The Collected Joe Abercrombie (368 page)

Yon appeared between two of the Heroes, bundle of sticks in his arms, puffing away from the climb. ‘Took a while, but I found some— What?’

‘Weapons!’ bellowed Brack at him.

‘Hardbread’s back!’ added Athroc.

‘Shit!’ Yon let his sticks fall in a tangle, near tripped over them as he ran for his gear.

It was a bastard of a call and Craw couldn’t dither on it. But that’s what it is to be Chief. If he’d wanted easy choices he could’ve stayed a carpenter, where you might on occasion have to toss out a botched joint but rarely risk a friend’s life.

He’d stuck all his days to the notion there’s a right way to do things, even as it seemed to be going out of fashion. You pick your Chief, you pick your side, you pick your crew and then you stand by ’em, whatever the wind blows up. He’d stood by Threetrees ’til he lost to the Bloody-Nine. Stood by Bethod ’til the end. Now he stood with Black Dow and, whatever the rights and wrongs of it, Black Dow said hold this hill. They were fighters by trade. Time comes a fighter has to toss the runes and fight. It was the right thing to do.

‘The right thing,’ he hissed to himself. Or maybe it was just that, deep under his worries and his grumbles and his blather about sunsets, there was still a jagged little splinter left in him of that man he’d been years ago. That dagger-eyed fucker who would’ve bled all the blood in the North before he backed down a stride. The one who stuck himself in everyone’s craw.

‘Weapons,’ he growled. ‘Full gear! Battle gear!’ Hardly needed saying, really, but a good Chief should shout a lot. Yon was delving into the packhorse’s bags for the mail, dragging Brack’s big coat rattling free. Scorry pulling his spear from the other side, jerking the oilskin from the bright blade, humming to himself while he did it. Wonderful stringing her bow with quick hands, making it sing its own note as she tested it. All the while Whirrun knelt still, eyes closed, hands clasped before the Father of Swords.

‘Chief.’ Scorry tossed Craw’s blade over, stained belt wrapped around it.

‘Thanks.’ Though he didn’t feel too thankful as he snatched it out of the air. Started to buckle it on, memories of other bright, fierce times he’d done it flashing by. Memories of other company, long gone back to the mud. By the dead, but he was getting old.

Drofd stared around for a moment, hands opening and closing. Wonderful gave him a slap on the side of the head as she passed and he came round, started loosening the shafts in his quiver with twitchy fingers.

‘Chief.’ She handed Craw his shield and he slid it onto his arm, strap fitting into his clenched fist snug as a foot into an old boot.

‘Thanks.’ Craw looked over at Shivers, standing still with his arms folded, watching the dozen make ready. ‘How about you, lad? Front rank?’

Shivers tipped his face back, little grin on the side that wasn’t stiff with scar. ‘Front and middle,’ he croaked. Then he ambled off towards the ashes of the fire.

‘We could kill him,’ Wonderful muttered in Craw’s ear. ‘Don’t care how hard he is, arrow in the neck, job done.’

‘He’s just passing the message.’

‘Shooting the messenger ain’t always a bad idea.’ Joking, but only half. ‘Stops him taking messages back.’

‘Whether or not he’s here we’ve the same job. Keep hold o’ the Heroes. We’re meant to be fighters. A little fight shouldn’t get us shitting ourselves.’ He almost choked on the words, since he was mostly shitting himself from morning to night, and especially in fights.

‘A little fight?’ she muttered, loosening her sword in its sheath. ‘Near three to one? Do we really need this hill?’

‘Closer to two to one.’ As if that made it good odds. ‘If the Union do come, this hill’s the key to the whole valley.’ Giving himself reasons as much as her. ‘Better to fight for it now while we’re up here than give it away so we can fight our way up it later. That and it’s the right thing to do.’ She opened her mouth like she was going to argue. ‘The right thing!’ snapped Craw, and held his hand out, not wanting to give her the chance to talk him round.

She took a breath. ‘All right.’ She gave his hand a squeeze, almost painful. ‘We fight.’ And she walked away, pulling her archery guard on with her teeth. ‘Arm up, you bastards! We fight!’

