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

by Gav Thorpe

  Over his own panting and the shouts of his warriors, ErlaanOrlassai could hear cheering; encouragement being shouted by the legions of Askh. Faced with a common foe, the men of Greater Askhor raised their voices in support of their fellow men, calling out praise to their monstrous leader.

  Listening to the cheers, a feeling of peace and contentment flooded through Erlaan-Orlassai. Ripping a banded tentacle from a Eulanui, he was filled with hope; hope that even a monster like him might find acceptance. Fuelled by this feeling, he raked his claws across the thorax of another foe, gouging deep into unnatural fibre and bone. As ichor spurted from the wound he saw the slick of life force leaking also. He drew in a great breath, reaching out with a part of him that was not flesh, drawing in the power of the escaping energy. The essence of the Eulanui burnt him, but it was powerful, causing rune-etched muscles to grow larger, rivets pinging from his skin as he swelled up, infused with strength.

  A tendril looped around Erlaan-Orlassai's throat, its touch freezing cold. The runes carved into him started to glow with a golden gleam, shining from his mutilated form. The feedertendril snaked back, steam drifting in wisps from its scalded skin. The Mekhani commander snatched hold of the limb before it was out of reach, and pulled hard, dragging the Eulanui into a swinging punch that smashed deep into its writhing innards. Seizing hold of alien organs, Erlaan-Orlassai ripped his hand free, pulling the creature almost inside-out.

  All around him the Mekhani were dying in their hundreds, but they looked upon their king and were filled with courage. Like a red spear driving into the sides of their foe, the warriors of the desert pushed on.

  VI

  "Ready to the front!"

  Gelthius heard the call from Ullsaard repeated along the long line of the legions as the Eulanui swept forwards. They were almost within range of the spear throwers and the shouts of the battery commanders readied the crews of the war engines.

  The Salphor glanced at his king and saw Ullsaard sitting proud on the back of his ailur, his golden spear raised above his head, ready to give the signal that would unleash the fury of the war machines. To the front, Gelthius could see the enemy scrambling and lurching over the uneven ground, forced to climb the slope of the hills. He looked again at Ullsaard, trying to draw some strength from the king's calmness, wondering how a man could look upon the enemy bearing down on them and not show any fear.

  With an ear-splitting crash of thunder, red and purple lightning lashed down from the black clouds boiling across the sky. Lava throwers exploded as their fuel tanks erupted, showering fire and debris over the nearby legionnaires. The shrieks of burning men made Gelthius shudder and he tried not to imagine those caught in the blasts flailing around, skin and flesh burning away in the grip of the flammable liquid.

  The lightning continued to rage, moving along the line of the legions with deadly wrath. Their ropes severed by the forking energy, catapults and spear throwers tore themselves apart, flinging rocks and shafts and splinters into their crews, tattered cords whipping around like striking serpents. The storm clouds whirled above, the lightning leaving the Askhan war engines as smoking wrecks and still the unnatural tempest did not abate. The lightning crawled across the barren ground and flared through the phalanx. Shields cracked and spears shattered, clothes were set on fire and men screamed as the forking energy crackled through their bodies.

  The air was growing hotter as the Eulanui approached and the ground was trembling beneath Gelthius's feet. He gripped his spear tighter, knuckles paling. The shaking increased and Gelthius heard the pounding of massive drums off to his right. The companies of the Seventh and Fourteenth made way for the Nemurians as they marched, the crash of their drums matching the thump of their heavy tread.

  A lightning strike earthed itself into the rear ranks of Gelthius' company, causing those at the front to turn in shock, in time to see after-sparks flaring across the helms and breastplates of a dozen men, the cries of the wounded drowned out by the thunder of the Nemurian drumbeat.

  "Eyes to the enemy!" commanded Ullsaard, pointing his spear towards the advancing black mass, now a hundred and fifty paces away.

