What War?
‘Beautiful, ain’t it?’ said Agrick, big grin across his freckled face.
‘Is it?’ muttered Craw. He’d been thinking about the ground, and how he might use it, and how an enemy might do the same.
An old habit. It had been the better half of Bethod’s talk, when they were on campaign. The ground, and how to make a weapon of it.
The hill the Heroes stood on was ground an idiot could’ve seen the value of. It sprouted alone from the flat valley, so much alone and so oddly smooth a shape it seemed almost a thing man-made. Two spurs swelled from it – one pushing west with a single needle of rock raised up on end which folk had named Skarling’s Finger, one to the southeast, a ring of smaller stones on top they called the Children.
The river wound through the valley’s shallow bottom, skirting golden barley fields to the west, losing itself in a bog riddled with mirror-pools, then under the crumbling bridge Scorry Tiptoe was watching which was called, with a stubborn lack of imagination, the Old Bridge. The water flowed on fast around the foot of the hill, flaring out in sparkling shallows streaked with shingle. Somewhere down there among the scraggy brush and driftwood Brack was fishing. Or, more likely, sleeping.
On the far side of the river, off to the south, Black Fell rose up. A rough-heaped mass of yellow grass and brown bracken, stained with scree and creased with white-watered gills. To the east Osrung straddled the river, a cluster of houses around a bridge and a big mill, huddled inside a high fence. Smoke drifted from chimneys, into the bright blue and off to nowhere. All normal, and nothing to remark upon, and no sign whatever of the Union, or Hardbread, or any of the Dogman’s boys.
Hard to believe there was any war at all.
But then in Craw’s experience, and he’d plenty, wars were made from ninety-nine parts boredom, usually in the cold and damp, hungry and ill, often hauling a great weight of metal uphill, to one part arse-opening terror. Made him wonder yet again why the hell he ever got into the black business, and why the hell he still hadn’t got out. Talent for it, or a lack of talent for aught else. Or maybe he’d just gone with the wind and the wind had blown him here. He peered up, shreds of cloud shifting across the deep sky, now one memory, now another.
‘Beautiful,’ said Agrick again.
‘Everything looks prettier in the sun,’ said Craw. ‘If it was raining you’d be calling it the ugliest valley in the world.’
‘Maybe.’ Agrick closed his eyes and tipped his face back. ‘But it ain’t raining.’
That was a fact, and not necessarily a happy one. Craw had a long-established tendency to sunburn, and had spent most of yesterday edging around the tallest of the Heroes along with the shade. Only thing he liked less than the heat was the cold.
‘Oh, for a roof,’ he muttered. ‘Damn fine invention for keeping the weather off.’
‘Bit o’ rain don’t bother me none,’ grunted Agrick.
‘You’re young. Wait ’til you’re out in all weathers at my age.’
Agrick shrugged. ‘By then I hope to have a roof, Chief.’
‘Good idea,’ said Craw. ‘You cheeky little bastard.’ He opened his battered eyeglass, the one he’d taken from a dead Union officer they found frozen in the winter, and peered towards the Old Bridge again. Nothing. Checked the shallows. Nothing. Eyed the Ollensand Road, jerked up at a moving spot there, then realised it was some tiny fly on the end of the glass and sank back. ‘Guess a man can see further in fine weather, at least.’
‘It’s the Union we’re watching for, ain’t it? Those bastards couldn’t creep up on a corpse. You worry too much, Chief.’
‘Someone has to.’ But Agrick had a point. Worrying too much or not enough is ever a fine balance, and Craw always found himself falling heavily on the worried side of it. Every hint of movement had him starting, ripe to call for weapons. Birds flapping lazily into the sky. Sheep grazing on the slopes of the fells. Farmers’ wagons creeping along the roads. A little while ago Jolly Yon had started up axe practice with Athroc, and the sudden scrape of metal had damn near made him soak his trousers. Craw worried too much, all right. Shame is, a man can’t just choose not to worry.
‘Why are we here, Agrick?’
‘Here? Well, you know. Sit on the Heroes, watch to see if the Union come, tell Black Dow if they do. Scouting, like always.’
‘I know that. It was me told it to you. I mean, why are we here?’
‘What, like, meaning of life and that?’
