The Crown of the Conqueror

I

The Salphorian settlement was nothing more than forty or so round stone huts with straw roofs. A wooden palisade surrounded the village, but there were no towers or ramparts from which the wall could be defended. Several hundred warriors had drawn up outside the palisade, gathering in unruly groups each a few dozen strong. They wore patterned woollen trousers and jerkins, carried axes and spears and bore shields of stiffened leather painted with animal faces, crossed swords, lightning bolts and many other designs.

On the hillside meadows around the village cattle and sheep wandered untended, oblivious to the six thousand Askhan legionnaires poised at the top of the hill overlooking the scene.

Ullsaard flapped at the flies buzzing into his face as he looked down the river valley leading to the village. Blackfang twitched her ears and tail as the midges pestered her, but was otherwise placid enough.

Ullsaard felt good today. Atop his ailur, the Thirteenth behind him and an enemy in front, the world had become simple again. He had left Magilnada after only a few days. Not left, but fled. Fled from his family. The haunting presence of Askhos inside had driven Ullsaard to distraction, and it was clear that his reticence to spend time with his family was upsetting them, especially Allenya, Meliu and Ullnaar.

Thinking that he was doing more harm than good by staying, Ullsaard had quit the city, joined up with his favoured Thirteenth to march duskwards into Salphoria. He knew he was looking for a fight; he hoped some violence would expel the confusion and frustration that had dogged him since he had taken up the Crown.

The king glanced up at the morning sun, guessing that the time was roughly an hour before Noonwatch. His scouts had found the village during the night and at first light the legion had broken camp and marched downstream. A small group of men detached from the other fighters and started up the hill towards him, a small cloth banner held up by one of them.

"Here comes their leader," said Anasind, standing beside the king.

Ullsaard said nothing as he watched the deputation hurrying up the hill. The eldest looked younger than Ullsaard, perhaps forty years old at the most. He wore a wreath of red-veined leaves around a thick bush of greying black hair, and a drooping beard and moustaches covered most of his face. His eyes roamed along the lines of stern-faced legionnaires and fluttered around for a moment before they settled Ullsaard.

"We no fight," said the man, bending to one knee. His broken Askhan was hard to understand, guttural and slurred. "We no fight."

Ullsaard shrugged and dismounted, tossing Blackfang's reins to an orderly. He walked a few paces until he was within arm's reach of the Salphorian delegation.

"You have no choice," he said.

The Salphors gathered around their leader, all talking at the same time. Ullsaard understood very little of what was being said, and did not pay much attention.

"No fight, no burning, no kill," said the spokesman.

"Where are your elders?" said Anasind. "Who is your chieftain?"

"I chieftain," the man said.

"No, you're not," said Ullsaard. He grabbed the man's jerkin and hauled him to his chest. There was fear and confusion in the Salphor's eyes, and he looked to his companions for help.

"Give meat!" one of them cried out. He pointed to the livestock on the pasture. "No fight, give you meat."

"Women!" said another, looking at the legionnaires. "Nice women, yes? No fight."

"Did you just call my soldiers a bunch of women?" said Ullsaard.

"No, no, no!" The self-appointed leader vigorously waved his hands in answer to the accusation. "Take our women. Our women good. Fuck lots, cook good."

Anasind and Ullsaard looked at each other. The First Captain shrugged.

"Best offer I've had in a while," he said.

Ullsaard folded his arms and glowered down at the Salphors.

"I didn't come here for your women, or your meat," said the king. "I want your land. You are Askhans now. Swear loyalty to me."

The spokesman cringed at the suggestion and shrank back towards his companions.

"No, cannot do that," he said. "Not take our lands."

He stepped towards Ullsaard with a pleading hand outstretched, but the king slapped it away.

"Swear your oath to me!" Ullsaard snarled. "Where is your chieftain? Why is he not here?"

The group shook their heads and muttered to each other, but said nothing to Ullsaard.

"It's the same as the last town," said Anasind. "He must have answered Aegenuis's summons as well."

"Too bad for him," said Ullsaard. "He'll not have a home to come back to."

The king turned his back on the Salphors and strode back to Blackfang. Swinging into the saddle, he unhooked his shield and pulled out his sword. Roused by the familiar noise, the ailur grew restless, swishing her tail and baring her teeth, ears flatted against the bronze of her masked chamfron. Ullsaard sat there staring at the Salphors.

Realisation that Ullsaard did not want their surrender dawned on the delegation. To their credit, they responded by standing straighter, puffing out their chests and matching his stare. As he watched the men stride stiffly back towards their village, Ullsaard wondered how much their fawning had been an act, or if the courage they were showing now was bravado. Everything he had heard before had put in his mind the idea that the Salphorian tribes were fierce and proud, and unlikely to surrender meekly.

For a moment, he considered halting the attack. Slaughtering a few hundred Salphors would do little to speed his conquest.

"What are your orders, king?" asked Anasind. "Shall I signal the advance?"

Ullsaard looked at the First Captain and back at the Salphors. He swung a leg and dropped off the back of Blackfang, tossing the reins to Anasind.

"I'll do it myself," said the king. He sheathed his sword and pulled free his spear from behind the ailur's saddle. "I wouldn't want to get out of practice."