"You still haven't won, you know?" Nemtun said. "You think my brother will barter for me? He doesn't give two shits for me, and even less for you. Don't fool yourself. You've got this far, but you won't get any farther. Ten legions hold the Wall against you."
"No, they don't," Ullsaard replied. "You're full of shit."
Nemtun met Ullsaard's stare.
"If you do beat my brother, I'll govern Okhar for you."
"No, you won't," Ullsaard said quietly. "I've promised Okhar to my eldest son."
Incomprehension clouded Nemtun's features.
"So what are you going to do with m-"
Ullsaard's spear plunged through Nemtun's white shirt, catching him just below the right side of the ribcage. Red seeped through the cloth as the former governor, a Prince of the Blood, fell to his knees, cheek and chins wobbling. Ullsaard clubbed him across the face with the butt of his spear, breaking his nose and sending him sprawling to his back. Tossing the weapon aside, he grabbed the dazed man's wrist in both hands and heaved, dragging him a few steps along the side of the wagon.
"You're a fucking disgrace," said Ullsaard, rolling his shoulder as if he had strained something.
Recovering his senses a little, Nemtun flapped a hand at his stomach, blood seeping through his pudgy fingers and dripping onto his bare legs.
"That's it?" Nemtun snapped. "Fuck you, Ullsaard! It'll take more than that to kill me."
Ullsaard said nothing. Nemtun's eyes widened with terror as he heard a growl from just behind him. Blackfang took a step towards the prince, sniffing the air, tongue licking out. Nemtun tried to edge away, sliding himself along the road, but the noise attracted the ailur's attention and her blinded face snapped in his direction.
She pounced, slashing and biting wildly in her blinkered state. Ullsaard watched silently while the legionnaires hooted and cheered the grisly display, laughter greeting Nemtun's girlish screams until he fell silent, flesh shredded to the bone, throat ripped open.
Blackfang settled down to feed, licking at the streams of blood pouring across the stone slabs of the road.
Ullsaard looked away from the ailur's feasting. He gazed down the road towards the grey smudge that was the Wall. He didn't see the miles of stone. He looked upon the city beyond; the towers and walls and streets of Askh; and at their heart, the palaces of the king. His mind's eye arrowed to the heart of the palace, to the audience hall, where an old, bitter man sat with the golden Crown upon his wrinkled head.
"You're next, Lutaar," he growled quietly. "Just a few more days of being king. I hope you're ready."
Askhor
Spring, 210th Year of Askh
I
It rained. As if all the clouds above the mountains had come together in one last act to defy Ullsaard, the skies poured down in a torrent that lasted three days. Much to the amazement and amusement of his men, on the evening of the third day of the storm Ullsaard strode out into the central drilling square of the camp, naked save for his spear, helmet and shield. He stood with arms raised aloft, water streaming from his body, dripping from his beard.
"Is that it?" he shouted with glee. "Is that all you have left? Ice and blood and the Wall didn't stop us! You think pissing on me is going to end this?"
Encouraged by their general's odd behaviour, some of the offduty legionnaires stripped away their armour and joined him, splashing each other and throwing handfuls of mud in defiance of the weather.
A crack of thunder brought them to a standstill. Lightning flashed down, striking the flag pole atop a nearby tent, splintering the wood.
"Come on!" bellowed Ullsaard, staring up into the storm clouds. "You can fucking growl all you like, I'm not going away!"
The deluge continued and the thunder rumbled on. Ullsaard closed his eyes and listened to the rain hammering on helmet and shield, felt the storm clawing at his skin. He had not been so invigorated since he had faced the behemodon singlehanded. His flesh tingled with excitement and the Blood coursed through his body, suffusing him with excitement and energy.
He opened his eyes and turned to coldwards, pointing his spear through the haze of rain in the direction of Askh, only half a day's march away.
"I'm coming for you, Lutaar!" he cried. "I'm coming!"
Still abuzz with sensation, Ullsaard laughed and stalked back to his tent.
II
The following dawn brought a cloudless sky. Ullsaard had not slept and at the first bell of Dawnwatch he put on his armour, ate a swift breakfast of dried fruit and bread and left his pavilion to see what was happening. The ground was a mire underfoot despite the plank walkways and he sloshed through the camp to the coldwards wall. He kicked thick mud from his boots and pulled himself up the ladder to the gate tower.
From this vantage point he could see Askh in the morning haze. The Royal Hill stood out in the rosy light against the blues and purples of the mountains. It was a beautiful city, majestic with its white stone and marble.
"General, is that a legion camp?" said the legionnaire behind him, pointing slightly to dawnwards.
Ullsaard could see a makeshift wall less than five miles away, built on a shallow rise. It was undoubtedly a camp, housing four or five legions judging by its size. Ullsaard's mood soured at the sight.
"Who is it?" the legionnaire asked.
"Cosuas," Ullsaard replied.
III
The two armies faced each other across a stretch of farmland filled with the green shoots of cereal. Ullsaard's legions were arranged in two lines of phalanxes along a ridge facing coldwards, the companies interspersed with lava-throwers, squadrons of kolubrid riders and batteries of spear throwers; Cosuas's much smaller force occupied a solitary hill, forming a complete circle about its summit like the Crown they protected. Half a mile separated the two hosts.
At the chime of Noonwatch, Ullsaard mounted Blackfang and rode out towards the enemy, spear slung behind him, sword sheathed. Though the sun was drying the ground, the rutted track he followed was as much stream as road. Cresting a rise on the road, he saw a lone figure breaking from the enemy army, walking slowly down the hill towards him. The man carried a mace in his left hand and a large oval shield in the other.
The two of them met at the gate of a farmyard halfway between the armies. Ullsaard dismounted, tied Blackfang to the fence and waited as Cosuas strode up the road. Ullsaard stood patiently with his hands clasped behind him as the aging general set his shield against a gatepost and slung his mace to the ground beside it.
"I expected to see you here," said Ullsaard. "But I don't know how you made it."
Cosuas gave Ullsaard a lopsided smile and his eyes were bright with excitement.
"Found the end of the Greenwater, lad!" he said. "Can you fucking believe it? Nearly fifteen hundred miles hotwards of here, we reached the sea. Golden sandy beaches, strange trees with nuts the size of your head. Got word of what you were up to, built some ships and sailed all the way up the dawnwards coast, round Nemuria, and landed last winter while you were still stuck in the snow. You've had me running between the Wall and the coast and back again with your tricks."
"Never have a straight fight if you can avoid it," said Ullsaard. "You taught me that."
Cosuas looked Ullsaard up and down.
"Not as big as your nuts, I reckon," Cosuas said. "What the fuck are you doing? You don't want to be king."
"I'm not your son," Ullsaard said. "Just thought you should know that. I'm Lutaar's bastard, one of the Blood."