The Crown of blood

I

"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."