The Crown of the Conqueror

III

Only the drip of the water clock disturbed the silence within the mausoleum-like bowels of the Grand Precincts. Consisting of two bowls set one above the other, the clock sat on the table in the chamber of the High Brother.

Lakhyri stared at the drops of water as they fell, his golden eyes following each from the top bowl to the second. It intrigued and irked him in equal measure, this passing of time, the slow wearing of mortality and entropy. In the Temple he was immortal; here in the world every passing drip was a passing moment of his life. It did not wear on him heavily, but was a slow erosion of his existence like the wind wearing down a mountaintop. The runes carved into his flesh itched, leeching life-giving power from the thousands of small creatures and insects that infested the deserted Grand Precincts, sustaining him with their tiny contributions of force.

He dismissed thoughts of time and turned his mind to more pressing matters. Erlaan was installed as the new figurehead of the Mekhani. He was under instruction to begin a more concerted campaign against Okhar before the end of the year. The situation in Salphoria was confusing to the high priest. He could fathom no reason why Ullsaard had stalled his advance so swiftly. By Lakhyri's calculation, the king should have been smashing down the gates of Carantathi by the end of the summer.

Lakhyri wondered if he had moved too soon. Had encouraging the Mekhani distracted Ullsaard from his campaign? It seemed unlikely. The raids had been carefully planned to add impetus to the king's war, not delay it. Ullsaard was meant to crush Salphoria swiftly so that he could return to deal with the Mekhani attacks. Instead, he had called a halt to his conquest and returned to Askh.

Like many things of late, it perturbed Lakhyri that matters were progressing in ways he had not foreseen. Ullsaard was so unpredictable. Other men, even his brother Askhos, had been simple to manipulate; acting and reacting in ways that had been laid out in Lakhyri's mind like a map. This new king, he caused problems. He was an anomaly. He should never have been born. From that moment, things had started to go awry, even if the full extent of his deviation from the great plan of Lakhyri was not yet fully known.

The high priest reined back his thoughts from such amorphous speculation. He had to focus. The dripping of the water clock rang loudly in his ears, reminding him that the eulanui were losing patience. He could not allow himself to be distracted by the longer consequences of what had gone wrong. The empire had to be complete. Ullsaard needed to conquer Salphoria. At the moment of Ullsaard's triumph, Erlaan would sweep hotwards with his Mekhani horde and take over Greater Askhor, thus uniting the new empire of Askh with the ancient realm of Mekha. As foretold, a single king would rule all of the lands between the seas.

And when that happened…

A gong echoed along the corridors. For a moment, Lakhyri thought that he was back in the Temple, hearing the call to prayer. The moment passed and as the gong sounded twice and thrice, he realised what was happening. The lingering presence of Udaan stirred in a corner of the body Lakhyri had stolen from the High Brother and the meaning of the three gong notes became clear.

The new king was paying a visit.

He picked up the silver mask lying next to the water clock and pulled its straps over his head. Lifting up the hood of his robe, Lakhyri stood, mind abuzz with concerns at this development.

With long strides, he navigated his way along the corridors and halls until he came to the large double doors of the Grand Precinct's main portal. Pulling a rope, he activated a series of counterweights. The doors ground inwards, sweeping two arcs through the dust that had settled on the stone floor.

Morning light streamed inside, silhouetting a large man stood with legs braced apart, arms folded across a muscled chest. He was dressed in a simple tunic and kilt. Lakhyri noted with interest that he did not wear the Crown, and there was no sword at his waist.

So this was Ullsaard, who had stolen the Crown of the Blood. Lakhyri measured up the man in an instant. Physically powerful, self-confident, ingrained with the assumption of command. Prideful. He had come here unarmed, which showed that he was either arrogant or naive. Lakhyri detected the singular presence of the Blood, lingering beneath the surface of the man.

Remembering that he currently played the part of the High Brother, Lakhyri dropped to one knee, eyes locked on the newcomer.

"Welcome, King Ullsaard, to the Grand Precincts of the Brotherhood."