Destiny was the closest. Urikh tossed the meat towards her, but it landed short; the ailur strained at her chain to reach it, kept in check by a long pin driven into the earth. With a grunt of annoyance, Urikh picked up the drugged food and threw it closer. Slurping and chewing followed. Urikh sank to his haunches and waited for the soporifics to take their effect.
When the blotch of darker shadow that was Destiny no longer moved, Urikh approached cautiously. He prodded her with a foot, but there was no response. Now came the most dangerous part, and Urikh's heart was thumping in his chest as he edged closer.
With trembling fingers, he found the riveted straps holding the ailur's face mask in place. With a small knife, he prised off the rivets where they attached leather to bronze. He did this twice more, so only a single strap remained in place.
Retreating quickly, he put the lid back on the barrel of food and wiped his hands on a rag. Taking a deep breath, he sauntered out of the tent and headed back to his bed.
VIII
Dawn was still hours away as Aalun stepped sharply through the camp, a loop of reins in his hand. He nodded in return as legionnaires and officers saluted him. As he reached the ailur tent, he unhooked a lamp hanging on the pole inside the door and lit it from a nearby brazier. Ducking inside, he turned to his right, where the tack and grooming tools were hung on a wooden rack.
He heard a growl from behind him but thought nothing of it as he placed the lantern on top of a box. Uncoiling the reins, he turned towards Destiny, who was lying facing away from him. The ailur growled again, and he stopped, wondering what had agitated her. She was pawing at her face. Sitting up, the ailur turned towards him, and something glittered in the darkness.
At first Aalun took the light to be a reflection from the lantern. He stepped a couple of paces and stopped. The glimmers in the gloom were like two tiny fires; flickering horizontal ovals of red and orange. Perplexed, he took a closer look; the tiny flames hovered just in front of Destiny's face.
With a cry of realisation, he straightened. The flickering glow came from Destiny's unmasked eyes.
Aalun had taken no more than a quarter-turn towards the door when the ailur attacked.
Destiny leapt through the air, chain snaking behind her. The ailur's forepaw caught the prince on the side of his face, claws ripping through skin and tearing out an eye. With a scream he fell, clasping his ruined face. Destiny jumped onto his back, pushing Aalun to the ground as her long teeth sank into the muscle of his shoulder, biting through to the bone.
Blackfang and Thunderbolt rose to their feet, sniffing the air and snarling. They strained at their chains but could not reach the blood they could smell.
With another cry, Aalun tried to crawl to safety but the ailur was too heavy for him to throw off. Releasing her jaws, Destiny raked her claws down his back, shearing through tunic, shirt, skin, fat, muscle; right the way down to his ribs. She drew back and pounced again, clamping her teeth into the back of his neck. Tossing her head from side to side, Destiny snapped the prince's spine, leaving Aalun's limp corpse dangling like a doll.
With her prey killed, Destiny settled down beside the corpse. Soon the tent was filled with the crack of snapping bones and the wet sounds of flesh being torn.
IX
Aalun's cremation was a far grander affair than Neerita's. The officers and first companies of all five legions stood in attendance at the pyre, their spears lowered in tribute, five golden faces of Askhos reflecting the flames.
Beside the great pyre burned five smaller fires; the bodies of the first legionnaires who had investigated Aalun's dying screams. It had taken numerous arrows and spear thrusts to slay Destiny, who had attacked the soldiers with unearthly, almost feminine shrieks. The incident had unsettled the whole army, not least because it had happened so soon after the death of Neerita. That one of the Blood had been slain in their midst gave the men grave concerns, and the whisper around the camp was that the Brotherhood had cursed them.
Ullsaard and the First Captains had done what they could to quell the growing dissent, but Ullsaard could sense that he was in danger of losing control of his legions. It was with much trepidation that he addressed the funeral guard. He began by speaking at length on the qualities of Aalun, impressing upon the men that they should be proud to have served under one of the Blood. He reminded them of their duty to Askhor, and to their companions.
"Though one of our champions has fallen, our call for what is ours cannot fall silent," Ullsaard said, arms folded across his broad chest, rain pattering from his ceremonial armour, wind tugging at crest and cloak. He looked at the rows of expectant faces, and knew that what he was about to say would make or break his ambitions.
"When one of our own has died, we say we have a lost a brother, for the legion is family. It raises us, nurtures us, teaches us discipline and respect, feeds us and gives us purpose. For me, the loss is greater than that, for I have truly lost a brother. Aalun was my prince, my mentor, my friend; but we also shared a father."
The announcement was first greeted by astonished silence, but soon ripples of chatter spread through the ranks, while the First Captains looked at each other in disbelief. Ullsaard held up his hands for quiet, but the disturbance continued. There were some who laughed, thinking Ullsaard's proclamation was a joke.
"Listen to me!" he bellowed. "I only tell you this now so that you may know that the Blood has not abandoned you. Our cause, for justice, has not changed. Though the Blood runs through my veins, though but for circumstance I might be called prince, you need know only one thing: I am still your general. The legion is still my family, and you are still my brothers. Today we take the next step on the path to glory and riches!"
Ullsaard snatched up his spear from where it had been driven into the mud. He strode along the line to stand in front of the Thirteenth's first company and lifted the weapon above his head.
"If I command, will the Thirteenth follow?"
The legionnaires replied with an approving roar, lifting their spears in salute. Ullsaard turned to his right.
"If I command, will the Sixteenth follow?"
The company cheered, adding their voices to the Thirteenth.
"If I command, will the Twelfth follow?"
Ullsaard marched along the line repeating the same call, until all five companies were shouting. He looked at his First Captains and they had their spears raised, joining in with the roars of their men.
The crackling of the pyre intruded into Ullsaard's thoughts and he spared a glance towards Aalun's burning body. He felt a flicker of guilt, but it was soon washed away by thoughts of what he could achieve without the prince to hold him back.
He was one of the Blood too, and power was his birthright.
Free Country
Midwinter, 209th Year of Askh
I
The cold permeated the caves, a leeching chill that constantly numbed the toes and fingers. Gelthius blew on his hands and rubbed them together to get the blood flowing as he attempted to splice two lengths of cord. He sat cross-legged on the main deck of the landship, back against the larboard rail, while a steady cold breeze wafted over him from the cave entrance. Next to him, Lepiris filled lamps with oil, cursing occasionally as his shaking hands dribbled the flammable liquid onto his clothes.
"I'll have t-" Lepiris stopped as a muffled shout echoed into the cavern from outside.