Athroc and Agrick were ready, helmets on, bashing their shields together and grunting in each other’s faces, working themselves up to it. Scorry was holding his spear just under the blade, using it to shave bits of Shudder Root off a lump and into his mouth. Whirrun had finally stood up and now he was smiling into the blue sky with his eyes closed, sun on his face. His preparations didn’t go much beyond taking his coat off.

‘No armour.’ Yon was helping Brack into his mail, shaking his head as he frowned over at Whirrun. ‘What kind of a bloody hero don’t wear bloody armour?’

‘Armour …’ mused Whirrun, licking a finger and scrubbing some speck of dirt from the pommel of his sword, ‘is part of a state of mind … in which you admit the possibility … of being hit.’

‘What the
fuck
?’ Yon tugged hard at the straps and made Brack grunt. ‘What does that even mean?’

Wonderful clapped her hand down on Whirrun’s shoulder and leaned against him, one foot propped on its boot-toe. ‘How many years and you’re still expecting sense out o’ this article? He’s mad.’

‘We’re all fucking mad, woman!’ Brack was red in the face from holding his breath out while Yon struggled to get the buckles closed at his back. ‘Why else would we be fighting for a hill and some old rocks?’

‘War and madness have a lot in common.’ Scorry, not very helpfully, talking around his cheekful of mush.

Yon finally got the last buckle shut and held his arms out so Brack could start getting him into his mail. ‘Being mad don’t stop you wearing bloody armour, though, does it?’

Hardbread’s crew had made it through the orchards, and two sets of three split from the rest – one heading west around the base of the hill, the other north. Getting around their flanks. Drofd’s eyes were wide as he watched ’em moving, then the others getting their gear ready. ‘How can they make jokes? How can they make bloody jokes?’

‘Because every man finds courage his own way.’ Craw didn’t admit that giving advice was his. There’s nothing better for a dose of terror than standing by someone even more terrified than yourself. He clasped Drofd’s hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Just breathe, lad.’

Drofd took a shuddering breath in and forced it out. ‘Right y’are, Chief. Breathe.’

Craw turned to face the rest of the crew. ‘Right, then! They’ve two parties of three trying to get on our flanks, then a few less than a score coming up front.’ He rushed through the numbers, maybe hoping no one would notice the odds. Maybe hoping he wouldn’t. ‘Athroc, Agrick, Wonderful to skirmish, Drofd too, give ’em arrows while they climb, spread ’em out on the slope. When they get in close to the stones … we charge.’ He saw Drofd swallow, not much taken with the idea of charging. The dead knew Craw could think of other ways to spend an afternoon himself. ‘There aren’t enough of ’em to get all around us, and we’ve got the ground. We can pick where we hit ’em, and hit ’em hard. Any luck we’ll break ’em before they get set, then if the other six have a mind to fight we can mop up.’

‘Hit ’em hard!’ growled Yon, clasping hands with the others one after another.

‘Just wait for my word, and move together.’

‘Together.’ Wonderful slapped her right hand into Scorry’s and punched him on the arm with her left.

‘Me, Shivers, Brack, Yon, we’re front and centre.’

‘Aye, Chief,’ said Brack, still struggling with Yon’s mail.

‘Fucking aye!’ Yon took a practice swipe with his axe and jerked the buckles out of Brack’s hands.

Shivers grinned and stuck his tongue out, not especially reassuring.

‘Athroc and Agrick fall back to the wings.’

‘Aye,’ they chimed in together.

‘Scorry, anyone tries to get around the side early on, give ’em a poke. Once we close up, you’re the back rank.’

Scorry just hummed to himself, but he’d heard.

‘Whirrun. You’re the nut in the shell.’

‘No.’ Whirrun took the Father of Swords from its place against the stone and lifted it high, pommel glinting with the sunlight. ‘This is. Which makes me … I guess … that kind of… flaky bit between the nut and the shell.’

‘You’re flaky all right,’ muttered Wonderful, under her breath.

‘You can be whatever bit of the nut you like,’ said Craw, ‘long as you’re there when it cracks.’

‘Oh, I’m going nowhere until you show me my destiny.’ Whirrun pushed back his hood and scrubbed a hand through his flattened hair. ‘Just like Shoglig promised me you would.’

