Abercrombie, Joe - The Heroes

‘By royal decree, Harod dan Brock is to be restored to his father’s seat on the Open Council. Some of the family estates near Keln will be returned, along with lands near Ostenhorm from which, it will be hoped, your husband will attend to his new responsibilities as lord governor of Angland.’ Bayaz turned the paper around and brought it closer, her eyes darting over the blocks of masterful calligraphy like a miser’s over a chest of jewels.

‘How could the king not be moved by such loyalty, such bravery, such sacrifice as the young Lord Brock displayed?’ Bayaz leaned close. ‘Not to mention the courage and tenacity of his wife who, captured by the Northmen, mark you, poked Black Dow in the eye and demanded the release of sixty prisoners! Why, his August Majesty would have to be made of stone. He is not, in case you were wondering. Few men less so, indeed. He wept when he read the despatch that described your husband’s heroic assault upon the bridge. Wept. Then he ordered this paper drawn up, and signed it within the hour.’ The Magus leaned closer yet, so she could almost feel his breath upon her face. ‘I daresay … if one were closely to inspect this document … one could see the marks of his Majesty’s earnest tears … staining the vellum.’

For the first time since it had been produced, Finree shifted her eyes from the scroll. She was close enough to see each grey hair of Bayaz’ beard, each brown liver spot on his bald pate, each deep, hard crease in his skin. ‘It would take a week for the despatch to reach him and another week for the edict to return. It has only been a day since—’

‘Call it magic. His Majesty’s carcass may be a week away in Adua, but his right hand?’ Bayaz held his own up between them. ‘His right hand is a little closer by. But none of that matters now.’ He stepped back, sighing, and started to roll the parchment up. ‘Since you say I have not the authority. I shall burn this worthless paper, shall I?’

‘No!’ She had to stop herself snatching it from his hand. ‘No.’

‘You no longer object to your father’s replacement?’

She bit her lip for a moment. War is hell, and all that, but it presents opportunities. ‘He resigned.’

‘Did he?’ Bayaz smiled wide, but his green eyes stayed glittering hard. ‘You impress me once again. My earnest congratulations on your husband’s meteoric rise to power. And your own, of course … Lady Governess.’ He held out the scroll by one handle. She took it by the other. He did not let go.

‘Remember this, though. People love heroes, but new ones can always be found. With one finger of one hand I make you. With one finger of one hand …’ He put his finger under her chin and pushed it up, sending a stab of pain through her stiff neck. ‘I can unmake you.’

She swallowed. ‘I understand.’

‘Then I wish you good day!’ And Bayaz released her and the scroll, all smiles again. ‘Please convey the happy news to your husband, though I must ask that you keep it between yourselves for the time being. People might not appreciate, as you do, quite how the magic works. I shall convey your husband’s acceptance to his Majesty along with the news that he made the offer. Shall I?’

Finree cleared her throat. ‘By all means.’

‘My colleagues on the Closed Council will be delighted that the matter has been put to rest so swiftly. You must visit Adua when your husband is recovered. The formalities of his appointment. A parade, or some such. Hours of pomp in the Lords’ Round. Breakfast with the queen.’ Bayaz raised one eyebrow as he turned away. ‘You really should procure some better clothes. Something with a heroic air.’

The room was clean and bright, light streaming in through a window and across the bed. No sobbing. No blood. No missing limbs. No awful not knowing. The luck of it. One arm was bound under the covers, the other lying pale on the sheet, knuckles scabbed over, gently rising and falling with his breath.

‘Hal.’ He grunted, eyelids flickering open. ‘Hal, it’s me.’

‘Fin.’ He reached up and touched her cheek with his fingertips. ‘You came.’

‘Of course.’ She folded his hand in hers. ‘How are you?’

He shifted, winced, then gave a weak smile. ‘Bit stiff, honestly, but lucky. Damn lucky to have you. I heard you dragged me out of the rubble. Shouldn’t I be the one rushing to your rescue?’

‘If it helps it was Bremer dan Gorst who found you and carried you back. I just ran around crying, really.’

‘You’ve always cried easily, it’s one thing I love about you.’ His eyes started to drift shut. ‘I suppose I can live with Gorst … doing the saving …’

She squeezed his hand tighter. ‘Hal, listen to me, something has happened. Something wonderful.’

‘I heard.’ His eyelids moved lazily. ‘Peace.’

She shrugged it off. ‘Not that. Well, yes, that, but …’ She leaned over him, wrapping her other hand around his. ‘Hal, listen to me. You’re getting your father’s seat in the Open Council.’

‘What?’

‘Some of his lands, too. They want us … you … the king wants you to take Meed’s place.’

Hal blinked. ‘As general of his division?’

‘As lord governor of Angland.’

For a moment he looked simply stunned then, as he studied her face, worried. ‘Why me?’

‘Because you’re a good man.’ And a good compromise. ‘A hero, apparently. Your deeds have come to the notice of the king.’

‘Hero?’ He snorted. ‘How did you do it?’ He tried to get up onto his elbows but she put a hand on his chest and held him gently down.

Now was the opportunity to tell him the truth. The idea barely crossed her mind. ‘You did it. You were right after all. Hard work and loyalty and all those things. Leading from the front. That’s how you get on.’

‘But—’

‘Shhhh.’ And she kissed him on one side of the lips, and on the other, and in the middle. His breath was foul, but she did not care. She was not about to let him ruin this. ‘We can talk about it later. You rest, now.’

‘I love you,’ he whispered.

‘I love you too.’ Gently stroking his face as he slipped back into sleep. It was true. He was a good man. One of the best. Honest, brave, loyal to a fault. They were well matched. Optimist and pessimist, dreamer and cynic. And what is love anyway, but finding someone who suits you? Someone who makes up for your shortcomings?

Someone you can work with. Work on.

Terms

‘They’re late,’ grumbled Mitterick.

The table had six chairs around it. His Majesty’s new lord marshal occupied one, stuffed into a dress uniform swaddled with braid and too tight about his neck. Bayaz occupied another, drumming his thick fingers upon the tabletop. The Dogman slumped in the third, frowning up towards the Heroes, a muscle on the side of his head occasionally twitching.

Gorst stood a pace behind Mitterick’s chair, arms folded. Beside him was Bayaz’ servant, a map of the north rolled up in his hands. Behind them, posed stiffly within the ring of stones but out of earshot, were a handful of the most senior remaining officers of the army. A sadly denuded complement. Meed, and Wetterlant, and Vinkler, and plenty more beside could not be with us. Jalenhorm too. Gorst frowned up towards the Heroes. Standing on first name terms with me is as good as a death sentence, it seems. His Majesty’s Twelfth Regiment were all in attendance, though, arrayed in parade ground order just outside the Children on the south side, their forest of shouldered halberds glittering in the chilly sun. A little reminder that we seek peace today, but are more than prepared for the alternative.