The Best Science Fiction And Fantasy Of The Year Part 15

Jolly Yon achieved what many might've thought impossible by frowning deeper, black eyes grim as graves, dragging his thick fingers through his thick tangle of a beard. "What sort of a thing, exactly?"

Craw gave Raubin another look. "You want to dig that one over?" The fixer only spread his hands, helpless. "I hear we'll know it when we see it."

"Know it when we see it? What kind of a-"

"Tell it to the trees, Yon, the task is the task."

"And we're here now, aren't we?" said Raubin.

Craw sucked his teeth at him. "Brilliant f.u.c.king observation. Like all the best ones, it's true whenever you say it. Yes, we're here."

"We're here," sang Brack-i-Dayn in his up-and-down Hillman accent, sucking the last shred o' grease from his bone and flicking it into the bushes. "East of the Crinna where the moon don't s.h.i.+ne, a hundred miles from a clean place to s.h.i.+t, and with wild, crazy b.a.s.t.a.r.ds dancing all around think it's a good idea to put bones through their own faces." Which was a little rich, considering he was so covered in tattoos he was more blue than white. There's no style of contempt like the stuff one kind of savage has for another, Craw guessed.

"Can't deny they've got some funny ideas east of the Crinna." Raubin shrugged. "But here's where the thing is, and here's where we are, so why don't we just get the f.u.c.king thing and go back f.u.c.king home?"

"Why don't you get the f.u.c.king thing, Raubin?" growled Jolly Yon.

"'Cause it's my f.u.c.king job to f.u.c.king tell you to get the f.u.c.king thing is why, Yon f.u.c.king c.u.mber."

There was a long, ugly pause. Uglier than the child of a man and a sheep, as the hillmen have it. Then Yon talked in his quiet voice, the one that still gave Craw p.r.i.c.kles up his arms, even after all these years. "I hope I'm wrong. By the dead, I hope I'm wrong. But I'm getting this feeling..." He s.h.i.+fted forward, and it was awfully clear all of a sudden just how many axes he was carrying, "like I'm being disrespected."

"No, no, not at all, I didn't mean-"

"Respect, Raubin. That s.h.i.+t costs nothing, but it can spare a man from trying to hold his brains in all the way back home. Am I clear enough?" Raubin. That s.h.i.+t costs nothing, but it can spare a man from trying to hold his brains in all the way back home. Am I clear enough?"

"Course you are, Yon, course you are. I'm over the line. I'm all over it on both sides of it, and I'm sorry. Didn't mean no disrespect. Lot o' pressure, is all. Lot o' pressure for everyone. It's my neck on the block just like yours. Not down there, maybe, but back home, you can be sure o' that, if she don't get her way..." Raubin shuddered again, worse'n ever.

"A touch of respect don't seem too much to ask-"

"All right, all right." Craw waved the pair of 'em down. "We're all sinking on the same leaky b.l.o.o.d.y skiff, there's no help arguing about it. We need every man to a bucket, and every woman too."

"I'm always helpful," said Wonderful, all innocence.

"If only." Craw squatted, pulling out a blade and starting to scratch a map of the village in the dirt. The way Three trees used to do a long, low, time ago. "We might not know exactly what this thing is, but we know where it is, at least."

Knife sc.r.a.ped through earth, the others all gathering round, kneeling, sitting, squatting, looking on. "A big hall, in the middle, with uprights on it carved like foxes. They look more like dragons to me, but, you know, that's another story. There's a fence round the outside, two gates, north and south. Houses and huts all about here. Looked like a pig pen there. That's a forge, maybe."

"How many do we reckon might be down there?" asked Yon.

Wonderful rubbed at the scar on her scalp, face twisted as she looked up towards the pale sky. "Could be fifty, sixty fighting men? A few elders, few dozen women and children too. Some o' those might hold a blade."

"Women fighting." Never grinned. "A disgrace, is that."

Wonderful bared her teeth back at him. "Get those b.i.t.c.hes to the cook fire, eh?"

