Last Argument Of Kings: Book Three (The First Law 3)

The main body of the rebels entirely covered several large fields further down the valley, and a dark, and grubby, and threatening infestation they seemed, glinting in places with bright steel. Farming implements and tradesman’s tools, perhaps, but sharp ones.

Even at this distance there was disturbing evidence of organisation. Straight, regular gaps through the men for the quick movement of messengers and supplies. It was plain, even to Jezal’s unpractised eye, that this was as much an army as a mob, and that someone down there knew his business. A great deal better than he did, most likely.

Smaller, less organised groups of rebels were scattered far and wide across the landscape, each one a considerable body in its own right. Men sent foraging for food and water, picking the country clean. That crawling black mass on the green fields reminded Jezal of a horde of black ants crawling over a pile of discarded apple peelings. He had not the slightest idea how many of them there were, but it looked at this distance as though forty thousand might have been a considerable underestimate.

Down in the village in the bottom of the valley, behind the main mass of rebels, fires were burning. Bonfires or buildings it was hard to say, but Jezal rather feared the latter. Three tall columns of dark smoke rose up and drifted apart high above, giving to the air a faint and worrying tang of fire.

It was a commander’s place to set a tone of fearlessness which his men would not be able to help but follow. Jezal knew that, of course. And yet, looking down that long, sloping field, he could not help but reflect on the very great number of men at the other end, so ominously purposeful. He could not stop his eyes from darting back towards their own lines, so thin, meagre, and uncertain-seeming. He could not avoid wincing and tugging uncomfortably at his collar. The damn thing still felt far too tight.

‘How do you wish the regiments deployed, sir?’ asked his adjutant, Major Opker, with a look which somehow managed to be both condescending and sycophantic all at once.

‘Deployed? Er . . . well . . .’ Jezal racked his brains for something vaguely appropriate, let alone correct, to say. He had discovered early in his military career that if one has an effective and experienced officer above, coupled with effective and experienced soldiers below, one need do, and know, nothing. This strategy had stood him in fine stead for several comfortable peacetime years, but its one shortcoming was now starkly laid bare. If by some miracle one rises to complete command, the system collapses entirely.

‘Deployed . . .’ he growled, furrowing his brow and trying to give the impression he was surveying the ground, though he had only a hazy idea what that even meant. ‘Infantry in double line . . .’ he ventured, remembering a fragment of some story Collem West had once told him. ‘Behind this hedgerow here.’ And he slashed his baton portentously across the landscape. The use of a baton, at least, he was expert in, having practiced extensively before the mirror.

‘In front of the hedgerow, the Colonel means to say, of course,’ threw in Bayaz smoothly. ‘Infantry deployed in double line to either side of that milestone. The light cavalry in the trees there, heavy cavalry in a wedge on the far flank, where they can use the open field to their advantage.’ He displayed an uncanny familiarity with military parlance. ‘Flatbows in a single line behind the hedgerow where they will at first be hidden from the enemy, and can give them plunging fire from the high ground.’ He winked at Jezal. ‘An excellent strategy, Colonel, if I may say.’

‘Of course,’ sneered Opker, turning away to give the orders.

Jezal gripped tight to his baton behind his back, rubbing nervously at his jaw with the other hand. Evidently there was a lot more to command than simply being called ‘sir’ by everyone. He would really have to read some books when he got back to Adua. If he got back.

Three small dots had detached themselves from the crawling mass of humanity down in the valley and started moving up the rise toward them. Shading his eyes with his hand, Jezal could just see a shred of white moving in the air above them. A flag of parley. He felt Bayaz’ decidedly uncomforting hand on his shoulder.

‘Don’t worry, my boy, we are well prepared for violence. But I feel confident it will not come to that.’ He grinned down at the vast mass of men below. ‘Very confident.’

Jezal ardently wished he could have said the same.

‘They call me the Tanner,’ he said, ‘and I have been nominated to speak for the alliance of the oppressed, and the exploited, and the put-upon down in the valley. These are two of my partners in this righteous and entirely patriotic venture. My two generals, one might say. Goodman Hood,’ and he nodded sideways at a burly man with a shovel beard, a ruddy complexion, and a seething frown, ‘and Cotter Holst,’ and he jerked his head the other way towards a weaselly type with a long scar on his cheek and a lazy eye.

‘Honoured,’ said Jezal warily, though they looked more like brigands than Generals as far as he was concerned. ‘I am Colonel Luthar.’

‘I know. I saw you win the Contest. Fine swordplay, my friend, very fine.’

‘Oh, well, er . . .’ Jezal was caught off guard, ‘thank you. This is my adjutant, Major Opker, and this is . . . Bayaz, the First of the Magi.’

Goodman Hood snorted his disbelief, but the Tanner only stroked thoughtfully at his lip. ‘Good. And you have come to fight, or negotiate?’

