The Blade Itself

Bethod had put the fires out and made it his. Moved in, then started building. He hadn’t got far when he kicked Logen and the Dogman and the rest of them into exile, but they must have been building every day since. It was twice as big now as it used to be, even before it got burned, covering the whole hill and all the slope down to the river. Bigger than Uffrith. Bigger than any city the Dogman had seen. From where he was, up in the trees on the other side of the valley, you couldn’t see the people, but there had to be an awful lot of them in there. Three new roads leading out from the gates. Two big new bridges. New buildings everywhere, and big ones where the small ones used to be. Lots of them. Built from stone, mostly, slate roofs, glass in some of the windows even.

“They been busy,” said Threetrees.

“New walls,” said Grim.

“Lots of ’em,” muttered the Dogman. There were walls all over. There was a big one round the outside, with proper towers and everything, and a big ditch beyond it. There was an even bigger one round the top of the hill where Skarling’s Hall used to stand. Huge great thing. Dogman could hardly work out where they got all the stone for the building of it. “Biggest damn wall I ever saw,” he said.

Threetrees shook his head. “I don’t like it. If Forley gets took, we won’t never get him out.”

“If Forley gets took there’ll be five of us, chief, and we’ll be looked for. He’s no threat to no one, but we are. Getting him out’ll be the least of our worries. He’ll muddle through, like always. Most likely he’ll outlive the lot of us.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” muttered Threetrees. “We’re in a dangerous line of work.”

They slithered back through the brush, back to the camp. Black Dow was there, looking even worse-tempered than usual. Tul Duru too, working at a hole in his coat with a needle, face all screwed up as his great thick fingers fumbled with the little splinter of metal. Forley was sat near him, looking up at the sky through the leaves.

“How you feeling Forley?” asked the Dogman.

“Bad, but you got to have fear to have courage.”

Dogman grinned at him. “So I heard. Reckon we’re both heroes then, eh?”

“Must be,” he said, grinning back.

Threetrees was all business. “You sure about this, Forley? Sure you want to go in there? Once you get in, there might be no getting out, no matter how good a talker y’are.”

“I’m sure. I may be shittin’ myself, but I’m going. I can do more good there than I can out here. Someone’s got to warn ’em about the Shanka. You know it, chief. Who else is there?”

The old boy nodded to himself, slow as the sun rising. Taking his moment, as always. “Aye. Alright. Tell ’em I’m waiting here, by the old bridge. Tell ’em I’m alone. Just in case Bethod decides you’re not welcome, you understand?”

“I get it. You’re on your own, Threetrees. It was just the two of us made it back over the mountains.”

They’d all gathered now, and Forley smiled round at ’em. “Well then, lads, it’s been something ain’t it?”

“Shut up, Weakest,” scowled Dow. “Bethod ain’t got nothing against you. You’re coming back.”

“In case I don’t, though. It’s been something.” The Dogman nodded to him, awkward. It was the same dirty, scarred-up faces as usual, but grimmer than ever. None of ’em liked letting one of their own put himself in danger, but Forley was right, someone had to do it, and he was the best suited. Sometimes weakness is a better shield than strength, the Dogman reckoned. Bethod was an evil bastard, but he was a clever one. The Shanka were coming, and he needed the warning. Hopefully, he’d be grateful for it.

They walked together, down to the edge of the trees, looking out towards the path. It crossed over the old bridge and wound down into the valley. From there to the gates of Carleon. Into Bethod’s fortress.

Forley took a deep breath, and the Dogman clapped him on his shoulder. “Luck, Forley. Good luck.”

“And to you.” He squeezed Dogman’s hand in his for a minute. “To all of you lads, eh?” and he turned and marched off towards the bridge, with his head up high.

“Luck, Forley!” shouted Black Dow, startling them all.

He turned round for a minute, the Weakest, stood on top of the bridge, and he grinned. Then he was gone.

Threetrees took a deep breath. “Weapons,” he said, “just in case Bethod don’t want to hear sense. And wait for the signal, eh?”

It seemed a long time waiting, up in the leaves, staying quiet and still, looking down at all them new walls. The Dogman lay on his belly, bow near at hand, watching, waiting, wondering how Forley was doing in there. A long, tense time. Then he saw them. Horsemen coming out the nearest gate, riding over one of the new bridges, crossing the river. They’d got a cart at the back. Dogman wasn’t sure why they’d have a cart, but he didn’t like it any. No sign of Forley, and he wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or a bad.