“This is the place.” Dogman stared round at the broken stones, hoping like hell that it was. He couldn’t deny there was no sign of ’em yet. “They’ll be here, don’t you worry.” So long as they ain’t all got themselves killed, he thought, but he had the sense not to say it. He’d spent enough time marching with Tul Duru Thunderhead to know—you don’t get that man stirred up. Unless you want a broken head, o’ course.

“They better be here soon is all.” Tul’s bloody great hands curled up into fists fit to break rocks with. “I got no taste for just sitting here, arse in the wind!”

“Nor do I, neither,” said the Dogman, showing his palms and doing his best to keep everything gentle, “but don’t you fret on it, big lad. They’ll be along soon enough, just the way we planned. This is the place.” He eyed the hog crackling away, dripping some nice gravy in the fire. His mouth was watering good now, his nose was full of the smell of meat… and something else beside. Just a whiff. He looked up, sniffing.

“You smell something?” asked Tul, peering into the woods.

“Something, maybe.” The Dogman leaned down and took a hold on his bow.

“What is it? Shanka?”

“Not sure, could be.” He sniffed the air again. Smelled like a man, and a mighty sour-smelling one at that.

“I could have killed the fucking pair o’ you!”

Dogman span about, half falling over and near fumbling his bow while he did it. Black Dow wasn’t ten strides behind him, down wind, creeping over to the fire with a nasty grin. Grim was at his shoulder, face blank as a wall, as always.

“You bastards!” bellowed Tul. “You near made me shit with your sneaking around!”

“Good,” sneered Dow. “You could lose some fucking lard.”

Dogman took a long breath and tossed his bow back down. Some relief to know they were in the right spot after all, but he could’ve done without the scare. He’d been jumpy since he saw Logen go over the edge of that cliff. Roll right on over and not a thing anyone could do about it. Could happen to anyone any time, death, and that was a fact.

Grim clambered over the broken stones and sat himself down on one next to the Dogman, gave him the barest of nods. “Meat?” barked Dow, shoving past Tul and flopping down beside the fire, ripping a leg off the carcass and tearing into it with his teeth.

And that was it. That was all the greeting, after a month or more apart. “A man with friends is rich indeed,” muttered the Dogman out the corner of his mouth.

“Whatsay?” spat Dow, cold eyes sliding round, his mouth full of pig, his dirty, stubbly chin all shiny with grease.

Dogman showed his palms again. “Nothing to take offence at.” He’d spent enough time marching with Black Dow to know—you might as well cut your own neck as make that evil bastard angry. “Any trouble while we was split up?” he asked, looking to change the subject.

Grim nodded. “Some.”

“Fucking Flatheads!” snarled Dow, spraying bits of meat in Dogman’s face. “They’re bloody everywhere!” He pointed the hog’s leg across the fire like it was a blade. “I’ve taken enough of this shit! I’m going back south. It’s too bloody cold by half, and fucking Flatheads everywhere! Bastards! I’m going south!”

“You scared?” asked Tul.

Dow turned to look up at him with a big yellow grin, and the Dogman winced. It was a damn fool of a question, that. He’d never been scared in his life, Black Dow. Didn’t know what it was to be scared. “Feared of a few Shanka? Me?” He gave a nasty laugh. “We done some work on them, while you two been snoring. Gave some of ’em warm beds to sleep in. Too warm by half.”

“Burned ’em,” muttered Grim. That was a full day’s talk out of him already.

“Burned a whole fucking pile of ’em,” hissed Dow, grinning like he never heard such a joke as corpses on fire. “They don’t scare me, big lad, no more’n you do, but I don’t plan to sit here waiting for ’em neither, just so Threetrees has time to haul his flabby old arse out of bed. I’m going south!” And he tore off another mouthful of meat.

“Who’s got the flabby arse now?”

