The Blade Itself

“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