The Crown of the Usurper (5 page)

  Which was why it was also an obvious plan, and one that Urikh, being a devious son of a bitch, would be expecting. Ullsaard considered the possibility that his son might have Asuhas on his side already. The ruler of Ersua owed nothing to Ullsaard as a man, and could easily be swayed by promises from Askh. Yet to simply give up on a potential ally on the chance that he would be an enemy was not in Ullsaard's mind. The governors' and their support, or their apathy, was key to the power of the empire. If they united, there was not a king that could tame them to his cause. Ullsaard had managed to cajole, threaten and basically bludgeon the governors into lending him their support, and several of them were still sore from the experience and no doubt looking for a little payback. Asuhas was one of those who had come quite willingly, and that in itself made Ullsaard suspicious. Asuhas had changed master once without too many qualms, he could do it easily again for Urikh.

  All of which pondering did not help Ullsaard reach a decision. He had dashed back, filled with a deep fury at his son's treachery, but a long march had tempered his anger with patience.

  Menesun, Ullsaard thought suddenly.

  In hotwards Ersua, barely fifty miles from the scrub of NearMekha, Ullsaard had a villa and estates from his time as a general. Like his lands in Apili, he had not thought about them since he had set out for Askh, but now they might have a use.

  Menesun was about six days' march to hotwards from the Magilnada gap. From there he could find out more concerning the state of play in the empire. Those garrisons and companies he had questioned in Salphoria had known nothing was amiss at home, but if Urikh wanted to exercise power as king the knowledge had to become public. A few days within the borders would tell Ullsaard a lot more about the situation than he knew now.

  He passed the word for his bodyguard to turn hotwards across the plains, feeling more confident about the next few days than he had been when he had woken up. With a bit of luck and some hard work, it would be possible to curtail Urikh's rule before it had even begun.

  With his immediate plans settled, Ullsaard allowed his mind to wander a bit further ahead as he contemplated the punishments he could mete out on his wayward son.

 

Built out of timbers taken from the woods in the Ersuan Highlands, the houses and stores of Genladen seemed rustic and peaceful, set against the foothills of the mountains. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimney holes in the roofs and the streets were home to goats, chickens and other small livestock, which roamed freely between the two dozen or so buildings that made up the village. A narrow stream cut through the centre of the hamlet, crossed by a wooden bridge wide enough for two carts to pass abreast. There was one stone building at the heart of the Genladen, which from a distance seemed to be both a tavern and some kind of official residence.

  From the road overlooking the valley in which Genladen nestled, Ullsaard and his men watched the village. It had been more than fifty days since they had left Carantathi and in that time they had barely seen a night under a roof. Ullsaard could feel the anticipation of the soldiers as they looked down at the alehouse, with its brightly painted red benches in the main square.

  "I want good behaviour from all of you," Ullsaard warned them. "We are entering my lands now. I will pay for lodgings and legion ration, anything else comes out of your own pockets. And you will pay for everything. There will be no foraging here. Am I understood?"

  There was a chorus of "ayes" from the fifty soldiers.

  "Right, let's get on then."

  It was early in Low watch, mid-morning, and the only inhabitants to be seen were women and children attending to the chores of the day. They stopped to gawp at the soldiers and their leader, the peasants' attention fixated by the ailur of the king. Smaller infants raced off with terrified yelps and screams, while the older children shied away or grinned moronically.

  "Shouldn't they be paying homage or something?" asked Sergeant Muuril, marching not far behind Ullsaard. "This ain't no way to welcome a king."

  "I'll not be causing a fuss, sergeant," replied Ullsaard. "These people don't know me from their cousins, much less know I'm the king."

  "They know you're important, right enough," added Gelthius. "Ailur and a bodyguard makes you out to be someone special."

  "All right, let's make this official then," said the king, holding his hand up to halt the short column while he reined Blackfang to a stop. He turned in the saddle to look at Muuril. "You're good at shouting. You have the honour."