‘No, no.’ Craw grabbed at the air as though what he meant was something he couldn’t quite get a hold of. ‘Why are we here?’
Agrick’s face puckered up as he thought on it. ‘Well … The Bloody-Nine killed Bethod, and took his chain, and made himself King o’ the Northmen.’
‘True.’ Craw remembered the day well enough, Bethod’s corpse sprawled out bloody in the circle, the crowd roaring Ninefingers’ name, and he shivered in spite of the sun. ‘And?’
‘Black Dow turned on the Bloody-Nine and took the chain for his self.’ Agrick realised he might have used some risky phrasing there, started covering his tracks. ‘I mean, he had to do it. Who’d want a mad bastard like the Bloody-Nine for king? But the Dogman called Dow traitor, and oath-breaker, and most of the clans from down near Uffrith, they tended to his way of seeing things. The King of the Union, too, having been on some mad journey with Ninefingers and made a friend of him. So the Dogman and the Union decided to make war on Black Dow, and here we all are.’ Agrick slumped back on his elbows, closing his eyes and looking quite heavily pleased with himself.
‘That’s a fine understanding of the politics of the current conflict.’
‘Thanks, Chief.’
‘Why Black Dow and the Dogman got a feud. Why the Union’s taken the Dogman’s side in it, though I daresay that’s got more to do with who owns what than who made a friend of who.’
‘All right. There you are then.’
‘But why are we here?’
Agrick sat up again, frowning. Behind them, metal clonked on wood as his brother took a swipe at Yon’s shield and got knocked over for his pains.
‘Sideways, I said, y’idiot!’ came Yon’s un-jolly growl.
‘Well …’ tried Agrick, ‘I guess we stand with Dow because Dow stands for the North, rough bastard or not.’
‘The North? What?’ Craw patted the grass beside him. ‘The hills and the forests and the rivers and that, he stands for them, does he? Why would they want armies tramping all over ’em?’
‘Well, not the land of it. The people in it, I mean. You know. The North.’
‘But there’s all kinds of people in the North, ain’t there? Lot of ’em don’t care much for Black Dow, and he certainly don’t care much for them. Most just want to keep their heads down low and scratch out a living.’
‘Aye, I suppose.’
‘So how can Black Dow be for everyone?’
‘Well …’ Agrick squirmed about a bit. ‘I don’t know. I guess, just …’ He squinted down into the valley as Wonderful walked up behind them. ‘Why are we here, then?’
She clipped him across the back of the head and made him grunt. ‘Sit on the Heroes, watch for the Union. Scouting, like always, idiot. Damn fool bloody question.’
Agrick shook his head at the injustice of it all. ‘That’s it. I’m never talking again.’
‘You promise?’ asked Wonderful.
‘Why are we bloody here …’ Agrick muttered to himself as he walked off to watch Yon and Athroc training, rubbing the back of his head.
‘I know why I’m here.’ Whirrun had slowly raised one long forefinger, stalk of grass between his teeth thrashing around as he spoke. Craw had thought he was asleep, sprawled out on his back with the hilt of his sword for a pillow. But then Whirrun always looked asleep, and he never was. ‘Because Shoglig told me a man with a bone caught in his throat would—’
‘Lead you to your destiny.’ Wonderful planted her hands on her hips. ‘Aye, we’ve heard it be
fore.’
Craw puffed out his cheeks. ‘Like the care of eight lives weren’t a heavy enough burden, I need a madman’s destiny to weigh me down.’
Whirrun sat up and pushed his hood back. ‘I object to that, I’m not mad in the least. I just … got my own way of seeing things.’
‘A mad way,’ muttered Wonderful under her breath as Whirrun stood, slapped the arse of his stained trousers and dragged his sheathed sword up and over his shoulder.
He frowned, shifted from one leg to the other, then rubbed at his fruits. ‘I’m needing a wee, though. Would you go in the river, or up against one o’ these stones, do you reckon?’
Craw thought about it. ‘River. Up against the stones would seem … disrespectful.’
‘You think there are Gods watching?’
‘How do you tell?’
‘True.’ Whirrun chewed his grass stalk across to the other side of his mouth and started off down the hill. ‘River it is, then. Maybe I’ll give Brack a hand with the fishing. Shoglig used to be able to just talk the fish out of the water and I’ve never quite been able to get the trick of it.’
