The Heroes

he’s hoping I’ll start plotting, and then he’ll be able to bring it all out and hang me nice and fair.’
    ‘Don’t plot, then, you should be right enough with everyone.’
    ‘Don’t be an
idiot.’
A couple of Carls looked up from their water cups, and he pushed his voice back down. Scale could afford to lose his temper, Calder couldn’t. ‘We need to protect ourselves. We have enemies everywhere.’
    ‘True, and there’s one you haven’t talked about at all. Most dangerous of the lot, far as I can tell.’ Calder froze for a moment, wondering who he might have left out of his calculations. ‘The fucking Union!’ Scale pointed through the trees towards the south with one thick finger. ‘Kroy, and the Dogman, and their forty thousand soldiers! The ones we’ve been fighting a war against! I’ve been, anyway.’
    ‘That’s Black Dow’s war, not mine.’
    Scale slowly shook his head. ‘Did you ever think it might be the easier, cheaper, safer path just to do what you’re told?’
    ‘Thought about it, decided against. What we need—’
    ‘Listen to me.’ Scale came close, looking him right in the eye. ‘There’s a battle coming, and we have to fight. Do you understand? This is the North. We have to fight.’
    ‘Scale—’
    ‘You’re the clever one. Far cleverer than me, everyone knows it. The dead know I know it.’ He leaned closer still. ‘But the men won’t follow cleverness. Not without strength. You have to earn their respect.’
    ‘Huh.’ Calder glanced around at the hard eyes in the trees. ‘Can’t I just borrow it from you?’
    ‘One day I might not be here, and you’ll need some respect of your own. You don’t have to wade in blood. You just have to share the hardships and share the danger.’
    Calder gave a watery smile. ‘It’s the danger that scares me.’ He wasn’t over keen on the hardships either, if the truth be known.
    ‘Fear is good.’ Easy for him to say whose skull was so thick fear couldn’t get in. ‘Our father was scared every day of his life. Kept him sharp.’ Scale took Calder’s shoulder in a grip that wasn’t to be resisted and turned him to face south. Between the trunks of the trees at the edge of the woods he could see a long expanse of fields, gold, and green, and fallow brown. The western spur of the Heroes loomed up on the left, Skarling’s finger stickingfrom the top, the grey streak of a road through the crops at its foot. ‘That track leads to the Old Bridge. Dow wants us to take it.’
    ‘Wants
you
to take it.’
    ‘Us. It’s barely defended. Do you have a shield?’
    ‘No.’ Nor the slightest wish to go where he might need one.
    ‘Pale-as-Snow, lend me your shield there.’
    The waxy-faced old warrior handed it over to Calder. Painted white, appropriately enough. It had been a long time since he’d handled one, battered about a courtyard at sword practice, and he’d forgotten how much the damn things weighed. The feel of it on his arm brought back ugly memories of old humiliations, most of them at his brother’s hands. But they’d probably be eclipsed by new ones before the day was out. If he lived through it.
    Scale patted Calder on his sore cheek again. Unpleasantly firm, again. ‘Stay close to me and keep your shield up, you’ll get through all right.’ He jerked his head towards the men scattered in the trees. ‘And they’ll think more of you just for seeing you up front.’
    ‘Right.’ Calder hefted the shield with scant enthusiasm.
    ‘Who knows?’ His brother slapped him on the back and nearly knocked him over. ‘Maybe you will too.’

Ours Not to Reason Why

    ‘Y ou just love that bloody horse, don’t you, Tunny?’
    ‘She makes better conversation than you, Forest, that’s for sure, and she’s a damn sight better than walking. Aren’t you, my darling?’ He nuzzled at her long face and fed her an extra handful of grain. ‘My favourite animal in the whole bloody army.’
    He felt a tap on his arm. ‘Corporal?’ It was Yolk, looking off towards the hill.
    ‘No, Yolk, I’m afraid to say you’re nowhere near. In fact you need to work hard at not being my least favourite animal—’
    ‘No, Corporal. Ain’t that that Gurts?’
    Tunny frowned. ‘Gorst.’ The neckless swordsman was riding across the river from the direction of the orchards on the far bank, horse’s hooves dashing up spray, armour glinting dully in what had turned out to be bright sunlight. He spurred up the bank and into