  Gelthius pulled his shield up a little higher and set the butt of his spear against the ground. Looking at the shadow-things he knew what it was they faced: dark spirits. The Askhans had forgotten, but in Salphoria they had kept alive the tales of the unearthly forces that had shaped the world and continued to inhabit it. He whispered a few words to the spirits of sun and air to clear the cloud, and hoped that today would not be the day the raven came for him. He thought about his family, and realised that he did not know whether they were alive or dead; nor did they know of him.

  Like an iron cleaver biting into meat, the Nemurians collided with the leading edge of the Eulanui advance. Six thousand of them and more had travelled from their distant isle to fight in the battle, Gelthius had heard, but such knowledge was little comfort to him; if they had come all of that way to take part the consequences of defeat were dire indeed.

  Hammers and axes and brutal maces crushed and cut into the Eulanui as the Nemurians steadily pushed forwards. Equal in size to their foes, the scaled giants battered and tore and stomped a gouge into the Eulanui's ranks, but risked being enveloped by their numerous enemies. Ullsaard clearly thought the same and his voice called out the advance. Dozens of trumpets sounded the order as the king raised his spear once more and then swept it down, its gleaming point directed at the heart of the enemy force.

  VII

  It was such a familiar noise, the crunch of feet and jangle of armour, but to Ullsaard it had a new sharpness, a clarity he had never noticed before. He felt the beating of Blackfang's heart beneath him, the compression and expansion of her muscles as she carried him towards the Eulanui. Her panting mingled with the rub of leather and scrape of metal.

  He could sense the unease of his army, but despite their fear they advanced with him, a solid wall of shields and spears. So far his plan, carefully concocted in council with Erlaan, the legion first captains and several representatives of the Nemurians, seemed to be working. The initial Mekhani assault had drawn out the enemy, splitting them and teasing the mass apart like dough stretched by a baker. The Nemurians had plunged in at an angle, driving forward to meet up with Erlaan and his warriors on the right, effectively cutting off several thousand foes from the main host.

  Now it was the job of the Askhans to exploit that divide, the legions on the right following up in the wake of the Nemurians to widen the split, while Ullsaard in the centre and the legionnaires spread far to his left pushed the remaining Eulanui into the Mekhani on the left flank.

  The behemodons had reached the battle, wading into the nightmare army with crushing tread and snapping jaws. Thick leathers straps studded with vicious blades and ropes pierced with barbed hooks swung from the flanks of the enormous beasts as they trampled and gored their way forwards. These snares caught in the flesh of the Eulanui, dragging and ripping through the press of creatures. From their howdahs the red-skinned warriors jabbed long spears into their foes and hurled down rocks and javelins.

  With all things considered, the king was pleased with what was happening, so it came as a surprise when the enemy did something he was not expecting: they started to retreat.

  The legions were still a hundred paces away when the Eulanui withdrawal began. The black spread appeared to constrict upon itself, drawing in its outermost reaches like an octopus pulling in its tentacles, funnelling into an ever narrower mass as it retreated at speed from them advancing spears of the legions. Those creatures surrounded by the Nemurians and Mekhani clambered over each other and their enemies as they attempted to get away, but made themselves easy prey in their bids to escape.

  Overhead the cloud was drawing back also. It roiled and swirled as it followed the Eulanui back down into the valley from which they had emerged, growing smaller and darker as it did so.

  The Mekhani on the left whopped victory cries and sprinted after the fleein
g enemy, but Ullsaard was too experienced to believe the battle had already been won. The Askhan advance continued at a steady pace as the gap between the armies widened.

  Heading down from the hilltops, Ullsaard could see that the ground into which the enemy retreated had been turned to parched earth by their devouring presence. Not a shred of vegetation could be seen in a swathe a mile wide stretching into the distance. Seeing this devastation, he was forced to wonder what was left of the empire to coldwards; would there be anything or anyone left to save?

