The Heroes

When the Union try to cross, we’ll stop the bastards.’
    Calder didn’t want to deny it, of course, but he had to ask. ‘How many Union on the other side of the river now?’
    ‘A lot.’ Scale looked at him as if daring him to say something. Calder only scratched his head. ‘You’re staying back here, with Pale-as-Snow andthe rest of the men, behind Clail’s Wall.’ Calder nodded. Staying behind a wall sounded like his kind of job. ‘Sooner or later, though, chances are I’ll need your help. When I send for it, come forward. We’ll fight together.’ Calder winced into the wind. That sounded less like his kind of job. ‘I can trust you to do that, right?’
    Calder frowned sideways. ‘Of course.’ Prince Calder, a byword for trustiness. ‘I won’t let you down.’ Brave, bold, good Prince Calder.
    ‘Whatever we’ve lost, we’ve got each other still.’ Scale put his big hand on Calder’s shoulder. ‘It’s not easy, is it? Being a great man’s son. You’d have thought it would come with all kinds of advantages – with borrowed admiration, and respect. But it’s only as easy as it is for the seeds of a great tree, trying to grow in its choking shadow. Not many make it to the sunlight for themselves.’
    ‘Aye.’ Calder didn’t mention that being a great man’s younger son was twice the trial. Then you’ve two trees to take the axe to before you can spread your leaves in the sunshine.
    Scale nodded up towards Skarling’s Finger. A few fires still twinkled on the flanks of the hill where Tenways’ men had their camps. ‘If we can’t hold up, Brodd Tenways is meant to be helping.’
    Calder raised his brows. ‘I’ll expect Skarling himself to ride to my aid before I count on that old bastard.’
    ‘Then it’s you and me. We might not always agree, but we’re family.’ Scale held out his hand, and Calder took it.
    ‘Family.’ Half-family, anyway.
    ‘Good luck, brother.’
    ‘And to you.’ Half-brother. Calder watched Scale swing up onto his horse and spur off sharply down that track towards the Old Bridge.
    ‘Got a feeling you’ll need more’n luck today, your Highness.’ Foss Deep was under the dripping ruins of a porch beside the house, his weathered clothes and his weathered face fading into the weathered wall behind.
    ‘I don’t know.’ Shallow sat wrapped in a grey blanket so only his grinning head showed, disembodied. ‘The biggest mountain of best luck ever might do it.’
    Calder turned away from them in sulky silence, frowning across the fields to the south. He’d a feeling they might have the truth of it.
    Theirs wasn’t the only bit of earth being turned over. Few other wounded men must’ve died in the night. You could see the little groups, hunched in the drizzle with sorrow, or more likely self-pity, which looks about the same and serves just as well at a funeral. You could hear the Chiefs trotting out their empty babble, all aiming at that same sorry tone. Splitfoot was one, standing over the grave of one of Dow’s Named Men not twenty paces distant, giving it the moist eye. No sign of Dow himself, mind you. Moist eyes weren’t really his style.
    Meanwhile the ordinary business of the day got started like the burial parties were ghosts themselves, invisible. Men grumbling as they crawled from wet beds, cursing at damp clothes, rubbing down damp weapons and armour, searching out food, pissing, scratching, sucking the last drops from last night’s bottles, comparing trophies stole from the Union, chuckling over one joke or another. Chuckling too loud because they all knew there’d be more dark work today and chuckles had to be grabbed where they could be.
    Craw looked at the others, all with heads bowed. All except Whirrun, who was arching back, hugging the Father of Swords in his folded arms, letting the rain patter on his tongue. Craw was a little annoyed by that, and a little jealous of it. He wished he was known as a madman and didn’t have to go through the empty routines. But there’s a right way of doing things, and for him there was no dodging it.
    ‘What makes a man a hero?’ he asked the wet air. ‘Big deeds? Big name? Tall glory and tall songs? No. Standing by your crew, I reckon.’ Whirrun grunted his agreement, then stuck his tongue out again. ‘Brack-i-Dayn, come down from the hills fifteen years ago, fought beside me fourteen of ’em, and always thought of his crew ’fore himself. Lost count on the number o’ times that big