by Tom Lloyd
Safir laughed. ‘I’ve heard the name before, yes, but thank you, my friend. His path isn’t for me, even now, but I’m glad to meet those who walk it.’
They sat a little longer before Safir wiped his nose on his sleeve and took a deep breath. ‘And you, Lynx? Do you have a plan? Will you settle down with that hellcat and raise little hellcats? Disappear into the night? Or perhaps walk the land with me and bang on about bloody Vagrim until I’m forced to ditch you?’
Lynx was a long while in answering, but as the seconds drew out he became more and more certain he knew where his future lay. There was unfinished business in his mind. It had been nagging at him for months and now it called to him across the landscape.
‘Yeah, I reckon I know what comes next.’
‘So speaks a voice of portent,’ Safir said, looking at him curiously. ‘Is there no peace or rest for you after all this?’
Lynx shook his head. ‘Peace is for the powerful, rest is for the wicked. The broken aren’t so lucky.’
He cleared his throat and stood. ‘Come on – we all need to get out of this place before we can worry about plans.’
Safir smiled and allowed himself to be pulled upright. Together they returned to the fire where now the whole company was assembled, so far as he could tell. As he joined Toil and eyed up the scraps of blood sausage stuck to the bottom of the pan, Lynx realised a hush had descended.
‘What’s going on? Is it Reft?’
‘No, he’s fine. Well, not fine, but still alive,’ Payl said. ‘We’ve been talking about the future. Now the job’s over and Anatin’s dead.’
‘You’re the new boss?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m done with the merc life,’ Payl said with a weary expression. ‘Lost enough friends, enough lovers. I want to get out of this life while I’ve got all my arms and legs. It’s the Hand of Cards for me I reckon; lugging barrels, tossing drunks and not dying in a ditch.’
‘Who then? Toil?’
He turned to the red-headed woman, but she just smiled and shook her head.
‘I’m not a mercenary, I’m an agent of Su Dregir, remember? My boss is the Archelect and no doubt there are some scamps in that city who’ve forgotten about the Red Lady. My job is done – better than I could ever have imagined. It’s time to go home and report, get yelled at by the First Lord of the Treasury for a few hours then sleep for a month. And anyways, I’m tired of giving the orders, of being the one with the plan. Let someone else steer the ship.’
‘A deserved rest, eh?’ Lynx said, casting a smile at Safir. ‘Figures.’
Toil nodded. ‘Unless I get sent with Atieno after those remaining caches of God Fragments – make sure no other god’s capable of exerting their will. Assuming I want to of course.’ She gave him a coy smile. ‘Assuming I don’t get a better offer.’
‘Who then?’ Lynx asked, finding he didn’t have a reply to that smile yet.
‘We took a vote,’ Llaith said, ‘decided it was only fair and on top of anything, Anatin always fucking hated the idea of voting for stuff. It seems a fitting way to piss off the old dead bastard, eh?’
Lynx frowned. He didn’t follow the logic, but could imagine Anatin cackling at the notion of annoying the dead. ‘Hang on, I didn’t get a vote – nor Safir!’
‘I voted,’ Safir broke in. ‘I spoke to Payl earlier.’
‘Oh. Fine then.’
‘Fine?’ Toil asked. ‘That’s all you’ve got to say about it?’
‘Probably time anyway.’
‘What?’
Lynx sighed. ‘A rest sounds good. I could do with getting paid and buying some shit, but there’s something I’ve got to do.’
‘Does it pay?’
‘No.’ He paused. ‘Why?’
‘Because we voted you to be the next boss, ya dumbshit,’ Deern hissed. ‘I mean – obviously I reckoned it was a shit idea and we should get pretty much anyone else in charge, but some of these wankers thought otherwise.’
Lynx frowned in confusion. ‘Me?’
‘You,’ Toil said firmly, placing a hand on his chest. ‘The Prince of Sun, how does that sound to you?’
‘Awful, if I’m honest.’
‘At least you know what you’re getting yourself into.’
Lynx shook his head. ‘I can’t run a company. I don’t know anything about it. Certainly don’t have the money to buy out Anatin’s share.’
‘The rest of us think otherwise,’ Safir said, stepping forward. ‘We’ve done something extraordinary – a few things, in fact. It’s hard to go back to territorial disputes and cattle raiding. But if anyone can get the company into legendary levels of shit, it’s you. So long as someone pays the bar bill, that’s fine with us.’
‘You don’t want to get into what I’ve got planned.’
‘And what’s that, sweetness?’ Toil asked.
He took a deep breath. ‘The Shonrin. I’m going home.’