  The uneven ground grew steeper as the legions continued the pursuit, leaving Erlaan and the Nemurians to finish off the Eulanui that had been caught. For more than a mile they followed the retreating enemy, encountering more rugged ground, split by wide cracks and broken by jagged rocks. His caution growing, Ullsaard called the army to a halt while he examined his options, leaving the Mekhani to continue racing after the enemy alone.

  He could see the half-finished palisades and white tents of Urikh's legions another couple of miles or so ahead, and it was to this place that the Eulanui seemed to be heading. Not understanding what purpose there was for the invading nightmares to defend the encampment of the deserted legionnaires, Ullsaard was caught in two minds. If the legions pressed on swiftly, they might catch the Eulanui before they reached the dubious sanctuary of the poorly-built walls. To do so would be to plunge into something that Ullsaard was not certain about. He had thought he had come for a final battle to decide the fate of the empire, but it seemed his otherworldly enemies might not cooperate for such a dramatic conclusion.

  Messengers on kolubrids gathered to hear his commands and he despatched them with orders for three of the legions to remain as a rear guard in case the Nemurians and Mekhani behind could not contain their surrounded foes. The rest of the army advanced again, the line narrowing to only a few companies wide to negotiate the rough terrain. It was not quite a column of march, but it was more vulnerable than a full battle-line, and Ullsaard kept a wary eye on the Eulanui as the army moved forwards. He had been ready to write history in an orgy of blood and fire, but the strange actions of his opponents unsettled him far more than their outlandish appearance and otherworldy powers.

  The Mekhani caught up with the rearmost foes when they were less than half a mile from the unfinished way forts; another half a mile ahead of the legions. Some of the monsters turned, throwing out whip-like tendrils to slash away heads and limbs, feed-tentacles whirling, every touch vaporising a red-skinned attacker. The rest of the horde slithered and scrambled through the gaps in the log walls while the cloud over the camp writhed and contorted. It was spread out for half a mile, a bruise on the clear blue sky.

  Ullsaard had a sickening feeling of apprehension as the storm span faster and faster, tightening and darkening further as it funnelled down towards the tents and pavilions. The Eulanui were skittering and lurching around the point of the tornado's mouth, thousands of them writhing and flailing. Canvas ripped and ropes snapped, the whirlwind snatching up debris and dust. The king heard gasps of shock from the men following him as the distinctive shapes of abadas were drawn up into the storm like leaves. The lightning returned, crackling across the cloud rather than forking down, the multicoloured flashes growing in intensity and frequency as Ullsaard continued to lead the legions on.

  With a pulse of power that blinded Ullsaard for a moment, the cloud imploded into the camp, sending the logs of the palisade spearing out like splinters, slashing through Eulanui and Mekhani together. A shroud of blackness seeped over the hill on which the camp had been erected, reminding Ullsaard of the oily shadow that had spread across the Grand Precincts. He was not the only one to make the connection and disturbed whispers and fearful muttering from the ranks behind greeted the terrifying spectacle.

  The Mekhani, much reduced in numbers, did not realise their peril. They stood and watched in horrified fascination as the darkness bubbled and writhed, waves and ripples sloshing across its surface contorting the ground into which it was sinking. More shadows lifted up from the glossy blackness, a pitch black mist that hid the camp from view.

  All fell silent except for the sound of the legions marching. Sensing they were in danger, the Mekhani started to fall back from the pulsating blackness; their instincts were right but their reactions too slow.

  The cloud pulsed and roiled, and from its depths the Eulanui emerged again. The multi-coloured flashes of energy returned to scythe through the fleeing red-skinned warriors. More and more night-creatures boiled from the dark cloud in a frenzy of snapping, whirling tendrils and spines. The tide kept growing, engulfing the Mekhani, more Eulanui than had retreated from the battle. And still they kept coming, hundreds more, thousands…

  Ullsaard did not need to issue a command to halt the advance. As one the legionnaires of his army stopped in their tracks as a fresh mass of lethal shadow-beasts surged towards them over the blasted wasteland.

