Gav Thorpe - The Crown of the Conqueror

Plucking the letter from Furlthia's grasp, the king cocked his head to one side.

"This will fix everything, will it?"

Furlthia shrugged helplessly. He sincerely hoped it would, but he had no idea what was contained in the letter. His breath came in short gasps as Ullsaard inspected the seal and then broke it with his thumb. The king held the letter in one hand and rubbed his chin with the other. Furlthia followed every movement, watching Ullsaard's eyes flicking left and right as he read. The king's scowl deepened and his jaw worked as he ground his teeth. The veins in Ullsaard's thick neck stood out like cords and his eyes moved to Furlthia, windows into pure fury. For a moment, Furlthia believed he saw tiny flickers of flame in the king's murderous gaze.

He stepped back out of instinct, but not quick enough. Ullsaard's fist caught him square in the chest, smashing him to his backside, all the wind driven out of his body. Coughing, he struggled to get up and was met by a booted foot in the ribs.

"You delivered this? To me?" Ullsaard's accusation was a deafening roar, punctuated by another kick.

Furlthia curled up, arms across his head, knees to his chest.

"I don't know what it says!" he wailed. "I don't know what it says! I'm a messenger, you can't hurt me. I'm protected!"

Ullsaard's next kick caught Furlthia in the kidneys, sending a spasm of pain up his back.

"Please, king, please! I'm just delivering the letter. It's from Anglhan, not me!"

Ullsaard grabbed a handful of Furlthia's hair and dragged him up to his knees. With his other hand, the king thrust the letter into Furlthia's face.

"Can you read, you little shit?"

"Yes, king, yes."

"Then read it! Look what message Anglhan has sent me."

Through tears, Furlthia tried to make sense of the scrawled marks. It was written in Askhan, and used some words that he did not understand. Forcing the fear from his mind, he concentrated, trying to understand what had provoked such a reaction.

The start of the letter laid out what Furlthia had already explained: Anglhan's secession from Greater Askhor. It went into some detail on this, which Furlthia skipped over on the second reading. The letter went on to make various demands for the withdrawal of the Askhan legions across the border into Ersua, and insisted that Ullsaard agree to take no military action or other reprimand against the city of Magilnada or its territory.

It was not until the end that Furlthia realised what Anglhan had done. The letter ended pleasantly enough, assuring Ullsaard that as a free city Magilnada would uphold its previous trade agreements with Askh. The last line was the guarantee that made Anglhan so confident. On the face of it, the words were innocuous enough. Furlthia read them several times, realising how much weight could be put into a single sentence, and why Ullsaard was so enraged.

The parting comment simply read: Also rest assured that I will continue to protect your family and friends for the remainder of their stay in my city.

Furlthia turned wide, disbelieving eyes to the king. Ullsaard let go of Furlthia's hair, stepped back, took the letter from his weak fingers and folded it crisply before tucking the parchment into his belt.

"I had no idea…" said Furlthia.

"That just makes you an idiot, not an accomplice," replied the king.

Ullsaard turned away and Furlthia let out an explosive breath of relief. He looked up at the cloudless sky and let his hands drop to the dirt, feeling it between his fingers, the grass rubbing against his palms.

Almost quicker than Furlthia could follow, Ullsaard span back, sword sliding from sheath. In one motion, the king struck, plunging the tip of the blade into the flesh between neck and shoulder, driving it down into Furlthia's chest.

Furlthia felt only a moment of pain before he died; his last vision was of the Askhan king's hate-filled eyes boring into him, blood spattered across his bearded, weathered face.

The wreckage of clay pots, plates, tables and chairs littered the pavilion. Ullsaard's campaign throne lay upended against a roof pole. The ornately carved and painted panels were stained with splashes of wine, running down the vistas of Askhor like blood.

The king lay in a stupor, surrounded by crushed goblets and shattered jugs, his shirt wet with sweat and wine. His breastplate lay where it had been flung, his helmet at the other end of the room. Ullsaard murmured in his sleep, grunting and growling; his gnarled hands clenched and unclenched in torment, as the king was gripped by wine-fuelled nightmares.

Askhos walked out of the flames that engulfed Ullsaard's dreams, clad in the finest robes of state. A red cloak trailed behind him, edged with white fur. Upon his breastplate snarled the etched face of an ailur and his hair hung in oiled curls about his shoulders.

Naked and shivering, Ullsaard looked up from a bed of hot ash.

"Not now," he snarled.

"Neither of us seems to have a choice," replied the dead king. "I would rather leave you to your unpleasant fantasies."

Ullsaard rolled away, eyes screwed shut.

"I do not think it works like that," said Askhos.

With a deep-throated growl, Ullsaard sat up, bringing his knees to his chest, arms clasped around his legs. Smoke from the all-encompassing fire swirled into a column and formed a stool for Askhos to sit.

"How do you do that?" asked Ullsaard.

"Practice," said Askhos. "I have a lot of time on my hands at the moment. It gives me plenty of opportunity to explore every dark corner of your mind. I would have thought you had more control over it, but apparently not."

The fires burned white as a wave of irritation swept through Ullsaard. He flinched at their sudden ferocity. As the king's mood settled, the flames quietened.

"So, what are you going to tell me now" he asked, resting his chin on his knees.

"I think you already know."

"I am not going to attack Magilnada."

"It seems my purpose has become that of bearer of bad news, Ullsaard." Askhos ran the fingers of one hand through his beard, tugging at the tight loops of hair. "Maybe that is why we keep getting brought together."

"You're my conscience?"

"The opposite. I have been cast in the role of the truth-teller. You cannot let Anglhan hold hostages against you. It is a neverending negotiation from which you cannot escape. Call his bluff. Attack the city."

"And he will kill Allenya, and Noran, and Meliu. Anglhan is sly, but he never lets go an advantage without a fight. I can't do it."

"You think Allenya is special? She is not. How many wives have I had over two hundred years? Save for the first, my darling Ausieta, I have chosen none of them. And I have outlived them all. It is a sad thing to lose one you love, but you must be stronger than that."

"Jutaar is dead. Allenya probably doesn't even know yet. This isn't her fault. I can't have her death on my hands as well."

"Fault? What has fault go to do with anything? Was it that messenger's fault that he happened to carry Anglhan's letter?"

"I acted in anger. I'll not repeat the mistake with my wife's life."

"And so we come back to where all of these conversations seem to end. You did so much to take my Crown, but now that you have it you have become weak. Perhaps we are seeing the lie of your ambition. You did not kill Lutaar because the empire was growing soft. You stole the Crown for yourself. The first small hurdle, the first obstacle Anglhan throws in your path, and you cringe from what you have to do."

"I will find another way," said Ullsaard. He stood up and faced Askhos, fists balled at his sides. "Anglhan will pay for what he has done."

"Words, words, words! Do what you have to do, Ullsaard. Destroy Magilnada; kill this traitor that makes a mockery of you. I felt the shame you felt, when you had to order your army to stand down. It sickened me more than you can imagine. I heard those Salphor bastards laughing, heard the discontent amongst our men. And you explain nothing to them. You cannot. You know they will tell you the same thing I am telling you know. Destroy Anglhan. Pay the price you have to pay."