Joe Abercrombie - The Blade Itself

Dow took up his sword and axe, ran up into a bunch of broken rocks, high up beside the bridge, keeping low and quiet. Tul slid down the bank into the stream, luckily no more than knee-deep right then, plastered his big self against the far side of the arch with his great long sword held up above the water. Made the Dogman a bit nervous, he could see Tul so clear from where he was sitting. Still, the riders wouldn’t see him at all if they came straight up the path. They’d only be expecting one man alone, and Dogman hoped they wouldn’t come too careful. He hoped, ’cause if they took the time to check it’d be a fucking disaster.

He watched Threetrees strap his shield on his arm, draw his sword, stretch his neck out, then he just stood, waiting, big and solid, blocking the path on the near side of the bridge, seeming all alone in the world.

The Dogman could hear the hoof-beats loud now, and the clattering of the cart’s wheels out beyond the trees. He pulled out a few arrows and planted them in the earth, point down, where he could get to ’em quick. Doing his best to swallow his fear. His fingers were shaking all the while, but that didn’t matter. They’d work alright when they needed to.

“Wait for the signal,” he whispered to himself. “Wait for the signal.”

He nocked a shaft to his bow and half-drew the string, taking aim down towards the bridge. Damn it but he needed to piss bad.

The first spear-point showed itself over the crest of the hill, then others. Bobbing helmets, mailed chests, horses’ faces, bit by bit the riders came up towards the bridge. The cart rolled behind, with its driver and its two funny passengers, pulled by a big shaggy carthorse.

The rider up front saw Threetrees now, waiting for him, over the hump of the bridge, and he spurred on forward. The Dogman breathed a little easier as the others trotted after him in a clump, all eagerness. Forley must’ve said as he was told—they were expecting only one. Dogman could see Tul peering up from underneath the mossy arch as the horses clopped above him. By the dead, his hands were shaking. He was worried he’d let the arrow fly half-drawn and ruin the whole thing.

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.