Jonathan Strahan - Swords & Dark Magic - The New Sword and Sorcery

“Why don’t you get the fucking thing, Raubin?” growled Jolly Yon.

“’Cause it’s my fucking job to fucking tell you to get the fucking thing is why, Yon fucking Cumber.”

There was a long, ugly pause. Uglier than the child of a man and a sheep, as the hillmen have it. Then Yon talked in his quiet voice, the one that still gave Craw prickles up his arms, even after all these years. “I hope I’m wrong. By the dead, I hope I’m wrong. But I’m getting this feeling…” He shifted forwards, and it was awfully clear all of a sudden just how many axes he was carrying, “like I’m being disrespected.”

“No, no, not at all, I didn’t mean—”

“ Respect, Raubin. That shit costs nothing, but it can spare a man from trying to hold his brains in all the way back home. Am I clear enough?”

“’Course you are, Yon, ’course you are. I’m over the line. I’m all over it on both sides of it, and I’m sorry. Didn’t mean no disrespect. Lot o’ pressure, is all. Lot o’ pressure for everyone. It’s my neck on the block just like yours. Not down there, maybe, but back home, you can be sure o’ that, if she don’t get her way…” Raubin shuddered again, worse’n ever.

“A touch of respect don’t seem too much to ask—”

“All right, all right.” Craw waved the pair of ’em down. “We’re all sinking on the same leaky bloody skiff, there’s no help arguing about it. We need every man to a bucket, and every woman too.”

“I’m always helpful,” said Wonderful, all innocence.

“If only.” Craw squatted, pulling out a blade and starting to scratch a map of the village in the dirt. The way Threetrees used to do a long, low time ago. “We might not know exactly what this thing is, but we know where it is, at least.” Knife scraped through earth, the others all gathering around, kneeling, sitting, squatting, looking on. “A big hall, in the middle, with uprights on it carved like foxes. They look more like dragons to me, but, you know, that’s another story. There’s a fence around the outside, two gates, north and south. Houses and huts all around here. Looked like a pig pen there. That’s a forge, maybe.”

“How many do we reckon might be down there?” asked Yon.

Wonderful rubbed at the scar on her scalp, face twisted as she looked up towards the pale sky. “Could be fifty, sixty fighting men? A few elders, few dozen women and children too. Some o’ those might hold a blade.”

“Women fighting.” Never grinned. “A disgrace, is that.”

Wonderful bared her teeth back at him. “Get those bitches to the cook fire, eh?”

“Oh, the cook fire…” Brack stared up into the cloudy sky like it was packed with happy memories.

“Sixty warriors? And we’re but seven—plus the baggage.” Jolly Yon curled his tongue and blew spit over Raubin’s boots in a neat arc. “Shit on that. We need more men.”

“Wouldn’t be enough food then.” Brack-i-Dayn laid a sad hand on his belly. “There’s hardly enough as it—”

Craw cut him off. “Maybe we should stick to plans using the number we’ve got, eh? Plain as plain, sixty’s way too many to fight fair.” Not that anyone had joined his crew for a fair fight, of course. “We need to draw some off.”

Never winced. “Any point asking why you’re looking at me?”

“Because ugly men hate nothing worse than handsome men, pretty boy.”

“It’s a fact I can’t deny,” sighed Never, flicking his long hair back. “I’m cursed with a fine face.”

“Your curse, my blessing.” Craw jabbed at the north end of his dirt-plan, where a wooden bridge crossed a stream. “You’ll take your unmatched beauty in towards the bridge. They’ll have guards posted, no doubt. Mount a diversion.”

“Shoot one of ’em, you mean?”

“Shoot near ’em, maybe. Let’s not kill anyone we don’t have to, eh? They might be nice enough folks under different circumstances.”

Never sent up a dubious eyebrow. “You reckon?”

Craw didn’t, particularly, but he’d no desire to weight his conscience down any further. It didn’t float too well as it was. “Just lead ’em a little dance, that’s all.”

Wonderful clapped a hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry I’ll miss it. No one dances prettier than our Never when the music gets going.”

Never grinned at her. “Don’t worry, sweetness, I’ll dance for you later.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Yes, yes.” Craw shut the pair of ’em up with another wave. “You can make us all laugh when this fool job’s done with, if we’re still breathing.”

“Maybe we’ll make you laugh too, eh Whirrun?”

The valley man sat cross-legged, sword across his knees, and shrugged. “Maybe.”

“We’re a tight little group, us lot, we like things friendly.”

Whirrun’s eyes slid across to Jolly Yon’s black frown, and back. “I see that.”

“We’re like brothers,” said Brack, grinning all over his tattooed face. “We share the risks, we share the food, we share the rewards, and from time to time we even share a laugh.”

“Never got on too well with my brothers,” said Whirrun.

Wonderful snorted. “Well aren’t you blessed, boy? You’ve been given a second chance at a loving family. You last long enough, you’ll learn how it works.”

The shadow of Whirrun’s hood crept up and down his face as he slowly nodded. “Every day should be a new lesson.”

“Good advice,” said Craw. “Ears open, then, one and all. Once Never’s drawn a few off, we creep in at the south gate.” And he put a cross in the dirt to show where it was. “Two groups, one each side o’ the main hall there, where the thing is. Where the thing’s meant to be, leastways. Me, Yon, and Whirrun on the left.” Yon spat again, Whirrun gave the slightest nod. “Wonderful, take Brack and Scorry down the right.”

“Right y’are, chief,” said Wonderful.

“Right for us,” sang Brack.

“So, so, so,” said Scorry, which Craw took for a yes.

He stabbed at each of ’em with one chewed-to-bugger fingernail. “And all on your best behaviour, you hear? Quiet as a spring breeze. No tripping over the pots this time, eh, Brack?”

“I’ll mind my boots, chief.”

“Good enough.”

“We got a backup plan?” asked Wonderful, “in case the impossible happens and things don’t work out quite according to the scheme?”

“The usual. Grab the thing if we can, then run like fuck. You,” and Craw gave Raubin a look.

His eyes went wide as two cook pots. “What, me?”

“Stay here and mind the gear.” Raubin gave a long sigh of relief, and Craw felt his lip curl. He didn’t blame the man for being a hell of a coward, most men are. Craw was one himself. But he blamed him for letting it show. “Don’t get too comfortable, though, eh? If the rest of us come to grief these Fox fuckers’ll track you down before our blood’s dry and more’n likely cut your fruits off.” Raubin’s sigh rattled to a quick stop.

“Cut your head off,” whispered Never, eyes all scary-wide.

“Pull your guts out and cook ’em,” growled Jolly Yon.

“Skin your face off and wear it as a mask,” rumbled Brack.

“Use your cock for a spoon,” said Wonderful. They all thought about that for a moment.

“Right then,” said Craw. “Nice and careful, and let’s get in that hall without no one noticing and get us that thing. Above all…” And he swept the lot of ’em with his sternest look, a half circle of dirt-smeared, scar-pocked, bright-eyed, beard-fuzzed faces. His crew. His family. “Nobody die, eh? Weapons.”

Quick, sharp, and with no grumbling now the work was at their feet, Craw’s crew got ready for action, each one smooth and practiced with their gear as a weaver with his loom, weapons neat as their clothes were ragged, bright and clean as their faces were dirty. Belts, straps, and bootlaces hissed tight, metal scraped, rattled, and rang, and all the while Scorry’s song floated out, soft and high.