Joe Abercrombie - The Heroes

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 mouth. 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.

‘Boys, this here is the famous Corporal Tunny, one of the longest serving non-commissioned officers in General Jalenhorm’s division. A veteran of the Starikland Rebellion, the Gurkish War, the last Northern War, the Siege of Adua, this current unpleasantness and a quantity of peacetime soldiering that would have bored a keener mind to death. He has survived the runs, the rot, the grip, the autumn shudders, the caresses of Northern winds, the buffets of Southern women, thousands of miles of marching, many years of his Majesty’s rations and even a tiny bit of actual fighting to stand – or sit – before you now. He has four times been Sergeant Tunny, once even Colour Sergeant Tunny, but always, like a homing pigeon to its humble cage, returned to his current station. He now holds the exalted post of standard-bearer of his August Majesty’s indomitable First Regiment of cavalry. That gives him responsibility—’ Tunny groaned at the mere mention of the word ‘—for the regimental riders, tasked with carrying messages to and from our much admired commanding officer, Colonel Vallimir. Which is where you boys come in.’

‘Oh, bloody hell, Forest.’

‘Oh, bloody hell, Tunny. Why don’t you introduce yourselves to the corporal?’

‘Klige.’ Chubby-faced, with a big sty that had closed one eye and his strapping on the wrong way round.

‘Previous profession, Klige?’ asked Forest.

‘Was going to be a weaver, sir. But I hadn’t been ’prenticed more than a month before my master sold me out to the recruiter.’

Tunny gave a further grimace. The replacements they were getting lately were an insult to the bottom of the barrel.

‘Worth.’ The next was gaunt and bony with an ill-looking grey sheen to his skin. ‘I was in the militia and they disbanded the company, so we all got drafted.’

‘Lederlingen.’ A tall, rangy specimen with big hands and a worried look. ‘I was a cobbler.’ He offered no further detail on the mechanics of his entry into the King’s Own and Tunny’s head was hurting too much for him to pry. The man was here now, unfortunately for everyone involved.