Joe Abercrombie - The Heroes

‘Cardotti’s?’ Shivers’ good eye narrowed as he studied Gorst’s face. Time stretched out. All around them tongues licked nervously at lips, hands hovered ready to give their fatal signals, fingertips tickled at the grips of weapons. Then Shivers leaned close. Close enough almost for Gorst to kiss. Closer even than they had been to each other four years ago, in the smoke.

If they had been.

‘Never heard of it.’ And he slipped his arm out of Gorst’s slack grip and strode out of the Children without a backward glance. Calder swiftly followed, and the two old men, and the War Chiefs. All letting their hands drop from their weapons with some relief or, in the case of the giant, great reluctance.

They left Gorst standing there, in front of the table, alone. Frowning up towards the Heroes.

Almost sure.

Family

In many ways the Heroes hadn’t changed since the previous night. The old stones were just as they had been, and the lichen crusted to them, and the trampled, muddied, bloodied grass inside their circle. The fires weren’t much different, nor the darkness beyond them, nor the men who sat about them. But as far as Calder was concerned, there’d been some big-arsed changes.

Rather than dragging him in shame to his doom, Caul Shivers followed at a respectful distance, watching over his life. There was no scornful laughter as he strolled between the fires, no heckling and no hate. All changed the moment Black Dow’s face hit the dirt. The great War Chiefs, and their fearsome Named Men, and their hard-handed, hard-hearted, hard-headed Carls all smiled upon him as if he was the sun rising after a bastard of a winter. How soon they’d adjusted. His father always said men rarely change, except in their loyalties. Those they’ll shrug off like an old coat when it suits them.

In spite of his splinted hand and his stitched chin, Calder didn’t have to work too hard to get the smirk onto his face now. He didn’t have to work at all. He might not have been the tallest man about, but still he was the biggest in the valley. He was the next King of the Northmen, and anyone he told to eat his shit would be doing it with a smile. He’d already decided who’d be getting the first serving.

Caul Reachey’s laughter echoed out of the night. He sat on a log beside a fire, pipe in his hand, spluttering smoke at something some woman beside him had said. She looked around as Calder walked up and he nearly tripped over his own feet.

‘Husband.’ She stood, awkward from the weight of her belly, and held out one hand.

He took it in his and it felt small, and soft, and strong. He guided it over his shoulder, and slid his arms around her, hardly feeling the pain in his battered ribs as they held each other tight, tight. For a moment it seemed as if there was no one in the Heroes but them. ‘You’re safe,’ he whispered.

‘No thanks to you,’ rubbing her cheek against his.

His eyelids were stinging. ‘I … made some mistakes.’

‘Of course. I make all your good decisions.’

‘Don’t leave me alone again, then.’

‘I think I can say it’ll be the last time I stand hostage for you.’

‘So can I. That’s a promise.’ He couldn’t stop the tears coming. Some biggest man in the valley, stood weeping in front of Reachey and his Named Men. He would’ve felt a fool if he hadn’t been so glad to see her he couldn’t feel anything else. He broke away long enough to look at her face, light on one side, dark on the other, eyes with a gleam of firelight to them. Smiling at him, two little moles near the corner of her mouth he’d never noticed before. All he could think was that he didn’t deserve this.

‘Something wrong?’ she asked.

‘No. Just … wasn’t long ago I thought I’d never see your face again.’

‘And are you disappointed?’

‘I never saw anything so beautiful.’

She bared her teeth at him. ‘Oh, they were right about you. You are a liar.’

‘A good liar tells as much truth as he can. That way you never know what you’re getting.’

She took his bandaged hand in hers, turning it over, stroking it with her fingertips. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘Nothing to a famous champion like me.’

She pressed his hand tighter. ‘I mean it. Are you hurt?’

Calder winced. ‘Doubt I’ll be fighting any more duels for a while, but I’ll heal. Scale’s dead.’

‘I heard.’

‘You’re all my family, now.’ And he laid his good hand on her swollen belly. ‘Still—’

‘Like a sack of oats on my bladder all the way from Carleon in a lurching bloody cart? Yes.’

He smiled through his tears. ‘The three of us.’

‘And my father too.’

He looked over at Reachey, grinning at them from his log. ‘Aye. And him.’

‘You haven’t put it on, then?’

‘What?’

‘Your father’s chain.’

He slid it from his inside pocket, warm from being pressed close to his heart, and the diamond dropped to one side, full of the colours of fire. ‘Waiting for the right moment, maybe. Once you put it on … you can’t take it off.’ He remembered his father telling him what a weight it was. Near the end.

‘Why would you take it off? You’re king, now.’

‘Then you’re queen.’ He slipped the chain over her head. ‘And it looks better on you.’ He let the diamond drop against her chest while she dragged her hair free.

‘My husband goes away for a week and all he brings me is the North and everything in it?’

‘That’s just half your gift.’ He moved as if to kiss her and held back at the last moment, clicking his teeth together just short of her mouth. ‘I’ll give you the rest later.’

‘Promises, promises.’

‘I need to talk to your father, just for a moment.’

‘Talk, then.’

‘Alone.’

‘Men and their bloody chatter. Don’t keep me waiting too long.’ She leaned close, her lip tickling at his ear, her knee rubbing up against the inside of his leg, his father’s chain brushing against his shoulder. ‘I’ve a mind to kneel before the King of the Northmen.’ One fingertip brushed the scab on his chin as she stepped away, keeping his face towards her, watching him over her shoulder, waddling just a little with the weight of her belly but none the worse for that. None the worse at all. All he could think was that he didn’t deserve this.

He shook himself and clambered to the fire, somewhat bent over since his prick was pressing up hard against the inside of his trousers, and poking a tent in Reachey’s face was no way to start a conversation. His wife’s father had shooed his grey-bearded henchmen away and was sitting alone, pressing a fresh lump of chagga down into his pipe with one thick thumb. A private little chat. Just like the one they’d had a few nights before. Only now Dow was dead, and everything was changed.

Calder wiped the wet from his eyes as he sat beside the fire-pit. ‘She’s one of a kind, your daughter.’

‘I’ve heard you called a liar, but there was never a truer word said than that.’

‘One of a kind.’ As Calder watched her disappear into the darkness.

‘You’re a lucky man to have her. Remember what I told you? Wait long enough by the sea, everything you want’ll just wash up on the beach.’ Reachey tapped at the side of his head. ‘I’ve been around a while. You ought to listen to me.’

‘I’m listening now, aren’t I?’

Reachey wriggled down the log, a little closer to him. ‘All right, then. A lot of my boys are restless. Had their swords drawn a long time. I could do with letting some of ’em get home to their own wives. You got a mind to take this wizard’s offer?’

‘Bayaz?’ Calder snorted. ‘I’ve a mind to let the lying bastard simmer. He had a deal with my father, a long time ago, and betrayed him.’