The Collected Joe Abercrombie (372 page)

Meed turned his watery eyes on the miserable file with the scorn one might have for a trail of ants. ‘I am afraid the welfare of my soldiers must come first.’

‘Surely these strapping fellows could afford to miss a meal in a good cause?’ She thumped Colonel Brint’s breastplate and made him give a nervous laugh.

‘I have assured Marshal Kroy that we will be in position outside Osrung by midnight. We cannot stop.’

‘It could be done in—’

Meed turned rudely away from her. ‘Ladies and their charitable projects, mmm?’ he tossed to his officers, provoking a round of sycophantic laughter.

Finree cut through it with a shrill titter of her own. ‘Men and their playing at war, mmm?’ She slapped Captain Hardrick on the shoulder with her gloves, hard enough to make him wince. ‘What
silly, womanly nonsense,
to try to save a life or two. Now I see it! We should be letting them drop like flies by the roadside, spreading fire and pestilence wherever possible and leaving their country a blasted wasteland. That will teach them the proper respect for the Union and its ways, I am sure!
There’s
soldiering!’ She looked around at the officers, eyebrows raised. At least they had stopped laughing. Meed, in particular, had never looked more humourless, which took some doing.

‘Colonel Brock,’ he forced through tight lips. ‘I think your wife might be more comfortable riding with the other ladies.’

‘I was about to suggest it,’ said Hal, pulling his horse in front of hers and bringing them both to a sharp halt while Meed’s party carried on up the track. ‘What the
hell
are you doing?’ he hissed under his breath.

‘The man’s a callous idiot! A farmer playing at soldiers!’

‘We have to work with what we have, Fin! Please, don’t bait him. For me! My bloody nerves won’t stand it!’

‘I’m sorry.’ Impatience back to guilt, yet again. Not for Meed, of course, but for Hal, who had to be twice as good, twice as brave and twice as hardworking as anyone else simply to stay free of his father’s suffocating shadow. ‘But I hate to see things done badly on account of some old fool’s pride when they could just as easily be done well.’

‘Did you consider that it’s bad enough having an amateur general without having one who’s a bloody laughing stock besides? Maybe with some support he’d do better.’

‘Maybe,’ she muttered, unconvinced.

‘Can’t you stay with the other wives?’ he wheedled. ‘Please, just for now?’

‘That prattling coven?’ She screwed up her face. ‘All they talk about is who’s barren, who’s unfaithful, and what the queen’s wearing. They’re idiots.’

‘Have you ever noticed that everyone’s an idiot but you?’

She opened her eyes wide. ‘You see it too?’

Hal took a hard breath. ‘I love you. You know I do. But think about who you’re actually helping. You could have fed those people if you’d trodden softly.’ He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. ‘I’ll talk to the quartermaster, try to arrange something.’

‘Aren’t you a hero.’

‘I try, but bloody hell, you don’t make it easy. Next time, for me, please, think about saying something bland. Talk about the weather, maybe!’ As he rode off back towards the head of the column.

‘Shit on the weather,’ she muttered at his back, ‘and Meed too.’ She had to admit Hal had a point, though. She wasn’t doing herself, or her husband, or the Union cause, or even the refugees any good by irritating Lord Governor Meed.

She had to destroy him.

Give and Take

‘U
p you get, old man.’

Craw was half in a dream still. At home, wherever that was. A young man, or retired. Was it Colwen smiling at him from the corner? Turning wood on the lathe, curled shavings scattering, crunching under his feet. He grunted, rolled over, pain flaring up his side, stinging him with panic. He tried to rip back his blanket.

‘What’s the—’

‘It’s all right.’ Wonderful had a hand on his shoulder. ‘Thought I’d let you sleep in.’ She had a long scab down the other side of her head now, stubble hair clumped with dried blood. ‘Thought you could use it.’

‘I could use a few hours yet.’ Craw gritted his teeth against ten different aches as he tried to sit up, first fast then very, very slow. ‘Bloody hell, but war’s a young man’s business.’

‘What’s to do?’

‘Not much.’ She handed him a flask and he sluiced water around his foul mouth and spat. ‘No sign of Hardbread. We buried Athroc.’ He paused, flask half way to his mouth, slowly let it drop. There was a heap of fresh dirt at the foot of one of the stones on the far side of the Heroes. Brack and Scorry stood in front of it, shovels in their hands. Agrick was between the two, looking down.

