Джо Аберкромби - A Little Hatred - Book One (The Age of Madness)

But Leo’s best efforts slapped harmlessly against Glaward’s big arms, scuffed the top of his head, bounced from his sides. Then a heavy fist came from nowhere, caught Leo under the chin and sent him tottering. He whooped helplessly as he was hauled into the air by his belt.

Dark land and bright sky reeled, he flailed wildly, then the ground struck him hard in the side, rattled his teeth, tumbled him over and over and onto his face.

He gave a long groan as he dragged himself up and saw Glaward’s great boot already rushing to meet him. He gasped as he rolled away, the big heel digging a great divot from the turf. He scrambled to his feet, lost his balance and fell against the fence.

‘This blond one is pretty,’ the older woman was saying.

‘I have eyes.’ The young one was watching him with her chin propped on her hands, head bouncing as she chewed something. She certainly did have eyes. Big, and very pale, and very piercing.

‘He’s like a hunting dog, all fierce and frisky.’

Leo didn’t feel too frisky as Glaward’s fists came at him again. He covered up but the force in them was fearsome. A punch in the side slammed him against the fence and drove his breath out, a knuckle caught his jaw and turned his mouth salty.

‘Get out of there!’ he heard Jurand shout over his own gurgling, rasping breath.

He only just ducked a blow that would’ve knocked him right over the fence and shoved Glaward away with all his strength. The big man barely moved, but Leo bounced off at least, staggering clear of the fence with his face throbbing, lungs burning, knees wobbling.

Glaward could’ve knocked him down with a pointed finger. But he was fixed on milking his moment, throwing his great fists in the air, strutting like a cock in his own farmyard.

‘Hit him!’ Jurand hooted over the crowd. ‘Bloody hit him!’

But it was clear Leo would never beat Glaward with his fists. He had to beat him with his head. He thought, through the fog, of what his mother would’ve said. Less courage, more judgement. Putting their worst troops on show in the valley, marching as badly as they could. Even as his head cleared, he shook it as if he could hardly see straight, clutched at his ribs as if he could hardly get a breath. Even as the strength returned to his legs, he put on a drunken stagger.

‘Are we fight?’ he gurgled, showing his bloody teeth. ‘Or dance?’

He’d have won no laurels for his acting but Glaward was blessed with more muscle than imagination. He charged in with no caution at all, readying a punch they’d be talking about for years. But Leo had his wits back. He dropped under it, rolled smoothly, caught Glaward’s big calf on the way past and sprang up, pulling the leg with him.

Glaward grunted with surprise, hopped once, waving his arms for balance, then his other foot slid from under him and he came crashing down on his face.

‘Now who’s eating the hillside?’ crowed Leo. Glaward clawed helplessly at the turf, snapping and snarling, but Leo had Glaward’s huge boot in a lock against his chest and wasn’t letting go. ‘How does it taste?’

Leo twisted harder and the big man slapped at the ground. ‘All right! I’m done! I’m done!’

Leo let the boot fall and tottered back. He felt Jurand catch his wrist and lift his arm high.

‘A victory for reasonably sized men everywhere!’ he shouted, draping Leo’s shirt over his shoulder.

‘Don’t get dressed on our account,’ called the older woman, and the younger threw her head back and gave a gurgling laugh.

‘Leo!’ someone shouted. One of the few optimistic enough to bet on him, probably. He tried to grin through the considerable pain. Was one of his teeth loose? ‘The Young Lion!’

The girl was frowning straight at him. ‘You’re Leo dan Brock?’

‘None other,’ said Jurand, clapping him proudly on the shoulder.

‘Ha!’ She sprang down from the fence and strutted towards him with a huge grin. ‘It’s little Leo!’

Jurand raised his brows. ‘Little Leo?’

She looked him up and down. ‘Well, he has grown.’ And much to his surprise, she threw her arms around him, gripped him behind the head and pressed his face into her shoulder.

And that was when he saw, among a rattling mass of charms, bones, runes and necklaces she wore, a wooden dowel on a thong, all dented with tooth marks.

‘Rikke?’ He broke away to stare at her, looking for some trace of the sickly little girl he used to mock in her father’s hall in Uffrith. ‘I heard you were lost!’

She threw her fists in the air. ‘I’m found!’ Then she let them drop, and scratched at the back of her head. ‘To be fair, I was a little lost, but Isern-i-Phail knows all the ways. She steered me home.’

‘As a great sea captain steers a leaky skiff, d’you see?’ The older woman’s scar twisted the corner of her mouth and made her look like she had a constant frown. Or maybe she was constantly frowning. ‘I’m quite the hero, but let’s not make too much of it.’

‘Black Calder’s bastards were everywhere. And his son Stour fucking Nightfall.’ Rikke bared her teeth in a burst of fury so sudden, Leo nearly stepped back. ‘I’ll see that prick back to the mud, I promise you!’ And she spat, left a long string of it dangling from her lip and dashed it away. ‘Bastards.’

‘But … you’re not hurt?’

Rikke stuck her fists in Leo’s face and pushed a finger up for each point. ‘I’ve been starved, slapped, pissed on, shot at, chased by dogs, threatened with being fucked by a pig, slept under a hanged man, near fell down a gorge, killed a boy and shat myself, so, you know,’ and she shrugged, head falling to one side and her shoulders right up around her ears, ‘I’m hoping next week’ll be easier going, let’s say that.’

‘Sounds … trying.’ He hardly knew what she was talking about, but he liked hearing her talk. ‘It’s good to see you again.’ He meant it. They’d been close once. As close as you could be, with someone as strange as she’d been.

‘You remember the first time we met?’ she asked.

Leo winced. ‘Hard to forget.’

‘You mocked my twitching and my foolish hair and my unusual way.’

‘Eager to prove myself in front of the boys.’

She nodded towards Glaward, who was sitting on the hillside rubbing at his twisted ankle. ‘Some things never change.’

‘If it helps, I’m not proud of it.’

‘It helped when I knocked you down and sat on you.’

Leo’s turn to scratch at the back of his head. ‘Your defeats teach you more than your victories, I hear. And you were half a head taller than me.’ He drew himself up, looking down at her from as far above now as she’d looked down on him then. ‘Doubt you’d try it now.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She reached out and wiped the blood from his top lip with her thumb. Maybe her eye twitched. Or maybe she winked right at him. ‘I might be persuaded.’

‘Better’n being fucked by a pig, I reckon,’ said Isern-i-Phail, grunting softly as she lifted her bandaged leg from the fence and turned hobbling away. ‘I need to steer this leaky skiff back to her father before she drifts off course again. I gave my word!’

‘I am in much demand.’ Rikke backed away, gave a bow that left one hand brushing the turf, then slipped up onto the rail of the fence. ‘See you later, little Leo.’ And she swung her boots over it and swaggered off, leaving Leo staring after her.

‘My, my, my .’ Antaup had appeared, as he often did when women were around, sucking air through pursed lips as he watched Rikke go. ‘Who’s the beauty with the ring through her nose?’

‘ Three mys?’ murmured Jurand, drily. ‘Virtually a proposal of marriage.’