Gav Thorpe: The Crown of blood

Spring, 210th Year of Askh

"I'm surprised such a fat man can run so fast," laughed Anasind.

All that could be seen of Nemtun's army was a cloud of dust spreading towards the distant shadow of the Wall. A few ships and boats burned along the quays of Narun, and there were signs that the retreating prince had attempted to torch the city, but with little success. A smouldering warehouse here and there was testament to the hasty, clumsy arson.

"I didn't expect him to fight," said Ullsaard, standing with Anasind and his other First Captains on the roof terrace of a merchant's house overlooking the docks. He looked at Donar. "He isn't stupid. He has the Wall to hide behind."

The First Captain of the Fifth looked shamefacedly at his feet, feeling the dig at his pride for his unsuccessful attack on Nemtun's army at the start of the year. Ullsaard allowed Donar to stew in his embarrassment for a little while, before clapping him on the shoulder with a smile.

"You'll be able to get even soon enough," said the general. "Nemtun's trapped in Askhor now, he won't be able to run anymore."

"So when do we go for the Wall?" asked Luamid. "I can't see much point in waiting."

"We don't," replied Ullsaard. The half-circle of commanders around the general exchanged confused looks. "I didn't spend a fortune building a fleet in Maasra to needlessly throw my legions at the Wall."

"So we'll be marching to Askhira?" asked Jutiil. "That's a trek and a half."

Ullsaard smiled slyly.

"You have a plan, don't you?" said Anasind.

"Let's go downstairs to discuss it," Ullsaard told them. "I think it's one of my best."

Eleven legions on the march, the largest army Jutaar had ever seen: the Thirteenth, the general's own men; the Fifth, Tenth, Twelfth and Sixteenth from the campaigns in Mekha; the First and Second Magilnadan — Ullsaard had been incensed by Anglhan naming his legions after the city where they were raised; the Ninth, Fourteenth, Seventeenth and Eighteenth from across Greater Askhor, taken from the governors under Ullsaard's heel.

In all, nearly seventy thousand men marched from Narun and the people of the city came out to wave them off. They had not enjoyed their brief rulership by Nemtun over the winter and were glad to see Ullsaard back in charge. Another legion, the newly raised Twenty-third, had been left as garrison in the city.

Jutaar had wondered at this. Nemtun had already proven he was capable of sallying forth from the Wall to take Narun, and the fifty-day march to Askhira would give him plenty of time to do so. Ullsaard had emptied the provinces of all but the most skeleton force and if Nemtun realised this, he would be able to run free. Without Ullsaard around to protect them, the governors would quickly flip sides back to the king if Nemtun arrived at their capitals with his five legions. Once the first one toppled, the rest would follow, just as they had when confronted by Ullsaard's army.

"Don't worry about it," Jutaar's father had told him. "Leave the strategy to me."

Jutaar did worry about it, but his concerns were tempered by the trust he had in his father's judgement. It was that judgement that had placed Jutaar in charge of the massive supply caravan and tens of thousands of camp followers. Jutaar had thought his experience building the fleet in Askhira had been daunting, but it had become little more than practise for the monumental task of keeping forty thousand civilians in line.

He'd been given half the companies from the Sixteenth to help chaperone a column that stretched for five miles, following behind the army. The people were everything the legions were not: slovenly, intractable, selfish, disorganised and petty. Not a day went by that did not see Jutaar cajoling a powerful merchant into line; or preventing families following different legions all but declaring war on each other over camp space; or settling a dispute over whose turn it was to travel at the front, closest to the legions.

"Another forty days of this will drive me mad," Jutaar confessed to his father on the fifth evening since they had left Narun.

"I'm sorry, son," said Ullsaard.

It was just the two of them in the main room of Ullsaard's pavilion. The general's servants had brought in a table and low chairs and the two shared a simple meal together, the first in a long time.

"It's going to get worse for you," said Ullsaard.

"I'll get the hang of it, I'm starting to work out who the troublemakers are and who I can trust," said Jutaar. He popped a grape in his mouth and chewed laboriously. "They'll get into the routine of it too."

"You don't understand," said Ullsaard. "From tomorrow, you'll be on your own."

Jutaar stopped, another grape halfway to his mouth.

"You're right, I don't understand."

Ullsaard looked apologetic as he pushed aside his plate and laid his hands on the table.

"This march is a ruse," said the general. "So is the fleet in Askhira. I've got no intention of trying to land an army on the Askhan coast. There's no more than ten places where I could offload so many soldiers, and you can be sure our enemies have them closely watched. If we failed to get a landing, we'd be driven back into the sea." "It's not… I don't…" muttered Jutaar.

"It's bait for a trap," Ullsaard continued with a self-satisfied smile. "Of course Narun looks weak, I want it to. Donar may have bollocksed up his attack on Nemtun, but he had the right idea. This time when he comes looking for an easy win, I'll fall on him with ten legions! We'll see how the fat cunt likes that!"

"So who will I be taking to Askhira?"

"The First Magilnadan and the whole of the caravan. You're to make as much noise and mess as possible marching to Maasra; make it look like fifty thousand men came through. I want the king looking towards the sea for as long as possible. When Nemtun comes snuffling out from behind the Wall, we'll smash his army and be into Askhor before anyone realises what's happening. It'll be too late for the legions guarding the coast to come back duskwards and Askh will be ours."

"You're sending me on a diversion?" said Jutaar. "I want to be there when we win. Why can't Urikh do this?"

Ullsaard stood up and gripped his son's arm.

"I'm sorry, but I don't trust anyone else to do this for me. It has to be utterly convincing, and Urikh isn't a legion man. You are. You have the most important job of anyone."

Jutaar understood the truth of his father's words, but it made him no happier.

"I want to fight, Father," he said. "I want to be there when you lead your army. I want to be the first through the Wall with you, and the first into Askh. You're trying to get me out of the way, keep me out of trouble. I don't want to be the prince that led the wives' army!"

"Stand up," said Ullsaard. Jutaar did so. "You will be leading an army, and not just of merchants and children. I'll be making you First Captain. The man Anglhan has in charge of the First Magilnadan is an idiot, some hairy-arsed son of a chieftain Anglhan wanted to keep happy. I'm replacing him with you and giving you some quality officers to help out. You'll be Prince Jutaar, First Captain of the legions."

"First Captain?" Jutaar never thought he would hear those words. He imagined his pavilion at the heart of the camp, every second and third captain doing his bidding. No more tiresome watch rotations. No more drills in the snow and rain. He would be the man in charge.

"Aye, First Captain Jutaar," Ullsaard said, shaking his son's hand. "Congratulations."

Spring, 210th Year of Askh

It was a solemn crowd that gathered around Noran's bed in the house of Ullsaard's wives. Meliu sat with Noran's limp, clammy hand in her tight grip. Allenya was there too, in a chair by the window, her thoughts and expression distant. Anglhan had come to pay his respects to the friend of his ally, and to perform another duty which he was in two minds about.