The Crown of the Conqueror

Apartis, Salphoria

Summer, 212th year of Askh

The water jug was empty. Aegenuis placed it back on the table and sighed. He questioned again the counsel that had brought him here, to the most arid part of Salphoria, at the height of summer. It had seemed a wise decision at the time, to scatter the tribes ahead of the renewed Askhan advance, hiding in the mountains and forests; the Askhans would be mad to send any force of size into the scrub of Apartis. If the Askhans could not find their foes, they could not defeat them, or so had been the wisdom of his advisors. So it was that he was sat in a dead chieftain's ramshackle hall in a half-ruined town, seven thousand of his men drinking the meagre wells dry.

The Askhans' tenacity infuriated the Salphorian king. Half starved, assailed for three seasons by their foes, the Askhans had simply sat tight in their camps and waited. It was unnatural, the king had concluded. The Brotherhood must put something in their rations to make them so obedient. Thinking of the Brotherhood led Aegenuis's thoughts to Leraates, the Brother who had promised so much. Nothing had been seen of him since he had returned to the empire last winter. With the Askhan legions advancing dawnwards more quickly than last time, Aegenuis knew when he had lost an ally.

In fact, his list of allies was rapidly dwindling to none. It was obvious that Anglhan had failed in his bid to cut off the Askhan legions. Of the three dozen tribal leaders who had sworn new oaths of allegiance last summer, perhaps twenty were still alive and loyal; the others had thrown in their lot with the Askhans or simply vanished. Even those who still professed to follow Aegenuis, he could number on one hand those that he actually trusted.

He tipped jug to cup again, forgetting that there was no water. Frustrated, he hurled the ewer at the wall. Hearing the commotion, two servants hurried into the hall from the kitchens.

"More water!" Aegenuis bellowed at them.

"There is no more," one said while the other shrugged apologetically.

"Find some!"

The servants scurried away, darting anxious looks at their ruler before vanishing into the kitchens. Aegenuis's fists thumped onto the table as he leaned forward, bowing his head to his chest. Sweat dripped from his nose and brow, and matted his long hair and beard. He licked dry lips, trying to put aside his thirst so that he could think properly.

The main doors creaked open. Sunlight streamed into the hall to overwhelm the guttering light of the candles in the windowless hall. Several men entered, the first of them Aegenuis's son, Medorian. The other four, chieftains from the tribes of Apartis, followed Medorian into the hall, two of them dragging sacks behind them.

"What do you want?" said Aegenuis, lowering his head again, trying to ignore the ache inside it. "Close the door, it's too bright."

"These were found in an abandoned cart on the road to Alassan," said Medorian.

The two laden chieftains came forward with their burdens and placed the sacks before the empty fire pit. Another closed the doors, plunging the hall into gloom.

Aegenuis roused himself from the chair and went to the sacks.

"Look inside," said Medorian.

Pulling the cord tie on the closest sack, Aegenuis heaved up the bag to spill the contents onto the dusty floor. Heads bounced and rolled over the flags, causing the king to drop the sack and take two steps back. He leaned closer and saw that each had been branded on the forehead with the face of Askhos. In the dim light, he recognised some of the rotting faces.

"That's Serbicuis," he said, shocked by the sight. He looked at his son, who was nodding with a sour expression. "And Lassiun, and Ulghan. How many?"

"Eighteen chieftains," said Medorian. "Seven from Magilnada, the others from Free Country and the Altes Hills. Executed by the Askhans."

"I can see that!" snapped Aegenuis. "Do you know what this means?"

"That the Askhans are a bunch of sword-happy arseholes?" suggested Medorian.

"That Magilnada has fallen," replied the king. Medorian's smirk faded. "The new Askhan invasion, it's possible because they've taken Magilnada. Probably worse, judging by these poor bastards."

"Why did they leave them on the road?" asked Aghali, one of the tribal leaders. The short, scrawny man prodded the unopened sack with his foot. "Seems an odd thing to drop off the back of a cart."

"They were left for us to find, you idiot," said Medorian. "They're trying to intimidate us."

"They're not trying, they're succeeding," said Aegenuis, sitting himself on the bench alongside the main table. "It's not just chance that they left them here. They know where I am."

"Then why haven't they attacked?" This was from another chieftain, called Lastabruis. "These were found not more than a morning's walk away."

"Why do they have to attack?" said Aegenuis. "The whole point of being in this shithole is so that the Askhans do not know where we are. I wonder how many of the other armies have been discovered. Fuck, for all I know, everybody else is dead. There's no reason to attack, they don't think us a threat."

"That's where we prove them wrong," said Medorian, putting a foot up on the bench beside his father and leaning over him. "I've sent riders out to Caraghlin, Tanna, Gathluis, and a few others. With our warriors, that's nearly fifty thousand. They're going to meet us at the Hadric Mounds in twenty days."

"Well, that's nice," said Aegenuis, pushing his son's foot from the bench. "At least we'll spare the Askhans the trouble of finding us before they kill us. The Hadrics are at the heart of their advance."

"That's my plan!" said Medorian. "They won't expect us to be there. We'll hide in the wooded hills and wait for them to march on Carantathi and then attack from the rear."

