Last Argument of Kings tfl-3

by Joe Abercrombie

  Bayaz frowned. “Keep it, for now. There was an unexpected complication.”

  “A complication?” Sulfur slid the book back into its case with some relief.

  “What we sought… was not there.”

  “Then—”

  “As regards our other plans, nothing is changed.”

  “Of course.” Sulfur bowed his head again. “Lord Isher will already be on his way.”

  “Very well.” Bayaz glanced over at Ferro, as though he had only just remembered that she was there. “For the time being, perhaps you would be good enough to give us the room? I have a visitor that I must attend to.”

  She was happy to leave, but she took her time moving, if only because Bayaz wanted her gone quickly. She unfolded her arms, stood on the spot and stretched. She strolled to the door by a roundabout route, letting her feet scuff against the boards and fill the room with their ugly scraping. She stopped on the way to gaze at a picture, to poke at a chair, to flick at a shiny pot, none of which interested her at all. All the while Quai watched, and Bayaz frowned, and Sulfur grinned his knowing little grin. She stopped in the doorway.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now,” snapped Bayaz.

  She looked round the room one more time. “Fucking Magi,” she snorted, and slid through the door.

  She almost walked into a tall old pink in the room beyond. He wore a heavy robe, even in the heat, and had a sparkling chain around his shoulders. A big man loomed behind him, grim and watchful. A guard. Ferro did not like the old pink’s look. He stared down his nose at her, chin tilted up, as though she were a dog.

  As though she were a slave.

  “Ssssss.” She hissed in his face as she shouldered past him. He gave an outraged snort and his guard gave Ferro a hard look. She ignored it. Hard looks mean nothing. If he wanted her knee in his face he could try and touch her. But he did not. The two of them went in through the door.

  “Ah, Lord Isher!” she heard Bayaz saying, just before it shut. “I am delighted that you could visit us at short notice.”

  “I came at once. My grandfather always said that—”

  “Your grandfather was a wise man, and a good friend. I would like to discuss with you, if I may, the situation in the Open Council. Will you take tea…?”

  Honesty

  Jezal lay on his back, his hands behind his head, the sheets around his waist. He watched Ardee looking out of the window, her elbows on the sill, her chin on her hands. He watched Ardee, and he thanked the fates that some long-forgotten designer of military apparel had seen fit to provide the officers of the King’s Own with a high-waisted jacket. He thanked them with a deep and earnest gratitude, because his jacket was all she was wearing.

  It was amazing how things had changed between them, since that bitter, bewildering reunion. For a week they had not spent a night apart, and for a week the smile had barely left his face. Occasionally the memory would wallow up, of course, unbidden and horribly surprising, like a bloated corpse bobbing to the surface of the pond while one enjoys a picnic on the shore, of Ardee biting and hitting him, crying and screaming in his face. But when it did so he would fix his grin, and see her smile at him, and soon enough he would be able to shove those unpleasant thoughts back down again, at least for now. Then he would congratulate himself on being a big enough man to do it, and on giving her the benefit of the doubt.

  “Ardee,” he wheedled at her.

  “Mmm?”

  “Come back to bed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I love you.” Strange, how the more he said it, the easier it became.

  She gave a bored sigh. “So you keep saying.”

  “It’s true.”

  She turned round, hands on the sill behind, her body a dark outline against the bright window. “And what does that mean, exactly? That you’ve been fucking me for a week and you haven’t had enough yet?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.”

  “Well,” and she pushed herself away from the window and padded across the boards. “I don’t suppose there’s any harm in finding out, is there? No more harm, anyway.” She stopped at the foot of the bed. “Just promise me one thing.”

  Jezal swallowed, worried at what she might ask him, worried at what he might say in reply. “Anything,” he murmured, forcing himself to smile.

  “Don’t let me down.”

  His smile grew easier. That was not so hard to say yes to. He was a changed man, after all. “Of course, I promise.”