‘You could hack ’em out with that tree-cutter of yours!’ Wonderful shouted after him.
‘Maybe I will!’ He lifted the Father of Swords high over his head, not much shorter’n a man from pommel to point. ‘High time I killed something!’
Craw wouldn’t have complained if he held off for a spell. Leaving the valley with nothing dead was the sum of his hopes, right then. Which was an odd ambition for a soldier, when you thought about it. Him and Wonderful stood there silent for a while, side by side. Behind them steel squealed as Yon brushed Athroc away and sent him stumbling. ‘Put some effort in, you limp-wristed fuck!’
Craw found himself coming over nostalgic, like he did more and more these days. ‘Colwen loved the sunshine.’
‘That so?’ asked Wonderful, lifting one brow at him.
‘Always mocked at me about sticking to the shade.’
‘That so?’
‘I should’ve married her,’ he muttered.
‘Aye, you should’ve. Why didn’t you?’
‘You told me not to, apart from aught else.’
‘True. She had a sharp old tongue on her. But you don’t usually have trouble ignoring me.’
‘Fair point. Guess I was just too coward to ask.’ And he couldn’t wait to leave. Win a big name with high deeds. He hardly even knew the man who’d thought that way. ‘Didn’t really know what I wanted back then, just thought I didn’t have it, and I could get it with a sword.’
‘Think about her, at all?’ asked Wonderful.
‘Not often.’
‘Liar.’
Craw grinned. She knew him too bloody well. ‘Call it half a lie. I don’t think about her, really. Can’t hardly remember her face half the time. But I think about what my life might’ve been, if I’d taken that path ’stead o’ this.’ Sitting with his pipe, under his porch, smiling at the sunset on the water. He gave a sigh. ‘But, you know, choices made, eh? What about your husband?’
Wonderful took a long breath. ‘Probably he’s getting ready to bring the harvest in about now. The children too.’
‘Wish you were with ’em?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Liar. How often you been back this year? Twice, is it?’
Wonderful frowned down into the still valley. ‘I go when I can. They know that. They know what I am.’
‘And they still put up with you?’
She was silent a moment, then shrugged. ‘Choices made, eh?’
‘Chief!’ Agrick was hurrying over from the other side of the Heroes. ‘Drofd’s back! And he ain’t alone.’
‘No?’ Craw winced as he worked some movement into his dodgy knee. ‘Who’s he got with him?’
Agrick had a face like a man sat on a thistle. ‘Looked like Caul Shivers.’
‘Shivers?’ growled Yon, head snapping sideways. Athroc seized his moment, stepped around Yon’s drooping shield and kneed him in the fruits. ‘Awwww, you little bastard …’ And Yon went down, eyes bulging.
Craw might’ve laughed half his teeth out any other time, but Shivers’ name had chased the fun right out of him. He strode across the circle of grass, hoping all the way Agrick might’ve got it wrong but knowing it wasn’t likely. Craw’s hopes had a habit of coming out bloodstained, and Caul Shivers was a difficult man to mistake.
Up he came towards the Heroes now, riding up that steep track on the north side of the hill. Craw watched him all the way, feeling like a shepherd watching a storm-cloud blow in.
‘Shit,’ muttered Wonderful.
‘Aye,’ said Craw. ‘Shit.’
Shivers left Drofd to hobble their horses down at the drystone wall and came the rest of the way on foot. He looked at Craw, and Wonderful, and Jolly Yon too, half-ruined face slack as a hanged man’s, the left side not much more’n a great line of burn through that metal eye. A spookier-looking bastard you never did see.
‘Craw.’ Said in his whispery croak.
‘Shivers. What brings you down here?’
‘Dow sent me.’
‘That much I guessed. It’s the why I’m after.’
‘He says you’re to keep hold o’ this hill and watch for the Union.’
‘He told me that already.’ Bit more snappish than Craw had meant. There was a pause. ‘So why send you here?’
Shivers shrugged. ‘To make sure you do it.’
‘Many thanks for the support.’
‘Thank Dow.’
‘I will.’
‘He’ll like that. Have you seen the Union?’