There was a long silence as the whole company looked at him. The Shonrin had led So Han’s wars of conquest – existing as a strange mix of warleader and messiah for the savage warrior nation. He’d retreated into exile to a mountain fastness when the war ended and so far as anyone knew, was still there – ageing and bitter, but protected by a fanatical cadre of elite Hanese warriors.
‘You really can pick ’em, can’t you?’ Deern said eventually. ‘Fuck’s sake, Lynx.’
‘Ambitious, certainly,’ Safir suggested, ‘even by your standards.’
‘Miserable fucking Hanese, always holding a grudge, eh?’
Toil laughed and ended the comments as she stepped forwards and placed a kiss on Lynx’s cheek. ‘The way I hear it, the Shonrin’s fortress might be on top of a Duegar outpost. You’re going to need an experienced relic hunter, then.’
‘I can’t ask you to come – any of you!’
‘You ain’t asking,’ Llaith pointed out. ‘Did anyone hear the boss asking?’
‘First rule of being in charge,’ Kas said with twinkling eyes, ‘don’t ask – tell.’
‘I’m no leader,’ Lynx protested. ‘Never have been, never will be.’
‘Those of us who’ve served in an army,’ Varain announced slowly, ‘know a few things about that. Arseholes like you who can’t take orders properly, it’s better to promote ’em so they’re giving the orders instead.’
‘Mercs don’t care about much,’ Kas said, ‘but winning is a good way of getting paid and idiot though you are, you find a way.’
‘This is stupid,’ Lynx said, looking round at them all. ‘None of you want this, not really. Call me the boss if you like – we can head to Su Dregir to get paid and get pissed, then I’ll go my own way. I’m giving no orders.’
‘Get paid and get pissed,’ Kas echoed. ‘Sounds like a merc captain to me.’
‘Sounds like Anatin,’ Llaith agreed. ‘But you’ll have to get better at tashot. It’s sad the way you screw up your face trying to remember which is better, a run or a set.’
‘Unlikely.’
‘Excellent. I’ll keep winning your money then.’
‘Toil!’ Lynx protested. ‘You can’t be serious about this? You’ve done the impossible. It’s time for you to get your reward, not run off on another suicide mission!’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not really one for settling down and squeezing out the babies.’ A wicked gleam appeared in her eyes. ‘Yet. But I think there’s more adventure to come for me, more ways to add to my legend.’
‘What about Su Dregir?’
‘It can last without me for a while. I’ve got investments there; they’ll still be around when I get back. I’ve dragged you halfway round the Riven Kingdom these last years. It’s only fair I follow you for a change now.’
‘To fight the Shonrin in his impregnable mountain?’
‘You weren’t planning on getting in on your good looks now, were you?’ She gave him a sympathetic look. ‘Oh, puss, did you hit your head down there? Forget your tattoos? Being Hanese isn’t enough to in
filtrate that place – trust me, I’ve seen the intelligence assessments. You’re going to need a bit of help. Maybe a crack team of mercenaries too.’
‘But there’s no money in it! It’s just unfinished business – the fact I don’t want that bastard to die comfy in his bed before someone with a knife catches up with him.’
‘I lost my brothers to you Hanese fucks,’ Braqe declared, pushing her way forward. ‘If anyone’s planning on killing that shitweasel, I’m coming too – even if it means calling some wanker “boss”.’
‘Ah … thanks?’
‘So what do you say, Lynx? Ready to lead?’
‘No. This isn’t a job for a merc company, only some idiot who doesn’t need to make it out alive.’
‘See, that’s the point,’ Toil said with a shake of the head. ‘Some people might like to see you make it out alive. If that means helping you kill a monster, so be it.’
‘My point is that you’re mercs – it’s not something I can ask of you.’
‘Damn fool,’ Kas said. ‘Haven’t you noticed? Killing monsters is pretty much what we do these days. We’re the best in the whole fucking Riven Kingdom at it.’
‘You’re all bloody mad.’
‘That much should have been obvious by now.’
Lynx gave up. ‘Fine. If that’s what you want. We’ll go to Su Dregir, get our money and then Anatin’s Mercenary Deck can go kill another monster.’
‘Lynx’s Mercenary Deck,’ Toil said softly. She paused then screwed her face up. ‘Nah, doesn’t sound right. We’ll have to come up with something else.’
‘Sure, let’s take a vote on it,’ he said snippily.
‘Don’t be stupid, you’re the boss now – it’s all up to you.’
‘I’m the boss?’ Lynx echoed, shaking his head at the notion. ‘Bunch of idiots. Fine – Cards, muster in five! Anyone not ready to move out gets the usual punishment.’