  "Yes, king!" replied Muuril with a broad smile. He stepped out from the front rank and paced a short distance ahead of Ullsaard. Quite a crowd of women and older children had gathered on the edges of the muddy road. Chickens squawked and goats bleated, adding to the hubbub of the villagers' speculations.

  "All citizens of the Greater Askhan empire, make homage to your ruler!" declared Muuril, lifting up his spear in salute to his king.

  The peasantry's muttering grew in volume, and there was some shaking of heads and frowning. Muuril took some paces towards them, his expression thunderously angry, before Ullsaard's call checked him.

  "Sergeant, remain where you are." Ullsaard motioned Blackfang into a walk and approached the crowd, singling out a gaggle of the oldest women: three crones in black dresses and headscarves that regarded the king with ancient eyes.

  "I am your king," Ullsaard said, fixing the women with a glare. "You should show respect."

  The old women looked at each other and then Ullsaard. One of them took a step forward and gave an awkward bow. She looked back at the other villagers and nodded and bowed at her signal.

  "Forgive us, but we aren't used to such company, our king," said the woman. "And we wasn't expecting a visit, neither. We never had no king come here before, and specially not one so new."

  "These are my lands," said Ullsaard. "I own the villa at Menesun. You have been my people since before I became king."

  "Well, maybe that's true of your father, but we ain't never had you visit from what I remembers, and I remembers before your father took over," said the elder.

  "My father? King Lutaar? What has he got to do with anything?"

  "Oh, my mistaking, much apologies, our king," said the woman, hunching over again in a deeper bow. Ullsaard winced as her back cracked several times when she straightened. "It gets confusing sometimes. I thought it was King Ullsaard that was your father."

  Ullsaard blinked at the woman, her rambling almost incomprehensible. He realised that there was most definitely some confusion clouding the conversation.

  "I am King Ullsaard," he said.

  "You are?" The old woman's wrinkles deepened as her eyes opened wide with surprise. She gaped, showing off more gaps than teeth.

  "I tolds you so!" snapped one of the other elders. The woman, her skin more like leather than human flesh, pushed her way past the spokeswoman. "King Ullsaard it is! Like the first time I laid eyes on you, if you pardon my familiarity."

  "Who else would I be?" Ullsaard's patience was rapidly running out.

  "King Urikh, of course," replied the first elder. "You're the very image of your father, you know."

  "Quiet!" Ullsaard snapped, turning to glare at his legionnaires, who had started whispering and chuckling at the old woman's mistake. He returned his attention to the villagers. "I am King Ullsaard, why would you think otherwise?"

  "Because we heard you were dead, our king," said the first elder. "Only four days ago, from a Brother no less. Came through here saying that King Ullsaard was dead, and King Urikh was now in charge of the empire."

  "We even had a feast in your honour," added one amongst the young women who were listening intently to the discussion from a short distance away. "I cooked game pie in your memory."

  Ullsaard suppressed a growl of annoyance, directed not at the women but at Urikh. Of course he would announce Ullsaard's death before he took the throne.

  "And how did I… I mean, what did the Brother say was the cause of King Ullsaard's death?"

  "Dirty Salphors done for King Ullsaard," said another villager.

  "An exaggeration," announced Ullsaard. He stood up in his saddle and raised his arms. "As you can see, I am alive and well. My death has been misreported."

  As soon as the words had left his lips, Ullsaard regretted them. He had not been thinking straight, and it had been another mistake to announce his presence. It was too late now. One villager would talk to another, and they would meet folk from other towns at the next market, and word would spread. This was gossip-worthy news. Twofold, in fact, for not only was King Ullsaard not dead, they had heard it from the mouth of the great man himself who had stayed at their inn. Such news would spread like wildfire and soon would come to the ears of the Brotherhood. As such, they would pass on the report of Ullsaard's return and it would come back to Urikh, or at least it would come to the attention of Lakhyri.

  The king muttered a collection of his least eloquent swear words as he tried to think of some way to salvage the situation. He could think of nothing to take back the words that were already rippling through the gathered villagers.

