Too Many Knives

Logen sat on a rock, twenty strides from the track that Crummock was leading them up. He knew all the ways, Crummock-i-Phail, all the ways in the North. That was the rumour, and Logen hoped it was a fact. He didn’t fancy being led straight into an ambush. They were heading north, towards the mountains. Hoping to draw Bethod down off his hills and up into the High Places. Hoping the Union would come up behind him, and catch him in a trap. An awful lot of hoping, that.

It was a hot, sunny day, and the earth under the trees was broken with shadow and slashed with bright sunlight, shifting as the branches moved in the wind, the sun slipping through and stabbing in Logen’s face from time to time. Birds tweeted and warbled, trees creaked and rustled, insects floated in the still air, and the forest floor was spattered with clumps of flowers, white and blue. Summer, in the North, but none of it made Logen feel any better. Summer was the best season for killing, and he’d seen plenty more men die in good weather than in bad. So he kept his eyes open, looking out into the trees, watching hard and listening harder.

That was the task Dogman had given him. Staying out on the right flank, making sure none of Bethod’s boys crept up while they were all spread out in file down that goat track. It suited Logen well enough. Kept him on the edge, where none of his own side might get tempted to try and kill him.

Watching men moving quiet through the trees, voices kept down low, weapons at the ready, brought back a rush of memories. Some good, some bad. Mostly bad, it had to be said. One man came away from the others as Logen watched, started walking towards him through the trees. He had a big grin on his face, just as friendly as you like, but that meant nothing, Logen had known plenty of men who could grin while they planned to kill you. He’d done it himself, and more than once.

He turned his body sideways a touch, sliding his hand down out of sight and curling it tight round the grip of a knife. You can never have too many knives, his father had told him, and that was strong advice. He looked around, slow and easy, just to make sure there was no one at his back, but there were only empty trees. So he shifted his feet for a better balance and stayed sitting, trying to look as if nothing worried him, but with every muscle tensed and ready to spring.

“My name’s Red Hat.” The man stopped no more than a stride away, still grinning, his left hand slack on the pommel of his sword, the other just hanging.

Logen’s mind raced, thinking over all the men he’d wronged, or hurt, or got bound up in a feud with. Those he’d left alive, anyway. Red Hat. He couldn’t find a place for it anywhere, but that was no reassurance. Ten men with ten big books couldn’t have kept track of all the enemies he’d made, and the friends and the family and the allies of all his enemies. And that was without a man trying to kill him without much of a reason, just to make his own name bigger. “Can’t say I recognise the name.”

Red Hat shrugged. “No reason you should do. I fought for Old Man Yawl, way back. He was a good man, was Yawl, a man you could respect.”

“Aye,” said Logen, still watching hard for a sudden move.

“But when he went back to the mud I got a place with Littlebone.”

“Never saw eye to eye with Littlebone, even when we were on the same side.”

“Neither did I, being honest. A right bastard. All bloated up with victories that Bethod won for him. Didn’t sit well with me. That’s why I came over, you know? When I heard Threetrees was here.” He sniffed and looked down at the earth. “Someone needs to do something about that fucking Feared.”

“So they tell me.” Logen was hearing a lot about this Feared, and none of it good, but it’d take more than a few words in the right direction to get his hand off his knife.

“Still, the Dogman’s a good chief, I reckon. One of the best I’ve had. Knows his business. Careful, like. Thinks about things.”

“Aye. Always thought he would be.”

“You think Bethod’s following us?”

Logen didn’t take his eyes from Red Hat’s. “Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. Don’t reckon we’ll know ’til we get up in the mountains and hear him knocking at the door.”

“You think the Union’ll keep to their end of it?”

“Don’t see why not. That Burr seems to know what he’s about, far as I can tell, and his boy Furious as well. They said they’ll come, I reckon they’ll come. Not much we can do about it either way now, though, is there?”

Red Hat wiped some sweat from his forehead, squinting off into the trees. “I reckon you’re right. Anyway, all’s I wanted to say was, I was in the battle, at Ineward. I was on the other side from you, but I saw you fight, and I kept well away, I can tell you that.” He shook his head, and grinned. “Never saw anything like that, before or since. I suppose what I’m saying is, I’m happy to have you with us. Real happy.”

“Y’are?” Logen blinked. “Alright, then. Good.”

Red Hat nodded. “Well. That’s all. See you in the fight, I reckon.”

“Aye. In the fight.” Logen watched him stride away through the trees, but even when Red Hat was well out of sight, he somehow couldn’t make his hand uncurl from the grip of his knife, still couldn’t lose the feeling that he had to watch his back.

Seemed he’d let himself forget what the North was like. Or he’d let himself pretend it would be different. Now he saw his mistake. He’d made a trap for himself, years ago. He’d made a great heavy chain, link by bloody link, and he’d bound himself up in it. Somehow he’d been offered the chance to get free, a chance he didn’t come near to deserving, but instead he’d blundered back in, and now things were apt to get bloody.

He could feel it coming. A great weight of death, like the shadow of a mountain falling on him. Every time he said a word, or took a step, or had a thought, even, it seemed he’d somehow brought it closer. He drank it down with every swallow, he sucked it in with every breath. He hunched his shoulders up and stared down at his boots, strips of sunlight across the toes. He should never have let go of Ferro. He should have clung to her like a child to its mother. How many things halfway good had he been offered in his life? And now he’d turned one down, and chosen to come back and settle some scores. He licked his teeth, and he spat sour spit out onto the earth. He should’ve known better. Vengeance is never halfway as simple, or halfway as sweet, as you think it’s going to be.

“I bet you’re wishing you didn’t come back at all, eh?”

Logen jerked his head up, on the point of pulling the knife and setting to work. Then he saw it was only Tul standing over him. He pushed the blade away and let his hands drop. “Do you know what? The thought had occurred.”

The Thunderhead squatted down beside him. “Sometimes I find my own name’s a heavy weight to carry. Dread to think how a name like yours must drag at a man.”

“It can seem a burden.”

“I bet it can.” Tul watched the men moving past, single file, down on the dusty track. “Don’t mind ’em. They’ll get used to you. And if things get low, well, you’ve always got Black Dow’s smile to fall back on, eh?”

Logen grinned. “That’s true. It’s quite the smile he has, that man. It seems to light up the whole world, don’t it?”

“Like sunshine on a cloudy day.” Tul sat down on the rock next to him, pulled the stopper from his canteen and held it out. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? For what?”

“That we didn’t look for you, after you went over that cliff. Thought you were dead.”

“Can’t say I hold much of a grudge for that. I was pretty damn sure I was dead myself. I’m the one should have gone looking for you lot, I reckon.”

“Well. Should’ve looked for each other, maybe. But I guess you learn to stop hoping, after a while. Life teaches you to expect the worst, eh?”