West laid a hand thoughtfully on his own gut. No. They sat in silence for a while longer.
Theres a favour Id like to ask you.
Name it.
Would you and your friends hold shields for me?
Us? West blinked towards the Carls in the shadow of the wall. Their great round shields looked hard enough to lift, let alone to use well. Are you sure? Ive never held one in my life.
Maybe, but you know whose side youre on. There aint many folk among these that I can trust. Most of em are still trying to work out who they hate more, me or Bethod. It only takes one to give me a shove when I need a push, or let me fall when I need catching. Then were all done. Me especially.
West puffed out his cheeks. Well do what we can.
Good. Good.
The cold silence dragged out. Over the black hills, the black trees, the moon sank and grew dimmer.
Tell me, Furious. Do you reckon a man has to pay for the things hes done?
West looked up sharply, the irrational and sickly thought flashing through his mind that Ninefingers was talking of Ardee, or of Ladisla, or both. Certainly, the Northmans eyes seemed to glint with accusation in the half-lightthen West felt the surge of fear subside. Ninefingers was talking of himself, of course, as everyone always does, given the chance. It was guilt in his eyes, not accusation. Each man has his own mistakes to follow him.
Maybe. West cleared his dry throat. Sometimes. I dont know. I suppose weve all done things we regret.
Aye, said Ninefingers. I reckon.
They sat together in silence, and watched the light leak across the sky.
Lets go, chief! hissed Dow. Lets fucking go!
Ill say when! Dogman spat back, holding the dewy branches out of the way and peering towards the walls, a hundred strides off, maybe, across a damp meadow. Too much light, now. Well wait for that bloody moon to drop a touch further, then well make a run at it.
It aint going to get any darker! Bethod cant have too many men left after all the ones we killed up in the mountains, and thats a lot o walls. Theyll be spread thin as cobwebs up there.
It only takes one to
And Dow was off across that field and running, as plain on the flat grass as a turd on a snow-field.
Shit! hissed Dogman, helpless.
Uh, said Grim.
There was nothing to do but stare, and wait for Dow to get stuck full of arrows. Wait for the shouts, and torches lit, and the alarm to go up, and the whole thing dumped right in the shit-hole. Then Dow dashed up the last bit of slope and was gone into the shadows by the wall.
He made it, said Dogman.
Uh, said Grim.
That ought to have been a good thing, but Dogman didnt feel too much like laughing. He had to make the run himself now, and he didnt have Dows luck. He looked at Grim, and Grim shrugged. They burst out from the trees together, feet pounding across the soft meadow. Grim had the longer legs, started pulling away. The ground was a good deal softer than Dogman had
Gah! His foot squelched to the ankle and he went flying over, splashed down in the mire and slid along on his face. He floundered up, cold and gasping, ran the rest of the way with his wet shirt plastered against his skin. He stumbled up the slope to the foot of the walls and bent over, hands to his knees, blowing hard and spitting out grass.
Looks like you took a tumble there, chief. Dows grin was a white curve in the shadows.
You mad bastard! hissed Dogman, his temper flaring up hot in his cold chest. You couldve been the deaths of all of us!
Oh, theres still time.
Shhhh. Grim flailed one hand at them to say keep quiet. Dogman pressed himself tight to the wall, worry snuffing his anger out quick-time. He heard men moving up above, saw the glimmer of a lamp pass slow down the walls. He waited, still, no sound but Dows quiet breath beside him and his own heart pounding, til the men above moved on and all was quiet again.
Tell me that aint got your blood flowing quick, chief, whispered Dow.
Were lucky it aint flowing right out of us.
What now?
Dogman gritted his teeth as he tried to scrape the mud out of his face. Now we wait.
Logen stood up, brushed the dew from his trousers, took a long breath of the chill air. There could be no denying any longer that the sun was well and truly up. It mightve been hidden in the east behind Skarlings Hill, but the tall black towers up there had bright golden edges, the thin, high clouds were pinking underneath, the cold sky between turning pale blue.
Better to do it, Logen whispered under his breath, than live with the fear of it. He remembered his father telling him that. Saying it in the smoky hall, light from the fire shifting on his lined face, long finger wagging. Logen remembered telling it to his own son, smiling by the river, teaching him to tickle fish. Father and son, both dead now, earth and ashes. No one would learn it after Logen, once he was gone. No one would miss him much at all, he reckoned. But then who cared? Theres nothing worth less than what men think of you after youre back in the mud.
He wrapped his fingers round the grip of the Makers sword, felt the scored lines tickling at his palm. He slid it from the sheath and let it hang, worked his shoulders round in circles, jerked his head from side to side. One more cold breath in, and out, then he started walking, up through the crowd that had gathered in a wide arc around the gate. A mix of the Dogmans Carls and Crummocks hillmen, and a few Union soldiers given leave to watch the crazy Northerners kill each other. Some called to him as he came through, all knowing there were a lot more lives hanging on this than Logens own.
Its Ninefingers!
The Bloody-Nine.
Put an end to this!
Kill that bastard!
They had their shields, all the men that Logen had picked to hold them, standing in a solemn knot near the walls. West was one, and Pike, and Red Hat, and Shivers too. Logen wondered if hed made a mistake with the last of them, but hed saved the mans life in the mountains and that ought to count for something. Ought to was a thin thread to hang your life on, but there it was. His life had been dangling from a thin thread ever since he could remember.
Crummock-i-Phail fell into step beside him, big shield looking small on one big arm, the other hand resting light on his fat belly. You looking forward to this then, Bloody-Nine? I am, I can tell you that!
Hands slapped at his shoulders, voices called encouragement, but Logen said nothing. He didnt look left or right as he pushed past into the shaven circle. He felt men close in behind him, heard them set their shields in a half-ring round the edge of the short grass, facing the gates of Carleon. Further back the crowd pressed in tight. Whispering to each other. Straining to see. No way back now, that was a fact. But then there never had been. Hed been heading here all his days. Logen stopped, in the centre of the circle, and he turned his face up towards the battlements.
Its sunrise! he roared. Lets get to it!
There was silence, while the echoes died, and the wind pushed some loose leaves around the grass. A silence long enough for Logen to start hoping no one would answer. To start hoping theyd all somehow slipped away in the night, and thered be no duel after all.
Then faces appeared on the walls. One here, one there, then a whole crowd, lining the parapet far as Logen could see in both directions. Hundreds of folkfighting men, women, children even, up on shoulders. Everyone in the city, it looked like. Metal squealed, and wood creaked, and the tall gates ever so slowly swung apart, the glare of the rising sun spilling out the crack between, then pouring bright through the open archway. Two lines of men came tramping out.