Half the World (Shattered Sea #2)(111)

“I told you once that the truth is like the good thing, each man has his own. My truth is that King Uthil is a man of iron, and iron is strong, and holds a fine edge. But iron can be brittle. And sometimes we must bend.”

“He would never have made peace with the Vanstermen.”

“And we had to make peace with the Vanstermen. Without them we stand alone against half the world.”

Brand slowly nodded, seeing the pieces of it slide into place. “Uthil would have accepted Gorm’s duel.”

“He would have fought Gorm in the square, for he is proud, and he would have lost, for each year leaves him weaker. I must protect my king from harm. For his good, and the good of the land. We needed allies. We went seeking allies. I found allies.”

Brand thought of the minister bent over the fire, throwing dried leaves into the brew. “You poisoned him. Your own uncle.”

“I have no uncle, Brand. I gave my family up when I joined the Ministry.” Yarvi’s voice held no guilt. No doubt. No regret. “Sometimes great rights must be stitched from little wrongs. A minister does not have the luxury of doing what is simply good. A minister must weigh the greater good. A minister must choose the lesser evil.”

“Power means having one shoulder always in the shadows,” muttered Brand.

“It does. It must.”

“I understand. I don’t doubt you, but …”

Father Yarvi blinked, and Brand wondered whether he’d ever seen him look surprised before. “You refuse me?”

“My mother told me to stand in the light.”

They sat there for a moment, looking at one another, then Father Yarvi slowly began to smile. “I admire you for it, I truly do.” He stood up, laying his good hand on Brand’s shoulder. “But when Mother War spreads her wings, she may cast the whole Shattered Sea into darkness.”

“I hope not,” said Brand.

“Well.” Father Yarvi turned away. “You know how it goes, with hopes.” And he walked into the house, and left Brand sitting in the shade of the tree, wondering, as ever, if he’d done a good thing or a bad.

“A little help here!” came his sister’s voice.

Brand started up. “On my way!”





A STORM COMING


Thorn strode across the sand with her stool on her shoulder. The tide was far out and the wind blew hard over the flats, tattered clouds chasing each other across a bruised sky.

They were packed in tight about the training square, the shouts turning to grunts as she pushed through the warriors, the grunts to silence as she set her stool next to the spear that marked one corner. Even the two lads who were meant to be sparring came to an uncertain halt, staring at her as she stepped over her stool and planted her arse on it.

Master Hunnan frowned over. “I see the queen’s Chosen Shield is among us.”

Thorn held up one hand. “Don’t worry, you needn’t all applaud.”

“The training square is for warriors of Gettland, and for those who would be warriors.”

“Aye, but there’s probably some half-decent fighters down here even so. Don’t let me stop you.”

“You won’t,” snapped Hunnan. “Heirod, you’re next.” It was a great big lad that stood, pink blotches on his fat cheeks. “And you, Edni.” She was maybe twelve years old, and a skinny scrap, but she sprang up bravely enough, her chin thrust out as she took her mark, even though the shield was way too big for her and wobbled in her hand.

“Begin!”

There was no art to it at all. The boy went charging in, puffing like a bull, shrugged Edni’s sword off his thick shoulder, barrelled into her and sent her sprawling, the shield coming off her arm and rolling away on its edge.

The boy looked at Hunnan, waiting for him to call the bout, but the master-at-arms only stared back. Heirod swallowed, and stepped forward, and gave Edni a couple of reluctant kicks before Hunnan raised his hand for a halt.

Thorn watched the girl clamber up, wiping blood from under her nose, clinging tight to her brave face, and thought of all the beatings she’d taken in this square. Thought of all the kicks and the scorn and the sand she’d eaten. Thought of that last day, and Edwal with her wooden sword through his neck. No doubt nudging her memory had been what Master Hunnan had in mind.

He gave a rare, thin little smile. “What did you think of that?”

“I think the boy’s a clumsy thug.” She pressed her thumb on one side of her nose and blew snot onto the sand. “But it’s not his fault. He learned from one, and so did she. The one who got shamed in that bout was their teacher.”

A muttering went through the warriors, and Hunnan’s smile sprang back into a frown. “If you think you know better, why don’t you give a lesson?”

“That’s why I’m here, Master Hunnan. I’ve nothing to learn from you, after all.” She pointed to Edni. “I’ll take her,” Then she pointed out an older girl, big and solemn. “And her.” And then another with pale, pale eyes. “And her. I’ll give them a lesson. I’ll give them one a day, and in a month we’ll come back, and we’ll see what we’ll see.”

“You can’t just come here and take my pupils where you please!”

“Yet here I am, and with King Uthil’s blessing.”