"Oh, the cook fire . . ." Brack stared up into the cloudy sky like it was packed with happy memories.

"Sixty warriors? And we're but seven-plus the baggage." Jolly Yon curled his tongue and blew spit over Raubin's boots in a neat arc. "s.h.i.+t on that. We need more men."

"Wouldn't be enough food then." Brack-i-Dayn laid a sad hand on his belly. "There's hardly enough as it-"

Craw cut him off. "Maybe we should stick to plans using the number we've got, eh? Plain as plain, sixty's way too many to fight fair." Not that anyone had joined his crew for a fair fight, of course. "We need to draw some off."

Never winced. "Any point asking why you're looking at me?"

"Because ugly men hate nothing worse than handsome men, pretty boy."

"It's a fact I can't deny," sighed Never, flicking his long hair back. "I'm cursed with a fine face."

"Your curse my blessing." Craw jabbed at the north end of his dirt-plan, where a wooden bridge crossed a stream. "You'll take your unmatched beauty in towards the bridge. They'll have guards posted, no doubt. Mount a diversion."

"Shoot one of 'em, you mean?"

"Shoot near 'em, maybe. Let's not kill anyone we don't have to, eh? They might be nice enough folks under different circ.u.mstances."

Never sent up a dubious eyebrow. "You reckon?"

Craw didn't, particularly, but he'd no desire to weigh his conscience down any further. It didn't float too well as it was. "Just lead 'em a little dance, that's all."

Wonderful clapped a hand to her chest. "I'm so sorry I'll miss it. No one dances prettier than our Never when the music gets going."

Never grinned at her. "Don't worry, sweetness, I'll dance for you later."

"Promises, promises."

"Yes, yes." Craw shut the pair of 'em up with another wave. "You can make us all laugh when this fool job's done with, if we're still breathing."

"Maybe we'll make you laugh too, eh Whirrun?"

The valley man sat cross-legged, sword across his knees, and shrugged. "Maybe."

"We're a tight little group, us lot, we like things friendly."

Whirrun's eyes slid across to Jolly Yon's black frown, and back. "I see that."

"We're like brothers," said Brack, grinning all over his tattooed face. "We share the risks, we share the food, we share the rewards, and from time to time we even share a laugh."

"Never got on too well with my brothers," said Whirrun.

Wonderful snorted. "Well aren't you blessed, boy? You've been given a second chance at a loving family. You last long enough, you'll learn how it works."

The shadow of Whirrun's hood crept up and down his face as he slowly nodded. "Every day should be a new lesson."

"Good advice," said Craw. "Ears open, then, one and all. Once Never's drawn a few off, we creep in at the south gate." And he put a cross in the dirt to show where it was. "Two groups, one each side o'the main hall there, where the thing is. Where the thing's meant to be, leastways. Me, Yon, and Whirrun on the left." Yon spat again, Whirrun gave the slightest nod. "Wonderful, take Brack and Scorry down the right."

"Right y'are, chief," said Wonderful.

"Right for us," sang Brack.

"So, so, so," said Scorry, which Craw took for a yes.

He stabbed at each of 'em with one chewed-to-b.u.g.g.e.r fingernail. "And all on your best behavior, you hear? Quiet as a spring breeze. No tripping over the pots this time, eh, Brack?"

"I'll mind my boots, chief."

"Good enough."

"We got a backup plan," asked Wonderful, "in case the impossible happens and things don't work out quite according to the scheme?"

"The usual. Grab the thing if we can, then run like f.u.c.k. You," and Craw gave Raubin a look.

His eyes went wide as two cook pots. "What, me?"

"Stay here and mind the gear." Raubin gave a long sigh of relief, and Craw felt his lip curl. He didn't blame the man for being a h.e.l.l of a coward, most men are. Craw was one himself. But he blamed him for letting it show. "Don't get too comfortable, though, eh? If the rest of us come to grief these Fox f.u.c.kers'll track you down before our blood's dry and more'n likely cut your fruits off." Raubin's sigh rattled to a quick stop.