  VIII

  Fingernails drawing blood from her palms, Luia's fists were clenched tightly by her sides as she watched Lakhyri bringing forth the Eulanui.

  The high priest was standing behind some nightmarish altar of black stone and bizarrely-shaped bones, his hands upon its top, head thrown back. Lightning coruscated across the dome of the storm that surrounded them. The whorls and lines and shapes carved into his skin had become a web of pure blackness, seeming to suck in the light around him. He chanted a meaningless stream of sounds, darkness issuing from his open mouth like vapour that coiled with a life of its own. The altar block shimmered and writhed in and out of reality, spewing forth a fountain of shadow that created bottomless pools on the bare earth. These pools extruded grasping claws and tentacles, becoming more of the Eulanui, dozens of them every heartbeat.

  Luia knew she had to do something, but she did not know what. She took a step forward and was checked by Urikh's grip on her wrist. She tried to pull her arm free as she turned to look at him, but his grasp would not break.

  "Look how my army receives timely reinforcements," said her son, but there was a madness in his eyes and voice that she did not know. The lightning gleamed from his pupils, as though a storm raged inside them. Moving her gaze upwards, her eyes settled upon the Crown on the king's head, its gilding reflecting the colours of the flashing energy.

  "We must stop them," she said, but Urikh simply shook his head.

  Realising that her son was lost to her, she pulled up her arm and sank her teeth into the back of his hand. With a yelp, Urikh snatched his hand away, eyes turning to the queen in accusation. She kicked him between the legs, her sandaled foot connecting hard and Urikh went down like a boar felled by a spear.

  Luia caught the Crown as it toppled from its perch, feeling its weight in her hand. With a snarl, she broke into a run towards Lakhyri, the iron Crown held up as a weapon. A newly formed Eulanui saw her and flung out a barbed tentacle that slashed across her face, but drew only blood. Ducking beneath a feeder tendril arrowing towards her, Luia rolled through the dust and came to her feet at full sprint.

  Lakhyri was possessed by the energy flowing through him, utterly unaware of anything else happening. Something hit Luia in the back when she was only a few paces from the priest, sending her tumbling. She managed to avoid another lashing limb and pushed herself to her feet, swinging the Crown at Lakhyri's head with all of her strength.

  A point of the Crown punched into the side of the priest's neck, blood erupting from the wound to splash across Luia's face, drenching her dress with crimson. She watched Lakhyri fall backwards, black blood spewing from the wound. Any normal man would have been slain instantly, but Lakhyri was far from a normal man. Writhing, the high priest flopped onto his front, arms trembling as he tried to push himself up, hatefilled eyes glaring at the queen. Bubbling black fluid issued from his mouth, staining his naked flesh, running in rivulets along the carved symbols on his skin. He reached out a grasping hand but Luuia stepped back, teeth bared in her scorn.

  Lakhyri fell into the d
irt, a black puddle soaking into the dry earth beneath him. His limbs twitched and his head jerked as the last of the vile fluid sustaining his existence poured from the wound. Clawed fingernails scratched at the ground, dragging furrows through the blood-soaked mud. Still Lakhyri would not give up his life, turning himself towards the altar with slow determination. One shaking hand outsretched, the high priest heaved himself towards the block of bone and pitch.

  His questing fingers flapped desperately just a hand's span from the side of the altar. With a final spasm, Lakhyri collapsed, a last wheezing expulsion of air whistling from his lungs. Luia sensed movement behind her but ignored it, stooping to ensure the high priest was truly dead. His body was unnaturally light as she rolled Lakhyri to his back, gold-flecked eyes staring vacantly, mouth slack.

  Satisfaction filled Luia for a moment, before she felt the delicate, invigorating touch of an Eulanui tongue upon her shoulder.