Dow spat onto the ground, always looking to get into one. “Twelve is nothing! We can do them alright!”
The Dogman looked over at Threetrees, thinking it out, taking his moment. Twelve wasn’t nothing, and they all knew it, but it might be better to deal with them than leave them free and easy behind.
“What’s it to be, chief?” asked Tul.
Threetrees set his jaw. “Weapons.”
A fighting man’s a fool that don’t keep his weapons clean and ready. Dogman had been over his no more’n an hour before. Still, you won’t be killed for checking ’em, while you might be for not doing it.
There was the hissing of steel on leather, the clicking of wood and the clanking of metal. Dogman watched Grim twang at his bowstring, check over the feathers on his shafts. He watched Tul Duru run his thumb down the edge of his big heavy sword, almost as tall as Forley was, clucking like a chicken at a spot of rust. He watched Black Dow rubbing a rag on the head of his axe, looking at the blade with eyes soft as a lover’s. He watched Threetrees tugging at the buckles on his shield straps, swishing his blade through the air, bright metal glinting.
The Dogman gave a sigh, pulled the straps on his guard tighter round his left wrist, checked the wood of his bow for cracks. He made sure all his knives were where they should be. You can never have too many knives, Logen had told him once, and he’d taken it right to heart. He watched Forley checking his short-sword with clumsy hands, his mouth chewing away, eyes all wet with fear. That got his own nerves jumping, and he glanced round at the others. Dirty, scarred, frowns’ and lots of beard. There was no fear there, no fear at all, but that was nothing to be shamed at. Different men have different ways, Logen had told him once, and you have to have fear to have courage. He’d taken that right to heart as well.
He walked over to Forley and gave him a clap on the shoulder. “You have to have fear to have courage,” he said.
“That so?”
“So they say, and it’s a good thing too.” The Dogman leaned close so no one else could hear. “Cause I’m about ready to shit.” He reckoned that’s what Logen would have done, and now that Logen had gone back to the mud it fell to him. Forley gave half a smile, but it slumped pretty fast, and he looked more scared then ever. There’s only so much you can do.
“Right, boys,” said Threetrees, once the gear was all checked and stowed in its proper places, “here’s how we’ll get it done. Grim, Dogman, opposite sides of their camp, out in the trees. Wait for the signal, then shoot any Flathead with a bow. Failing that, whatever’s closest.”
“Right you are, chief,” said the Dogman. Grim gave a nod.
“Tul, you and me’ll take the front, but wait for the signal, eh?”
“Aye,” rumbled the giant.
“Dow, you and Forley at the back. You come on when you see us go. But this time you wait for us to go!” hissed Threetrees, stabbing with his thick finger.
“Course, chief.” Dow shrugged his shoulders, just as though he always did as he was told.
“Right then, there it is,” said Threetrees, “anyone still confused? Any empty heads round the fire?” The Dogman mumbled and shook his head. They all did. “Fair enough. Just one more thing.” The old boy leaned forward, looking at each of them one by one. “Wait… for… the… fucking… signal!”
It wasn’t ’til the Dogman was hid behind a bush with his bow in his hand and a shaft at the ready that he realised. He’d no idea what the signal was. He looked down at the Shanka, still sat there all unwary, grunting and shouting and banging about. By the dead he needed to piss. Always needed to piss before a fight. Had anyone said the signal? He couldn’t remember.
“Shit,” he whispered, and just then Dow came hurtling out from the trees, axe in one hand, sword in the other.
“Fucking Flatheads!” he screamed, giving the nearest a fearsome big blow in the head and splattering blood across the clearing. In so far as you could tell what a Shanka was thinking, these ones looked greatly surprised. Dogman reckoned that would have to do for a signal.
He let loose his shaft at the nearest Flathead, just reaching for a big club and watched it catch it through the armpit with a satisfying thunk. “Hah!” he shouted. He saw Dow spit another through the back with his sword, but there was a big Shanka now with a spear ready to throw. An arrow came looping out of the trees and stuck it through the neck, and it let go a squeal and sprawled out backwards. That Grim was a damn good shot.
Now Threetrees came roaring from the scrub on the other side of the clearing, catching them off guard. He barged one Flathead in the back with his shield and it sprawled face-first into the fire, he hacked at another with his sword. The Dogman let go a shaft and it stuck a Shanka in its gut. It dropped down on its knees and a moment later Tul took its head off with a great swing of his sword.
The fight was joined and moving quick—chop, grunt, scrape, rattle. There was blood flying and weapons swinging and bodies dropping too fast for the Dogman to try an arrow at. The three of them had the last few hemmed in, squawking and gibbering. Tul Duru was swinging his big sword around, keeping them at bay. Threetrees darted in and chopped the legs out from under one, and Dow cut another down as it looked round.
The last one squawked and made a run for the trees. Dogman shot at it, but he was hurrying and he missed. The arrow almost hit Dow in the leg, but luckily he didn’t notice. It had almost got away into the bushes, then it squealed and fell back, thrashing. Forley had stabbed it, hiding in the scrub. “I got one!” he yelled.
It was quiet for a moment, while the Dogman scrambled down toward the clearing and they all looked round to see if there was anything left to fight, then Black Dow gave a great bellow, shaking his bloody weapons over his head. “We fucking killed ’em!”
“You nearly killed us all, you damn fool!” shouted Threetrees.
“Eh?”
“What about the fucking signal?”
“I thought I heard you shout!”
“I never!”
“Did you not?” asked Dow, looking greatly puzzled. “What was the signal anyhow?”
Threetrees gave a sigh and put his head in his hands.
Forley was still staring down at his sword. “I got one!” he said again. Now that the fight was over, the Dogman was about ready to burst, so he turned round and pissed against a tree.
“We killed ’em!” shouted Tul, clapping him on the back.
“Watch out!” yelled Dogman as piss went all down his leg. They all had a laugh at him over that. Even Grim had himself a little chuckle.
Tul shook Threetrees by the shoulder. “We killed ’em, chief!”
“We killed these, aye,” he said, looking sour, “but there’ll be plenty more. Thousands of ’em. They won’t be happy staying up here neither, up here beyond the mountains. Sooner or later they’ll be going south. Maybe in the summer, when the passes clear, maybe later. But it’s not long off.”
The Dogman glanced at the others, all shifty and worried after that little speech. The glow of victory hadn’t lasted too long. It never did. He looked round at the dead Flatheads on the ground, broken and bloody, sprawled and crumpled. It seemed a hollow little victory they’d had now. “Shouldn’t we try and tell ’em, Threetrees?” he asked. “Shouldn’t we try and warn someone?”
“Aye.” Threetrees gave a sad little smile. “But who?”
The Course of True Love
Jezal trudged miserably across the grey Agriont with his fencing steels in his hand: yawning, stumbling, grumbling, still horribly sore from his endless run the day before. He hardly saw anyone as he dragged himself to his daily bullying from Lord Marshal Varuz. Apart from the odd premature tweeting of some bird in amongst the gables and the tired scraping of his own reluctant boots, all was quiet. No one was up at this time. No one should be up at this time. Him least of all.