"Cut your head off," whispered Never, eyes all scary-wide.

"Pull your guts out and cook 'em," growled Jolly Yon.

"Skin your face off and wear it as a mask," rumbled Brack.

"Use your c.o.c.k for a spoon," said Wonderful. They all thought about that for a moment.

"Right, then," said Craw. "Nice and careful, and let's get in that hall without no one noticing and get us that thing. Above all..."And he swept the lot of 'em with his sternest look, a half circle of dirt-smeared, scar-pocked, bright-eyed, beard-fuzzed faces. His crew. His family. "n.o.body die, eh? Weapons."

Quick sharp, and with no grumbling now the work was at their feet, Craw's crew got ready for action, each one smooth and practiced with their gear as a weaver with his loom, weapons neat as their clothes were ragged, bright and clean as their faces were dirty. Belts, straps, and bootlaces hissed tight, metal sc.r.a.ped, rattled and rang, and all the while Scorry's song floated out soft and high.

Craw's hands moved by themselves through the old routines, mind wandering back across the years to other times he'd done it, other places, other faces around him, a lot of 'em gone back to the mud long ago. A few he'd buried with his own hands. He hoped none of these folk died today, and became nothing but dirt and worn-out memories. He checked his s.h.i.+eld, grip bound in leather all tight and st.u.r.dy, straps firm. He checked his knife, his backup knife, and his backup backup knife, all tight in their sheaths. You can never have too many knives, someone once told him, and it was solid advice, provided you were careful how you stowed 'em and didn't fall over and get your own blade in your fruits.

Everyone had their work to be about. Except Whirrun. He just bowed his head as he lifted his sword gently from the tree-trunk, holding it under the crosspiece by its stained leather scabbard, sheathed blade longer'n one of his own long legs. Then he pushed his hood back, scrubbed one hand through his flattened hair and stood watching the others, head on one side.

"That the only blade you carry?" asked Craw as he stowed his own sword at his hip, hoping to draw the tall man in, start to build some trust with him. Tight crew like this was, a bit of trust might save your life. Might save everyone's.

Whirrun's eyes swiveled to him. "This is the Father of Swords, and men have a hundred names for it. Dawn Razor. Grave-Maker. Blood Harvest. Highest and Lowest. Scac-ang-Gaioc in the valley tongue which means the Splitting of the World, the battle that was fought at the start of time and will be fought again at its end." For a moment he had Craw wondering if he'd list the whole b.l.o.o.d.y hundred but thankfully he stopped there, frowning at the hilt, wound with dull gray wire. "This is my reward and my punishment both. This is the only blade I need."

"Bit long for eating with, no?" asked Wonderful, strutting up from the other side.

Whirrun bared his teeth at her. "That's what these are for."

"Don't you ever sharpen it?" asked Craw.

"It sharpens me."

"Right. Right y'are." Just the style of nonsense Craw would've expected from Cracknut Leef or some other rune-t.o.s.s.e.r. He hoped Whirrun was as good with that great big blade as he was supposed to be, 'cause it seemed he brought nothing to the table as a conversationalist.

"Besides, to sharpen it you'd have to draw it," said Wonderful, winking at Craw with the eye Whirrun couldn't see.

"True." Whirrun's eyes slid up to her face. "And once the Father of Swords is drawn, it cannot be sheathed without-"

"Being blooded?" she finished for him. Didn't take skill with the runes to see that coming, Whirrun must've said the same words a dozen times since they left Carleon. Enough for everyone to get somewhat tired of it.

"Blooded," echoed Whirrun, voice full of portent.

Wonderful gave Craw a look. "You ever think, Whirrun of Bligh, you might take yourself a touch too serious?"

He tipped his head back and stared up into the sky. "I'll laugh when I hear something funny."

Craw felt Yon's hand on his shoulder. "A word, chief?"

