The Heroes

wanting to give her the chance to talk him round.
    She took a breath. ‘All right.’ She gave his hand a squeeze, almost painful. ‘We fight.’ And she walked away, pulling her archery guard on with her teeth. ‘Arm up, you bastards! We fight!’
    Athroc and Agrick were ready, helmets on, bashing their shields together and grunting in each other’s faces, working themselves up to it. Scorry was holding his spear just under the blade, using it to shave bits of Shudder Root off a lump and into his mouth. Whirrun had finally stood up and now he was smiling into the blue sky with his eyes closed, sun on his face. His preparations didn’t go much beyond taking his coat off.
    ‘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