Redcrow’s hand worked nervously around his axe handle. ‘Eh?’
‘Or maybe you’d rather come down with the rest of us, blessing the name o’ Curnden Craw for giving us a fair warning and letting us go without any arrows in our arses.’
‘Right,’ said Redcrow, and turned away, sullen.
Hardbread puffed his cheeks at Craw. ‘Young ones these days, eh? Were we ever so stupid?’
Craw shrugged. ‘More’n likely.’
‘Can’t say I felt the need for blood like they seem to, though.’
Craw shrugged again. ‘Those are the times.’
‘True, true, and three times true. We’ll leave you the fire, eh? Come on, boys.’ They made for the south side of the hill, still stowing the last of their gear, and one by one faded into the night between the stones.
Hardbread’s nephew turned in the gap and gave Craw the fuck yourself finger. ‘We’ll be back here, you sneaking bastards!’ His uncle cuffed him across the top of his scratty head. ‘Ow! What?’
‘Some respect.’
‘Ain’t we fighting a war?’
Hardbread cuffed him again and made him squeal. ‘No reason to be rude, you little shit.’
Craw stood there as the lad’s complaints faded into the wind beyond the stones, swallowed sour spit, and eased his thumbs out from his belt. His hands were trembling, had to rub ’em together to hide it, pretending he was cold. But it was done, and everyone involved still drawing breath, so he guessed it had worked out as well as anyone could’ve hoped.
Jolly Yon didn’t agree. He stepped up beside Craw frowning like thunder and spat into the fire. ‘Time might come we regret not killing those folks there.’
‘Not killing don’t tend to weigh as heavy on my conscience as the alternative.’
Brack tut-tutted from Craw’s other side. ‘A warrior shouldn’t carry too much conscience.’
‘A warrior shouldn’t carry too much belly either.’ Whirrun had shrugged the Father of Swords off his shoulders and stood it on end, the pommel coming up to his neck, watching how the light moved on the crosspiece as he turned it round and round. ‘We all got our weights to heft.’
‘I’ve got just the right amount, you stringy bastard.’ And the hillman gave his great gut a proud pat like a father might give his son’s head.
‘Chief.’ Agrick strode into the firelight, bow loose in his hand and an arrow dangling between two fingers.
‘They away?’ asked Craw.
‘Watched ’em down past the Children. They’re crossing the river now, heading towards Osrung. Athroc’s keeping a watch on ’em, though. We’ll know if they double back.’
‘You reckon they will?’ asked Wonderful. ‘Hardbread’s cut from the old cloth. He might smile, but he won’t have liked this any. You trust that old bastard?’
Craw frowned into the night. ‘’Bout as much as I’d trust anyone these days.’
‘Little as that? Best post guards.’
‘Aye,’ said Brack. ‘And make sure ours stay awake.’
Craw thumped his arm. ‘Nice o’ you to volunteer for first shift.’
‘Your belly can keep you company,’ said Yon.
Craw thumped his arm next. ‘Glad you’re in favour, you can go second.’
‘Shit!’
‘Drofd!’
You could tell the curly lad was the newest of the crew ’cause he actually hurried up with some snap. ‘Aye, Chief?’
‘Take the saddle horse and head back up the Yaws Road. Not sure whose lads you’ll meet first – Ironhead’s most likely, or maybe Tenways’. Let ’em know we ran into one of the Dogman’s dozens at the Heroes. More’n likely just scouting, but …’
‘Just scouting.’ Wonderful nibbled some scab off one knuckle and spat it from the tip of her tongue. ‘The Union are miles away, split up and spread out, trying to make straight lines out of a country with none.’
‘More’n likely. But hop on the horse and pass on the message anyway.’
‘Now?’ Drofd’s face was all dismay. ‘In the dark?’
‘No, next summer’ll be fine,’ snapped Wonderful. ‘Yes, now, fool, all you’ve got to do is follow a road.’
Drofd heaved a sigh. ‘Hero’s work.’
‘All war work is hero’s work, boy,’ said Craw. He’d rather have sent someone else, but then they’d have been arguing ’til dawn over why the new lad wasn’t going. There are right ways of doing things a man can’t just step around.
‘Right y’are, Chief. See you in a few days, I reckon. And with a sore arse, no doubt.’
‘Why?’ And Wonderful gave a few thrusts of her hips. ‘Tenways a special friend o’ yours is he?’ That got some laughs. Brack’s big rumble, Scorry’s little chuckle, even Yon’s frown got a touch softer which meant he had to be rightly tickled.
‘Ha, bloody ha.’ And Drofd stalked off into the night to find the horse and make a start.
‘I hear chicken fat can ease the passage!’ Wonderful called after him, Whirrun’s cackle echoing around the Heroes and off into the empty dark.
With the excitement over Craw was starting to feel all burned out. He dropped down beside the fire, wincing as his knees bent low, the earth still warm from Hardbread’s rump. 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.
Whirrun set the Father of Swords down, squatted on his haunches and pulled out the old bag he kept his runes in. ‘Best do a reading, eh?’
‘You have to?’ muttered Yon.
‘Why? Scared o’ what the signs might tell you?’
‘Scared you’ll spout a stack of nonsense and I’ll lie awake half the night trying to make sense of it.’
‘Guess we’ll see.’ Whirrun emptied his runes into his cupped hand, spat on ’em then tossed ’em down by the fire.
Craw couldn’t help craning over to see, though he couldn’t read the damn things for any money. ‘What do the runes say, Cracknut?’
‘The runes say …’ Whirrun squinted down like he was trying to pick out something a long way off. ‘There’s going to be blood.’
Wonderful snorted. ‘They always say that.’
‘Aye.’ Whirrun wrapped himself in his coat, nuzzled up against the hilt of his sword like a lover, eyes already shut. ‘But lately they’re right more often than not.’
Craw frowned around at the Heroes, forgotten giants, standing stubborn guard over nothing. ‘Those are the times,’ he muttered.
The Peacemaker
He stood by the window, one hand up on the stone, fingertips drumming, drumming, drumming. Frowning off across Carleon. Across the maze of cobbled streets, the tangle of steep slate roofs, the looming city walls his father built, all turned shiny black by the drizzle. Into the hazy fields beyond, past the fork of the grey river and towards the streaky rumour of hills at the head of the valley. As if, by sulking hard enough, he could see further. Over two score miles of broken country to Black Dow’s scattered army. Where the fate of the North was being decided.
Without him.
‘All I want is just for everyone to do what I tell them. Is that too much to ask?’
Seff slid up behind him, belly pressing into his back. ‘I’d say it’s no more than good sense on their part.’
‘I know what’s best anyway, don’t I?’
‘I do, and I tell you what it is, so … yes.’