‘No armour.’ Yon was helping Brack into his mail, shaking his head as he frowned over at Whirrun. ‘What kind of a bloody hero don’t wear bloody armour?’
‘Armour …’ mused Whirrun, licking a finger and scrubbing some speck of dirt from the pommel of his sword, ‘is part of a state of mind … in which you admit the possibility … of being hit.’
‘What the fuck?’ Yon tugged hard at the straps and made Brack grunt. ‘What does that even mean?’
Wonderful clapped her hand down on Whirrun’s shoulder and leaned against him, one foot propped on its boot-toe. ‘How many years and you’re still expecting sense out o’ this article? He’s mad.’
‘We’re all fucking mad, woman!’ Brack was red in the face from holding his breath out while Yon struggled to get the buckles closed at his back. ‘Why else would we be fighting for a hill and some old rocks?’
‘War and madness have a lot in common.’ Scorry, not very helpfully, talking around his cheekful of mush.
Yon finally got the last buckle shut and held his arms out so Brack could start getting him into his mail. ‘Being mad don’t stop you wearing bloody armour, though, does it?’
Hardbread’s crew had made it through the orchards, and two sets of three split from the rest — one heading west around the base of the hill, the other north. Getting around their flanks. Drofd’s eyes were wide as he watched ’em moving, then the others getting their gear ready. ‘How can they make jokes? How can they make bloody jokes?’
‘Because every man finds courage his own way.’ Craw didn’t admit that giving advice was his. There’s nothing better for a dose of terror than standing by someone even more terrified than yourself. He clasped Drofd’s hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Just breathe, lad.’
Drofd took a shuddering breath in and forced it out. ‘Right y’are, Chief. Breathe.’
Craw turned to face the rest of the crew. ‘Right, then! They’ve two parties of three trying to get on our flanks, then a few less than a score coming up front.’ He rushed through the numbers, maybe hoping no one would notice the odds. Maybe hoping he wouldn’t. ‘Athroc, Agrick, Wonderful to skirmish, Drofd too, give ’em arrows while they climb, spread ’em out on the slope. When they get in close to the stones … we charge.’ He saw Drofd swallow, not much taken with the idea of charging. The dead knew Craw could think of other ways to spend an afternoon himself. ‘There aren’t enough of ’em to get all around us, and we’ve got the ground. We can pick where we hit ’em, and hit ’em hard. Any luck we’ll break ’em before they get set, then if the other six have a mind to fight we can mop up.’
‘Hit ’em hard!’ growled Yon, clasping hands with the others one after another.
‘Just wait for my word, and move together.’
‘Together.’ Wonderful slapped her right hand into Scorry’s and punched him on the arm with her left.
‘Me, Shivers, Brack, Yon, we’re front and centre.’
‘Aye, Chief,’ said Brack, still struggling with Yon’s mail.
‘Fucking aye!’ Yon took a practice swipe with his axe and jerked the buckles out of Brack’s hands.
Shivers grinned and stuck his tongue out, not especially reassuring.
‘Athroc and Agrick fall back to the wings.’
‘Aye,’ they chimed in together.
‘Scorry, anyone tries to get around the side early on, give ’em a poke. Once we close up, you’re the back rank.’
Scorry just hummed to himself, but he’d heard.
‘Whirrun. You’re the nut in the shell.’
‘No.’ Whirrun took the Father of Swords from its place against the stone and lifted it high, pommel glinting with the sunlight. ‘This is. Which makes me … I guess … that kind of… flaky bit between the nut and the shell.’
‘You’re flaky all right,’ muttered Wonderful, under her breath.
‘You can be whatever bit of the nut you like,’ said Craw, ‘long as you’re there when it cracks.’
‘Oh, I’m going nowhere until you show me my destiny.’ Whirrun pushed back his hood and scrubbed a hand through his flattened hair. ‘Just like Shoglig promised me you would.’
Craw sighed. ‘Can’t wait. Questions?’ No sound except the wind fumbling across the grass, the clapping of palms as they all finished shaking hands, the grunt and jingle as Brack finally got Yon’s armour buckled. ‘All right. ’Case I don’t have the chance to say it again, been an honour fighting with you all. Or an honour slogging across the North in all weathers, anyway. Just keep in mind what Rudd Threetrees once told me. Let’s us get them killed, and not the other way round.’
