Free Valour by John Gwynne Page A

his men were abroad
in Tenebral, understanding that the locals would probably object. But the rising tensions amongst his warriors had become a pain in the arse, so he had allowed the pits to happen. Discreetly, he
thought.
    He shrugged, not wanting to commit to an outright lie that could later incriminate him. ‘I’ll look into these rumours.’
    ‘We both know that they are not rumours,’ Fidele snapped, leaning forward in her chair. ‘You attended one of these events only a ten-night gone. This barbaric custom
will
not
happen within the boundaries of Tenebral. I expect you to put an end to it.’
    ‘I thought Nathair ruled here,’ he said before he could check himself.
    ‘Nathair is not here, and I rule in his place,’ Fidele said.
    ‘Of course,’ Lykos muttered, pouring himself another cup of wine.
For now
. ‘I will make sure the pits stay on the Islands.’
    Fidele inclined her head. ‘And I will see that your supply of wood is unhindered.’
    ‘How did it go, chief?’ Deinon asked him.
    Lykos scowled at his shieldman. They were out on the meadow road, walking back to the lake shore. It was hard enough taking orders from Nathair, someone young enough to be his son, though he
knew he had no choice with that, at least for now. But Nathair’s
mother, a woman
. . . no matter how much he enjoyed looking at her . . .
    ‘She knows about the pits,’ he muttered.
    ‘Is that a problem?’ Thaan asked.
    ‘Course it’s a problem. These landwalkers are soft. She wants the pits closed.’
    ‘The lads won’t like it.’
    ‘No, they won’t.’
And neither would I
. ‘Which is why the pits’ll stay open. Just have to be a bit clever about it, that’s all. Not so close to Jerolin,
not so regular; just for a while.’
    ‘Good,’ Deinon said, the air whistling through his ruined nose as he talked. ‘Didn’t think you’d let a woman tell you what’s what, no matter how fine she is
to look at.’
    ‘Watch your tongue,’ Lykos said, giving Deinon a sour look. There was a lot more to this than he had originally imagined. Conquering the Islands had been so much easier than this
politicking – bloodier, aye, but simpler, at least. He glanced up, saw the day was well past highsun.
    ‘You all right, chief?’ Thaan asked him.
    Soon it would be night again. Why did each day pass so quickly, each night last so long? He felt a knot of fear twist in his gut at the thought of the nightmares he knew would come, and that
made his anger return. How could he tell his shieldman that he was afraid of the dark?
    He spent the rest of the day at the shipyard, first inspecting the finished galleys, then losing himself in the rhythm of manual work on the new ships. As the sun set, sinking
behind distant mountains, he took a turn beside Deinon at an oar, pulling for his ship anchored on the lake. The ache in his back muscles was almost pleasant.
    ‘How long are we here, chief?’ Deinon asked.
    ‘Another week, maybe. Make sure Alazon has all the materials he needs, then it’s back to the coast to check on the other shipyard.’
    ‘Have mercy,’ Thaan muttered behind them.
    Mercy’s for fools
, thought Lykos, almost hearing his dead father whisper the words in his ear. ‘This easy life not to your taste?’ he asked.
    ‘I’d rather be cracking heads and betting on the pits than this,’ Thaan grumbled.
    ‘Not much I can do about the pits, for now,’ Lykos said. ‘But the head cracking . . .’ Something Fidele had said during their meeting had been bothering him all day,
that’s why he had spent the day with a mallet in his hand – it helped him think. They reached their ship, tied off the rowing boat and clambered up the ladder onto the deck. Most of the
crew had been sleeping ashore, with strict orders not to spend time in Jerolin’s inns. A few hands were still about though – there was always work that needed doing. Lykos looked about,
studying each face. Then he saw who he was looking