  “Good.” She crept up on to the bed, on her hands and knees, eyes fixed on his face while he wriggled his toes in anticipation under the sheet. She knelt up, one leg on either side of him, and jerked the jacket smooth across her chest. “Well then, Captain, do I pass muster?”

  “I would say…” and he grabbed the front of the jacket and pulled her down on top of him, slipped his hands inside it, “that you are without a doubt…” and he slid his hand under her breast and rubbed at her nipple with his thumb, “the finest-looking soldier in my company.”

  She pressed her groin against his through the sheet, and worked her hips back and forward. “Ah, the Captain is already at attention…”

  “For you? Constantly…”

  Her mouth licked and sucked at his, smearing spit on his face, and he pushed his hand between her legs and she rubbed herself against it for a while, his sticky fingers squelching in and out of her. She grunted and sighed in her throat, and he did the same. She reached down and dragged the sheet out of the way. He took hold of his prick and she wriggled her hips until they found the right spot and worked her way down onto him, her hair tickling at his face, her rasping breath tickling at his ear.

  There were two heavy knocks at the door, and they both froze. Another two knocks. Ardee put her head up, pushing her hair out of her flushed face. “What is it?” she called, voice thick and throaty.

  “There’s someone for the Captain.” The maid. “Is he… is he still here?”

  Ardee’s eyes rolled down to Jezal’s. “I daresay I could get a message to him!” He bit on his lip to stifle a laugh, reached up and pinched at her nipple and she slapped his hand away. “Who is it?”

  “A Knight Herald!” Jezal felt his smile fading. Those bastards never seemed to bring good news, and always at the worst possible times. “Lord Marshal Varuz needs to speak to the Captain urgently. They’re all over town looking for him.” Jezal cursed under his breath. It seemed that the army had finally realised he was back.

  “Tell him that when I see the Captain I will let him know!” shouted Ardee, and the sound of footsteps retreated down the corridor outside.

  “Fuck!” Jezal hissed as soon as he was sure the maid was gone, not that she could have been in too much doubt about what had been going on for the past few days and nights. “I’ll have to go.”

  “Now?”

  “Now, curse them. If I don’t they’ll just keep looking, and the sooner I go, the sooner I can get back.”

  She sighed and rolled over onto her back while he slithered off the bed and started hunting round the room for his scattered clothes. His shirt had a wine stain down the front, his trousers were creased and rumpled, but they would have to do. Cutting the perfect figure was no longer his one goal in life. He sat down on the bed to pull his boots on and he felt her kneel behind him, her hands sliding across his chest, her lips brushing at his ear as she whispered to him. “So you’ll be leaving me all alone again, will you? Heading off to Angland, to slaughter Northmen with my brother?”

  Jezal leaned down with some difficulty and heaved one boot on. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” The idea of the soldiering life no longer inspired him. He had seen enough of violence, close up, to know it was extremely frightening and hurt like hell. Glory and fame seemed like meagre rewards for all the risks involved. “I’m giving serious thought to the idea of resigning my commission.”

  “You are? And doing what?”

  “I’m not sure.” He turned his head and
raised an eyebrow at her. “Maybe I’ll find a good woman and settle down.”

  “A good woman? Do you know any?”

  “I was hoping you might have some suggestions.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Let me think. Does she have to be beautiful?”

  “No, no, beautiful women are always so bloody demanding. Plain as ditchwater, please.”

  “Clever?”

  Jezal snorted. “Anything but that. I am notorious for my empty-headedness. A clever woman would only make me look the dunce the whole time.” He dragged the other boot on, peeled her hands away and stood up. “A wide-eyed and thoughtless calf would be ideal. Someone to endlessly agree with me.”

  Ardee clapped her hands. “Oh yes, I can see her on you now, trailing from your arm like an empty dress, a kind of echo at a higher pitch. Noble blood though, I imagine?”

  “Of course, nothing but the best. One point on which I could never compromise. And fair hair, I have a weakness for it.”

