‘… good thing the Dogman turned up when he did, or the whole division might’ve come apart. As it is we lost the northern half of Osrung, but we managed to push the savages back into the woods. Colonel Brint was a rock. Couldn’t have done it without him. He’ll want to ask you … want to ask you about—’
‘Later.’ There was no way she could face that. ‘I have to talk to my father.’
‘Should you wash first? Change your clothes? At least catch your breath for a—’
‘My clothes can wait,’ she snapped at him. ‘I’ve a message from Black Dow, do you understand?’
‘Of course. Stupid of me. I’m sorry.’ He kept flipping from fatherly stern to soppy soft, and she could not decide which was annoying her more. She felt as if he was angry, but lacked the courage to say so. At her for coming to the North when he had wanted her to stay behind. At himself for not being there to help her when the Northmen came. At both of them for not knowing how to help her now. Probably he was angry that he was angry, instead of revelling in her safe return.
They reined in their horses and he insisted on helping her down. They stood in awkward silence, with an awkward distance between them, he with an awkward hand on her shoulder that offered less than no comfort. She badly wanted him to find some words that might help her see some sense in what had happened that day. But there was no sense in it, and any words would fall pathetically short.
‘I love you,’ he said lamely, in the end, and it seemed few words could have fallen as pathetically short as those did.
‘I love you too.’ But all she felt was a creeping dread. A sense that there was an awful weight at the back of her mind she was forcing herself not to look at, but that at any moment it might fall and crush her utterly. ‘You should go back down.’
‘No! Of course not. I should stay with—’
She put a firm hand on his chest. She was surprised how firm it was. ‘I’m safe now.’ She nodded towards the valley, its fires prickling at the night. ‘They need you more than I do.’
She could almost feel the relief coming off him. To no longer be taunted by his inability to make everything better. ‘Well, if you’re sure—’
‘I’m sure.’
She watched him mount up, and he gave her a quick, uncertain, worried smile, and rode away into the gathering darkness. Part of her wished he had fought harder to stay. Part of her was glad to see the back of him.
She walked to the barn, pulling Hal’s coat tight around her, past a staring guard and into the low-raftered room. It was a much more intimate gathering than last night’s. Generals Mitterick and Jalenhorm, Colonel Felnigg, and her father. For a moment she felt an exhausting sense of relief to see him. Then she noticed Bayaz, sitting slightly removed from the others, his servant occupying the shadows behind him with the faintest of smiles, and any relief died a quick death.
Mitterick was holding forth, as ever, and, as ever, Felnigg listening with the expression of a man forced to fish something from a latrine. ‘The bridge is in our hands and my men are crossing the river even as we speak. I’ll have fresh regiments on the north bank well before dawn, including plenty of cavalry and the terrain to make use of it. The standards of the Second and Third are flying in the Northmen’s trenches. And tomorrow I’ll get Vallimir off his arse and into action if I have to kick him across that stream myself. I’ll have those Northern bastards on the run by …’
His eyes drifted over to Finree, and he awkwardly cleared his throat and fell silent. One by one the other officers followed his gaze, and she saw in their faces what a state she must look. They could hardly have appeared more shocked if they had witnessed a corpse clamber from its grave. All except for Bayaz, whose stare was as calculating as ever.
‘Finree.’ Her father started up, gathered her in his arms and held her tight. Probably she should have dissolved into grateful tears, but he was the one who ended up dashing something from his eye on one sleeve. ‘I thought maybe …’ He winced as he touched her bloody hair, as though to finish the thought was more than he could bear. ‘Thank the Fates you’re alive.’
‘Thank Black Dow. He’s the one who sent me back.’
‘Black Dow?’
‘Yes. I met him. I spoke to him. He wants to talk. He wants to talk about peace.’ There was a disbelieving silence. ‘I persuaded him to let some wounded men go, as a gesture of good faith. Sixty. It was the best I could do.’
‘You persuaded Black Dow to release prisoners?’ Jalenhorm puffed out his cheeks. ‘That’s quite a thing. Burning them is more his style.’
‘That’s my girl,’ said her father, and the pride in his voice made her feel sick.
Bayaz sat forward. ‘Describe him.’
‘Tallish. Strong-built. Fierce-looking. He was missing his left ear.’
‘Who else was with him?’
‘An older man called Craw, who led me back across the river. A big man with a scarred face and … a metal eye. And …’ It seemed so strange now she was starting to wonder whether she had imagined the whole thing. ‘A black-skinned woman.’
Bayaz’ eyes narrowed, his mouth tightened, and Finree felt the hairs prickling on the back of her neck. ‘A thin, black-skinned woman, wrapped in bandages?’
She swallowed. ‘Yes.’
The First of the Magi sat slowly back, and he and his servant exchanged a long glance. ‘They are here.’
‘I did say.’
‘Can nothing ever be straightforward?’ snapped Bayaz.
‘Rarely, sir,’ replied the servant, his different-coloured eyes shifting lazily from Finree, to her father, and back to his master.
‘Who are here?’ asked a baffled Mitterick.
Bayaz did not bother to answer. He was busy watching Finree’s father, who had crossed to his desk and was starting to write. ‘What are you about, Lord Marshal?’
‘It seems best that I should write to Black Dow and arrange a meeting so we can discuss the terms of an armistice—’
‘No,’ said Bayaz.
‘No?’ There was a pregnant silence. ‘But … it sounds as if he is willing to be reasonable. Should we not at least—’
‘Black Dow is not a reasonable man. His allies are …’ Bayaz’ lip curled and Finree drew Hal’s coat tight around her shoulders. ‘Even less so. Besides, you have done so well today, Lord Marshal. Such fine work from you, and General Mitterick, and Colonel Brock, and the Dogman. Ground taken and sacrifices made and so on. I feel your men deserve another crack at it tomorrow. Just one more day, I think. What’s one day?’
Finree found she was feeling awfully weak. Dizzy. Whatever force had been holding her up for the past few hours was ebbing fast.
‘Lord Bayaz …’ Her father looked trapped in no-man’s-land between pain and bafflement. ‘A day is just a day. We will strive, of course, with every sinew if that is the king’s pleasure, but there is a very good chance that we will not be able to secure a decisive victory in one day—’
‘That would be a question for tomorrow. Every war is only a prelude to talk, Lord Marshal, but it’s all about,’ and the Magus looked up at the ceiling, rubbing one thick thumb against one fingertip, ‘who you talk to. It would be best if we kept news of this among ourselves. Such things can be bad for morale. One more day, if you please.’
Finree’s father obediently bowed his head, but when he crumpled up his half-written letter in one fist his knuckles were white with force. ‘I serve at his Majesty’s pleasure.’
‘So do we all,’ said Jalenhorm. ‘And my men are ready to do their duty! I humbly entreat the right to lead an assault upon the Heroes, and redeem myself on the battlefield.’ As though anyone was redeemed on the battlefield. They were only killed there, as far as Finree could see. Her legs seemed to weigh a ton a piece as she made for the door at the back of the room.