The Trouble with Peace (The Age of Madness #2) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,170

a baker seeing the bread rise just the way he wanted. “Ever see a weapontake like this, did you?”

Clover shrugged. “I’ve seen a few, and by and large they were about like this one. Lots of men turning up with weapons. Sort of the point of the thing.”

Stour gave him a withering glance. “I meant, have you ever seen one so big.”

“I admit this is the biggest.” Apart from the one when Bethod went to war against the Union. Or the one when the Union went to war against Black Dow. But he doubted Stour wanted to hear that, and once you’ve seen a man starve one poor bastard after another in a cage, you get quite sensitive to what he wants to hear. Which Clover imagined was the point o’ the exercise.

“We’re going to show those Union bastards something,” snarled Stour. “On their own ground, this time. Never fought ’em in Midderland, eh?”

“No.” Clover didn’t bother to say that men usually fight harder on their own ground. He doubted Stour wanted to hear that, either.

Being honest, he wasn’t sure why the young King of the Northmen kept him close. He liked to think he was looked on as some noble mixture of bodyguard, advisor and mentor. In truth, the role probably tended more towards jester. But what can you do but play the role you’re given?

“You’re set on this, then?” Black Calder stepped from the staircase and out onto the gatehouse roof, grey-streaked hair plastered to his pale frown by the rain. He looked sourer by the day. Like milk left out in the sun.

Stour spread his arms to gather up that whole vast host. “Send ’em home now, they’ll be so disappointed!”

“I had a visit from Master Sulfur.” Calder rubbed worriedly at his grey stubble. He’d been pouring worry, doubt and scorn on the whole business ever since the first man turned up. “He’s not happy with this. And that means his master won’t be happy, either.”

Stour gave a snort. “Just as well my business ain’t making wizards happy. Be a frustrating bloody line o’ work, eh, Clover?”

“I guess,” murmured Clover, who found making kings happy frustrating enough.

“Daresay you can look after things while I’m gone,” said Stour, clapping a hand on his father’s back.

“Managed well enough before you arrived,” growled Calder, shaking him off. “Though you haven’t left me much to look after things with.” And he glanced about the damp roof at the smattering of greybeards, bald-chinned boys and battle-maimed cripples who’d be guarding Skarling’s Hall while their king was off polishing his legend.

“Need the men. Fighting the Union’s never been easy.”

True enough. Bethod, Black Dow, Scale Ironhand, they’d all found it out the hard way. The Union had been getting the better of better men than Stour Nightfall for years.

Stour seemed to guess the way Clover was thinking and gave one of those sly sideways winks of his, like they were all caught up together in the same funny secret. “But we never had Angland on our side before.”

“We had the First of the Magi on our side,” grunted Calder, getting even sourer, if that was possible. “Tipping all the scales. Loading all the dice.”

“When I wanted his help, you said it wasn’t worth the price.”

“I said don’t land yourself in his debt. I didn’t say spit in his eye.” Calder shook his head grimly. “You don’t understand what he is.”

Understanding things was a problem for other folk, far as the Great Wolf was concerned. He gave a hiss, half-boredom, half-disgust. “When did you turn so bloody sour, Father? To hear you carping, no one would ever guess you won the North!”

Calder spoke soft. “With Bayaz’s help, I won it. Like the Bloody-Nine. Like my father. If Bayaz starts helping someone else—”

“Then I’ll fight ’em and I’ll win!” snarled Stour, showing his teeth. The sun came out then, peeping through a patch in the cloud, and brought a sparkle from the marching men. “Look at that!” There was a rainbow over the road south towards Ollensand. “A good omen, I reckon. An archway we’ll march through to victory!”

Cheers at that from some of the Named Men on the roof, and weapons shook, and calls of the Great Wolf. No one mentioned the one thing about rainbows that came at once to Clover—you can march at ’em for ever but you’ll never actually reach the bastards.

Calder gave a disgusted sigh as he watched the King of the Northmen swagger towards the steps. “The dead save me