The Crown of the Conqueror Read Free Page B

and his face was harderedged, no sign of the chubbiness that had filled his cheeks. His hair was close-cropped, the same golden blonde as his mother's.
      The eyes showed the greatest difference. There were rings of fatigue under them.
      "You look like you've had less sleep than me," said Ullsaard.
      Ullnaar shrugged.
      "When you came through the Wall, Lutaar tried to break the sanctuary of the colleges. I think he intended to take me hostage as last resort. Meemis and the other teachers hid me away until the soldiers had to leave to fight you. I was afraid, I admit. It was not until you came into the city yesterday that I realised I was safe."
      "You are safe," said Ullsaard. "And tonight you will sleep here."
      Ullnaar nodded and smiled. Beneath the cheery expression, Ullsaard detected the traces of the fear that had haunted his son. He had never thought Lutaar would breach the sanctity of the college grounds; sanctity laid down by Askhos himself.
      Knowing what he now did, Ullsaard realised that Lutaar was Askhos, in some confusing fashion, and Askhos would have no qualms breaking his own rules if he needed to. It worried Ullsaard that he had heard nothing from the dead king all day; not a single insult, warning or unwanted piece of advice.
      "Is something the matter, father?"
      Ullsaard snapped out of his thoughts, realising he had been staring at Ullnaar. He returned his son's smile.
      "I'm more tired than a whore after a legion's marched into town. I'm sorry, but we will have to talk properly in the morning. I'm in no fit state at the moment."
      Ullnaar nodded and shook his father's hand again.
      "Congratulations, King Ullsaard," he said. Ullsaard laughed, hung an arm over Ullnaar's shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace, much to his son's embarrassment.
      "Thank you, Prince Ullnaar."
      Ullsaard let go and stepped away. He turned for the bedroom and almost stumbled through the door. He threw off his armour and clothes, while Ariid followed him around the room, picking them up. With a sigh, Ullsaard threw himself onto the bed.
      Within moments he was snoring soundly. Almost as quickly, Ullsaard dreamt.
     
    He imagined himself waking up in a cave. As he looked around he realised it was not so much a natural cave; the walls were smooth and hand-worked and a lintel of black granite topped the square door.
      It was a mausoleum of some kind. At the far end of the long, low chamber sat a stone casket. A bearded man a little shorter than himself sat on the top of the stone box. He was middleaged, with weatherworn features, dressed in a simple white kilt and a leather breastplate.
      He looked very familiar.
      "I've seen your face before," said Ullsaard
      He approached the man, head stooped beneath a ceiling carved with spirals and shallow runes. He realised the floor and walls were decorated the same. The only light came through the door, a cold twilight that hid more in shadow than it revealed. The man gestured for Ullsaard to sit in front of him. Ullsaard stayed standing. He realised where he had seen the face before: on the golden icons of the legions.
      "So this is what you really look like, Askhos? The banners bear a very good likeness."
      Askhos smiled, but his eyes showed no mirth.
      "They were fashioned from my death mask," said the first king of Askh. "I always thought they made me look fatter than I was."
      Ullsaard looked around at the crypt and a thought occurred to him.
      "This is where you are buried, isn't it?"
      "Yes, this is my tomb," said Askhos.
      "Nobody knows where it is."
      "I do, and that is what is important."
      Ullsaard walked towards to the open entrance, looking over his shoulder at Askhos.
      "I can easily find out," he said. "I'm sure it's in Askhor somewhere, and I'll recognise a landmark or something."
      "You are welcome to try," said Askhos, waving a hand towards the gleam of cold light.
      Through the