The Crown of the Usurper (The Crown of the Blood)

by Gav Thorpe

  "You are a welcome sight, general," said Leraates, bowing his head. "Too long has Greater Askhor been without its leaders."

  The general ignored the Brother and focussed his attention on Noran Astaan. The two were well known to each other, and Leraates was curious to see if the herald still held Anasind's confidence.

  "A sentiment I echo," said Noran, extending a hand in greeting. Anasind gripped wrist-to-wrist with the herald, somewhat hesitantly. He then smiled and stepped closer, slapping his companion on the back. Noran darted a smile at Donar. "Good to see you too, First Captain."

  "Likewise," said the general. "I feared you might be caught up in all of this somehow, but I am pleased to see you still alive. Ullsaard's always favoured your advice."

  Hidden behind his mask, Leraates smiled briefly. He cast his gaze downwards the moment Anasind turned towards him.

  "What of this man? Can you vouch for him?" Leraates looked at Noran, but Anasind continued before any answer was given. "I received warning from the king that the Brotherhood is being influenced by Urikh and the Brothers are not to be trusted."

  "A sad truth, for most of them," said Noran, causing Leraates' breath to catch in his chest. The Brother flexed his fingers in agitation and darted another look at the herald through the eye slits of his mask. Noran appeared flippant, but as the herald's gaze passed over Leraates the Brother saw just a flicker of movement; a hint of a reassuring wink. "This is Brother Leraates, and he has been most helpful in combating the scheming of Urikh, Asuhas and others. If not for his actions, Ullsaard would have been waylaid the moment he reached Ersua."

  Anasind raised his eyebrows at this testimony and looked searchingly at Leraates, not entirely convinced. If Noran misspoke now, he would condemn them both, but the herald continued almost glibly.

  "I do not know what Ullsaard sent to you, I was not with him at the time, but there is a lot I have to tell you. Did you know that Anglhan survived Magilnada?"

  "Anglhan's alive?" Leraates let out a slow breath as the attention of the general moved back to Noran.

  "Not so much these days, but he was around for a while," said the herald. "We really have a lot to catch up on, we cannot waste any more time." He started to walk past Anasind and then stopped. He fished into his tunic and brought out the wax tablet with Ullsaard's orders and handed it to Anasind. "Your commands from the king. We need to discuss them in private, though."

  Noran continued to step forwards, and the general moved with his progress, turning his back to Leraates. It was simple thing, but the Brother admired the easy manner in which Noran could manipulate the attention of those around him with a word or gesture. His family held hostage to guarantee compliance, Astaan was a valuable ally to have.

  As he had hoped, Leraates saw his future brightening again. With Noran's approval, he would be accepted into the counsel of the general. The road to Geria was well known and Urikh had enough time to move his loyal legions into position to prepare an appropriate welcome for the returning legions of Anasind.

  APILI, OKHAR

  Early spring, 213th year of Askh

  I

  From a wooded hillside overlooking the villa, Erlaan-Orlassai gazed down at the lair of his prey, considering his options. The men and women tending the vines had returned to their cottages, and he could see no armed men patrolling the grounds of the house. He had not seen Ullsaard during the day he had spent watching, and the lack of guards made the Prince wonder if the sense he had of the Blood nearby was to be trusted.

  He put aside his doubts and set off down the hill; the only way to be sure would be to enter the villa. He skirted along the edge of the terraces, easily climbing over the low walls that separated the vineyard from open country. There were lamps in the buildings, glowing through the gaps in the shutters, and as he neared the grounds of the villa another window lightened ahead of him in the main house. Effortlessly vaulting a hedgerow, he entered the gardens.

  The scuff of a boot on gravel caught his attention and he froze, looking to his left from where the noise had emanated. Light spilled across a paved area from an opening door and a man stepped outside. The man pulled on a heavy coat – the spring nights were still cold – and started across the courtyard.