With the usual grumbling, sniping and shambling incompetence, the mercenaries obeyed. Lynx watched them, half-suspicious this was all a complicated joke, but Safir just gave him a nod of approval and got them moving. Toil stood at his side, arm around his waist and apparently basking in his new-found authority in a way that almost seemed genuine and not taking the piss at all.
‘I could get used to this,’ she murmured in his ear.
‘Please don’t,’ Lynx replied. ‘I’ll just find some way to screw it up.’
‘No doubt, but until that day, it’s better than the alternative, right?’
Lynx looked around at the Cards, a more mismatched selection of fools and friends than he could ever have imagined growing up in insular and warlike So Han.
‘This is better,’ he admitted at last. ‘A lot better. So let’s do this for a while. Let’s kill monsters.’
‘And get pissed,’ Toil added with a knowing look. ‘Don’t forget that bit.’
Lynx nodded.
‘Get pissed and kill monsters. As good a way as any to live and die.’
Acknowledgements
At the end of any series just remembering who I am is frankly hard enough, let alone all those who’ve helped along the way. However, a few names do spring to mind. My wife, Fiona, has always been the best. Her support in so many ways has been crucial to the books and more besides. My children, Ailsa and Euan, did not help. Especially Euan. However, all three of them made the thing worth doing because honestly, writing is hard. While I greatly enjoy the challenge of building a novel and the vanity of seeing it published, it’s often not really felt worth the stress and exhaustion. Writing to support my family and make the kids proud has helped drive the process and make it all worthwhile. I just hope the kids continue not reading what’s on the back of all the scrap paper they’ve used these last four years.
My parents and in-laws have all been incredibly supportive of us while I fail to get a proper full-time job, helping in a whole variety of ways that have made our lives better and allowed me to keep writing. Thanks also to readers and supporters like my brother Richard, Rob Bull and the brilliant K.V. Johansen, who’s always been happy to be distracted from her frankly superior work.
On the publishing side – the bulk of praise must go to Marcus Gipps, who commissioned the books, ushered them through the process, stopped me looking quite so stupid and kept faith with me throughout. A big thank you also goes to Simon Kavanagh, who helped beat the series concept into submission and fought my corner for years thereafter. Gillian Redfearn has never been my editor despite our years at Gollancz running almost exactly in parallel, but her support has been consistent throughout the last fourteen years, and I remain hugely grateful for it – as I do for the work of Stevie Finegan, Colin Murray, Craig Leyenaar and Brendan Durkin, among all the others at Orion.
I definitely can’t forget the artists whose work transformed the prospects of a very minor novelist struggling to get noticed. Jon McCoy kicked off the artwork of the series in brilliant fashion from a brief as detailed as ‘man with shotgun faces a balrog’; Wallace Smith rose to the challenge when he stepped into the breach halfway through the series; and Tomás Almeida coordinated the whole effort wonderfully.
And lastly, all the fans who’ve messaged in a variety of ways over the years, thank you. It’s really meant a lot, so never stop reaching out.
Also by Tom Lloyd from Gollancz:
The Twilight Reign:
The Stormcaller
The Twilight Herald
The Grave Thief
The Ragged Man
The Dusk Watchman
The God Tattoo
Empire of a Hundred Houses:
Moon’s Artifice
Old Man’s Ghosts
The God Fragments:
Stranger of Tempest
Princess of Blood
Knight of Stars
Honour Under Moonlight (novella)
The Man with One Name (novella)
Credits
Tom Lloyd and Gollancz would like to thank everyone at Orion who worked on the publication of God of Night in the UK.
Editorial
Marcus Gipps
Brendan Durkin
Copy editor
Colin Murray
Proof reader
Jane Howard
Audio
Paul Stark
Amber Bates
Contracts
Anne Goddard
Paul Bulos
Jake Alderson
Design
Lucie Stericker
Rabab Adams
Tomás Almeida
Joanna Ridley
Nick May
Editorial Management
Charlie Panayiotou
Jane Hughes
Alice Davis
Finance
Jennifer Muchan
Jasdip Nandra
Afeera Ahmed
Elizabeth Beaumont
Sue Baker
Marketing
Lucy Cameron
Production
Paul Hussey
Publicity
Will O’Mullane
Sales
Jen Wilson
Esther Waters
Victoria Laws
Rachael Hum
Ellie Kyrke-Smith
Frances Doyle
Georgina Cutler
Operations
Jo Jacobs
Sharon Willis
Lisa Pryde
Lucy Brem
Copyright
First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Gollancz
an imprint of The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Carmelite House, 50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
An Hachette UK Company
Copyright © Tom Lloyd-Williams 2020
The moral right of Tom Lloyd to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library.
ISBN (eBook) 978 1 473 22466 7
www.tomlloyd.co.uk
www.gollancz.co.uk
