Abercrombie, Joe - The Heroes
Craw stopped, all kinds of lonely out there in the gloom, water chattering away underneath him. ‘Couldn’t agree more, friend! Just need to talk!’
‘Last time we talked it didn’t come out too well for anyone concerned.’ Someone was walking up from the other end of the bridge, a torch in his hand, orange light on a craggy cheek, a ragged beard, a hard-set mouth with a pair of split lips.
Craw found he was grinning as the man stopped an arm’s length away. He reckoned his chances at living through the night just took a leap for the better. ‘Hardbread, ’less I’m mistook all over the place.’ In spite of the fact they’d been struggling to kill each other not a week before, it felt more like greeting an old friend than an old enemy. ‘What the hell are you doing over here?’
‘Lot o’ the Dogman’s boys hereabouts. Stranger-Come-Knocking and his Crinna bastards showed up without an invite, and we been guiding ’em politely to the door. Some messed-up allies your Chief makes, don’t he.’
Craw looked over towards some Union soldiers who’d gathered in the torchlight at the south end of the bridge. ‘I could say the same o’ yours.’
‘Aye, well. Those are the times. What can I do for you, Craw?’
‘I got some prisoners Black Dow wants handed back.’
‘Hardbread looked profoundly doubtful. ‘When did Dow start handing anything back?’
‘He’s starting now.’
‘Guess it ain’t never too late to change, eh?’ Hardbread called something in Union, over his shoulder.
‘Guess not,’ muttered Craw, under his breath, though he was far from sure Dow had made that big a shift.
A man came warily up from the south side of the bridge. He wore a Union uniform, high up by the markings but young, and fine-looking too. He nodded to Craw and Craw nodded back, then he traded a few words with Hardbread, then he looked over at the wounded starting to come across the bridge and his jaw dropped.
Craw heard quick footsteps at his back, saw movement as he turned. ‘What the—’ He made a tardy grab for his sword, realised it wasn’t there, by which point someone had already flashed past. The girl, and straight into the young man’s arms. He caught her, and they held each other tight, and they kissed, and Craw watched with his hand still fishing at the air where his hilt usually was and his eyebrows up high.
‘That was unexpected,’ he said.
Hardbread’s were no lower. ‘Maybe men and women always greet each other that way down in the Union.’
‘Reckon I’ll have to move down there myself.’
Craw leaned back against the pitted parapet of the bridge. Leaned back next to Hardbread and watched those two hold each other, eyes closed, swaying gently in the light of the torch like dancers to a slow music none could hear. He was whispering something in her ear. Comfort, or relief, or love. Words foreign to Craw, no doubt, and not just on account of the language. He watched the wounded shuffling across around the couple, a spark of hope lit in their worn-out faces. Going back to their own people. Hurt, maybe, but alive. Craw had to admit, the night might’ve been coming on cold but he’d a warmth inside. Not like that rush of winning a fight, maybe, not so strong nor so fierce as the thrill of victory.
But he reckoned it might last longer.
‘Feels good.’ As he watched the soldier and the girl make their way across the bridge to the south bank, his arm around her. ‘Making a few folk happier, in the midst o’ this. Feels damn good.’
‘It does.’
‘Makes you wonder why a man chooses to do what we do.’
Hardbread took in a heavy breath. ‘Too coward to do aught else, maybe.’
‘You might be right.’ The woman and the officer faded into darkness, the last few wounded shambling after. Craw pushed himself away from the parapet and slapped the damp from his hands. ‘Right, then. Back to it, eh?’
‘Back to it.’
‘Good to see you, Hardbread.’
‘Likewise.’ The old warrior turned away and followed the others back towards the south side of the town. ‘Don’t get killed, eh?’ he tossed over his shoulder.
‘I’ll try to avoid it.’
Shivers was waiting at the north end of the bridge, offering out Craw’s sword. The sight of his eye gleaming in his lopsided smile was enough to chase any soft feelings away sharp as a rabbit from a hunter.
‘You ever thought about a patch?’ asked Craw, as he took his sword and slid it through his belt.
‘Tried one for a bit.’ Shivers waved a finger at the mass of scar around his eye. ‘Itched like a bastard. I thought, why wear it just to make other fuckers more comfortable? If I can live with having this face, they can live with looking at it. That or they can get fucked.’
‘You’ve a point.’ They walked on through the gathering gloom in silence for a moment. ‘Sorry to take the job.’
Shivers said nothing.
‘Leading Dow’s Carls. More’n likely you should’ve had it.’
Shivers shrugged. ‘I ain’t greedy. I’ve seen greedy, and it’s a sure way back to the mud. I just want what’s owed. No more and no less. A little respect.’
