you not heard the news?"

  Urikh answered this with a hard stare.

  "Three ships have been lost heading to Cosuan," the merchant explained. "Hotwards of Daasia, they were attacked."

  "How do you know this?" asked Urikh.

  "My nephew was one of the survivors. He arrived on a galley from Daasia last night and found me as I was readying to leave. He says that rumour has it two more ships were lost only five days earlier."

  "Rumour can have all it wants, what has this to do with me? Besides, the Mekhani have no ships, so just make sure you don't put in on that stretch."

  "That's the thing, governor," said Liitum. "My nephew says that the Mekhani did have ships, and they were further coldward than he's ever known."