“What is being done?”

“Precious little! Angland is in uproar, of course. Lord Governor Meed is raising every man, determined to march out and beat Bethod on his own, the idiot. Varying reports place the Northmen anywhere and everywhere, with a thousand men or a hundred thousand. The ports are choked with civilians desperate to escape, rumours are rife of spies and murderers loose in the country, and mobs seek out citizens with Northern blood and beat them, rob them, or worse. Put simply, it is chaos. Meanwhile we sit here on our fat arses, waiting.”

“But… weren’t we warned? Didn’t we know?”

“Of course!” Burr threw his broad hand up in the air, “but no one took it very seriously, would you believe! Damn painted savage stabs himself on the floor of the Open Council, challengess us before the King, and nothing is done! Government by committee! Everyone pulling their own way! You can only react, never prepare!” The Marshal coughed and burped, spat on the floor. “Gah! Damn it! Damn indigestion!” He sat back in his chair, rubbing his stomach unhappily.

West hardly knew what to say. “How do we proceed?” he mumbled.

“We’ve been ordered north immediately, meaning as soon as anyone can be bothered to supply me with men and arms. The King, meaning that drunkard Hoff, has commanded me to bring these Northmen to heel. Twelve regiments of the King’s Own—seven of foot and five of horse, to be fleshed out with levies from the aristocracy, and whatever the Anglanders haven’t squandered before we get there.”

West shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “That should be an overwhelming force.”

“Huh,” grunted the Marshal. “It better be. It’s everything we have, more or less, and that worries me.” West frowned. “Dagoska, Major. We cannot fight the Gurkish and the Northmen both at once.”

“But surely, sir, the Gurkish, they wouldn’t risk another war so soon? I thought it was all idle talk?”

“I hope so, I hope so.” Burr pushed some papers absently around his desk. “But this new Emperor, Uthman, is not what we were expecting. He was the youngest son, but when he heard of his father’s death… he had all his brothers strangled. Strangled them himself, some say. Uthman-ul-Dosht, they are calling him. Uthman the Merciless. He has already declared his intention to recapture Dagoska. Empty talk, perhaps. Perhaps not.” Burr pursed his lips. “They say he has spies everywhere. He might even now be learning of our troubles in Angland, might even now be preparing to take advantage of our weakness. We must be done quickly with these Northmen. Very quickly. Twelve regiments and levies from the noblemen. And from that point of view it could not be a worse time.”

“Sir?”

“This business with the Mercers. A bad business. Some of the big noblemen got stung. Brock, Isher, Barezin, and others. Now they’re dragging their feet with the levies. Who knows what they’ll send us, or when? Bunch of half-starved, unarmed beggars probably, an excuse to clean the scrapings from their land. A useless crowd of extra mouths to feed, and clothe, and arm, and we are desperately short of good officers.”

“I have some good men in my battalion.”

Burr twitched impatiently. “Good men, yes! Honest men, enthusiastic men, but not experienced! Most of those who fought in the South did not enjoy it. They have left the army, and have no intention of returning. Have you seen how young the officers are these days? We’re a damn finishing school! And now His Highness the Prince has expressed his interest in a command. He doesn’t even know which end of a sword to hold, but he is set on glory and I cannot refuse him!”

“Prince Raynault?”

“If only!” shouted Burr. “Raynault might actually be of some use! It’s Ladisla I’m talking of! Commanding a division! A man who spends a thousand marks a month on clothes! His lack of discipline is notorious! I’ve heard it said that he’s forced himself on more than one servant in the palace, but that the Arch Lector was able to silence the girls.”

“Surely not,” said West, although he had actually heard such a rumour himself.

“The heir to the throne, in harm’s way, when the King is in poor health? A ludicrous notion!” Burr got up, burping and wincing. “Damn this stomach!” He stalked over to the window and frowned out across the Agriont.

“They think it will be easily settled,” he said quietly. “The Closed Council. A little jaunt in Angland, done with before the first snow falls. In spite of this shock with Dunbrec. They never learn. They said the same about our war with the Gurkish, and that nearly finished us. These Northmen are not the primitives they think. I fought with Northern mercenaries in Starikland: hard men used to hard lives, raised on warfare, fearless and stubborn, expert at fighting in the hills, in the forests, in the cold. They do not follow our rules, or even understand them. They will bring a violence and a savagery to the battlefield that would make the Gurkish blush.” Burr turned away from the window, back to West. “You were born in Angland, weren’t you, Major?”

“Yes, sir, in the south, near Ostenhorm. My family’s farm was there, before my father died…” He trailed off.

“You were raised there?”

“Yes.”

“You know the land then?”

West frowned. “In that region, sir, but I have not been back for—”

“Do you know these Northmen?”

“Some. There are still many living in Angland.”

“You speak their tongue?”

“Yes, a little, but they speak many—”

“Good. I am putting together a staff, good men I can rely on to carry out my orders, and see to it that this army of ours does not fall apart before it even comes into contact with the enemy”

“Of course, sir.” West racked his brains. “Captain Luthar is a capable and intelligent officer, Lieutenant Jalenhorm—”

“Bah!” shouted Burr, waving his hand in frustration, “I know Luthar, the boy’s a cretin! Just the sort of bright-eyed child that I was talking about! It’s you I need, West.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you! Marshal Varuz, the Union’s most famous soldier no less, has given you a glowing report. He says you are a most committed, tenacious, and hard-working officer. The very qualities I need! As a Lieutenant you fought in Gurkhul under Colonel Glokta, did you not?”

West swallowed. “Well, yes.”

“And it is well known you were first through the breach at Ulrioch.”

“Well, among the first, I was—”

“You have led men in the field, and your personal courage is beyond question! There is no need to be modest, Major, you are the man for me!” Burr sat back, a smile on his face, confident he had made his point. He burped again, holding up his hand. “My apologies… damn indigestion!”

“Sir, may I be blunt?”

“I am no courtier, West. You must always be blunt with me. I demand it!”

“An appointment on a Lord Marshal’s staff, sir, you must understand. I am a gentleman’s son. A commoner. As commander of a battalion, I already have difficulty gaining the respect of the junior officers. The men I would have to give orders to if I were on your staff, sir, senior men with good blood…” He paused, exasperated. The Marshal gazed blankly at him. “They will not permit it!”

Burr’s eyebrows drew together. “Permit it?”

“Their pride will not allow it, sir, their—”

“Damn their pride!” Burr leaned forward, his dark eyes fixed on West’s face. “Now listen to me, and listen carefully. Times are changing. I don’t need men with good blood. I need men who can plan, and organise, give orders, and follow them. There will lie no room in my army for those who cannot do as they are told, I don’t care how noble they are. As a member of my staff you represent me, and I will not be slighted or ignored.” He burped suddenly, and smashed the table with his fist. “I will see to it!” he roared. “Times are changing! They may not smell it yet, but they soon will!”

West stared dumbly back. “In any case,” and Burr waved a dismissive hand, “I am not consulting with you, I am informing you. This is your new assignment. Your King needs you, your country needs you, and that is all. You have five days to hand over command of your battalion.” And the Lord Marshal turned back to his papers.