He could hear movement behind him. Excited voices. The officers and men of his Majesty’s Twelfth. Probably upset to have missed out on the battle. Probably almost as keen to become involved in a new chapter of it as I am myself.
‘Colonel Gorst!’ came Bayaz’ warning growl.
Gorst ignored him. ‘Have you ever been …’ he hissed, ‘to Styria?’ Every part of him tingling with the desire to do violence.
‘Styria?’
‘Yes,’ snarled Gorst, gripping even harder. Calder’s two old men were creeping back in fighting crouches. ‘To Sipani.’
‘Sipani?’
‘Yes.’ The giant had taken another immense step, looming taller than the tallest of the Children. And I could not care less. ‘To Cardotti’s House of Leisure.’
‘Cardotti’s?’ Shivers’ good eye narrowed as he studied Gorst’s face. Time stretched out. All around them tongues licked nervously at lips, hands hovered ready to give their fatal signals, fingertips tickled at the grips of weapons. Then Shivers leaned close. Close enough almost for Gorst to kiss. Closer even than they had been to each other four years ago, in the smoke.
If they had been.
‘Never heard of it.’ And he slipped his arm out of Gorst’s slack grip and strode out of the Children without a backward glance. Calder swiftly followed, and the two old men, and the War Chiefs. All letting their hands drop from their weapons with some relief or, in the case of the giant, great reluctance.
They left Gorst standing there, in front of the table, alone. Frowning up towards the Heroes.
Almost sure.
Family
In many ways the Heroes hadn’t changed since the previous night. The old stones were just as they had been, and the lichen crusted to them, and the trampled, muddied, bloodied grass inside their circle. The fires weren’t much different, nor the darkness beyond them, nor the men who sat about them. But as far as Calder was concerned, there’d been some big-arsed changes.
Rather than dragging him in shame to his doom, Caul Shivers followed at a respectful distance, watching over his life. There was no scornful laughter as he strolled between the fires, no heckling and no hate. All changed the moment Black Dow’s face hit the dirt. The great War Chiefs, and their fearsome Named Men, and their hard-handed, hard-hearted, hard-headed Carls all smiled upon him as if he was the sun rising after a bastard of a winter. How soon they’d adjusted. His father always said men rarely change, except in their loyalties. Those they’ll shrug off like an old coat when it suits them.
In spite of his splinted hand and his stitched chin, Calder didn’t have to work too hard to get the smirk onto his face now. He didn’t have to work at all. He might not have been the tallest man about, but still he was the biggest in the valley. He was the next King of the Northmen, and anyone he told to eat his shit would be doing it with a smile. He’d already decided who’d be getting the first serving.
Caul Reachey’s laughter echoed out of the night. He sat on a log beside a fire, pipe in his hand, spluttering smoke at something some woman beside him had said. She looked around as Calder walked up and he nearly tripped over his own feet.
‘Husband.’ She stood, awkward from the weight of her belly, and held out one hand.
He took it in his and it felt small, and soft, and strong. He guided it over his shoulder, and slid his arms around her, hardly feeling the pain in his battered ribs as they held each other tight, tight. For a moment it seemed as if there was no one in the Heroes but them. ‘You’re safe,’ he whispered.
‘No thanks to you,’ rubbing her cheek against his.
His eyelids were stinging. ‘I … made some mistakes.’
‘Of course. I make all your good decisions.’
‘Don’t leave me alone again, then.’
‘I think I can say it’ll be the last time I stand hostage for you.’
‘So can I. That’s a promise.’ He couldn’t stop the tears coming. Some biggest man in the valley, stood weeping in front of Reachey and his Named Men. He would’ve felt a fool if he hadn’t been so glad to see her he couldn’t feel anything else. He broke away long enough to look at her face, light on one side, dark on the other, eyes with a gleam of firelight to them. Smiling at him, two little moles near the corner of her mouth he’d never noticed before. All he could think was that he didn’t deserve this.
‘Something wrong?’ she asked.
‘No. Just … wasn’t long ago I thought I’d never see your face again.’
