Joe Abercrombie - The Blade Itself

The one that he’d elbowed groaned and rolled over in the road, and the reminder of his fate seemed to decide them. “Alright, you fucking northern bastard, alright, we’ll take it!”

Logen grinned. He thought about throwing the coins at the one with the squint then stabbing him while he was distracted. That’s what he’d have done in his youth, but he decided against. Why bother? Instead he opened his fingers and tossed the money into the road behind him, moving towards the nearest wall. He and the two thieves circled each other cautiously, each step taking them closer to the coins and him closer to escape. Soon they’d swapped places, and Logen backed away down the street, still holding the knife in front of him. When they were ten paces apart the two men squatted down and began to pick the scattered coins up from the ground.

“I’m still alive,” Logen whispered to himself as he quickened his pace.

That had been lucky, he knew. It’s a fool who thinks that any fight is too small to be the death of him, however tough he is. Lucky that he caught the one behind just right. Lucky that the other two had been slow. But then he’d always been lucky with fights. Lucky at getting out of them alive. Not so lucky with the getting into them. Still, he felt good about this day’s work. Glad he hadn’t killed anybody.

Logen felt a hand clap him on the back, and he span round, knife at the ready.

“Only me!” Brother Longfoot held up his hands. Logen had nearly forgotten the Navigator was there. He must have stayed behind him the whole time, perfectly silent. “Well handled Master Ninefingers, well handled! Truly! I see that you are not without some talents of your own! I am looking forward to travelling with you, I am indeed! The docks are this way!” he shouted, already moving off.

Logen took one last look back at the two men, but they were still grubbing around on the ground, so he threw the knife away and hurried to catch up to Longfoot. “Do you Navigators never fight?”

“Some among us do, oh yes, with empty hands and weapons of all kinds. Most deadly, some of them, but not I. No. That is not my way.”

“Never?”

“Never. My skills lie elsewhere.”

“I would have thought your travels would bring you across many dangers.”

“They do,” said Longfoot brightly, “they do indeed. That is when my remarkable talent for hiding is at its most useful.”

Night. Cold. The salt wind was keen on the hilltop, and Ferro’s clothes were thin and ragged. She hugged her arms and hunched up her shoulders, staring sourly down towards the sea. Dagoska was a cloud of pinprick lights in the distance, huddled around the steep rock between the great, curving bay and the glistening ocean. Her eyes could make out the vague, tiny shapes of walls and towers, black against the dark sky, and the thin neck of dry earth that joined the city to the land. An island, almost. Between them and Dagoska there were fires. Camps around the roads. Many camps.

“Dagoska,” whispered Yulwei, perched on a rock beside her. “A little splinter of the Union, stuck into Gurkhul like a thorn. A thorn in the Emperor’s pride.”

“Huh,” grunted Ferro, hunching her shoulders still further.

“The city is watched. Many soldiers. More than ever. It might be difficult to deceive so many.”

“Perhaps we should go back,” she muttered hopefully.

The old man ignored her. “ They are here as well. More than one.”

“Eaters?”

“I must go closer. Find a way in. Wait here for me.” He paused, waiting for her to reply. “You will wait?”

“Alright!” she hissed, “alright, I’ll wait!”

Yulwei slipped off his rock and away down the slope, padding across the soft earth, almost invisible in the inky blackness. When the sound of his jingling bangles had faded into the night, she turned away from the city, took a deep breath, and scurried down the slope southwards, back into Gurkhul.

Now Ferro could run. Fast as the wind, hours at a stretch. She’d spent a lot of time running. When she made it to the base of the hill she ran, feet flying across the open ground, breath coming quick and fierce. She heard water beyond, slid down a bank and splashed into the shallows of a slow moving river. She floundered on, knee-deep in the cold water.

Let the old bastard track me through this, she thought.

After a while she made a bundle of her weapons and held them above her head as she swam across, forcing against the current with one arm. She flapped out on the other side and ran on along the bank, wiping the water from her dripping face.

Time passed slowly and light began to creep into the sky. Morning was coming. The river babbled beside her, her sandals beating out a rapid rhythm in the stubbly grass. She left the river behind, running on across the flat landscape, turning now from black to grey. A clump of scrubby trees loomed up.

She crashed between the trunks and slithered down into the bushes, her breath rasping. She shivered in the half-light, heart pounding in her chest. It was silent beyond the trees. Good. She reached inside her clothes and pulled out some bread and a strip of meat, soggy from the swim but still edible. She smiled. She had been keeping half of everything that Yulwei gave her for the last few days.

“Stupid old bastard,” she chuckled to herself between choking mouthfuls, “thought he could get the better of Ferro Maljinn, did he?”

Damn she was thirsty. No help for that now, she could find water later. She was tired though, very tired. Even Ferro got tired. She would rest here for a moment, just a moment. Get the strength back in the legs, then on, on to… she twitched, annoyed. She could think about the where later. Wherever was best for vengeance. Yes.

She crawled through the bushes, sat back against one of the trees. Her eyes closed slowly, by themselves. Just rest for a moment now. Vengeance later.

“Stupid old bastard,” she muttered. Her head dropped sideways.

“Brother!”

Ferro woke with a start, head knocking against the tree. It was light, too light. Another bright, hot day. How long had she been sleeping? “Brother!” A woman’s voice, not far off. “Where are you?”

“Over here!” Ferro froze, every muscle tensing. A man’s voice, deep and strong. And close. She heard horse’s hooves, moving slowly, several horses, and near.

“What are you doing, brother?”

“She’s close!” shouted the man again. Ferro’s throat tightened. “I can smell her!” Ferro felt in the bushes for her weapons, shoved the sword and the knife through her belt, tucked the other knife up her one, torn sleeve. “I can taste her, sister! She’s very close!”

“But where?” The woman’s voice drew nearer. “Do you think she can hear us?”

“Perhaps she can!” laughed the man. “Are you there, Maljinn?” She threw her quiver over her shoulder and snatched up her bow. “We are waiting…” he sang, getting closer still, just beyond the trees now. “Come out, Maljinn, come out and greet us…”

She bolted away, crashing through the bushes, sprinting across the open ground with desperate speed.

“There she is!” cried the woman from behind. “Look at her go!”

“Get her, then!” shouted the man.

The scrubby grassland stretched away unbroken before her. Nowhere to run to. She span around with a snarl, nocking an arrow to her bow. Four horsemen were spurring towards her, Gurkish soldiers, sun glinting on their tall helmets and the cruel heads of their spears. Behind them, further back, were two other riders: a man and a woman. “Stop! In the name of the Emperor!” one of the horsemen shouted.

“Fuck your Emperor!” Her arrow caught the first of the soldiers through his neck and he tumbled backwards from the saddle with a shocked gurgle, his spear flying out of his hand.