"Embarrassing?"
Lenorin nodded, keeping his voice even but there was the faintest curl of sneer on his lip.
"Look at them all," he said, waving a hand to encompass the milling crowds of merchants, chieftains and craftsmen haggling, chatting and arguing. "Like dogs fighting for the scraps from the table of their master. Look at him, the tall one with the red hair. That's Gelthar, one of the Pretari chieftains. The moment he heard of the Askhan invasion, he deserted his tribe and came to the city to become a captain. His family has given blood and sweat for their lands for generations, but as soon as the Askhans show up he forgets all that and wants to sweep away his neighbours. He's not the only one. Half the men in this building are traitors and cowards."
"So, what's the plan to stop them?"
IV
The row of houses along the street was a testament to wealth and privilege. In a city where space was at a premium, the large gardens, high walls and multi-storey buildings were proof of the power of their owners. Each was built from white stone and dark red brick, with slate roofs and heavy wooden beams to support them. When a lot of Magilnadan families shared just one or two rooms, each small palace was a bold extravagance with half a dozen bedchambers, deep cellars, separate kitchens, feasting halls and multiple lounges and rooms of study and relaxation.
Originally they had been the homes of the city's founders and as Magilnada had fallen under the influence of the Salphorian tribes, the chieftains had taken residence. Some still showed evidence of this, with ancient flags hanging from the eaves and weather-beaten shields mounted beneath the upper windows.
The Magilnadan nobility had all been slain over the last couple of years and now the Hill of Chieftains was the select province of Anglhan's favourites; and Ullsaard, who had secured one of the properties for his family when he had taken the city for Askhor.
The king dismissed his bodyguard at the end of the street and walked alone past the fresco-covered walls and brightly painted gates. He came to the third house, its gate a vivid scarlet, the plastered walls adorned with paintings of the mountains, eagles flying above the peaks, golden lions prowling the valleys.
A smaller door opened in the gate as he approached, the servants within warned of his arrival. Stepping inside, the king found himself in a cobbled yard, an empty ailur pen to the right, a covered space for chariots and carriages to his left. A handful of servants greeted him, heads bowed respectfully. The man who had opened the door bowed and introduced himself as Irian. Ullsaard guessed him to be Anrairian or Ersuan by his stocky build and accent.
"Your family awaits your pleasure in the main reception hall, majesty," said Irian.
Ullsaard gestured for the servant to lead the way and dismissed the others back to their duties. He followed Irian across the courtyard and into the shadow of the wide porch. The doors to the house were already open and Irian stepped aside to allow the king to enter first.
Fresh flowers flanked the hall in tall vases and were hanging from the rafters overhead, filling the house with their strong perfume. The floor was lined with a deep red wood and the walls covered with patterned, abstract tapestries. Ullsaard advanced slowly, taking in every detail even as his thoughts were occupied by what he was going to say to his wives. He mentally cursed Anglhan for not delivering Ullsaard's letter, while at the same time he conceded that perhaps talk of divorce was best done in person. He just wished he was not the person who had to talk about it.
He passed several open archways and came to a set of double doors at the end. Irian slipped past at the last moment to fling them in.
"King Ullsaard!" the servant declared, stepping aside.
Ullsaard stopped level with Irian and stooped to whisper to him.
"This is my family, not a faceless rabble to be awed. They know who I am."
Irian shuffled nervously and bobbed his head in mute agreement. Ullsaard straightened and entered the hall with steady strides, unsure what to expect. In his mind, nothing had really changed, but he knew that he was king now and even his family would treat him differently.
The reception hall was about thirty paces long and twenty wide. It opened onto an internal garden at the far end and a long table ran almost the full length of the room. The floor was covered in a mosaic depicting a flock of red-feathered birds flying across a sky, the circle of the sun beneath the chair at the head of the table.
Ullsaard's family clustered around the chair, eyes fixed on the king; his wives, Allenya, Luia and Meliu; two of his sons, Ullnaar and Urikh; and his mother, Pretaa. A little further away stood another pair — two daughters-in-law, one of them holding Ullsaard's granddaughter Luissa.
The king saw none of them save for Allenya. His eldest wife looked at him with a mixture of relief and happiness and stepped forward to accept his long embrace when he crossed the room. Ullsaard buried his face in the thick curls of her hair and stroked the back of her head. The two of them held each other for some time, saying nothing, enjoying the moment of reuniting.
Eventually Ullsaard pulled himself back, planting a kiss on Allenya's lips. Meliu was the next to greet him, skipping up to receive his kiss on her forehead. She planted her own welcome on each bearded cheek. Luia nodded politely, but even her severe expression softened and a smile played on her lips when Ullsaard bowed his head to her. He shook hands with Urikh and Ullnaar, ruffled Luissa's hair and then waved for them to be seated at the table, which the servants were quickly lading with all manner of food.
He stood behind the head chair for a moment, hands on its back, and looked at his gathered family. Only Jutaar, his second son, was missing. Instated as First Captain of the First Magilnadan legion he was at the main camp overseeing his men's preparations for the invasion.
"It seems like an age since we've all been together," said Ullsaard. He shook his head, not quite believing himself. "Without all of you, I would have failed. Now I am king, and you are the most powerful family in Greater Askhor. It makes me so proud to be your husband, your father, and your king."
He sat down and grabbed a cup of wine. In one long draught, he emptied the cup and slapped it back onto the table. Smacking his lips, he grinned at Allenya.
"This may not be Askh, but it's good to be home!"
He was about to help himself to some chicken when he caught sight of Meliu gazing intently at him. Seeing her suddenly reminded him of something he had forgotten in the excitement of his homecoming. He rose to his feet so quickly that his chair toppled back to the floor.
"Where is Noran?" he asked, looking at Meliu. She flushed red, remembering her indiscretion with Ullsaard's friend.
"He is upstairs," said Allenya. She leaned across the table and laid a hand on Ullsaard's arm. "Please, eat with us. Enjoy your meal. You can see Noran when we are finished."
Ullsaard nodded. He waved away the pair of servants that stepped forward to help him right the chair. Sitting down again, Ullsaard leaned forwards, elbows on the table.
"Let's eat."
V
A bird chirped happily to itself in a gilded cage, answered by others of its kind from a tree in the gardens outside the window. Ullsaard barely noticed the bird as he entered. His attention was fixed on Noran. The former herald to King Lutaar lay on a low cot, sheets pulled back, his yellowish chest and shoulders catching the sun coming through the window. As well as its jaundiced tint, Noran's skin had a thin, weathered look to it. There was little fat and muscle left, his face gaunt, his limbs withered.
Meliu followed Ullsaard into the small bedroom, a bowl of broth on a tray. She placed the soup on a table beside the bed and knelt down next to Noran. Spoonful by spoonful, she fed him, dribbling the liquid between his parted lips.