The Heroes (First Law World #5)

by Joe Abercrombie

He’d never laid claim to being a brave man and he’d only got more cowardly with age. Strange thing, that–the fewer years you have to lose the more you fear the losing of ’em. Maybe a man just gets a stock of courage when he’s born, and wears it down with each scrape he gets into.

“I try not to damn a man on his choice o’ friends alone.”

Scorry had found a place on the far side, sharpening his knife, the scraping of metal marking the rhythm to his soft, high singing. A song of Skarling Hoodless, greatest hero of the North, who brought the clans together long ago to drive the Union out. Craw sat and listened, chewed at the painful skin around his fingernails and thought about how he really had to stop doing it.

Lending considerable support to the maxim that men always hate in others what is most hateful in themselves.

“We are very happy,” said Finree. Good for you. I want to kill myself.

When you’re planning what to do, always think of doing nothing first, see where that gets you.

You could barely have called it dawn. That funeral-grey light before the sun crawls up that has no colour in it. Few faces abroad, and those that were made ghosts. The empty country turned into the land of the dead. Gorst’s favourite time of the day. One could almost pretend no one will ever talk again.

She did love him, even if she somehow found it hard to say the words. Something very close to love. He looked magnificent in a uniform and even better without one, sometimes surprised her by making her laugh, and there was definite fire when they kissed. He was honourable, generous, diligent, respectful, good-smelling… no towering intellect, true, but probably that was just as well. There is rarely room for two of those in one marriage.

It is easy to forget how much you have, when your eyes are always fixed on what you have not.

“Where is the fun in knowing everything?” She pranced past Craw, up on her toes, almost brushing against him so he had to nervously step back and nearly trip again. “God must be so bored.”

Just for a moment Craw wondered whether Black Dow ever felt like a fraud. Whether Black Dow’s courage needed stitching together every morning.

I think you know this, and have no confidence, which makes you behave, paradoxically, as if you have far too much. I think you make decisions with little thought, abandon some with none and stick furiously to others against all argument, thinking that to change your mind would be to show weakness. I think you fuss with details better left to subordinates, fearing to tackle the larger issues, and that makes your subordinates smother you with decisions on every trifle, which you then bungle. I think you are a decent, honest, courageous man. And I think you are a fool.

You just love that bloody horse, don’t you, Tunny?” “She makes better conversation than you, Forest, that’s for sure, and she’s a damn sight better than walking. Aren’t you, my darling?” He nuzzled at her long face and fed her an extra handful of grain. “My favourite animal in the whole bloody army.” He felt a tap on his arm. “Corporal?” It was Yolk, looking off towards the hill. “No, Yolk, I’m afraid to say you’re nowhere near. In fact you need to work hard at not being my least favourite animal—”

“Corporal?” whispered Yolk, in a small voice. “Yes?” “Is this another example of everyone shitting on the head of the man below?” “Very good, Yolk. We may make a soldier of you yet.”

“Ah! Tea! Nothing seems quite so terrible once there is a cup of tea in your hand, eh? Would anyone else care for some?” There were no takers. Tea was generally considered an unpatriotic Gurkish fashion, synonymous with moustache-twiddling treachery. “Nobody?” “I would love a cup.” Finree slipped smoothly in front of the lord governor, obliging him to take a spluttering step back. “The perfect thing in this weather.” She despised tea, but would happily have drunk an ocean of it for the chance to exchange words with one of the most powerful men in the Union.

Bayaz’ eyes flickered briefly over her face like a pawnshop owner’s asked for an estimate on some gaudy heirloom. Finree’s father cleared his throat, somewhat reluctantly. “This is my daughter—” “Finree dan Brock, of course. My congratulations on your marriage.” She smothered her surprise. “You are very well informed, Lord Bayaz. I would have thought myself beneath notice.” She ignored a cough of agreement from Meed’s direction. “Nothing can be beneath the notice of a careful man,” said the Magus. “Knowledge is the root of power, after all.

Finree wrinkled her lip, checked she was unobserved and furtively tossed the contents of hers down the wall.

“If a mason builds a wall upon a slope and it collapses, he can hardly complain that it would have stood a thousand years if only he had been given level ground to work with.” Bayaz slurped again, again in utter silence. “In war, the ground is never level.”

“It was not my intention to offer excuses,” said her father stiffly. “For the failure I take all the responsibility, for the losses I take all the blame.” “Your willingness to shoulder the blame does you much credit but us little good.” Bayaz sighed as if reproving a naughty grandson. “But let us learn the lessons, gentlemen. Let us put yesterday’s defeats behind us, and look to tomorrow’s victories.” Everyone nodded as though they had never heard anything so profound, even Finree’s father. Here was power. She could not remember ever coming to dislike anyone so much, or admire anyone so much, in so short a time.

“I used to think I had all the answers myself, in my younger days. I maintain a guilty sympathy with those who still labour under the illusion.” He gave her a significant look. “They are not few in number.”

If a person is worthy of contempt, they’ll bury themselves soon enough without help.”

“No sign of Latherliver yet?” “Lederlingen, Corporal Tunny.” “I know his name, Worth. I choose to mispronounce it because it amuses me.”

He picked absently at the scabs on the back of his right hand, wanting to see if he could make them hurt. He winced as he made them hurt more than he had intended to. Ever a fine line.

“Every sword’s a weight to carry. Men don’t see that when they pick ’em up. But they get heavier with time.”

“Ever wish you could just disappear, Craw?” Only every day for the last twenty years.

“You reckon you know someone, and then…” Shivers clicked his tongue. “No one knows anyone. Not really.”

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you too.” Gently stroking his face as he slipped back into sleep. It was true. He was a good man. One of the best. Honest, brave, loyal to a fault. They were well matched. Optimist and pessimist, dreamer and cynic. And what is love anyway, but finding someone who suits you? Someone who makes up for your shortcomings? Someone you can work with. Work on.

“A good liar tells as much truth as he can. That way you never know what you’re getting.”

“Good. In return you will have gold from me.” “That’s the generosity of Magi? Gold?” “What were you expecting, a magic codpiece? This is no children’s storybook. Gold is everything and anything. Power, love, safety. Sword and shield together.

“Knives,” muttered Calder, “and threats, and bribes, and war?” Bayaz’ eyes shone with the lamplight. “Yes?” “What kind of a fucking wizard are you?” “The kind you obey.”