Godless World 3 - Fall of Thanes

by Brian Ruckley

  And Fleur.

  extras

  Meet the Author

  BRIAN RUCKLEY was born and raised in Scotland. After studying at Edinburgh and Stirling Universities, he worked for a series of organizations dealing with environmental, nature conservation, and youth development issues. He lives in Edinburgh. Find out more about him at www.brianruckley.com [http://www.brianruckley.com].

  the passage of time

  The First Age

  Began when the Gods made the world and put the One Race in it to inhabit it.

  Ended when the One Race rose up against the Gods and was destroyed.

  The Second Age

  Began when the Gods made the Five Races: Huanin, Kyrinin, Whreinin, Saolin and Anain.

  The Huanin and Kyrinin made war upon the Whreinin and destroyed that race, and were thereafter named the Tainted Races for their sin, and forfeited the love of the Gods.

  Ended when the Gods departed from the world.

  The Third Age

  Began with the absence of the Gods, and with chaos.

  Year

  280 The Adravane and Aygll Kingships arose

  398 Marain the Stonemason began the construction of Highfast, at the behest of the Aygll King

  451 The Alsire Kingship arose, and the era of the Three Kingships began

  775 The three Huanin Kingships united against the Kyrinin clans and the War of the Tainted began

  787 Tarcene, the Aygll King, was bound, his mind enslaved, by the na'kyrim Orlane; his own daughter, in despair, killed him

  788 Tane, the Kyrinin's Shining City, was captured by the Huanin armies, the Deep Rove was raised by the Anain, and the War of the Tainted ended

  792 Morvain's Revolt, a rising against the faltering Aygll Kingship, culminated in a failed siege of Highfast

  793 The last Aygll monarch--Lerr, the Boy King--was slain at In'Vay, and the era of the Three Kingships ended; Aygll lands descended into chaos and the Storm Years began

  847 The Bloods--Kilkry, Haig, Gyre, Ayth and Taral--were founded in Aygll lands, and Kulkain oc Kilkry became the first Thane of Thanes; the end of the Storm Years

  849 Kulkain oc Kilkry bade Lorryn the na'kyrim establish at Highfast a library for the preservation of learning and knowledge

  852 The last Alsire King was slain, and the first King of the Dornach line took his throne in Evaness

  922 The Black Road heresy arose in Kilvale; Amanath the Fisherwoman, its originator, was executed and the creed outlawed by the Bloods

  939 Avann oc Gyre-Kilkry, Thane of the Gyre Blood, adopted the creed of the Black Road

  940 Civil war broke out amongst the Kilkry Bloods, between the adherents of the Black Road and those opposed to the creed

  942 Following their defeat in battle at Kan Avor, the Gyre Blood and all adherents of the Black Road were exiled beyond the Vale of Stones, and founded there the Bloods of the Black Road: Gyre, Horin, Gaven, Wyn and Fane

  945 The Lore and Battle Inkalls were founded by the Bloods of the Black Road

  948 The last attempt by the Kilkry Bloods to crush the fledgling Bloods of the Black Road in the north ended in failure; their armies retired south of the Vale of Stones and the fortification of Tanwrye began

  959 The Hunt Inkall was founded by the Bloods of the Black Road

  973 The Lannis Blood was founded, in reward for Sirian Lannis dar Kilkry's defeat of the invading forces of the Black Road at Kolglas

  997 Haig replaced Kilkry as first amongst the True Bloods

  1052 The Dargannan Blood was founded

  1069 The Lannis-Haig Blood defeated Horin-Gyre in the Battle of the Stone Vale, near Tanwrye

  1070 Tavan oc Lannis-Haig died, and his son Croesan succeeded him as Thane of the Lannis Blood

  1097 The Lannis-Haig Blood was afflicted by the Heart Fever, which killed almost one in six

  1102 The Dargannan Blood rebelled against the authority of Haig, and Gryvan oc Haig, Thane of Thanes, summoned the armies of the True Bloods to march against them

  introducing

  If you enjoyed

  FALL OF THANES,

  look out for

  BEST SERVED COLD

  by Joe Abercrombie

  Springtime in Styria. And that means war.

