Gav Thorpe - The Crown of blood

"I didn't even read it before then, I must admit," said Noran with a guilty smile. "What's the point of the Brotherhood dedicating their lives to understanding its meanings if we all go out and make it up for ourselves?"

"To find personal enlightenment, perhaps?" said Ullsaard, suddenly serious. "I never figured you for a heathen."

"Heathen?" said Noran with a choking cough. "Have you actually read that book? It's so tiresome."

"They are sacred words," warned Ullsaard, directing a glare at the herald. "They guide us, and give us meaning. The great Askhos laid down some pretty specific instructions for his descendants. You'd know that if you bothered to read the book."

Noran held up his hands in surrender.

"I did not intend to offend," he said. "As you say, I am a man of means and responsibilities now, so perhaps I will pay more attention to the mighty ancestor's teachings."

The two rode in stiff silence for a while longer. The light was beginning to fade and their shadows lengthened on the dusty cobbles. Eventually, Noran turned back to Ullsaard with a twinkle in his eye.

"I don't suppose you could direct me to the pages where old Askhos had any advice on what to do with axe-faced second wives, could you?"

Their laughter drifted across the hills to join the background chorus of buzzing insects and birdsong.

That night, they made camp under open skies. Not since a hunting expedition n Ersua more than a year before had Ullsaard been away from the company of several thousand other men for more than a watch. He took delight in the peace, and wandered away from the camp as his servants prepared the evening meal.

His stroll took him coldwards and dawnwards from the road, towards Askhor, his adopted home. Cresting a hill a few hundred paces from the wagons, Ullsaard stopped and gazed around him, savouring the cooler night air and basking in the chirrup and chitter of small wildlife. Bats flitted above him, and darted towards the circle of light surrounding the camp to feast upon the many flies and other insects brought out of hiding by the fires.

There must be caves not far away, he considered as he watched the bats. He did not know for sure and the bats could have flown some distance searching for food. The thought brought more depressing one: how much of these lands did he really know? His holdings in Askhor had been mapped by the best cartographers many decades ago, but this new realm hotward of the border was as unknown to him as the Straits of Lerbrieth or the source of the Greenwater.

There were no people here yet, that was the problem. He needed to build the town so that settlers could come and tame his newly acquired dominions. For that to happen, he needed to build that damn bridge and move on with the army; something that was not going to happen while he was away pandering to Aalun's whims.

Angry with himself for bringing up to troubling thoughts, Ullsaard moved down from the hilltop into the dark shallow beyond. His boots slid on the sandy slope and he stumbled over roots and tussocks of thick-bladed grass. Picking his way through these obstacles by the light of the stars, he couldn't help but wonder how much more of the world there was to see? How much further did the lands spread before they reached other seas? Would he live to see them all?

Askhos had proclaimed it the destiny of his line to rule over all the lands between the seas, and for two hundred and eight years the First King and his successors had laboured towards that goal. Who would be the first wearer of the Crown of the Blood to lay eyes upon all of the domains under the sun?

As was his wont, Ullsaard's musings turned from reflection to action. Things didn't happen just because one wondered about them; things happened because great leaders made them happen. The empire had taken two hundred years to grow as large as it was, and it would take many more years before Askhos's goal was accomplished, but Ullsaard chafed at the thought that his generation would not be the ones to succeed. Cosuas had a few more years left at most, and while Ullsaard could happily look forward to another twenty years at least, there was no guarantee that would be long enough.

In that darkened hollow on the edge of the Mekha desert, Ullsaard vowed to live to see all that the world had for him, life willing. Greater Askhor certainly had the resources and the means. All it required was the will, and he had that aplenty even if others did not appear to share his ambition. In this king's reign or the next, Ullsaard would lead Askhor to the greatest heights of power and create a legacy for his children and grandchildren that no other could match.

Erlaan's voice drifted on the breeze, calling Ullsaard's name. Ullsaard ignored it for the moment, determined to mark this place in some way so that he could return here when he had accomplished his dream, and say to his descendants, "Here I stood when I decided we would rule the world."

He searched around in the twilight until his fingers came upon a smooth, flat rock slightly wider than his outstretched hand. Picking it up, he ran his hands over it — it was hard but not so unyielding that he could not etch a mark onto its surface. Drawing his knife, Ullsaard began to scratch the rune of the Crown upon the stone, working by touch rather than sight. After some considerable work, he drew his fingers over the roughly carved sigil, confident that the engraving was deep enough to withstand the depredations of wind and sand for many years.

With a deep breath, Ullsaard looked up to the stars once more and closed his eyes. He felt the stone heavy in his grasp, knowing that upon it he had sworn an oath to himself and to Askhos. Opening his eyes, he crouched and placed the stone at his feet, reverently pushing it into the thin soil. He stood and turned back towards the camp, strengthened by his private ritual. The flickering of the campfire entranced Erlaan. He sat alone, the remnant of a half-eaten meal scattered about the clay plate on his lap. The young prince was troubled by the news of his father's illness, a mixture of concern for his family and for himself. If his father died, Erlaan would become heir to the Crown of the Blood. His grandfather, Lutaar, was old, and within a few years Erlaan might become king. The thought repelled him, though he had known since childhood that it was his destiny. He didn't feel ready at all. The campaign with Ullsaard was meant to be a stepping stone towards learning the craft of the ruler but it had so far left him wanting nothing to do with war.

All he had learnt was that Greater Askhor was a huge wilderness, devoid of the comforts he had been raised to enjoy. His handful of servants could barely provide a decent meal and he had already been away from noble company for more than a hundred days. Back in Askh, fashions were changing, friends were drifting away, girls were casting their eyes elsewhere. He was left to grub around in the dust and sand like a dog scavenging for scraps, and it seemed most unfitting for one of the Blood.

There was also the question of the veteran generals. Cosuas seemed deferent enough, in his own crude way. Ullsaard treated him like an inferior sometimes, barking orders and giving Erlaan menial duties. He might be only a Second Captain by rank, but he was a prince by the Blood. It occurred to Erlaan that Ullsaard was punishing him in some way, simply for the benefit of his birth. Just because the general's meagre heritage — a bastard no less if gossip was to be believed — had forced Ullsaard to claw his way to the top from being a lowly legionnaire, there was no reason Erlaan had to suffer similar indignities.

"Care to share your thoughts?" asked Ullsaard, appearing on the opposite side of the fire. The general was stripped to the waist, his muscles carved in shadow from the fire. Erlaan glanced guiltily at Ullsaard and saw a warrior-born, utterly unlike himself. The prince was short and thin, utterly at contrast with the tall, athletic officer.