by Gav Thorpe
Lerissa waved for Ullsaard to proceed out of the door. The rain was falling hard but a black-lacquered roofed path crossed the lawns, lit every twenty paces by blue-glassed lanterns. Ullsaard said nothing at first and instead listened to the pattering of the rain on the wood above his head. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed in the distance, silhouetting the trees and hedges that bounded the dawnwards extent of the gardens.
"I love Allenya," he said, and instantly wondered why.
"I'm sure if I was to know her, I would love her also," replied Lerissa. She caught Ullsaard's intrigued glance. "As a sister."
Ullsaard nodded and chuckled.
"Why would you speak to me of love?" Lerissa asked.
"Because I want to fuck you," said Ullsaard. Lerissa stopped and turned to him, and the king cursed his lack of subtlety and scant knowledge concerning the finer phrases of seduction.
"A soldier's proposal," laughed Lerissa.
"I'm sorry," said Ullsaard. "You are right, I speak with a soldier's tongue, and very clumsy it is."
"Do not apologise," said Lerissa. "Your honesty is as alluring as your body. Not the sweetest-tongued man in Geria has the courage to speak his intents so plainly to me, though their desires are every bit as obvious."
"Still, it was blunt, and I should not have said it."
Lerissa hooked her arm in Ullsaard's and led him along the path again, taking a fork towards a covered bench set within a tall hedge.
"I think I should very much like to fuck you as well," she said. "It has been a long time since I have had the benefit of a soldier's directness. All of these preening suitors have multiplied since you killed my husband, and there's not a man amongst them."
"I am sorry if my act has deprived you," said Ullsaard.
"Killing Nemtun? Think nothing of it. He was an odious toad, and I have fine apartments and many luxurious clothes and glittering jewels to keep me company now."
"It must have been a hardship, sleeping with such a man."
Lerissa laughed, and the sound was not pleasant.
"If you mean having sex with him, do not worry on my account. Nemtun had only half a cock to his name, and so I was never forced to endure his sweaty attentions."
"Half a cock?"
"An Anrairian warlord caught him through the kilt with the edge of his sword, almost severing the poor member. He had barely enough to piss out of, and nothing to put inside a woman. I feel a little sorry for him in that regard, for his inability to take me as a man doubtless added to his misery and frustration and fuelled his eating and jealousy."
"And yet he was content to share you with other men?"
They had reached the bench and sat beside each other. Lightning and thunder was growing in strength and the rain was hammering at the peaked tiled roof protecting them. Rivulets of water were flowing down the path and between their feet. Their shelter was incomplete and gusts of wind brought the rain onto them, dampening their clothes.
"And that was part of his sickness of mind," said Lerissa. "I was a trophy, and so he gloried in other men being able to sample the delights of my company without ever being allowed to possess me as he did. For my part, I was happy to indulge his perverse needs."
"Why?"
Lerissa ran a hand into Ullsaard's tunic, stroking the muscles of his chest.
"Because I am a woman who has needs like any other."
The wind was blowing stronger, opening the front of Lerissa's flimsy dress, exposing the cleavage of her pert breasts. Ullsaard reached out and mirrored her, placing his hand inside her gown. Rain was coming under the roof steadily, soaking into their hair and clothes, and Ullsaard was fascinated watching the droplets running in trickles down Lerissa's tanned skin.
"Yes, if you would like to fuck me now, that would be good," Lerissa said with a chuckle, lifting back the leather of Ullsaard's kilt to expose his erection.
She turned and slid sideways, straddling him on the bench. He raised his hips, eager to be inside her, pulling aside the last scrap of cloth concealing her chest so that he could engulf a breast in his mouth. She lowered a fraction, giggling as the tip of his member touched her, before she rose up again, teasing.
Ullsaard growled in annoyance and grabbed Lerissa's hips, pulling her down onto him. There was a moment of resistance and then he pushed up, this time growling with delight at the sensation of penetrating her. She rocked back and forth, head swaying from side to side, her wet hair like lashes across his face and chest. Hands clamped to Lerissa's buttocks, Ullsaard lifted her and then pulled her down, timing the movement with thrusts of his hips.
