Gav Thorpe - The Crown of blood

"Not really," Erlaan replied. He picked up a stick and tossed it into the flames.

"You are worried about your father," said Ullsaard, sitting on the ground a little way to Erlaan's right, looking at the fire rather than the prince.

"Of course," said Erlaan.

"I had no father," said Ullsaard. "Well, no father to raise me, though obviously a man exists who gave his seed to my mother."

The rumours had been true. Erlaan looked across at the general and saw that Ullsaard's gaze was fierce, directed at the flames as if they were somehow responsible for his hard life. The prince said nothing and simply waited for Ullsaard to continue.

"I became a legionnaire and it was Cosuas who raised me up to be an officer, and your uncle who supported my rise, all the way to the position of general."

"I know this," said Erlaan.

"Yes, but you are missing my point," said Ullsaard. "Had you asked me twenty years ago what man I would become, I could not have said. My horizon was the next battle, the next march. Now? Now I have three wives who have each borne me a strong son and I lead the greatest army in the world. Circumstance shapes us every day, Prince. You must learn to recognise when events are changing you and when you are changing events."

"And right now events are changing me?"

"No, they are not, and that is what should concern you," said the general. He grabbed a brand from the fire. Stoking the flames, he turned his gaze upon Erlaan, the fire glittering in his eyes. "You do not wish your grandfather and father to die. That is understandable. Yet, all men must die and even those of the Blood are no different. You have the certainty of fate on your side. Your lineage stretches back to Askhos himself and in your veins runs his strength."

"But what if it doesn't?" blurted Erlaan.

Ullsaard laughed, but his humour was not born from mockery.

"You can no more be weak than I could be a red-skinned Mekhani," said the general. "You are what you are, and it is in you to embrace that destiny. You owe it not only to yourself, but to the people you will rule and your forefathers. You are young, like metal soft in the flames of the smith. The skill of the smith can fashion a great sword, but only so far as the quality of the metal will allow. Life will beat upon you and fashion you into something else, but the quality of the bronze, your heritage, is without question. You are of the Blood, I cannot put it more plainly than that."

Erlaan considered this, nodding gently. His father and all the fathers before him had ruled Askhor since its founding. Each must have had their doubts at times. Ullsaard was right; it was a measure of him as a man how he reacted to his troubles.

"Thank you," said the prince with a smile, his confidence already a little restored by Ullsaard's words. "You are a thinker as well as a warrior, I see."

Ullsaard laughed again and stood up.

"A warrior who does not think is a corpse," said the general, tossing the brand onto the fire. "Get some sleep, we break camp at dawn."

There it was again; a casual dismissal that betrayed the insincerity of the man. Erlaan hid his thoughts as he watched Ullsaard leave. The prince stood, sparing a last glance at the fire. "The Blood holds its own destiny," he remembered his grandfather once telling him. Erlaan walked to his tent, wondering what that destiny would be.

Summer, 208th Year of Askh

Noran stood at the starboard rail of the galley's aft deck, enjoying the shelter of the sail while Ullsaard reclined on the deck, his hands behind his head. Clad only in tunic and kilt, the general was less imposing than normal, but even unarmoured and lying down his massive frame and muscular body dominated the afterdeck. Noran idly wondered what it would be like to have such a remarkable body, to have eyes turn to you whenever you entered a room.

The slosh of the water, the creak of ropes and the warm evening air dulled the senses. Bare feet padded on board as the sailors turned out to trim the square sail, urged on by the quiet orders of their captain. The sailors cast glances at the reclining general as they tiptoed around him, whispering to each other.

"A welcome sight after so much desert," suggested Noran, pointing to the vine-crowded terraces of Okhar rising up the banks of the river.

Ullsaard sat up and looked at the fertile slopes.

"Not as welcome as the streets of Askh, but it's a start," replied Ullsaard with a languid stretch. "Twenty-five days we've been travelling, and we're barely halfway."

"It'll be quick enough, you'll see." Not for the first time, Noran compared Ullsaard to an ailur; seemingly quiet and passive, but masking a capability for immense violence and destruction. His rank, his affected civilisation, were the blinkers that kept him from going wild. Some of the stories of the general's exploits moving up the ranks had made Noran glad he was a friend; he had resolved to keep that friendship for as long as possible. The tales of Ullsaard's enemies generally ended badly on the bloodfields.

"We'll pick up a few barrels of wine to celebrate your homecoming. It's been a good summer, by all accounts."

"Stopped by to check on your estate while you were coming to see me, by any chance?" Ullsaard said, giving his companion a dubious look.

"I had to resupply somewhere before that interminable trek into the sands! The quays at Geria just happen to belong to my father. That's not my fault."

"Yes… and I'm sure your visit didn't delay your duties as herald any longer than necessary."

"I may have sampled an amphora or three while I waited for fresh provisions to be brought aboard. What's a day here or there when you're travelling such a long way, anyway? You're just sour because you could have left all the dust and heat a couple of days earlier."

Ullsaard grunted and lay down, closing his eyes.

"It's not natural to have no rain for so long," he said. "Ever been to Enair in the winter?"

"Thankfully, no."

"Pisses down every day. I don't mean the little squalls and showers you get in Askhor; I mean solid downpours day and night from harvest to spring. And the wind! Howls down from coldwards, bringing the sea with it."

"It sounds truly dreadful. I'll be sure to avoid it if I can. No wonder all you Enairians are such a miserable lot." Noran leaned back against the rail and looked down at Ullsaard, becoming serious. "You haven't really told me much about what it was like growing up in Enair."

"No, I haven't."

Noran waited but nothing else was forthcoming.

"Oh, come on! Throw me a bone here. You must have friends there still; perhaps there was a lass or two you tumbled in the rain? What about family? I know your mother still lives there, but haven't you got any cousins, uncles, alluringly mature and experienced aunts?"

Ullsaard sighed deeply and remained silent.

"Fine," pouted Noran. "It's not like this journey isn't long enough, without you playing dumb for the whole voyage."

"If you want to gossip, talk to the crew," mumbled Ullsaard. "I'm sure they'll be happy to tell you about the harlots they've humped in every town along the river, if that's what you're after."

"You can be such an arsehole, Ullsaard. I try to take an interest in your life and you throw it back at me."

"Don't be such a woman. We could talk about hunting, or the races, or fighting, but you just want to pry into my sex life. You're as much as a gossip as Meliu!"

"Tell me about it! I swear she and Neerita are more like old women than any of their sisters once they start jawing. Did you know that Princess Meerina has gilded rose petals scattered on her bed every night in an attempt to entice Aalun to sleep with her? Imagine that, bribing your own husband to fuck you?"