The Better Part of Valour
By the time Calder pulled up his horse some fifty paces from the Old Bridge, the fighting was over. Not that he was shedding too many tears for having missed his part in it. That had been the point of hanging back.
The sun was starting to sink in the west and the shadows were stretching out towards the Heroes, insects floating lazily above the crops. Calder could almost have convinced himself he was out for an easy ride in the old days, son of the King of the Northmen and master of all he saw. Except for the few corpses of men and horses scattered on the track, one Union soldier spreadeagled on his face with a spear sticking straight up from his back, the dust underneath him stained dark.
It looked like the Old Bridge – a moss-crusted double span of ancient stone that looked as if it was about to collapse under its own weight – had been only lightly held, and when the Union men saw their fellows fleeing from the Heroes they’d pulled back to the other bank just as quickly as ever they could. Calder couldn’t say he blamed them.
Pale-as-Snow had found a big rock to sit on, spear dug point first into the ground beside him, his grey horse nibbling at the grass and the grey fur around his shoulders blowing in the breeze. Whatever the weather, he never seemed warm. It took Calder a moment to find the end of his scabbard with the point of his sword – not usually a problem of his – before he sheathed it and sat down beside the old warrior.
‘You took your time getting here,’ said Pale-as-Snow, without looking up.
‘I think my horse might be lame.’
‘Something’s lame, all right. You know your brother was right about one thing.’ He nodded towards Scale, striding about in the open ground at the north end of the bridge, shouting and waving his mace around. He still had his shield in the other fist, a flatbow bolt lodged near the rim. ‘Northmen won’t follow a man reckoned a coward.’
‘What’s that to me?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ Pale-as-Snow’s grey eyes showed no sign he was joking. ‘You’re everyone’s hero.’
White-Eye Hansul was trying to argue with Scale, open hands up for calm. Scale shoved him over onto his back with an ill-tempered flick of his arm and started bellowing again. It looked as though there hadn’t been enough fighting for his taste, and he was for pushing on across the river right away to find some more. It looked as though no one else thought that was a very good idea.
Pale-as-Snow gave a resigned sort of sigh, as if this had been happening a lot. ‘By the dead, but once your brother gets the fire under him it can be hard work putting it out. Maybe you can play at the voice of reason?’
Calder shrugged. ‘I’ve played at worse. Here’s your shield back.’ And he tossed it at Pale-as-Snow’s stomach so he almost fell off his rock catching it. ‘Oy! Pinhead!’ Calder swaggered towards Scale with hands on his hips. ‘Pinhead Scale! Brave as a bull, strong as a bull, thick as a bull’s arse.’ Scale’s eyes bulged right out of his livid face as they followed him. So did everyone else’s, but Calder didn’t mind that. He liked nothing better than an audience.
‘Good old stupid Scale! Great fighter but, you know … nothing but shit in his head.’ Calder tapped at his skull as he said it, then slowly stretched out his arm to point up towards the Heroes. ‘That’s what they say about you.’ Scale’s expression grew a touch less furious and a touch more thoughtful, but only a touch. ‘Up there, at Dow’s little wank-parties. Tenways, and Golden, and Ironhead, and the rest. They think you’re a fucking idiot.’ Calder didn’t entirely disagree, if it came to that. He leaned in close to Scale, well within punching range, he was painfully aware. ‘Why don’t you ride on over that bridge, and prove them all right?’
‘Fuck them!’ barked Scale. ‘We could get over that bridge and into Adwein. Get astride the Uffrith Road! Cut those Union bastards off at the roots. Get in behind ’em!’ He was punching at the air with his shield, trying to stoke his rage up again, but the moment he’d started talking instead of doing he’d lost and Calder had won. Calder knew it, and had to smother his contempt. That was no challenge, though. He’d been hiding contempt around his brother for years.
‘Astride the Uffrith Road? Might be half the Union army coming up that road before sunset.’ Calder looked at Scale’s horsemen, no more than ten score and most of their horses ridden out, the foot still hurrying through the fields far behind or stopped at a long wall that reached almost all the way to Skarling’s Finger. ‘No offence to the valour of our father’s proud Named Men here, but are you really going to take on countless thousands with this lot?’
Scale gave them a look himself, jaw muscles squirming in the side of his head as he ground his teeth. White-Eye Hansul, who’d picked himself up and was dusting his dented armour down, shrugged his shoulders. Scale flung his mace on the ground. ‘Shit!’
Calder risked a calming hand on his shoulder. ‘We were told to take the bridge. We took the bridge. If the Union want it back, they can cross over and fight us for it. On our ground. And we’ll be waiting for them. Ready and rested, dug in and close to supplies. Honestly, brother, if Black Dow doesn’t kill the pair of us through pure meanness you’ll more than likely do it through pure rashness.’
Scale took a long breath, and blew it out. He didn’t look at all happy. But he didn’t look like he was about to tear anyone’s head off. ‘All right, damn it!’ He frowned across the river, then back at Calder, then shook off his hand. ‘I swear, sometimes talking to you is like talking to our father.’
‘Thanks,’ said Calder. He wasn’t sure it was meant as a compliment, but he took it as one anyway. One of their father’s sons had to keep his temper.