  Sensing an opportunity, the Prince sped quickly behind the man and clamped a massive hand across his face. Grabbing the back of his coat, Erlaan-Orlassai easily lifted the man from his feet and pulled him back into the shadows. The captive's struggles were fruitless against the Prince's inhuman strength though his flailing feet caught on the Prince's armoured legs with a dull thumping.

  "Be still or I shall snap your neck," whispered Erlaan-Orlassai. The man went limp, immediately cowed by the words that came from the Prince's sigil-inscribed tongue. "That is better, my friend."

  Releasing his grip on the coat, Erlaan-Orlassai stayed out of sight behind the man for the moment, still covering his mouth – the shock of seeing the Prince's altered body would work against the effect of his enchanted words.

  "I am going to ask you questions and you will answer them," the Prince said quietly. "You will not call out or turn around."

  The captive nodded dumbly and Erlaan-Orlassai released his grip.

  "What is your name, friend?"

  "Houran. I am Houran, the estate overseer."

  "Good, then you will be able to tell me what I need to know. Is Ullsaard here?"

  "Yes, the king is here. He arrived about twenty days ago."

  "And where is he now?"

  "The main bedroom is on the corner," said Houran, pointing towards a wide window beside a set of double doors leading onto the main courtyard. "He retires early and wakes at dawn."

  You can take a man out of the legions, Erlaan-Orlassai thought, but you can never take the legions out of the man.

  "How many soldiers does he have with him?" asked the Prince.

  "None, there are no soldiers here," replied Houran. "I thought to hire some men from the town but he said not to; that it would attract attention."

  This was good news indeed. Erlaan-Orlassai gently laid a hand on Houran's shoulder. The man flinched at the touch and made the mistake of glancing down, seeing the claws and extra knuckles of the Prince's digits.

  "Wh-what manner of man are you?" he gasped. His body started to tremble but the lingering power of the Prince's words stopped him from looking back.

  "I am your master, Houran. You will return to your home, go to bed and not wake until morning. If you remember me at all, it will be as if you dreamed our encounter. Do you understand?"

  "This is a dream? Yes, that must be so. I am in bed and dreaming."

  "Return to your slumber now, friend." Erlaan-Orlassai gave Houran the slightest push, propelling him back towards the open door. He watched, ready to pounce and silence the man in a fatal fashion, but Houran tottered back to the threshold, paused and then stepped inside. The door closed quietly and Erlaan-Orlassai set off at a run, heading straight for the bedroom of Ullsaard.

  He reached the door and carried on another two steps, stopping by the windows. Crouching to hold his ear against the slatted wood, he listened for a few moments. He could hear footsteps padding back and forth across bare boards and the rustle of cloth. The footfalls moved out of the room briefly and he waited, taking slow deep breaths to calm himself. The sensation of the Blood was strong and he was sure it was Ullsaard making the noise. When the footsteps returned, the Prince straightened and reached out, his arms long enough to stretch from one edge of the window to the other.

  Seizing the wood, Erlaan-Orlassai applied his considerable muscles, ripping both shutters from their mountings in one motion. Tossing them aside he looked into the room.

  Ullsaard was standing over a low cupboard, naked but for his sandals. The former king turned, eyes widening as ErlaanOrlassai clambered through the window, and it was then that the Prince noticed the sword in Ullsaard's hand.

  "I thought I heard someone," said the usurper, springing at Erlaan-Orlassai, the
point of his sword spearing towards the Prince's throat.

  The giant met the blade with the vambraces on his left arm, as his right hand gripped around the hilt of his own blade. Ullsaard was unbalanced by the powerful parry, but he turned his potential fall into an awkward roll as the Prince pulled free his sword.

  Crouching, Ullsaard lashed out at the Prince's groin, but the blade caught only the beaten bronze on his thigh. Erlaan-Orlassai swung his sword at his opponent's head, missing by a hair's breadth as Ullsaard ducked back. The usurper's blade came up to meet the Prince's next thrust, but the force of the blow sent Ullsaard's sword flying from his grip.

