defied the king and waged war against other legions, Ullsaard was still firm in his belief that he did so for a better Askhan future. Anglhan's two legions were to be the Nineteenth and Twentieth, raised and trained and equipped by legal means, not the private army of Magilnada.
Ullsaard cleared his throat meaningfully and stepped up beside the governor. Anglhan glanced at the general and brought his speech to a hurried close. Ullsaard lifted his spear above his head.
'Magilnada, I salute you!' he cried. 'For generations you have laboured under the tyranny of weak kings and self-serving nobles. This day things change. This day you become Askhans. To be an Askhan is to be proud of where you were born, but also to put the good of all above the wants of the few. I am an Enairian and also an Askhan. I grew up in a small village in the forests coldwards from here. Only in Greater Askhor could I have dreamt of becoming who I am today. Each of you can hold that same dream. To be master of your destiny; to raise your children without fear; to feed your families every day.
'I too have suffered from the cruel indifference of a distant king. I am not a meek man, and so I do not sit at the table and grumble into my wine about it. No, I am a man of action more than deeds, and I will march to Askh and take the Crown of the Blood from the head of a man who does not deserve to wear it.
'I can make a promise to you today. Every man of Magilnada who joins my legions and marches with me through the gates of Askh will have done his duty. I will give him a house and a farm, and money for crop and livestock. One year with me guarantees freedom and prosperity for the rest of your lives!'
This announcement drew a far greater reaction than all of Anglhan's long-winded endorsements. The legionnaires began to chant Ullsaard's name, and their enthusiasm spread into the crowd. Raising shield and spear high, Ullsaard turned to the left and right, basking in the growing cries of adulation. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Anglhan looking on with jealousy. Ullsaard directed a cocky wink towards the new governor as a reminder: the power is mine, not yours.
III
Anglhan's new reign as governor of Magilnada began with a feast, and the lord's hall was packed with as many tables and benches as could be found; the former laden with food, the latter filled with dignitaries who had begged, borrowed or stolen an invitation. Music formed the backdrop to the ceaseless chatter and, much to Anglhan's delight, naked serving boys waited on the tables with Askhan wine and Salphorian ale. He sat at the head table with Jutiil to his left and Ullsaard to his right. Midst the hubbub, Anglhan had to raise his voice to have a simple conversation.
'You might have the hearts of the solders and the common people,' Anglhan said to Ullsaard, 'but I have the purses of the chieftains, the craftsmen and the merchants.'
'Which is why we will make such a powerful pairing,' replied the general, raising his cup of wine. 'Just don't forget that all of the money in Magilnada can't stop a spear tip.'
'And I am sure you will always remember that a simple bronze spear tip is the difference between a soldier and a man with a long stick.'
Ullsaard laughed deeply while Anglhan lifted his own mug in salute.
'You've made me governor of Magilnada, and I am grateful,' Anglhan continued. 'When I help make you king of Greater Askhor, I am sure the favour will be more than returned.'
'And I am sure the favour will not be a cheap one,' said Ullsaard, his expression losing its humour.
'You can be sure of that,' replied Anglhan.
Nalanor
Late Spring, 209th Year of Askh
I
The camp outside Parmia rivalled the largest towns in Greater Askhor. It was one of three such camps, spreading hotwards from the town, each three days from the Greenwater. The legionnaires had dubbed it Ullsaardia, the others being Jutiilia and Donaria after the respective First Captains. Officially they were simply Parmian Barracks One, Two and Three, but Noran preferred the soldiers' names.
The marching camps Noran had witnessed during the winter were nothing compared to the construction of these garrisons. Each housed between fifteen and twenty thousand men and their families, in endless rows of canvas tents around a few wooden buildings such as the First Captains' headquarters, the baths and the armouries. Wooden walls protected the camp, with five rows of stake-lined ditches spreading out like ripples outside them. The forge chimneys billowed smoke day and night as the weapon smiths forged more armour and weapons, fed by a steady stream of ore now coming from the Midean Mountains and the peaks coldwards of Parmia. Supply caravans arrived almost daily, with fresh slaughtered cattle and goats, barrels of salted meat and the first shipments of spring grain from Salphoria. Noran was used to such industry on the outskirts of Askh, in Geria and other cities, but here in a temporary camp in the middle of the Nalanor farmlands it seemed incredible.
Having fled the wrath of Luia, Noran had avoided Ullsaard, despite his promise to confess all to the general. It had not been so difficult; Ullsaard had been busy marshalling his forces throughout Ersua and Nalanor, gathering the legions of Murian, Asuhas and Allon into three army groups to guard against attack from Nemtun on the other side of the Greenwater, and the possible arrival of Cosuas. Noran had kept himself distracted by becoming an unofficial ambassador to Ullsaard's governor allies, and spent more time with them than in the camps. He was far more comfortable dealing with the governors' continual manoeuvring than army logistics, and certainly the accommodation in their palaces was far more to his liking.
But for all the insight Noran was gaining into the governors' motives, expectations and likely ambitions, he could not hide from the fact that he was dreading a confrontation with Ullsaard. The matter became more pressing when Noran learnt that Ullsaard had travelled to Magilnada for Anglhan's investiture. That same night he had considered fleeing, maybe to Maasra. Though the desire to save himself from Ullsaard's inevitable wrath was strong, there was a part of Noran that knew he deserved whatever punishment was coming to him. Grief was no excuse for his betrayal, and that he had betrayed the memory of Neerita added to his burning shame.
He had tried strong wine to wash away the feelings of guilt, but drunkenness just left him in an uneasy fog, leaving him more vulnerable to bursts of depression. He wondered how it could be that he had once been free to leap from bed to bed of any women who took his fancy, yet one natural, grief-driven indiscretion now left him feeling hopeless and scared.
When news came that Ullsaard was returning to Nalanor, Noran knew that it was time for him to make a decision. He wondered whether he could deny the act, but his past was against him; while Ullsaard might doubt Luia's motives for making such a claim, the general would surely believe innocent Meliu. Noran hoped that Ullsaard was not too harsh on his youngest wife. Having already dismissed self-exile, Noran was only left with the option of facing up to what he had done and begging Ullsaard to forgive him.
Most likely it would mean a meeting on the bloodfields, where men of honour resolved their disputes. Noran was no slouch with a sword, but he knew Ullsaard would butcher him in moments.
It was with such dark thoughts that Noran heard the horns sounding Ullsaard's return early one evening. Seized by a sudden doubt, Noran packed a few belongings into a sack in case his nerve failed him and he chose to bolt for safety. He could not decide whether to approach Ullsaard and throw himself on his friend's mercy, or wait to be summoned by the general.
As the tramp of the column thundered across camp, Noran waited in his tent, biting his nails and fidgeting with his bag of clothes. He heard the officers calling out the halt and could picture Ullsaard saying a few words to his men before dismissing them.