‘Not since Hardbread was up here, four nights ago.’
‘I know Hardbread. Stubborn old prick. He might come back.’
‘If he does there’s only three ways across the river, far as I know.’ Craw pointed ’em out. ‘The Old Bridge over west near the bogs, the new bridge in Osrung and the shallows at the bottom of the hill there. We got eyes on all of ’em, and the valley’s open. We could see a sheep cross the river from here.’
‘Don’t reckon we need to tell Black Dow about a sheep.’ Shivers brought the ruined side of his face close. ‘But we better if the Union come. Maybe we can sing some songs, while we wait?’
‘Can you carry a tune?’ asked Wonderful.
‘Shit, no. Don’t stop me trying, though.’ And he strolled off across the circle of grass, Athroc and Agrick backing away to give him room. Craw couldn’t blame ’em. Shivers was one of those men seemed to have a space around him where you’d better not be.
Craw turned slowly to Drofd. ‘Great.’
The lad held his hands up. ‘What was I supposed to do? Tell him I didn’t want the company? Least you didn’t have to spend two days riding with him, and two nights sleeping next to him at the fire. He never closes that eye, you know. It’s like he’s looking at you all night long. I swear I haven’t slept a wink since we set out.’
‘He can’t see out of it, fool,’ said Yon, ‘any more’n I can see out your belt buckle.’
‘I know that, but still.’ Drofd looked around at them all, voice dropping. ‘Do you really reckon the Union are coming this way?’
‘No,’ said Wonderful. ‘I don’t.’ She gave Drofd one of her looks, and his shoulders slumped, and he walked away muttering to himself on the theme of what else he could’ve done. Then she came up beside Craw, and leaned close. ‘Do you really reckon the Union are coming this way?’
‘Doubt it. But I’ve got a bad feeling.’ He frowned across at Shivers’ black outline, leaning against one of the Heroes, the valley drenched in sunlight beyond, and he put one hand on his stomach. ‘And I’ve learned to listen to my gut.’
Wonderful snorted. ‘Hard to ignore something so bloody big, I guess.’
Old Hands
‘Tunny.’
‘Uh?’ He opened one eye and the sun stabbed him directly in the brains. ‘Uh!’ He snapped it shut again, wormed his tongue around his sore m
outh. It tasted like slow death and old rot. ‘Uh.’ He tried his other eye, just a crack, trained it on the dark shape hovering above him. It loomed closer, sun making glittering daggers down its edges.
‘Tunny!’
‘I hear you, damn it!’ He tried to sit and the world tossed like a ship in a storm. ‘Gah!’ He became aware he was in a hammock. He tried to rip his feet clear, got them tangled in the netting, almost tipped himself over in his efforts to get free, somehow ended up somewhere near sitting, swallowing the overwhelming urge to vomit. ‘First Sergeant Forest. What a delight. What time is it?’
‘Past time you were working. Where did you get those boots?’
Tunny peered down, puzzled. He was wearing a pair of superbly polished black cavalry boots with gilded accoutrements. The reflection of the sun in the toes was so bright it was painful to look at. ‘Ah.’ He grinned through the agony, some of the details of last night starting to leak from the shadowy crannies of his mind. ‘Won ’em … from an officer … called …’ He squinted up into the branches of the tree his hammock was tied to. ‘No. It’s gone.’
Forest shook his head in amazement. ‘There’s still someone in the division stupid enough to play cards with you?’
‘Well, this is one of the many fine things about wartime, Sergeant. Lots of folks leaving the division.’ Their regiment had left two score in sick tents over the last couple of weeks alone. ‘That means lots of new card-players arriving, don’t it?’
‘Yes it does, Tunny, yes it does.’ Forest had that mocking little grin on his scarred face.
‘Oh no,’ said Tunny.
‘Oh yes.’
‘No, no, no!’
‘Yes. Up you come, lads!’
And up they came indeed. Four of them. New recruits, fresh off the boat from Midderland by their looks. Seen off at the docks with kisses from Mummy or sweetheart or both. New uniforms pressed, straps polished, buckles gleaming and ready for the noble soldiering life, indeed. Forest gestured towards Tunny like a showman towards his freak, and trotted out that same little address he always gave.
The Heroes Page 7