Dogman cracked a grin as he saw Threetrees striding over towards the fire, and he started up and grabbed the old boy by the hand. He had Forley the Weakest with him and all, and Dogman clapped the little man on the back as he came past. Nearly knocked him over, he was that pleased to see they were all alive and made it through another month. Didn’t hurt to have some leadership round the fire, neither. Everyone looked happy for once, smiling and pressing hands and all the rest. Everyone but Dow, o’ course. He just sat there, staring at the fire, sucking on his bone, face sour as old milk.

“Right good to see you again, lads, and all in one piece.” Threetrees hefted his big round shield off his shoulder and leant it up against a broken old bit of wall. “How’ve you been?”

“Fucking cold,” said Dow, not even looking up. “We’re going south.”

Dogman sighed. Back together for ten heartbeats and the bickering was already started. It was going to be a tough crowd now, without Logen to keep things settled. A tough crowd, and apt to get bloody. Threetrees wasn’t rushing into anything, though. He took a moment to think on it, like always. He loved to take his moment, that one. That was what made him so dangerous. “Going south, eh?” said Threetrees, after he’d chewed it over for a minute. “And just when did all this get decided?”

“Nothing’s decided,” said the Dogman, showing his palms one more time. He reckoned he might be doing that a lot from now on.

Tul Duru frowned down at Dow’s back. “Nothing at all,” he rumbled, mightily annoyed at having his mind made up for him.

“Nothing is right,” said Threetrees, slow and steady as the grass growing. “I don’t recall this being no voting band.”

Dow took no time at all to think about that. He never took time, that one. That was what made him so dangerous. He leaped up, flinging the bone onto the ground, squaring up to Threetrees with a fighting look. “I… say… south!” he snarled, eyes bulging like bubbles on a stew.

Threetrees didn’t back down a step. That wouldn’t have been his way at all. He took his moment to think on it, course, then he took a step forward of his own, so his nose and Dow’s were almost touching. “If you wanted a say, you should have beaten Ninefingers,” he growled, “instead of losing like the rest of us.”

Black Dow’s face turned dark as tar at that. He didn’t like being reminded of losing. “The Bloody-Nine’s gone back to the mud!” he snarled. “Dogman seen it, didn’t you?”

Dogman had to nod. “Aye,” he muttered.

“So that’s the end of that! There’s no reason for us to be pissing around here, North of the mountains, with Flatheads crawling up our arses! I say south!”

“Ninefingers may be dead,” said Threetrees in Dow’s face, “but your debt ain’t. Why he saw fit to spare a man as worthless as you I’ll never know, but he named me as second,” and he tapped his big chest, “and that means I’m the one with the say! Me and no other!”

Dogman took a careful step back. The two of ’em were shaping up for blows alright, and he’d no wish to get a bloody nose in all the confusion. It would hardly have been the first time. Forley took a stab at keeping the peace. “Come on boys,” he said, all nice and soft, “there’s no need for this.” He might not have been much at killing, Forley, but he was a damn good boy for stopping those that were from killing each other. Dogman wished him luck with it. “Come on, why don’t you—”

“Shut your fucking hole, you!” growled Dow, one dirty finger stabbing savage in Forley’s face. “What’s your fucking say worth, Weakest?”

“Leave him be!” rumbled Tul, holding his great fist up under Dow’s chin, “or I’ll give you something to shout about!”

The Dogman could hardly look. Dow and Threetrees were always picking at each other. They got fired up quick and damped down quick. The Thunderhead was a different animal. Once that big ox got properly riled there was no calming him. Not without ten strong men and a lot of rope. Dogman tried to think what Logen would have done. He’d have known how to stop ’em fighting, if he hadn’t been dead.

“Shit!” shouted Dogman, jumping up from the fire all of a sudden. “There’s fucking Shanka crawling all over us! And if we get through with them there’s always Bethod to think on! We’ve a world full of scores to settle

Вы читаете The Blade Itself
Добавить отзыв
ВСЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГЕ В ИЗБРАННОЕ

0

Вы можете отметить интересные вам фрагменты текста, которые будут доступны по уникальной ссылке в адресной строке браузера.

Отметить Добавить цитату