The Trouble with Peace (The Age of Madness #2) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,184

her look glad about anything. He even found it rather reassuring. Negotiation, planning or collapse of a nation, she faced them all with the same flinty resolve. “Did you speak to the Young Lion?”

“I did,” she said. “And to his wife, Lady Savine.”

“She’s with him?” He had to cough back a ridiculous desire to ask whether she had looked well.

“Heavily pregnant but still sharp as a dagger.”

“What are we calling her?” asked Pike, with a twisting of his burned features that might have been a smile. “The Young Lioness?”

Orso gave an unhappy grunt. An apt name, as it turned out. From what he understood of the species, the males had the big reputations but the females did all the killing.

“I told them a tale,” said Vick. “That you’re disorganised and short on men. That Brint has prevented any chance of reinforcements. The Lioness had her doubts, but her husband swallowed it whole, I think.”

“Excellent work!” said Orso. If they could have been reinforced with another dozen Vick dan Teufels they might have avoided fighting altogether. “But… you look less than delighted.”

“Our rebels have struck a deal with the Breakers. They’re planning uprisings across Midderland.”

An ugly pause. Orso took it with remarkable fortitude, he thought. Or perhaps he had no room to hold any more bad news. Like pouring wine into a glass already full, it simply flooded over the sides. “Have we heard of any uprisings? Any more, I should say…”

“None,” said Pike, “but…”

It was left to Tunny to say what everyone was undoubtedly thinking. “The first warning would be when our reinforcements don’t arrive.”

Orso could not help himself. He burst out in a carefree chuckle. “Well, we can only fight one war at a time, my friends. The Breakers can be tomorrow’s problem. Right now, several thousand rebellious noblemen, disgruntled Anglanders and slavering Northmen demand all my attention.”

“Twenty thousand, according to Brock’s own estimate,” said Vick.

Another ugly pause. From the concerned looks on the faces about him, Orso gathered that was more than they had hoped. “How many are we?” he asked, unable to keep a wheedling note from his voice.

“As it stands,” said Forest, grimly, “no more than twelve thousand. But we’ve got the ground.”

A great deal of faith to put in earth. Orso gave a long sigh as he considered the grassy hill, the gently rising, gently waving fields of wheat before it. “Lord Marshal Forest, I would like you to command the right wing.”

Forest raised his bushy brows. “I’m a general, Your Majesty.”

“If the High King of the Union says a man’s a lord marshal, who’s to deny it? Brint’s early retirement has left a seat empty on the Closed Council, and I can’t think of a better man to sit there. Consider yourself promoted.” The way things were going, it might be his last official act.

Forest stared at him, mouth slightly open. “Closed Council…”

“Congratulations,” said Tunny, punching Forest on the arm. “You should get a baton, or something.”

“Only just got me a general’s jacket.”

“Well, you’re on your own there,” said Orso. “I can pluck new lord marshals from the air, but jackets cost money.” He frowned over at the rocky hill on their left, a few more steep bluffs beyond it. The ground in front of those was more difficult, planted with overgrown orchards and cut in half by that swampy tributary of the river. “Our left might be held by a smaller force, I think.”

“Especially if we place our cannon there,” came Gorst’s piping voice. He coloured faintly as everyone turned towards him. “I… saw them used at Osrung.”

“You’d want a ruthless commander,” said Tunny, considering the hills. “Someone who scares our men more than the enemy.”

As luck would have it, the perfect man appeared to be within arm’s reach. “Arch Lector Pike?” asked Orso. “I believe you have experience on the battlefield?”

“In my younger days, in Gurkhul and the North,” said Pike. “I also oversaw the first experiments with cannon in the Far Country.”

“Then I can think of no one more qualified to take charge of my left wing. Could you ensure morale there stays high?” Or at least that the demoralised troops were too scared to run.

Pike inclined his head. “Morale is a speciality of mine, Your Majesty. With your permission, I will begin fortifying the position.”

“The sooner the better,” said Orso. Forest gave a sharp salute and spurred away towards the gentle hill. Pike turned his horse towards the steeper bluffs. Vick caught Orso’s eye, gave him a firmly committed nod