Aegenuis laughed, and once he had started it took a supreme effort to stop. Medorian looked at him with a frown while he recovered from the fit.

"You think Ullsaard and his men are just going to walk past?" said the king. "They have scouts you know. Hiding fifty thousand warriors isn't like putting a coin in the bottom of your shoe. They tend to get noticed."

"Which is why we'll give the Askhans something else to look at," said Medorian, crossing his arms and looking like he had already won the victory. "The Casabha and Kighans are going to lure the Askhans on, make it look like part of a larger force falling back towards the city. Ullsaard won't be able to resist it. He'll set off after them, thinking he has us on the run and wanting to catch us before we reach the safety of our walls. He'll be looking ahead to that, not worrying what's behind."

Aegenuis tried hard to consider the plan on its merits, but it seemed pointless. It didn't make any difference. All of the tricks and ploys would not defeat the combined might of Askh. Even with Anglhan's duplicity and constant attacks from the tribes, the Askhans had not given a pace backwards. It was not a question of whether the Askhans would win, it was a question of when, and how many would die to delay that inevitable victory.

"No," said the king. He stood up and paced in front of his son and the chieftains. "I have a better plan, one that will not throw away the lives of thousands. Son, I have failed you, and for that I am sorry. I will be the last king of Salphoria. You must put aside your pride and come to terms with what I have been forced to accept. The Askhans will win."

"You cannot surrender," said Medorian. "Would you be remembered as a coward?"

"The memory of my rule has already been determined," said the king. "Some Askhan chronicler will note that the line of the Salphorian kings ended, and the rule of Askhos's descendants began. Whether I fight, or seek peace, that cannot be changed."

"So you must at least fight," insisted Medorian. "Do your lands, your people mean so little to you?"

"Does being king mean so much to you?" countered Aegenuis. He pointed to his war-helm, left at the end of the table. It was made of precious iron, rimmed with gold, its mask decorated with a silver wolf's face, a ruby set at its brow. "Take it, wear it, if you want to be king, for all the good it will do you."

"I will," said Medorian. He took a step towards the table, arm outstretched. "Our people deserve a leader that does not abandon them!"

Aegenuis grabbed Medorian's wrist and twisted, kicking at his ankle to send him tumbling to the ground. The young man struggled against his father, swinging and missing with a fist. Aegenuis twisted again, turning Medorian to his belly, and placed a knee in the small of his back.

"You do not deserve it!" hissed the king. "I suffered the same vanity as you. I killed my father, as you want to kill me right now. I thought I was great, a leader worthy of these lands. I have been proven wrong. I look to dawnwards and I see an empire that will crush us or swallow us, it cares not which. That empire was founded by another king, and his will has won over ours. We have fought for rulership, and built nothing. We spilled the blood of our own while Askhos's followers raised cities and armies that we cannot match."

Releasing his hold, the king stepped back.

"It is no great mystery," he continued, as Medorian rolled over and sat up. "The spirits have abandoned us. We are at the mercy of the Askhans and all we can choose now is to preserve those lives the spirits have entrusted to us with their passing. I'll not be responsible for the deaths of women and children born under my rule. Future generations may not remember me, but if they do, they will thank me for putting their prosperity above my pride."

Medorian snarled and sprang up, snatching a knife from his belt. Aegenuis easily slapped his son's arm aside and drove his forehead into Medorian's face, crushing his nose. The prince stumbled back, blood pouring onto his shirt.

"Take him!" Aegenuis called to the chieftains. For a moment they hesitated, but Aghali seized Medorian, ripping the dagger from his hand, and the others followed his lead, grabbing the king's son by the arms and neck. "I could have you slain on the spot for drawing a blade on me. However, I would not see my last act as king be the execution of my son. I killed my father and to this day I have not regretted it. You shall live, and reap the benefits of my mercy."

He waved the chieftains away, but then called for Aghali to stay when the group reached the door. When the others had gone, Aegenuis motioned for Aghali to sit beside him on the bench.

"Spread the word to any chieftain that will listen," said the king. "They are to offer no resistance to the Askhans. They are not to provoke them in any way. I will send word to Ullsaard himself and invite him to Carantathi. There I will hand him my crown, bow my knee to the Askhan king and offer him my throne. Do you understand?"

The old chieftain's eyes glimmered with tears. He grasped the king's shoulder and squeezed tight.

"I never had no love for you, nor your father," Aghali admitted. "Your son has the same failings. But if it means anything, I am happy to call you king now. There are those as won't like it at all, and the Askhans will deal with them in their way. But you are right, we can't fight no more. Let's not spill the blood of our children for land they will never own. The past is past. We need to bury it with our dead."

The two of them stood and gripped each other's arms in parting. Aegenuis walked with Aghali to the doors and stepped onto the street outside. The sun was bright overhead, the air dry on his skin. He felt as parched as the land, and had no tears to offer.

A group of warriors stood guard a short distance away, sheltering under a ragged awning. As Aghali walked away, the king turned to the men and called out.

"Send out the word to the camp. Find me someone that can write the words of the Askhans."

They signalled their compliance and Aegenuis returned to the hall to compose his letter to King Ullsaard of Greater Askhor, soon-to-be ruler of Salphoria.