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Authors: Nathan Hawke
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grinned, and the scarred Marroc hugged him and dragged him inside.
‘Stannic. Long time.’
‘Torvic!’ Stannic let him go and looked Reddic up and down. ‘This lad yours?’
Torvic shook his head, chuckled to himself – no daughters here for Reddic to make eyes at, thank Diaran! – and sent Reddic back outside to settle the mules and strip their saddles; and by the time he came back Stannic’s wife had fetched some cheese and milk and a few turnips, and Stannic had opened a jug of mead and his three young boys were peering from behind the curtain to the night room with eyes hungry for stories and the evening was looking very comfortable indeed.
‘He ever tell you about Lostring Hill?’ asked Stannic as soon as Reddic sat down, and then he told the story anyway, even though Reddic had heard it a dozen times by now, about how he and Torvic and Sarvic and the two Jonnics and a few others had fought the Vathen with Valaric the Wolf, and how they’d run away with a forkbeard who’d turned out to be Gallow Foxbeard. Reddic listened as though he’d never heard it before, which made Torvic smile even more. By the time he was done, the food was gone, the fire was dying and the eyes gazing out from the night room had long since closed.
‘The Vathen came as far south as the Crackmarsh after,’said Stannic as they settled down for the night. ‘Valaric ever tell you that story, Torvic?’
Torvic nodded, because yes, he knew all about it, and so did anyone who’d lived through Andhun and the months afterwards, but then he saw Reddic shake his head. Reddic was too young to have been at Lostring Hill or at Andhun after. The first forkbeards had probably come from across the sea before Reddic was even born. To him they were simply the way of the world. Hadn’t stopped him running away to the Crackmarsh though.
Stannic belched. ‘Lad, you’ve heard of the Widowmaker, curse his soul, the Nightmare of the North? That was who the forkbeards sent to hold the Vathen outside Fedderhun. Well he lost, didn’t he, and it was Valaric who found him after the battle, out of his senses, and he let the Widowmaker go. Let Gallow take him away.’ He jerked his head down the track towards Middislet and the Crackmarsh. ‘That’s why half of Middislet looks like it was only put up yesterday. Vathen tore a good piece of it down.’ He poked the fire with a stick and watched the sparks rise with the smoke.
Reddic leaned sideways and let out a long fart. ‘Did they find him?’
‘The Widowmaker? He died fighting them outside Andhun the day before the city fell.’
‘I knew that .’
‘Well, how’d you think he got to be at Andhun a month later if the horse shaggers had found him Middislet?’ Stannic laughed and shook his head.
‘Could have escaped.’
‘No. He got away.’ Stannic stared into the flames, remembering, and Torvic stared too, remembering much the same, fleeing through the woods with Valaric and the Foxbeard and then the two Vathan horses and the rest and the aftermath of the battle, and then the days after, riding for Andhun. He looked suddenly up at Stannic.
‘You ever face him? The Nightmare of the North?’
‘Go against him?’ Stannic shook his head and laughed. ‘Never wanted to go and fight when I was younger. Scared, I suppose. I was about the age of your lad here when the Widowmaker came and I didn’t have the balls to run away and be a Crackmarsh man even if there’d been such a thing. Forkbeards didn’t come by these parts for years, and when they did they weren’t as bad as everyone said they’d be, not back then. That was after Tane died and Varyxhun fell. Just wanted to go home, I think. Most of them did, too.’
Reddic looked awed. Torvic grinned. Lostring Hill wasn’t something he talked about that much because everyone who hadn’t been there made out that the Marroc who’d survived the battle were heroes, whereas Torvic knew perfectly well that most of them had been shitting
‘Stannic. Long time.’
‘Torvic!’ Stannic let him go and looked Reddic up and down. ‘This lad yours?’
Torvic shook his head, chuckled to himself – no daughters here for Reddic to make eyes at, thank Diaran! – and sent Reddic back outside to settle the mules and strip their saddles; and by the time he came back Stannic’s wife had fetched some cheese and milk and a few turnips, and Stannic had opened a jug of mead and his three young boys were peering from behind the curtain to the night room with eyes hungry for stories and the evening was looking very comfortable indeed.
‘He ever tell you about Lostring Hill?’ asked Stannic as soon as Reddic sat down, and then he told the story anyway, even though Reddic had heard it a dozen times by now, about how he and Torvic and Sarvic and the two Jonnics and a few others had fought the Vathen with Valaric the Wolf, and how they’d run away with a forkbeard who’d turned out to be Gallow Foxbeard. Reddic listened as though he’d never heard it before, which made Torvic smile even more. By the time he was done, the food was gone, the fire was dying and the eyes gazing out from the night room had long since closed.
‘The Vathen came as far south as the Crackmarsh after,’said Stannic as they settled down for the night. ‘Valaric ever tell you that story, Torvic?’
Torvic nodded, because yes, he knew all about it, and so did anyone who’d lived through Andhun and the months afterwards, but then he saw Reddic shake his head. Reddic was too young to have been at Lostring Hill or at Andhun after. The first forkbeards had probably come from across the sea before Reddic was even born. To him they were simply the way of the world. Hadn’t stopped him running away to the Crackmarsh though.
Stannic belched. ‘Lad, you’ve heard of the Widowmaker, curse his soul, the Nightmare of the North? That was who the forkbeards sent to hold the Vathen outside Fedderhun. Well he lost, didn’t he, and it was Valaric who found him after the battle, out of his senses, and he let the Widowmaker go. Let Gallow take him away.’ He jerked his head down the track towards Middislet and the Crackmarsh. ‘That’s why half of Middislet looks like it was only put up yesterday. Vathen tore a good piece of it down.’ He poked the fire with a stick and watched the sparks rise with the smoke.
Reddic leaned sideways and let out a long fart. ‘Did they find him?’
‘The Widowmaker? He died fighting them outside Andhun the day before the city fell.’
‘I knew that .’
‘Well, how’d you think he got to be at Andhun a month later if the horse shaggers had found him Middislet?’ Stannic laughed and shook his head.
‘Could have escaped.’
‘No. He got away.’ Stannic stared into the flames, remembering, and Torvic stared too, remembering much the same, fleeing through the woods with Valaric and the Foxbeard and then the two Vathan horses and the rest and the aftermath of the battle, and then the days after, riding for Andhun. He looked suddenly up at Stannic.
‘You ever face him? The Nightmare of the North?’
‘Go against him?’ Stannic shook his head and laughed. ‘Never wanted to go and fight when I was younger. Scared, I suppose. I was about the age of your lad here when the Widowmaker came and I didn’t have the balls to run away and be a Crackmarsh man even if there’d been such a thing. Forkbeards didn’t come by these parts for years, and when they did they weren’t as bad as everyone said they’d be, not back then. That was after Tane died and Varyxhun fell. Just wanted to go home, I think. Most of them did, too.’
Reddic looked awed. Torvic grinned. Lostring Hill wasn’t something he talked about that much because everyone who hadn’t been there made out that the Marroc who’d survived the battle were heroes, whereas Torvic knew perfectly well that most of them had been shitting
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