The Heroes

comfortable with.’
    ‘Aye.’ Licking at his bloated lip with the point of his bloated tongue.
    ‘Scale?’
    ‘Chief.’
    ‘You took the Old Bridge. Hold the Old Bridge.’
    ‘Done.’
    ‘If you have to fall back—’
    ‘I won’t,’ said Scale, with all the confidence of youth and limited brains.
    ‘—it’d be worth having a second line at that old wall. What do they call it?’
    ‘Clail’s Wall,’ said Splitfoot. ‘Some mad farmer built it.’
    ‘Might be a good thing for us he did,’ said Dow. ‘You won’t be able to use all you’ve got in the space behind that bridge anyway, so plant some further back.’
    ‘I will,’ said Scale.
    ‘Tenways?’
    ‘Made for glory, Chief!’
    ‘You’ve got the slope o’ the Heroes and Skarling’s Finger to look to, which means you shouldn’t get into any scrapes right off. Scale or Ironhead need your help, maybe you can find ’em some.’
    Tenways sneered across the fire at Scale and Calder and, hopefully just ’cause he was standing with ’em, Craw. ‘I’ll see what I can root out.’
    Dow leaned forward. ‘Splitfoot and me will be up here at the top, behind the drystone wall. Reckon I’ll lead from the back tomorrow, like our friends in the Union do.’ Another round of harsh laughter. ‘So there it is. Anyone got any better ideas?’ Dow slowly worked the gathering over with his grin. Craw had never felt less like speaking in his life, and it didn’t seem likely anyone else would want to make a spectacle of themselves—
    ‘I have.’ Calder held up a finger, always wanting to make a spectacle of himself.
    Dow’s eyes narrowed. ‘What a surprise. And what’s your strategy, Prince Calder?’
    ‘Put our backs to the Union and run?’ asked Ironhead, a wave of chuckling following after.
    ‘Put our backs to the Union and bend over?’ asked Tenways, followed by another. Calder only smiled through it, and waited for the laughter to fade, and leave things silent.
    ‘Peace,’ he said.
    Craw winced. It was like getting up on a table and calling for chastity in a brothel. He felt a strong urge to step away, like you might from a man doused in oil when there are a lot of naked flames about. But what kind of man steps away from a friend just ’cause he isn’t popular? Even if he is in danger of becoming a fireball. So Craw stayed shoulder to shoulder with him, wondering what the hell his game was, since sure as sure Calder always had some game in mind. The disbelieving silence stretched out long enough for a sudden gust to whip up, make cloaks flap and torch flames dance, throwing wild light across that circle of frowns.
    ‘Why, you bastard fucking
coward
!’ Brodd Tenways’ rashy face was so twisted up with scorn it looked like it might split.
    ‘Call my brother a coward?’ snarled Scale, eyes bulging. ‘I’ll twist your flaky fucking neck!’
    ‘Now, now,’ said Dow. ‘If any necks need twisting I’ll do the picking out. Prince Calder’s known to have a way with words. I brought him out here to hear what he has to say, didn’t I? So let’s hear it, Calder. Why peace?’
    ‘Careful, Calder,’ muttered Craw, trying not to move his lips. ‘Careful.’
    If Calder heard the warning, he chose to piss all over it. ‘Because war’s a waste of men’s time, and money, and lives.’
    ‘Fucking
coward!’
barked Tenways again, and this time even Scale didn’t disagree, just stood staring at his brother. There was a chorus of disgust, and cursing, and spitting, almost as loud as the chorus of approval for Dow. But the louder it got the more Calder smiled. Like he thrived on their hatred like a flower on shit.
    ‘War’s a way of getting things,’ he said. ‘If it gets you nothing, what’s the point? How long have we been marching around out here?’
    ‘You’ve had a trip back home, bastard,’ someone called.
    ‘Aye, and it was talk o’ peace landed you there,’ said Ironhead.
    ‘All right, how long have
you
been out here, then?’ Pointing right in Ironhead’s face. ‘Or you?’ At Golden. ‘Or him?’ Jerking a thumb sideways at Craw. Craw frowned, wishing he’d been left out of it. ‘Months? Years? Marching, and riding, and fearing, and lying out under the stars with your sickness and your wounds. In the wind, in the cold, while your fields, and your herds, and your workshops, and your wives go untended. For what? Eh? What plunder? What glory? If there are ten-score men in all this host who are richer because