Craw sighed. ‘Can’t wait. Questions?’ No sound except the wind fumbling across the grass, the clapping of palms as they all finished shaking hands, the grunt and jingle as Brack finally got Yon’s armour buckled. ‘All right. ’Case I don’t have the chance to say it again, been an honour fighting with you all. Or an honour slogging across the North in all weathers, anyway. Just keep in mind what Rudd Threetrees once told me. Let’s us get them killed, and not the other way round.’

Wonderful grinned. ‘Best damn advice about war I ever heard.’

The rest of Hardbread’s lads were coming now. The big group. Coming slowly, taking time, up the long slope towards the Children. More than dots now. A lot more’n dots. Men, with a purpose, the odd glint of sunlight on sharp metal. A heavy hand thumped down on his shoulder and Craw jumped, but it was only Yon behind him.

‘A word, Chief?’

‘What’s to do?’ Though he knew already.

‘The usual. If I’m killed—’

Craw nodded, keen to cut it short. ‘I’ll find your sons, and give ’em your share.’

‘And?’

‘I’ll tell ’em what you were.’

‘All of it.’

‘All of it.’

‘Good. And don’t dress it up any, you old bastard.’

Craw waved a hand at his stained coat. ‘When did you last see me dress anything up?’

Yon might’ve had a trace of a smile as they clasped hands. ‘Not lately, Chief, that’s sure.’ Left Craw wondering who’d need telling when he went back to the mud. His family were all here.

‘Talking time,’ said Wonderful.

Hardbread had left his men behind at the Children and was climbing the grassy slope with empty hands and open grin turned up towards the Heroes. Craw drew his sword, felt the frightening, reassuring weight of it in his hand. Knew the sharpness of it, worked at with whetstone every day for a dozen years. Life and death in a length of metal.

‘Makes you feel big, don’t it?’ Shivers spun his own axe around in one fist. A brutal-looking article, studs through the heavy wooden shaft, bearded head notched and gleaming. ‘A man should always be armed. If only for the feel of it.’

‘An unarmed man is like an unroofed house,’ muttered Yon.

‘They’ll both end up leaking,’ Brack finished for him.

Hardbread stopped well within bowshot, long grass brushing at his calves. ‘Hey, hey, Craw! Still up there, then?’

‘Sadly, yes.’

‘Sleeping well?’

‘I’d rather have a feather pillow. You brought me one?’

‘Wish I had one spare. That Caul Shivers up there with you?’

‘Aye. And he brought two dozen Carls with him.’ It was worth a stab, but Hardbread only grinned.

‘Good try. No he didn’t. Haven’t seen you in a while, Caul. How are things?’

Shivers gave the smallest shrug. Nothing more.

Hardbread raised his brows. ‘Like that, is it?’

Another shrug. Like the sky could fall in and it’d make no difference to him.

‘Have it your way. How about it, then, Craw? Can I have my hill back?’

Craw worked his hand around the grip of his sword, raw skin at the corners of his chewed fingernails burning. ‘I’ve a mind to sit here a few days more.’

Hardbread frowned. Not the answer he’d been hoping for. ‘Look, Craw, you gave me a chance the other night, so I’m giving you one. There’s a right way o’ doing things, and fair’s fair. But you might’ve noticed I had some friends come up this morning.’ And he jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the Children. ‘So I’ll ask one more time. Can I have my hill back?’

Last chance. Craw gave a long sigh, and shouted it into the wind. ‘’Fraid not, Hardbread! ’Fraid you’ll have to come up here and take it off me!’

‘How many you got up there? Nine? Against my two dozen?’

‘We’ve faced down worse odds!’ Though he couldn’t remember ever picking ’em willingly.

‘Good for fucking you, I wouldn’t fancy it!’ Hardbread brought his voice back down from angry to reasonable. ‘Look, there ain’t no need for this to get out of hand—’

‘’Cept we’re in a
war
!’ And Craw found he’d roared the last word with a sight more venom than he’d planned on.

Far as he could tell over the distance, Hardbread had lost his grin. ‘Right y’are. Thought I’d give you the chance you gave me is all.’

‘That’s good o’ you. Appreciate it. Just can’t move.’

‘That’s a shame all round.’

‘Aye. But there ’tis.’