‘Don’t seem too much to ask. Anyway, I’ll only be doing it while the battle’s on, then I’m done. I daresay Dow’ll want you for his Second then.’
‘Maybe.’ Another stretch of silence, then Shivers turned to look at him. ‘You’re a decent man, aren’t you, Craw? Folk say so. Say you’re a straight edge. How d’you stick at it?’
Craw didn’t feel like he’d stuck at it too well at all. ‘Just try to do the right thing, I reckon. That’s all.’
‘Why? I tried it. Couldn’t make it root. Couldn’t see the profit in it.’
‘There’s your problem. Anything good I done, and the dead know there ain’t much, I done for its own sake. Got to do it because you want to.’
‘It ain’t no kind o’ sacrifice if you want to do it, though, is it? How does doing what you want make you a fucking hero? That’s just what I do.’
Craw could only shrug. ‘I haven’t got the answers. Wish I did.’
Shivers turned the ring on his little finger thoughtfully round and round, red stone glistening. ‘Guess it’s just about getting through each day.’
‘Those are the times.’
‘You think other times’ll be any different?’
‘We can hope.’
‘Craw!’ His own name echoed at him and Craw whipped around, frowning into the darkness, wondering who he’d upset recently. Pretty much everyone, was the answer. He’d made a shitpile of enemies the moment he said yes to Black Dow. His hand strayed to his sword again, which at least was in the sheath this time around. Then he smiled. ‘Flood! I seem to run into men I know all over the damn place.’
‘That’s what it is to be an old bastard.’ Flood stepped over with a grin of his own, and a limp of his own too.
‘Knew there had to be an upside to it. You know Caul Shivers, do you?’
‘By reputation.’
Shivers showed his teeth. ‘It’s a fucking beauty, ain’t it?’
‘How’s the day been over here with Reachey?’ asked Craw.
‘It’s been bloody,’ was Flood’s answer. ‘Had a few young lads calling me Chief. Too young. All but one back to the mud.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’
‘Me too. But it’s a war. Thought I might come back over to your dozen, if you’ll have me, and I thought I might bring this one with me.’ Flood jerked his thumb at someone else. A big lad, hanging back in the shadows, wrapped up in a stained green cloak. He was looking at the ground, dark hair across his forehead so Craw couldn’t see much more’n the gleam of one eye in the dark. He’d a good sword at his belt, though, gold on the hilt. Craw saw the gleam of that quick enough. ‘He’s a good hand. Earned his name today.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Craw.
The lad didn’t speak. Not full of bragging and vinegar like some might be who’d won a name that day. Like Craw had been the day he won his, for that matter. Craw liked to see it. He didn’t need any fiery tempers landing everyone in the shit. Like his had landed him in the shit, years ago.
‘What about it then?’ Flood asked. ‘You got room for us?’
‘Room? I can’t remember ever having more’n ten in the dozen, and there’s not but six now.’
‘Six? What happened to ’em all?’
Craw winced .‘About the same as happened to your lot. About what usually happens. Athroc got killed up at the Heroes day before yesterday. Agrick a day later. Brack died this morning.’
There was a bit of a silence. ‘Brack died?’
‘In his sleep,’ said Craw. ‘From a bad leg.’
‘Brack’s back to the mud.’ Flood shook his head. ‘That’s a tester. Didn’t think he’d ever die.’
‘Nor me. The Great Leveller’s lying in wait for all of us, no doubt, and he takes no excuses and makes no exceptions.’
‘None,’ whispered Shivers.
‘’Til then, we could certainly use the pair o’ you, if Reachey’ll let you go.’
Flood nodded. ‘He said he would.’
‘All right then. You ought to know Wonderful’s running the dozen for now, though.’
‘She is?’
‘Aye. Dow offered me charge of his Carls.’
‘You’re Black Dow’s Second?’
‘Just ’til the battle’s done.’
Flood puffed out his cheeks. ‘What happened to never sticking your neck out?’
‘Didn’t take my own advice. Still want in?’
‘Why not?’
‘Happy to have you back, then. And your lad too, if you say he’s up to it.’
‘Oh, he’s up to it, ain’t you boy?’
The boy didn’t say a thing.
‘What’s your name?’ asked Craw.
‘Beck.’
Flood thumped him on the arm. ‘Red Beck. Best get used to using the whole thing, eh?’
The lad looked a bit sick, Craw thought. Small wonder, given the state of the town. Must’ve been quite a scrap he’d been through. Quite an introduction to the bloody business. ‘Not much of a talker, eh? Just as well. We got more’n enough talk with Wonderful and Whirrun.’
