‘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!’
‘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
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
