She shook her head. No. That’s enough now: enough of living with memories, and enough of guilt. Time to leave me be, Falcio. And leave that foolish King of yours alone too. Stop using the dead to justify the living.
Her words hurt me, but Aline had always been a woman who said what needed to be said, not what I wanted to hear. The world around me was falling to pieces but I still wanted to spend a few more moments with my pragmatic, beautiful, brave—
No, she was right. That’s enough now.
Then say it, Falcio.
I took one last look at Aline, my wife, my first love, the woman who made me the man I was. She really was right: it was past time for me to become the man I should be.
‘Goodbye,’ I said.
I opened my eyes and looked down at Kest, but something was wrong because the ground looked suspiciously like the sky.
‘Now why is it that the man who just lost his hand is standing on his own two feet and the one who chopped it off is lying flat on his back?’ Dariana asked.
‘You should get up now,’ Kest said. His face was pale but his eyes were clear. I wondered how much of the hard candy he had taken to keep himself from passing out.
‘Kest, you need to—’
The bandage wrapped over the stump where his right hand should have been was already a little bloody. ‘A thousand Knights are about to overrun us, Falcio.’
*
Dariana helped me to my feet and I looked out at the field in front of us. Some small, foolish part of me had hoped that Shuran’s death would make the Black Tabards reconsider their position.
Any minute now one of them is going to come and offer their unconditional surrender to me.
At least, that’s what would have happened in the old stories.
Disappointingly – and I really hated to admit it, but this kept happening to me – life failed to live up to my expectations.
Rather than falling to their knees and begging for their miserable lives, the Knights began to straighten their lines. I looked towards the sun, which was close to the horizon now, and wondered idly how much time we had before they killed us all. An hour? A few minutes? And part of me couldn’t help but wonder why they were even bothering – would a thousand Knights really ride down the field to overrun the six of us? It hardly seemed worth the effort.
I looked around at Castle Aramor, where I could see the Dukes, standing just inside the castle entrance with their guards in close formation around them. When the battle started they’d close that gate – it had been built to withstand a siege, after all, so it would be nice to see if it was really up to the job – and cower inside, awaiting a later death. I noticed that all of them – the Dukes, their guards and what family they’d foolishly brought with them – were staring not at the Black Tabards, but at us.
‘What are they doing?’ Dariana asked.
‘They’re hoping,’ I said.
‘Hoping what?’
I turned to look at her. There was something fiendishly compelling about her hawkish features and the prideful way she stood. Her arms were crossed and she had one eyebrow raised; she looked as if she was about to launch into her usual litany of reasons explaining why everyone except her was a fool. It made me smile.
I turned my attention back to her question. ‘They’re hoping that the old stories are true.’
‘Which ones are those?’
‘The ones where we save everybody.’
‘Then maybe we should do it,’ Valiana said. An angry little red scar on her cheek drew my gaze: it was where Heryn had inserted his needle. For the first time I realised how many cuts and wounds Valiana had taken over the past months. She was still beautiful, but that beauty was marred – no, I was wrong; her beauty was accented by the proofs of her courage and her determination.
It wasn’t just her, though; it was all of them. Kest had sacrificed his hand. Ethalia had given up any chance for peace and happiness. Aline crept over to us and clung to Ethalia. Her hair was in disarray, messed up by that loathsome frame, and her face was tracked with tears. Betrayal, terror and violence had destroyed her innocence and she more than any of us deserved better than this. I had spent so much time concerned with the dead and dying that I’d never truly understood how much I loved the people who stood right in front of me. They all deserved a better end than to be mowed down by cowards in masks and black tabards.
And now they all looked at me: my friends, my enemies, even the craven Dukes hiding at the entrance to the castle, and for a moment the weight of their gazes nearly drove me back to my knees.
I can’t bear this weight, my King. Tell me what to do. Despite my promise to my wife I closed my eyes, hoping to see his cocky smile, his winking eyes. I wanted to hear him give me one final command, or at least tell me one more of those stories he always loved – the ones about courage and honour and virtue that all managed somehow to end up in a dirty joke.
