The Crown of blood

I

The sounds of looting echoed from Askh as Ullsaard rode towards the gate on Blackfang. He couldn't bring himself to come to the city earlier; better that he didn't see that first rush of the beast he had unleashed.

Just inside the shadow of the gatehouse he saw two figures sitting side by side, backs against the wall, legs outstretched with shields and spears leaning next to them. Several empty bottles littered the ground around them, along with bones, fruit skins and cores and other detritus of a sizeable meal. One seemed asleep, the other lazily blew smoke from his mouth, a bowl of gently glowing dried leaves held in his hand. Ullsaard caught the pungent whiff of hennek as the man slowly inhaled; a drug from Maasra favoured by the younger generation of Askhan nobility. The legionnaire looked up at Ullsaard, recognised him with widening eyes and attempted unsuccessfully to stand up. He wobbled in an uncertain crouch for a moment before falling back against the wall.

"It's all right," laughed Ullsaard. "No ceremony today."

He recognised the face of the sleeping man.

"Weren't you two part of Aroisius's lot?" said Ullsaard, stopping Blackfang with a tug on the reins. He pulled her head to one side, away from the stupefying smoke of the hennek.

"Well, Anglhan's really," drawled the legionnaire. "I'm Lepiris. My companion is Gelthius. I apologise for his state, as he has, alas, been overcome with weariness. And not a little wine, which he has not drunk before today. I think he mistook it for the strength of ale."

"Enjoy yourselves for the next two days," said Ullsaard. "But don't be late back to camp."

"No, General, right enough," said Gelthius, rearing up from his stupor and banging his fists against his chest in salute. He collapsed backwards, helmet tipping over his eyes.

Ullsaard laughed again and urged Blackfang through the gate. He rode quickly through the city, heading directly up the Royal Way. The last time he had been here, Ullsaard had been fleeing the city, fearful of a mob. The time before he had been parading in triumph with Aalun, the masses of Askh cheering his name. Today, those people cowered behind their doors and shutters, terrified of him.

Give it time, he thought. They'll be cheering your name again when you bring them the wealth of Salphoria.

There were no guards at the palace, and it looked deserted. Taking Blackfang to the stables himself, Ullsaard saw the evidence of a hasty evacuation. Once inside the palace itself, the emptiness was even more pronounced. Statues and tapestries had been taken, and there were empty alcoves where once golden vases and silver busts had stood. He had not seen a legionnaire so he knew the palace had not been looted — not by his men at least, but he suspected the king's servants had taken what they could once the king had fled.

His bandaged ribs ached as he walked along the corridors and halls, and it was with a weary hand that he pushed open the doors of the audience hall.

"I expected you earlier," Lutaar rasped. Ullsaard looked along the hall in surprise.

The king sat in his throne, wearing a golden-threaded robe, a scarlet cloak hanging from his shoulders. And on his head sat the Crown.

"I thought I'd have to hunt you down," said Ullsaard as he walked towards the king.

"I'm not running away from you," said Lutaar. "Besides, what would be the point?"

"And Kalmud? Erlaan?"

"They are not here. They have been taken somewhere safer."

"You know that you don't have to die, don't you?" said Ullsaard, striding up the steps to the throne's dais.

"If you want this," Lutaar took the Crown of the Blood from his head and waved it at Ullsaard, "then you'll have to prise it from my dead fingers."

Ullsaard unsheathed his sword but Lutaar held up his hand, staying the blow.

"Listen to me before you do this deed," the king said. There was no scorn in his voice; instead his words were edged with sadness. "Please do not do this. I do not ask you for myself, but for the empire. As I once implored Aalun to understand, Kalmud must become king; it is Kalmud's destiny to wear the Crown. Rule the empire as you wish, use him as a puppet if you must, but do not make yourself king."

Lutaar stood up and, placing the Crown on the seat of the throne, approached Ullsaard to lay a hand on his sword arm.

"You have won, Ullsaard," he said. "The empire is yours to do with as you wish. You are the most powerful man in all of Greater Askhor. You have defeated your enemies, and your allies respect you. You do not need to become king in name."

Ullsaard pulled his arm away.

"What is it that you are so afraid of, Lutaar?"

"I am afraid for us all," replied the king. "Askhos decreed that the Crown pass from eldest living son to eldest living son; it has done so for two hundred years. There is a chain of the Blood that stretches back to Askhos, and you will break it. The Blood must rule Askh; it is our doom and our privilege."

"I am of the Blood," said Ullsaard.

"I have heard such rumour, but it cannot be possible."

"It is true. You bedded my mother and Cosuas helped her escape before she was handed to the Brotherhood."

Lutaar's eyes widened with surprise for a moment and his expression changed. Ullsaard was not quite sure what he saw, a fleeting glimpse of speculation, perhaps hope.

"How old are you?" the king asked quickly. "Are you older than Kalmud?"

"I am not sure," replied Ullsaard, stepping back, disturbed by the king's sudden interest. "We are of a similar age, but I grew up in a place without the benefit of the Brotherhood's count of the years."

Lutaar dragged the tips of his fingers over his wizened, stubbled cheeks and continued to look at Ullsaard with that strange, calculating gaze. The king walked back to the throne, lifted the Crown to his head and sat down.

"Very well," said Lutaar. "Kill me. Take the Crown. Become king of Askh."

Lutaar craned his head to one side, exposing the artery in the side of his neck. He folded his hands neatly in his lap and waited expectantly, eyes fixed on Ullsaard. The general walked cautiously towards the throne, sword held ready, perturbed by the king's odd behaviour. Ullsaard expected some kind of trap, and his eyes darted left and right as he stood over the frail king.

Lutaar nodded once and closed his eyes.

Blood sprayed as Ullsaard drew the edge of his sword across Lutaar's neck. The gush became a stream and then a slow trickle. Lutaar did not move. Blood pooled in his lap and started to drip onto the marble floor from the hem of the robe.

Ullsaard had killed many men, but he was unnerved by this act. The splash of blood on stone seemed to echo around the hall. He turned away and strode to a high window, throwing open the shutters for a gulp of fresh air. Ullsaard shuddered as he looked over the city, the energy of the last few days draining away from him, leaving him feeling sick and weak. His hand throbbed and his gut ached.

Raising his eyes, he looked duskwards over Askh, where the sun was disappearing behind the city wall. The sky grew red and purple as the sounds of the looting legionnaires was carried up to him from the streets below. Steadying his thoughts, Ullsaard smiled.

He liked the moment. Tonight the sun set on the reign of Lutaar, tomorrow it would rise on the reign of Ullsaard. It was a fitting end to one life and start of another.