“Thrown out of the Lords’ Round!” snapped Leo. “For telling the truth!”
Jin ground one big fist into his palm. “Wish I’d been there.”
“Next time you will be,” said Leo, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t let the bastards get away with it. There comes a point when talking about a better world just isn’t enough. When good men have to bloody stand up and fight for it!”
“Damn right,” growled Glaward. “Damn right.”
“Fight the Closed Council, though…” Jurand had that disapproving look. The one he had when Leo suggested a reckless charge, but worse. “Fight the king—”
“Fight for the king!” Jurand’s doubt was making Leo doubt, and that only made him insist the harder. “To free him from these bloody leeches, these bloody bureaucrats. To put the Union back the way it should be.”
Everyone looked convinced. Except Jurand. He looked less convinced than ever. “But you’re talking about…” He dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. “You’re talking about civil war, Leo. You’re talking about, well…” The word treason went unsaid, but it hung over the lawn like a bad smell even so. “There has to be another way! Was this the Lady Governor’s idea? They say she’s the most ambitious—”
“This is my idea!” Well, his, and Isher’s, and Heugen’s, and Barezin’s. “If Savine knew about it, she’d be bloody livid. She can’t know, and neither can my mother. Not yet. But when the time’s right to tell them, they’ll see it has to be done.” Or, at any rate, the whole thing would be too far along to stop.
“So it’s not just you looking for a fight?”
“They brought the fight to us!” snapped Leo, and Antaup gave a grunt of agreement. “They left us to die in their war.” And Jin gave a growl of support. “They made us pay for their war.” Glaward nodded along harder with each point. “They’re bleeding us white with their taxes.” As Leo convinced them, he convinced himself. “They’re hanging our friends. They’re shitting on our most solemn principles!”
“Bastards!” snarled Antaup, shoving back that lock of hair so it fell straight into his face again.
“No one wants a war,” said Leo, even though his heart beat faster at the sound of the word. “We all hope it won’t happen, but… if there’s no other choice… we have to be ready. Can I count on you?”
“’Course you can!” said Glaward, throwing his heavy arm around Leo’s shoulders.
“For anything,” said Antaup, gripping Glaward around the back.
“Always!” said Jin, hooking Antaup around the neck.
“Jurand?” Leo held out his arm, beckoning with the fingers. But Jurand still stood, rubbing worriedly at his jaw.
“Jurand?” coaxed Glaward.
“Jurand, Jurand, Jurand?” wheedled Antaup.
Leo caught his eye and gave him his most wounded look. “You wouldn’t turn your back on me, would you?”
“Never!” And Jurand’s smile burst out like the sun from behind a cloud. A troubled smile, but a smile even so, and he threw one arm around Leo’s shoulders and the other around Jin’s and closed the circle. “I’ll be there, Leo. Whenever you need me. Always. But you have to—”
“That means a lot.” Leo felt tears in his eyes, and he dragged his friends close, into a sweaty huddle. “That means more than you can know.” Jurand gave a shocked whoop as Leo shoved him over onto his back and plucked his sword out of the turf. “Now defend yourself, you stringy bastard!”
Patriotic Contributions
Savine walked down the echoing hallway, shaking her head. “This building. It feels more like a prison than a palace.”
“It is a shade… shady,” admitted Zuri, running a fastidious finger down the top rail of the panelling.
Ostenhorm was pretty enough, if rather lacking in modern conveniences, and the air was a great deal cleaner than she was used to, but the Lord Governor’s residence itself was horribly oppressive. A labyrinth of gloomy stonework and faded tapestries, displays of tarnished weaponry and armour, antique furniture old and large enough to have been used by great Euz himself, its slitted windows overgrown by ivy that let only chinks of dusty light into the murk, all smelling of fust and slow decay.
“They hardly have an excess of sun up here,” said Savine. “You might expect them to make the best use of what there is.”
“Almost enough to make one nostalgic for the South.” Zuri neatly blew the smudge of dust from her fingertip. “Were it not for all the civil war.”
“The whole province of Angland is trapped in the past. A very great deal needs to change around here.”
Nowhere was that more obvious than in the so-called governing council. It might better have been called the grumbling council, since the old men around the monstrous table in the cavernous hall treated every point of business as a problem to be avoided in the most tedious way imaginable.
The old bores tolerated Savine and Lady Finree’s presence provided they sat at a rickety side table and busied themselves with something feminine. Occasionally, when some particularly dated opinion or provincial attitude was expressed, their eyes would meet and Leo’s mother would roll hers to the heavens. The young Lord Governor Brock appeared entirely uninterested in the mechanics of governing, almost nodding off at times to the droning of ancient voices. Until the subject of Angland’s armies came up.
“… since savings must be made in order to satisfy the Closed Council,” gurgled out Clensher, sounding as if he had a sockful of gravel in his throat, “I move that we reduce Angland’s standing armies by two regiments, and—”
“No!” snapped Leo, sitting up so sharply his chair’s legs jumped and banged down.
Savine could not tell whether it was Mustred’s chair or his joints that gave the tortured creak as he sat forward. “Your Grace, your father could not, and you cannot, afford to maintain them in—”
“Angland has to keep her military strong. If anything, we should raise more men!”
Lady Finree chose that moment to set aside her needlework. “Leo, your lords have a point. As things stand, we need money more than soldiers, and—”
Leo bashed the table with his fist, making everyone flinch. “I’ve made my decision! I didn’t ask for your advice, Mother.”
There was an awkward silence. Leo turned angrily away, rubbing at his leg. Lady Finree coloured as she retreated to her chair. Savine felt for her, she really did, but she was yesterday’s woman. Her son might act like a child on occasion but treating him like one was a blunder. If he had to have his toy soldiers, Savine would find a way to give them to him. While he was busy playing army, she could mould Angland into the thoroughly modern province she needed it to be.
“My lords, if I may?”
Mustred cleared his throat. “Well, actually—”
“I think I have a way to satisfy the Closed Council and fund the strong army that we need.”
Clensher snorted. “Are you a sorceress, Lady Savine? Will you conjure money out of thin air?”