Salphoria; even less that either would not promote one of their Askhan First Captains to the rank of general to lead such a conquest. Aalun, though, had always acted in Ullsaard's best interests. With his sponsor as king, Ullsaard felt he would be in a position to drive forward Askhor's fortunes.
Bells sounded the third hour of Howling just as he arrived back at his apartments. The main room was empty, save for his chief of servants, Ariid. The aging retainer stood up as Ullsaard entered.
'Your wives have each requested the pleasure of your company for this night,' Ariid said as he helped Ullsaard take off his breastplate. The general tossed his helmet onto the main table and stretched, feeling more tired than after a day of battle.
'I shall sleep with Allenya. Bring us both breakfast in her chambers, no earlier than Low Watch.'
The servant nodded his acquiescence and withdrew, leaving Ullsaard alone in the quiet. He stood in the hall for a moment and closed his eyes, savouring the stillness. No growl of ailur, no snort of abada or kolubrid hiss could be heard. No clink of armour, scratch of whetstone or pad of sandaled foot. No crackle of campfires, flap of tent door or creak of pole. Everything was still. He smelt roses and hill daisies, burning wax of the watch candles, fresh lacquer on the table.
He listened to the slow beat of his heart, counting each long breath as he drew it in. Peace. No clamour, no attention, no pressure. Memories of the fight with the behemodon flashed at the edge of his thoughts and he opened his eyes, unwilling to face the reality of how close he had come to never being here again.
He cut across the apartments to Allenya's bedroom and quietly pushed his way through the heavy curtains across the door. A red-panelled lantern bathed the room with a soft glow. His wife lay on her side in the bed, sheets and blankets covering her up to the waist, her hair spilling across her arm and covering her breasts. Ullsaard watched the gentle rising and falling of the covers, the wisps of her hair fluttering with each exhalation. He pulled off his tunic and let it drop to the carpeted floor, loosened his belt and stepped out of the embroidered skirt. He kicked off his sandals and walked slowly to the empty side of the bed, eyes still on Allenya, her face ruddily lit against pillows bordered with golden thread.
He slipped as gently as he could beneath the covers, but Allenya stirred with a murmur. She rolled to her back, eyes still closed.
'Husband,' she whispered, half-asleep.
'Wife,' he whispered in return, stroking a calloused hand across her hair, pushing it from her face with a thick finger.
She smiled and a hand flopped languidly towards him, absently stroking his hairless chest. He encircled her with his arms and buried his face in the brown curls, kissing her lightly on the side of the neck. His desire stirred as his eyes travelled from her eyes, down her cheek, passed her slightly parted lips, finishing on her breasts. The sight of her naked skin caused his heart to beat faster, while his lust began to swell him. He reached out a hand but stopped before he touched her, his fingers hovering just above her flesh. He looked back at her face, the embodiment of the peace he had felt earlier, and pulled back his hand.
Allenya rolled back onto her side, away from him. He settled further into the bedclothes, sinking into the soft mattress and pillows. He felt her warmth against his stomach, the curve of her backside and legs beside him but not touching. She was not Meliu, to be turned this way and that as his lusts dictated. This was Allenya, his wife and love. He kissed her again, on the back of the shoulder, and closed his eyes. She reached back and their fingers entwined.
Ullsaard's hot ardour cooled to a warm wave of contentment, and he fell swiftly into sleep.
Free Country
Near Magilnada, Midsummer New Year, 209th Year of Askh
I
The pealing of a warning horn ripped Anglhan from his sleep. He surged out of his bunk, head crashing against the roof beams of his cabin. Rubbing his head, he stumbled to the door, dressed only in his long shirt.
Outside, the landship reverberated with footsteps as the crew boiled up from their quarters below decks. Three large lanterns hung from the bow, mast and stern, their yellow glare spilling across the deck. Anglhan blinked in the light, still dazed by the blow to his head. Furlthia hurried past and Anglhan grabbed him by the arm.
'Where?' the captain demanded.
Furlthia pointed towards the hills ahead, where a lone flare burned with a stuttering white flame.
'Prepare to defend the ship,' said Anglhan. His second-incommand replied with a pointed look as the crew busied themselves around the spear throwers and handed out axes and swords from the chests beside each hatchway. 'Right. Sorry.'
Anglhan ducked back into his cabin and hastily pulled on his trousers, pulling the belt tightly into his soft gut. His head still throbbed and he snatched up the half-empty jar of beer on the table and took a long swig. Smacking his lips, he pulled on his boots and grabbed the curved sword that hung above his cot before hurrying back outside.
'Where's Pak'ka?' he demanded.
The first mate nodded towards the bow of the landship. The Nemurians were putting on their armour; huge vests of grey metal scales that hung to their knees. They donned coifs of the same, reinforced along the top with a thick studded band. Anglhan wondered again at so much iron, calculating its worth; Pak'ka's armour alone would be enough to buy land and livestock for a small farm. Any thought of acquiring that wealth vanished as the huge creature straightened, his right hand hefting a spear twice as tall as the ship master, the other holding a long, triangular shield. There was many a corpse that had tried to steal from a Nemurian.
The landship's axles creaked and the vessel listed to the side as the Nemurians approached along the starboard rail.
'The wind carries the news,' Pak'ka said quietly. 'Four dozens of men. Where shall we fight?'
'Four dozen?' said Furlthia. 'That does not seem so many.'
Anglhan doubted the accuracy of the Nemurian's assertion but decided against remarking on it. He considered his options; his crew were paid whether they fought or not, while the Nemurians were promised extra for actual fighting. There was no need to use them unless he had to.
'Stay aboard for the while, and we'll wait to see what happens,' Anglhan told the mercenaries. 'I'm sure the outrunners and spear throwers will see them off.'
They waited, the still night air disturbed by the mutterings of the crew and the creak of the landship's timbers. Clouds covered the sky, hiding the stars, the light of the moon a fuzzy glow to aft. The flare had guttered and died and the only light was the haze surrounding the landship.
They waited some more. Anglhan was about to return to his cabin, thinking that the raising of the alarm had scared off the brigands. A hushed call stopped him and he looked to the masthead to see the lookouts pointing over the starboard bow. Three figures came dashing into the lantern light: outrunners.
Anglhan and Furlthia hurried to the rail and called down to the men.
'Rosion and Dabbis are dead,' announced the closest, a young man named Rigan. 'The bastards snuck up on them and took them by surprise. Colthiun sounded the alarm, but we haven't seen him since.'
'Where?' growled Furlthia. Rigan pointed coldwards, towards the hills. 'There's a narrow stream cuts down towards the valley. I think they must have crept along the defile and got behind our line.'
'Any idea how many of them?' asked Anglhan, still wondering whether he would have to employ the Nemurians' services.
Rigan shook his head and looked to his two comrades. Both shrugged.
'You can count, can't you?' rasped Anglhan.
'Yes, but we're not owls!' argued Murlthin, another youth Anglhan had recently brought on board.
'Or perhaps you didn't stick around long enough to see them,' said Anglhan, his grip tightening on the rail.