  Backing up, the former king stopped as he reached a curtained wardrobe. Erlaan-Orlassai grinned, showing rows of pointed teeth.

  "You should have killed me while you had the chance," said the Prince, bringing back his sword for another swing.

  Ullsaard dived forwards under the blow, wrapping his arms around the Erlaan's Orlassai's thigh. The grapple was perfectly timed, hitting the Prince's leg as he shifted his weight, and it was enough to send him backwards. He fell onto the bed, crashing through the frame in a spray of splinters. Lashing out with his other foot as Ullsaard dodged back, Erlaan-Orlassai caught the usurper in the side and he felt ribs giving way under the impact. With a yelp of pain, Ullsaard flopped to one side, grimacing.

  As Erlaan-Orlassai pulled himself from the wreckage of the bed, Ullsaard came at him again, driving the heel of his foot into the Prince's face. The blow would have floored a lesser man, but its only effect on the warped prince was to split his lip. In retaliation, Erlaan-Orlassai reached out and snatched hold of Ullsaard's wrist. The Prince flexed his muscles, nearly pulling the arm from the socket as he sent Ullsaard across the room to land in a heap against the wall beside the door. Blood pumped from a cut on the former king's brow and he grabbed hold of his injured shoulder with his other hand.

  A look of fear passed across the usurper's features, sending a thrill of excitement through Erlaan-Orlassai. He let his sword fall from his grip and raised up both fists.

  "Do you remember a promise I made to you?" asked the Prince. Ullsaard groggily shook his head. "I said I would rip you to pieces. I said I would tear off your balls and feed them to you. I think it is time I was true to my word."

  Erlaan-Orlassai took a step forward and Ullsaard held up a hand, teeth gritted. It had been disappointingly easy and the Prince did not wish for the end to be too swift. He stooped and grabbed Ullsaard's ankle, lifting him from the floor.

  "Where is your army now, Ullsaard?" Erlaan-Orlassai threw Ullsaard like a doll, sending him crashing into a cabinet. The door split under the impact and Ullsaard flopped to the floor, more blood pouring from his broken nose.

  The usurper wiped his hand across his mouth and flicked blood away from his fingers. With pained grunts, using the remnants of the cabinet as support, he pushed himself to his feet. He grinned, showing blood-flecked teeth.

  "Come on then, you big bastard," said Ullsaard, holding up shaking fists. He swayed from side to side, his face a crimson mask. "You and me, right now, Maarmes-style. I'll stop holding back if you will."

  The man's insolence even in the face of death was infuriating. With a snarl, Erlaan-Orlassai launched himself at his foe, fist poised to smash his head to a pulp.

  Ullsaard dropped and rolled at the last moment, avoiding the fatal blow. The Prince punched through plaster and stone, driving his arm through the wall up to his elbow. Erlaan-Orlassai struggled to pull his arm back, and heard laughter behind him.

  "I'll kill you!" roared the Prince, ripping a hole the size of a man's body from the wall as he wrenched his arm free. He turned to confront his foe, expecting Ullsaard to be making a bolt for safety. Instead, the former king stood in the middle of the room, feet apart, with the Prince's immense blade gripped in both hands.

  "And now I have your sword, you fucking amateur."

  A scream caused both fighters to turn.

  II

  Allenya screamed again, a wild, primordial sound of terror. She let the belt in her hands drop to the floor and raised her hands to her head as she shrieked again, eyes fixed on Ullsaard's attacker. Her robe had fallen open, revealing the curve of her thighs, and the patch of dark hair between them. A breast came into view as the robe slipped further, falling away from her shoulders.

  "Get out!" yelled Ullsaard, turning his attention back to Erlaan, bringing up the point of the heavy sword. "Run!"

