The Crown of the Conqueror

II

The chipping of the mason's chisel rang coldly from the marble walls and floor. Ullsaard sat alone at the end of the Hall of Askhos, lounging in a large, plain chair of black wood. Around him had been carved the names of the fallen, those who had given their lives for the glory of Askhor since the founding of the First Legion. Line after line of tiny script named more than two hundred thousand casualties of Askhor's wars. There were so many that the walls were nearly half-filled.

Ullsaard had only come here once before, during his investiture as a general of the empire. He had read some of the names, wondered about the men they represented. Several thousand were simply listed as 'Legionnaire of the Empire'; these came in blocks signifying the few defeats sufficiently disastrous that the dead could not be distinguished from the deserter.

Had they been brave or cowards? Had they died on the field, from their injuries, or swiftly despatched by their companions to ease their suffering? The weight of so many dead was a terrible burden, and the knowledge that the names being constantly added were now Ullsaard's responsibility was heavy on his shoulders. As a commander, he had led men to their deaths for the ambitions of others. As king, it was his ambition that waged bloody war.

That was the point, Askhos told him. Since returning to the capital, and closer proximity to the Crown, the dead king had been a constant presence in Ullsaard's thoughts. A leader of men must ask others to sacrifice their lives for his cause, but he should never treat their deaths cheaply nor allow their deeds to go unrecorded.

Ullsaard said nothing. He was tired. He had slept little, fearful of Askhos's influence, retiring to his bed only when he was so exhausted he fell into dreamless sleep. He was fatigued from a day of dealing with dignitaries and petitioners; of having to tell the great and the good of Askh that the war in Salphoria was not progressing well and that the expenses they had incurred would not be recouped for a considerable time. He had chosen this place for his audiences to remind the nobles and the merchants, the bankers and the fleet captains, of the price others were paying for the campaign. Some had been moved by the sombre memorial; many had been so self-absorbed they had barely considered their surroundings as they whined about the money they were losing.

Ullsaard's thoughts turned to the Crown. It was locked in the palace vaults along with the dwindling treasures of the king. He did not know whether it was the presence of Askhos or his own fear that prevented him from wearing it, but its absence from his brow had been remarked upon more than once since he had returned.

"Leave me," Ullsaard called out to the mason. The wiry man nodded, packed his chisel and padded mallet into his belt and clambered down the scaffold on which he had been sitting. When he was gone, Ullsaard addressed Askhos.

"I can't deal with the situation in Magilnada and the Mekhani at the same time. The treasury is almost empty, and the nobles will not be putting up any more money for the campaign any time soon. Tax revenues are low, and slow to come in. I'm paying legions in Salphoria to stand idle. Anglhan is strangling trade through the Magilnada gap. I had hoped to hire some Nemurians to bolster the armies, but there is not the money for more than a handful. I thought the resources of the empire were inexhaustible. It seems I was woefully wrong."

Are you asking for my advice, or simply complaining?

Ullsaard hesitated, kneading his knotted brow with his fingers.

"I need your help," he admitted. He sighed heavily. "There are so many decisions to make. Everyone has plenty of advice, but every piece comes with another demand for action, another choice to make."

You thought being king would be a mere matter of leading the armies to victory and everything else would fall into place?

Ullsaard grunted and slumped to one side, elbow on the arm of the chair.

"Maybe. I have a chancellor, governors, paymasters, engineers all filling my head with information, expecting me to make sense of it all."

You know the advice I would give.

"The Brotherhood." Ullsaard shook his head. "How can I trust them?"

You misjudge them, and their loyalty. The Brotherhood is dedicated to the success of the empire and not one man. Only one, the High Brother, knows the truth of my existence. With the line broken, you are the rightful king. The Brotherhood will ease away the many pains of rule, allowing you to concentrate on the matters that are truly im portant. I could not have founded the empire without them. Like you, I have no mind for figures and commerce, though I have picked up much strategy over the years. Do not carry burdens others are willing to bear for you.

Ullsaard sorrowfully shook his head and scratched at his chin.

"It's too late," he said. "I do not know how to start the rebuilding of the Brotherhood. Most of the Brothers fled, some are under house arrest, and I have several thousand of them under guard in a camp at Parmia. I don't know what to do with them, or how to start things moving again."

You are the king. There is still one right you have yet to exercise. Go the Grand Precincts and demand entry, as is your sole privilege.

"The Grand Precincts are as deserted as any of the others. My men had no response from within. The High Brother has fled, no doubt, with the rest of his cronies. No food or other supplies have passed into the building for more than a year; there's nobody in there."

The Grand Precinct is never deserted, Ullsaard. Have you gone yourself to the great door and demanded entry?

"No, why would I? The knock of one man is the same as any other."

You are not any other man, you are the king! You accept your respon sibilities with furrowed brow and sagging shoulders, but make no use of the rights that you possess. Go to the Grand Precincts. I will guide you.

The king considered this. There was no assurance that Askhos could be trusted; in fact, every reason to believe the opposite. Similarly, the Brotherhood was Askhos' tool, and had used every means they had to thwart Ullsaard's claim to the Crown. It was likely they would continue to resist his rule.

Your are wrong, Askhos interrupted his thoughts. The Brotherhood opposed you because you were a usurper and, as Lutaar, I instructed them to. You still act like a usurper, not a rightful king. Re establish the Brotherhood and command them as I did. Show the Brotherhood that you do not fear them, that you have every right to wear the Crown as any man that came before you. You think that the Broth erhood is inactive, simply because they do not carry out your bidding? Better to bring them back into the light of your gaze than leave them to foster their own plans in the shadows.

This last comment struck a chord with Ullsaard. In Askhira, with the burning of Ullsaard's fleet, the Brotherhood had demonstrated their power to work unseen. Even now they could be manipulating the people of the empire. Somewhere, Erlaan and Kalmud were still alive, and no doubt there were those amongst the Brotherhood who would see the previous line restored. Askhos was right. If Ullsaard was to be treated as a king, he had to act like one.

A bell chimed the second hour of Duskwatch. The thought of going to the Grand Precincts as darkness fell unsettled Ullsaard.

"I will sleep on the decision," he said, though the laughter of Askhos in Ullsaard's mind revealed that the dead king knew his true reasons for delaying until the light of morning.