The Crown of blood

IV

Noran silently fumed during the ride back to the villa and Ullsaard said nothing. The herald kept his tongue while the ailurs were taken away and he led Ullsaard to one of the reception chambers. Servants in plain white tunics entered quickly, bringing wine and water. Ullsaard slouched on a rug and pulled one of the ewers next to him, pulling out the stopper with his teeth. Noran snatched the jug away, spilling red liquid onto the ochre tiled floor.

"You stinking heap of abada shit!" Noran snarled. Ullsaard smiled without shame. Noran wanted to punch or kick the idiot, but thought better of it and contented himself with hurling the jug against the wall. "You selfish, childish, moronic, cock-gnawing…" He floundered around for the right words before giving up. "Arsehole!"

Ullsaard's smile faded and Noran thought for a moment that he had gone too far.

"Nemtun only got what he deserved; the fat, useless toad," grumbled Ullsaard.

"That's not the point!" shrieked Noran. He turned as a servant entered and started picking up pieces of the shattered jug. "Get out! Get out!" The servant quickly retreated.

Noran began pacing again, stopping only to fill a cup to the brim with wine, downing half the contents in two long gulps.

"I really didn't need Nemtun as an enemy, you fucking idiot," Noran rasped before finishing off the cup of wine. The sharp liquid took the edge off his anger a little. "Why did you do it? Why in all the world did you pick a fight with him?"

"If he's got a problem with anybody, it'll be me," Ullsaard said placidly. "You've got nothing to worry about."

"Oh, I do, I really do. I was in the room with you, for Askhos's sake. I thought I'd got away with being here against Aalun's wishes, but you've made sure he'll find out. Nemtun will be sending a message to Askh right now; telling the king and his sons about how you've insulted one of the Blood, one of the king's appointed governors. They really don't like that sort of thing."

"Psh! Lutaar despises his brother for his behaviour of these last years, and surely if Aalun held him in any regard he wouldn't have told you to avoid him. Believe me; Nemtun has fewer friends in court than I do."

"It's not about Nemtun, it's about the dignity of the Blood." Noran slammed the cup down on the low table and glared at Ullsaard. "They can't let people go around insulting members of the Blood and getting away with it. They'll have to punish you to maintain respect."

"What can they do?" Ullsaard said with a shrug. "I'm already campaigning in the arse end of nowhere; it isn't like they can send me anywhere worse. And if they want me to take my chances on the bloodfield, I'm more than happy."

"It's a matter of the Blood, and that means the Brotherhood will get involved," Noran said. He shook his head in exasperation. "They don't send you on shitty garrison duties or make you prove your mettle on the bloodfield. They've got much nastier ways of punishing folks. They could name you as an enemy of the empire, take your family away, cut off your balls and then have you strangled."

"I think you're overreacting…"

"Yes? Tell me that again when you're a ball-less, family-less man being strangled to death."

Ullsaard laughed so hard that Noran couldn't stop himself from smiling.

"What? What's so funny?" said the herald.

"You are. All of your concern isn't for me, it's for you. You've got far more to lose than I have. It's you without bollocks that worries you."

"That's not true! We've been good friends for most of our lives, I wouldn't want to see you ruined because of a stupid outburst."

"It's done now, so we'll just have to see what happens," said Ullsaard, gesturing to the stoppered jugs of wine. Noran sullenly tossed one over to him. "You could apologise," suggested the herald.

"Not a chance!" Ullsaard pulled free the stopper and drank directly from the jug, a trickle of wine staining his tunic. "If Nemtun senses weakness, he'll go in for the kill. At the moment, he's wondering whether I'm going to call him out. He's probably just as distressed as you about the matter. He knows I'm on good terms with Aalun and Cosuas, and is probably worried about what I might say about him."

Noran crossed the room and took the jug from Ullsaard, swigging a mouthful of wine as he sat down next to his friend.

"You know, if I'm going to get fucked on this, I'm not going to let you forget it."

Ullsaard retrieved the wine and slurped a mouthful.

"It'll be a sad day for Greater Askhor if two fine upstanding citizens like us get fucked for speaking our minds."

Noran shook his head at Ullsaard's naivete but said nothing. They shared the wine for some time, leaving three empty jugs on the floor, and Noran began to feel sleepy. He was about to excuse himself and send for a servant to take Ullsaard to his chambers when the general turned a bleary but accusing gaze on Noran.

"You brought up Kalmud first!" Ullsaard exclaimed.

"What do you mean?"

"With Nemtun. You didn't want him finding out about Kalmud's illness, but you were the first one to mention it. Why'd you do that?"

Noran smiled smugly and winked.

"I figured that Nemtun just had to know something already. Kalmud came through Geria and, by fair or foul means, Nemtun would have found out. Or found out something, even if it wasn't the whole truth. You know, I'm sure someone would have lied to him about it, put him off track. By being open about it, I pretended there was no secret about Kalmud, so there was no reason for Nemtun to suspect anything he had already heard. That way, I could work out what lie, if any, he'd already been told. Simple."