‘And are you disappointed?’
‘I never saw anything so beautiful.’
She bared her teeth at him. ‘Oh, they were right about you. You are a liar.’
‘A good liar tells as much truth as he can. That way you never know what you’re getting.’
She took his bandaged hand in hers, turning it over, stroking it with her fingertips. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘Nothing to a famous champion like me.’
She pressed his hand tighter. ‘I mean it. Are you hurt?’
Calder winced. ‘Doubt I’ll be fighting any more duels for a while, but I’ll heal. Scale’s dead.’
‘I heard.’
‘You’re all my family, now.’ And he laid his good hand on her swollen belly. ‘Still…’
‘Like a sack of oats on my bladder all the way from Carleon in a lurching bloody cart? Yes.’
He smiled through his tears. ‘The three of us.’
‘And my father too.’
He looked over at Reachey, grinning at them from his log. ‘Aye. And him.’
‘You haven’t put it on, then?’
‘What?’
‘Your father’s chain.’
He slid it from his inside pocket, warm from being pressed close to his heart, and the diamond dropped to one side, full of the colours of fire. ‘Waiting for the right moment, maybe. Once you put it on … you can’t take it off.’ He remembered his father telling him what a weight it was. Near the end.
‘Why would you take it off? You’re king, now.’
‘Then you’re queen.’ He slipped the chain over her head. ‘And it looks better on you.’ He let the diamond drop against her chest while she dragged her hair free.
‘My husband goes away for a week and all he brings me is the North and everything in it?’
‘That’s just half your gift.’ He moved as if to kiss her and held back at the last moment, clicking his teeth together just short of her mouth. ‘I’ll give you the rest later.’
‘Promises, promises.’
‘I need to talk to your father, just for a moment.’
‘Talk, then.’
‘Alone.’
‘Men and their bloody chatter. Don’t keep me waiting too long.’ She leaned close, her lip tickling at his ear, her knee rubbing up against the inside of his leg, his father’s chain brushing against his shoulder. ‘I’ve a mind to kneel before the King of the Northmen.’ One fingertip brushed the scab on his chin as she stepped away, keeping his face towards her, watching him over her shoulder, waddling just a little with the weight of her belly but none the worse for that. None the worse at all. All he could think was that he didn’t deserve this.
He shook himself and clambered to the fire, somewhat bent over since his prick was pressing up hard against the inside of his trousers, and poking a tent in Reachey’s face was no way to start a conversation. His wife’s father had shooed his grey-bearded henchmen away and was sitting alone, pressing a fresh lump of chagga down into his pipe with one thick thumb. A private little chat. Just like the one they’d had a few nights before. Only now Dow was dead, and everything was changed.
Calder wiped the wet from his eyes as he sat beside the fire-pit. ‘She’s one of a kind, your daughter.’
‘I’ve heard you called a liar, but there was never a truer word said than that.’
‘One of a kind.’ As Calder watched her disappear into the darkness.
‘You’re a lucky man to have her. Remember what I told you? Wait long enoug
h by the sea, everything you want’ll just wash up on the beach.’ Reachey tapped at the side of his head. ‘I’ve been around a while. You ought to listen to me.’
‘I’m listening now, aren’t I?’
Reachey wriggled down the log, a little closer to him. ‘All right, then. A lot of my boys are restless. Had their swords drawn a long time. I could do with letting some of ’em get home to their own wives. You got a mind to take this wizard’s offer?’
‘Bayaz?’ Calder snorted. ‘I’ve a mind to let the lying bastard simmer. He had a deal with my father, a long time ago, and betrayed him.’
‘So it’s a question of revenge?’
‘A little, but mostly it’s good sense. If the Union had pushed on yesterday they might’ve finished us.’
‘Maybe. So?’
‘So the only reason I can see for stopping is if they had to. The Union’s a big place. Lots of borders. I reckon they’ve got other worries. I reckon every day I let that bald old fuck sit his terms’ll get better.’
