Abercrombie, Joe - The Heroes

‘Why not my husband?’

Bayaz cocked his head on one side. ‘You are very frank.’

‘I seem to be, this morning.’

‘Another characteristic I have always found most admirable.’

‘By the Fates, I’m admirable!’ she said, hearing the door clatter shut on Aliz’ sobs.

‘I am not sure how much support I could raise for your husband, however.’ Bayaz wrinkled his lip as he tossed the dregs from his cup into the dewy grass. ‘His father stands among the most infamous traitors in the history of the Union.’

‘Too true. And the greatest of all the Union’s noblemen, the first man on the Open Council, only a vote away from the crown.’ She spoke without considering the consequences any more than a spinning stone considers the water it skims across. ‘When his lands were seized, his power snuffed out as though it had never existed, I would have thought the nobles felt threatened. For all they delighted in his fall they saw in it the shadow of their own. I imagine restoring his son to some prudent fraction of his power might be made to play well with the Open Council. Asserting the rights of the ancient families, and so on.’

Bayaz’ chin went up a little, his brows drew down. ‘Perhaps. And?’

‘And while the great Lord Brock had allies and enemies in abundance, his son has none. He has been scorned and ignored for eight years. He is part of no faction, has no agenda but faithfully to serve the crown. He has more than proved his honesty, bravery and unquestioning loyalty to his Majesty on the field of battle.’ She fixed Bayaz with her gaze. ‘It would be a fine story to tell. Instead of lowering himself to dabble in base politics, our monarch chooses to reward faithful service, merit and old-time heroism. The commoners would enjoy it, I think.’

‘Faithful service, merit and heroism. Fine qualities in a soldier.’ As though talking about fat on a pig. ‘But a lord governor is first a politician. Flexibility, ruthlessness and an eye for expediency are more his talents. How is your husband there?’

‘Weak, but perhaps someone close to him could supply those qualities.’

She fancied Bayaz had the ghost of a smile about his lips. ‘I am beginning to suspect they could. You make an interesting suggestion.’

‘You have not thought of everything, then?’

‘Only the truly ignorant believe they have thought of everything. I might even mention it to my colleagues on the Closed Council when we next meet.’

‘I would have thought it would be best to make a choice swiftly, rather than to allow the whole thing to become … an issue. I cannot be considered impartial but, even so, I truly believe my husband to be the best man in the Union.’

Bayaz gave a dry chuckle. ‘Who says I want the best man? It may be that a fool and a weakling as lord governor of Angland would suit everyone better. A fool and a weakling with a stupid, cowardly wife.’

‘That, I am afraid, I cannot offer you. Have an apple.’ And she tossed it at him, made him juggle it with one hand before catching it in the other, his cup tumbling into the sedge, his brows up in surprise. Before he could speak she was already walking away. She could hardly even remember what their conversation had been about. Her mind was entirely taken up with the way that blue cheek bulged as steel slid underneath it, pushing it in, pushing it in.

For What We Are About to Receive …

It’s an awful fine line between being raised above folk like a leader and being raised above ’em like a hanged man on display. When Craw climbed up on an empty crate to give his little speech, he had to admit he felt closer to the latter. A sea of faces opened up in front of him, the Heroes packed with men from one side of the circle to the other and plenty more pressing in outside. Didn’t help that Black Dow’s own Carls were the grimmest, darkest, toughest-looking crowd you’d find anywhere in the North. And you’ll find a lot of tough crowds in the North. Probably these were a long stretch more interested in doing plunder, rape and murder than anyone’s idea of the right thing, and didn’t care much who got on the pointy end of it either.

Craw was glad he had Jolly Yon, and Flood, and Wonderful stood frowning around the crate. He was even gladder he had Whirrun just beside. The Father of Swords was enough metal to add some weight to anyone’s words. He remembered what Threetrees told him when he made him his Second. He was trying to be their leader, not their lover, and a leader’s best feared first, and liked afterward.

‘Men o’ the North!’ he bellowed into the wind. ‘’Case you didn’t hear, Splitfoot’s dead, and Black Dow’s put me in his place.’ He picked out the biggest, nastiest, most scornful-looking bastard in the whole crowd, a man looked like he shaved with an axe, and leaned towards him. ‘Do what I fucking tell you!’ he snarled. ‘That’s your job now.’ He lingered on him for long enough to make the point he feared nothing, even if the opposite was closer to the truth. ‘Keeping everyone alive, that’s mine. There’s a strong likelihood I ain’t going to succeed in every case. That’s war. Won’t stop me trying, though. And by the dead it won’t stop you lot trying either.’

They milled about a little, a long way from won over. Time to list the pedigree. Bragging weren’t his strong suit these days but there’d be no prize for modesty. ‘My name’s Curnden Craw, and I’m thirty years a Named Man! I stood Second to Rudd Threetrees, back in the day.’ That name got a nodding rustle of approval. ‘The Rock of Uffrith himself. Held a shield for him when he fought his duel with the Bloody-Nine.’ That name got a bigger one. ‘Then I fought for Bethod, and now Black Dow. Every battle you pricks heard of I had a part in.’ He curled his lip. ‘So safe to say you needn’t worry about whether I’m up to the task.’ Even if Craw was worrying his bowels loose over it himself. But his voice rang out gruff and deep still. Thank the dead for his hero’s voice, even if time had given him a coward’s guts.

‘I want each man here to do the right thing today!’ he roared. ‘And before you start sneering and I’m forced to stick my boot up your arse, I ain’t talking about patting children on the head, or giving your last crust to a squirrel, or even being bolder’n Skarling once the blades are drawn. I ain’t talking about acting the hero.’ He jerked his head towards the stones around them. ‘You can leave that to the rocks. They won’t bleed for it. I’m talking about standing by your Chief! Standing with your crew! Standing with the man beside you! And above all I’m talking about not getting yourselves fucking killed!’

He picked Beck out with a pointed finger. ‘Look at this lad here. Red Beck, his name.’ Beck’s eyes went wide as the whole front rank of killers turned to look at him. ‘He did the right thing yesterday. Stuck in a house in Osrung with the Union breaking down the door. Listened to his Chief. Stood with his kind. Kept his head. Put four o’ the bastards in the mud and came through alive.’ Maybe Craw was flowering up the truth a little but that was the point of a speech, wasn’t it? ‘If a lad o’ seventeen years can keep the Union out of a shack, I reckon men o’ your experience should have no trouble keeping ’em off a hill like this one here. And since everyone knows how rich the Union is … no doubt they’ll leave plenty behind ’em as they go running down that slope, eh?’ That got a bit of a laugh at least. Nothing worked like tickling their greed.

‘That’s all!’ he bellowed. ‘Find your places!’ And he hopped down, little wobble as his knee jarred but at least he kept standing. No applause, but he reckoned he’d won enough of ’em over not to get stabbed in his back before the battle was done. And in this company that was about as much as he could’ve hoped for.