Wonderful grinned. ‘Best damn advice about war I ever heard.’
The rest of Hardbread’s lads were coming now. The big group. Coming slowly, taking time, up the long slope towards the Children. More than dots now. A lot more’n dots. Men, with a purpose, the odd glint of sunlight on sharp metal. A heavy hand thumped down on his shoulder and Craw jumped, but it was only Yon behind him.
‘A word, Chief?’
‘What’s to do?’ Though he knew already.
‘The usual. If I’m killed…’
Craw nodded, keen to cut it short. ‘I’ll find your sons, and give ’em your share.’
‘And?’
‘I’ll tell ’em what you were.’
‘All of it.’
‘All of it.’
‘Good. And don’t dress it up any, you old bastard.’
Craw waved a hand at his stained coat. ‘When did you last see me dress anything up?’
Yon might’ve had a trace of a smile as they clasped hands. ‘Not lately, Chief, that’s sure.’ Left Craw wondering who’d need telling when he went back to the mud. His family were all here.
‘Talking time,’ said Wonderful.
Hardbread had left his men behind at the Children and was climbing the grassy slope with empty hands and open grin turned up towards the Heroes. Craw drew his sword, felt the frightening, reassuring weight of it in his hand. Knew the sharpness of it, worked at with whetstone every day for a dozen years. Life and death in a length of metal.
‘Makes you feel big, don’t it?’ Shivers spun his own axe around in one fist. A brutal-looking article, studs through the heavy wooden shaft, bearded head notched and gleaming. ‘A man should always be armed. If only for the feel of it.’
‘An unarmed man is like an unroofed house,’ muttered Yon.
‘They’ll both end up leaking,’ Brack finished for him.
Hardbread stopped well within bowshot, long grass brushing at his calves. ‘Hey, hey, Craw! Still up there, then?’
‘Sadly, yes.’
‘Sleeping well?’
‘I’d rather have a feather pillow. You brought me one?’
‘Wish I had one spare. That Caul Shivers up there with you?’
‘Aye. And he brought two dozen Carls with him.’ It was worth a stab, but Hardbread only grinned.
‘Good try. No he didn’t. Haven’t seen you in a while, Caul. How are things?’
Shivers gave the smallest shrug. Nothing more.
Hardbread raised his brows. ‘Like that, is it?’
Another shrug. Like the sky could fall in and it’d make no difference to him.
‘Have it your way. How about it, then, Craw? Can I have my hill back?’
Craw worked his hand around the grip of his sword, raw skin at the corners of his chewed fingernails burning. ‘I’ve a mind to sit here a few days more.’
Hardbread frowned. Not the answer he’d been hoping for. ‘Look, Craw, you gave me a chance the other night, so I’m giving you one. There’s a right way o’ doing things, and fair’s fair. But you might’ve noticed I had some friends come up this morning.’ And he jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the Children. ‘So I’ll ask one more time. Can I have my hill back?’
Last chance. Craw gave a long sigh, and shouted it into the wind. ‘’Fraid not, Hardbread! ’Fraid you’ll have to come up here and take it off me!’
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‘How many you got up there? Nine? Against my two dozen?’
‘We’ve faced down worse odds!’ Though he couldn’t remember ever picking ’em willingly.
‘Good for fucking you, I wouldn’t fancy it!’ Hardbread brought his voice back down from angry to reasonable. ‘Look, there ain’t no need for this to get out of hand…’
‘’Cept we’re in a war!’ And Craw found he’d roared the last word with a sight more venom than he’d planned on.
Far as he could tell over the distance, Hardbread had lost his grin. ‘Right y’are. Thought I’d give you the chance you gave me is all.’
‘That’s good o’ you. Appreciate it. Just can’t move.’
‘That’s a shame all round.’
‘Aye. But there ’tis.’
Hardbread took a breath, like he was about to speak, but he didn’t. He just stood still. So did Craw. So did all his crew behind him, looking down. So did all Hardbread’s too, looking up. Silent on the Heroes, except for the wind sighing, a bird or two warbling somewhere, a few bees buzzing in the warm, tending to the flowers. A peaceful moment. Considering they had a war to be about.
