Gav Thorpe - The Crown of the Conqueror

The prince met the implacable glare of Lakhyri.

"My family have given their lives for the Crown. I would offer nothing less. My body and my spirit, if needed."

Lakhyri accepted this declaration with a slow blink.

"Your life will not be necessary. Your spirit, your body… that is a different matter."

Summer, 211th year of Askh

The herald waited with his helmet under one arm, eyes roving around the great hall of the palace looking at the murals on the walls and ceiling, examining the delicate tiles of the mosaic underfoot; his eyes looked everywhere except at Urikh.

The prince carefully read the missive from Harrakil, deciphering the First Captain's infantile strokes. When he was finished he leaned across from his chair and handed the letter to his mother, sat on his right.

"You know the contents of this?" Urikh asked the herald.

"Yes, prince. Captain Harrakil said I was to add anything else you might ask."

"These Mekhani attacks, how frequent are they?"

"Before I left, there had been seven in thirty days, prince. All along the border. Raids, mostly."

"Raids? Three towns have been destroyed!"

"Yes, prince. No survivors. We don't know how big the Mekhani forces were. There have to be several armies, to attack so many places so quickly. Leviira and Hanalun had garrisons of three hundred men each, prince. Wiped out to the man."

"Captain Harrakil tells me that captives were taken."

"Yes, prince. Slaves, most likely."

Luia stirred, folding her hands in her lap, the letter in her grasp.

"The Mekhani do not take slaves," she said. "Not before now."

"That's right, queen. We don't know why they've started."

"What else don't you know?" asked Urikh, keeping his tone mild.

"I don't understand, prince."

"Who is leading these Mekhani attacks? What is Harrakil going to do about them? What extra forces does he need?"

"He was waiting on your orders, prince, which I'm supposed to return with. There's no way of telling where the next attack will come, or when. The border's more than five hundred miles, from the Greenwater to the mountains. The captain's worry is that if we split up, we'll be picked off like the garrisons."

"Three quarters of the legion is already in the area," said Luia. "Are nearly five thousand troops not enough for Harrakil?"

"Though he would never say it himself, queen, I think the captain would need at least twice that number to patrol the border. More, if you want him to head into Near-Mekha and chase down the bastards."

"Three legions?" Urikh laughed. "Where does he think I can get another ten thousand men?"

"Perhaps you could send word to the king?" suggested the herald, eyes fixed firmly on a detail of the mosaic.

"Thank you, we will send for you," Luia said before Urikh could reply. The governor glanced at his mother, annoyed, but recognised the intent look on her face.

"Yes, refresh yourself and return this evening," said the prince. "I will have a message for you to take back to captain Harrakil."

The herald bowed and departed, his hard-soled kolubrid boots clicking on the tiled floor. When the tall double doors of the hall closed behind the messenger, Urikh turned to Luia.

"Do you really think it is a good idea to request legions from Ullsaard at the moment? He is probably a thousand miles into Salphoria by now, and no doubt having immense fun."

"He will thank you little for allowing Okhar to be overrun by Mekhani savages while he is away conquering new lands," Luia replied. She smoothed her long dress, hands running over the dark blue Maasrian silk. "There could be another way to get the soldiers you need."

"No, not the other governors," Urikh replied with a shake of the head. "You know they would insist on payment, over the odds. The cost would be extortionate. Trade is barely half what it was two years ago and there are some parts of Okhar that have not paid their taxes since I took power. There is simply not enough money in the city vaults and I am not going to the moneylenders."

"Sometimes you will have to delve deeper than the official coffers, Urikh."

"Family money?" Urikh almost choked on the suggestion.

"Nobles have been raising new legions all over the empire to join my husband on his jaunt," said Luia. "Thanks to Nemtun's exploits trying to stop your father, Okhar is woefully under strength. The Greenwater is vital, the border with Mekha volatile, and to duskwards you have the hill tribes on the Salphorian border; and to deal with all of that you have barely a single legion. Maasra, peaceful Maasra with her Nemurian neighbours, boasts three legions. Enair has four. The situation is unsustainable."

"I will write to Ullsaard," said Urikh, deciding that any solution that did not involve spending his own money was preferable.

"It could be the end of the summer before we receive his reply." Luia stood up, adjusted the slender silver chain that served as her belt, straightened her necklace and fixed her son with a hard stare. "You best hope that your father is in a generous mood, and that nothing drastic happens to hotwards. Make no mistake, if Ullsaard thinks you are not up to the task of being governor, he will replace you, son or not."

"You would never let him do that."

Only Luia's look offered argument to Urikh's assumption. She turned away, saying nothing, and left the hall by a side door. The patter of bare feet announced the arrival of several servants, buckets of water and brushes in hand. As they set to work scrubbing the floor tiles, Urikh sat deep in thought, composing the letter he would have to send his father. If he could find some way to make it look like he was taking assertive action and needed the soldiers for expansion, not defence, his message was more likely to be welcomed.

With the proper phrasings coming to mind, Urikh strode from the great hall with determined steps, heading for his study.

Midsummer, 211th year of Askh

More than a dozen heralds crowded into the king's pavilion. Ullsaard's scribe, Lasok, sat behind a small field table with a pile of scrolls, handing one out to each messenger in turn before crossing off a corresponding entry on a wax tablet. Ullsaard sat on his campaign chair watching the proceedings with a dour expression, chin cupped in his hand, elbow on the arm of the throne.

Anasind pushed his way through the throng and bowed quickly. He glanced over his shoulder at the heralds.

"Fresh orders?" he asked. "Will we be moving out soon?"

"No," Ullsaard said with a slow shake of the head. "The legions are staying exactly where they are."

"I understand that you do not have to tell me what's going on, but if I can help?"

Ullsaard beckoned the First Captain closer and waved to one of the stools arranged around the throne. Anasind swept his cloak out of the way and sat down, leaning close to hear the king's soft words.

"Our woes are not restricted to Salphoria," Ullsaard said with a heavy sigh. "I received word last night from Urikh. Those Mekhani we left behind are stirring up trouble on the hotwards border."

"Surely Urikh can cope with a few troublesome savages," said Anasind. "It doesn't say much for his suitability as a governor, if you forgive me saying."

"I would think the same, but from what Urikh has reported, these are not your normal summer raiders. Someone has been bringing the Mekhani together, organising them. Most of the legions are with us, trapped this side of Magilnada. I can't abandon the campaign wholesale to sort out the Mekhani without giving the Salphors an opportunity to take back everything we've conquered already."

"I see that. I still don't get what all the messengers are for."