  There have been nineteen years of blood. The ruthless Grand Duke Orso is locked in a vicious struggle with the squabbling League of Eight, and between them they have bled the land white. Armies march, heads roll and cities burn, while behind the scenes bankers, priests and older, darker powers play a deadly game to choose who will be king.

  War may be hell but for Monza Murcatto, the Snake of Talins, the most feared and famous mercenary in Duke Orso's employ, and it's a damn good way of making money too. Her victories have made her popular--a shade too popular for her employer's taste. Betrayed and left for dead, Murcatto's reward is a broken body and a burning hunger for vengeance. Whatever the cost, seven men must die.

  Her allies include Styria's least reliable drunkard, Styria's most treacherous poisoner, a mass-murderer obsessed with numbers and a Northman who just wants to do the right thing. Her enemies number the better half of the nation. And that's all before the most dangerous man in the world is dispatched to hunt her down and finish the job Duke Orso started...

  Springtime in Styria. And that means revenge.

  The sun was climbing now, and the bright world was full of color. The blood had drained from the sky and left it a vivid blue, white clouds crawling high above. Below, at the very bottom of a dizzy drop, the river wound through the wooded base of the valley, autumn leaves pale green, burnt orange, faded yellow, angry red, light-glinting silver on fast-flowing water. To the east, the forest crumbled away into a patchwork of fields--squares of fallow green, rich black earth, golden crop. Further still and the river met the grey sea, branching out in a wide delta, choked with islands. Monza could just make out the suggestion of tiny towers there, buildings, bridges, walls. Great Talins, no bigger than her thumbnail.

  She narrowed her eyes against the stiff breeze, pushed some stray hair out of her face. "I never tire of this view."

  "How could you? That's why I built the damn place. Here I can keep one eye always on my subjects, as a watchful parent should upon his children. Just to make sure they don't hurt themselves while they play, you understand."

  "Your people are lucky to have such a just and caring father," she lied smoothly.

  "Just and caring." Orso frowned thoughtfully towards the distant sea. "Do you think that is how history will remember me?"

  Monza thought it incredibly unlikely. "What did Bialoveld say? History is written by the victors."

  The Duke squeezed her shoulder again. "All this, and well-read into the bargain. Ario is ambitious enough, but he has no insight. I'd be surprised if he could read to the end of a signpost in one sitting. All he cares about is whoring. And shoes. My daughter Terez, meanwhile, weeps most bitterly because I married her to a king. I swear, if I had offered great Euz as the groom she would have whined for a husband more fitting of her station." He gave a heavy sigh. "None of my children understand me. My great-grandfather was a mercenary, you know. A fact I do not like to advertise." Though he told her every other time they met. "A man who never shed a tear in his life, and wore on his feet whatever was to hand. A low-born fighting man, who seized power in Talins by the sharpness of his mind and sword together." More by blunt ruthlessness and brutality the way Monza had heard the tale. "We are from the same stock, you and I. We have made ourselves, out of nothing."

  Orso had been born to the wealthiest dukedom in Styria and never done a day's hard work in his life, but Monza kept that to herself. "You do me too much honor, your Excellency."

  "Less than you deserve. Now tell me of Borletta."

  "You heard about the battle on the High Bank?"

  "I heard you scattered the League of Eight's army, just as you did at Sweet Pines! Ganmark says Duke Salier had three times your number."

  "Numbers are a hind
rance if they're lazy, ill-prepared, and led by idiots. An army of farmers from Borletta, cobblers from Affoia and merchants from Visserine. Amateurs. They camped by the river, thinking we were far away, scarcely posted guards. We came up through the woods at night and caught them at sunrise, not even in their armor."

  "I can see Salier now, the fat pig, waddling from his bed to run!"

  "Faithful led the charge. We broke them quickly, captured their supplies."

  "Turned the golden cornfields crimson, I was told."

  "They hardly even fought. Ten times as many drowned trying to swim the river as died fighting. More than four thousand prisoners. Some ransoms were paid, some not, some men were hanged."

  "And few tears shed, eh, Monza?"

  "Not by me. If they were so keen to live they could've surrendered."

  "As they did at Caprile?"

  She stared straight back into Orso's black eyes. "Just as they did at Caprile."

  "Borletta is besieged, then?"

  "Fallen already."