But Paelis wasn’t there and I knew that it was my turn to tell the story.
I think I was finally beginning to understand why he’d created the Greatcoats, or at least a small part of his intention. It wasn’t about imposing his laws on the corrupt Dukes, or keeping thugs under control by beating them senseless in duels; it wasn’t even about putting his daughter on the throne. My King wanted us to be an example – that’s why each Greatcoat was given a mission. Winnow and Nile and Parrick were sent to protect the Dukes who’d killed him to show that we stood for something beyond the King himself. And that was why Trin and all the rest of them were so keen to see us ruined, even when there were so few left, and that was why the Dashini created the Lament, so they could twist the story of the Greatcoats into one of despair.
No. You can take everything else away from us, but not that.
I forced myself to walk as normally as I could towards to the Knights assembled at the other end of the field. I took a deep breath, trying not to show how much that hurt with half my ribs broken, and projected my hoarse voice, hoping I could make it loud enough to be heard. ‘Look at you: a thousand men on horseback, clothed in armour and shielded by the lies you’ve told yourselves. You think you’ve come here to change the world, but all you’re here to do is commit murder.’
I could see some of them bristling at the word murder. Their nervousness was making their horses uneasy, but the commanders quickly restored order.
I didn’t give them time to enjoy it. ‘I said, look at yourselves! You wear black tabards to hide your origins. You wear helmets to hide your faces. You give no names so that when this black, bloody work is done no one will remember who you were and what you did here.’
I paused to breathe in again. Damn, but I’d forgotten how much broken ribs could hurt.
‘You want to hide behind your masks?’ I cried. ‘You want your names to be forgotten? Then I say: Be forgotten.’
I turned and directed my voice to the castle gates where the Dukes and their families and their guards cowered in safety . . . well, temporary safety.
‘There will be stories told about this day: tales about anonymous men in black garb who came to commit murder. And there will be stories about those who died fighting them – those who stood up to them. For a hundred years and more, people will talk about what happened at Aramor.’
I turned back to the Knights. ‘Your own children will grow up hearing those stories. So have your way: let the world forget your names.’ I took a step forward. ‘But they will remember ours. Every child of yours, every grandchild and great-grandchild will hear of the day men in armour and black tabards came a-thousand-strong against four Greatcoats, an unarmed woman and a little girl, and our names will be repeated, over and over again, until the day you lie on your deathbed waiting for the last shadow to fall across your face. And your last fumbling words? They will be our names.’
I thought about what I was going to say next, and for the briefest moment I laughed to myself. Damn you, you sickly wretch. If you’d told me any of this I never would have volunteered!
I raised my sword as high as I could and announced, ‘I am Falcio val Mond, First Cantor of the Greatcoats, and I am the King’s Heart. I fought at Aramor.’
Kest stepped forward to stand next to me, his sword in his left hand. ‘I am Kest, son of Murrow. I am the King’s Blade, and I was at Aramor.’
Dariana surprised me by appearing on my other side, her sword in the air. She shocked me more with the tears in her eyes. ‘I am Dariana, daughter of Shanilla. I am the King’s Patience, and damn you all, I was here, in Aramor.’
Valiana, who, more than any of us, showed the promise of what the Greatcoats could be, took her rightful place next to us. ‘I am Valiana val Mond,’ she called out, ‘and I am the Heart’s Answer. I was at Aramor.’
‘I am the friend in the dark hour,’ Ethalia said. Her voice was no louder than a whisper, and yet it seemed to ripple across the field, ‘and I stood with my love at Aramor.’
I felt a small hand reach for mine and I looked down to see Aline’s face. She was terrified.
‘I’m sorry, Falcio . . . I’m so sorry, about the Tailor’s Greatcoats and the Dashini and all of it. I was so—’
‘It’s all right,’ I said, and I squeezed her right hand in my left.
Valiana took her other hand. ‘Just tell them who you are.’
