Gav Thorpe - The Crown of the Conqueror

"Get someone to take you to Second Captain Allas. He will look after you."

"No, not look after me," said Kubridias, shaking his head, the beads in his beard cracking together and slapping against his chest. "Anglhan say I stay with you. You prince, yes? I look after you."

"I do not need you to look after me," snapped Jutaar. Kubridias's frown deepened. Jutaar held up a hand in apology. "I have a whole legion to look after me."

"Yes, big man say that," said Kubridias. "But not good here. Some tribes, not like you. I make them happy, yes? Got gold."

"You have gold?" said Jutaar, unsure where the conversation was heading. "Why do you have gold?"

"Pay chieftains, yes? Some chieftains not like me. They stupid. Chieftains not want gold from king, get spear in arse from you!"

Realisation slowly seeped into Jutaar's brain. It seemed a waste of money to bribe the Salphors when the legions could just as easily force them into line. Jutaar shrugged to himself; it was not his place to doubt his father's plans.

"Yes," Jutaar said with a sigh. "I will have a sharp spear ready, in case the other chieftains are not as smart as you."

The sun was still burning off the morning haze that surrounded the camp. It was a little past the third hour of Dawnwatch and the legionnaires had already dismantled a third of the camp in preparation for the day's march. According to the maps — and the unasked-for testimony of Kubridias — they would come to Arundonda late in the coming afternoon.

Most of the tents had been packed away already, the forges and kitchen fires quenched, the abadas harnessed to their carts and the kolubrid riders sent out on patrol. Everything was happening smoothly and quietly, a source of pride to the legion commander as he walked through the dwindling camp with his senior Second Captains; Luusin, Bariilin, Kasod and Daariun.

The four of them were tested officers, brought in by Jutaar's father from other legions to help him run the legion. To stiffen the resolve of the Magilnadans — a mixture of men descended from Salphors, Hillmen and Ersuans — the captains had brought their companies with them, forming a core of legionnaires that had fought across the empire and who Jutaar knew were loyal Askhans. Their presence served as an example to the other companies to live up to, and Jutaar, taking the advice of his father, had been forthright in his praise and reward of them in the hope that it would persuade the newer companies to come up to the level expected.

Legionnaires and Third Captains barely paid any heed to the officers in their midst as the captains made their way towards the main gate. Jutaar looked for anything out of place or badly done, and knew that his subordinates were doing the same. There was no cause for complaint; no poorly stacked supplies, no errant legionnaires slacking off, no discarded gear or slovenly behaviour.

"Have any of you seen… that filthy chieftain?" Jutaar asked his companions. He used the epithet rather than make a mangled attempt at pronouncing Kubridias's name, an issue that had caused the chieftain umbrage several times since coming to the camp.

"He left last night," said Kasod. "I think he's gone ahead to make sure there's a suitable welcome celebration for our arrival."

Jutaar grunted with displeasure.

"We are not here for feasting and drinking," said the First Captain. "There is no cause for celebrations yet. When my father stands in the hall of Carantathi we can break out the wine."

"Of course, prince," said Kasod. Jutaar detected an unusual surliness to the Second Captain's tone.

"You have something to say about the situation, Kasod?"

"Just a little frustration, prince," the captain replied. He looked at the others before continuing. "I speak for us all when I say we wish we had something more to do. Ever since the legion was raised, these men have done nothing except march to Maasra and back, and guard a few roads. I would be happier once we've seen them in proper action."

"I understand," said Jutaar. He smiled at the group. "I will let you into a small secret. Although Anglhan has given gold to that bestial man to bribe the other chieftains, it is my intent that we do not spend it. I am not happy about paying off tribesmen with gold that could be spent paying legionnaires and building towns. My standing order to the legion is to attack any Salphorian settlement we come across. If they want to surrender, we will give them the chance, but nothing more."

"A good decision, prince," said Daariun. "If word gets around that the chieftains can earn themselves some coin by playing hard to get, it will only make matters worse. I'm surprised Anglhan would be so generous, he's not usually that free with his money."

The group had reached the gatehouse, which was being quickly dismantled as they passed out of the camp. Clouds filled the sky and Jutaar could barely see half a mile in the pre-dawn gloom; the fog around the base of the hill swathed everything in grey. Sounds of shouted orders, axes, hammers and the jangle of abada harnesses emanated from the camp behind.

Jutaar stretched to ease the ache in his shoulders. After the previous day's full march he had been a mess of sore feet and cramped muscles, unfit from the long days of inactivity. He had longed for a hot bath, but the lack of lava fuel made such a thing impractical on the move.

"I reckon it's going to be a fine day," said Jutaar. "Once this cloud has been burned away, it'll be good marching weather."

"Campaigning in the spring, you can't beat it," said Bariilin. "Warm days, cool nights, dry ground underfoot."

"It'll be nice to get an early test of the men," said Kasod. "Drill is all good, but it's only proper battle that sorts out the best."

Jutaar cast a glance at Kasod, wondering if the captain's comment was somehow directed at him. Kasod was looking down the hillside, nonchalant with one hand on his sword hilt, the other on his hip. The prince said nothing, but knew that his ability to command was as untested as the fighting skills of the legion he led. He was under no delusion about his own talents; everything he knew about battle tactics he had learned from treatises or his father. He was also aware that he was not blessed with the active imagination and far-sighted vision of the truly great commanders.

Such deficiencies did not worry Jutaar too much; his father had assured him that winning a battle was more about doing things properly and efficiently than extravagant manoeuvres and wild plans. And, considering all things. Jutaar did not believe his father would put him in charge of the legion if the king did not think he was capable.

Knowing that he could lead an army on the field was one thing, showing it to his men was another. A victory, however gained, would be of benefit to everybody.

"Let us hope that some stupid warlord decides to make a stand," said the prince. "Nothing too dangerous; like a spar before a wrestling bout to get loosened up, work out the stiffness."

"There are half a dozen tribes within three days' march," said Luusin. "It would be easy enough to go and pick a fight with one of them."

"I would be all for it, captain, but those are not our orders," Jutaar replied with a sigh. "Not yet, at least. I hope that my father loosens the leash with new orders soon."

The group stood for a while in silence, each man enjoying the view and weighing the prospects of the future. A shout from a sentry patrolling outside the wall to their right broke the reverie. Looking to where the legionnaire was pointing through the thinning mist, Jutaar saw a lone outrider heading towards the camp at some speed, urging on his sluggish kolubrid.

In the clearing haze, the officers did not need the outrider to tell them what he had seen; a dark mass was coming into view across the crest of a ridge to hotwards, above the trail leading to Arondunda. Several thousand tribesmen were assembling on the hillside, no more than two miles away.