Gav Thorpe - The Crown of the Conqueror

"When?" said Ullasand. "It's almost new year already, half the summer wasted."

"It's sixty days to Magilnada and back," said Anasind. "Judging from earlier in the year that should still give us more than eighty days of good campaigning weather in these parts."

"We'll carry on into winter if we have to," said Ullsaard. "It'll be a bitch, but it'll be worse for the Salphors than us. Next time we won't give them the space to lick their wounds."

The talk carried on past Midwatch, into the early hours of the morning. Orders were drawn up for every remaining legion in Salphoria, logistics were arranged to pool the meagre resources, and the positions of the defensive line were agreed.

Ullsaard was exhausted by the time his head hit the pillow of his cot. Still dressed in his armour, he was instantly asleep.

The sand beneath Ullsaard's feet was the colour of rainbows, swirled into hypnotising curves by steady waves of golden water. Whichever way he looked, he gazed out across that auric sea, the spectrum of the beach stretching out endlessly on the periphery of sight. Ullsaard held up his hand. The air shimmered around his fingers like quicksilver. There was no breeze. Even looking directly up he saw nothing but sparkling tide.

"It's a fucking dream," he said. "Where are you?"

"Where I will always be, Ullsaard," Askhos replied behind him. "In your mind."

Ullsaard turned quickly. The dead king sat on a rock of black glass shaped like two cupped hands. He wore a plain white tunic and kilt of dark leather, sandals on his feet and a sash of red across his chest. Jewels glittered in Askhos's braided hair and beard. He seemed younger. The light of the golden sea reflected in dark eyes made them dance with life.

"I thought I was too far from the Crown," said Ullsaard. "I thought I was rid of you."

The apparition of Askhos shrugged.

"I do not know how this works anymore than you," said the empire founder. "We both march across uncharted lands. In your case, quite literally. It is disappointing that you have had to halt your advance."

"So you know what has been happening?"

"I only know what you know. I told you that last time. Oh, and thank you for sparing me the embarrassment of rutting with your wife."

Ullsaard leapt at the king and seized his throat in one hand, dragging him to his feet. Ullsaard was shocked that such a thing was possible. He had acted out of instinct, half-thinking that Askhos would be formless and his hand would go through him as if he were smoke.

"I am real, as much as any man's mind can be said to be," said Askhos, unperturbed by his predicament. "What do you hope to achieve?"

"Perhaps if I kill you here…" Ullsaard squeezed tighter, until his fingertips touched thumb, the king's neck impossibly constricted.

"Your mind is not made up of flesh and bone, is it? Throttle me for as long as you like. Neither of us has bones to break, or lungs to choke."

The former king illustrated his point by poking a finger in Ullsaard's eye. He felt nothing except a sense of pressure, much like when skin is prodded. Letting go, Ullsaard stepped back.

"Did I bring you here? Did you bring me here?" he asked.

Askhos directed a patronising look at his dream-companion and said nothing.

"You said your tomb was a real place," Ullsaard said, kicking the multicoloured sand with his bare foot. "Is this a real place somewhere as well?"

"What is your obsession with reality, Ullsaard? You say things are real, as if that has any proper meaning. Are thoughts real? Are dreams real? Is love real? You are a terribly narrow-minded man."

"Everything I know tells me that this place is impossible. It is just a dream. It is… unreal."

"Do not confuse reality with the physical. You might just as well ask why water is wet, or what air tastes like." Askhos waited, but received only an uncomprehending glare in reply. The former king sat himself down again and crossed his arms and legs. "Let us talk reality. Your army is stuck, you have no supplies, and your campaign will fail."

"It has stalled, but it has not failed," said Ullsaard. "I will put things right soon enough."

"For the moment, perhaps, but what about the next setback, and the next? Do you think I was able to create Greater Askhor by sheer force of will? Of course not. Empires need to be organised. Endeavours need to be coordinated. No single man can control something as vast as Greater Askhor. Even your governors struggle to maintain their provinces."

"So, we are back to this? You will tell me to restore the Brotherhood. I'm not an idiot. I see where this conversation goes."

"But you will not admit the truth that can be found at its destination. I was the greatest leader Askhor has ever seen. The loyalty amongst my subjects was absolute. I wielded powers you do not know exist, had allies you are not aware of, and even I needed the Brotherhood. They are the empire."

"Not any longer."

"You are all muscle, but you have no skeleton. The Brotherhood is the bones that keep everything else together. This little supply problem of yours? Expect it to get a lot worse. You have more enemies than you realise; the ones you know about and the ones you do not yet see. A thousand and one tiny cuts will destroy you. The Brotherhood is the salve for those little wounds."

"And your means to dispense with me completely and restore your immortal rule. You think I would sharpen the axe for my own execution and freely hand it over? No, I will never do that."

"Then you will die, and I with you, and the empire will fall. It is that simple."

"So be it."

It took a further three days for Ullsaard to finalise his plans and despatch orders for the entrenchment of the Askhan position. When all was set in motion, the king lifted his camp and marched dawnwards with the Fifth, Thirteenth and Twentieth Legions. Along newly-laid roads, across bridges whose stones glistened with fresh whitewash, the eighteen thousand-strong army snaked back towards Magilnada.

On the nineteenth evening of the march, as the scouts returned bearing news of sites suitable for camp, one patrol brought back disturbing intelligence. Atop a hill a few miles from the road, the ruins of a legion camp had been seen. On hearing this, Ullsaard rode out on Blackfang, accompanied by Anasind and a bodyguard of five hundred legionnaires. Following the scouts, the detachment turned coldwards while the rest of the army continued on to set up camp.

"We should have made contact with the First Magilnadan by now," said Anasind, stepping easily alongside Blackfang's loping gait. "They were stationed to guard this stretch."

"Jutaar will have followed his orders," said Ullsaard. "He would have sent word if something was amiss."

As they continued, the blackened walls of the camp visible in the distance, the king doubted the truth of what he said. His second son was loyal and dogged, but Ullsaard was under no illusion regarding Jutaar's slowness of thought. It seemed incredible that some disaster might have befallen a whole legion without some news of it spreading, but the charred palisade on the hill ahead spoke a strong testimony; burning the camp was established practice when faced with an unexpected threat and something Jutaar would not have ordered without good reason.

Pressing on further than the scouts had investigated, the small column crested the hill. Ullsaard dismounted and walked amongst the ruin with his First Captain. The exact state of the camp at the time of its destruction told its own tale. Every legion broke camp in the same manner, and it was easy to decipher exactly when the site had been abandoned.

"This is a march camp," said Anasind. "The ditch is too shallow, the gatehouse not reinforced."