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 win! Send word to the Great Wolf that we’re joining the North and—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” called Rikke, holding her palms high and bringing every face towards her. “Let’s not dash off ahead of ourselves. I never agreed to that.”
“You said you’d fall behind the winner!”
“I said ideas should contend. I didn’t say there were only two.”
Oxel’s face twisted. “What the fuck do you mean, girl?”
“Red Hat said join the Union. You said join the North. Spat it at me over my father’s grave, as I recall.” She gave it a moment, feeling her own heart thumping hard in her chest, then shrugged as if she hadn’t a care. “I say we stay as we are. As my father wanted us. Independent.”
“Who fights for that?” sneered Oxel. “You?”
“A woman, in the Circle? Wouldn’t dream o’ polluting the proud institution by sticking my tits in it. First step in getting anything done is knowing what you can’t do, and I wouldn’t last two breaths in there wi’ you. Reckon I’ll leave it to my champion.” And Shivers brushed one of Red Hat’s shield-carriers out of his way and stepped past, grey sword drawn and hanging by his side. “I mean, why even have a champion if he doesn’t fight your duels?”
A mutter went through the watching men. Oxel’s men, and Red Hat’s, and Hardbread’s, and the rest. Fear, and anger, and excitement, too. The Bloody-Nine was the worst man in the world to find yourself in the Circle with. But Caul Shivers came a close second.
“You tricky bitch!” snarled Oxel.
Rikke laughed. “Aye, Tricky Rikke. But this is the North! Tricks are a tradition even older and more proper than duels.” She let her smile fade. “My father fought all his life so we could be free. Fought his friends and his enemies. Fought Black Dow, and Black Calder, and Scale Ironhand, and Stour Nightfall, and never lost. Gave everything for it. Gave till he was a husk. Think I’m going to give up what he gave me just ’cause you ask?” She curled back her lips and screamed it, spraying spit. “You didn’t even fucking ask nicely!”
Oxel worked his mouth. “We’ll see, you little cunt.”
“I do the seeing.” Rikke nodded at Shivers. “The dead are blind.”
To be fair, Oxel gave her a shock of his own by springing forward without even waiting for Red Hat’s corpse to get dragged out, lashing at Shivers’ blind side with everything he had. No doubt he thought his best bet was surprise and knew his chances would wither with every swing. No doubt he was right.
It was a good effort, but Shivers was fresher, and stronger, and quicker, and Rikke never yet saw him surprised. He caught Oxel’s sword with his own, metal squealing as he steered it wide to hack a long scar in one of the shields at the edge of the Circle.
Oxel righted himself as Shivers stepped back into space, weighing his sword, the bright rune near the hilt glinting on the dull blade. “Come on, you bastard!” he snarled. “Come on, you half-blind maggot! I’ll cut a new arse in you!”
Shivers wasted no breath on hard words. Just watched. Calm as a fisherman waiting for the tide.
Oxel came on, feinted low but swung high. Rikke gasped, sure he’d caught Shivers in the face, knowing the future of Uffrith, not to mention her own, was hanging by a thread. But Shivers whipped back from the waist at the last moment, let the blade whistle past his nose, let Oxel stumble after it.
Caul Shivers wasn’t Stour Nightfall. If he’d ever had a mind to show off, he’d left it far in the past with his other eye.
His sword chopped deep into Oxel’s side, under his ribs, specks of blood spattering the gawping faces of his shield-carriers.
Oxel staggered sideways, giving a bubbling wheeze, clutching at his side and the blood leaking dark between his fingers. He tried a despairing lunge, all off balance, but Shivers stepped around it, pinned Oxel’s right arm under his left, lifted his sword high and clubbed Oxel on the crown of his head with the pommel.
Sounded like someone hitting a pot with a hammer. Oxel’s sword clattered to the ground and he dropped to his knees, blood bubbling through his hair and running down his face in red streaks. He gave a funny slurp and looked up at Rikke.
“You—”
Shivers’ sword pinged as it took Oxel’s head off and sent it bouncing across the circle. One of Red Hat’s shield-carriers jumped out of the way to let it roll past. Shivers turned to Oxel’s men as their chief’s body flopped sideways. He didn’t roar in triumph or throw his arms up in victory or bellow insults. Just looked at ’em, like he was making an offer, and wasn’t much bothered either way whether anyone took him up on it.