Page 94 of Setting the Break

Morgan is there, because wild dogs could not keep him away. He is upright and he is walking under his own power. He looks as though he’s been dragged behind a horse and dropped in a ditch to think it over. He has his quill case under his arm and a roll of parchment in his hand, and there is nothing in his posture that suggests he has considered for even a moment not being in this room tonight.

Bohdi stands behind them, the way he always does. Eskil watches the two of them settle into it, Bohdi at Morgan's back and Morgan half a step out in front, and the performance is flawless. A man would have to be looking for it. He would have to know what to look for. Even then, the spacing, the careful neutrality of Bohdi's face, the way Morgan does not look over his shoulder, all of it is polished to the point of invisibility.

So perhaps Eskil was not exactly blind. They are good at this. They are better at this than anyone has any business being. There is something in that thought that turns over in Eskil's stomach, because people do not get that good at hiding unless they have had a great deal of practice, and practice requires fear.

The council will find out eventually that the king's second is in the prince's bed, and that will be its own fire to put out, but it is not coming out of Eskil's mouth. He knows that much.

The chamber fills. Vigdis arrives in twelve minutes, which is a personal best. She is immaculate and she is furious about it, which Eskil can see in the hard set of her jaw and the deliberate placement of every finger on the table as she takes her seat. Seren comes in behind her with a cup of something hot in her hand and a look that says she will participate and she will not pretend to enjoy it. The less ancient and more reserved members shuffle in behind her, bleary and resentful and entirely unprepared for what is about to be said to them.

Eskil stands at the head of the table. He does not sit. Standing makes them look up, and makes this a briefing instead of a discussion. The difference matters.

"Tonight, Lars of the east gate guard was found to be the source of our intelligence leaks to the Wolfe," Eskil says. "The prince found a copied list in the gate log. Our muster numbers, our southern road, our crossings. When the prince discovered him, Lars attacked him. The prince put a dagger in his leg and called the guard down on him, and Lars is in a cell awaiting judgment."

Flat and factual. He lets them have it.

"He has been feeding the south since the betrothal collapsed. He is the reason the Wolfe had men on the border farms. He is the reason they know about Fenris. And he has handed them the spring campaign in full."

He watches the faces go round the table. Vigdis is stricken. Her hand has gone to her mouth and stayed there, and there is no performance in it. Seren is furious, a cold contained fury that has gone straight into her eyes and made them bright and hard. Hallvard and Jorin exchange a look that Eskil reads without the smallest difficulty as guilt, because they were also among the voices in this room insisting that Indrie was the spy. The actual spy was holding the door open for them the entire time.

He does not say it. He does not have to. Morgan is sitting two seats away with the proof on his neck and the man himself is in a cell, and the council can come to terms with it on their own time.

"The spring campaign is dead," Eskil says. "Two reasons. The first is that Dade has had our route, our numbers and our crossings for eleven days, which is time enough to position and prepare. We are not riding south down a road the enemy has already read."

"The second is the one that matters." Eskil puts both hands on the back of his chair and leans his weight into them. "He is expecting an army. That is not what we are going to give him."

Nobody speaks. Seren's cup comes down onto the table without a sound. Somewhere to Eskil's left one of the minor members makes a small interrogative noise and then thinks better of finishing it.

"Dade has no claim," Eskil says. "He has a stronghold, a steward's ledger, and a body of warriors who follow him because they are frightened of what happens if they stop. He cannot hold that clan on what he is. He can only hold it on what we are, which is the kingdom that killed their chieftain. So he wants us at his gate, and he has wanted it since Ivan went down on his own floor. Give him a column on the southern road and he is no longer the man who took a chair that was not his. He is the man defending his people from the north, and every warrior in those hills still sitting on the fence comes down on his side of it before we are within sight of the palisade."

Vigdis gets there first, which Eskil expected. "Then what is it you are proposing, your majesty, if not the campaign this council approved?"

"A delegation. We are bringing Fenris Wolfe there to claim his right, with Ivan's own ward standing at his shoulder saying whose son he is, and we are letting them choose. We are not forcing their hand.”

Seren balks. "A choice? Their choice was to overthrow Rengara!"

"More than half of that clan does not want this war. We have that from a man raised in Ivan's house. They want the border quiet and the market open and their boys at home, and Dade is holding them at a war they did not ask for. We do not have to beat those people. We have to be the better offer."

Seren sets her hands flat and lays the stone on the table that somebody has to. "We assassinated their chieftain." There is no accusation anywhere in it. "Whatever Ivan was plotting, that is what they know, and that is what will be said in that hall. You are proposing to walk in and ask them to accept a gift from the hand that did it."

"Yes."

"They will not forgive it."

"They do not have to forgive it," Eskil says. "They have to prefer us."

He lays out the rest of it before the room can get its feet under it. Restitution for Ivan, paid to his son in front of his clan, and the terms read aloud so every man under that roof hears exactly what Rengara is admitting to. Terms that, laid out plainly, agree that Rengara is an ally in both trade and military power, whenever the Wolfe require them. The Wolfe will have their share of harvests, trade routes, and armed warriors when necessary.

Then he casually mentions that he’s taking thirty with him and not a man more.

The eruption is immediate and entirely predictable. They manage to roll all of their complaints up in one ball and throw them at him via Vigdis, who often gets the duty.

"Thirty," she says. "Your majesty, that is entirely reckless."

"It is reckless," Eskil agrees. "And any more than thirty is an army with the banners rolled up. They will count us at the gate and know precisely what we meant by it." He lets it sit for a moment. "We leave in three days."

That gets him the sound of nine people trying to object at once and not one of them finishing a sentence. Eskil waits it out. He has been waiting out councils since he was nineteen years old and the method has never needed improving. Stand still. Say nothing. Let them wear themselves out against a decision that has already been taken.

Morgan is writing. Eskil can hear the quill going, the quick steady scratch of someone racing a plan onto paper before the room catches up with it. He looks over and sees the terms already laid out at Morgan's elbow. Ready for review before anyone in this room has even agreed to what they are reviewing.