Jezal remembered the triumph laid on for Marshal Varuz when he returned from his victory over the Gurkish, remembered staring wide-eyed, little more than a child. He had caught one fleeting glimpse of the Marshal himself, seated high on a grey charger, but never imagined that one day he might ride in the place of honour. It still seemed strange, if he was honest. After all, he had defeated a bunch of peasants rather than the most powerful nation in the Circle of the World. Still, it was hardly his place to judge who was worthy of a triumph and who was not, was it?
And so Jezal spurred his horse forwards, passing between the rows of smiling faces, waving arms, through air thick with support and approval. He saw that the great men of the Closed Council were arranged across the front row of benches. He recognised Arch Lector Sult in shining white, High Justice Marovia in solemn black. His erstwhile fencing master, Lord Marshal Varuz, was there, Lord Chamberlain Hoff just beside him. All applauding, mostly with a faint disdain which Jezal found rather ungracious. In the midst, well propped up on a gilded chair, was the King himself.
Jezal, now fully adjusted to his role of conquering hero, dragged hard on the bridle making his steed rear up, front hooves thrashing theatrically at the air. He vaulted from the saddle, approached the royal dais, and sank gracefully down on one knee, head bowed, the applause of the crowd echoing around him, to await the Kings gratitude. Would it be too much to hope for a further promotion? Perhaps even a title of his own? It seemed suddenly hard to believe that he had been forced to consider a quiet life in obscurity, not so very long ago.
Your Majesty he heard Hoff saying, and he peered up from under his brows. The King was asleep, his eyes firmly closed, his mouth hanging open. Hardly a great surprise in its own way, the man was long past his best, but Jezal could not help being galled. It was the second time, after all, that he had slumbered through one of Jezals moments of glory. Hoff nudged the monarch as subtly as possible with an elbow, but when he did not wake, was forced to lean close to whisper in his ear.
Your Majesty He got no further. The King leaned sideways, his head slumping, and fell all of a sudden from his gilded chair, sprawling on his back before the stricken members of the Closed Council like a landed whale. His scarlet robe flopped open to reveal a great wet stain across his trousers and the crown tumbled from his head, bounced once and clattered across the flags.
There was a collective gasp, punctuated by a shriek from a lady near the back. Jezal could only stare, open mouthed, as the Lord Chamberlain flung himself down on his knees, bending over the stricken King. A silent moment passed, a moment in which every person in the Square of Marshals held their breath, then Hoff got slowly to his feet. His face had lost all of its redness.
The King is dead! he wailed, the tortured echoes ringing from the towers and buildings around the square. Jezal could only grimace. It was just his luck. Now no one would be cheering for him.
Too Many Knives
Logen sat on a rock, twenty strides from the track that Crummock was leading them up. He knew all the ways, Crummock-i-Phail, all the ways in the North. That was the rumour, and Logen hoped it was a fact. He didnt fancy being led straight into an ambush. They were heading north, towards the mountains. Hoping to draw Bethod down off his hills and up into the High Places. Hoping the Union would come up behind him, and catch him in a trap. An awful lot of hoping, that.
It was a hot, sunny day, and the earth under the trees was broken with shadow and slashed with bright sunlight, shifting as the branches moved in the wind, the sun slipping through and stabbing in Logens face from time to time. Birds tweeted and warbled, trees creaked and rustled, insects floated in the still air, and the forest floor was spattered with clumps of flowers, white and blue. Summer, in the North, but none of it made Logen feel any better. Summer was the best season for killing, and hed seen plenty more men die in good weather than in bad. So he kept his eyes open, looking out into the trees, watching hard and listening harder.
That was the task Dogman had given him. Staying out on the right flank, making sure none of Bethods boys crept up while they were all spread out in file down that goat track. It suited Logen well enough. Kept him on the edge, where none of his own side might get tempted to try and kill him.
Watching men moving quiet through the trees, voices kept down low, weapons at the ready, brought back a rush of memories. Some good, some bad. Mostly bad, it had to be said. One man came away from the others as Logen watched, started walking towards him through the trees. He had a big grin on his face, just as friendly as you like, but that meant nothing, Logen had known plenty of men who could grin while they planned to kill you. Hed done it himself, and more than once.
He turned his body sideways a touch, sliding his hand down out of sight and curling it tight round the grip of a knife. You can never have too many knives, his father had told him, and that was strong advice. He looked around, slow and easy, just to make sure there was no one at his back, but there were only empty trees. So he shifted his feet for a better balance and stayed sitting, trying to look as if nothing worried him, but with every muscle tensed and ready to spring.
My names Red Hat. The man stopped no more than a stride away, still grinning, his left hand slack on the pommel of his sword, the other just hanging.
Logens mind raced, thinking over all the men hed wronged, or hurt, or got bound up in a feud with. Those hed left alive, anyway. Red Hat. He couldnt find a place for it anywhere, but that was no reassurance. Ten men with ten big books couldnt have kept track of all the enemies hed made, and the friends and the family and the allies of all his enemies. And that was without a man trying to kill him without much of a reason, just to make his own name bigger. Cant say I recognise the name.
Red Hat shrugged. No reason you should do. I fought for Old Man Yawl, way back. He was a good man, was Yawl, a man you could respect.
Aye, said Logen, still watching hard for a sudden move.
But when he went back to the mud I got a place with Littlebone.
Never saw eye to eye with Littlebone, even when we were on the same side.
Neither did I, being honest. A right bastard. All bloated up with victories that Bethod won for him. Didnt sit well with me. Thats why I came over, you know? When I heard Threetrees was here. He sniffed and looked down at the earth. Someone needs to do something about that fucking Feared.
So they tell me. Logen was hearing a lot about this Feared, and none of it good, but itd take more than a few words in the right direction to get his hand off his knife.
Still, the Dogmans a good chief, I reckon. One of the best Ive had. Knows his business. Careful, like. Thinks about things.
Aye. Always thought he would be.
You think Bethods following us?
Logen didnt take his eyes from Red Hats. Maybe he is, maybe he isnt. Dont reckon well know til we get up in the mountains and hear him knocking at the door.
You think the Unionll keep to their end of it?
Dont see why not. That Burr seems to know what hes about, far as I can tell, and his boy Furious as well. They said theyll come, I reckon theyll come. Not much we can do about it either way now, though, is there?
Red Hat wiped some sweat from his forehead, squinting off into the trees. I reckon youre right. Anyway, alls I wanted to say was, I was in the battle, at Ineward. I was on the other side from you, but I saw you fight, and I kept well away, I can tell you that. He shook his head, and grinned. Never saw anything like that, before or since. I suppose what Im saying is, Im happy to have you with us. Real happy.