"I've never fucked a king before," Lerissa said with a laugh. She gently dragged her fingernails through his beard. "It's much better than a governor with no cock!"
Ullsaard barely heard her. He grunted and thrust, mind only occupied by the feeling of being inside her, the pressure mounting in his body for release after so much time. With a snarl, he stood up and swung around, pinning Lerissa to the back of the bench, his hips moving faster and faster. Her hands clawed at his hair and her teeth sank into the exposed muscle of his shoulder, almost drawing blood. The pain added to the pleasure and Ullsaard's loins exploded with his climax, a drawn out, stuttering exclamation torn from him.
"Allenya!" he snarled.
Lerissa slapped him across the face, spitting curses. Ullsaard ignored her, thrusting several more times to expel the last of his seed into her.
"You fuck-happy piece of shit!" Lerissa hissed in his ear, struggling to free herself from his tight grip.
With a final shudder, he pushed into her once more. Legs buckling from his release, Ullsaard flopped to the bench, a broad grin on his face. Another slap brought him to his senses.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he demanded, batting away her next blow with his arm. "Stop that or I'll hurt you."
"You called me Allenya, you pig-son-of-a-whore!" Lerissa shrieked, jumping to her feet and pointing accusingly at the king. "You were thinking of her while you fucked me!"
Recollection of his outburst returned to Ullsaard. He shrugged, unable to deny the image that had been in his head while he had been inside Lerissa.
"I told you that I love my wife," he said in explanation.
"Then go fuck your wife, and every other slut in Askhor, you bastard. I hope your cock shrivels off." Lerissa stormed away, cutting across the grass, the rain quickly soaking her.
Ullsaard watched Lerissa disappear into the blue-tinged gloom, the post-climactic glow assuaging any guilt at what he had done. He thought of Askhos, lurking in the recesses of his mind somewhere.
"I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did, you dead cunt," he whispered.
As he sat there, the rain soaking his skin and clothes, Ullsaard thought numbly about doing one thing and thinking another. An idea struggled to the surface amidst his post-coital fugue. Rubbing the rain into his face to clear his senses, the king stood and looked up into the sky. The idea formed more fully and he smiled.
For too long he had been reacting to events. It was time to take the initiative.
III
It was with some satisfaction that Urikh stood on the balcony of a waterfront house and looked over the activity of the docks. The Brotherhood could take some credit, but not much; many of the duties they had reclaimed had been fulfilled perfectly well by the governor's own measures in the Brotherhood's absence. It was with some reluctance that he pulled his eyes away from the scene and turned to Thasalin, standing to his right.
"You see how the king's ship has been given priority?" said Urikh, pointing to his father's trireme. A flotilla of boats crowded around the vessel, attended to by the floating crane-barge Urikh had commissioned. "With five more of those loading ships, we could double the dock's capacity by freeing up wharf space for smaller vessels."
"To what purpose?" said Thasalin. "The majority of trade ships of that size continue upriver to Narun."
"And that is my purpose," replied Urikh. "Your order spurned the
needs of the large merchantmen for decades, forcing them to load and unload at Narun. Now they can do so here with equal ease."
"To what advantage? The traffic on the river will not increase, and so your facility will simply diminish the trade passing through Narun."
Urikh looked askance at the Brother, vexed by his attitude.
"What advantage? We take five per cent of value of all goods unloaded in tax." Urikh shook his head, surprised that he had to explain himself to Thasalin. "More goods equal more tax revenues."
"Taxes taken in Geria or Narun both go into the imperial coffers," said Thasalin, frowning at Urikh's reasoning. "It is more efficient that we build individual centres of excellence for specific tasks. Considerable resources have been invested in Narun; an expense that you have needlessly duplicated here. Over the sum, the empire's wealth has been diminished not enhanced by your actions."
