Gav Thorpe - The Crown of the Conqueror

"Go away," the king muttered, pushing upright.

He grabbed the nearest jug and tipped it to his mouth. It was empty. Casting aside the ewer, he grabbed another, but there was only a dribble of ale in the bottom. Aegenuis let the beer drip onto his lips and then licked them, his tongue feeling thick and furry.

A sad-faced hound nuzzled his leg. Aegenuis reached down and tickled it behind the ear, scrunching long grey hair between his fingers.

"Just us, eh?" said the king. The dog stared back at him with thoughtless devotion and said nothing. "They deserve to die, all of them. Turn their backs on me, their king? They've made their choice. Ullsaard can fuck their grandmothers for all I care, and their grandfathers too, if that's what he wants."

Aegenuis surged to his feet and swiped his arm across the tabletop, sending plates and cups clattering to the floor. He took a step and stumbled, falling against a wooden carving of his father — one of many former kings whose likenesses lined the long hall.

"Sons of pig-fuckers! Accuse me of trying to grab their lands? My own son!" Aegenuis rounded on the dog, eyes narrowed. "What's that? Yes, I'll show them why I am their king. I'll have that bastard Ullsaard's head on a plate, and they can come grovelling back, begging me to help them. I'll wear that Askhan bitch-whoreson's balls around my neck and they'll come running."

Feet dragging through the rotting straw, Aegenuis lurched to his ceremonial seat at the head of the table. With a lunge, he flung himself into the furs, dangling one arm over the back. His head pounded.

Or perhaps it was thunder.

The king looked up as light spilled through the door at the far end of the hall. Four men entered, their hair and fur cloaks soaked through, leaving trails of drips on the dirt floor. Aegenuis squinted against the sudden light.

"It's morning?" he said.

"Yes, king," said the first man. Aegenuis did not recognise him. Looking at the others, he realised he did not know any of them.

"Who are you? Why do you come into my hall without permission?"

"We were knocking, king, but you gave us no answer," said the man. "My name is Furlthia. I am here to help you."

Aegenuis laughed.

"Perhaps the four of you are from the spirits, eh? Men of the crow and the tree and the wind? You'll be stopping Ullsaard's armies on your own, then?"

Furlthia looked at his companions and then back at the king.

"We should come back later, when you are sober," he said.

"No, no, stay," said Aegenuis. He heaved himself from his throne and waved them to the benches alongside the great table. "Be welcome in my hall. I've seen nobody but maids for many days. Do you want to be a chieftain, Furlthia? Is that it? It's not worth it. I'll make you one anyway, if you like. Why not? The Askhans can kill you as a chieftain just the same."

"I don't want to be a chieftain, my king," said Furlthia. While the other men sat down, he approached Aegenuis and laid a hand on his arm, guiding him back to his chair. "I don't want to be an Askhan, either. That's why we're here."

"The others all ran away, left me," said Aegenuis.

"They were idiots, king," said Furlthia. "You are right. The peoples must unite if they are to turn back Ullsaard and his legions."

"Can't be done," said the king. "Too late, even if it could. Half the tribes are dead, the rest are scattered."

"That is true," said Furlthia. He took two cups from the table and dipped them into a water butt set on the opposite side of the hall from the fire pit. He handed one to Aegenuis and drank from the other. "But Ullsaard cannot beat the winter. He has only reached as far as the Daruin Hills and the weather turns on him. He will stop where he is and tighten his grip on the lands he holds already."

"And we'll never take them back," said Aegenuis with a shake of the head. "Winter will be harsher on Salphors than Askhans. Our stores are gone; the tribes are foraging and hunting in the woods and hills. They will starve, and come the spring Ullsaard will sweep away those poor few that survive."

"This is pointless," snapped one of Furlthia's group, an aging man with soft features and hard eyes. "He's drunk, and worse, he's given up!"

"Never!" roared Aegenuis, pushing himself from his chair, hurling the cup of water to the ground. The king stopped, swayed for a moment and then broke into laughter as he collapsed back into the throne. "I'll just march off to see Ullsaard now. Maybe he'll stop if I ask him nicely."

"Maybe he'll stop if you give him a reason to," said Furlthia. He looked around the hall, seeing the mess on the floor, the dirt in the fire pit, the squalor. "Go to your chambers, king. Sleep and don't drink. We will see you tonight, and you will hear things that will make you a lot happier."

Aegenuis eyed the group dubiously and snorted.

"You? You miserable lot are going to give me something all the chieftains and all their armies can't?"

Furlthia nodded and waved for the group to leave. The king watched them file out of the door. The door closed, plunging the hall into the gloom of lamplight. Aegenuis looked around. He smelt the burning fat of the candles, the smoke of the fire, the shit of the dogs. He could smell himself as well, stinking of piss and vomit and grease and sweat. It was all a mess. Not just the hall, everything.

He recalled Furlthia's words, like a shadow in a fog. The man had seemed very sure of himself.

Throwing off his matted coat of furs, Aegenuis pushed himself to his feet and staggered over to the water barrel. He took a breath and plunged his head into the cold water. Rearing up with a gasp, droplets spraying from hair and beard, the king stepped back. Head clearing, he was intrigued by the visit.

Someone had mentioned sleep. Nodding to himself, Aegenuis headed for the doors, one hand on the table to keep himself upright. Yes, sleep seemed a good idea.

A hand gently caressed Aegenuis's cheek, rousing him from doze to full wakefulness. It was dark outside the narrow window of his bedchamber. His eyes moved to the woman cupping his face. It was Aleoin, one of his daughters. She sat on one side of the bed, dressed in a heavy woollen gown, a shawl around her shoulders. Aleoin had her mother's green eyes and her father's dark hair. She also had much of her father's broad build, and his flat nose, which was another factor on a considerable list of reasons why she had not yet found a husband. Her saving grace was her royal status, which ensured a line of desperate if not entirely desirable chieftains who wished to court her.

"Hello," said the king, sitting up. "Why are you here?"

"I heard you telling mother that you had to be woken at dusk," said Aleoin. "It seemed very important at the time."

"So why isn't she here to do the job?" the king asked. He pushed aside his blankets and swung his feet to the floor. The tiles were cold on his soles. Looking down at himself Aegenuis realised he was naked.

"I undressed you as well," said Aleoin. "The servants are too scared of you at the moment."

"Where's your mother?" Aegenuis found a washed shirt and trousers on a stool beside the bed.

"She doesn't want to see you."

"How so?"

"You don't remember?" asked Aleoin as she helped her father belt his shirt around his waist. "You beat her, two days ago. Broke her jaw."

"Oh." Aegenuis sat down on the bed to pull on his boots. "I was drunk. I'm sure there was a reason."

"You accused her of sleeping with another man, to give birth to a bastard like Medorian. You've been drunk for a long time. Half the people in Carantathi have left to follow the chieftains. Nobody calls you the king anymore."

Aegenuis detected more hurt in this remark than could be justified by what she was saying. He looked more closely at Aleoin and saw yellow bruising on her throat. There were scratches on her arms as well.