‘Huh.’ Reachey fished a burning stick from the fire, pressed it to the bowl of his pipe, starting to grin as he got it lit. ‘You’re a clever one, Calder. A thinker. Like your father. Always said you’d make quite a leader.’
Calder had never heard him say it. ‘Didn’t help me get here, did you?’
‘I told you I’d burn if I had to, but I wouldn’t set myself on fire. What was it the Bloody-Nine used to say?’
‘You have to be realistic.’
‘That’s right. Realistic. Thought you’d know that better’n most.’ Reachey’s cheeks went hollow as he sucked at his pipe, let the brown smoke curl from his mouth. ‘But now Dow’s dead, and you’ve got the North at your feet.’
‘You must be almost as pleased as I am with how it’s all come out.’
‘’Course,’ as Reachey handed the pipe over.
‘Your grandchildren can rule the North,’ as Calder took it.
‘Once you’re finished with it.’
‘I plan not to finish for a while.’ Calder sucked, bruised ribs aching as he breathed deep and felt the smoke bite.
‘Doubt I’ll live to see it.’
‘Hope not.’ Calder grinned as he blew out, and they both chuckled, though there might’ve been the slightest edge on their laughter. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking about something Dow said. How if he’d wanted me dead I’d have been dead. The more I think on it, the more sense it makes.’
Reachey shrugged. ‘Maybe Tenways tried it on his own.’
Calder frowned at the bowl of the pipe as if thinking it over, though he’d already thought it over and decided it didn’t add. ‘Tenways saved my life in the battle yesterday. If he hated me that much he could’ve let the Union kill me and no one would’ve grumbled.’
‘Who knows why anyone does anything? The world’s a complicated bloody place.’
‘Everyone has their reasons, my father used to tell me. It’s just a question of knowing what they are. Then the world’s simple.’
‘Well, Black Dow’s back to the mud. And from the look o’ your sword in his head, Tenways too. I guess we’ll never know now.’
‘Oh, I reckon I’ve worked it out.’ Calder handed the pipe back and the old man leaned to take it. ‘It was you said Dow wanted me dead.’ Reachey’s eyes flicked up to his, just for an instant, but long enough for Calder to be sure. ‘That wasn’t altogether true, was it? It was what you might call a lie.’
Reachey slowly sat back, puffing out smoke rings. ‘Aye, a little bit, I’ll admit. My daughter has a loving nature, Calder, and she loves you. I’ve tried explaining what a pain in the arse you are but she just ain’t hearing it. There’s naught she wouldn’t do for you. But it was getting so you and Dow weren’t seeing things at all the same way. All your talk of bloody peace making things hard for everyone. Then my daughter up and stands hostage for you? Just couldn’t have my only child at risk like that. Out of you and Dow, one had to go.’ He looked evenly at Calder, through the smoke of his pipe. ‘I’m sorry, but there it is. If it was you, well, that’s a shame, but Seff would’ve found a new man. Better still, there was always the chance you’d come out on top o’ Dow. And I’m happy to say that’s how it happened. All I wanted was the best for my blood. So I’m ashamed to admit it, but I stirred the pot between the two o’ you.’
‘Hoping all along I’d get the better of Dow.’
‘Of course.’
‘So it wasn’t you at all who sent those boys to kill me at your weapon-take?’
The pipe froze half way to Reachey’s mouth. ‘Why would I do a thing like that?’
‘Because Seff was standing hostage, and I was talking big about dealing with Dow, and you decided to stir the pot a bit harder.’
Reachey pressed the end of his tongue between his teeth, lifted the pipe the rest of the way, sucked at it again, but it was dead. He tapped the ashes out on the stones by the fire. ‘If you’re going to stir the pot, I’ve always believed in doing it … firmly.’
Calder slowly shook his head. ‘Why not just get your old pricks to kill me when we were sat around the fire? Make sure of it?’
‘I got a reputation to think on. When it comes to knives in the dark I hire out, keep my name free of it.’ Reachey didn’t look guilty. He looked annoyed. Offended, even. ‘Don’t sit there like you’re disappointed. Don’t pretend you haven’t done worse. What about Forley the Weakest, eh? Killed him for nothing, didn’t you?’
