The priest Mamun sat there a moment longer, a sadness on his perfect face. So be it. We will put on our armour. May God forgive you, Bayaz.
You need forgiveness more than I, Mamun! Pray for yourself!
So I do. Every day. But I have seen no sign in all my long life that God is the forgiving kind. Mamun turned his horse away from the gates and rode slowly back towards the Gurkish lines, through the abandoned buildings, flames already licking hungrily at their walls.
Jezal took a long, ragged breath as his eyes flicked up to the mass of men moving through the fields. Damn his mouth, it got him in all kinds of trouble. But it was a little late now for second thoughts. He felt Bayaz fatherly touch on his shoulder, that steering touch that had become so very annoying to him over the past few weeks. He had to grit his teeth to keep from shaking free.
You should address your people, said the Magus.
What?
The right words could make all the difference. Harod the Great could speak at a moments notice. Did I tell you of the time he
Very well! snapped Jezal, I am going.
He walked towards the opposite parapet with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man to his scaffold. The crowd was spread out below in all its disturbing variety. Jezal had to stop himself fussing with his belt-buckle. He kept worrying for some reason that his trousers would fall down in front of all those people. A ridiculous notion. He cleared his throat. Someone saw him, pointed.
The king!
King Jezal!
The king speaks!
The crowd shifted and stretched, drawn towards the gatehouse, a sea of hopeful, fearful, needy faces. The noise in the square slowly died and a breathless silence fell.
My friends my countrymen my subjects! His voice rang out with pleasing authority. A good beginning, very rhetorical. Our enemies may be many very many Jezal cursed to himself. That was hardly an admission to give courage to the masses. But I urge you to take heart! Our defences are strong! He slapped at the firm stones under his hand. Our courage is indomitable! He thumped at his polished breastplate. We will hold firm! This was better! He had discovered a natural talent for speaking. The crowd was warming to him now, he could feel it. We need not hold out forever! Lord Marshal West is even now bringing his army to our assistance
When? someone screamed out. There was a wave of angry muttering.
Er Jezal, wrong-footed, glanced nervously across at Bayaz, er
When will they come? When? The First of the Magi hissed at Glokta, and the cripple made a sharp gesture to someone below.
Soon! You may depend upon it! Curse Bayaz, this had been an awful notion. Jezal did not have the ghost of an idea of how to put heart into a rabble.
What about our children? What about our homes? Will your house burn? Will it? A swell of unhappy calls went up.
Do not fear! I beg of you please Damn it! He had no business pleading, he was a king. The army is on its way! Jezal noticed black figures forcing through the press. Practicals of the Inquisition. They converged, somewhat to his relief, on the point where the heckles were coming from. They are even now leaving the North! Any day they will come to our aid, and teach these Gurkish dogs a
When? When will Black sticks rose and fell in the midst of the crowd and the question was cut off in a high-pitched shriek.
Jezal did his best to shout over it. In the meantime, will we let these Gurkish scum ride free over our fields? Over the fields of our fathers?
No! someone roared, to Jezals great relief.
No! We will show these Kantic slaves how a free Union citizen can fight! A volley of lukewarm agreements. We will fight as bravely as lions! As fiercely as tigers! He was warming to his work, now, the words were spilling out as if he really meant them. Perhaps he did. We will fight as we did in the days of Harod! Of Arnault! Of Casamir! A rousing cheer went up. We will not rest until these Gurkish devils are driven back across the Circle Sea! There will be no negotiation!
No negotiation! someone called.
Damn the Gurkish!
We will never surrender! Jezal bellowed, striking the parapet with his fist. We will fight for every street! For every house! For every room!
For every house! someone squealed with rabid excitement, and the citizens of Adua bellowed their approval.
Feeling the moment upon him, Jezal slid his sword from its sheath with a suitably warlike ringing and held it high above his head. And I will be proud to draw my sword beside you! We will fight for each other! We will fight for the Union! Every man every woman a hero!
There was a deafening cheer. Jezal waved his sword and a glittering wave surged out among the spears as they were shaken in the air, thumped against armoured chests, hammered down against the stone. Jezal smiled wide. The people loved him, and were more than willing to fight for him. Together they would be victorious, he felt it. He had made the right decision.
Nicely done, murmured Bayaz in his ear. Nicely
Jezals patience was worn out. He rounded on the Magus with his teeth bared. I know how it was done! I have no need of your constant
Your Majesty. It was Gorsts piping voice.
How dare you interrupt me? What the hell is
Jezals tirade was cut off by a ruddy glare at the corner of his eye, followed a moment later by a roaring detonation. He jerked his head round to see flames springing up above the jumble of roofs some distance away on his right. Below in the square there was a collective gasp, a wave of nervous movement through the crowd.
The Gurkish bombardment has begun, said Varuz.
A streak of fire shot up into the white sky above the Gurkish lines. Jezal watched it open-mouthed as it plummeted down towards the city. It crashed into the buildings, this time on Jezals left, bright fire shooting high into the air. The terrifying boom assaulted his ears an instant afterward.
Shouts came from below. Orders, perhaps, or screams of panic. The crowd began to move in every direction at once. People rushed for the walls, or for their homes, or nowhere in particular, a chaotic tangle of pressing bodies and waving polearms.
Water! someone shouted.
Fire!
Your Majesty. Gorst was already leading Jezal back towards the stairway. You should return to the Agriont at once.
Jezal started at another thunderous explosion, this one even closer. Smoke was already rising in oily smudges over the city. Yes, he muttered, allowing himself to be led to safety. He realised that he still had his sword drawn, and sheathed it somewhat guiltily. Yes of course.
Fearlessness, as Logen Ninefingers had once observed, is a fools boast.
A Rock and a Hard Place
Glokta shook with laughter, wheezing gurgles slobbering through his empty gums, the hard chair creaking under his bony arse. His coughs and his whimpers echoed dully from the bare walls of his dim living room. In a way, it sounded very much like weeping. And perhaps it is, just a little.
Every shake of his twisted shoulders drove nails into his neck. Every jerk of his rib-cage sent flashes of pain down to the very tips of such toes as he had left. He laughed, and the laughter hurt, and the pain made him laugh all the more. Oh, the irony! I titter with hopelessness. I chuckle with despair.
Bubbles of spit blew from his lips as he gave one last long whine. Like a sheeps death rattle, but less dignified. Then he swallowed, and wiped his running eyes. I have not laughed so hard in years. Since before the Emperors torturers did their work, I shouldnt wonder. And yet it is not so very difficult to stop. After all, nothing is really very funny here, is it? He lifted the letter, and read it again.