Ullsaard scratched his bearded chin and his eyes glazed over for a moment before he focussed again. "What lie?" "Did he seem all that concerned to you?"

"No. He was very calm about the whole thing; more interested in trying to relive his glory days."

"Exactly. Nemtun clearly knows that Kalmud is ill, but it looks like he doesn't know quite how ill he is. He's happy to stay out of the matter because he thinks Kalmud will be back on his feet soon enough. Why make him think anything else?"

Ullsaard nodded sagely, eyelids drooping. He squinted at the almost-empty jug.

"That's strong stuff; we should probably have watered it."

Noran suppressed a heavy yawn and silently agreed. He stood up uncertainly and patted Ullsaard on the shoulder.

"Someone will show you to your rooms when you're ready. I'll see you bright and early."

V

While Ullsaard and Noran slept the heavy sleep of the drunken, Erlaan stared into a camp fire, not far from the duskward bank of the Greenwater. He was alone — except for two Maasrites — and was depressed. He grabbed pinches of dirt from between his legs and flicked them at the flames.

"I'm glad Noran suggested I not stay in Geria," the prince said. The tongueless servants looked across to him from where they were preparing his bedding, their bald heads reflecting the glow of the flames. "The last thing my father or grandfather need at the moment is Nemtun raging around the palace making trouble."

The two Maasrites — Keaila and Aminea — nodded sympathetically and returned to their chore. Erlaan didn't notice and continued talking softly.

"He trained my father and uncle in generalship, you know? I think that's why they both agreed I should learn from Cosuas and Ullsaard; didn't want me to suffer whatever it was they had to go through."

The servants exchanged a knowing look and glanced with mock pity at the Prince of the Blood. Erlaan was still looking at the dancing red and orange of the fire.

"I'm still not sure why I need to learn to be a general," he muttered, grabbing a fistful of dry earth. He let it trickle through his fingers. "When I'm king, I'll have generals to lead legions for me."

Concealed from Erlaan's view, Aminea's fingers flickered in secret sign language, "King one day?" Keaila gave a slight shrug and softly shook his head in disappointment. They shared a smirk while they plumped up the prince's feather-filled pillows.

"It isn't as if a king since Askhos has actually led a legion. A king's far too valuable to risk on a battlefield." The prince considered this realisation for a while. "When you think about it, surely an heir is as valuable as a king? I'm a king-to-be. If anything happens to me before I have an heir… I really should do something about that. Find some wives. The sooner the better, in fact."

Erlaan sat deep in thought, drawing circles in the dirt with his booted toe.

"I'll speak to my father when we reach Askh. I'm sure he and my mothers have already lined up some likely candidates for me to think about, that's the sort of thing parents do. Askhan, obviously. Pure families. Dark-haired and dark-eyed beauties, with any luck. Three would be nice; one my age and a couple a little older. They say experienced women make the best wives. Full breasts too, and hips you can grab onto without worrying about breaking them. Good for breeding and good for bedding. Hmm, I think that was one of Nemtun's sayings. Perhaps I should go for small tits and thin hips to spite him."

Erlaan sighed long and deep. Thinking about women was giving him an erection. He absentmindedly rubbed his crotch through his tunic.

"I haven't been with a woman since the winter," complained Erlaan. Out of the prince's sight, the Maasrites exchanged alarmed glances and pointed at each other insistently. "It's a shame Ullsaard doesn't have any maidservants. Hopefully my balls won't burst before I get back to Askh."

The Maasrites breathed quiet sighs of relief and ducked out from under the awning that would serve as the prince's shelter for the night. Erlaan looked up at their approach.

"We need to be ready to leave by dawn," he said. The Maasrites nodded in understanding. General Ullsaard had been quite specific with his instructions. "Wake me up at the start of Dawnwatch."

The Maasrites patiently nodded again and followed the prince to his mattress, quickly helping him undress. When he was under the blanket, head sunk into the pillow, they turned away and shared a conspiratorial smile. As they tidied the camp, Erlaan began to grunt quietly with pleasure. They kept their gazes away from his tent.

"Wanker," signed Aminea. The other Maasrite bit his knuckle to suppress a laugh and they headed to their rough pallets, sneaking a jug of fiery Enairian spirit from their packs. They took a swig each and giggled quietly as panting began to sound from Erlaan's bed.

"Not a lot," Keaila signed. "Early start."

Aminea nodded, took one more mouthful and stashed the liquor. The frenetic sounds of self-pleasure from Erlaan died down. The two mute servants looked past the guttering fire and saw the prince burying himself deeper into the bedding.

"You wash sheet in morning," Keaila signed to his friend.

"Fuck you," Aminea signed back with a grin.