Gav Thorpe - The Crown of the Conqueror

"Have you had any letters recently from Allenya or Meliu?"

"Just the other day, from Meliu" replied Luia. "They seemed to think you were still in Salphoria. She complained about the lack of news coming to them regarding your war. She said that Anglhan had visited several times, but had not offered any answers to their inquiries. Allenya is in a melancholy state, she informed me. She had been keen to return to Askh, but Anglhan convinced her to remain. Why have you not written to Allenya to tell them that they can leave that wretched city?"

The thought of his wife's sadness brought an ache to Ullsaard's chest. The moment was lightened only a little by the knowledge that his family did not yet know that they were being held hostage. He stopped and turned Luia to face him, gesturing for Urikh to step forward to join them. He gripped each of them by an arm.

"You must not let anyone else know what I am about to tell you," he said. They nodded and he continued. "Anglhan wishes to remove Magilnada from the empire. He uses Allenya, Meliu and Noran as bargaining chips for that freedom."

Luia moved to break his grasp, but Ullsaard held firm, fingers dimpling the soft flesh of her arm.

"Tell no one!" he snarled.

"What are you doing about it?" demanded Urikh. "Is this why the news of the campaign is so dubious?"

Ullsaard ignored the question for the moment, concentrating on Luia. Anger flashed in her eyes and she bared her teeth. The king swayed back, expecting her to strike him, but she simply quivered in his grip, her whole body shaking with rage. This mood lasted for a few moments before her fury gave way to despair. She sagged against Ullsaard, her tears flowing fast, soaking into the weave of his tunic, her fingers clawing at its hem. Taken aback, he let go of her arm and placed it around her shoulders, kissing her on the top of her head.

"I'll not let anything happen to them, I promise," he said. Stroking Luia's hair, the king turned his attention to Urikh, who had taken a step back, arms folded tightly across his chest, eyes narrowed. "We are at an impasse for the while. Anglhan controls my supplies and my family, so I cannot move against him. His hostages are only of value if alive, so they are safe enough if I do nothing to move against Magilnada."

"But that is an intolerable situation!" All of Ullsaard's earlier pride was swept away as Urikh seemed to revert twenty years, back to when he used to have tantrums as a child when denied.

"Act like a man!" the king snapped. "The world does not simply exist the way we want it to; we have to make it that way."

Luia had calmed herself and parted from Ullsaard, her cheeks and eyes red. She sniffed loudly, wiped her face with the cuff of her dress and tidied her hair.

"How are you going to make them safe?" she asked.

"I don't know," Ullsaard confessed. "I just don't know yet, but I will think of something. I'll find a way, even if it means giving up Salphoria."

Luia nodded, sniffed again, and stroked a hand along his arm.

"I know you will, husband." She glanced up at the palace and then at her son. "Not a word, we are agreed. We have a royal feast to attend. There have been supply problems in Salphoria, but now that the Brotherhood has been restored, that will not last. Other than that, there is nothing to concern anyone with regard to Salphoria."

"As you say, mother," said Urikh, his whole demeanour sullen.

The three of them continued up the road, Ullsaard's hand clasped with Luia's, his son at his shoulder. Though he hated himself for thinking it, the king could not help but wonder what he might have done if it had been Luia in Magilnada rather than Allenya? He cursed himself for entertaining such a notion, knowing that no good could come of it.

Ullsaard prodded an Okharan spiced fish head around his plate with a spoon, not feeling the slightest touch of hunger. Rain pattered at the window shutters and the occasional distant growl of thunder announced the coming storm. The reception room was abuzz with conversation amongst the two dozen or so special guests who had been chosen to take part in this post-feast discussion. Two First Captains were present — Harrakil of the Seventeenth and Meesiu of the Sixth — along with several fleet owners, a handful of warehouse landlords, three local noble family heads, the chairmen of the city's two rival merchant boards and Thasalin.

This last cut a strange figure amongst the gaudy refinery of the others. Dressed in his severe black robe, the head of Okhar's Brotherhood precinct meticulously selected an apple from a bowl on one of the low tables, turning each fruit over in his hand, inspecting it precisely before replacing it. Having made his decision, the chosen apple was carefully pared away with a small knife, each sliver deposited neatly between the Brother's fleshy lips and chewed dispassionately.

Ullsaard hated the man; not just because he was a Brother. The qualities that made him such an admirable civil servant were vices in good company. He was fastidious to the point of pedantry; he had the habit of repeating any question asked of him, rephrased with subtle changes of nuance; his watery blue eyes regarded everything with suspicion and every person with mild disdain.

He was just the sort of man that Ullsaard had long despised for their miserly allocations of funds and grain, their undisguised contempt for men that shed blood for a living, and their self-important inflexions and sneering comments that the king had never understood. For all that — because of that — Thasalin was also just the sort of man Ullsaard needed to run the empire on his behalf.

Sensing their liege's sour mood, the guests invited into this inner circle had not approached Ullsaard, though clearly nearly all were anxious to do so. Ullsaard was content to let them wait. He remembered when he was last in this room, exchanging barbs with Nemtun, terrifying Noran. He looked at the fish head and smiled at the memory of Nemtun's indignation and the pleasure of causing it.

"If I may have a word, king?"

Ullsaard looked up and saw Thasalin, who had evidently taken Ullsaard's brief display of humour as an indication that the king was now amenable to interruption.

"Have several," Ullsaard sighed, depositing his plate on the side table next to the couch. He slouched back, rested his hands on his belly and crossed his ankles. "Have as many as you want."

Thasalin turned slightly and gestured to Harrakil and Meesiu. The two captains approached, helmets under their arms.

"I wish to clarify a few points, king," said Thasalin. That was another thing that annoyed Ullsaard. Thasalin always wanted to 'clarify'; never 'sort out', 'check' or 'confirm'. "It is with regard to the provisioning of the legions you are despatching to the Mekhani border."

"What of it?" said Ullsaard, not bothering to conceal a yawn. His sleep had not improved much, even though he was now several hundred miles from the Crown.

"I can understand the need to provide full camp supplies for the Seventeenth and Eleventh, as they are stationed upon the border itself. The Third and Sixth are to make camp in far more fertile areas. They will be able to forage without concern, yet you have ordered that they be provided with enough provisions for a sixty-day campaign. This seems to be a waste of muchneeded grain, meat and other comestibles."

"Food," said Ullsaard. "We like to call it food. The Eleventh and Seventeenth are our front line against the Mekhani, but they are more of a garrison force. The Third and Sixth are a mobile reserve. They may be in fertile lands now, but I want them to be ready on any given day to march out and take the fight to the Mekhani. That could mean many days of hard march with no forage time, and might even take them into Mekha."