The Crown of blood

III

The shrine gardens had become the regular haunt of Noran and the rest of Ullsaard's infiltrators. Most days, the noble could be found sitting in the overgrown park at the centre of Magilnada, talking to one or more of his conspirators. While they swapped information regarding the city, the people of Magilnada went about their business, leaving small sacrifices or paying homage at the small altars dotted around the gardens, each dedicated to one spirit or another.

Thirty days had passed since Noran had entered the city, and he was now one of a hundred and fifty of Ullsaard's followers tasked with spying on the Magilnadans. Every few days, one of them would leave with a short report penned by Noran and another would return several days later with requests and questions from the general: asking about the dispositions of the guards; their numbers and equipment; names of prominent locals and chieftains; locations of barracks and armouries; sentry rotations; standards of alertness and discipline. Noran gathered all of this through the network of followers in the city, and through the odd bribe or conversation with locals.

On this particular day, Noran met with Gelthius again. The ex-debtor had secured himself a position in the craftsmen's league, on the back of his experience as a cobbler. In the short time he had been in the city, Gelthius had learnt the names of the most important tradesmen and the supplies they provided to Magilnada's chieftains and warriors. Today he had nothing new to report, and was about to leave when Noran told him to stay.

"What do you think our chances are?" said Noran. "You are a Salphor, you know how these people are likely to react once we take over."

"The men I talk to won't care one way or other," said Gelthius, sitting on the wooden bench beside Noran. He kept his voice low, nervous of the people walking past just a few paces away. "In fact, if the general comes in and starts buying up gear and such, they'll be happy. Magilnada's always been a strange place. These people are from all over — Ersuans, Salphors, hill folk, Anrairians. It's a place unto itself and I don't think they're bothered by who sits in the lord's hall."

He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder towards the artificial hill that rose up beneath the cliff behind Magilnada, where the largest houses and richest inhabitants of the city could be found.

"Salphoria ain't one people, besides," Gelthius continued. "I'm Linghar, then there's the Hadril, the Cannin, the Vestil, the Hannaghian, all sorts. You call us all Salphors, but Salphoria's just the land we live in, it ain't who we are. The king's just the most powerful chieftain, nobody special."

"What are you talking about?" asked Noran.

"I heard things in the camp," admitted Gelthius. "This ain't about Magilnada. The general's promised his men the chance to have a go at Salphoria. They're all excited about it, which is why they've stayed. All I'm saying is, even if you beat the king, it don't mean all the Salphorian tribes'll just fall into line. Same's true here. If you get the chiefs on your side, the city's yours. If they decide to make a fight of it, it could get dirty.

"The tribes fight amongst themselves three days out of four, but if you lot march in and start telling everyone what to do, that's a sure way to get them to join forces. I hope the general's got plenty of gold to throw around, that's all, cause that'll get him the city surer than any number of spears."

Noran smiled.

"Gold that is offered at spearpoint tends to have a brighter gleam, though," he said. "It will be harder for these chieftains of yours to negotiate with a few thousand legionnaires staring at them."

Gelthius shook his head and sighed.

"What?" asked Noran. "What is the matter with that?"

"You ain't heard what I said," Gelthius told him. "If rebels take over Magilnada, or some rival chieftain gets rich enough to stake his claim, the tribes wouldn't give two rotten apples for it. But if you Askhans start sticking your golden faces all over the walls and prancing about like you own the place, that's the best way to get them angry and fighting together. Magilnada's part of the Free Country, which means it's fair game for any Salphorian tribe — for everyone 'cept the Askhans. Your kings made an agreement, and breaking promises is a sure way to make the tribes hate you even more."

Noran considered this opinion with a frown.

"We cannot start a war in Salphoria," he said. "Not until everything back in Askh has been smoothed out."

He stood up, and Gelthius did likewise. Noran was clearly agitated and he glanced around the gardens with a faint look of distaste.

"I think I have to make some suggestions to your general. If he comes in here with his full legions, he will be starting something he cannot finish yet." Noran clasped Gelthius's shoulder briefly. "Thank you. You have been a great help."

As he watched the Askhan stride off through the gardens, Gelthius was left wondering just how much help he wanted to be. It had been one thing to join up with the rebels; he had never really believed they had a chance of taking the city. It was another matter to hand the city over to Askhans. Askhans, he thought, that wanted to use the city as a position to launch attacks on the Salphorian tribes.

Troubled by his conflicting allegiances and expectations, he wandered through the long grass and leafless bushes until he found the shrine to the spirit of justice. It was a low, broad slab underneath the naked branches of a short, twisted tree. The stone was covered with coins of low value, stubs of candles and dishes of smouldering leaves that gave off a sweet odour. Thin strips of material hung from the tree limbs, covered with writing that Gelthius could not read — the invocations of petitioners scrawled by the shrine's priestess. She sat on one of the tree's roots, an old woman, her eyes bound with rags. She turned her craggy face towards Gelthius as he walked across the mat of rotting leaves.

"The spirit of justice calls out to you," she crooned. "Make your offering and let it guide your hand and your words."

Gelthius looked at the shrine, tapping a finger on the pouch of coins given to him by General Ullsaard. He saw the rags on the branches waving in the wind and wondered how many favours the spirit of justice had granted people over the years, and how many they had ignored no matter how great the sacrifice to them was. He thought about his own life — the years lost aboard Anglhan's landship — and realised that the spirits, of justice and everything else, had abandoned him a long time ago. The Askhans did well enough without them, perhaps it was time he looked to a different power to look after him; the power of the Crown and the Blood, the power of the legions.

"Not today," Gelthius said, and walked away.