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.
Salphoria
Midsummer, 213th year of Askh
I
The mountains ahead were wreathed with clouds, though the sky above was clear and the sun scorching hot. To coldwards, on the edge of sight, more hills rose up, dark with trees. The tramp of thousands of feet brought up a great swathe of dust that swirled in light wind and settled on the armour of the legionnaires. At the front of the Askhan column, ahead of the worst of the cloud, Blackfang panted heavily as she padded alongside Ullsaard on her rein. He patted her flank out of reflex, pleased to be reunited. She was, he considered, more loyal than many he had once considered friend or ally.
The ground underfoot was baked hard, the sparse grass withered and brown. There were no roads and no rivers to follow, so the army marched straight to duskwards. Ahead, somewhere in the mountains, lay Carantathi, the seat of the Salphorian king, soon to be Ullsaard's second city.
Twenty days ago he had received Aegenuis's offer of peace. He had marched the next morning, and for twenty days not a single tribe had offered resistance to his advance. Companies were despatched as garrisons to the settlements they passed, while two of the eight legions that had set out had been sent to hotwards to deal with any chieftains that objected to the new state of affairs.
Ullsaard had been met by elders and war chiefs, and each had accepted him as their new king. In the last twenty days he had taken more ground than in the previous two years. There had been times when he had doubted he would achieve his goal; when he had been slipping into Ersua fearful of discovery; when Erlaan had led the Mekhani horde into Greater Askhor.
The king harboured no illusions that the future would be simple, but he could dream as such. He could enjoy the peace for a few years, at least. He had not had time to commemorate Jutaar's life properly, and there were many rifts with his family to seal. The taking of Carantathi would be symbolic, but there would be many Salphors who would continue to resist. The Brotherhood would have to extend their reach into these untamed lands and instil the ethos of Askh into the hearts and minds of the barbarians. The Mekhani were ever an issue to be dealt with, and in a few years he would bring them under the sway of his empire too.
Despite these things, perhaps even because of the challenges he still faced, Ullsaard was in a good mood. He had an army thirty thousand strong at his back and a land to conquer. After so many tribulations, he was pleased to be up against the simple obstacles of war. He had left behind the distractions of kinghood, the worries of family and the politics of home. Here he faced the trials of logistics and discipline, strategy and disposition; obstacles he greeted with the contentment of familiarity. The reassurance of routine coupled with the hundred details of each day served to steady Ullsaard. It was this life, not the blood and glory of battle, which held his heart, though he
