Gav Thorpe: The Crown of blood

"The king is consolidating our power," Cosuas argued. "You can't simply lurch from one war into the next. You take ground, control it, build towns and roads and only then move on. You know this, Ullsaard."

Ullsaard pointed ahead to the many pillars of smoke rising from the horizon.

"The king wishes a new settlement to be built here," the general rasped. "What for? There's no real farmland for a dozen days' marching. The river isn't even that plentiful. It's a trinket dangled in front to keep us busy, nothing more. Give me a hundred thousand men and I could take Salphoria in a year. Raise more legions and give me two hundred and fifty thousand and I'd do it for the king in a summer."

"The legions are the king's soldiers," said Cosuas. "You would have every soldier of the empire at your call? What of the princes and governors? Are they allowed any legions? We command only in the king's name. We do not choose where and when we fight, that choice lies only with the Blood. As Askhos promised, the empire has grown and prospered under the rule of his heirs. I would not doubt his teaching just because you're sore of the sun and have sand in your boots."

Ullsaard said nothing, knowing the truth of what Cosuas said, but finding it hard to reconcile with his own desire to push on for the glory of Askhor. He liked to think of the empire as an ailur, a beast with hunger and passion that needed to be constantly fed and directed, its energies focussed on strength and growth.

Talk of consolidation irritated him. It sounded like the language of politicians, not generals. His respect for Cosuas and his achievements prevented Ullsaard from voicing these thoughts. That, and for all Cosuas and Ullsaard shared a history, the older general would no doubt report back to Askh with any comment by Ullsaard that might be considered improper. Cosuas had lived to his ripe age by following orders well, not by showing too much initiative.

"You are right," Ullsaard said eventually.

"When aren't I?" replied Cosuas with no hint of humour.

They followed the column of soldiers heading duskwards across the dunes. It would be two more hours before they reached the camp.

"Camp" described the Askhan settlement as well as 'cat' described an ailur. It was a whole town of canvas, wood and leather dedicated to war. In firmer ground coldwards of the desert, it stretched across several miles, atop a hill that had been flattened by legions. The land here was just about fertile and patches of tall grass broke through the dry earth and stands of short trees clustered around invisible underground pools, fed by the Nakuus River that ran lazily through the scrub at the base of the hill.

The camp was surrounded by a wooden palisade twice the height of a man with twenty roofed towers, built on an embankment of packed earth. Each log had been carried hotwards from the forests of the empire, the stunted trees of Mekha unsuitable for timber. A ditch as deep as the wall was high girded the palisade, an obstacle impassable save at the eight wooden bridges at the gates. The bridges were down at the moment, but at the call of Duskwatch, they would be drawn back behind the walls.

Smoke from hundreds of fires drifted over the tents of the legionnaires and the colourful pavilions of the officers. Each legion, six to eight thousand strong, was garrisoned in its own area, complete with kitchens, armourers and a forge. From a mile away the workers of the camp could be heard; hammers on metal, axes on wood and chisels on stone drifted across the dunes.

This was not just a place for soldiers to rest; it was a statement of intent. The gilded faces of Askhor stared down from the gates at the surrounding land. The blare of a horn marked the passing of the watch. This was the empire incarnate, a construct of ambition and conquest.

Here was to be the next town of Greater Askhor. Before any construction work could begin on the settlement, engineers and masons had to get a bridge across the river to allow more supplies to come from the Askhor territories far to coldwards. At the moment the hundreds-strong supply caravans had to travel down the Greenwater River before forging upstream along the Nakuus for many days to reach the camp.

A bridge would be the first part of a road stretching directly to coldwards, cutting at least ten days from the journey. When the bridge and road were finished, settlers would come — and some of the legionnaires would stay with their families — planting farms to feed a fresh move further into Mekha.

The harassment by the Mekhani tribes had put the force five days behind schedule and Cosuas was not happy at being forced to spend more time than was necessary in the blistering heat. His skin, much tanned from many campaigns, was peeling nonetheless and his stomach was knotted from eating starchy march rations.

The company of guards at the gate of the wooden palisade surrounding the Askhan fort raised their spears in salute as Cosuas approached, just ahead of Ullsaard and Erlaan. Cosuas returned the respect with a nod and walked between the two squat wooden towers flanking the entrance. Young boys scurried past him to take the reins of the two ailurs and Ullsaard and Erlaan swung down to the parched ground.

"I want to see Haraa, Entiu and Dor in my tent at High watch," Ullsaard said. Erlaan nodded and walked off across the camp to find the master masons.

"Do you need me for anything?" asked Cosuas.

"No," replied Ullsaard.

"I'll be taking a bath then," said the aging general, pulling off his helmet and striding away along a walkway of wooden planks sunk into the dirt.

There were waves and calls of greeting as the general strode through the encampment, heading towards the bath tent. Cosuas returned the welcomes with nods, keeping his feelings hidden behind the blank mask of his face. As he looked at the many hundreds of soldiers, he knew that at least one in ten of them would never see Askhor again; or whatever province they had once called home. In the time of Cosuas' ancestors the Askhor legions had all been from Askhor itself. Now Greater Askhor stretched thousands of miles beyond the old borders and the army was filled with foreigners like himself.

He had always thought of himself as an Askhan, never an Ersuan. Cosuas had been less than a year old when King Tunaard II, father to Askhor's current ruler, had conquered Ersua. Just like the thousands of other Ersuans now under his command, Cosuas had faced the decision of staying at home to labour in the fields or build the towns, or joining the army and campaigning to bring the rule of Askh to other lands. He saw no irony in a conquered nation aiding their conquerors to bring the same fate to others. It was simply the way things were; the strong got stronger and the weak did well to recognise their fate in time to survive.

And there were plenty of benefits to being an Askhan, Cosuas reminded himself as the horn sounded the quarter-watch. The large, steam-filled tent ahead was one such boon. He pushed through the flap into the antechamber and stripped naked, handing his armour and weapons to a Maasrite orderly. The young man passed the general a wooden scraper and opened the next flap into the main portion of the huge marquee.

The four large wood-sided baths had been dug into the sands and they were filled with soldiers washing and laughing, gossiping and dozing. Cosuas stood upon the preparation mats while more servants doused him with cold water. He used the scraper to get rid of the worst of the dirt from his skin and climbed into the nearest bath. The water was cool and pleasant after the heat of the desert and Cosuas sunk into the water up to his chin, eyes closed. He ignored the chatter of the other soldiers around him and instead tried to clear his mind of everything.