The Crown of blood

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Outnumbered by three to one, the commander of the Wall had chosen not to meet Ullsaard's army on the hills around the Wall, but had drawn in his entire garrison to the rampart and towers around that massive gatehouse. Though the majority of the war engines defending the Askhor Gap were pointed outwards, a few of the spear throwers had been dismounted from their positions and turned around to face inward. Kolubrid scouts had returned to report that only skeleton garrisons had been left to defend a few towers to coldwards and hotwards, no more than a thousand men out of the Wall captain's force.

Armed with this information, Ullsaard sent Donar coldwards with his Fifth Legion. They were to take possession of the Wall three miles coldwards and march along the rampart to the gatehouse. From the back of Blackfang, Ullsaard watched carefully as the Fifth's trumpets rang out signalling the advance and Donar's companies wheeled off to the right.

There was no movement in the gatehouse. Clearly Ullsaard's opponent was not willing to weaken his defence of the gate. Ullsaard wondered what he would do if he had been in his enemy's boots. It was not an enviable position. I'd probably have opened the gates and waved goodbye and good riddance, Ullsaard decided.

The air was filled with a fine drizzle of rain, the clouds low over the hills. Droplets dappled Ullsaard's armour and the bronze mask of his ailur. The wind was low, the company standards of his army hanging lank on their poles. With each passing hour, the footing was getting muddier, but the road was too narrow for all of the legions to attack along. All things considered, it was a miserable day for a battle, but things would get worse if they waited. Noran had reported no sightings of Nemtun or the Nemurians, but the lack of news did not comfort Ullsaard.

He despatched kolubrid messengers to his First Captains, telling them to prepare for the advance. Companies trotted into position around the general, their armour clinking dully in the rain, the shouts of the third captains distant and muffled.

The left wing was held by Jutiil and his Twelfth. Their orders were to swing left and draw some of the defenders towards the closest hotwards guard tower. To their right Ullsaard had positioned the Tenth under Rondin, their companies organised into broad phalanxes six men deep. On the far right of the line, now that Donar had departed on his mission, the Sixteenth held the flank. Ullsaard had saved the prestigious centre position for his own Thirteenth, standing in tight, square formations beside their general.

Ahead of them, a little under a mile away, stood the Wall. Ullsaard knew that it had not been designed to withstand attacks from the Askhor side, and the advantage of numbers was his, but nonetheless it would not be an easy task. The enemy had the advantage of their elevated positions and doubtlessly would have barricaded the tower stairs with whatever they could find to hold back Ullsaard's assault while they poured arrows and spears into their foes. Ullsaard had neither the equipment nor the inclination to force the gate itself. He had to take control of the gate mechanism and open the gate, and all his attention was focussed on that goal.

When he estimated that the Tenth would be close to beginning their assault, Ullsaard turned to his signalmen and raised a hand. They brought up their drumsticks as the rain pattered on the skins of their instruments.

Ullsaard dropped his hand and a long rolling drumbeat sounded across the army. Advance!

Ullsaard felt a growing dismay as not a single legionnaire stepped up. He twisted in his saddle and snapped at the musicians to signal the advance again. They did so, with equal effect.

The general looked for Anasind, and saw the First Captain of the Thirteenth running towards him, his staff officers trailing after.

"What the fuck is going on?" Ullsaard demanded once Anasind was in earshot.

"I don't know, General," the First Captain confessed. "The men are just ignoring the order. They don't look too happy. Should I have the company officers make a few examples?"

"That won't be needed," said Ullsaard, dismounting. He handed Blackfang's reins to an orderly and his spear to another. The ailur turned her head towards him, apparently confused by his absence. She sniffed the air and twitched her tail, sensing battle.

"What are you going to do?" asked Anasind, following behind Ullsaard as he strode towards the front rank of the Thirteenth.

"This isn't mutiny, it's uncertainty," Ullsaard said. "Let's just show the boys that we mean business."

The worried eyes of the legionnaires followed Ullsaard as he walked along the line just in front of the Thirteenth legion's front rank. He came to a stop a few paces from the first company, whose captain, Venuid, held the legion icon.

"I know you are not sure why you must fight today," Ullsaard said, his voice a shout that could be heard by the distant companies. "You wonder why we raise our spears against our fellow Askhans. The reasons are many and tedious. All you need know is that today we fight for our rights as soldiers and men. The king has refused to treat with us as the law demands, and he seeks to quell our spirit with threats of violence.

"It is not we that start this war, but King Lutaar, who refuses to acknowledge my rights, and through me, your rights. He would have us waste our time choking on dust and sand while his favourites earn rich spoils elsewhere. No more! I came here to demand what we are entitled to, but he will not even see me. Today we do not fight against the soldiers of a just ruler, but against the lackeys of a tyrant who ignores his own laws."

Ullsaard paced back and forth and saw anger on the faces of some of the men, but most were still confused. He would need to give them something more to fight for. He strode up to Venuid and took the Askhan icon from the captain's grasp. He held it up so that all of the Thirteenth could see it.

"This is the symbol of the Thirteenth!" Ullsaard roared. "I gave it to you when I raised you. On it, you swore oaths of loyalty, and you took the coin from my hand and the wisdom from my lips. You are my Thirteenth, who have been like brothers and sons to me. You have fought for me, bled for me, and died for me. Today I ask you to do that again."

Ullsaard stalked away from the line, still holding up the icon. He stopped about twenty paces from the front rank.

"Are you going to let your icon fall to this bunch of boys and dogs?" Ullsaard bellowed. "Are you going to let this rabble of pigfuckers kill your general?"

With that he turned away and marched along the road towards the gatehouse. He heard shouts of dismay and anger behind him. "Thirteen!" a voice cried out. He recognised it as Anasind. "Thirteen!" several thousand throats roared in response.

The legion advanced as one, splashing through the rain after their leader and standard. To their left and right, the other legions followed suit, none wanting to be shamed by the enthusiasm of their rivals.

Ullsaard heard a splash of sandaled feet behind. Venuid caught up with him, his round face split by a wide grin.

"I think I could carry that for you, General," said the captain.

Ullsaard thrust the icon back into Venuid's hands with a wink. The general stepped to one side to allow the first company to catch up with their captain. As they reached him, Ullsaard raised his shield above his head.

"Thirteen!" he cried and received the answering call.

"Thirteen!"