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.
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.
