Gav Thorpe - The Crown of the Conqueror

Ullsaard shrugged.

"Better one province is ravaged than we lose the whole empire," said the king. "We're still unprepared for a straight battle. There are half a dozen ways for them to head coldwards, so even if we could force march ahead of them, where would we set our next line of defence? We're no more secure trying to protect Ersua than Okhar. Give them time to lose a few thousand warriors to winter supply and then we'll see what sort of shape they're in for a fight."

"So what are we going to do now?" Ullsaard did not like Harrakil's accusatory tone, but chose to overlook it for the moment. Clearly the First Captain was disappointed at marching several hundred miles only to see his enemy allowed to walk away.

"We came here to kill some Mekhani, so that's what we're going to do," the king explained patiently. He signalled for the heralds to attend him. "Send word to the governors. They are to mobilise what legions they have to guard their borders with Ersua. We'll let the Mekhani have free rein for the moment, but I want the passes and crossings into Okhar, Nalanor and Anrair guarded. Also, I will have orders to convey to the army camp in Salphoria. I want a couple of legions to move closer to Ersua, just in case the Mekhani want to make trouble to dawnwards."

"And our orders, king?" asked one of the captains.

"Two thousand men from the Third will follow the enemy, with five hundred kolubrids. They are to harass them as much as possible and cause whatever trouble they can. Pick a captain that is good on his initiative, willing to be a bit daring; but warn him not to get drawn into a pitched battle. He is to raid and annoy, nothing more. He should create the impression that he has a larger force. I want the Mekhani to think that all four legions are following."

Ullsaard smiled at the officers waiting on his next words.

"The rest of us?" said the king. He pointed hotwards, towards the Mekha desert. "We'll be teaching these goat fondlers not to leave their homes unprotected. I want every Mekhani town, village and tent within a hundred miles of the border razed to the ground. We'll show these bastards what it means to start a war with Askh. Prepare the army for night march; I want to be across the Nakuus by dawn without the enemy seeing us."

Their orders given, the crowd of officers dispersed back to their legions, leaving only Harrakil and his few staff captains. The commander of the Seventeenth looked perturbed by Ullsaard's chosen course.

"Thirty days," the king assured the First Captain. "Thirty days of fun while the weather improves to coldwards, then we'll come back and give this goat-fucker a battle he'll not forget."

When Harrakil and the others were gone, Ullsaard remained where he was, watching the dwindling bank of dust on the horizon. For all his outward confidence, the appearance of the Mekhani, and the monstrous creature that led them, concerned the king greatly. The timing of this attack was too neat; the Mekhani had to know their foes were heavily committed in Salphoria. Though he would never tell his subordinates as such, Ullsaard had another reason for staying hotwards of the empire. There was no Brotherhood here.

Whether directly involved or not, the king did not trust Lakhyri for a moment, despite the words of reconciliation he had offered. It was clear that the Brotherhood still had an agenda of their own. Kalmud and Erlaan were still unaccounted for, ready to be offered up to reclaim the throne for the heirs of Lutaar. Ullsaard was sure that Lakhyri knew where they were.

More than that, there was something about the High Brother that disconcerted Ullsaard, and it was not just those disturbing gold eyes behind the silver mask. There was a stench, a presence about Lakhyri, which Ullsaard could not put his finger on but unsettled him nonetheless. He had the same feeling about this Orlassai fiend. Something in the king's Blood was put on edge by both of them, and he was always ready to trust his instincts in such matters.

There was more than just Ullsaard's future as king at stake. He could not begin to understand fully the unnatural benefits and risks associated with the Blood coursing through his veins. He did not know the extent of Askhos's influence, or the implications of the First King's continued survival. The new Mekhani leader had called himself the 'reborn king' and that had struck a chord in Ullsaard's thoughts. He would have to tread carefully; not just militarily and politically, but personally as well. A wrong move could allow Askhos to gain more control, perhaps permanently, condemning Ullsaard to a future as a tiny fragment of spirit imprisoned within the immortal king.

He shuddered at the thought and turned his ailur back towards his army. The giant cat was a young creature called Storm, bought in Geria. She had a more placid temperament than Blackfang, but the king missed his faithful mount and for a moment wondered how she fared in the camp in Salphoria. Such thoughts led Ullsaard to his family unknowingly held hostage in Magilnada. His fingers tightened on the reins and Storm snarled in annoyance at the sudden tug at her mask.

One thing at a time, Ullsaard cautioned himself. First, the Mekhani. When that's settled, the reckoning with Anglhan would be had. As Ullsaard rode down the slope after his departing legions, he entertained himself picturing the many punishments he would inflict upon the treacherous Salphor; an exercise that lasted for several hours.

Early Spring, 212th year of Askh

Bedraggled and sullen, the winding column of Mekhani warriors laboured on through the unending rain, the narrow track they were following a slippery river of mud that made every step treacherous. Standing at the crest of the pass, looking back over his foundering army, Erlaan contented himself with the thought that another two days' of hard march would bring them to the fertile plains of Nalanor. His tired and hungry followers would find plenty to forage and dry beds when they fell upon the unsuspecting town of Aarisk at the coldwards end of the pass.

It had been hard going, but driven on by the speeches of their king the Mekhani had suffered the depredations of the march without undue complaint. The barns and farms of Ersua had provided little enough spoils, barely enough to keep the army going as it pressed coldwards, and the last of the looted supplies had been spent three days ago. Some hard rations remained, and three behemodons had been slaughtered for food; there was nothing for them to carry and their deaths were more useful than their continued lives. The promise of food and shelter, and the guiding words of their ruler, kept the Mekhani advance moving, when many had been keen to return to their homes.

Further down the defile, several thousand more Mekhani tribespeople followed the army. In groups they had fled coldwards, as families and tribes, driven out of the desert by Askhan attacks. They had brought with them terrifying stories of Ullsaard's assault; of women and children butchered and whole towns burnt to the ground; oases despoiled and the valuable groves along the wadis razed. As dozens of refugees had become hundreds and later thousands, Erlaan had been forced to make more speeches, turning the plight of the men's families into another wrong done to them that must be repaid by the Askhans.

It seemed to Erlaan a deliberate policy of Ullsaard to drive from dawnwards to duskwards, herding the fearful Mekhani over the Nakuus and after their army. More mouths to feed and woes from home increased the burden on the Mekhani king, but Ullsaard had not reckoned for Erlaan's rune-powered gift of speech, or his personal determination to reclaim the Crown of the Blood. Where a lesser man would be tempted to turn back and prevent the burning of other villages and the slaughter of more families, Erlaan felt no such compunction. He took it as good news that Ullsaard was fearful of confronting the Mekhani army in open battle.