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out to be someone special."
      "All right, let's make this official then," said the king, holding his hand up to halt the short column while he reined Blackfang to a stop. He turned in the saddle to look at Muuril. "You're good at shouting. You have the honour."
      "Yes, king!" replied Muuril with a broad smile. He stepped out from the front rank and paced a short distance ahead of Ullsaard. Quite a crowd of women and older children had gathered on the edges of the muddy road. Chickens squawked and goats bleated, adding to the hubbub of the villagers' speculations.
      "All citizens of the Greater Askhan empire, make homage to your ruler!" declared Muuril, lifting up his spear in salute to his king.
      The peasantry's muttering grew in volume, and there was some shaking of heads and frowning. Muuril took some paces towards them, his expression thunderously angry, before Ullsaard's call checked him.
      "Sergeant, remain where you are." Ullsaard motioned Blackfang into a walk and approached the crowd, singling out a gaggle of the oldest women: three crones in black dresses and headscarves that regarded the king with ancient eyes.
      "I am your king," Ullsaard said, fixing the women with a glare. "You should show respect."
      The old women looked at each other and then Ullsaard. One of them took a step forward and gave an awkward bow. She looked back at the other villagers and nodded and bowed at her signal.
      "Forgive us, but we aren't used to such company, our king," said the woman. "And we wasn't expecting a visit, neither. We never had no king come here before, and specially not one so new."
      "These are my lands," said Ullsaard. "I own the villa at Menesun. You have been my people since before I became king."
      "Well, maybe that's true of your father, but we ain't never had you visit from what I remembers, and I remembers before your father took over," said the elder.
      "My father? King Lutaar? What has he got to do with anything?"
      "Oh, my mistaking, much apologies, our king," said the woman, hunching over again in a deeper bow. Ullsaard winced as her back cracked several times when she straightened. "It gets confusing sometimes. I thought it was King Ullsaard that was your father."
      Ullsaard blinked at the woman, her rambling almost incomprehensible. He realised that there was most definitely some confusion clouding the conversation.
      "I am King Ullsaard," he said.
      "You are?" The old woman's wrinkles deepened as her eyes opened wide with surprise. She gaped, showing off more gaps than teeth.
      "I tolds you so!" snapped one of the other elders. The woman, her skin more like leather than human flesh, pushed her way past the spokeswoman. "King Ullsaard it is! Like the first time I laid eyes on you, if you pardon my familiarity."
      "Who else would I be?" Ullsaard's patience was rapidly running out.
      "King Urikh, of course," replied the first elder. "You're the very image of your father, you know."
      "Quiet!" Ullsaard snapped, turning to glare at his legionnaires, who had started whispering and chuckling at the old woman's mistake. He returned his attention to the villagers. "I am King Ullsaard, why would you think otherwise?"
      "Because we heard you were dead, our king," said the first elder. "Only four days ago, from a Brother no less. Came through here saying that King Ullsaard was dead, and King Urikh was now in charge of the empire."
      "We even had a feast in your honour," added one amongst the young women who were listening intently to the discussion from a short distance away. "I cooked game pie in your memory."
      Ullsaard suppressed a growl of annoyance, directed not at the women but at Urikh. Of course he would announce Ullsaard's death before he took the throne.
      "And how did I… I mean, what did the Brother say was the cause of King Ullsaard's death?"
      "Dirty Salphors done for King Ullsaard," said another villager.
      "An exaggeration,"