‘You reckon they will?’ asked Wonderful. ‘Hardbread’s cut from the old cloth. He might smile, but he won’t have liked this any. You trust that old bastard?’
Craw frowned into the night. ‘’Bout as much as I’d trust anyone these days.’
‘Little as that? Best post guards.’
‘Aye,’ said Brack. ‘And make sure ours stay awake.’
Craw thumped his arm. ‘Nice o’ you to volunteer for first shift.’
‘Your belly can keep you company,’ said Yon.
Craw thumped his arm next. ‘Glad you’re in favour, you can go second.’
‘Shit!’
‘Drofd!’
You could tell the curly lad was the newest of the crew ’cause he actually hurried up with some snap. ‘Aye, Chief?’
‘Take the saddle horse and head back up the Yaws Road. Not sure whose lads you’ll meet first – Ironhead’s most likely, or maybe Tenways’. Let ’em know we ran into one of the Dogman’s dozens at the Heroes. More’n likely just scouting, but …’
‘Just scouting.’ Wonderful nibbled some scab off one knuckle and spat it from the tip of her tongue. ‘The Union are miles away, split up and spread out, trying to make straight lines out of a country with none.’
‘More’n likely. But hop on the horse and pass on the message anyway.’
‘Now?’ Drofd’s face was all dismay. ‘In the dark?’
‘No, next summer’ll be fine,’ snapped Wonderful. ‘Yes, now, fool, all you’ve got to do is follow a road.’
Drofd heaved a sigh. ‘Hero’s work.’
‘All war work is hero’s work, boy,’ said Craw. He’d rather have sent someone else, but then they’d have been arguing ’til dawn over why the new lad wasn’t going. There are right ways of doing things a man can’t just step around.
‘Right y’are, Chief. See you in a few days, I reckon. And with a sore arse, no doubt.’
‘Why?’ And Wonderful gave a few thrusts of her hips. ‘Tenways a special friend o’ yours is he?’ That got some laughs. Brack’s big rumble, Scorry’s little chuckle, even Yon’s frown got a touch softer which meant he had to be rightly tickled.
‘Ha, bloody ha.’ And Drofd stalked off into the night to find the horse and make a start.
‘I hear chicken fat can ease the passage!’ Wonderful called after him, Whirrun’s cackle echoing around the Heroes and off into the empty dark.
With the excitement over Craw was starting to feel all burned out. He dropped down beside the fire, wincing as his knees bent low, the earth still warm from Hardbread’s rump. Scorry had found a place on the far side, sharpening his knife, the scraping of metal marking the rhythm to his soft, high singing. A song of Skarling Hoodless, greatest hero of the North, who brought the clans together long ago to drive the Union out. Craw sat and listened, chewed at the painful skin around his fingernails and thought about how he really had to stop doing it.
