The Heroes

and he sluiced water around his foul mouth and spat. ‘No sign of Hardbread. We buried Athroc.’ He paused, flask half way to his mouth, slowly let it drop. There was a heap of fresh dirt at the foot of one of the stones on the far side of the Heroes. Brack and Scorry stood in front of it, shovels in their hands. Agrick was between the two, looking down.
    ‘You say the words yet?’ asked Craw, knowing they wouldn’t have but still hoping.
    ‘Waiting for you.’
    ‘Good,’ he lied, and clambered up, gripping to her forearm. It was a grey morning with a nip in the wind, low clouds pawing at the craggy summits of the fells, mist still clinging to the creases in their sides, shrouding the bogs down in the valley’s bottom.
    Craw limped to the grave, shifting his hips, trying to wriggle away from the pain in his joints. He’d rather have gone anywhere else, but there are some things you can’t wriggle away from. They were all drifting over there, gathering in a half-circle. All sad and quiet. Drofd trying to cram down a whole crust of bread at once, wiping his hands on his shirt. Whirrun with hood drawn up, cuddling the Father of Swords like a man might cuddle hissick child. Yon with a face even grimmer’n usual, which took some doing. Craw found his place at the foot of the grave, between Agrick and Brack. The hillman’s face had lost its usual ruddy glow, the bandage on his leg showing a big fresh stain.
    ‘That leg all right?’ he asked.
    ‘Scratch,’ said Brack.
    ‘Bleeding a lot for a scratch, ain’t it?’
    Brack smiled at him, tattoos on his face shifting. ‘Call that a lot?’
    ‘Guess not.’ Not compared to Hardbread’s nephew when Whirrun cut him in half, anyway. Craw glanced over his shoulder, towards where they’d piled the corpses in the lee of the crumbling wall. Out of sight, maybe, but not forgotten. The dead. Always the dead. Craw looked at the black earth, wondering what to say. Looked at the black earth like it had answers in it. But there’s nothing in the earth but darkness.
    ‘Strange thing.’ His voice came out a croak, he had to cough to clear it. ‘The other day Drofd was asking me whether they call these stones the Heroes ’cause there are Heroes buried here. I said not. But maybe there’s one buried here now.’ Craw winced saying it, not out of sadness but ’cause he knew he was talking shit. Stupid shit wouldn’t have fooled a child. But the dozen all nodded, Agrick with a tear-track down his cheek.
    ‘Aye,’ said Yon.
    You can say things at a grave would get you laughed out of a tavern, and be treated like you’re brimming over with wisdom. Craw felt every word was a knife he had to stick in himself, but there was no stopping.
    ‘Hadn’t been with us long, Athroc, but he made his mark. Won’t be forgot.’ Craw thought on all the other lads he’d buried, faces and names worn away by the years, and couldn’t even guess the number of ’em. ‘He stood with his crew. Fought well.’ Died badly, hacked with an axe, on ground that meant nothing. ‘Did the right thing. All you can ask of a man, I reckon. If there’s any—’
    ‘Craw!’ Shivers was standing maybe thirty strides away on the south side of the circle.
    ‘Not now!’ he hissed back.
    ‘Aye,’ said Shivers. ‘Now.’
    Craw hurried over, the grey valley opening up between two of the stones. ‘What am I looking— Uh.’ Beyond the river, at the foot of Black Fell, there were horsemen on the brown strip of the Uffrith Road. Riding fast towards Osrung, smudges of dust rising behind. Could’ve been forty. Could’ve been more.
    ‘And there.’
    ‘Shit.’ Another couple of score coming the other way, towards the Old Bridge. Taking the crossings. Getting around both sides of the Heroes. The surge of worry was almost a pain in Craw’s chest. ‘Where’s Scorry at?’ Staring about like he’d put something down and couldn’t rememberwhere. Scorry was right behind him, holding up one finger. Craw breathed out slow, patting him on the shoulder. ‘There you are. There you are.’
    ‘Chief,’ muttered Drofd.
    Craw followed his pointing finger. The road south from Adwein, sloping down into the valley from the fold between two fells, was busy with movement. He snapped his eyeglass open and peered towards it. ‘It’s the Union.’
    ‘How many, d’you reckon?’
    The wind swept some mist away and, for just a moment, Craw could see the column stretching back between the hills, men and