Aline shook her head. ‘I can’t, I just— I can’t any more. I can’t watch you die trying to protect me, Falcio. If I have to die, then—’ She pulled away from me and started running towards the Knights.
‘Aline, no!’ I raced for her, trying to stop her running headlong to her death, though my legs were barely strong enough to carry me more than a few paces. Thank the Gods, my legs might be feeble, but they were still longer, and I caught up with her before she’d gone more than a dozen yards.
‘Let me go, Falcio!’ she screamed. ‘Let me—’
I saw another figure out of my peripheral vision, running towards us from the castle. Tommer, the eleven-year-old son of Duke Jillard, stopped in front of Aline and gave a small, oddly formal bow. ‘It’s best if you stay behind me, my Lady.’
‘Tommer! Tommer, come back!’ Jillard was shouting from the entrance of the castle, but the boy ignored his father’s call. Instead, he turned and stared at the Knights arrayed down the field. ‘I am Tommer,’ he shouted, his high tenor voice drifting like a tiny boat across the vast ocean of the field, ‘heir to Rijou and the last student of Bal Armidor. I am the Minstrel’s Voice at Aramor, and you will not touch her while I live.’
I looked back at the Knights, sure that they must have started their charge, but they remained still.
‘What are they doing?’ Kest asked, joining me.
‘Waiting. Waiting for the appointed hour, just as Shuran said.’
From the castle another man came forward: a big man with black hair flecked with grey. He was carrying a long spear and wearing the red and gold of Rijou. ‘Your father commanded me to bring you back,’ he told Tommer.
‘And I command you to leave me here,’ Tommer replied.
The guard smiled. ‘I thought you might. Well, the hells for the both of you.’ He turned to the Knights and shouted, ‘I am Voras of Chantille. I’m—’ He stopped and looked around as if he’d lost something, then he grinned and finished, ‘I’m the fucking spear that’s going into your arses, you black-shirted bastards. How’s that for a name, eh? Hah!’
A woman came towards us from the castle. She wore the clothes of a servant and held a rock in her hand. ‘I’m Kemma,’ she shouted to the Knights. ‘My father was the blacksmith of a small village that once was and is no more. You can call me the Hammer of Carefal. I wasn’t there when you destroyed my home, but I was at Aramor when you met your fates.’
Another came forward, then another, and each one called out their name and their village; every one was ready to die when the onslaught began.
And after a few minutes, one of the Dukes came out. I recognised the big man as Meillard, Duke of Pertine. He turned to me with a rueful grin. ‘Well, boy, at least you’ve put our duchy on the map.’ He turned and bellowed so loudly I thought the earth itself would shake, ‘I’m Meillard and I’m the Gods-damned Duke of Pertine. I need no better name than that and I swear by Saint Shiulla-who-bathes-with-beasts that I’ll rip the head off any Knight in a black tabard who came from my duchy!’
We stood there, nearly fifty of us, facing off against a thousand Knights who didn’t move, didn’t speak. If they were impressed by our daring, they didn’t show it. I looked up at the sky. Sunset was nearly upon us.
A voice called out to me, ‘So that’s your great plan? Stand there and shout your names at a bunch of black-hearted bastards in armour and hope they fall over laughing at you?’
I tried to see who had shouted, but it was only when I felt Kest’s hand on my shoulder that I realised the sound had come from behind us and my heart soared as I turned to see a man riding casually toward us on a grey horse, wearing a brown greatcoat with one of the sleeves missing. ‘Well, aren’t you a sorry collection of half-hearted heroes,’ Brasti said, sliding off his mount. ‘And what in all the hells have you done with Kest’s hand?’
I felt such an odd joy at the sight of him: if I had to die, let it be here and now, surrounded by the people I loved best in all the world. ‘I thought you were done with us,’ I said. ‘ “You go save the world, I’m going to save the people in it” – isn’t that what you told me?’
‘Changed my mind,’ he said, grinning.
‘Any particular reason?’
He looked around. ‘I love autumn in Aramor, don’t you?’