‘Whirrun of Bligh?’ asked the lad.
‘That’s right. He’s one of the dozen. Or the half-dozen, leastways. Do you reckon I need to give him the big speech?’ Craw asked Flood. ‘You know, the one I gave you when you joined up, ’bout looking out for your crew and your Chief, and not getting killed, and doing the right thing, and all that?’
Flood looked at the lad, and shook his head. ‘You know what, I think he learned today the hard way.’
‘Aye,’ said Craw. ‘Reckon we all did. Welcome to the dozen, then, Red Beck.’
The lad just blinked.
One Day More
It was the same path she had ridden up the night before. The same winding route up the windswept hillside to the barn where her father had made his headquarters. The same view out over the darkened valley, filled with the pinprick lights of thousands of fires, lamps, torches, all glittering in the wet at the corners of her sore eyes. But everything felt different. Even though Hal was riding beside her, close enough to touch, jawing away to fill the silence, she felt alone.
‘… good thing the Dogman turned up when he did, or the whole division might’ve come apart. As it is we lost the northern half of Osrung, but we managed to push the savages back into the woods. Colonel Brint was a rock. Couldn’t have done it without him. He’ll want to ask you … want to ask you about—’
‘Later.’ There was no way she could face that. ‘I have to talk to my father.’
‘Should you wash first? Change your clothes? At least catch your breath for a—’
‘My clothes can wait,’ she snapped at him. ‘I’ve a message from Black Dow, do you understand?’
‘Of course. Stupid of me. I’m sorry.’ He kept flipping from fatherly stern to soppy soft, and she could not decide which was annoying her more. She felt as if he was angry, but lacked the courage to say so. At her for coming to the North when he had wanted her to stay behind. At himself for not being there to help her when the Northmen came. At both of them for not knowing how to help her now. Probably he was angry that he was angry, instead of revelling in her safe return.
They reined in their horses and he insisted on helping her down. They stood in awkward silence, with an awkward distance between them, he with an awkward hand on her shoulder that offered less than no comfort. She badly wanted him to find some words that might help her see some sense in what had happened that day. But there was no sense in it, and any words would fall pathetically short.
‘I love you,’ he said lamely, in the end, and it seemed few words could have fallen as pathetically short as those did.
‘I love you too.’ But all she felt was a creeping dread. A sense that there was an awful weight at the back of her mind she was forcing herself not to look at, but that at any moment it might fall and crush her utterly. ‘You should go back down.’
‘No! Of course not. I should stay with—’
She put a firm hand on his chest. She was surprised how firm it was. ‘I’m safe now.’ She nodded towards the valley, its fires prickling at the night. ‘They need you more than I do.’
She could almost feel the relief coming off him. To no longer be taunted by his inability to make everything better. ‘Well, if you’re sure—’
‘I’m sure.’
She watched him mount up, and he gave her a quick, uncertain, worried smile, and rode away into the gathering darkness. Part of her wished he had fought harder to stay. Part of her was glad to see the back of him.
She walked to the barn, pulling Hal’s coat tight around her, past a staring guard and into the low-raftered room. It was a much more intimate gathering than last night’s. Generals Mitterick and Jalenhorm, Colonel Felnigg, and her father. For a moment she felt an exhausting sense of relief to see him. Then she noticed Bayaz, sitting slightly removed from the others, his servant occupying the shadows behind him with the faintest of smiles, and any relief died a quick death.
Mitterick was holding forth, as ever, and, as ever, Felnigg listening with the expression of a man forced to fish something from a latrine. ‘The bridge is in our hands and my men are crossing the river even as we speak. I’ll have fresh regiments on the north bank well before dawn, including plenty of cavalry and the terrain to make use of it. The standards of the Second and Third are flying in the Northmen’s trenches. And tomorrow I’ll get Vallimir off his arse and into action if I have to kick him across that stream myself. I’ll have those Northern bastards on the run by …’
His eyes drifted over to Finree, and he awkwardly cleared his throat and fell silent. One by one the other officers followed his gaze, and she saw in their faces what a state she must look. They could hardly have appeared more shocked if they had witnessed a corpse clamber from its grave. All except for Bayaz, whose stare was as calculating as ever.
‘Finree.’ Her father started up, gathered her in his arms and held her tight. Probably she should have dissolved into grateful tears, but he was the one who ended up dashing something from his eye on one sleeve. ‘I thought maybe …’ He winced as he touched her bloody hair, as though to finish the thought was more than he could bear. ‘Thank the Fates you’re alive.’