  The Duke's face lit up like a boy's on his birthday. "Fallen? Cantain surrendered?"

  "When his people heard of Salier's defeat they lost hope."

  "And people without hope are a dangerous crowd, even in a republic."

  "Especially in a republic. A mob dragged Cantain from the palace, hung him from the highest tower, opened the gates and threw themselves on the mercy of the Thousand Swords."

  "Hah! Slaughtered by the very people he labored to keep free. There's the gratitude of the common man, eh, Monza? Cantain should have taken my money when I offered. It would have been cheaper for both of us."

  "The people are falling over themselves to become your subjects. I've given orders they should be spared, where possible."

  "Mercy, eh?"

  "Mercy and cowardice are the same," she snapped out. "But you want their land, not their lives, no? Dead men can't obey.

  Orso smiled. "Why can my sons not mark my lessons as you have? I entirely approve. Hang only the leaders. And Cantain's head above the gates. Nothing encourages obedience like a good example."

  "Already rotting, with those of his sons."

  "Fine work!" The Lord of Talins clapped his hands, as though he never heard such pleasing music as the news of rotting heads. "What of the takings?"

  The accounts were Benna's business, and he came forward now, sliding a folded paper from his inside pocket. "The city was scoured, your Excellency. Every building stripped, every floor dug up, every person searched. The usual rules apply, according to our terms of engagement. Quarter for the man that finds it, quarter for his captain, quarter for the generals," and he bowed low, unfolding the paper and offering it out, "and quarter for our noble employer."

  Orso's smile spread as his eyes scanned down the figures. "My blessing on the Rule of Quarters! Enough to keep you both in my service a little longer." He stepped between Monza and Benna, placed a gentle hand on each of their shoulders and led them back through the open windows. Towards the great round table of black marble that stood in the centre of the room and the great map spread out upon it. Ganmark, Ario, and Faithful had already gathered there. Gobba still lurked in the shadows, thick arms folded across his chest. "What of our one-time friends and now our bitter enemies, the treacherous citizens of Visserine?"

  "The fields round the city are burned up to the gates, almost." Monza scattered carnage across the countryside with a few waves of her finger. "Farmers driven off, livestock slaughtered, fields burned. It'll be a lean winter for the good people of Visserine, and a leaner spring."

  "Excellent," mused Orso.

  "They will have to rely on the noble Duke Rogont and his Osprians," said Ganmark, with the faintest of smiles.

  Prince Ario snickered. "Much talk blows down from Ospria, always, but little help."

  "Visserine is poised to drop into your lap next year, your Excellency."

  "And with it the heart is torn from the League of Eight."

  "The crown of Styria, surely, will be yours."

  The mention of crowns teased Orso's smile still wider. "And we have you to thank, Monzcarro. I do not forget that."

  "Not only me."

  "Curse your modesty. Benna has played his part, and our good friend General Ganmark, and Faithful too, but no one could deny this is your work. Your commitment, your single-mindedness, your swiftness to act. You shall have a great triumph, just as the heroes of ancient Aulcus did. You shall ride through the streets of Talins and my people will shower you with flower petals in honor of your many victories." Benna grinned, but Monza couldn't join him. She'd never had much taste for congratulations. "They will cheer far louder for you, I think, than they ever will for my own sons. They will cheer far louder even than they do for me, their rightful lord, to whom they owe so much." It seemed that Orso's smile slipped, and his face looked tired, and sad, and worn without it. "They will cheer, in fact, a little too loudly for my taste."

  There was the barest flash of movement at the corner of her eye, enough to make her bring up her hand on an instinct.

  The wire hissed taught around it, snatching it up under her chin, crushing it chokingly tight against her throat.

  Benna started forward. "Mon --" There was a glint of metal as Prince Ario stabbed him in the neck. He missed his throat, caught him just under the ear.

  Orso stepped carefully back as blood speckled the tiles with red. Foscar's mouth fell open, wine glass dropping from his hand, shattering on the floor.

  Monza tried to scream, but only spluttered through her half-shut windpipe, made a sound like a pig honking. She fished at the hilt of her dagger with her free hand but someone caught her wrist, held it fast. Faithful Carpi, pressed up tight against her left side.

