The Blade Itself

They came quick, spurring up the side of the valley, up the steep path towards the trees and the stream and the old stone bridge across it. Right at the Dogman. He could hear the hooves thumping on the dirt. Close enough to count now, and take a good look at. Spears, shields and good armour. Helmets and mail. Ten of ’em, and two others sitting on the cart, either side of the driver, carrying some sorts of things that looked like little bows on blocks of wood. He didn’t know what they were about, and he didn’t like not knowing. He was the one wanted to be giving them the surprises.

He wriggled back through the brush on his stomach, sloshed through the stream and hurried to the edge of the trees, where he could get a good view of the old bridge. Threetrees, Tul and Dow were standing round the near side of it, and he waved over to them. Couldn’t see Grim, he must’ve been off in the woods away beyond. He made the sign for horsemen, held up his fist to say ten, hand flat on his chest to say armour.

Dow took up his sword and axe, ran up into a bunch of broken rocks, high up beside the bridge, keeping low and quiet. Tul slid down the bank into the stream, luckily no more than knee-deep right then, plastered his big self against the far side of the arch with his great long sword held up above the water. Made the Dogman a bit nervous, he could see Tul so clear from where he was sitting. Still, the riders wouldn’t see him at all if they came straight up the path. They’d only be expecting one man alone, and Dogman hoped they wouldn’t come too careful. He hoped, ’cause if they took the time to check it’d be a fucking disaster.

He watched Threetrees strap his shield on his arm, draw his sword, stretch his neck out, then he just stood, waiting, big and solid, blocking the path on the near side of the bridge, seeming all alone in the world.

The Dogman could hear the hoof-beats loud now, and the clattering of the cart’s wheels out beyond the trees. He pulled out a few arrows and planted them in the earth, point down, where he could get to ’em quick. Doing his best to swallow his fear. His fingers were shaking all the while, but that didn’t matter. They’d work alright when they needed to.

“Wait for the signal,” he whispered to himself. “Wait for the signal.”

He nocked a shaft to his bow and half-drew the string, taking aim down towards the bridge. Damn it but he needed to piss bad.

The first spear-point showed itself over the crest of the hill, then others. Bobbing helmets, mailed chests, horses’ faces, bit by bit the riders came up towards the bridge. The cart rolled behind, with its driver and its two funny passengers, pulled by a big shaggy carthorse.

The rider up front saw Threetrees now, waiting for him, over the hump of the bridge, and he spurred on forward. The Dogman breathed a little easier as the others trotted after him in a clump, all eagerness. Forley must’ve said as he was told—they were expecting only one. Dogman could see Tul peering up from underneath the mossy arch as the horses clopped above him. By the dead, his hands were shaking. He was worried he’d let the arrow fly half-drawn and ruin the whole thing.

The cart stopped on the far bank, the two men on it stood up and pointed their strange bows at Threetrees. The Dogman got himself a nice aim on one of ’em, and drew the string back all the way. Most of the riders were on the bridge by now, horses shying and stirring about, unhappy at being packed in so tight. The one at the front reined up in front of Threetrees, spear pointing at him. The old boy didn’t back away a step, though. Not him. He just frowned up, not giving the riders any room to get around him, keeping ’em choked up on the bridge.

“Well, well,” the Dogman heard their leader saying. “Rudd Threetrees. We thought you was long dead, old man.” He knew the voice. One of Bethod’s Carls, from way back. Bad-Enough they called him.

“Reckon I’ve got a fight or two left in me,” said Threetrees, still giving no ground.

Bad-Enough took a look about him, squinting into the trees, sense enough to see he was in a poor position, but not too careful. “Where’s the rest of you? Where’s that fucker Dow, eh?”

Threetrees shrugged. “There’s just me.”

“Back to the mud, eh?” The Dogman could just see Bad-Enough grinning under his helmet. “Shame. Hoped I’d be the one to kill that dirty bastard.”

Dogman winced, half expecting Dow to come flying out of those rocks right then, but there was no sign of him. Not yet. Waiting for the signal, for once.

“Where’s Bethod?” asked Threetrees.

“The King don’t come out for the likes of you! Anyhow, he’s off in Angland, kicking the Union’s arses. Prince Calder’s taking care of things while he’s gone.”

Threetrees snorted. “Prince is it, now? I remember him sucking on his mother’s tit. He could scarcely do that right.”

“A lot’s changed, old man. All kind of things.”