Gelthius waved for the other legionnaires to drive the cart into the town. Muuril was the first to step down.
'What's happening, captain?' the sergeant asked, eyes narrowed at the Salphors. 'Are we good?'
'Not sure yet,' Gelthius replied in Askhan. 'There's a lodging house up the next left fork in the road. Send the cart up there and tell the others to stay with it. I'm going to the chieftain's hall to speak with Naraghlin. Follow us.'
'Yes, captain,' Muuril said, smartly rapping his fist against his breastplate in salute. This elicited more laughter from the Salphors. The sergeant snapped a few orders to the men in the cart and fell in beside Gelthius.
The crowd parted as Naraghlin and Gelthius headed up the slope towards the summit, where the long hall of the elders stood. Two columns flanked the doorway, their tops carved in the likeness of a bear and a wolf. An embroidered banner hung between them, sodden with rain and tattered with age, depicting a youthful warrior facing a snarling wolf armed with nothing more than a knife. Beside the warrior reared a gigantic bear with a golden pelt. It was meant to be Naraghlin; an illustration of a remarkable feat of might from his childhood. Gelthius snorted, suppressing a laugh at seeing it.
He remembered that day, in the woods coldwards along the river. The wolf had been almost dead from its fight with a bear. Naraghlin had just finished off the wounded animal. Nobody had actually seen the bear. The omen of being rescued by a bear was good one though, and the group had agreed to spin a story to the elders when they returned with its ravaged corpse.
Gelthius hadn't known then that Naraghlin would later use the lie as proof that the spirit of the woods had blessed him; and killed the old chieftain to take his place as ruler of the Linghar. Gelthius had made the mistake of speaking out against this murder and had been left beaten close to death by Naraghlin's henchmen; he was warned never to speak the truth about what had happened in the woods that day, on pain of death.
That had been the start of Gelthius's woes, and as he followed Naraghlin into the gloomy hall, he wondered at the strange route that had brought him back to this place. One word from him to Ullsaard, and within a day, the town would be razed to the ground. Naraghlin and his cronies would be dead.
It was tempting, almost too tempting, but Gelthius reminded himself that it would not only be Naraghlin that would suffer. The legions were deadly efficient, but not very discriminating; there was no way to protect his friends without protecting those he disliked.
Naraghlin took off his cloak and spread it over the carved stump of wood that served as his throne. In the flickering of the fire pit, the chieftain's wrinkled face seemed animated, but there was little life in his eyes. Girls arrived with skins of mead, passing one to the chieftain and another to Gelthius. He sat down on the straw-strewn floor and signalled for Muuril to stand by the door.
Kalsaghan, Mannuis and half a dozen other local nobles entered, but Naraghlin dismissed them with a wave.
'Out! This is between the two of us,' said the chieftain. He waited until the others had left before continuing. 'What does your new chieftain want?'
'Swear loyalty to my king,' said Gelthius. 'Do not fight the Askhans.'
'That's it?' Naraghlin swilled from the skin, mead glistening in his beard. 'No tribute? No slaves?'
'That's not how the Askhans do things,' said Gelthius. 'Not if you agree.'
'What then?'
'More Askhans will come here. They will show you how to build proper houses, sow fields of barley, improve the farms. They will bring boats and masons and many other men with crafts. They will offer the young men of the Linghar the chance to become legionnaires. They will teach you how to count in their way, and speak their tongue, and write, and read.'
Naraghlin considered this as he took another mouthful of mead. He tossed the skin aside and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
'And?' said the chieftain. 'If that was all, nobody would have fought the Askhans.'
'The Askhans will remove the shrines in the wood and down by the river, and the wards over the doors, and will tell you never to talk about the spirits. An Askhan will come to the town and take over. You will renounce the title of chieftain, and your claim to rule. This Askhan will take taxes for the empire, and you will get nothing. If you behave yourself, you might get some land to keep for yourself.'
'I'm almost dead, anyway, though I can't see Kalsaghan being too happy about that. So if nobody can talk about the spirits, who calls for the crow when I die?'
'Nobody does. Your body will be burnt and the ashes given to Kalsaghan to do with as he wants. That's how the Askhans do it.'
Horror spread across Naraghlin's face.
'But if nobody calls the crow, I'll be trapped in my body when it gets burnt! Why would they do that to me?'
'It's the same for everyone,' said Gelthius. 'The Askhans say that there are no spirits, there is no crow to take us to Aleea. They say there is no Aleea to be taken to.'
'But that's idiotic. If there was no Aleea, where do all the dead people go?'
Gelthius shrugged.
'They just laughed at me when I asked. They think people just stop when their body dies.'
'No, no, I can't do this,' said Naraghlin. 'I'd be dooming the Linghar to torment and pain. If we do not make the tributes, the crow will not feed our fathers, and who will put the seed of the children in the belly of our women if there are no offerings to the dove? This Askhan madness has to be stopped.'
'Nobody's done that for two hundred years,' said Gelthius, standing up. 'If you fight, our people will all be killed and the Askhans will grow crops and raise goats on the ruins of our homes.'
'Then we will leave here, go towards the dusk and start over,' said Naraghlin. 'Our people have done it before, we can survive again.'
'Maybe you're right,' said Gelthius as he headed to the door. 'But Ullsaard is a determined man. He wants all of Salphoria, one way or the other. Maybe you'll escape this year, but next year? The year after? The Askhans told me that they will rule all the lands between the seas. They're not going to stop.'
'Unless we stop them,' growled Naraghlin. 'Aegenuis is uniting the tribes.'
Gelthius stopped at the doorway and looked back, Naraghlin a huddled form in the glow of the fire, eyes staring into the flames. 'It won't help. Think about it. I'll not be heading back until tomorrow. Don't throw our people's lives away.'
Gelthius slapped Muuril on the shoulder and the two of them left the hall.
'Are they going to fight?' asked the sergeant, looking uneasily at the crowd of warriors waiting outside the long hall.
'I think they are,' said Gelthius. 'I'm going to get my family and then we'll leave. I think it won't be safe to stay here.'
IV
Gelthius stood up against the reed fence around the small plot of land attached to his house. The night was cold and steam rose from the stream of his urine. He took a deep breath, glad to be out of the cramped confines of the burrow-like dwelling; and away from the constant questions of his family. Gelthius had told them everything; being a debtor on Anglhan's landship, the rebels in the mountains, the arrival of the Askhans and the fall of Magilnada.
He had seen disbelief in their eyes and had shown them the tattoo on his arm of the symbol of the Thirteenth; he had been drunk the night the others had persuaded him and it was a blessing of the spirits that his companions' crude technique had not left him with an infection.
He smirked to himself in the darkness, remembering fondly his time with the legion. It was not like that at all, here in Salphoria. Everyone was a rival in some way; everybody was trying to get ahead at the expense of someone else. Even brothers and sons were potential enemies. In the legions, success and failure was collective, with