"Course," with a grin that took some effort.

He guided Craw away from the others a few steps, and spoke soft. The same words he always did before a fight. "If I die down there..."

"No one's dying today," snapped Craw, the same words he always used in reply.

"So you said last time, 'fore we buried Jutlan." That drove Craw's mood another rung down the ladder into the bog. "No one's fault, we do a dangerous style o' work, and all know it. Chances are good I'll live through, but all I'm saying is, if I don't-"

"I'll stop by your children, and take 'em your share, and tell them what you were."

"That's right. And?"

"And I won't dress it up any."

"Right, then." Jolly Yon didn't smile, of course. Craw had known him years, and hadn't seen him smile more'n a dozen times, and even then when it was least expected. But he nodded, satisfied. "Right. No man I'd rather give the task to."

Craw nodded back. "Good. Great." No task he wanted less. As Yon walked off he muttered to himself. "Always the fool jobs..."

It went pretty much just like Craw planned. He wouldn't have called it the first time ever, but it was a pleasant surprise, that was sure. The six of them lay still and silent on the rise, followed the little movements of leaf and branch that marked Never creeping towards that c.r.a.p-a.r.s.e of a village. It looked no better the closer you got to it. Things rarely did, in Craw's experience. He chewed at his nails some more, saw Never kneel in the bushes across the stream from the north gate, nocking an arrow and drawing the string. It was hard to tell from this range, but it looked like he still had that knowing little grin even now.

He loosed his shaft and Craw thought it clicked into one of the logs that made the fence. Faint shouting drifted on the wind. A couple of arrows wobbled back the other way, vanished into the trees as Never turned and scuttled off, lost in the brush. Craw heard some kind of a drum beating, more shouting, then men started to hurry out across that bridge, weapons of rough iron clutched in their hands, some still pulling their furs or boots on. Perhaps three dozen, all told. A neat piece of work. Provided Never got away, of course.

Yon shook his head as he watched a good chunk of the Fox Clan shambling over their bridge and into the trees. "Amazing, ain't it? I never quite get used to just how f.u.c.king stupid people are."

"Always a mistake to overestimate the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," whispered Craw. "Good thing we're the cleverest crew in the Circle of the World, eh? So could we have no f.u.c.kups, today, if you please?"

"I won't if you won't, chief," muttered Wonderful.

"Huh." If only he'd been able to make that promise. Craw tapped Scorry on his shoulder and pointed down into the village. The little man winked back, then slid over the rise on his belly and down through the undergrowth, nimble as a tadpole through a pond.

Craw worked his dry tongue around his dry mouth. Always ran out of spit at a time like this, and however often he did it, it never got any better. He glanced out the corner of his eye at the others, none of 'em showing much sign of a weak nerve. He wondered if they were bubbling up with worry on the inside, just like he was, and putting a stern face on the wreckage, just like he was. Or if it was only him scared. But in the end it didn't seem to make much difference. The best you could do with fear was act like you had none.

He held his fist up, pleased to see his hand didn't shake, then pointed after Scorry, and they all set off. Down towards the south gate-if you could use the phrase about a gap in a rotten fence under a kind of arch made from crooked branches, skull of some animal unlucky enough to have a fearsome pair of horns mounted in the middle of it. Made Craw wonder if they had a straight piece of wood within a hundred b.l.o.o.d.y miles.

The one guard left stood under that skull, leaning on his spear, staring at nothing, tangle-haired and fur-clad. He picked his nose, and held one finger up to look at the results. He flicked it away. He stretched, and reached around to scratch his a.r.s.e. Scorry's knife thudded into the side of his neck and chopped his throat out, quick and simple as a fisher gutting a salmon. Craw winced, just for a moment, but he knew there'd been no dodging it. They'd be lucky if that was the only man lost his life so they could get this fool job done. Scorry held him a moment while blood showered from his slit neck, caught him as he fell, guided his twitching body soundless to the side of the gate, out of sight of any curious eyes inside.