  “Oh, I entirely agree. Dark hair is so commonplace, so very much the colour of dirt, and filth, and muck.” She shuddered. “I feel sullied just thinking of it.”

  “Above all,” as he pushed his sword through the clasp on his belt, “a calm and even temper. I have had my fill of surprises.”

  “Naturally. Life is difficult enough without a woman making trouble. So terribly undignified.” She raised her eyebrows. “I will think through my acquaintance.”

  “Excellent. In the meantime, and although you wear it with far greater dash than I ever could, I will need my jacket.”

  “Oh, yes, sir.” She pulled it off and flung it at him, then stretched out on the bed, stark naked, back arched, hands above her head, wriggling her hips slowly back and forth, one knee in the air, the other leg stretched out, big toe pointing at him. “You aren’t going to leave me alone for too long, though, are you?”

  He watched her for a moment. “Don’t you dare move a fucking inch,” he croaked, then he pulled the jacket on, wedged his prick between his thighs and waddled out the door, bent over. He hoped it would go down before he had his briefing with the Lord Marshal, but he was not entirely sure it would.

  Once again, Jezal found himself in one of High Justice Marovia’s cavernous chambers, standing all alone on the empty floor, facing the enormous, polished table while three old men regarded him grimly from the other side.

  As the clerk shut the high doors with an echoing boom, he had a deeply worrying sense of having lived through this very experience before. The day he had been summoned from the boat for Angland, torn from his friends and his ambitions, to be sent on a madcap, doomed journey into the middle of nowhere. A journey that had cost him some of his looks and nearly his life. It was safe to say that he did not entirely relish being back here, and hoped most fervently for a better outcome.

  From that point of view, the absence of the First of the Magi was something of a tonic, even if the panel was otherwise far from comforting. Facing him were the hard old faces of Lord Marshal Varuz, High Justice Marovia, and Lord Chamberlain Hoff.

  Varuz was busy waxing on about Jezal’s fine achievements in the Old Empire. He had, evidently, heard a very different version of events from the one that Jezal himself remembered.

  “… great adventures in the west, as I understand it, bringing honour to the Union on foreign fields. I was particularly impressed by the story of your charge across the bridge at Darmium. Did that really happen the way I have been told?”

  “Across the bridge, sir, well, truthfully, er…” He should probably have asked the old fool what the hell he was talking about, but he was far too busy thinking of Ardee, stretched out naked. Shit on his country. Duty be damned. He could resign his commission now and be back in her bed before the hour was out. “The thing is—”

  “That was your favourite, was it?” asked Hoff, lowering his goblet. “It was the one about the Emperor’s daughter that most caught my fancy.” And he looked at Jezal with a twinkle in his eye that implied a story of a saucy tone.

  “Honestly, your Grace, I’ve not the slightest idea how that rumour began. Nothing of the kind occurred, I assure you. The whole business appears somehow to have become greatly exaggerated—”

  “Well, one glorious rumour is worth ten disappointing truths, would you not agree?”

  Jezal blinked. “Well, er, I suppose—”

  “In any case,” cut in Varuz, “the Closed Council have received excellent reports of your conduct while abroad.”

  “They have?”

  “Many and various reports, and all glowing.”

  Jezal could not help grinning, though he had to wonder from whom such reports might have come. He could scarcely imagine Ferro Maljinn gushing about his fine qualities. “Well, your lordships are very kind, but I must—”

  “As a result of your dedication and courage in this difficult and vital task, I am delighted to announce that you have been elevated to the rank of Colonel, with immediate effect.”

  Jezal’s eyes opened up very wide. “I have?”

  “You have indeed, my boy, and no one could deserve it more.”

  To rise two ranks in one afternoon was an unprecedented honour, especially when he had fought in no battle, carried out no recent deeds of valour, and made no ultimate sacrifices. Unless you counted leaving off the most recent bedding of his best friend’s sister halfway. A sacrifice, no doubt, but scarcely the kind that usually earned the King’s favour.