Then Hardbread snapped his mouth shut, turned around and walked back down the steep slope towards the Children.
‘I could shoot him,’ muttered Wonderful.
‘I know you could,’ said Craw. ‘And you know you can’t.’
‘I know. Just saying.’
‘Maybe he’ll think it over, and decide against.’ But Brack didn’t sound all that hopeful.
‘No. He don’t like this any more’n us, but he backed down once already. His odds are too good to do it again.’ Craw almost whispered the last words. ‘Wouldn’t be right.’ Hardbread reached the Children and vanished among the stones. ‘Everyone without a bow, back inside the Heroes and wait for the moment.’
The quiet stretched out. Niggling pain in Craw’s knee as he shifted his weight. Raised voices behind, Yon and Brack arguing about nothing as they got their stub of a line ready. More quiet. War’s ninety-nine parts boredom and, now and then, one part arse-opening terror. Craw had a powerful sense one of those was about to drop on him from a height.
Agrick had planted a few arrows in the earth, flights fluttering like the seed heads on the long grass. Now he rocked back on his heels, rubbing at his jaw. ‘Might be he’ll wait for dark.’
‘No. If he’s been sent more men, it’s ’cause the Dogman wants this hill. The Union wants this hill. He won’t risk us getting help by tonight.’
‘Then …’ muttered Drofd.
‘Aye. I reckon they’ll be coming now.’
By some unhappy chance, as Craw said the word ‘now’, men started to ease out from the shadows of the Children. They formed up in an orderly row, at a steady pace. A shield wall perhaps a dozen men wide, spear-points of a second row glittering behind, archers on the flanks, staying in the cover of the shields.
‘Old style,’ said Wonderful, nocking an arrow.
‘Wouldn’t expect nothing else from Hardbread. He’s old style himself.’ A bit like Craw. Two old leftover fools lasted longer than they’d any right to, setting to knock chunks out of each other. The right way, at least. They’d do it the right bloody way. He looked to the sides, straining for some sign of the two little groups who’d broken off. Couldn’t see no one. Crawling in the long grass, maybe, or just biding their time.
Agrick drew his bowstring back to his frown. ‘When d’you want me to shoot?’
‘Soon as you can hit something.’
‘Anyone in particular?’
Craw scraped his tongue over his front teeth. ‘Anyone you can put down.’ Say it straight, why not, he ought to have the bones to say it, at least. ‘Anyone you can kill.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Do your worst and I’ll be happier.’
‘Right y’are.’ Agrick let fly, just a ranging shot, flitting over the heads of Hardbread’s lot and making ’em duck. Wonderful’s first arrow stuck humming into a shield and the man behind it dropped back, dragging the shield wall apart. It was starting to break up anyway, for all Hardbread’s shouting. Some men moving quicker, some tiring faster on that bastard of a slope.
Drofd shot too, his arrow going way high, lost somewhere short of the Children. ‘Shit!’ he cursed, snatching at another arrow with a trembling hand.
‘Easy, Drofd, easy. Breathe.’ But Craw was finding easy breathing a bit of a challenge himself. He’d never cared for arrows. ’Specially, it hardly needed saying, when they were falling out of the sky at him. They didn’t look much but they could have your death on the end, all right. He remembered seeing the shower of ’em dropping down towards their line at Ineward, like a flock of angry birds. Nowhere to run to. Just had to hope.
One sailed up now and he stepped sideways, behind the nearest Hero, crouching in the cover of his shield. Not much fun watching that shaft spin down, wondering whether the wind would snatch it at the last moment and put it right through him. It glanced off the stone and spun harmlessly away. Not a lot of air between your death and an arrow in the grass.
The man who’d shot it paused on one knee, fiddling with his quiver as the safety of the shields crept up the slope away from him. Athroc’s shaft took him in the stomach. Craw saw his mouth open wide, his own arrow flying from his hand, his scream coming a moment later, sputtering out into a long-drawn wail. Maybe it was the sound of their odds getting that little bit better, but Craw still didn’t much like hearing it. Didn’t like the notion that he might be making a sound like that himself before the hour was out.
