The Trouble with Peace (The Age of Madness, #2)

by Joe Abercrombie

“The Circle?” Red Hat rested a hand on the pommel of his sword, and the Named Men filled the hall to the rafters with a nervy murmur. “It’s a bit like a square, but with no corners,” said Rikke.

“I’d rather find some path that don’t need any more blood spilled—” “So’d we all. But up here in the North, most paths worth taking turn out at least a little bloody.”

But then getting warriors to fight has always been easy. It’s stopping the bastards that’s the tougher trick.

First step in getting anything done is knowing what you can’t do,

The Bloody-Nine was the worst man in the world to find yourself in the Circle with. But Caul Shivers came a close second.

“My father fought all his life so we could be free. Fought his friends and his enemies. Fought Black Dow, and Black Calder, and Scale Ironhand, and Stour Nightfall, and never lost. Gave everything for it. Gave till he was a husk. Think I’m going to give up what he gave me just ’cause you ask?” She curled back her lips and screamed it, spraying spit. “You didn’t even fucking ask nicely!” Oxel worked his mouth. “We’ll see, you little cunt.” “I do the seeing.” Rikke nodded at Shivers. “The dead are blind.”

“Bayaz is no friend of mine. No friend of anyone’s. His help’ll cost far more than it’s worth. Cost you everything. Better off shaking hands with the plague.”

“I have to fight fire with fire.” “That’ll win you naught but ashes,” said Calder. “There’s not much magic left in the world, and what there is ain’t worth the price. You’d best hope all you find is tricks and liars.”

“And? What did Oxel say?” Dancer crept out to that bloody spot on the floor of Skarling’s Hall, no more eager than Seff from Yaws had been. “Oxel’s dead.” There was a silence. Clover heard his own breath as he sucked it in. The wind sighed cold through the high windows. The river whispered at the base of the cliff beyond. Then the Great Wolf showed his teeth, and caught a fistful of Dancer’s shirt, and dragged him close. “He’s fucking what?” “Caul Shivers killed him! Cut his head off in the Circle!”

“Far as the Long Eye goes, I’ve got my doubts,” said Calder, sighing as he stood. “But that girl’s got a sharp mind and a hard heart.” He waved over his shoulder as he headed for the door. “Let me know when you’re bored of ruining things. I’ll do my best to stitch ’em back together.”

It had made Savine feel oddly excited herself, wondering if a splash of real politics was about to upset the placid little pond of Angland.

Because of her parents’ folly, she had lost Orso.

Blame the debt to Valint and Balk.

You don't want to do that

He felt hugely excited, of course. They were on a grand adventure, of course. And doing the right thing, of course.

“I have seen a very great number of painted faces, but never such fine work.” And she put a finger under Rikke’s chin and tipped her face gently into the light. “I think it’s beautiful.” And she traced the lines of the tattoo with her fingertips. “It could not be more… you.”

“I’d expect something special from the two of you but this… this will change the world.”

“I’ll confess that hat of hers would look most fine upon me. But she smells too good, d’you see? Not like a person. Like a cake. Like the best cake you ever tasted.”

“We’re siding with her husband. And if he is a lion, she is a golden serpent twisted all about him. If she told him down was up, he’d laugh at his mistake and stand on his head.”

“All I see are power and wisdom. Ask me, there’s naught more beautiful.”

That the Union was itself a wheel, designed not by a single engineer but by a web of mutual interest, hidden influence and collective greed, to raise up the rich and drag the poor down into the churning waters. Well, now the wheel would turn, as wheels are made to do, and drive down the privileged, and lift up the downtrodden, and there would be justice. There would be justice, and equality, and plenty for all.

By the dead, diplomacy was hard work.

Kill a man, he stayed dead. Change his mind, he always had the bloody chance to change it back.

“They want something. Don’t say yes because you feel you should, or because you feel you’re bored, or because of anything you feel, you understand? Make sure they pay.”

