The Crown of blood

II

Forty-seven days of hard marching brought Ullsaard back to the Askhor Gap and the Wall. He could have reached the border sooner, but had chosen to avoid the main road along the Greenwater, instead heading almost directly coldwards from Mekha before turning dawnwards to cross the Greenwater between Paalun and Narun. They had entered the foothills of the Askhor Mountains and marched coldwards again, coming upon the Askhor Gap across a wide ridge that extended out to duskwards from the foot of the mountains.

Ullsaard's feelings on seeing the Wall were mixed, just as they had been in the summer. Beyond was Askh, which held the key to his future, for good or bad. From his vantage point he stared across the flat plain of the Askhor Gap and saw nothing amiss. Lines of carts moved along the road, meaning that the gate was open. If Lutaar had suspected anything, he would surely have closed the gate and stopped Ullsaard from approaching the city.

Feeling a little more confident, Ullsaard summoned his First Captains. He tried hard to keep any sign of his nerves from his demeanour, hoping to exude confidence and make his subordinates believe that they were perfectly entitled to march into Askhor whenever they pleased.

"I'm going to split the column once we are through the gate," he told them. "Donar, I want the Fifth to make their camp ten miles inside the gate. There's a large hill hotwards of the road that you should use. The rest of the legions are coming with me to Askh. We should be there in two days' time. We'll set up camp and I'll go to the city."

"Wouldn't it be easier to keep the legions outside the Wall rather than marching them in and back out again?" asked Jutiil.

"Winter's almost here," Ullsaard replied. "We'll not be going anywhere until spring, so we might as well enjoy the shelter of Askhor."

There were nods of agreement. Ullsaard sent the commanders back to their legions and pulled himself up onto Blackfang's back. He sat there for some time while the order of march was barked out to the companies. He stared at the Wall, arms crossed, part of him dreading that the gates would be closed against him when he approached; part of him hoping for the same thing because that would mean it wasn't his fault if he turned around and headed back to Mekha.

Ten abreast, the army wound down the side of the ridge towards the road. Seeing the approaching legions, bearing their polished icons, crests on their helms, shields gleaming, the people on the road made way, beating their abada to pull their carts out into the fields, shooing families from the legionnaires' path.

Ullsaard smiled to himself, pleased with the conduct of his men. As he rode along their lines he saw that were all in step, spears held rigid, backs straight. They knew they marched into Askhor, many of them for the first time. He could feel pride emanating from rank after rank, their footfalls a thunderous beat as they headed for the gate.

Ahead the gatehouse loomed across the road, still open to traffic. Ullsaard saw men gathering on the ramparts, their speartips shining against the overcast sky. For a moment he thought they were mustering to defend the gate and he reined Blackfang to a halt, suddenly terrified. He expected to hear the splashing of water and grinding of gears at any time; to see the square of light between the towers narrow and disappear.

Anasind fell out from his company and approached, marching stiffly across the road.

"I guess they want to see what real soldiers look like, eh?" he said, looking towards the Wall.

"I think you guess right," replied Ullsaard, hiding his relief when the standards of the vanguard passed into the shadow of the gatehouse without incident. "Not since Nemtun's triumphs have these walls seen legions returning from battle."

"Do you think we'll be receiving honours, General?" asked Anasind.

"What's that?"

"I know you've been quiet about why we've come here, but we think we know what you're up to, General."

"You do?" Ullsaard studied Anasind's face for some sign of disapproval. There was none. "And what do you think that is?"

"You've organised us city honours, we reckon. You know, like legions used to get after a conquest."

Ullsaard remembered the tradition, though no city parade had been held in more than twenty years. Victorious legions were granted leave to enter the city, march along the Royal Way, circle the palace and leave. At the palace, the king would hang honours on the standards of the legions, which would be carried proudly for the rest of their existence.

Honours were the last thing Ullsaard expected from Lutaar, though perhaps next year if they did well in Salphoria the king would recognise their efforts.

"We'll see," Ullsaard told Anasind. The First Captain winked knowingly and headed back to his subordinates.

With mixed hope and fear, Ullsaard urged Blackfang into a trot and headed towards the gate.