"My father thinks otherwise," said Urikh. "He is keen to foster a spirit of competitiveness, of rivalry, between the provinces. He believes that it breeds better discipline and more productive policies. In allowing the private raising of legions once more, he has sent a signal that men of wealth and influence should take a wider role in the machine of the empire. It encourages the nobles and governors to each take greater responsibility for the development of the provinces."
"While a laudable policy in a marketplace, it is one that is not suitable for the management of the empire," Thasalin said huffily, crossing his arms. "As several would-be legion commanders have discovered in Salphoria, taking risky ventures upon oneself has its dangers. Are you suggesting that we should allow the economy of a province to fail, simply because it lacks the inherent resources? That may be a fine idea for you, as governor of Okhar. What of Anrair and Enair? Do you think your father's homeland should struggle to build roads and raise cities because the wealth of the empire is concentrated in Nalanor, Maasra and Okhar? Askhos founded the empire on the principle that the burden is shared by all and the profits earned by all."
"A noble cause, if ever there was one, concocted in a time of scarcity and famine," Urikh replied with a lofty wave of the hand. "I mean, I would not have any man starve while his neighbour has bread; no more than would I see a man who tills his field tirelessly give half of his money to the lazy man in the next farm who allows his crop to go to ruin."
A twitch of a smile marred Thasalin's severe look, and for a moment Urikh thought he had been caught in some trap of logic by the Brother.
"It matters not," said Thasalin. "As governor you are only the nominal raiser and distributor of monies. The administration of such matters will be applied by the Brotherhood in the manner and form laid down at the founding of the empire."
"No they won't," said Urikh, eliciting a look of surprise from Thasalin that gave the governor a thrill of pleasure. "I have spoken to the king on this matter, and the powers of administering and spending taxation will be retained by the governors, though the application of the governor's policies will be enacted by your sect."
Thasalin was at a genuine loss for words, his mouth opening and closing several times before he finally managed to collect his thoughts enough for an indignant outburst.
"But this is a terrible decision! Your father will set province against province, like wrestlers in the arena. If Enairians were forced to pay a proportionate amount to what they receive from the imperial treasury, they would have to suffer taxes of fifty per cent or more. The province will be dead within three generations as the wealthiest leave to take their business and homes to other provinces!"
The Brother paced back and forth along the balcony, remarkably agitated, giving voice to his concerns in a near-continuous stream of snarled words.
"The governors have no principles. They will waste money on aggrandising and enriching their own positions. What if they start raising more legions in competition with each other? Who would protect the people against the vested interest of their rulers? No, no, this will not be tolerated! Such powers lead only to corruption. Look at Salphoria, or study the history of the tribes before the enlightened wisdom of Askhos. Men are selfish and they are greedy. The Brotherhood exists to temper the worst excesses of that base nature. Give a man free access to the imperial purse and he will invest in those things that further his own ends and profits, and disregard those that are of no interest or use to him."
"I think you are too late to raise your disagreements," said Urikh, pointing down to the docks.
Preceded by his guard, Ullsaard was disembarking from one of the troop boats onto his trireme. A blue flag with the golden face of Askhos fluttered free from the masthead as he stepped aboard.
Urikh glanced across at Thasalin, who gripped the balcony rail with white fingers, his face a mask of trembling anger. The two of them watched as the trireme weighed anchor and slipped out of the docks into the main current, swinging majestically downstream. In silence, the governor and Brother kept the ship in view until it disappeared around a bend in the river.
Urikh knew that he had exaggerated his father's position; the governor was loathe to relinquish more powers to the Brotherhood than were necessary and was adamant that it would be he that controlled the provincial coffers. He expected resistance, from Thasalin and his Brethren, but he was prepared to fight them if needed.
His father had made a mistake bringing them back, at least as far as Urikh's plans were concerned. The power he held as governor, the wealth of Okhar, would be needed when he made his own bid for the Crown.
"It was my belief that the king was returning to Askh," Thasalin said quietly.
