West had studied Casamir's campaigns in detail. Boldness had been one tenth of his success, the rest had been meticulous planning, care for his men, attention to every detail. Boldness without the rest was apt to be deadly, but he saw that it was pointless to say so. He would only anger the Prince and lose whatever influence he might still have. He felt like a man watching his own house burn down. Numb, sick, utterly helpless. There was nothing left for him to do but to give the orders, and do his best to see that everything was conducted as well as it could be.

'Of course, your Highness,' he managed to mutter.

'Of course!' The Prince grinned. 'We are all in agreement, then! Capital! Stop that music!' he shouted at the musicians. 'We need something with more vigour! Something with blood in it!' The quartet switched effortlessly to a jaunty martial theme. West turned, limbs heavy with hopelessness, and trudged out of the tent into the icy night.

Threetrees was hard on his heels. 'By the dead, but I can't work you people out! Where I come from a man earns the right to lead! His men follow because they know his quality, and respect him because he shares their hardships with 'em! Even Bethod won his place!' He strode up and down before the tent, waving his big hands. 'Here you pick the ones who know the least to lead, and fix on the biggest fool o' the whole pack for a commander!'

West could think of nothing to say. He could hardly deny it.

'That prick'll march the lot o' you right into your fucking graves! Back to the mud with you all, but I'm damned if I'll follow, or any of my boys. I'm done paying for other folks' mistakes, and I've lost enough to that bastard Bethod already! Come on, Dogman. This boat o' fools can sink without us!' And he turned and stalked away into the night.

The Dogman shrugged. 'Ain't all bad.' He closed to a conspiratorial distance, reached deep into his pocket and pulled something out. West stared down at an entire poached salmon, no doubt pilfered from the Prince's table. The Northman grinned. 'I got me a fish!' And he followed his chief, leaving West alone on the bitter hillside, Ladisla's martial music floating through the chill air behind him.

Until Sunset

Until Sunset

« ^ »

'Oy.' A rough hand shook Glokta from his sleep. He rolled his head gingerly from the side he had been sleeping on, clenching his teeth at the pain as his neck clicked. Does death come early in the morning, today? He opened his eyes a crack. Ah. Not quite yet, it seems. Perhaps at lunch time. Vitari stared down at him, spiky hair silhouetted black in the early morning sun streaming through the window.