  "Sorry," he muttered in her ear, pulling her sword from its scabbard and flinging it clattering across the room.

  Benna stumbled, gurgling red drool, one hand clutched to the side of his face, black blood leaking out between white fingers. His other hand fumbled for his sword while Ario watched him, frozen. He drew a clumsy foot of steel before General Ganmark stepped forward and stabbed him, smoothly and precisely--once, twice, three times. The thin blade slid in and out of Benna's body, the only sound the soft breath from his gaping mouth. Blood shot across the floor in long streaks, began to leak out into his white shirt in dark circles. He tottered forwards, tripped over his own feet and crashed down, half-drawn sword scraping against the marble underneath him.

  Monza strained, every muscle trembling, but she was held helpless as a fly in honey. She heard Gobba grunting with effort in her ear, his stubbly face rubbing against her cheek, his great body warm against her back. She felt the wire cut slowly into the sides of her neck, deep into the side of her hand, held fast against her throat. She felt the blood running down her forearm, into the collar of her shirt.

  One of Benna's hands crawled across the floor, reaching out for her. He lifted himself an inch or two, veins bulging from his neck. Ganmark leaned forwards and calmly ran him through the heart from behind. Benna quivered for a moment, then sagged, pale cheek smeared with red. Dark blood crept out from under him, worked its way down the cracks between the tiles.

  "Well." Ganmark leaned down and wiped his sword on the back of Benna's shirt. "That's that."

  Mauthis watched, frowning, slightly puzzled, slightly irritated, slightly bored, as though at a set of figures that wouldn't quite add.

  Orso gestured at the body. "Get rid of that, Ario."

  "Me?" The Prince's lip curled even further.

  "Yes, you. And you can help him, Foscar. The two of you must learn what needs to be done to keep our family in power."

  "No!" Foscar stumbled away. "I'll have no part of this!" He turned and ran from the room, his boots slapping against the marble floor.

  "That boy is soft as a lady's glove," muttered Orso at his back. "Ganmark, help him."

  Monza's bulging eyes followed them as they dragged Benna's corpse out through the doors to the balcony,
Ganmark grim and careful at the head end, Ario cursing as he daintily took the boots. They heaved Benna up onto the balustrade and rolled him off. Like that he was gone.

  "Ah!" squawked Ario, waving one hand. "Damn it! You scratched me!"

  Ganmark stared back at him. "I apologize, your Highness. Murder can be a painful business."

  The Prince looked round for something to wipe his bloody hands on. He reached for the rich hangings beside the window.

  "Not there!" snapped Orso. "That's Kantic silk, at fifty scales a piece!"

  "Where, then?"

  "Find something else, or leave them red! Sometimes I wonder if your mother told the truth about your paternity, boy." Ario wiped his hands sulkily on the front of his shirt while Monza stared, helpless, face burning from lack of air. Orso frowned over at her, a blurred black figure through the wet in her eyes, the hair tangled across her face. "Is she still alive? What ever are you about, Gobba?"

  "Fucking wire's caught on her hand," hissed the bodyguard in her ear.

  "Find another way to be done with her, then, lackwit."

  "I'll do it." Faithful pulled the dagger from her belt, still pinning her wrist with his other hand. "I really am sorry."

  "Just get to it!" growled Gobba.

  The blade went back, steel glinting in a shaft of light. Monza stomped down on Gobba's foot with all the strength she had left. The bodyguard grunted, grip slipping on the wire, and she dragged it away from her neck, growling, twisting hard as Carpi stabbed at her.

  The blade went well wide of the mark, slid in under her bottom rib. Cold metal, but it felt burning hot, a line of fire from her stomach to her back. It slid right through and the point pricked Gobba's gut.

  "Gah!" He let go the wire and Monza lashed at him with her elbow and sent him stumbling. She shrieked, wailed, blubbered, mindlessly. Faithful was caught off-guard, fumbled the knife as he pulled it out of her and sent it spinning across the floor. She kicked at him, missed his groin and caught his hip, bent him over. She snatched at the grip of a dagger at his belt, dragged it from its sheath, but her cut hand was clumsy and he caught her wrist before she could ram the blade into him. They wrestled with it, teeth bared, gasping spit in each others' faces, lurching back and forward, their hands sticky with her blood.