"Yes, he told me that he has further discussions to have with the head of your order," said Urikh. He looked at the Brother, whose anger had been replaced with an expression of suspicion. "What of it?"
"Why has his ship just set sail to Hotwards?"
Near-mekha
Winter, 212th year of Askh
I
It was a sight almost as glorious as an Askhan army. On a litter carried by ten men, Erlaan-Orlassai surveyed his Mekhani warriors; fifty thousand near enough, arrayed in the best war gear their tribes could provide. Under the reign of their new king, the people of Mekha had responded swiftly, gathering what resources they could. With bronze taken from Askhan settlements, forged by armourers and smiths held as slaves from the same raids, the Mekhani made spear and arrow tips that could pierce the armour of a legionnaire. Under the guidance of the great Orlassai and his two strange companions, the Mekhani had learnt afresh how to best cure the hides of the behemodons, fashioning shields and armour almost as strong as metal.
Gone were the stone axes and howling mobs, the infighting and wildness. In quiet warbands led by their shaman-chiefs, the Mekhani horde waited on the dunes for their lord and commander. Behemodons stood sullenly at their chains, their backs heavy with howdahs, catapults and enormous spear-throwing bows constructed under the direction of their returned masters. Around totem-standards bedecked with bones and feathers, the groups of warriors knelt in the sand, hands raised to their brows as their king approached from dawnwards, the sun at his back.
At Erlaan-Orlassai's command, the bier-bearers stopped and lowered him to the ground. Wood creaked under his massive tread as he rose from his throne and strode down onto the sands of his adopted kingdom. Armoured he was, a few scant patches of rune-etched flesh visible between hard leather plates and rings of bronze and iron. His bizarre, boyish face regarded the army from beneath a helm crested with a dozen long feathers of red and blue and black.
The king grinned his approval, revealing teeth like ailur fangs.
"See the glory of Mekha restored!" Erlaan-Orlassai shouted, raising his arms into the air, the runes upon his tongue twisting his words into the guttural language of the desert people. "Feel now the strength that lies within these lands; a strength longforgotten but now recalled."
Erlaan-Orlassai drew a curved sword almost as long as a man is tall and held it up, its gilded blade gleaming in the rising sun. Fifty
thousand spears were raised in return.
"Who shall rule again?" bellowed the Mekhani king.
"Orlassai!" came the reply, the sands shifting at the thunderous noise.
"Which land shall rule again?" The king's sword swept in an arc, encompassing the surrounding deserts.
"Mekha!"
The blade stopped, pointing to coldwards; neither at the dunes, nor the scrub, nor even at the river that glittered at the edge of the horizon, but at the lands beyond, and a city encircled by mountains.
"Who shall fall to us?" Erlaan roared.
The answering cry was even louder than the others, fuelled by generations of scorn and hatred, powered by fifty thousand grievances and two hundred years of subjugation.
"Askh!"
II
Tossing the gnawed remnants of a bone into the fire, Eriekh reached for another haunch of goat from the table. He sank his teeth into the roasted meat, savouring the taste and the juices running down his chin. He chewed ferociously, enjoying the grinding of flesh between his teeth. Swallowing, he took up a small clay cup half-filled with immon, a Mekhani spirit made from the bark and leaves of various oasis bushes and flavoured with spices. He swilled the liquor around his teeth and gums with eyes closed, delighting in the burning sensation on his tongue and in his throat.
"That is not wise," said Asirkhyr.
Eriekh opened his eyes to see the other hierophant standing at the door of their high-sided tent. Asirkhyr wore only a loincloth, the tattoos on his flesh were barely visible against his sunburnt skin, but the scars stood out in stark relief. In contrast, Eriekh was clad in a skirt of woven grass fibres, a poncho of the same around his shoulders, his head enclosed within a hat of goat hide and feathers.
"What is not wise?" asked Eriekh before taking another bite of goat meat.
"Indulging in the physical pleasures of this world," said Asirkhyr, waving a hand towards his companion's clothes and the meal upon the table.