The Collected Joe Abercrombie (73 page)

The cart stopped on the far bank, the two men on it stood up and pointed their strange bows at Threetrees. The Dogman got himself a nice aim on one of ’em, and drew the string back all the way. Most of the riders were on the bridge by now, horses shying and stirring about, unhappy at being packed in so tight. The one at the front reined up in front of Threetrees, spear pointing at him. The old boy didn’t back away a step, though. Not him. He just frowned up, not giving the riders any room to get around him, keeping ’em choked up on the bridge.

‘Well, well,’ the Dogman heard their leader saying. ‘Rudd Threetrees. We thought you was long dead, old man.’ He knew the voice. One of Bethod’s Carls, from way back. Bad-Enough they called him.

‘Reckon I’ve got a fight or two left in me,’ said Threetrees, still giving no ground.

Bad-Enough took a look about him, squinting into the trees, sense enough to see he was in a poor position, but not too careful. ‘Where’s the rest of you? Where’s that fucker Dow, eh?’

Threetrees shrugged. ‘There’s just me.’

‘Back to the mud, eh?’ The Dogman could just see Bad-Enough grinning under his helmet. ‘Shame. Hoped I’d be the one to kill that dirty bastard.’

Dogman winced, half expecting Dow to come flying out of those rocks right then, but there was no sign of him. Not yet. Waiting for the signal, for once.

‘Where’s Bethod?’ asked Threetrees.

‘The King don’t come out for the likes of you! Anyhow, he’s off in Angland, kicking the Union’s arses. Prince Calder’s taking care of things while he’s gone.’

Threetrees snorted. ‘Prince is it, now? I remember him sucking on his mother’s tit. He could scarcely do that right.’

‘A lot’s changed, old man. All kind of things.’

By the dead, Dogman was wishing they’d get on with it, one way or another. He could hardly keep the piss in. ‘Wait for the signal,’ he was mouthing to himself, just to try and keep his hands steady.

‘The Flatheads are everywhere,’ Threetrees was saying. ‘They’ll be coming south by next summer, sooner maybe. Something needs doing.’

‘Well, why don’t you come with us, eh? You can warn Calder yourself. We brought a cart, for you to ride in. Man of your age shouldn’t have to walk.’ A couple of the other riders laughed at that, but Threetrees didn’t join ’em.

‘Where’s Forley?’ he growled. ‘Where’s the Weakest?’

There was more sniggering from the horsemen. ‘Oh, he’s nearby,’ said Bad-Enough, ‘he’s real close. Why don’t you get in the cart, and we’ll take you right to him. Then we can all sit round and talk about Flatheads, nice and peaceful.’

The Dogman didn’t like this. Not at all. He’d got a nasty feeling. ‘You must take me for some new kind o’ fool,’ said Threetrees. ‘I’m going nowhere ’til I’ve seen Forley.’

Bad-Enough frowned at that. ‘You’re in no state to be telling us what you’ll do. You might have been the big man once, but you’re come to less than nothing, and that’s a fact. Now give up your blade and get in the fucking cart like I told you, before I lose my temper.’

He tried to nudge his horse forward again but Threetrees wasn’t budging. ‘Where’s Forley?’ he growled. ‘And I’ll have a straight answer or I’ll have your guts.’

Bad-Enough grinned over his shoulder at his mates, and they grinned back. ‘Alright, old man, since you’re asking. Calder wanted us to wait for this, but I’ve got to see the look on your face. The Weakest’s in the cart. Leastways, most of him is.’ He smiled and let something drop from his saddle. A canvas sack, with something in it. Dogman could guess already what it was. It hit the ground near Threetrees’ feet. The something rolled out, and the Dogman could see on the old boy’s face that he’d guessed right. Forley’s head.

Well that was it, o’ course. Fuck the signal. Dogman’s first arrow stuck one of the men on the cart right through his chest, and he screamed and tumbled over into the back, dragging the driver with him. It was a good shot, but there was no time to think on that, he was far too busy fumbling for another arrow, and shouting. Didn’t even know what he was shouting, just that he was. Grim must’ve been shooting as well, one of the Carls on the bridge gave a yell, fell off his horse and splashed into the stream.

