John Gwynne - Valour

‘Of course.’

‘Your barons controlling that supply are not cooperating as well as they might. I speak specifically of Marcellin in the north and Lamar in the south.’

‘There is trouble in the north that may be affecting your supply lines,’ Fidele said. ‘The Kurgan giants are raiding from their mountain strongholds. I have sent Peritus to deal with it.’

‘That still would not explain the lack of cooperation in the south,’ Lykos said. ‘And, allow me to speak frankly — I believe Marcellin and Lamar are being obstructive because I am Vin Thalun.’

Fidele sat back, considering him coldly. ‘Yes, I believe you are right.’

Lykos raised an eyebrow. ‘We have signed a treaty, formed an alliance.’

‘Yes, we have. As we are speaking frankly, let me say this. The situation between our two peoples is new, and old ways of thinking are hard to change in a day, or a moon, or a season, or even a year.’

‘Our treaty was signed nearly two years ago, my lady,’ Lykos said.

‘Yes. But there were decades of enmity before that.’

‘Not under my reign,’ Lykos snapped, suddenly fierce, feeling his temper flare. ‘And the men that ruled then, well…’ He paused, tugging at an iron ring woven into his beard, a timeworn method of controlling his anger. ‘They have either bowed the knee or had their heads separated from their shoulders.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Fidele said with a dismissive wave of her hand, ‘there is a history between our peoples. Lamar particularly has been a bulwark for Tenebral against your past raids. He has seen much bloodshed and does not forgive so easily.’

‘True. Lamar I can understand. Marcellin, though. He rules in the Agullas, about as far as any man in Tenebral can get from the Tethys Sea. But he is close to Peritus, I believe. .’ Lykos left the rest unsaid. He knew that Peritus, Aquilus’ battlechief, was not a friend of the Vin Thalun, had even spoken openly against them, if only after Nathair had sailed west. It was good to let Fidele see that he was no fool, that he understood something of the politics and people of this land.

‘I will speak to them,’ Fidele said. ‘But I have heard things about your people, practices that hinder any understanding between us, and I believe Lamar and Marcellin will have heard the same reports that I have.’

Lykos sighed; he had a feeling he knew what was coming.

‘I speak of your fighting pits,’ Fidele said, her mouth twisting with disgust. ‘In your own land your customs are yours to do as you see fit, but here in Tenebral, forcing captives, slaves, to fight for your entertainment is unacceptable.’

The fighting pits were part of Vin Thalun tradition, had been part of the three islands for as long as Lykos knew. Men could end up there by many roads — taken on a raid, owing a blood debt, even from a very bad night with dice and a throw-board. There was only one road out, though, and that was to fight your way out, tooth and nail if you had to. With the end of war between the islands and Lykos proclaimed Lord of the Vin Thalun, if anything the pits had grown in their popularity. His people were not made for peace and if his crews were no longer fighting or raiding regularly, they needed something to prevent them turning on one another. The pits acted as both an entertainment and a distraction. He had tried to curtail the use of them while his men were abroad in Tenebral, understanding that the locals would probably object. But the rising tensions amongst his warriors had become a pain in the arse, so he had allowed the pits to happen. Discreetly, he thought.

He shrugged, not wanting to commit to an outright lie that could later incriminate him. ‘I’ll look into these rumours.’

‘We both know that they are not rumours,’ Fidele snapped, leaning forward in her chair. ‘You attended one of these events only a ten-night gone. This barbaric custom will not happen within the boundaries of Tenebral. I expect you to put an end to it.’

‘I thought Nathair ruled here,’ he said before he could check himself.

‘Nathair is not here, and I rule in his place,’ Fidele said.

‘Of course,’ Lykos muttered, pouring himself another cup of wine. For now . ‘I will make sure the pits stay on the Islands.’

Fidele inclined her head. ‘And I will see that your supply of wood is unhindered.’

‘How did it go, chief?’ Deinon asked him.

Lykos scowled at his shieldman. They were out on the meadow road, walking back to the lake shore. It was hard enough taking orders from Nathair, someone young enough to be his son, though he knew he had no choice with that, at least for now. But Nathair’s mother, a woman . . no matter how much he enjoyed looking at her. .

‘She knows about the pits,’ he muttered.

‘Is that a problem?’ Thaan asked.

‘Course it’s a problem. These landwalkers are soft. She wants the pits closed.’

‘The lads won’t like it.’

‘No, they won’t.’ And neither would I . ‘Which is why the pits’ll stay open. Just have to be a bit clever about it, that’s all. Not so close to Jerolin, not so regular; just for a while.’

‘Good,’ Deinon said, the air whistling through his ruined nose as he talked. ‘Didn’t think you’d let a woman tell you what’s what, no matter how fine she is to look at.’

‘Watch your tongue,’ Lykos said, giving Deinon a sour look. There was a lot more to this than he had originally imagined. Conquering the Islands had been so much easier than this politicking — bloodier, aye, but simpler, at least. He glanced up, saw the day was well past highsun.

‘You all right, chief?’ Thaan asked him.

Soon it would be night again. Why did each day pass so quickly, each night last so long? He felt a knot of fear twist in his gut at the thought of the nightmares he knew would come, and that made his anger return. How could he tell his shieldman that he was afraid of the dark?

He spent the rest of the day at the shipyard, first inspecting the finished galleys, then losing himself in the rhythm of manual work on the new ships. As the sun set, sinking behind distant mountains, he took a turn beside Deinon at an oar, pulling for his ship anchored on the lake. The ache in his back muscles was almost pleasant.

‘How long are we here, chief?’ Deinon asked.

‘Another week, maybe. Make sure Alazon has all the materials he needs, then it’s back to the coast to check on the other shipyard.’

‘Have mercy,’ Thaan muttered behind them.

Mercy’s for fools , thought Lykos, almost hearing his dead father whisper the words in his ear. ‘This easy life not to your taste?’ he asked.

‘I’d rather be cracking heads and betting on the pits than this,’ Thaan grumbled.

‘Not much I can do about the pits, for now,’ Lykos said. ‘But the head cracking. .’ Something Fidele had said during their meeting had been bothering him all day, that’s why he had spent the day with a mallet in his hand — it helped him think. They reached their ship, tied off the rowing boat and clambered up the ladder onto the deck. Most of the crew had been sleeping ashore, with strict orders not to spend time in Jerolin’s inns. A few hands were still about though — there was always work that needed doing. Lykos looked about, studying each face. Then he saw who he was looking for.

‘One of you fetch Jace, bring him down to my cabin,’ he said with a nod, then turned and walked below decks without a look back.

It was not long before there was a knock at his cabin door and Deinon entered, Jace behind him. Thaan stayed in the hall and closed the door.

‘Have a drink,’ Lykos said, thrusting a cup of wine at Jace.

Jace took it, his smile all teeth and gums, and drank, though only a little. He had not been aboard long, only a ten-night, having earned his place at the oars at the last pit-fight Lykos had attended. Lykos liked him, liked his style — a focused, contained fury when he fought. He was lean, yet well-muscled. Scars latticed his arms and shoulders. Probably only eighteen years old, maybe nineteen. He looked older, but that was usual for any that made it out of the pits.