The Heroes

metal, spears prickling and flags waving above. Stretching back far as he could see.
    ‘Looks like all of ’em,’ breathed Wonderful.
    Brack leaned over. ‘Tell me we ain’t fighting this time.’
    Craw lowered his eyeglass. ‘Sometimes the right thing to do is run like fuck. Pack up!’ he bellowed. ‘Right now! We’re moving out!’
    His crew always kept most of their gear stowed and they were busy packing the rest quick sharp, Scorry with a jaunty marching tune on the go. Jolly Yon was stomping the little fire out with one boot while Whirrun watched, already packed since all he owned was the Father of Swords and he had it in one hand.
    ‘Why put it out?’ asked Whirrun.
    ‘I ain’t leaving those bastards my fire,’ grunted Yon.
    ‘Don’t reckon they’ll all be able to fit around it, do you?’
    ‘Even so.’
    ‘We can’t even all fit around it.’
    ‘Still.’
    ‘Who knows? You leave it, maybe one of those Union fellows burns himself and they all get scared and go home.’
    Yon looked up for a moment, then ground the last embers out under his boot. ‘I ain’t leaving those bastards my fire.’
    ‘That’s it then?’ asked Agrick. Craw found it hard to look in his eye. There was something desperate in it. ‘That’s all the words he gets?’
    ‘We can say more later, maybe, but for now there’s the living to think on.’
    ‘We’re giving it up.’ Agrick glared at Shivers, fists clenched, like he was the one killed his brother. ‘He died for nothing. For a fucking hill we ain’t even holding on to! If we hadn’t fought he’d still be alive! You hear that!’ He took a step, might’ve gone for Shivers if Brack hadn’t grabbed him from behind, Craw from in front, holding him tight.
    ‘I hear it.’ Shivers shrugged, bored. ‘And it ain’t the first time. If I hadn’t gone to Styria I’d still have both my eyes. I went. One eye. We fought. He died. Life only rolls one way and it ain’t always the way we’d like. There it is.’ He turned and strolled off towards the north, axe over his shoulder.
    ‘Forget about him,’ muttered Craw in Agrick’s ear. He knew what it wasto lose a brother. He’d buried all three of his in one morning. ‘You need a man to blame, blame me. I chose to fight.’
    ‘There was no choice,’ said Brack. ‘It was the right thing to do.’
    ‘Where’d Drofd get to?’ asked Wonderful, slinging her bow over her shoulder as she walked past. ‘Drofd?’
    ‘Over here! Just packing up!’ He was down near the wall, where they’d left the bodies of Hardbread’s lot. When Craw got there he was kneeling by one of ’em, going through his pockets. He grinned around, holding out a few coins. ‘Chief, this one had some …’ He trailed off when he saw Craw’s frown. ‘I was going to share it out—’
    ‘Put it back.’
    Drofd blinked at him. ‘But it’s no good to him now—’
    ‘Ain’t yours is it? Leave it there with Hardbread’s lad and when Hard-bread comes back he’ll decide who gets it.’
    ‘More’n likely it’ll be Hardbread gets it,’ muttered Yon, coming up behind with his mail draped over his shoulder.
    ‘Maybe it will be. But it won’t be any of us. There’s a right way of doing things.’
    That got a couple of sharp breaths and something close to a groan. ‘No one thinks that way these days, Chief,’ said Scorry, leaning on his spear.
    ‘Look how rich some no-mark like Sutt Brittle’s made himself,’ said Brack.
    ‘While we scrape by on a piss-pot staple and the odd gild,’ growled Yon.
    ‘That’s what you’re due, and I’ll see you get a gild for yesterday’s work. But you’ll leave the bodies be. You want to be Sutt Brittle you can beg a place with Glama Golden’s lot and rob folk all day long.’ Craw wasn’t sure what was making him so prickly. He’d let it pass before. Helped himself more’n once when he was younger. Even Threetrees used to overlook his boys picking a corpse or two. But prickly he was, and now he’d chosen to stand on it he couldn’t back down. ‘What’re we?’ he snapped, ‘Named Men or pickers and thieves?’
    ‘Poor is what we are, Chief,’ said Yon, ‘and starting to—’
    ‘What the
fuck?
’ Wonderful slapped the coins from Drofd’s hand and sent ’em scattering into the grass. ‘When you’re Chief, Jolly Yon Cumber, you can do it your way. ’Til then, we’ll do it Craw’s. We’re Named Men. Or I am, at least – I ain’t convinced about the rest of you.