A Little Hatred (The Age of Madness #1) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,156

life, with time and hard labour you can always win ’em back.’ He’d lost his name, hadn’t he? And won a new? He could still smell the sweet clover in his nose as he lay there in the Circle, waiting for the end. ‘But there’s no beating the Great Leveller. No man comes back from the mud.’

Stour gave a hiss of disgust. ‘Fucking coward’s words.’

‘A live coward can find his courage another day. A dead hero …’ Clover liked to talk, but sometimes silence says more. He let it stretch a moment longer, then smiled. ‘Still. I daresay you’ll have it your way, Great Wolf.’

And he followed Black Calder out of the hall.

Hopes and Hatreds

‘They packed him in a box,’ said Jurand, staring sadly into the fire.

‘Who?’ asked Glaward.

‘Barniva. To be sent back to his family.’

Whitewater winced, prodding at a big bruise he’d picked up in the battle. ‘I guess that’s what they do. With dead men.’

‘They packed him with salt, but I daresay he’ll be ripe by the time he gets there—’

‘Are you auditioning for his part as the war-weary one?’ snapped Leo, not enjoying this conversation at all. Not wanting to think about Barniva’s death. Not wanting to think about what part he might’ve had in it. ‘I’ve got a bloody duel to win. They might be packing me in a box this time tomorrow!’

‘But they won’t need to send you anywhere,’ said Whitewater, brow crinkling with puzzlement. ‘Your mother’s in the camp.’

Leo gritted his teeth. ‘My point is, I need to focus. It’s a shame about Barniva. He was a brave man. A good friend. Always there when you needed him.’ He felt his voice quavering a little. ‘If he hadn’t put his shield across me …’ Perhaps he’d still be alive. All his tedious warnings about the horrors of war seemed wise words now. Leo never thought he might have missed them. ‘It’s a damn shame about Barniva, but we’ll have to mourn him later. Right now, we need to make his sacrifice worthwhile. Him, and Ritter, and all the others …’ His voice was quavering again, damn it. He felt a surge of anger. ‘I need you all to bloody focus. I have to pick a weapon to take to the Circle. My life might hang on the choice.’

Jurand straightened up. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just …’ And he sagged back down. ‘In a box.’

‘Spear,’ said Antaup. ‘It has the reach, the speed, the finesse—’

‘Finesse.’ Whitewater chuckled. ‘The Circle’s no place for finesse.’

Glaward rolled his eyes like he never heard such folly. ‘And once Stour Nightfall slips around your pig-sticker, what then?’

‘Your counterproposal?’ asked Antaup with an urbane arched eyebrow. ‘A monstrous battleaxe, I daresay, heavier than he is, that he can swing twice before he’s blown?’

Glaward looked slightly affronted. ‘They make small axes, too.’

‘Spear’s too cumbersome for single combat in a small space.’ Jin grimaced as he rubbed at his bruised cheek again. ‘Axe is simple, sturdy, good close up.’

‘If you want close up, a sword’s more versatile.’ Antaup mimed the actions. ‘Thrust, slash, lunge, pommel strike.’

Glaward rolled his eyes. ‘Always with the bloody pommel strike. Sword is obvious.’

‘Sword is classic.’

‘You’re all missing the point,’ snapped Leo. ‘You take a weapon, but you never know if you’ll fight with it, or hand it to your opponent and fight with whatever he brings. What you need is something you can use but the other bastard can’t.’

Glaward frowned. ‘Such as …’

‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you!’

‘Maybe you should ask someone clever.’ Jin was wobbling a tooth now, just behind the bruise, checking if it was loose. ‘Like your mother.’

‘We’re not on the best of terms right now,’ said Leo, grumpily. ‘She’s not too keen on the whole duel idea.’

There was a brief silence. Antaup and Glaward exchanged a meaningful glance. Then Jurand sat forward, all open and earnest, flames reflected in the corners of his eyes. Leo couldn’t deny it had an effect on him, when he did that. ‘Do you think … maybe … you should listen to her?’

‘Really? Now?’

‘Well, she’s about the best tactician I know—’

‘So you don’t think I can do it?’

‘No one believes in you more than me!’ Jurand cleared his throat, glanced at the others, sat back a little. ‘More than us. But single combat … it’s a gamble. Anything could happen. I don’t … we don’t want you to get … hurt.’ His voice failed him on the last word and became a croak. As if he couldn’t