The Crown of the Conqueror (7 page)

  "That's all I ask, my friend," said Anglhan. He raised his stylus. "Are we finished here?"

  Furlthia opened the door but stopped before stepping through. Once he left, he would be obliged to carry through his promise. When that happened, events would be set in motion that he knew he would not be able to control. Anglhan was a slippery creature, and no doubt there were plans and prizes in his mind beyond what he had asked for or offered. Could he be trusted? No. Could he inflict a lot of damage on the Askhans? Yes. For better or worse, and Furlthia really hoped it would be for the better, Anglhan would have a role to play in protecting Salphoria against the Askhan invasion.

  "Was there anything else?" Anglhan asked, peering at Furlthia over the top of a parchment sheet.

  Furlthia hated the smugness of the man. Every instinct was warning him that he had been lucky to escape his previous involvement with Anglhan and it was idiocy to get entangled with his schemes again. It wasn't just Furlthia's life that would be held in the balances, tens of thousands of Salphors would die in the coming war.

  Furlthia ducked out onto the gallery and shut the door behind him. It was a huge risk, but one that he had to take.

 

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."

 

Much to Ullsaard's annoyance, the Salphors withdrew into their settlement, perhaps hoping the wooden walls would give them some protection. He ordered the legion to encircle the village, two companies ready to storm the gate, the rest closing in on the walls. As the Thirteenth marched closer, arrows sailed out from the walls. The first inaccurate volleys did little to discourage Ullsaard; firing blindly over the walls was a waste of arrows.

  Coming closer, the fall of the arrows grew in intensity, concentrated on the companies approaching the gate. One of these was the first company, led by the king, and when he was less than two hundred paces from the village he saw that the wall was not as pointless as he had first thought. What had appeared at first to be haphazard gaps between staves poorly lashed together, were in fact murder holes for the defenders to shoot through. Though towers and rampart would have added to the range of the defenders' shots, with the Askhans determined to attack this proved no disadvantage.

  "Cunning bastards," muttered Venuid. Bearing the golden icon of the Thirteenth, the veteran captain of the first company ducked sideways as an arrow sliced just above his head, clattering off a shield behind him.

  "Raise shields!" bellowed Ullsaard, bringing up his own.

  The clatter of bronze and wood surrounded the king for a moment as the front rank of soldiers levelled their spears and brought up their shields. Ullsaard peered past the golden rim of his shield at the gate, more arrows whistling towards him. He felt the shudder of shafts hitting his shield as he continued to advance, hearing the occasional cry of pain from behind him.

  Ullsaard shouted the command to halt at fifty paces from the gate. Breaking the shield wall for a moment, he leaned forward and looked to his left and right. The other companies were almost at the walls and were being pelted by stones and other missiles from within. He heard the calls for axemen and rams to be brought to the fore.

  The companies attacking the wall formed roofs with their shields while others pushed through the ranks with sharpened logs and heavy axes. The axemen started the work, hacking at the ropes binding the palisade together. When a few stakes had been loosened, the men with the ram began pounding upon the timbers. The shouts of the captains beat out a slow rhythm, each blow accompanied by loud splintering and a shout from the legionnaires. They were helped by other men in the company kicking at the wall and pushing forward with their shields.

  "Advance! Double pace!"

  Ullsaard waved his company on with his spear and broke into a trot, shoulder-to-shoulder with the men on each side, those coming behind almost on his heels. Leather slapped, bronze jingled and men panted in the hot sun. The volume of arrows descending on the first company increased, but at the cost of accuracy. Covering the ground with swift strides, the Askhans were at the gate without suffering any more casualties.

  Through the gaps between the logs, Ullsaard could see the press of Salphorian archers. He rammed the point of his spear through one of the holes, heard a scream, and wrenched the spear back. The tip was slick with blood.

  While the second rank jabbed their long pikes through the gaps, the front rank stabbed their spears into the ground and pulled out knives to saw at the binding ropes. Ullsaard slid his sword between two timbers and sliced quickly, parting the fibres of a tar-covered rope. Arrows thudded against the gate from inside the village, and now and then the king felt a shaft hitting his sword. With a final snap, the rope split.

  "Brace for push!" shouted the king, taking up his spear again.

  All the men of the front rank turned sideways and leaned their shoulders against the inside of their shields. Ullsaard felt the weight of the man behind him pushing against his back, the pressure growing steadily as more and more ranks added to their weight.

  "Forwards!"

  Having shouted the command, the king planted his feet and heaved. Teeth gritted, he took a step, feeling the gate buckling slightly. He reset himself and pushed again, aware of the fifteen men behind him all lending their weight. Ropes creaked and wood bent under the strain. Ullsaard found it hard to breathe in the tight press, nostrils flaring as he sought to fill his lungs for another surge.

  A loud crack sounded to the left and the momentum of the phalanx shifted, the sudden lack of resistance dragging the men in that direction. Ullsaard almost stumbled, but was kept upright by the proximity of the men to either side.

  Though the gate sagged, it did not break. Another glance confirmed to Ullsaard that a heavy timber had been dropped as a bar across the inside. More crashing and victorious shouts to his right announced the collapse of the first part of the wall.

  "Use your spears, lever up that bar," he told his men, manoeuvring his own weapon into position. A dozen spears thrust through the gaps in the gate at Ullsaard's shout. At the next command Ullsaard and his men heaved upwards, using the shafts to raise the bar. It moved about the width of a hand and then stuck solid against the brackets holding it in place.

  Though curses filled his thoughts at this obstacle, Ullsaard kept his swearing inside his head; it was not wise to show frustration in front of his men. He cursed himself most vehemently for his impatience. They could have waited and brought up ladders from the baggage train; he might have ordered a bombardment by the spear throwers and catapults. There had been a number of options, not least of which had been to use the lava-throwers to burn out the Salphors, but his hunger for immediate action had driven him to a direct assault. Now it looked like he'd be stuck at this damned gate until one of the other companies saw fit to let him in; a humiliation whatever way you looked at it.

  "Perhaps we should have knocked?" he called out to his men, who laughed dutifully. He could hear shouts and sounds of fighting inside the village and knew he was missing the battle. "The lads in the other companies are taking all the loot. One more shove!"

  Whether it was for their commander or fear of losing out on the spoils, the first company redoubled their efforts, lunging en masse at the gate. One hundred and sixty men threw their weight against the offending obstacle with a throaty roar.

  "Come on!" Ullsaard could barely take a breath to call out.

  It was a hinge that gave first, to Ullsaard's right. The bottom of the gate swung away, causing the Askhans to stagger for a moment. Seeing their efforts rewarded, they piled on, straining every muscle.