Gav Thorpe - The Crown of the Conqueror

Late Winter, 211th year of Askh

Moving up the wide stairs to the upper storey of the governor's house, Furlthia felt his skin crawl. Marble busts of Anglhan stood on pedestals flanking the stairwell, and as Furlthia turned onto the narrow landing, he saw a mural of his former master on the far wall. It depicted Anglhan standing at the gates of Magilnada, an Askhan army behind him. Anybody who had ever suffered dealings with the governor would see the lie for what it was; Anglhan had come to the city amongst an army of ragtag rebels and Hillmen, and not entered until several hours after the fighting had been concluded. He had not even raised a finger to stop the Askhans when Ullsaard had revealed his full intent and Askhan legionnaires had scoured the city of the last remaining Salphorian nobility and warrior-chieftains.

Coming to a set of double-doors, ornately carved with a view down upon the city from the great mountain on whose shoulder it was built, Furlthia took a breath. He fought down his irritation at being kept waiting for three days since making his presence in Magilnada known to Lenorin, the governor's chief aide. Eventually, a runner had come with a message demanding that Furlthia attended Anglhan at his home as soon as possible.

Furlthia knocked three times and waited, rehearsing what he would say to the governor. He wanted to deliver Aegenuis's agreement and then leave with as little fuss as possible. The more time Furlthia spent in Magilnada, the deeper his distaste for what Anglhan had done to the city.

"Come in!" came a strained call from within.

Furlthia opened the door and stepped inside. He halted with just one foot over the threshold on seeing what was within; the sight made him almost physically sick.

Anglhan bent over a large desk, kilt pulled up around his evergrowing waist, his voluminous body pinning a naked youth face down amongst the scrolls, wax tablets and official stamps of office. Sweat rolled from the governor's face in streams, his thinning hair plastered to his face as he thrust and grunted. Anglhan had the lad's face pressed against the wood with one hand; in the other he held a red candle held so that wax slowly dripped onto the youth's back.

Anglhan's face was a grimace of deviant pleasure, eyes wide, mouth snarling. Worst of all was the expression on the young man suffering such grotesque attention; Furlthia saw neither pleasure nor pain, just a bored look of indifference as Anglhan huffed and heaved his bulk against the youth.

"Spirits take my eyes," cursed Furlthia. He backed out and slammed the door closed. He had taken two steps towards the stairs when Lenorin reached the landing at a run. The chancellor stopped as he saw the expression on Furlthia's face.

"I'm sorry," said Lenorin with a knowing, weary look. "I meant to catch you before you came up here, but something distracted me."

"I should just stick a knife in the pig right now," said Furlthia, feeling his loathing for Anglhan reaching a new low.

"I would help, but for the bigger picture," said Lenorin, ushering Furlthia into a small study on the far side of the stairs.

One wall was covered with a canvas map of Magilnada, every building coloured to indicate the type of dwelling or business. Wooden shelves heaped with yellowing parchment scrolls lined the rest of the room, save for a small window through which the noon sun shone weakly. Pots of inks and brushes stood on a small stand beneath the window, a half-finished painting of a gate tower on an easel beside it.

"This is where you work?" asked Furlthia, allowing himself to be guided to a wooden stool by the flustered chancellor. Lenorin looked around as if seeing the chamber for the first time, but nodded.

"Yes, this is my office," he said. He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head slightly. "It serves me better than sharing a chamber with… that man. I'm within shouting distance when he needs me."

"Why do you even stay here?"

Lenorin smiled sadly and sat behind his small desk. He busied himself arranging wax tablets into a neat pile as he replied.

"It's the same as with him. Better the dark spirit that you know. Where I am, what I do, I can temper some of his worst excesses."

"You call what I just saw an excess?" said Furlthia. "No chieftain would behave like that to his men."

"That? That's small enough sacrifice to keep him content. A few serving boys now and then. I pay them off; send them out of the city if they want. There's a couple, like Amarin there, who don't seem to mind, so I make sure they're on hand when it looks like Anglhan is getting frustrated and frisky. Believe me, it's better that way. When he can't get his cock into some poor boy, he gets vindictive."

Lenorin cleared his throat, turned on his stool to put the tablets on a shelf behind him and directed his attention back to Furlthia.

"I'm worried," said the chancellor. "Ullsaard is coming back here soon from his winter camp. There's still snow in the air and he's getting ready for the next stage of the invasion. Anglhan has come up with reasons to keep his legions close to the city for the moment, but in his last letter, Ullsaard made it clear that he would be taking them duskwards on the next campaign. Without them, Anglhan has got no way to secure the border with Ersua."

"Like I told you when I arrived, Aegenuis is agreed to the plan. He's spent the winter regaining as much favour with his warlords as he can get. Kubridias and Serbicuis have done as we wanted and pulled in every chief and warrior they can from their peoples. As soon as Anglhan makes his move, Aegenuis can persuade the rest of the chieftains to follow him again. Half the tribes have already agreed to send warriors against the legions to coldwards. Caught between the counter-attack and being cut off from Askhor, Ullsaard will have no choice but to fall back to a stronger position."

"And that's when Leraates does his thing, is it?" said Lenorin.

"I hope so," said Furlthia. "I can't figure that one out, not properly. I know Ullsaard disbanded the Brotherhood, but I don't see what Leraates and his allies have got against their new king that makes them so determined to topple him."

"Who cares? As long as Ullsaard's worried about his rule back in Askhor, he'll be too busy to be invading anywhere else. Knowing that the Free Country agreement with Askh is now worth less than dog shit, Aegenuis and his chieftains aren't going to let anyone just wander in and take over again."

There was a muffled ring of a bell from outside. Lenorin looked up sharply, looking like a guilty man.

"Anglhan's finished his rutting," said the chancellor. "You can see him now. Just tell him about the agreement with Aegenuis and get out; I'll deal with the details."

"Thank you," said Furlthia, standing up and offering his hand. Lenorin shook it limply. "Don't worry, friend. Once Ullsaard is seen to, that fat boy-fucker is next on our list."

"Hurry up, don't keep him waiting."

Furlthia headed straight for Anglhan's chambers and found the doors already open. Cautiously peering within, he found the governor sat on a low couch beneath the window, a plate of food propped up on his belly.

"Sorry about that," Anglhan said with a smile, waving for Furlthia to enter. "Lenorin was meant to tell me when you had arrived. Close the doors would you, wouldn't want any passing stranger to hear us."

Furlthia did he was asked and sat down on a padded seat indicated by Anglhan. The governor moved the plate to a side table and sat forward, hands on knees.

"So, my friend, what news?"

Trying to forget the image of Anglhan's ruddy, sweat-soaked face, Furlthia sat straight, arms folded tight across his chest. A draught from the window brought a waft of sickly-sweet perfume from Anglhan, but it failed to wholly mask the underlying smell of stale sweat and sex. Suppressing a wave of distaste, unclenching his fists, Furlthia looked Anglhan straight in the eye.