‘You say the words yet?’ asked Craw, knowing they wouldn’t have but still hoping.

‘Waiting for you.’

‘Good,’ he lied, and clambered up, gripping to her forearm. It was a grey morning with a nip in the wind, low clouds pawing at the craggy summits of the fells, mist still clinging to the creases in their sides, shrouding the bogs down in the valley’s bottom.

Craw limped to the grave, shifting his hips, trying to wriggle away from the pain in his joints. He’d rather have gone anywhere else, but there are some things you can’t wriggle away from. They were all drifting over there, gathering in a half-circle. All sad and quiet. Drofd trying to cram down a whole crust of bread at once, wiping his hands on his shirt. Whirrun with hood drawn up, cuddling the Father of Swords like a man might cuddle his sick child. Yon with a face even grimmer’n usual, which took some doing. Craw found his place at the foot of the grave, between Agrick and Brack. The hillman’s face had lost its usual ruddy glow, the bandage on his leg showing a big fresh stain.

‘That leg all right?’ he asked.

‘Scratch,’ said Brack.

‘Bleeding a lot for a scratch, ain’t it?’

Brack smiled at him, tattoos on his face shifting. ‘Call that a lot?’

‘Guess not.’ Not compared to Hardbread’s nephew when Whirrun cut him in half, anyway. Craw glanced over his shoulder, towards where they’d piled the corpses in the lee of the crumbling wall. Out of sight, maybe, but not forgotten. The dead. Always the dead. Craw looked at the black earth, wondering what to say. Looked at the black earth like it had answers in it. But there’s nothing in the earth but darkness.

‘Strange thing.’ His voice came out a croak, he had to cough to clear it. ‘The other day Drofd was asking me whether they call these stones the Heroes ’cause there are Heroes buried here. I said not. But maybe there’s one buried here now.’ Craw winced saying it, not out of sadness but ’cause he knew he was talking shit. Stupid shit wouldn’t have fooled a child. But the dozen all nodded, Agrick with a tear-track down his cheek.

‘Aye,’ said Yon.

You can say things at a grave would get you laughed out of a tavern, and be treated like you’re brimming over with wisdom. Craw felt every word was a knife he had to stick in himself, but there was no stopping.

‘Hadn’t been with us long, Athroc, but he made his mark. Won’t be forgot.’ Craw thought on all the other lads he’d buried, faces and names worn away by the years, and couldn’t even guess the number of ’em. ‘He stood with his crew. Fought well.’ Died badly, hacked with an axe, on ground that meant nothing. ‘Did the right thing. All you can ask of a man, I reckon. If there’s any—’

‘Craw!’ Shivers was standing maybe thirty strides away on the south side of the circle.

‘Not now!’ he hissed back.

‘Aye,’ said Shivers. ‘Now.’

Craw hurried over, the grey valley opening up between two of the stones. ‘What am I looking— Uh.’ Beyond the river, at the foot of Black Fell, there were horsemen on the brown strip of the Uffrith Road. Riding fast towards Osrung, smudges of dust rising behind. Could’ve been forty. Could’ve been more.

‘And there.’

‘Shit.’ Another couple of score coming the other way, towards the Old Bridge. Taking the crossings. Getting around both sides of the Heroes. The surge of worry was almost a pain in Craw’s chest. ‘Where’s Scorry at?’ Staring about like he’d put something down and couldn’t remember where. Scorry was right behind him, holding up one finger. Craw breathed out slow, patting him on the shoulder. ‘There you are. There you are.’

‘Chief,’ muttered Drofd.

Craw followed his pointing finger. The road south from Adwein, sloping down into the valley from the fold between two fells, was busy with movement. He snapped his eyeglass open and peered towards it. ‘It’s the Union.’

‘How many, d’you reckon?’

The wind swept some mist away and, for just a moment, Craw could see the column stretching back between the hills, men and metal, spears prickling and flags waving above. Stretching back far as he could see.

‘Looks like all of ’em,’ breathed Wonderful.

Brack leaned over. ‘Tell me we ain’t fighting this time.’

