Last Argument of Kings

I’ve lost?
    He frowned down
at the jewels: clean, and hard, and beautiful. I made my choices
long ago. When I took Valint and Balk’s money. When I kissed
the ring of office. Before the Emperor’s prisons, even, when I
rode down to the bridge, sure that only magnificent Sand dan Glokta
could save the world…
    A thumping knock
echoed through the room and Glokta jerked his head up, toothless
mouth hanging open. As long as it is not the Arch Lector—
    â€œOpen up,
in the name of his Eminence!â€

The Habit of Command
    West sat in the
Lord Marshal’s tent and stared hopelessly into space. For the
past year he had scarcely had an idle moment. Now, suddenly, there
was nothing for him to do but wait. He kept expecting to see Burr
push through the flap and walk to the maps, his fists clenched behind
him. He kept expecting to feel his reassuring presence around the
camp, to hear his booming voice call the wayward officers to order.
But of course he would not. Not now and not ever again.
    On the left sat
General Kroy’s staff, solemn and sinister in their black
uniforms, as rigidly pressed as ever. On the right lounged Poulder’s
men, top buttons carelessly undone in an open affront to their
opposite numbers, as puffed-up as peacocks displaying their tail
feathers. The two great Generals themselves eyed each other with all
the suspicion of rival armies across a battlefield, awaiting the
edict that would raise one of them to the Closed Council and the
heights of power, and dash the other’s hopes for ever. The
edict that would name the new King of the Union, and his new Lord
Marshal.
    It was to be
Poulder or Kroy, of course, and both anticipated their final,
glorious victory over the other. In the meantime the army, and West
in particular, sat paralysed. Powerless. Far to the north the Dogman
and his companions, who had saved West’s life in the wilderness
more times than he could remember, were no doubt fighting for
survival, watching desperately for help that would never come.
    For West, the
entire business was very much like being at his own funeral, and one
attended chiefly by sneering, grinning, posturing enemies. It was to
be Poulder or Kroy, and whichever one it was, he was doomed. Poulder
hated him with a flaming passion, Kroy with an icy scorn. The only
fall swifter and more complete than his own would be that of Poulder,
or of Kroy, whichever of them was finally overlooked by the Closed
Council.
    There was a dim
commotion outside, and heads turned keenly to look. There was a
scuffle of feet up to the tent, and several officers rose anxiously
from their chairs. The flap was torn aside and the Knight Herald
finally burst jingling through it. He was immensely tall, the wings
on his helmet almost poking a hole in the tent’s ceiling as he
straightened up. He had a leather case over one armoured shoulder,
stamped with the golden sun of the Union. West stared at it, holding
his breath.
    â€œPresent
your message,â€

The First Day
    The eastern sky
was just catching fire. Long strips of pink cloud and long strips of
black cloud were stretched out across the pale blue, the hazy grey
shapes of mountains notched and jagged as a butcher’s knife
underneath. The western sky was a mass of dark iron still—cold
and comfortless.
    â€œNice day
for it,â€

Such Sweet Sorrow
    â€œHis
Resplendence, the Grand Duke of Ospria, desires only the best of
relations…â€

Picked Up A Shadow
    Ferro sat on the
warehouse roof, her eyes narrowed against the bright sun, her legs
crossed underneath her. She watched the boats, and the people flowing
off them. She watched for Yulwei. That was why she came here every
day.
    There was war
between the Union and Gurkhul, a meaningless war with a lot of talk
and no fighting, and so no ships went to Kanta. But Yulwei went where
he pleased. He could take her back to the South, so she could have
her vengeance on the Gurkish. Until he came, she was trapped with the
pinks. She ground her teeth, and clenched her fists, and grimaced at
her own uselessness. Her boredom. Her wasted time. She would have
prayed to God for Yulwei to come.
    But God never
listened.
    Jezal dan
Luthar, fool that he was, for reasons she could not comprehend, had
been given a crown and made king. Bayaz, who Ferro was sure had been
behind the whole business, now spent every hour with him. Still
trying to make him a leader of men, no doubt.