The Heroes

read the damn things for any money. ‘What do the runes say, Cracknut?’
    ‘The runes say …’ Whirrun squinted down like he was trying to pick out something a long way off. ‘There’s going to be blood.’
    Wonderful snorted. ‘They always say that.’
    ‘Aye.’ Whirrun wrapped himself in his coat, nuzzled up against the hilt of his sword like a lover, eyes already shut. ‘But lately they’re right more often than not.’
    Craw frowned around at the Heroes, forgotten giants, standing stubborn guard over nothing. ‘Those are the times,’ he muttered.

The Peacemaker

    H e stood by the window, one hand up on the stone, fingertips drumming, drumming, drumming. Frowning off across Carleon. Across the maze of cobbled streets, the tangle of steep slate roofs, the looming city walls his father built, all turned shiny black by the drizzle. Into the hazy fields beyond, past the fork of the grey river and towards the streaky rumour of hills at the head of the valley. As if, by sulking hard enough, he could see further. Over two score miles of broken country to Black Dow’s scattered army. Where the fate of the North was being decided.
    Without him.
    ‘All I want is just for everyone to do what I tell them. Is that too much to ask?’
    Seff slid up behind him, belly pressing into his back. ‘I’d say it’s no more than good sense on their part.’
    ‘I know what’s best anyway, don’t I?’
    ‘I do, and I tell you what it is, so … yes.’
    ‘It seems there are a few pig-headed bastards in the North who don’t realise we have all the answers.’
    Her hand slipped up his arm and trapped his restless fingers against the stone. ‘Men don’t like to come out for peace, but they will. You’ll see.’
    ‘And until then, like all visionaries, I find myself spurned. Scorned. Exiled.’
    ‘Until then, you find yourself locked in a room with your wife. Is that so bad?’
    ‘There’s nowhere I’d rather be,’ he lied.
    ‘Liar,’ she whispered, lips tickling his ear. ‘You’re almost as much of a liar as they say you are. You’d rather be out there, beside your brother, with your armour on.’ Her hands slid under his armpits and across his chest, giving him a ticklish shiver. ‘Hacking the heads from cartloads of Southerners.’
    ‘Murder is my favourite hobby, as you know.’
    ‘You’ve killed more men than Skarling.’
    ‘And I’d wear my armour to bed if I could.’
    ‘It’s only concern for my soft, soft skin that stops you.’
    ‘But severed heads are prone to squirt.’ He wriggled around to face her and pushed one lazy fingertip into her breastbone. ‘I prefer a quick thrust through the heart.’
    ‘Just like you’ve skewered mine. Aren’t you the swordsman.’
    He squeaked as he felt her hand between his legs and slid away sniggering across the wall, arms up to fend her off. ‘All right, I admit it! I’m more lover than fighter!’
    ‘At last the truth. Only look what you’ve done to me.’ Putting one hand on her stomach and giving him a disapproving frown. It turned into a smile as he came close, slid his hand over hers, fingertips between hers, stroking her swollen belly.
    ‘It’s a boy,’ she whispered. ‘I feel it. An heir to the North. You’ll be king, and then—’
    ‘Shhhhh.’ And he stopped her mouth with a kiss. There was no way of knowing when someone might be listening, and anyway, ‘I’ve got an older brother, remember?’
    ‘A pinhead of an older brother.’
    Calder winced, but didn’t deny it. He sighed as he looked down at that strange, wonderful, frightening belly of hers. ‘My father always said there’s nothing more important than family.’ Except power. ‘Besides, there’s no point arguing over what we don’t have. Black Dow’s the one who wears my father’s chain. Black Dow’s the one we need to worry on.’
    ‘Black Dow’s nothing but a one-eared thug.’
    ‘A thug with all the North under his boot and its mightiest War Chiefs taking his say-so.’
    ‘Mighty War Chiefs.’ She snorted in his face. ‘Dwarves with big men’s names.’
    ‘Brodd Tenways.’
    ‘That rotten old maggot? Even the thought of him makes me sick.’
    ‘Cairm Ironhead.’
    ‘I hear he has a tiny little prick. That’s why he frowns all the time.’
    ‘Glama Golden.’
    ‘Even tinier. Like a baby’s finger. And you have allies.’
    ‘I do?’
    ‘You know you do. My father likes you.’
    Calder screwed up his face. ‘Your father doesn’t hate me,