Nightfall showed his teeth. You couldn’t deny he was a handsome bastard, especially when he was angry.

“I’m a king now, Young Lion. Ain’t just a question of winning, it’s what you win.”

“Coward I may be, Young Lion. But I’m a coward you need.”

It seemed when it came to Northmen, the more picturesque the name, the more of a self-regarding thug it belonged to.

stirring the hair about Jurand’s face. The man simply didn’t get any less handsome. That proud, sad, thoughtful expression belonged on some statue from the Old Empire. “Beautiful,” murmured Leo.

There were bronzes of naked people, paintings of naked people, colossal urns decorated with naked people. If it was possible to make nakedness boring, the decorators of Cardotti’s had managed it.

A Sipanese tradition, like fog, deceit and the cock-rot.

the racism continues!

The place looked like bribery, smelled like lust and sounded like blackmail.

Her accent reminded him rather of his mother’s, which most certainly shouldn’t have been an arousing thought, but somehow rather was.

“You should.” The lion tossed the dice and brought up four and six, to false delight from the girls about the table. “Married myself not long ago. Had my doubts but it’s been the best decision of my life.” The bird winced and turned away.

“Winning teaches you nothing,” said Tunny. “You see what a man really is when he loses.”

found it hard to get excited unless his wife slapped him.

“I meant I was unaware it was yours to give. Here I am, after all, in Sipani, enjoying the best the city has to offer without your permission. Doing what I want. Smoking what I want. Fucking who I want.”

He’d reluctantly agreed at the time, but now his leg was aching, and perhaps it was the chagga smoke, but he was feeling out of sorts, hot in the face and slightly dizzy. He hated Styria, hated Sipani, hated Cardotti’s, hated this degenerate excuse for a king most of all. He raised his chin, trying to look haughtily down his nose, but his eyes kept being drawn to that trail of dark hair from Jappo’s navel into the not entirely concealing shadows of his gown…

Savine might be upset but he was the husband, the leader, the lord and master.

What’s the point in having new generations if all we do is pick up the feuds of the old one?”

“Enemies are like furniture, aren’t they? Better chosen for oneself than inherited.” “And made to be sat on.”

All she thinks of is her next victory. Beating her enemies. Winning the war. She pays no mind to making friends. She has no time to win the peace.”

“Perhaps I have been approached about joining a… let us call it a confederation. Conspiracy strikes an ugly note, doesn’t it?” “Awfully tasteless,” said Orso, sucking thoughtfully on the pipe and letting the smoke curl away. “A confederation based on freedom, patriotism and high principles.” “Awfully tasteful.”

“I thought I’d love the Young Lion and find you detestable.” “You would hardly be alone with that opinion.” Jappo slapped his thigh. “That’s what I mean! You’re excellent value, and he’s a fucking idiot! Warriors, I swear.” “I know. They’re so ridiculous, and yet they have no sense of humour.” “Fuck him.” And Jappo handed back the pipe. “Sipani isn’t worth another meeting with that arrogant arsehole.

Who’d know better than her, the pampered daughter of the Master of the Royal Mints, suddenly snatched away to the mines of Angland?

“Everyone should forgive themselves, Vick.” He gave her wrist another squeeze then let her go, looking out towards the lake again. “After all… no one else will.”

“There is nothing I have thought about more,” said Savine. Except what would happen if she won, of course. She already had most of the details of her coronation planned. “People will be hurt.” Savine was disappointed to see there were tears in Finree’s eyes. She really was throwing away all the respect anyone used to have for her. “People will die!”

Isern propped her hands on her own hips, such as they were. “I’m the way the moon wants me and naught wrong about it from where I stand.”

“Open your ears, you fucking maggots!” screamed Isern-i-Phail, so loud Rikke flinched at it.

A good friend, who Leo was absolutely sure liked women.

“No plan survives contact with the enemy.” Helmuth von Moltke