Joe Abercrombie - Half a War

‘Oh, I know it! There are wonderful oak trees there-’

‘Till Bright Yilling burned ’em,’ spat out a woman whose face was hard as the hatchet at her belt. ‘Burned everything.’

‘Aye, but we showed him some fire.’ The warrior set his dirty hand on the shoulder of a young lad beside him. ‘Burned some of his forage. Burned a tent with some of his men inside.’

‘Should’ve seen ’em dance,’ growled the woman.

‘I got one of ’em when he went to piss!’ shouted the boy in a voice cracking between high and low, then his face went bright red and he stared at the floor. ‘My queen, that is …’

‘You’ve all done brave work.’ Raith saw the tendons stark on Skara’s thin hands as she gripped at the arms of Bail’s Chair. ‘Where is Yilling now?’

‘Gone,’ said the boy. ‘He had a camp on the beach at Harentoft, but they up and left overnight.’

‘When?’ asked Jenner.

‘Twelve days ago.’

The old raider tugged unhappily at his straggling beard. ‘That worries me.’

‘We’ve got his ships,’ said Raith.

‘But the High King’s got more. Yilling could be working mischief on any coast of the Shattered Sea by now.’

‘You’re a crowd of worries, old man,’ grunted Raith. ‘Would you be happier if he was still burning farms?’

‘No, I’d be worried then too. That’s what it is to be old.’

Skara held her hand up for quiet. ‘You need food, and a place to sleep. If you still wish to fight, we have arms taken from the High King’s men. Ships too.’

‘We’ll fight, my queen,’ said the old warrior, and the rest of the Throvenlanders, however wretched, all showed their most warlike faces. No doubt they’d got courage, but as Sister Owd herded them out to be fed Raith pictured them facing the High King’s countless warriors. The next picture wasn’t a pretty one.

As the doors were shut Skara slumped back in her chair with a groan, one hand to her stomach. Plainly all that smiling took a toll. ‘Is that six crews, now?’

‘And all willing to die for you, my queen,’ said Jenner.

Raith took a heavy breath. ‘If the High King’s army comes, dying’s just what they’ll be doing.’

Jenner opened his mouth but Skara held up her hand again. ‘He’s right. I may have a queen’s chair, but without Gorm and Uthil camped outside my walls I’m queen of nothing.’ She stood, the dangling jewels on her earring flashing. ‘And Gorm and Uthil, not to mention their idle warriors, are back at one another’s throats. I should see if they’ve made any progress.’

Raith wasn’t hopeful. On Jenner’s advice, Skara had finally talked the two kings into working on the defences: felling trees grown too close, shoring up the man-built stretch of wall and digging out the ditch. Getting them to agree to that much had been a whole day of minister’s wrangling. Skara gathered her skirts and with a lazy wave let Raith know he should follow.

Still made him bristle to take orders from a girl, and Jenner must’ve seen it. The old raider caught his arm. ‘Listen, boy. You’re a fighter, and the gods know, we need some. But the man who finds fights everywhere, well … soon enough he’ll find one fight too many.’

Raith curled his lip. ‘Everything I’ve got, I had to beat from the world with my fists.’

‘Aye. And what have you got?’

Might be the old man had some ghost of a point.

‘Just keep her safe, eh?’

Raith shook him off. ‘Keep worrying, old man.’

Outside in the sunlight Skara was shaking her head at the big stump in the yard. ‘I remember when a great Fortress Tree grew here. Sister Owd thinks it a bad omen that it was cut down.’

‘Some folk see omens everywhere.’ Most likely Raith should’ve been sticking my queen on the end of everything, but the words felt wrong in his mouth. He was no courtier.

‘And you?’

‘Always seemed to me the gods send luck to the man with the most fight and the least mercy. That’s what I saw, growing up.’

‘Where did you grow up? A wolf pack?’

Raith raised his brows. ‘Aye, more or less.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Not sure.’ Skara blinked at him, and he shrugged. ‘Wolves don’t count too well.’

She set off towards the gates, her thrall following them with her eyes on the ground. ‘Then how did you come to be sword-bearer to a king?’

‘Mother Scaer picked us out. Me and my brother.’

‘So you owe her.’

Raith thought of the minister’s hard eyes and hard lessons, hunched his shoulders at the memory of more than one whipping too. ‘Aye, I reckon.’

‘And you admire the Breaker of Swords.’

Raith thought of the slaps, and the orders, and the bloody work he’d done on the frontier. ‘He’s the greatest warrior about the Shattered Sea.’

Skara’s sharp eyes darted sideways. ‘So did he send you to guard me or spy on me?’

Raith was caught off-balance. Being honest, he hadn’t been on-balance since he was sent to serve her. ‘I daresay some of both. But I’m far better at guarding than spying.’

‘Or lying either, it would seem.’

‘My brother’s the clever one.’

‘So the Breaker of Swords doesn’t trust me?’

‘Mother Scaer says only your enemies can never betray you.’

Skara snorted as they stepped into the gloom of the elf-cut entrance tunnel. ‘Ministers.’

‘Aye, ministers. But here’s how I see it. Far as the guarding goes, I’ll die for you.’

She blinked at that, and the muscles in her neck fluttered as she swallowed, and he thought that quite a wonderful thing.

‘Far as the spying goes, I’m too blunt to cut too deep into your business.’

‘Ah.’ Her eyes flickered over his face. ‘You’re just a beautiful fool.’

Raith didn’t blush often, but he felt the blood hot in his cheeks then. He could dive into a shield-wall bristling with steel but a glance from this twig of a girl had his courage crumbling. ‘Er … beauty I’ll leave to you, I reckon. The fool part I won’t deny.’

‘Mother Kyre always said only stupid men proclaim themselves clever.’

Raith’s turn to snort. ‘Ministers.’

Skara’s laugh echoed in the darkness. For a small woman she had a big laugh, wild and dirty as some old warrior’s at an ale-hall story, and Raith thought that quite a wonderful thing as well. ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘ministers. So why did the Breaker of Swords pick you?’

He felt like a poor swimmer being lured into deep water. ‘Eh?’

‘Why send an honest idiot to do a clever liar’s job?’

He frowned at that as they stepped out into daylight. Luckily, he was spared from giving an answer.

A crowd had gathered just outside the gates but there was no work being done. Unless you counted bristling, glaring, and shouting insults, which to be fair Raith always had. Vanstermen facing Gettlanders, as usual, such a wearisome pattern even he was tiring of it. Rakki and the old Gettlander with the face like a slapped arse, Hunnan, were facing each other in the midst, both puffed up like tomcats. Rakki had a pick in his hands, Hunnan a shovel, and from the looks of things they’d both set to swinging soon and not at the ground.

‘Whoa!’ roared Raith, charging over, and their heads snapped round. He slipped in between the two, saw Hunnan’s jaw clenching, the shovel twitching back. Gods, the burning urge to butt him, punch him, seize hold of him and bite his face. Raith found he’d bared his teeth to do it. It was against his every hard-learned instinct, but he darted out a hand and grabbed the shovel instead. Then, before the old Gettlander had time to think, Raith hopped down into the ditch.

‘Thought we were allies?’ And he set to digging, showering Hunnan and Rakki with clods of soil and making them break apart. ‘Am I the only one ain’t scared of work?’ Raith might be no thinker but he could see what was put in front of him, and if he’d learned one thing from Skara it was that you’ll get more from warriors by shaming them than biting them.