The Trouble with Peace (The Age of Madness #2) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,72

the state. Ousting them is the act of loyalists.”

“Loyalists,” mused Leo, taking another drink and feeling its heat spreading. He’d always been fiercely loyal. No man more of a patriot. But what was he loyal to? A coven of greedy bureaucrats who’d sent him no help in war and only outrageous demands for tax in peace? A libertine king who’d had him thrown from the Lords’ Round and, it seemed, fucked his wife?

Leo frowned up at the painting of Casamir the Steadfast, who’d ripped Angland from the clutching hands of the Northmen—strong-jawed, fully armoured and pointing out something on a map. There was a king. There was a man. He seemed to be challenging Leo with his piercing stare, as if to ask him, What the hell are you going to do about all this?

What would Casamir have done? What would any good man have done? Leo looked the three lords in the eye again, one after another, and drained his glass. “Well,” he said, “you all know I’ve never backed down from a fight.”

Now they huddled in close. United by a common enemy, and a shared purpose, and a righteous cause. Just talk, of course, fuelled by Leo’s frustration, and jealousy, and the pain in his leg. Just talk, perhaps, but dangerous, still. Exciting, still. Just talk, wasn’t it? But with each word said it became more thrillingly real.

“It might be a fight against friends,” murmured Barezin, glancing towards the window. “Against neighbours. Against colleagues.”

“Certainly against your father-in-law,” said Isher. “The king dances to his tune. If we on the Open Council have one enemy, it’s the Arch Lector.”

“He may be my father-in-law,” said Leo, “but I’m no friendlier with Old Sticks than you are. Less, if anything.”

“We would need a leader,” said Isher. “A military man.”

“A latterday Stolicus!” frothed Barezin, filling Leo’s glass again.

“A man whose name inspires respect on the battlefield.”

Leo’s heart beat faster at the thought of strapping on his armour. He belonged at the head of ranks of cheering soldiers, not harassed and henpecked behind some dusty old desk. He smiled as he thought of the marching boots, the wind taking the flags, the ring of drawn steel, the drumming hooves of the charge…

“How many men could we count on?” he asked, sipping steadily. It really was a hell of a brandy.

“We three are committed,” said Isher, “and many other members of the Open Council are with us.”

“Most,” said Heugen. “Almost all!”

“You’re sure?” Leo got the vague sense they had been thinking about this for a while.

“They have been frustrated for years,” said Isher. “Chafing at the taxes, the infringements, the insults. Wetterlant’s treatment, and yours—a genuine hero of the Union, mark you, in our own Lords’ Round—was the final straw.”

“You’re damn right there,” grunted Leo, clenching his fists. He couldn’t tell if all this was just talk or not, but he was starting to hope it wasn’t.

“Could you count on the forces of Angland?” asked Barezin eagerly.

Leo thought of Jurand and his friends’ loyalty. Mustred and Clensher’s fury. The soldiers cheering for the Young Lion. He drew himself up. “They’d follow me into hell.”

“Good to hear.” Isher tapped at his glass with one well-shaped fingernail. “But we do not want it to come to that. Even with the Open Council and the army of Angland united, we could not be sure of victory.”

“We must take them by surprise,” said Heugen. “Field a force no one would dare to resist!”

“We need outside help,” said Barezin.

Leo frowned into his half-empty glass. “The Dogman has hundreds of hardened warriors.”

“And he owes you,” said Heugen. “For your help against Ironhand.”

“He’s an honourable man. A true straight edge. He might join us… if it was put to him the right way.”

“Who understands the Northmen better than you?” asked Isher. “Who has been their neighbour, fought beside them, lived among them?”

Leo gave an artless shrug. “I’ve got some friends in the North.”

“Without doubt…” Isher glanced at Heugen, then at Barezin, and then back to Leo, “not least the King of the Northmen himself, Stour Nightfall.”

Leo froze, glass halfway to his mouth. “Not sure I’d call him a friend.”

“He owes you his life.”

“But there’s a reason they call him the Great Wolf.” He thought of Stour’s hungry smile. His wild, wet eyes. The legions of merciless Northmen they’d faced at Red Hill. “He’s savage. Bloodthirsty. Treacherous.”

“But you could keep him on the leash!” Barezin clapped Leo on the shoulder. “And how many warriors could he call upon?”

“Thousands.” Leo tossed down the