Gav Thorpe - The Crown of the Conqueror

"I'm assembling the council of governors in Askh. Urikh can't ask them to pass on their legions to him, so I'm going to have to."

"You're going to Askh?" The First Captain's brow furrowed. "Who's going to be in charge here?"

"I was going to speak to you later about that," said the king. "Since you're here now… I'm going to name you my general. You'll be in command."

Anasind rocked back, making no attempt to hide his happiness.

"I'll be general? Thank you, king!"

"Don't thank me yet," Ullsaard replied with a sour look. "It's not going to be easy for you. The situation here is fragile, and I don't know what Aegenuis or Anglhan are going to do next. You can expect the Salphors to make something of the situation. You're also going to have your hands full with these amateurs, the merchants and nobles, trying to get their own way and tell you what to do."

Ullsaard levered himself out of his throne and stepped forward to lay a hand on Anasind's shoulder.

"I trust you with this. You need to keep the army as intact as possible. Supplies will be low, and you need to keep a lid on desertions. Some might be up for a fight, wanting to advance again. You can't let that happen. If the army starts to break apart, the Salphors will pick off the legions on their own. I don't expect them to launch a major counter-attack this season, because they've had plenty of time to do so while we were readying our defences. That said, I'm sure they'll try to bait some of our commanders out of the line. Sit tight. It could be for the whole winter, I don't know yet. Keep everyone safe and ready for me."

Anasind stood and rapped his fist against his chestplate, eyes gleaming with pride.

"You can rely on me, king."

"I know," Ullsaard replied with a smirk. "I wouldn't have picked you, otherwise."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't."

"You also need to keep my departure secret. The less people that know I've left Salphoria, the better. Let's say I'm going on a tour of inspection around the other legions. That should explain my absence for plenty of time."

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow," said Ullsaard, returning to his throne.

Anasind looked worried, realising how soon he would be left in command.

"You'll be taking the first company as bodyguard, I assume."

Ullsaard shook his head.

"No, I want to leave them with you. They'll help keep the legion in order. I'll be taking a few dozen men from across the other companies. Lasok already has a list of names. I want them assembled and ready to go by the second hour of Dawnwatch."

"And how do you think you'll get back to Askh without being noticed?"

Ullsaard patted the arm of the throne.

"I'll be leaving this behind, for a start."

The glow of campfires could be seen to hotwards, a smudge of red in the night amongst the shadows of the foothills overlooking the road between Magilnada and Ersua. Anglhan's legion stationed to guard that road were making no secret of their location, and from what other travellers had said, Gelthius knew that the other legion was keeping an eye on the other road running to dawnwards, forty miles to coldwards of where he walked along the base of a low hill.

The early evening air was warm and sweat beaded Gelthius's brow as he pulled a handcart over the humps and dips of the plains, the solid wooden wheels occasionally catching on a rock or thick tussock of grass. A few paces ahead, a handful of other legionnaires waded through the thigh-high grass, their uniforms hidden under long shirts, mud-stained robes and ragged cloaks; their weapons and armour were in the handcart, buried beneath a pile of pans, canvas and other gear.

Twenty of the king's bodyguard had forged ahead several miles, looking for a likely campsite. Fifteen more followed behind, broken into small groups to avoid attracting too much attention. King Ullsaard travelled in Gelthius's band, and had been relying on the Salphor's knowledge of the terrain to pick the best route back to Ersua, balancing speed of travel against the need to avoid settlements and the likely outlying garrisons of the Magilnadan legions.

The king fell in beside Gelthius, moving up quickly from behind with long strides. He grabbed one of the shafts of the handcart.

"Let me pull that for a while, take a rest," said Ullsaard.

"It's all right, king, I can manage," replied Gelthius, horrified by the thought that Ullsaard would drag around the legionnaires' gear.

"I insist," Ullsaard said with a smile, gently shoving Gelthius out of the way and taking up position between the two handles. He ducked his head under the yoke-strap and easily lifted the cart. "I have to keep in shape, you know."

"We'll be making camp soon, I suppose," said Gelthius, feeling put out by the king's interference.

It was hard for the Salphor to reconcile the different sides of Ullsaard he had seen. His first encounter with the king had ended with the massacre of thousands of Salphors and hillmen that had refused to join his legion. As a man of the Thirteenth, Gelthius had learned more about Ullsaard's history; how he had started out as a simple legionnaire and worked his way to the position of general. Gelthius could not help but respect that achievement. Fighting for the king had felt like a privilege despite the manner he had been pressed into Askhan service.

And then had come the death of Furlthia. Anglhan's ex-mate had been a good man, as far as Gelthius knew. Furlthia had always treated him and the other debtors with respect if not actual kindness, and he was loyal to his fellow Salphors. To see the king cut him down out of hand, to see a man Gelthius had once considered a friend murdered in cold blood, had dented the pride he had felt to be one of Ullsaard's chosen legion.

Ullsaard was unpredictable, and that made Gelthius uneasy. How could he ever feel truly safe around the king, knowing that the wrong words or a mistake might see him butchered the same way as Furlthia? It was too easy to forget the man's bloodthirsty nature, seeing him hitching up the straps of the handcart, marching through the dirt and filth with his men. Gelthius knew he would never be truly at ease around his new king, but it would not be a good idea to show it.

"A few more miles, I reckon," Ullsaard said, pulling forward with powerful strides. "Three more days to Magilnada, you reckon?"

"Right enough, king. The road loops coldwards a ways ahead. We can cut across and ford the Lasghin, or follow it around and use the bridge at Furath. Takes about the same time, either way."

"The bridge'll be busier, eh?"

"Most likely, king. But there's been rain up in the mountains the last few days, can't say for certain the ford'll be crossable yet. Might be quite a few folk waiting for the river to quieten down."

"Less chance of Anglhan's soldiers keeping watch at the ford. We'll keep heading that way."

Gelthius plodded through the grass on tired legs. They had left camp thirty two days ago, and for the most point had avoided the newly laid roads, crossing the rugged countryside instead. Having spent most of the summer in camp, the exertion had taken its toll on the aging legionnaire, and though he would never admit it, he was grateful that the king had relinquished him of the hand cart's burden for a while.

"When we're near the border, we can wear our armour, not carry it," said Ullsaard, as if reading Gelthius's thoughts. Glancing across at the king, Gelthius saw that Ullsaard was almost talking to himself, eyes fixed ahead, thinking aloud. "I'll requisition the first abada we come across, too. That'll make things easier."

"Still a tidy walk to Askh, king." Gelthius didn't know if he had been heard at all. Ullsaard continued with his monologue, the words coming in time with his strides.