Threetrees was down in a crouch, hiding behind his shield, backing off while Bad-Enough prodded at him with his spear, kicking his horse off the bridge and onto the path on our side.

The rider behind pushed around the side of him, keen to get off the bridge, coming close beside the rocks.

‘Fucking bastards!’ Dow flew out of the stones above him, barrelled into the rider. They tumbled down together, a mess of limbs and weapons, but the Dogman could see that Dow was on top. His axe went up and down a couple of times, quick. One less to worry on.

Dogman’s second arrow went well wide of the mark, he was so busy shouting his head off, but it stuck one of the horses in the rump, and that turned out better than anything. It started rearing and thrashing about, and soon all the horses were milling and crying while their riders cursed and bumbled around, spears going every which way, noise and mess on all sides.

The horseman at the back split in half, all of a sudden, blood spraying everywhere. The Thunderhead had come up from the stream, got round behind them. There’s no armour that could stop a blow like that. The giant roared and swung the great length of bloody metal over his head again. The next in line got his shield up in time, but he might as well not have bothered. The blade hacked a big chunk out of it, tore his head open and hammered him out of the saddle. The blow was that strong it clubbed the horse down too.

One of them had got his mount turned now, bringing up his spear to stab at Tul from the side. Before he could he grunted and jerked, arching his back. Dogman could see the feathers sticking from his side. Grim must’ve shot him, and he tumbled down. His foot caught in the stirrup and he hung there, swinging. He was groaning and moaning and trying to right himself, but his horse was plunging now along with the others, making him dance, wrong way up, smacking his head against the side of the bridge. He dropped his spear in the stream, tried to pull himself up, then his horse half landed a kick on his shoulder and knocked him free. He went down under the milling hooves and the Dogman paid him no more mind.

The second archer was still sitting up on the cart. He was getting over his shock now, and lining up his funny bow on Threetrees, still squatting down behind his shield. Dogman shot at him but he was hurrying, and yelling, and his shaft missed and hit the driver beside him in his shoulder, just got up from the back of the cart, knocked him back down again.

The weird bow twanged and Threetrees jerked back from his shield. The Dogman was worried for a minute, then he saw that the arrow split the heavy wood and punched on through, but stopped just short of catching Threetrees in the face. It was lodged there through his shield, feathers sticking out one side, point out the other. That’s an evil little bow, Dogman thought.

He heard Tul roar and saw another rider fly off into the stream. Another dropped with one of Grim’s arrows in his back. Dow turned and chopped the back legs out from under Bad-Enough’s horse with his sword, and it stumbled and slid, pitching him off onto the ground. The last couple were trapped. Dow and Threetrees at one end of the bridge, Tul at the other, too tight with frightened, riderless horses for them to turn around or nothing, at the mercy of Grim out in the woods. He wasn’t in a merciful mood, it seemed, and it didn’t take him long to pick ’em off.

The one with the bow tried to make a break for it, chucking his bit of wood away and jumping down from the cart. Dogman thought nice and careful about his aiming this time, and his shaft got the archer right between the shoulders and knocked him on his face before he could get more than a few paces. He had a go at crawling, but he wasn’t crawling far. The driver of the cart showed his face again, groaning and grabbing at the arrow in his shoulder. The Dogman didn’t usually kill men that were down, but he reckoned today was an exception. His arrow got the driver through the mouth, and that was him dealt with.

Dogman could see one of the riders limping away, one of Grim’s arrows in his leg, and lined him up with his last shaft. Threetrees got there first though, and stuck him through the back with his sword. There was another one still moving, struggling up to his knees, and the Dogman took an aim on him. Before he could loose, Dow stepped up and hacked his head off. Blood everywhere. Horses still milling, screaming, slipping on the slick stones of the bridge.

Dogman could see Bad-Enough now, the last one going. He must’ve lost his helmet when he fell off his horse. He was struggling in the stream on his hands and knees, slowed up by all that weight of mail. He’d dropped his shield, and his spear, to make better time running for it, but he hadn’t realised he was coming right at the Dogman.

‘Get him alive!’ shouted Threetrees. Tul set off down one bank, but he was making slow progress, slipping and sliding in the mud the cart churned up. ‘Get him alive!’ Dow was after him too, splashing and cursing in the water. Bad-Enough was close now. The Dogman could hear his scared gasping as he struggled down the stream.

