"Enough squabbling," said the king, stepping down from his chair. "Maalus, you will take your legion coldwards of here, the Aaglios River. That secures these forested hills. There are likely to be tribes in the forest itself, so don't try anything spectacular, you'll simply be ambushed. Lukha, you need to keep moving duskwards along the Aaglios, until you take this group of settlements here, at this fork in the river. I have it from my Salphorian allies that there is a town on the lake island. I figure with your expertise with ships that shouldn't be too much of a problem."
Lukha looked sourly at the map.
"So, Maalus gets hundreds of miles of the finest fir trees, while I have a lake and an island? What am I supposed to profit from? Fish?"
Ullsaard wanted to strangle the man, but fought the urge.
"We don't know where the Aaglios leads, but it is bound to be an important route duskwards to the sea," Ullsaard explained, not entirely hiding his irritation. "That island will be the perfect place for a dock. It'll be as large as Geria; maybe even as big as Narun if there's as much land to duskwards as I think there is. Maalus will be paying your port fees to ship that timber to the coast."
Maalus was about to object, but was stopped by Ullsaard's raised hand.
"And before you complain, Maalus, consider this," the king continued. "Docks mean wharfs and ships, and that means timber. This stretch of river could be the centre of Askhan expansion in Salphoria, and there's going to be enough coin for everybody involved."
The two men exchanged a glance filled with suspicion. Maalus looked at the map again, rubbing a hand over his scalp.
"That is quite a way from Magilnada," he said. "I would not want to be sticking my neck to the block. Perhaps another legion or two would make the situation more secure?"
"No," said Ullsaard. "Winter's coming, and there's no time for you to raise any more legions. We need this advance to happen as soon as possible."
"I know I cannot raise a legion overnight, but you have five of them sitting here with nothing to do…"
"No."
Maalus frowned and stood up with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"I am not going to wander into the heart of Salphor territory with just one legion." The noble took two steps towards the tent door before Ullsaard grabbed his arm and hauled him around.
"You will march your legion tomorrow," said the king, speaking slowly and quietly. "If you do not, I will find someone who will."
Maalus tried to shrug off the king's grip but failed. He met Ullsaard's stare with a look of contempt.
"You cannot force me to do anything," said the noble. "If you want my men, you will allow me to choose where and when they march. I am not one of your captains, to be ordered around at your whim."
Ullsaard tightened his fingers until Maalus was squirming, knees buckling.
"This isn't Askh," hissed Ullsaard. "And I am still your king. I could cut your fucking head off right now and there is not a man in this camp would raise a word about it. I have offered you ample reward for your efforts. Do not test my patience."
The flush of anger drained from Maalus's face as he saw the look in Ullsaard's eyes. The king pulled Maalus back to his feet, let go of his arm and waved towards the door.
"Feel free to return to your legion now," said Ullsaard. He glanced over his shoulder to his First Captains. "Jutiil will accompany you back to your camp to help you make everything ready for your departure."
Jutiil stood up, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He smiled at Maalus and nodded for the noble to lead the way. Ullsaard watched the two of them until they had left and then turned to Lukha.
"Any questions or objections?" the king asked.
Lukha smiled hesitantly and shook his head.
"No, my king, that all seems to be perfectly clear."
II
The track was a ribbon of slurry, created by the constant drizzle and thousands of feet. The legionnaires sloped their shields above their heads to keep the rain from wetting their kit, giving the column the appearance of a snake three miles long, with round scales banded in sections of red, black, blue and bronze.
Ullsaard pulled Blackfang to one side of the winding track, heading up a shallow rise, the high grass leaving a wet swathe in the ailur's fur. For eight days he had marched, almost directly duskwards, following the muddy road alongside the Annillan River. From the Altes hills the waterway plunged down into the plains and then veered lazily through the grasslands, almost half a mile wide in places. The only evidence of people had been the clusters of abandoned huts clinging to the muddy flats around the river; the Salphors had fled before the advance of the Askhans.
Looking ahead, Ullsaard could see little through the gloom, but from his observations yesterday knew that there was a range of mountains somewhere to duskwards. How wide or high they were, he did not know, and whether they could be skirted to coldwards or hotwards remained a concern. From experience, he knew the Annillan would turn one way or the other as it reached the foothills, following the line of least resistance to the sea. Just how far that might be had been a subject of some debate in the camp for the past few days, with no clear decision. Much like the Greenwater campaign, this was a voyage into the unknown.
Staring at the expanse of wilderness, Ullsaard wondered if he had bitten off more than he could chew. Greater Askhor was vast, but it seemed that the loose conglomeration of lands and people the Askhans glibly called Salphoria might be almost as big.
It had taken two hundred years for Greater Askhor to be created, and he was looking to conquer a similar territory within a season. He had once said he would conquer Salphoria in a single summer if he had two hundred and fifty thousand men. He had less than half that, and yet had pressed on regardless. It seemed ridiculous when he thought of it like that.
His contemplation was broken by the approach of Anasind, accompanied by a leather-faced legionnaire. Ullsaard recognised the man as one of the ex-landship crew that had joined the Thirteenth for the attack on Magilnada. He had seen him again at the sacking of Askh, but for his life he couldn't remember the man's name.
"What's this?" asked Ullsaard.
"Someone who could be useful, king," said Anasind. "You wanted local knowledge. This is Gelthius, a Salphor in the Thirteenth."
"Gelthius, that was it," said Ullsaard. He smiled at the legionnaire, who had the expression of a small animal suddenly coming face to face with a hungry lion. Ullsaard was not sure whether this was due to his presence, or Blackfang's. The soldier was certainly keeping as far from the ailur as he could without actually hiding behind Anasind. "Glad to see you're still with us, Gelthius."
"So am I, right enough," said Gelthius. He glanced at Anasind before continuing. "I heard word that you was asking after people that might know these lands."
Anasind coughed pointedly and glared at Gelthius.
"King," the legionnaire quickly added with a bow of the head.
"So, you know these parts, do you?"
"Was born on the banks of this river, about three more days duskwards," said Gelthius. "Er, king. These are the lands of the Linghar."
There was a catch to the man's voice, and a slightly wistful cast to his expression, tinged with apprehension.
"You have family here?" the king asked.
"They was here when I got taken as a debtor, king," Gelthius said with a shrug. "I dunno if they still is. That were seven years ago and some."
Ullsaard regarded the legionnaire for some time, adding to Gelthius's discomfort. With a little nod to himself as he reached a decision, the king leaned over to the legionnaire and slapped a hand on his shoulder.