Gav Thorpe - The Crown of the Conqueror

"Besides," he added under his breath, "I'm not sure you'll be any help against that bastard of a brute."

The Askhan king crossed the divide quickly and reined Storm to a walk a quarter of a mile away, holding up his empty sword hand in a gesture of peace. As he rode closer and closer, Ullsaard realised just how large the other man was. Distance had masked his true size the previous times the king had seen his foe. The Mekhani was more than twice as tall as Ullsaard, and past the ornate helm and armour the king saw that his skin was of normal colour. Whoever he was, he wasn't born to a Mekhani mother.

Ullsaard's nerve held out long enough for him to get within a spear's cast of his opponent, and then he pulled Storm to a halt. With such long legs, the Mekhani commander would be able to cross the distance in a matter of heartbeats.

"Bow down before Orlassai, the reborn king, rightful ruler of the world!"

The voice was a roar that rang Ullsaard's ears. Storm cringed at the noise, snarling a mixture of defiance and fear. The king knew how she felt. For a moment he was overawed by this apparition of a man and he felt his fingers twitch at the reins and his legs tense, his body moving to comply with the order even as Ullsaard's brain rejected it. Amidst the confusion, Ullsaard thought he recognised the voice, but could not place from where or whom.

"Go fuck whatever twisted bitch spawned you!" Ullsaard called back in return, his voice sounding thin and weak in comparison to the bellow of the other. "I'm the king of Askh, and I bow to no man. Or whatever you are."

Orlassai laughed, a much more human sound, and it triggered a half-formed memory in Ullsaard; he had heard that laugh before, somewhat youthful, in the palaces of Askh. He dismissed the idea. He would have noticed such a monster wandering the halls and corridors.

"What do you want?" he shouted.

"I want the Crown," Orlassai replied, his tone less menacing than before. "It belongs to me. You took it from me."

"You're wrong," said Ullsaard. "I prised it from the dead fingers of Lutaar himself. I'm sure you aren't him. That makes it mine now."

Again there was that familiar laugh and Orlassai came forward, long strides covering the ground quickly. Ullsaard didn't know whether to stay or run. Not since the behemodon had he faced such opposition, and on that occasion shock had spurred him to action. Seeing the gigantic warrior bearing down upon him filled Ullsaard with a fear he had not known before, as if dread itself washed over him from Orlassai's presence.

At his approach, he felt something else, and the fear subsided. The Blood fizzed in his body, strengthening his resolve, filling his muscles with power. More than that, it reacted to something else. It reminded him of the odd feeling he had from Lakhyri. He had no name for such a thing, but his ancestors might have called it sorcery.

With a start, Ullsaard saw the golden eyes in the shadow of the feather-plumed helm of his foe. It was too much, and immediately the king knew that Lakhyri was somehow involved. Had he been setting up Ullsaard simply for this moment? Was this beast of a man sent to kill him?

Storm went down to her belly, ears flat, hissing and spitting. She tensed and Ullsaard flung himself from the saddle a moment before she bolted. Landing awkwardly, the king glanced back to see the ailur racing off with his spear and shield still hanging from her saddle.

"Shit." There seemed little else he could do except face down the Mekhani king.

"I will kill you, Ullsaard." The Askhan king watched in fascinated horror the twisting sigil-carved lips of Orlassai as he spoke, and felt a tremor of uncertainty as rows of fangs were revealed. It was as if an ailur was speaking to him. With another part of his brain, Ullsaard recognised the impeccable Askhan accent of his foe; better than his own. "That much is certain. It would be a shame to waste the strength of your legions. I will need them to finish your conquest of Salphoria."

Like the laugh, the voice resonated with some part of Ullsaard's memory, but the bass rumbling obscured any recollection. Orlassai smiled, and it was a gruesome sight.

"Still you do not recognise me?" Orlassai reached up a hand with too many knuckles and pulled his helm from his head.

Ullsaard gasped, disgusted by the writhing, leathery flesh revealed. His shock increased as he looked more closely, seeing someone he knew amidst the etched runes and golden eyes. The face was boyish, handsome even. He remembered the expression of triumph, on the face of a youth at the Maarmes circuit.

"That isn't right," Ullsaard said, even though he knew it was. Finally he had found out what had happened to Lutaar's heir. "Erlaan?"

The giant nodded and extended an arm, muscles moving like stones in a sack beneath his skin. The sun shone dully from metallic fingernails.

"It is impressive, is it not?"

"It's hideous. What happened to you?"

"I became worthy of the Crown, Ullsaard. Give it back to me and I will make your death quick."

Ullsaard took a few steps back and drew his sword.

"You don't expect me to die without fighting, do you?"

"You are a good warrior, Ullsaard, but you are not invincible." Orlassai-Erlaan drew his own weapon, its wickedly serrated blade catching the light. "Do you think you can stop me?"

Ullsaard swallowed hard and his mouth was dry. One stroke of that sword would cleave him in half. It was at that moment he remembered telling Erlaan that a warrior fought with his mind as much as his sword. He desperately wracked his brains for an idea.

"Have you become as savage as the army you lead?" said the Askhan king, sheathing his sword. "What would your father think of this behaviour?"

"I am no savage," Orlassai-Erlaan replied. "What do you mean?"

"Would you break the truce of parley? Do you remember what happened to the last man that crossed me in such a way?"

The monstrous king hesitated and he looked more youthful than ever in his uncertainty. With a coy smile, he lowered his blade.

"Forgive my manners, I have picked up some bad habits from my minions," said Orlassai-Erlaan. "My father is dead, Ullsaard. He thinks nothing of me now, but I would honour his memory. You wish to talk terms of your surrender."

Ullsaard forced a laugh.

"Not of my surrender, no," he said. "You might be able to kill me, but your army will be destroyed."

The other man did not share Ullsaard's humour. His frown was frightening to behold and for a moment Ullsaard thought he would be struck down regardless of his opponent's claim to civility.

"Little has changed from our last encounter, Ullsaard," Orlassai-Erlaan said. "I have a few thousand less men, but four legions are still not enough to match us. This is no barbaric horde you face, it is a trained army."

"Depends what you consider training to be," said Ullsaard. "I'm happy to put your tactics to the test if you are. I reckon the odds are pretty even. Let's see which of us is the better commander, eh?"

Again Orlassai-Erlaan paused, a flicker of nervousness crossing his face. Ullsaard felt a little glow of hope growing within and pushed home his point.

"You know how good I am, but how good are you, Erlaan? You've seen one battle, and a straightforward one at that. I don't doubt that sword of yours could match a hundred men of mine, but a commander wins battles with his plans, not his blade."

"This is a trick," said the other king, shaking his head. "You are scared and seek to outwit me."

"Or I have outwitted you already and I'm just pretending to be scared."

Orlassai-Erlaan's lips rippled with a snarl.

"Words, Ullsaard. You used to fight your battles with armies, now you use words."

"I'm told I have to be more of a politician if I am to be a good king," Ullsaard replied. "Come on, what's your answer. Kill me and be cut down by my avenging army, or are we going to do this properly?"