The Trouble with Peace (The Age of Madness #2) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,96

like they were still as brimming with vinegar at sixty as they’d been at twenty, and both of ’em quite clearly weren’t. Maybe if they had been they wouldn’t have got so easily prodded into fighting each other. But then getting warriors to fight has always been easy. It’s stopping the bastards that’s the tougher trick.

“Well, here is a business the moon can smile upon!” called Isern. “We all know what the matter is and we all know what hangs on the result. Get to it!” She slipped from the Circle giving no one any time for second thoughts, and the shields were locked together behind her, metal rims scraping, painted faces pointing in.

With some reluctance, the two old War Chiefs began to circle, Red Hat with his sword point up, Oxel with his out to the side. They circled closer, Oxel with his teeth bared and Red Hat’s tongue working at his lower lip. They circled, closer yet, then Red Hat stabbed and Oxel parried, chopped back and Red Hat ducked away. Shield-carriers gasped, and shields scraped as the circle flexed and shifted, then the noise mounted, men behind pressing in, and calling out, and shaking their fists, then grunting and shouting and bellowing encouragement till there was a roaring in the hall might’ve waked Rikke’s father, where he lay in the deep dark earth just outside the wooden walls.

She pulled the old sheepskin tight around her shoulders. Still smelled like him, somehow. She wished for a moment he could be woken, and thought of him striding in to see what all the fuss was about. Thought of him smiling at her the way he used to, like she was the most precious thing he had. The most precious thing there was. Then she wondered if he would smile, when he saw her blinded eye and the runes on her face. Wondered if he’d have stared, fearful and queasy like everyone else. The thought made a tear gather in her blind eye that she had to dab away.

By then, she wasn’t the only one leaking. Blood was trickling from Red Hat’s sleeve and tip-tapping from his fingertips, and Oxel had a red mouth from an elbow and was carrying a bit of a limp. Almost made Rikke feel bad, setting two old men to kill each other, but she had to make of her heart a stone. Someone had to steer Uffrith now her father was gone.

Steel clanged and the two old War Chiefs groaned, tottered and wrestled, tired and clumsy. Bit of an unedifying spectacle, all in all. There’s a reason fighting mostly gets left to the young. Oxel’s chest heaved, his sword drooped. Red Hat’s twisted face glimmered with sweat as he gathered himself for one more effort, but it was clear where it’d fall. He swung overhand and Oxel stumbled out of the way. He barely even thrust, really, it was more that Red Hat slipped, and as luck would have it, he fell right onto Oxel’s sword. Luck can be quite the dodgy bitch, after all.

The blade slid right through him, and Red Hat’s jacket stuck out to a glinting point behind his back, then the whole thing started turning red, not just his hood. His face went pink, veins bulging from his neck, and he tried to speak, but just spluttered blood onto the ground.

Oxel ripped his blade back and Red Hat tottered, sword hanging from his hand and the point scraping the floor. He coughed and retched, like he couldn’t get a breath. He gave a hissing groan as he lifted his sword one more time, and Oxel took a cautious step back, but all Red Hat did was fish at the air with it, then turn all the way around and crash onto his side. Blood trickled out of his mouth and spread down the cracks between the stones around him, and his eyes goggled at nothing.

“Reckon Uffrith won’t be joining the Union, anyway,” said Isern, leaning on her spear.

Oxel’s men sent up a great cheer. Red Hat’s drooped, sullen and silent. Rikke had always liked Red Hat. He’d laughed at her jokes when she was a girl. He’d talked with her father into the night, firelight on their lined faces. And out of joining the Union or joining the North, she reckoned his had been much the better idea. But someone had to steer Uffrith now, and it couldn’t be him.

“I win!” roared Oxel, holding up his bloody sword. “I fucking