  “I, er, I…” He could not escape a glow of satisfaction. A new uniform, and more braid, and so forth, and more people to tell what to do. Glory and fame were meagre rewards, perhaps, but he had taken the risks already, and now had only to say yes. Had he not suffered? Had he not earned it?

  He did not have to think about it for so very long. He scarcely had to think about it at all. The idea of leaving the army and settling down receded rapidly into the far distance. “I would be entirely honoured to accept this exceptional… er… honour.”

  “Then we are all equally delighted,” said Hoff sourly. “Now to business. You are aware, Colonel Luthar, that there has been some trouble with the peasants of late?”

  Surprisingly, no news had reached Ardee’s bedroom. “Nothing serious, surely, your Grace?”

  “Not unless you call a full-blown revolt serious.”

  “Revolt?” Jezal swallowed.

  “This man, the Tanner,” spat the Lord Chamberlain. “He has been touring the countryside for months, whipping up dissatisfaction, sowing the seeds of disobedience, inciting the peasantry to crimes against their masters, against their lords, against their king!”

  “No one ever suspected it would reach the point of open rebellion.” Varuz worked his mouth angrily. “But following a demonstration near Keln a group of peasants encouraged by this Tanner armed themselves and refused to disband. They won a victory over the local landowner, and the insurrection spread. Now we hear they crushed a significant force under Lord Finster yesterday, burned his manor house and hung three tax collectors. They are in the process of ravaging the countryside in the direction of Adua.”

  “Ravaging?” murmured Jezal, glancing at the door. Ravaging really was a very ugly word.

  “It is a most regrettable business,” bemoaned Marovia. “Half of them are honest men, faithful to their king, pushed to this through the greed of their landlords.”

  Varuz sneered his disgust. “There can be no excuse for treason! The other half are thieves, and blackguards, and malcontents. They should be whipped to the gallows!”

  “The Closed Council has made its decision,” cut in Hoff. “This Tanner has declared his intention to present a list of demands to the King. To the King! New freedoms. New rights. Every man the equal of his brother and other such dangerous nonsense. Soon it will become known that they are on their way and there will be panic. Riots in support of the peasants, and riots against them. Things are balanced on a knife edge already. Two wars in progress and the king in fading health, with
no heir?” Hoff bashed at the table with his fist, making Jezal jump. “They must not be allowed to reach the city.”

  Marshal Varuz clasped his hands before him. “The two regiments of the King’s Own that have remained in Midderland will be sent out to counter this threat. A list of concessions,” and he scowled as he said the word, “has been prepared. If the peasants will accept negotiation, and return to their homes, their lives can be spared. If this Tanner will not see reason, then his so-called army must be destroyed. Scattered. Broken up.”

  “Killed,” said Hoff, rubbing at a stain on the table with his heavy thumb. “And the ringleaders delivered to his Majesty’s Inquisition.”

  “Regrettable,” murmured Jezal, without thinking, feeling a cold shiver at the very mention of that institution.

  “Necessary,” said Marovia, sadly shaking his head.

  “But hardly straightforward.” Varuz frowned at Jezal across the table. “In each village, in each town, in every field and farm they have passed through they have picked up more recruits. The country is alive with malcontents. Ill-disciplined, of course, and ill-equipped, but at our last estimate they numbered some forty thousand.”

  “Forty… thousand?” Jezal shifted his weight nervously. He had supposed they were perhaps discussing a few hundred, and those without proper footwear. There was no danger here, of course, safe behind the walls of the Agriont, the walls of the city. But forty thousand was an awful lot of very angry men. Even if they were peasants.

  “The King’s Own are making their preparations: one regiment of horse and one of foot. All that is missing now is a commander for the expedition.”

  “Huh,” grunted Jezal. He did not begrudge that unfortunate man his position, commanding a force outnumbered five to one against a bunch of savages buoyed up by righteousness and petty victories, drunk on hatred of noblemen and monarchy, thirsty for blood and loot…

  Jezal’s eyes went wider still. “Me?”