Craw lowered his eyeglass. ‘Sometimes the right thing to do is run like fuck. Pack up!’ he bellowed. ‘Right now! We’re moving out!’

His crew always kept most of their gear stowed and they were busy packing the rest quick sharp, Scorry with a jaunty marching tune on the go. Jolly Yon was stomping the little fire out with one boot while Whirrun watched, already packed since all he owned was the Father of Swords and he had it in one hand.

‘Why put it out?’ asked Whirrun.

‘I ain’t leaving those bastards my fire,’ grunted Yon.

‘Don’t reckon they’ll all be able to fit around it, do you?’

‘Even so.’

‘We can’t even all fit around it.’

‘Still.’

‘Who knows? You leave it, maybe one of those Union fellows burns himself and they all get scared and go home.’

Yon looked up for a moment, then ground the last embers out under his boot. ‘I ain’t leaving those bastards my fire.’

‘That’s it then?’ asked Agrick. Craw found it hard to look in his eye. There was something desperate in it. ‘That’s all the words he gets?’

‘We can say more later, maybe, but for now there’s the living to think on.’

‘We’re giving it up.’ Agrick glared at Shivers, fists clenched, like he was the one killed his brother. ‘He died for nothing. For a fucking hill we ain’t even holding on to! If we hadn’t fought he’d still be alive! You hear that!’ He took a step, might’ve gone for Shivers if Brack hadn’t grabbed him from behind, Craw from in front, holding him tight.

‘I hear it.’ Shivers shrugged, bored. ‘And it ain’t the first time. If I hadn’t gone to Styria I’d still have both my eyes. I went. One eye. We fought. He died. Life only rolls one way and it ain’t always the way we’d like. There it is.’ He turned and strolled off towards the north, axe over his shoulder.

‘Forget about him,’ muttered Craw in Agrick’s ear. He knew what it was to lose a brother. He’d buried all three of his in one morning. ‘You need a man to blame, blame me. I chose to fight.’

‘There was no choice,’ said Brack. ‘It was the right thing to do.’

‘Where’d Drofd get to?’ asked Wonderful, slinging her bow over her shoulder as she walked past. ‘Drofd?’

‘Over here! Just packing up!’ He was down near the wall, where they’d left the bodies of Hardbread’s lot. When Craw got there he was kneeling by one of ’em, going through his pockets. He grinned around, holding out a few coins. ‘Chief, this one had some …’ He trailed off when he saw Craw’s frown. ‘I was going to share it out—’

‘Put it back.’

Drofd blinked at him. ‘But it’s no good to him now—’

‘Ain’t yours is it? Leave it there with Hardbread’s lad and when Hard-bread comes back he’ll decide who gets it.’

‘More’n likely it’ll be Hardbread gets it,’ muttered Yon, coming up behind with his mail draped over his shoulder.

‘Maybe it will be. But it won’t be any of us. There’s a right way of doing things.’

That got a couple of sharp breaths and something close to a groan. ‘No one thinks that way these days, Chief,’ said Scorry, leaning on his spear.

‘Look how rich some no-mark like Sutt Brittle’s made himself,’ said Brack.

‘While we scrape by on a piss-pot staple and the odd gild,’ growled Yon.

‘That’s what you’re due, and I’ll see you get a gild for yesterday’s work. But you’ll leave the bodies be. You want to be Sutt Brittle you can beg a place with Glama Golden’s lot and rob folk all day long.’ Craw wasn’t sure what was making him so prickly. He’d let it pass before. Helped himself more’n once when he was younger. Even Threetrees used to overlook his boys picking a corpse or two. But prickly he was, and now he’d chosen to stand on it he couldn’t back down. ‘What’re we?’ he snapped, ‘Named Men or pickers and thieves?’

‘Poor is what we are, Chief,’ said Yon, ‘and starting to—’

‘What the
fuck?
’ Wonderful slapped the coins from Drofd’s hand and sent ’em scattering into the grass. ‘When you’re Chief, Jolly Yon Cumber, you can do it your way. ’Til then, we’ll do it Craw’s. We’re Named Men. Or I am, at least – I ain’t convinced about the rest of you. Now move your fat arses before you end up bitching to the Union about your poverty.’