‘We have come for either one.’ Jezal embarked on his statement. ‘The Closed Council, while condemning the method of your demonstration, concede that you may have legitimate demands—’

Hood made a rumbling snort. ‘What choice have they got, the bastards?’

Jezal pressed on. ‘Well, er . . . they have instructed me to offer you these concessions.’ He held up the scroll that Hoff had prepared for him, a huge thing with elaborately carved handles and a seal the size of a saucer. ‘But I must caution you,’ doing his very best to sound confident, ‘should you refuse, we are quite ready to fight, and that my men are the best trained, best armed, best prepared in the King’s service. Each one of them is worth twenty of your rabble.’

The burly farmer gave a threatening chuckle. ‘Lord Finster thought the same, and our rabble kicked his arse all the way from one end of his estates to the other. He would have got himself hung for his trouble if he’d had a slower horse. How fast is your horse, Colonel?’

The Tanner touched him gently on the shoulder. ‘Peace, now, my fiery friend. We came to get terms, if we can get terms we can accept. Why not show us what you have there, Colonel, and we’ll see if there is any need for threats.’

Jezal held out the weighty document and Hood snatched it angrily from his hand, tore it open and began to read, the thick paper crackling as it unrolled. The more he read, the grimmer grew his frown.

‘An insult!’ he snapped when he was done, giving Jezal a brooding stare. ‘Lighter taxes and some shit about the use of common land? And that much they’ll most likely never honour!’ He tossed the scroll sideways to the Tanner, and Jezal swallowed. He had not the leanest understanding of the concessions or their possible shortcomings, of course, but Hood’s response hardly seemed to promise an early agreement.

The Tanner’s eyes moved lazily over the parchment. Different-coloured eyes, Jezal noticed: one blue, one green. When he got to the bottom he laid the document down and gave a theatrical sigh. ‘These terms will do.’

‘They will?’ Jezal’s eyes opened wide with surprise, but nowhere near as far as Goodman Hood’s.

‘But these are worse than the last terms we were offered!’ shouted the farmer. ‘Before we sent Finster’s men running! You said then we could accept nothing but land for every man!’

The Tanner screwed his face up. ‘That was then.’

‘That was then?’ muttered Hood, gaping with disbelief. ‘What happened to honest wages for honest work? What happened to shares in the profit? What happened to equal rights no matter the cost? You stood there, and you promised me!’ He shoved his hand towards the valley. ‘You promised all of them! What’s changed, except that Adua’s within our grasp? We can take all we want! We can—’

‘I say these terms will do!’ snarled the Tanner with a sudden fury. ‘Unless you care to fight the King’s men on your own! They follow me, Hood, not you, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘But you promised us freedom, for every man! I trusted you!’ The farmer’s face hung slack with horror. ‘We all trusted you.’

Jezal had never seen a man look so utterly indifferent as the Tanner did now. ‘I suppose I must have that kind of face that people trust,’ he droned, and his friend Holst shrugged and stared at his fingernails.

‘Damn you, then! Damn you all!’ And Hood turned and shoved angrily out through the tent flap.

Jezal was aware of Bayaz leaning sideways to whisper to Major Opker. ‘Have that man arrested before he leaves the lines.’

‘Arrested, my Lord, but . . . under a flag of parley?’

‘Arrested, placed in irons, and conducted to the House of Questions. A shred of white cloth can be no hiding place from the King’s justice. I believe Superior Goyle is handling the investigations.’

‘Er . . . of course.’ Opker rose to follow the Goodman out of the tent, and Jezal smiled nervously. There was no doubt that the Tanner had heard the exchange, but he grinned on as though the future of his erstwhile companion was no longer any of his concern.

‘I must apologise for my associate. In a matter like this, you can’t please everyone.’ He gave a flamboyant wave of his hand. ‘But don’t worry. I’ll give the little people a big speech, and tell them we have all we fought for, and they’ll soon be off back to their homes with no real harm done. Some few will be determined to make trouble perhaps, but I’m sure you can round them up without much effort, eh, Colonel Luthar?’

‘Er . . . well,’ mumbled Jezal, left without the slightest idea of what was going on. ‘I suppose that we—’

‘Excellent.’ The Tanner sprang to his feet. ‘I fear I must now take my leave. All kinds of errands to be about. Never any peace, eh, Colonel Luthar? Never the slightest peace.’ He exchanged a long glance with Bayaz, then ducked out into the daylight and was gone.

‘If anyone should ask,’ murmured the First of the Magi in Jezal’s ear, ‘I would tell them that it was a testing negotiation, against sharp and determined opponents, but that you held your nerve, reminded them of their duty to king and country, implored them to return to their fields, and so forth.’

‘But . . .’ Jezal felt like he wanted to cry, he was so baffled. Hugely baffled and hugely relieved at once. ‘But I—’

‘If anyone should ask.’ There was an edge to Bayaz’ voice that implied the episode was now finished with.