  "Enough of this chatter," he declared. "Now that we are properly introduced, I insist that I stay for the night. Warn your innkeeper and find food for my men, tonight there shall be another feast."

 

The smoke from the fireplace was backing up, spilling from the chimney into the room. Gelthius' eyes stung, but he stood to attention as best he could while ignoring the fumes choking his throat. He also ignored the smirks from the bartender wiping a cloth across his counter just in the eyeline of the third captain. The man busied himself cleaning the kegs and demijohns arrayed on the shelf behind the bar, while a younger woman swept old straw from the floor. She was probably his daughter; both of them had raven black hair and startling blue eyes.

  From outside came the clatter of hammers on nails and the rasp of saws as the people of Genladen made ready for the king's festivities. Inside the tavern, groups of boys and girls sat at two of the long tables garlanding what flowers, leaves and berries they had been able to find in the foothills; given the lateness of the season there was more gold and brown than yellow and blue.

  The door behind the counter was propped open by a barrel, letting out a steady cloud of steam, and the smell of roasting meat caused Gelthius' stomach to grumble loudly. Rabbit, fish and legion rations had been his fare since the late summer. Even on the night they had taken Carantathi there had been too much to do to secure the city, and he'd eaten only sparsely. Gelthius had probably been better fed on Anglhan's landship. His stomach rumbled again as another waft of roasting pork reached him. This was greeted by chuckles from his companions.

  Beside Gelthius Sergeant Muuril waited with Gebriun, Loordin and Faalin. All five of the soldiers turned their gazes diligently straight ahead as King Ullsaard entered the common room. The king wafted a hand in front of his face, scowling at the smoke. He turned towards the innkeeper and called out in his best parade ground bellow.

  "I can't see my hand in front of my fucking face in here! Get that chimney cleaned before I return."

  With that simple instruction, Ullsaard gestured for his men to follow him out into the courtyard behind the inn. There were a few stools arranged in the shade of a tree – not that the sun had much strength left to it. The king sat on one of the stools and signalled for Gelthius and the others to do the same on the others.

  Gelthius had no idea what the king wanted them for. He had approached Gelthius at the second hour of Dawnwatch as he was taking up the lead of the guard, and had asked that he attend him at Noonwatch with four of his most reliable men. So here they were, all of them eager to know what Ullsaard had in store for them.

  "You're leaving the Thirteenth," said the king, much to the surprise of the legionnaires. Ullsaard noticed the disappoint ment on their faces and smiled. His voice dropped a little. "Not to worry, lads, it won't be forever. I have a secret mission for the five of you."

  Gelthius leaned closer, intrigued, and the others exchanged half-knowing glances.

  "I know you have all been in some scrapes for me, and in each of you beats the heart of the Thirteenth," the king continued. "I am going to ask you to do something for me that will seem strange, and I cannot tell you exactly why."

  "Excuse me, king, but is this because of that mix-up with the crones?" said Muuril. "Only, it was a bit off-putting to hear that you'd be declared dead. Do you need us to settle the matter?"

  "In a way, sergeant, but not the way you think." The king took a deep breath, his expression soured. "All right, no secrets at all. If I can't trust you, I'm fucked anyway. Urikh has tried to take the throne from me."

  "Told you," said Loordin, folding his arms. "I fucking said so, didn't I?"

  "You said no such fucking thing," answered Gebriun. "You just said 'I bet that little bastard Urikh is mixed up in this'. You never said he was trying to be king."

  "Are you finished?" Ullsaard's growl cut through the chatter.

  "Sorry, king," said Gelthius, glaring at the others. "What do you need us to do?"

  "Urikh is going to find out that I have returned, and I need to know what the lie of the land is," the king explained. "At the moment, I need to know what Governor Asuhas is doing, and whether he is in the pocket of my son."

  Gelthius nodded, though he was not sure he understood what was required of him. Ullsaard waited and when there were no questions, continued quickly.