'They are not here. They have been taken somewhere safer.'
'You know that you don't have to die, don't you?' said Ullsaard, striding up the steps to the throne's dais.
'If you want this,' Lutaar took the Crown of the Blood from his head and waved it at Ullsaard, 'then you'll have to prise it from my dead fingers.'
Ullsaard unsheathed his sword but Lutaar held up his hand, staying the blow.
'Listen to me before you do this deed,' the king said. There was no scorn in his voice; instead his words were edged with sadness. 'Please do not do this. I do not ask you for myself, but for the empire. As I once implored Aalun to understand, Kalmud must become king; it is Kalmud's destiny to wear the Crown. Rule the empire as you wish, use him as a puppet if you must, but do not make yourself king.'
Lutaar stood up and, placing the Crown on the seat of the throne, approached Ullsaard to lay a hand on his sword arm.
'You have won, Ullsaard,' he said. 'The empire is yours to do with as you wish. You are the most powerful man in all of Greater Askhor. You have defeated your enemies, and your allies respect you. You do not need to become king in name.'
Ullsaard pulled his arm away.
'What is it that you are so afraid of, Lutaar?'
'I am afraid for us all,' replied the king. 'Askhos decreed that the Crown pass from eldest living son to eldest living son; it has done so for two hundred years. There is a chain of the Blood that stretches back to Askhos, and you will break it. The Blood must rule Askh; it is our doom and our privilege.'
'I am of the Blood,' said Ullsaard.
'I have heard such rumour, but it cannot be possible.'
'It is true. You bedded my mother and Cosuas helped her escape before she was handed to the Brotherhood.'
Lutaar's eyes widened with surprise for a moment and his expression changed. Ullsaard was not quite sure what he saw, a fleeting glimpse of speculation, perhaps hope.
'How old are you?' the king asked quickly. 'Are you older than Kalmud?'
'I am not sure,' replied Ullsaard, stepping back, disturbed by the king's sudden interest. 'We are of a similar age, but I grew up in a place without the benefit of the Brotherhood's count of the years.'
Lutaar dragged the tips of his fingers over his wizened, stubbled cheeks and continued to look at Ullsaard with that strange, calculating gaze. The king walked back to the throne, lifted the Crown to his head and sat down.
'Very well,' said Lutaar. 'Kill me. Take the Crown. Become king of Askh.'
Lutaar craned his head to one side, exposing the artery in the side of his neck. He folded his hands neatly in his lap and waited expectantly, eyes fixed on Ullsaard. The general walked cautiously towards the throne, sword held ready, perturbed by the king's odd behaviour. Ullsaard expected some kind of trap, and his eyes darted left and right as he stood over the frail king.
Lutaar nodded once and closed his eyes.
Blood sprayed as Ullsaard drew the edge of his sword across Lutaar's neck. The gush became a stream and then a slow trickle. Lutaar did not move. Blood pooled in his lap and started to drip onto the marble floor from the hem of the robe.
Ullsaard had killed many men, but he was unnerved by this act. The splash of blood on stone seemed to echo around the hall. He turned away and strode to a high window, throwing open the shutters for a gulp of fresh air. Ullsaard shuddered as he looked over the city, the energy of the last few days draining away from him, leaving him feeling sick and weak. His hand throbbed and his gut ached.
Raising his eyes, he looked duskwards over Askh, where the sun was disappearing behind the city wall. The sky grew red and purple as the sounds of the looting legionnaires was carried up to him from the streets below. Steadying his thoughts, Ullsaard smiled.
He liked the moment. Tonight the sun set on the reign of Lutaar, tomorrow it would rise on the reign of Ullsaard. It was a fitting end to one life and start of another.
II
Ullsaard stood at the window until the moon was rising above the domes of the palace. Not a single soul had disturbed him as he had admired the city that was his.
He turned, seeing again the body of Lutaar. A small crimson pond surrounded the throne, and the king seemed more slumped than before. Ullsaard's eye was drawn to the gleam of gold upon the king's brow.
There was his prize. All he had to do was reach out and take it.
Ullsaard ignored the slickness underfoot as he bent over the dead king, his good fingers curling around the Crown of the Blood. There would be a proper coronation later, he told himself, but it wouldn't hurt to try it on, just to make sure of the fit.
Looking at his reflection in Lutaar's blood, Ullsaard placed the Crown on his head.
III
Pain lanced through Ullsaard's mind, needles of agony driving into his brain. He fell to the ground and writhed as he felt his mind being shredded and gouged, torn at and pulled apart. His clothes soaked up the blood of Lutaar as he floundered across the floor in a swirl of crimson, a silent scream twisting his face.
Rolling to all fours, Ullsaard dipped his head and vomited as the Crown fell to the floor with a clatter.
The pain stopped and Ullsaard slumped to the tiles, gasping for breath, eyes screwed shut. He lay there for some time, the memory of the pain he had felt almost as much as the pain itself. When his breath came steadily and his heart was no longer hammering against his breastbone, Ullsaard opened his eyes and pushed himself up to his knees.
He looked at his reflection in the blood-spattered gold of the Crown. He could see no wounds upon his head or face, and he looked the same as he had done for the last few years. But something felt like it had changed.
Leaning forward to peer closely at himself, Ullsaard had the strangest feeling that someone else was looking out of his eyes.
'Who are you?' he whispered, looking at his distorted features around the rim of the Crown.
Askhos, replied a voice inside his head.
