The Trouble with Peace (The Age of Madness #2) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,216

guts down the hillside. They meant to dash his brains out like they’d dashed out Corporal Bland’s brains, and him a very nice man with a sister in Holsthorm who’d just had a daughter.

Stillman made no decision.

Just those bloody legs of his again. He turned to run, tripped over a fallen spear and went sprawling on his face. There was an agonising pain and he realised he’d fallen on his sword and the point had gone right into his cheek.

He whimpered, trembling as he pushed himself up. Then something smashed him in the back and the ground hit him in the face again and everything was cold. His mouth was full of blood, and grass, and he coughed and gurgled and squirmed, clutching, clutching.

Downside snarled as he hacked at the man in the red jacket again, drove a great dent into the back of his helmet and knocked him limp. He was shouting something. Didn’t know what. Not even words, really.

“Die, bastard, fucking die, bastard,” every breath a flood of curses, and he hacked at a shield and put a great scar through the sun pattern on it, hacked at it again and knocked the man holding it over on his back, hacked at his leg and left his foot flopping off by a flap of gristle.

Something crashed into his shoulder, knocked him sideways and he slid on the wet grass, fell, reeled up, almost smashed a man over the head before he realised it was a Northman, turned the other way, screaming, charging, rammed into someone and knocked him down. He squealed something before Downside drove the rim of his shield into his throat, and again.

A sword scraped off his mailed shoulder. Downside spun about, caught the man who’d swung it in the hip with his axe, bent him sideways, lifted his shield high and smashed the rim down on the back of his helmet, reared up and smashed his axe down in the same place so the metal was caved right in.

The fight was a mess. Lines long gone. Melted into tangles of murder. He stomped on a crawling man. Flying blood and flying dirt and flying metal. Stomped him again. Men killing each other. A Union officer with teeth bared was using his sword like a shovel, squatting on a Northman’s chest and digging at his caved-in head. Downside roared as he stepped up and hacked his back wide open, blood spraying. His shield had got tangled with a dead Northman’s cloak, Downside tried to tear it loose, couldn’t, twisted his arm free of the straps, left it behind.

Someone came at him with a spear and Downside sidestepped, caught it below the blade, tugging on it with one hand, and was dragged around while the man who held it tried to jerk it free. He swung with his axe and hit the man in the shoulder, split him open and he gave a strange hoot, mouth a round O of surprise, and suddenly Downside was stumbling around holding the spear. Nearly stabbed himself with it. Hacked at someone and blood spattered him, eyes full of it, mouth full of it, flung the spear away, trying to wipe his face.

Someone barrelled into him and they rolled on the ground. He’d lost his axe. Or tangled on the loop around his wrist, knocking at his side. Downside came out on top, punched, kneed, snarled at the man while the man snarled back, struggling and straining. Downside punched him again, and again, smashed his nose to red pulp, got a hand around the haft of his axe and started chopping. Chopped a dent in his breastplate, chopped a great wound out of his face. Hacked at him with his axe, hacked at him, hacked at him, snorting and spitting, breath ripping at his chest, muscles on fire, blood surging so hard in his skull he thought it’d pop his eyes out.

“Die! Die! Duh—?”

He blinked stupidly as he realised his hand was empty. Loop must’ve broken, axe flown off who knew where. He fumbled a dagger from his belt with numb fingers and straight away dropped it as a man blundered into him, caught him, wrestled with him, the two of them staggering about, slipping on the wet grass, over the wet corpses, the fallen weapons, the fallen shields, the bits of men.

Downside growled and snarled and spat into his beard as he grabbed the man’s head and twisted it, wrenched it around, twisted it, and he fumbled at Downside’s clawing