The end of the shield wall got ragged as men looked over at the howling archer, wondering whether to help or press on, or just wondering whether they’d be next. Hardbread barked orders, straightened up his line, but Wonderful’s next arrow flitted close over their heads and bent ’em out of shape again. Craw’s people had the height as an ally, could shoot fast and flat. Hardbread’s had to shoot high, where the wind was sure to drag their shafts around. Still, there was no call to take chances. They wouldn’t be settling this with arrows.
Craw let Drofd loose one more, then grabbed his arm. ‘Back to the others.’
The lad jerked around, looking like he was about to scream. Battle lust on him, maybe. You never could tell who’d get it. Mad fear and mad courage are two leaves on one nettle all right, and you wouldn’t want to grab a hold of either one. Craw dug his fingers into the lad’s shoulder and dragged him close. ‘Back to the others, I said!’
Drofd swallowed, Craw’s hand squeezing the sense back into him. ‘Chief.’ And he stumbled back between the stones, bent double.
‘Fall back when you have to!’ Craw shouted at Wonderful. ‘Take no chances!’
‘Too fucking right!’ she hissed over her shoulder, nocking another shaft.
Craw crept backwards, keeping an eye out for arrows until he was past the stones, then hurrying across the circle of grass, stupidly happy to get another couple of moments safe and feeling a coward because of it. ‘They’re on the… Gah!’
Something caught his foot and he twisted his ankle, pain stabbing up his leg. Limped the rest of the way, teeth bared, and fell into line in the centre.
‘Evil, those rabbit holes,’ whispered Shivers.
Before Craw could gather the wits to answer, Wonderful came running between two of the Heroes, waving her bow. ‘They’re past the wall! Got one more o’ the bastards!’
Agrick was at her heels, swinging his shield off his back, an arrow looping over from behind and sticking into the turf by his boots as he ran. ‘The rest are coming!’
Craw could hear their shouting from down below, still the faint scream of the stuck archer, all turned strange by the wind. ‘Get back ’ere!’ he heard Hardbread bellow, short on breath. Sounded like they were still losing shape on the run up, some eager, some the opposite, not used to fighting together. That favoured Craw’s crew, most of ’em been together for what felt like centuries.
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bsp; He stole a glance over his shoulder and Scorry winked back, chewing away. Old friends, old brothers. Whirrun had his sword out of its sheath, great length of dull grey metal with hardly a gleam to its edge even in the sun. Like the runes had said, there was going to be blood. The only question was whose. It passed between ’em as their eyes met, no words spoken and none needed.
Wonderful knelt at the end of their little line in the shadow of Athroc’s shield, nocked an arrow, and Craw’s dozen were ready as they’d ever get.
Someone crept around one of the stones. His shield might’ve had something painted on it once but so scuffed by war and weather there was no telling what. Sword bright in his hand, helmet on, but he hardly looked like anyone’s enemy. He looked knackered, mouth hanging open, panting from the long climb.
He stood staring at ’em, and they stared back. Craw felt Yon straining next to him, bursting to go, heard Shivers’ breath crackling through gritted teeth, heard Brack growling deep in his throat, everyone’s jangling nerves setting everyone else’s jangling even worse.
‘Steady,’ Craw hissed, ‘steady.’ Knew the hardest thing at a time like that was just to stand. Men ain’t made for it. You need to charge or you need to flee, but either way you’re desperate to move, to run, to scream. Had to wait, though. Finding the right moment was everything.
Another of Hardbread’s crew showed themselves, knees bent low, peering over his shield. It had a fish painted on it, and badly. Craw wondered if his name was Fishy, felt a stupid urge to laugh, quickly gone.
They had to go soon. Use the ground. Catch ’em on the slope. Break ’em fast. It was up to him to feel the moment. Like he knew. Time was stretched out, full of details. Breath in his sore throat. Breeze tickling the back of his hand. Blades of grass shifting with the wind. His mouth so dry he wasn’t sure he’d be able to say the word even if he thought the time was right.
Drofd loosed an arrow and the two men ducked down. But the sound of the string loosed something in Craw and, before he’d even thought whether it was the right moment or not, he’d given a great roar. Hardly even a word but his crew got the gist, and like a pack of dogs suddenly slipped the leash, they were away. Too late now. Maybe one moment’s good as another anyway.
The Heroes Page 11