‘Aah!’ he howled as Dogman’s arrow thudded into his leg, just below the bottom of his mail coat. He toppled sideways onto the bank, blood leaking into the muddy water. He started dragging himself up the wet turf beside the stream.

‘That’s it, Dogman,’ shouted Threetrees. ‘Alive!’

The Dogman slid out the trees and down the bank, through the water. He pulled his knife out. Tul and Dow were still a little ways off, hurrying towards him. Bad-Enough rolled over in the mud, his face screwed up with the pain of the arrow in his leg. He held his hands up. ‘Alright, alright, I’ll gurrr—’

‘You’ll what?’ asked the Dogman, looking down at him.

‘Gurrr—’ he said again, looking mightily surprised, hand gripped to his neck. There was blood pouring out between his fingers, down the front of his wet mail.

Dow splashed up beside them and stood there, looking down. ‘Well that’s the end of that,’ he said.

‘What you do that for?’ shouted Threetrees, hurrying over.

‘Eh?’ asked the Dogman. Then he looked down at his knife. It was all bloody. ‘Ah.’ That’s when he saw it was him as had cut Bad-Enough’s throat.

‘We could have asked him questions!’ said Threetrees. ‘He could have took a message back to Calder, told him who did this, and why!’

‘Wake up, chief,’ muttered Tul Duru, already wiping his sword down. ‘No one cares a shit for the old ways no more. Besides, they’ll be after us soon enough. No point letting ’em know more than we have to.’

Dow clapped the Dogman on the shoulder. ‘You were right to do it. This bastard’s head’ll do for a message.’ Dogman wasn’t sure Dow’s approval was something he was after, but it was a bit late now. It took Dow a couple of chops to get Bad-Enough’s head off. He carried it, swinging by its hair, with as little care or worry as he’d carry a bag of turnips. He grabbed a spear out of the stream on his way, found a spot he liked.

‘Things ain’t the way they used to be,’ Threetrees was muttering as he strode off down the bank towards the bridge, where Grim was already picking over the bodies.

The Dogman followed him, watching Dow stick Bad-Enough’s head on the spear, shoving the blunt end into the ground, stepping back, hands on hips, to admire his work. He shifted it a bit to the right, then back to the left, until he’d got it nice and straight. He grinned over at the Dogman.

‘Perfect,’ he said.

‘What now, chief?’ Tul was asking. ‘What now?’

Threetrees was stooping down on the bank, washing his bloody hands in the river.

‘What do we do?’ asked Dow.

The old boy stood up slowly, wiped his hands on his coat, taking his time thinking on it. ‘South. We bury Forley on the way. We take these horses here, since they’ll be coming after us now, and we head south. Tul, you better unhitch that carthorse, he’s the only one as’ll carry you.’

‘South?’ asked the Thunderhead, looking confused, ‘south to where?’

‘Angland.’

‘Angland?’ asked the Dogman, and he could tell they were all thinking it. ‘For what? Ain’t they fighting down there?’

‘Course they are, that’s why I’ve a mind to go.’

Dow frowned. ‘Us? What have we got against the Union?’

‘No, fool,’ said Threetrees, ‘I’ve a mind to fight along with ’em.’

‘With the Union?’ asked Tul, his lip curling up, ‘with those bloody women? That ain’t our fight, chief!’

‘Any fight against Bethod is my fight now. I mean to see the end of him.’ Once he’d thought on it, the Dogman had never yet seen Threetrees change his mind. Never once. ‘Who’s with me?’ he asked.

They all were. Course.

It was raining. Thin rain, making the whole world damp. Soft as a maiden’s kiss, as they say, though the Dogman could hardly remember what one of those felt like. Rain. Seemed right somehow, for the occasion. Dow was done with piling the dirt, and he sniffed and dug the spade down into the earth beside the grave.

It was a long way from the road. A good long way. They didn’t want no one finding it and digging Forley up. They all gathered round, just five now, looking down. It was a long time since they’d had anyone to bury among them. The Shanka got Logen o’ course, not too long ago, but they never had found the body. There might have been just one less in the band, but it seemed to the Dogman like there was a lot missing.