  The twisted prince was no immediate threat though, as transfixed by Allenya's appearance as she was by his. His grotesque features were a mask of shock and Ullsaard was reminded that the monstrous warrior was barely more than a youth. The king knew he should attack now, while the Prince was distracted, but feared that if he moved he would be break the trance that had bewitched his foe. The sword Ullsaard held was too cumbersome for him to wield properly, his breath was short in his lungs and his shoulder was a knot of burning pain; his incredible opponent would finish him in moments and it had been pure bravado that had propelled the king to pick up the blade.

  "Aunt Allenya?" The words were spoken softly, almost reverentially. Just as it had the first time, hearing Erlaan's voice issue from that fanged mouth was deeply disturbing. Ullsaard remembered the boy the Prince had been. As an infant he had been fond of sitting with Allenya when she did her needlework, while she made up stories for the scenes she created with canvas and thread.

  It was if the youth's words seeped through Allenya's horror. Her expression moved back and forth between horror and confusion as she tried to comprehend what she was seeing. Ullsaard had never spoken of his war with the Mekhani, not in detail, and had certainly kept Erlaan's survival as secret as possible.

  "What has happened to you, Erlaan?" Allenya's confusion resolved itself into pity. She looked at Ullsaard, her glare admonishing him as if he had somehow inflicted this fate on the Prince.

  "He attacked me," Ullsaard found himself saying in his defence, though it sounded like the excuse of a child.

  As if reminded of his purpose in coming to the villa, Erlaan looked at Ullsaard and snarled. Allenya whimpered and stepped back, causing the Prince to physically flinch. Now it was Erlaan's turn to show bewilderment as he looked between Ullsaard and his wife.

  "What are you doing here, what has happened to you?" Allenya said, recovering her composure. She pulled her robe across her body and stepped up behind Ullsaard, seeking protection.

  "I am to be king," said Erlaan. A look of anguish passed across his rune-scarred features. Golden eyes blinked quickly and then the frown returned. "It is my birthright to be king, and Ullsaard has taken it from me."

  "I spared your life," said Ullsaard. "This is how you repay me?"

  "You took me captive and shamed me," replied Erlaan. Bony fingers curled into fists and Ullsaard moved himself directly in front of Allenya, but she stepped around him.

  "You knew he was alive?" she asked.

  "Not at first," said Ullsaard, glancing at his wife for a moment before returning his gaze to the man who wanted him dead. "It's complicated."

  "I am the true heir, Ullsaard," growled Erlaan. "My grandfather and father are dead. The Crown belongs to me."

  Ullsaard narrowed his eyes as he considered his options. His head was throbbing, his ribs were sending stabs of pain into his chest and his arm was going numb. The fact that Erlaan was not battering him to death was a boon in itself but the Prince was on edge, and Ullsaard had seen the rage that could take hold of him; the wrong word could set off another wild attack.

  "You would never have become king," Ullsaard said slowly. He lowered the point of the sword to the floor, though he kept his grip as tight as he could around the thick hilt. "Nor your father before you."

  "It was my right as heir to the Blood," said Erlaan.

  "It was no right, it was a curse," said Ullsaard. He glanced at Allenya, realising what he had to say. She looked at him with a perplexed expression, making it even harder to do wha
t had to be done. "The Crown was tainted, an artefact fashioned by Lakhyri."

  "What taint? What has Lakhyri to do with the Crown?"

  Ullsaard answered, the words coming in a stream as he unburdened himself of the terrible secret he had kept for three years. He spoke of Lakhyri and Askhos, two men seeking immortality – one in spirit, the other in body. He told them of the making of the Crown and the curse laid upon it to deliver up each generation of Askhan kings to the control of Askhos.

  "Three years ago, almost to this day, I placed the Crown upon my head and Askhos became part of me," said the king. "I did not know it then, but he tried to take me, as he would have taken your father, and as he would have taken you. You were just a vessel, of no value other than a working heart, functioning limbs and brain. Even in your altered state, that was the fate Lakhyri had in mind for you. He is using you, just as he is using Urikh."