The Crown of blood

I

"What if they put up a fight?" asked Rondin.

"We kill them," said Ullsaard.

The general looked down the road winding through the foothills. The first caravan of the season headed towards Talladmun; more than thirty wagons laden with timber and ore, smelted bronze and quarried stone. There were probably three hundred people, perhaps more. Some of them pulled handcarts; others walked next to the wagons or rode on them. Ullsaard could see the covered carriages of the richest merchants, and the bodyguards that protected them. Most would be ex-legionnaires, drawn back to a violent life for any number of reasons. Here and there a Nemurian towered over the humans; no more than half a dozen, for which Ullsaard was thankful. His army, hidden just below the ridge behind him, numbered twenty thousand of his men and was more than a match for anything the mercenaries could offer, but Nemurians fought to the death if paid and would take a toll in Ullsaard's soldiers doing so.

He looked further dawnwards, towards the Nalanor border. He could see the rising sun glinting from the weapons and armour of Luamid's men, a detachment of five hundred that would close in on the rear of the caravan to stop any fleeing back towards Askh. "Let's show ourselves," said Ullsaard, raising a hand.

The hills came alive with the rustle of men moving, the jangle of armour, the thump of sandaled feet. As the first ranks of the legions came into view, hurried shouts from the lead wagons warned the rest of the caravan. Drivers pulled their abada to a stop and pointed towards the hills, at line after line of armed soldiers spread along the road.

While shock pulsed back through the caravan, a few groups tried to turn their wagons around. Carts became entangled with each other in the panic, while women started screaming and children wailed. A few cowardly souls broke altogether, leaping the ditch that flanked the road to sprint away across the hills on the other side. Ullsaard was happy for them to go; he wanted people to know what he was doing.

With the general leading the advance, the greater part of Ullsaard's legions marched down the ridge, descending on the caravan in a bronze, red and black wave ready to sweep away all in its way. Families clustered around the menfolk, while the unruly snorts of the abada and cries of other animals added to the commotion.

Ullsaard headed for a particularly elaborate covered wagon a little from the front of the line, judging it to belong to the caravan's master. The men who stood guard beside the wagon warily eyed the general and his bodyguard as the legionnaires drew up into a block just in front of them. A short, chubby man with heavy rings on his fingers and a few stray locks of hair plastered over his bald scalp peered nervously from under the canopy.

"Is this your caravan?" Ullsaard asked. The man nodded uncertainly, and climbed down from the wagon at a wave from the general.

"You're the renegades, aren't you?" the merchant said, gulping heavily with fright. "Are you going to kill us?"

"Not unless you want us to," replied Ullsaard. He looked up and down the line of wagons filling the road, while other traders approached cautiously to hear what was happening. "I'm buying all of your stock."

"You're… buying our stock?"

Ullsaard nodded and waved his men on. They climbed up onto the wagons, shoving drivers from their seats. There were fierce shouts from up ahead. A harassed-looking second captain came hurrying along the line and saluted Ullsaard.

"There's a man refusing to give us his wagons," the officer reported. "What should we do?"

"Kick his cunt in," said Ullsaard.

"General?"

"Rough him up, but don't kill him, that should stop trouble spreading," Ullsaard growled. The captain nodded in understanding and set off. Ullsaard turned his attention back to the caravan master. "We're not robbing you, unless you refuse to sell us what you have."

"You have money?"

"Of course," laughed Ullsaard. "Why wouldn't we?"

"I heard you were all starving in the mountains," said the merchant.

"Homeless vagabonds, that's what Nemtun called you lot," added another from a safe distance. "Cowards and traitors, too."

Cries of pain cut through the hubbub from the head of the caravan, punctuated by snarled curses and sounds of a thorough beating. A sobbing call for mercy ended with a snapping noise that caused the gathering merchants to wince in fear.

"We're doing you a service," said Ullsaard. The merchant captain cringed as the general leant an arm on the shorter man's shoulder and smiled. "You should know that Salphorian rebels and hillmen are running amok in the mountains coldwards of here. They would rob you; we won't. As long as you give us a fair price, of course."

"A fair price?" This came from a young man not far to Ullsaard's left. "What do you think is a fair price?"

Ullsaard straightened, strode over to the dissenting merchant and rested a hand on his sword.

"We'll start with your lives and work up from there, eh?" said the general with a pleasant smile. "But don't get too fussy, I have no stomach for haggling."

The youthful trader retreated a few steps and looked at his fellow merchants.

"They warned us about this!" he said. "I said we should have brought more men, but you were all worried about the cost. 'Shut up, Lenruun', you said. 'We can handle a gang of halfarsed ruffians', you all said. Look where that's got us. I hope you're Askhos-damned happy now, you bunch of misers!"

"And you're taking our wagons!" protested another voice from the crowd.

"We'll pay for those too," said Ullsaard. He pointed back along the road. "Leskhan is only two days' walking that way, stop complaining."

There was an impromptu conference amongst the senior merchants, whose heads bobbed and beards wagged as they discussed the situation. The caravan master approached Ullsaard, urged on by approving glances from his companions.

"All right, renegade," he said. "We'll give you everything at seventy sindins on the askharin. That's nearly a third of market value. That's a good price."

Ullsaard leisurely folded his arms and shook his head.

"Sixty?" offered the merchant.

Ullsaard looked over his shoulder towards a nearby phalanx of legionnaires. They booed and shook their heads. The general's gaze returned to the merchant, who sighed heavily.

"We can't go lower than fifty."

"Half price will be fine," Ullsaard said with a smile. "Pass the word to your men not to interfere, and make sure the Nemurians don't start anything. Take any personal belongings with you. I'm not paying for anything not on your ledgers."

The merchants gave reluctant nods and dispersed back to their wagons and families. Rondin approached Ullsaard, cocking an eye at the merchants.

"I still don't understand why we're paying for stuff we could just take," said the First Captain. "This lot wouldn't even make the boys break a sweat."

"We're going to need all the help we can get if we're to beat Nemtun and the king," Ullsaard said quietly. "The last thing we need is word spreading that we're murderous, thieving bastards. We forage what we can, pay for what we take and act like proper legions. Lutaar would love to paint us as lawless brigands, let's not give him the chance. Things are going to be difficult enough as it is without having to worry about every common man and woman in Greater Askhor hating us. If we get them on our side, we've half-won the war."

"And what's going to win the other half?" asked Rondin.

"We'll starve Anrair and Enair into submission, and then chop off Nemtun's head. That should do it." Ullsaard slapped a hand to Rondin's shoulder. "Let's get these wagons off to Anglhan before any of these idiots start having second thoughts."