Redcrow’s hand worked nervously around his axe handle. ‘Eh?’
‘Or maybe you’d rather come down with the rest of us, blessing the name o’ Curnden Craw for giving us a fair warning and letting us go without any arrows in our arses.’
‘Right,’ said Redcrow, and turned away, sullen.
Hardbread puffed his cheeks at Craw. ‘Young ones these days, eh? Were we ever so stupid?’
Craw shrugged. ‘More’n likely.’
‘Can’t say I felt the need for blood like they seem to, though.’
Craw shrugged again. ‘Those are the times.’
‘True, true, and three times true. We’ll leave you the fire, eh? Come on, boys.’ They made for the south side of the hill, still stowing the last of their gear, and one by one faded into the night between the stones.
Hardbread’s nephew turned in the gap and gave Craw the fuck yourself finger. ‘We’ll be back here, you sneaking bastards!’ His uncle cuffed him across the top of his scratty head. ‘Ow! What?’
‘Some respect.’
‘Ain’t we fighting a war?’
Hardbread cuffed him again and made him squeal. ‘No reason to be rude, you little shit.’
Craw stood there as the lad’s complaints faded into the wind beyond the stones, swallowed sour spit, and eased his thumbs out from his belt. His hands were trembling, had to rub ’em together to hide it, pretending he was cold. But it was done, and everyone involved still drawing breath, so he guessed it had worked out as well as anyone could’ve hoped.
Jolly Yon didn’t agree. He stepped up beside Craw frowning like thunder and spat into the fire. ‘Time might come we regret not killing those folks there.’
‘Not killing don’t tend to weigh as heavy on my conscience as the alternative.’
Brack tut-tutted from Craw’s other side. ‘A warrior shouldn’t carry too much conscience.’
‘A warrior shouldn’t carry too much belly either.’ Whirrun had shrugged the Father of Swords off his shoulders and stood it on end, the pommel coming up to his neck, watching how the light moved on the crosspiece as he turned it round and round. ‘We all got our weights to heft.’
‘I’ve got just the right amount, you stringy bastard.’ And the hillman gave his great gut a proud pat like a father might give his son’s head.
‘Chief.’ Agrick strode into the firelight, bow loose in his hand and an arrow dangling between two fingers.
‘They away?’ asked Craw.
‘Watched ’em down past the Children. They’re crossing the river now, heading towards Osrung. Athroc’s keeping a watch on ’em, though. We’ll know if they double back.’
