II
Urikh had sent word that Nemtun had definitely left Talladmun with half the legions, chasing a rumour of Ullsaard encamped five days to coldward in the Enairian forests. Governor Allon had gone with him, leaving the cowardly Murian in charge of the army protecting Talladmun and the road to Parmia.
Ullsaard had not had things all his own way, and his forces had been depleted by raiding parties, escorts and diversionary forces, and the thousand men still posing as rebels in Magilnada. In all, he had about three and a half legions at hand, more than enough for the two dispirited legions Urikh claimed were stationed in Talladmun.
It was a bright morning, full of the promise of spring. Twenty thousand legionnaires marched along the road to Talladmun, which could be seen nestled in the foothills a few miles away. Ullsaard's army made no attempt to hide its approach. The general wanted the opposition to have as much time as possible to get scared. If Urikh and the others had done their jobs properly — and he had no reason to doubt they had — the mixture of Murian and Allon's men would be more than nervous about the army bearing down upon them.
A mile from the town, Ullsaard faintly heard the warning horns. He called the army to a halt on a low, long hill overlooking the farmlands outside Talladmun; each phalanx took its position in a line that stretched for half a mile, clear to see for every soldier on the walls. After nearly two seasons spent running away, hiding in the mountains, posing as rabble and beating up innocent merchants, Ullsaard was looking forward to having a proper battle. Part of him hoped that his clever plan would not work and he would have to fight for the town.
He did not have to wait long.
A column of armoured soldiers snaked from the town's closest gate, about five hundred men. They carried with them their golden standard and Ullsaard could see a figure riding an ailur at their head: Governor Murian. Ullsaard signalled to his own bodyguard from the Thirteenth and urged Blackfang down the slope.
The two delegations met half a mile from the town wall, and the contrast between them became clear. Proud and confident, Ullsaard swung down from Blackfang and strode up to his opponents while Murian hunched in his saddle, surrounded by guards. The governor's eyes never strayed from Ullsaard and he fidgeted with a piece of parchment in his hands.
'You got my letter?' Ullsaard called out lightly. Murian held out a hand, the parchment shaking in his fingers. 'Good. Do you have any questions?'
'The king will have me skinned and then boned like a fish if I do what you ask,' Murian said. 'I cannot hand over my soldiers and the town without a fight!'
'The king is not here,' said Ullsaard, stopping a little way from Murian, arms crossed. He fixed the governor with his best stare, perfected over years of command and fatherhood. 'I am.'
'But this is outrageous!' Murian swallowed hard and tried to rally some confidence. 'We can hold the town until Nemtun returns with the rest of the army.' 'No, you can't.'
'What makes you so sure? I have enough men to hold the walls, and supplies for more than ten days.'
Ullsaard moved his gaze from Murian to the captain just behind him: Jutaar. Ullsaard's son met his eye and nodded.
'Allon's men will not defend the walls,' said Ullsaard. 'They've had a better offer. That leaves you with just one legion.'
'You seem very certain of that.' Murian's nervousness was quickly becoming indignation. 'I think this is just a ruse to get me to surrender. Do you think I am that easily fooled?'
'No ruse, no fooling,' said Ullsaard. He looked again at Jutaar.
With a shout, Jutaar drew his sword and lunged at the officer next to him, cutting down Murian's First Captain. From behind Ullsaard, the Thirteenth bodyguard surged forward as Allon's men turned on Murian's with a crash of shields and spears. Murian tried to bolt, kicking his heels into his ailur's flanks but Ullsaard reacted quickly, leaping to snatch at the heavy reins.
Digging his heels into the dirt, Ullsaard wrenched back with all his strength, pulling the great cat off balance, bringing her sliding to her flank in a cloud of dirt. Murian was thrown clear as the ailur righted herself and leapt at Ullsaard, fangs and claws bared. Ullsaard dodged to his left, but a paw caught him in the shoulder, sending links of mail scattering in a shower of bloody droplets. The ailur thrashed her head, almost wrenching Ullsaard's arms from their sockets.
'Give me a behemodon any time,' the general snarled as he hurled himself between the beast's outstretched forelegs.
His shoulder slammed into the ailur's armoured chest. With a grunt, Ullsaard straightened his legs as claws raked down the back of his armour. Linking his fingers through the ailur's mane, Ullsaard twisted to his right and swung his legs, putting all of his weight on to the animal. She buckled with a roar and fell forwards. In an instant, Ullsaard had his knee on the ailur's throat and his hands were wrapping the reins around her slashing forelegs. Once he was confident she was hobbled, Ullsaard jumped back out of harm's way. The ailur struggled to right herself, but fell down twice and gave up, lying panting in the flattened grass.
'There's a good girl,' Ullsaard said.
He spied Murian trying to crawl away and went after him, grabbing the governor by the ankle, twisting until Murian rolled to his back. The vicious shouts and ringing metal of the fighting legionnaires was already growing quieter as those loyal to Murian were overwhelmed. Ullsaard hated wasting good fighting men in this way, but it was the only method to be sure the others would fall into line. Just like ailurs, legions needed to be shown who was in charge.
Ullsaard grabbed Murian by the front of his jerkin and hauled him to his feet.
'Do you surrender?' the general snarled. Blood trickled down his cheek from a claw scratch.
Horror filled Murian's expression as the screams of his men died down. He looked at Ullsaard with abject submission, shoulders slumped, legs trembling. The governor of Anrair nodded fitfully and swayed where he stood. Ullsaard thought the man was going to faint and reached out a hand to stop him. Murian shrieked as if attacked and fell to his knees.
'Fuck Nemtun,' Murian whispered. 'And fuck Lutaar.'
'That's the spirit!' Ullsaard said as he pulled the broken governor back to his feet. 'Don't worry. I'll look after you.'
Magilnada
Spring, 209th Year of Askh
I
A rough shaking woke Anglhan. He prised open a weary eye and saw Furlthia beside the bed. For a moment the lord of Magilnada thought he was dreaming and rolled to his side, away from the apparition. A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. As his senses came to him, Anglhan could hear shouting from outside the hall.
'Is that you, Furlthia?' he asked.
'It is. Come on, get up and get dressed. We have to get you out of here.'
Anglhan slapped away Furlthia's hand.
'What are you talking about? I'm not going anywhere. And what's all that racket?'
'That's why I'm here. Come on, see for yourself.'
Anglhan threw back the covers and slipped ponderously from the bed. His time as ruler of Magilnada had not been wasted and he had taken a good share of the food coming through the city, so that not only had he replaced all the weight he had lost in the mountains, he had added some more. Hands massaging his flabby gut, still sleepy, he crossed the room to the window, bare feet slapping on the tiled floor.
Throwing open the shutters, he looked out at his city. It was barely dawn, but in the haze he could see a
