The Crown of blood

II

Ullsaard continued to stare at the map, but no matter how long he looked at it, the situation never changed. If they moved further hotwards they would come too close to Parmia; dawnwards and coldwards put them closer to Nemtun, now camped no more than thirty miles away.

The only choice if Nemtun continued to advance would be duskwards, into the mountains. Ullsaard was desperate to avoid that. Keeping thirty thousand men and their baggage together was hard enough under the best circumstances; in the mountains it would be all but impossible to find somewhere to camp them all. He'd have to divide the legions, and that ran a greater risk of desertions and attack. There was the problem of the hillmen — an offshoot of the old Ersuan tribes that still had many villages in the mountain passes. An Askhan column and supplies might prove too tempting for them to ignore, even with the bad weather.

He studied the map yet again, wondering if they could double back on their route and head coldwards again, slipping between Nemtun and the Enairian coast. It was a possibility, and if such a plan worked, they would have the whole of Enair stretching dawnwards to move into.

But if Nemtun found out…

Ullsaard and Aalun's army would be trapped against the sea with nowhere left to run. They had no clear idea of the size of Nemtun's force, whether he still had Nemurians with him and how many, or of the quality of the troops they would face. Ullsaard had avoided a confrontation with Nemtun not because he was afraid of defeat, but because it would be yet another escalation from which they could not back down. Prince Aalun still hoped that he might come to some agreement with his father that would end hostilities in the spring.

Ullsaard's thoughts were broken by the stamping feet of the sentries outside the tent. He heard a brief exchange and Urikh entered, looking pleased.

"You've been gone a while," said Ullsaard, sitting down behind the map table. Urikh grabbed a chair and sat opposite his father. "I don't understand how you can think of business at a time like this."

"I have some good news, and it is all because of my business," said Urikh. "I have found somewhere to stick out the winter."

"Is that so? Where is this sanctuary?"

"In the mountains," said Urikh, planting a finger on the map.

"I've already considered that," Ullsaard replied. "It's a refuge of last resort."

"What if I told you that there was already a camp, which could house all of our men and baggage until the spring?"

"My men," said Ullsaard.

"What?"

"These legions are my men. Not ours. Don't get grand ideas."

"Are you interested in this camp or not?"

Ullsaard drummed his fingers on the table and studied his son. Urikh seemed genuinely excited by what he had to say, in stark contrast to his usual chilly disposition. No doubt this plan was not solely for Ullsaard and Aalun's benefit.

"All right," Ullsaard sighed. "Tell me."

So Urikh related the whole story; how he had been sponsoring Salphorian rebels to attack grain shipments coming past Magilnada to drive up the prices; how he had paid the hillmen to team up with those rebels for an attack on Magilnada in return for preferential trade; and how he now knew where the rebel camp was.

Ullsaard stared in disbelief as Urikh unveiled this plot, as casually as if he had been describing what he had eaten for breakfast.

"So, what do you think?" asked Urikh. "The rebels could easily accommodate us until spring."

"Wait just a fucking moment," Ullsaard snarled, surging to his feet, fists balled on the table. "By Askhos's giant prick, what do you think you've been doing? Are you trying to start a war with Salphoria?"

"Well, you are," Urikh snapped back.

"With the full support of the king and the whole fucking empire!"

"And how is that going, eh? Besides, I have the king's support. Half the damn loan I took was guaranteed by Lutaar."

Ullsaard slumped back in his chair, stunned.

"You've got a deal with Lutaar?" The general struggled to comprehend the implications of this revelation. "The king? The same man that currently wants to cut off my balls and feed them to me?"

"This started a long time before all of that happened," Urikh said calmly. "It was his idea, for the most part. He provided me with some extra money to cause trouble for the Salphors. He has his own plans for duskwards."

Urikh spread his hands and leaned back in his chair.

"You know, if Aalun hadn't twisted you into his own plotting, you might have been successful in asking for a campaign."

Ullsaard growled and grumbled wordlessly at the thought that Urikh was right. He thumped a fist onto the map.

"That still doesn't explain what in Askhos's name you thought you were doing, getting involved in something like this."

Urikh shook his head, stood up and took a few paces, wringing his hands in front of him. He spun back to face Ullsaard.

"Stop avoiding the issue with excuses," Urikh said. "The rebel camp; do you want to know where it is or not?"

"It's not just for me to decide," Ullsaard replied, pushing his concerns about Urikh's schemes to the back of his mind. "It is Aalun's decision as much as mine."

"Well, let's find the good prince and see what he thinks," said Urikh, heading for the door.

"Wait!" Ullsaard rose to his feet again. "I'll talk to the prince; you can stay here and wait for me."

"But…" Urikh said with a pleading expression.

In that moment, Ullsaard was reminded of the many occasions his son as a young boy had protested his innocence against some accusation or other, or had tried to persuade his father to allow him to do something that he had expressly forbidden. Urikh's scowl had never changed, nor his habit of squeezing his hands into tight fists when he was being denied. The years slipped away, and Ullsaard saw again the bright, conniving Urikh, shaped by Luia's scheming, craving his father's approval, yet showing him no respect.

"Urikh, listen to me," Ullsaard said sternly. The effect was instant; his son's hands dropped to his sides in surrender. "It is best if Aalun hears this from me, and the less he knows about your involvement, and his father's, the better it will be. Trust me, son."

Urikh flopped onto his chair with a reluctant nod, pouting, his hair falling across his face. Ullsaard bit back a laugh and patted his son on the shoulder as he walked past. As he reached the door, Ullsaard looked over his shoulder.

"And sit up straight; you're not some lazy fucking poet."