The Blade Itself

beard.
    â€œReady?â€

Tea and Vengeance
    â€œIt’s
a beautiful country, isn’t it?â€

PART II
    â€œLife—the
way it really is—is a battle not between good and bad, but
between bad and worse.â€

What Freedom Looks Like
    The point of the
shovel bit into the ground with the sharp scrape of metal on earth.
An all too familiar sound. It didn’t bite in far, for all the
effort put behind it, as the soil was rocky hard and baked by the
sun.
    But she wasn’t
to be deterred by a little hard soil.
    She had dug too
many holes, and in ground worse for digging than this.
    When the
fighting is over, you dig, if you’re still alive. You dig
graves for your dead comrades. A last mark of respect, however little
you might have had for them. You dig as deep as you can be bothered,
you dump them in, you cover them up, they rot away and are forgotten.
That’s the way it’s always been.
    She flicked her
shoulder and a sent a shovelful of sandy soil flying. Her eyes
followed the grains of dirt and little stones as they broke apart in
the air, then fell across the face of one of the soldiers. One eye
stared at her reproachfully. The other had one of her arrows snapped
off in it. A couple of flies were buzzing lazily around his face.
There would be no burial for him, the graves were for her people. He
and his bastard friends could lie out in the merciless sun.
    After all, the
vultures have to eat.
    The blade of the
shovel swished through the air and bit again into the soil. Another
clump of dirt tumbled away. She straightened up and wiped the sweat
from her face. She squinted up at the sky. The sun was blazing,
straight above, sucking whatever moisture remained out of the dusty
landscape, drying the blood on the rocks. She looked at the two
graves beside her. One more to go. She would finish this one, throw
the earth on top of those three fools, rest for a moment, then away.
    Others would be
coming for her soon enough.
    She stuck the
shovel into the earth, took hold of the water skin and pulled the
stopper out. She took a few lukewarm swallows, even allowed herself
the luxury of pouring a trickle out into her grimy hand and splashing
it on her face. The early deaths of her comrades had at least put a
stop to the endless squabbling over water.
    There would be
plenty to go round now.
    â€œWater…â€

The King’s Justice
    As soon as he
reached the Square of Marshals, Jezal realised there was something
wrong. It was never half this busy for a meeting of the Open Council.
He glanced over the knots of finely dressed people as he hurried by,
slightly late and out of breath from his long training session:
voices were hushed, faces tense and expectant.
    He shouldered
his way through the crowd to the Lord’s Round, glancing
suspiciously up at the guards flanking the inlaid doors. They at
least seemed the same as ever, their heavy visors giving nothing
away. He crossed the ante-chamber, vivid tapestries flapping slightly
in the draught, slipped through the inner doors and passed into the
vast, cool space beyond. His footsteps made tapping echoes in the
gilded dome as he hurried down the aisle towards the high table.
Jalenhorm was standing beneath one of the tall windows, face splashed
with coloured light from the stained glass, frowning at a bench with
a metal rail along its base which had been placed to one side of the
floor.
    â€œWhat’s
going on?â€

Means of Escape
    â€œOpen the
door, in the name of His Majesty!â€

Three Signs
    West crashed
onto his arse, one of his steels skittering out of his hands and
across the cobbles. “That’s a touch!â€

The Theatrical Outfitter’s
    The deck creaked
and shifted beneath his feet, the sail-cloth flapped gently, sea
birds crowed and called in the salty air above.
    â€œI never
thought to see such a thing,â€

Barbarians at the Gate
    Jezal flashed
along the lane beside the moat, feet pounding on the worn
cobblestones, the great white wall sliding endlessly by on his right,
one tower after another, as he made his daily circuit of the Agriont.
Since he had cut down on the drinking the improvement in his stamina
had been impressive. He was scarcely even out of breath. It was early
and the streets of the city were nearly empty. The odd person would
look up at him as he ran by, maybe even call out some word of
encouragement, but Jezal barely noticed them. His eyes were fixed on
the