‘I’m me!’ said Calder. ‘Everyone knows me for a liar! I guess I just …’ Sounded stupid now he said it. ‘Expected better from you. I thought you were a straight edge. Thought you did things the old way.’
Reachey gave a scornful grunt. ‘The old way? Hah! People are apt to get all misty-eyed over how things used to be. Age o’ Heroes, and all. Well, I remember the old way. I was there, and it was no different from the new.’ He leaned forward, stabbing at Calder with the stem of his pipe. ‘Grab what you can, however you can! Folk might like to harp on how your father changed everything. They like someone to blame. But he was just better at it than the rest. It’s the winners sing the songs. And they can pick what tune they please.’
‘I’m just picking out what tune they’ll play on you!’ hissed Calder, the anger flaring up for a moment. But, ‘Anger’s a luxury the man in the big chair can’t afford.’ That’s what his father used to say. Mercy, mercy, always think about mercy. Calder took in a long, sore breath, and heaved out resignation. ‘But maybe I’d have done no different, wearing your coat, and I’ve too few friends by far. The fact is I need your support.’
Reachey grinned. ‘You’ll have it. To the death, don’t worry about that. You’re family, lad. Family don’t always get on but, in the end, they’re the only ones you can trust.’
‘So my father used to tell me.’ Calder slowly stood and gave another aching sigh, right from his gut. ‘Family.’ And he made his way off through the fires, towards the tent that had been Black Dow’s.
‘And?’ croaked Shivers, falling into step beside him.
‘You were right. The old fuck tried to kill me.’
‘Shall I return the favour?’
‘By the dead, no!’ He forced his voice softer as they headed away. ‘Not until my child’s born. I don’t want my wife upset. Let things settle then do it quietly. Some way that’ll point the finger at someone else. Glama Golden, maybe. Can you do that?’
‘When it comes to killing, I can do it any way you want it.’
‘I always said Dow should’ve made better use of you. Now my wife’s waiting. Go and have some fun.’
‘I just might.’
‘What do you do for fun, anyway?’
There was a glint in Shivers’ eye as he turned away, but then there always was. ‘I sharpen my knives.’
Calder wasn’t quite sure if he was joking.
New Hands
Dear Mistress Worth,
With the greatest regret, I must inform you of the death of your son in
action on the battlefield near Osrung. It is usual for the commanding officer to write such letters, but I requested the honour as I knew your son personally, and have but rarely in a long career served with so willing, pleasant, able, and courageous a comrade. He embodied all those virtues that one looks for in a soldier. I do not know if it can provide you with any satisfaction in the face of a loss so great, but it is not stretching the truth to say that your son died a hero. I feel honoured to have known him.
With the deepest condolences, Your obedient servant,
Corporal Tunny, Standard-Bearer of His Majesty’s First Regiment
Tunny gave a sigh, folded the letter ever so carefully and pressed two neat creases into it with his thumbnail. Might be the worst letter the poor woman ever got, he owed it to her to put a decent crease in the damn thing. He tucked it inside his jacket next to Mistress Klige’s, unscrewed the cap from Yolk’s flask and took a nip, then dipped the pen in the ink bottle and started on the next.
Dear Mistress Lederlingen,
With the greatest regret, I must inform you of the death of your son in…
‘Corporal Tunny!’ Yolk was approaching with a cocky strut somewhere between a pimp and a labourer. His boots were caked with dirt, his stained jacket was hanging open showing a strip of sweaty chest, his sunburned face sported several days’ worth of patchy stubble and instead of a spear over his shoulder he had a worn shovel. He looked, in short, like a proud veteran of his August Majesty’s army. He came to a stop not far from Tunny’s hammock, looking down at the papers. ‘Working out all the debts you’re owed?’
‘The ones I owe, as it goes.’ Tunny seriously doubted Yolk could read, but he pushed a sheet of paper over the unfinished letter even so. If this got out it could ruin his reputation. ‘Everything all right?’
The Heroes Page 59
