08 A Little Hatred: Book One (The Age of Madness)

Orso winced at the mud. He realised his cock was still painfully trapped behind his belt and hooked a surreptitious thumb through his dressing gown to let it flop loose, all trace of morning magnificence entirely wilted. Sulfur’s arguments were proving hard to disagree with. Ruling a great nation seemed a much more complex business than it had a few moments ago in the privacy of his tent. And what could he do about it anyway? Unhang the Breakers? His useless anger was already guttering out, replaced by equally useless guilt.

‘What will people think of me?’ he whispered.

‘They will think that, like Harod and Casamir and the great kings of old, you are a man who does what must be done!’ Sulfur nibbled away at the core of his apple and wagged a finger. ‘Mercy is an admirable quality in smallfolk, but I fear it does not keep kings in power.’

‘Feel free to use me as the villain again,’ added Pike. ‘I must accept that I am somewhat typecast.’ He bowed stiffly. ‘And now please excuse me, Your Highness, there is a great deal to be done. You should return to Adua with all speed. Your father will be keen to congratulate you.’

Sulfur stripped his apple to the stalk and flicked it away, lazing back in the gibbet’s shadow with one hand behind his curly head. ‘I don’t doubt you will have made him very proud. My master, too.’

Father would be very proud. Not to mention this fool’s master. One of Malmer’s trouser legs had ridden up to show his calf, grey hairs on the pale skin stirring faintly with the wind. One eye was closed, but the other seemed to peer down in Orso’s direction. He had heard it said that dead men have no opinions, but this one appeared to hold an exceptionally low one of Orso even so. Almost as low as he did himself.

‘Not quite the end to our adventure we were hoping for.’ Tunny had walked up, a steaming cup of tea in one hand. ‘But it’s an end, I suppose.’

Orso was not sure he had ever liked the man less than at that moment. ‘Why didn’t you get me?’ he grated out.

‘It was my impression that you were otherwise engaged.’ Tunny cleared his throat significantly. ‘And what good would it have done?’

‘I could’ve … I could’ve …’ Orso struggled to find the words. ‘Stopped this.’

Tunny handed him the cup and gave his shoulder a fatherly pat. ‘No, you couldn’t.’

Orso considered flinging the tea in his face, but his mouth really was very dry, so he took a sip instead. Above, the gibbet groaned and Malmer turned slowly away.

Orso the Merciful, might the historians call him, looking back admiringly on his achievements?

It did not seem likely.

Two of a Kind

‘How are you?’

Leo winced as he stretched out his injured leg. ‘Still a bit sore.’

‘It could have been far worse.’

He winced again as he pressed at the cut in his side. ‘No doubt.’

His mother reached up and brushed his bandaged cheek gently with her thumb. ‘I fear you’ll have some scars, Leo.’

‘Warriors should, don’t you think? In the North they call them Naming Wounds.’

‘I think we’ve had our fill of Northern customs over the last few days.’

‘A break wouldn’t hurt.’ Leo took a long breath. ‘Rikke hasn’t been to see me.’

‘The outcome of the duel did not please her.’

‘She’d rather I’d died?’

‘She’d rather Nightfall had. She was quite vocal on that point.’

‘She’s quite vocal on every bloody point,’ grumbled Leo. Rikke might seem an ever-gushing spring of laughs but he was starting to see there was a well of deep grudges beneath. ‘And what do you think?’

‘I think you spared Nightfall because you have a big heart.’

‘Meaning I have a little brain?’

‘Stolicus said to kill an enemy is cause for relief. To make a friend of him is cause for celebration.’ Her eyes met his. That look she had when she wanted him to learn a lesson. ‘If you could make a friend of the Great Wolf … if you could build an alliance with the North …’ She let it hang there.

Leo blinked at her. ‘Even now you’re thinking of the next step.’

‘A runner who does not think of the next step will fall flat.’

‘If Rikke’s sore at Nightfall being alive, how’s she going to feel about him being a friend?’

‘If you want to be a great lord governor, her feelings cannot dictate your policy any more than mine. Or even yours. You have to do the best for the most. Do you want to be a great lord governor, Leo?’

‘You know I do.’

‘The Union has been at war with the North, on and off, ever since Casamir took Angland. We cannot beat the Northmen with swords, Leo. Not for good. We will always be fighting to keep them out.’ She spoke very softly. ‘Unless we invite them in.’

‘So … I’m a peacemaker now?’

‘You’re a fighter, like your father was. But what separates great soldiers from mere killers is that they know when to stop fighting.’

Wincing at the pain in his side, the pain in his stomach, the pain in his thigh, Leo slipped his feet from the bed and swung them down onto the cold floor. ‘Got to admit, I don’t much fancy fighting right now.’