I grabbed him and embraced him. ‘Come on, Brasti, admit it – we’re all about to die anyway. Deep down inside you believed in the King’s dream as much as I did.’
He pulled back from me, his face serious all of a sudden. ‘That’s what you never understood, Falcio: I never followed the King – hells, I never even followed the Greatcoats. I’m a simple man at heart. I don’t go in for Dukes or Gods or Saints, and nor does Kest for that matter, or anyone else.’
‘Then why—?’
‘You, Falcio, you idiot. I followed you. We all did.’
I looked around, at Kest and Dariana and Valiana and Ethalia, and as each one in turn nodded their agreement, I wanted to ask Why? They’d all come with me here to die today, but I didn’t know who I was that they would all come to this for me. I’ve never done anything more than try to follow the dreams of the one man I’ve ever met in this world who believed things could be better. But . . . Maybe I’m following you, the King had said to me that day.
‘Is that the entirety of your plan?’ Brasti asked again. ‘To stand here while those dogs in black tabards come and kill us? Because I have to say it sounds a lot like all your previous plans.’
‘You have to admit,’ I said, ‘it’ll make a hell of a story. We’ve even got a real Bardatti out there somewhere to make sure it gets heard.’
He grinned. ‘Well, we could go with your approach – I mean, it sounds very noble and I’m sure the tale of Falsio at the Battle of Aramor will be both romantic and tragic at the same time. On the other hand, I have a different plan.’
‘Really?’ Dariana said. ‘Brasti Goodbow has a plan? The stars must be tumbling right out of the sky.’
Brasti ignored her and walked past us and out onto the muddy expanse between us and the Knights. ‘I never did tell you what the King commanded me to do that day five years ago, did I, Falcio?’
I looked at the two-hundred-yard gap that separated us from the row upon row of armoured Knights. The sun was fast sinking below the horizon and by the stamping of the hooves and the jangling of the harnesses I could tell they were readying their lines to charge us.
‘Obviously I’d love to know, but I’m not sure now’s exactly the right time, Brasti.’
He glanced over at the Knights too. ‘Really? I should think now’s as good a time as we’re going to get.’
‘Good point. Fine. What did he tell
you?’
Brasti smiled. ‘I was one of the last he called in, remember? He was pretty tired by then, and he was getting irritable – you remember the way he was sometimes? – and I knew that because when I entered the throne room I made a joke and he said, “You know what, Brasti? You’re a real bastard. You think that bow of yours makes you so special, but I know it’s just your way of sticking your finger up the backside of the world.” ’
Brasti laughed, and so did Kest. The King had rarely sworn, and no one could get him going quite as well as Brasti could.
But something was bothering me. ‘Well?’ I asked.
‘Well what?’
‘What was his final command for you?’
‘Ah, that. He was clearly in a pissy mood, which I suppose wasn’t all that surprising since the Dukes were about to have him killed. At first I started walking away but then it irked me that he hadn’t given me a final command. He always acted as if I was somehow less than the rest of you just because I didn’t look at him all moon-eyed as if he were the light of the world.’
‘I think we’re out of time,’ Kest said, pointing to the Knights. The first lines were kicking their horses into motion.
‘Right, okay, so, I turned back and asked the King, “What? No divine command for me, your Majesty? No grand mission?” Then he gives me this ugly grin and says, “You? You’ve always been a bastard and now on this of all days you’ve convinced me that from now until the day you die you’ll still be a bastard, Brasti. You and that stupid bow of yours. But you know what? The world needs more bastards. There. That’s my command. Now get out of here.” ’
‘That’s it?’ I asked. ‘ “The world needs more bastards?” ’
Brasti nodded.
‘So in effect, these past five years that you’ve been a pain in my arse have been . . . what?’
He smiled. ‘Just following the King’s orders.’
The King had a sense of humour all right. It never had manifested at an appropriate time.
But Brasti hadn’t finished. ‘I have an admission to make: it turns out I was wrong about what the King meant.’
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