The Crown of the Conqueror

I

Smoke from lamps and the fire pit created a thin haze that wafted along the hall as arguing nobles shouted and gesticulated, creating eddies in the smog. The bleating goats in the yard outside made more sense to Aegenuis than the bleating of the chieftains in his hall.

The King of the Salphors leaned back in his throne, hands gripping the arms, and ignored the anarchy. He heard gnawing and looked down at his feet. One of his wolfhounds rasped teeth on a bone, head between the king's feet. He ruffled its ears affectionately, waiting for the storm of debate to blow itself out.

"Why do you just sit there and ignore us?"

Aegenuis glanced up to see his son, Medorian, standing in front of the throne. Twenty years old, Medorian had his father's dark red hair, rangy limbs and broad chest. He had the blue eyes of his mother and the down of hair on his cheeks was fairer than the greying bush that sprouted from the king's face. Most of all, it was the constant frown that marked Medorian out from his father.

The king sighed and returned his attention to the dog. The loudly exchanged growls and insults of the twenty chieftains washed over him, easily ignored. A bang of the main door and a sudden draft of air heralded a new arrival. Aegenuis looked up as the nobles parted, allowing Haegran to approach the king.

"The Askhans attacked the Vestil thirteen days ago," announced the chieftain. "Five tribes have fled into my lands since then. They cannot stay."

Aegenuis studied his cousin. There was no malice in his expression, only honest inquiry. Haegran genuinely believed that this was somehow not his problem.

"What am I going to do about it?" the king said quietly. The conversations subsided as the chieftains gathered around to hear their ruler. "Why do I need to do anything about it? I have told you what you have to do, but you will not listen."

The Salphorian king stood up, throwing off his cloak of dyed lion skin to reveal a vest of bronze mail and tautly muscled arms tattooed with red ink. Heavy gold bracelets hung on his wrists and silver rings adorned each of his remaining eight fingers. The clay bindings of beard braids clinked together as Aegenuis took a pace towards his subjects.

"I warned you that the Askhans were too many to fight," he said, patting a hand on Haegran's shoulder. "I warned this council that no tribe or people were strong enough to resist this onslaught alone."

"And the council voted against you," said Linghal, chief of the Hadril tribes. The youthful chieftain pushed his way through the crowd. "It would be an affront to the spirits of our ancestors to give our warriors to you. We were right. The Vatarti had pushed the Askhans back beyond the Laemin River, and the Menaeni defeated a legion only forty days ago."

"Only you would use a time like this to try to grab our lands, Aegenuis," said Liradin, ruler of the Cannin who had taken the first brunt of the Askhan attack. "Where were your warriors and promises when my hall was being burned?"

Aegenuis shrugged, walked to the table and picked up a jug of beer. He took a mouthful, drinking slowly.

"You should take that up with the Askhans," said the king.

Complaints broke out immediately, accusations hurled at Aegenuis from every direction. The shattering of the jug on the tiled floor silenced them all.

"I warned you!" roared Aegenuis. "I told you that Magilnada was just the start, but you said I was scared of noises in the night. When that bastard Ullsaard openly declared his occupation of the city, you gave me your excuses. 'He won't come to our lands', you said. You reminded me of the agreement with Lutaar, said the Askhans would respect the border of the Free Country. I told you that the Askhans were full of shit, and Ullsaard cares less about agreements than a cow cares about fly farts.

"Well, now Ullsaard is here and you still bicker like children about protecting your own lands, and keeping away from each other's towns. The Askhans don't care about your tribal boundaries, and I don't care either."

The king picked up another jug, took another swig and leaned back against the edge of the table.

"The Menaeni defeated a legion?" Aegenuis laughed, humour tinged with madness. He let a drop of ale drip from the spout of the jug onto the floor. "That's a legion. That's what we've beaten so far." He upended the jug, beer splashing the boots of the chieftains. The thump of the jug on the table was like the slamming of a tomb lid. "That's what's coming! Destroy a legion and they'll send two. Destroy two legions and Ullsaard will send four."

"So why do we fight at all?" said Medorian. He waved a hand at the chieftains. "Do you want to just give our lands to the Askhans, maybe? Are you that much of a coward?"

Aegenuis lunged at Medorian, fingers grasping for his son's throat. Medorian twisted away and scurried into the nobles. The king righted himself and glared at them.

"We cannot defend our lands apart, each to his own," Aegenuis said. "We must bring our warriors together, enough to face ten legions, and crush the Askhans when they come."

"Where?" demanded Linghal. "Would you defend Asdargil's lands with this great army while the Askhans make sport of Hadril women and enslave Hadril children?"

"So you would sacrifice my people instead?" Asdargil shouted at Linghal. "Just like a Hadril whoreson to think like that."

"At least we tried to fight," Linghal snapped back. "We didn't come running to the king like kicked dogs, whimpering for help."

"It was your tribes that took half our stores last winter, you old bastard," said Asdargil. "The Askhans came before the harvest, what else are we going to do? Starve to death so you can build higher walls around your homes using timber stolen from our forests?"

Accusation and counter-accusations engulfed the chieftains as old alliances and enmities sprang forth again. Aegenuis found another jug of beer and pushed his way through the jostling chieftains. He slumped back into this throne.

We're all going to be killed, he thought, and took another drink.