Craw slowly shook his head. ‘Ain’t you worried at all?’

‘Why? Didn’t I say? Shoglig told me the time and place of my death, and—’

‘It’s not here and it’s not now, aye, only about ten thousand bloody times.’ Craw leaned in to whisper. ‘Did she tell you whether you’d get both your legs cut off here, though?’

‘No, that she didn’t,’ Whirrun had to admit. ‘But what difference would that make to my life, will you tell me? You can still sit around a fire and talk shit with no legs.’

‘Maybe they’ll cut your arms off too.’

‘True. If that happens … I’ll have to at least consider retirement. You’re a good man, Curnden Craw.’ And Whirrun poked him in the ribs. ‘Maybe I’ll pass the Father of Swords on to you, if you’re still breathing when I cross to the distant shore.’

Craw snorted. ‘I ain’t carrying that bastard thing around.’

‘You think I chose to carry it? Daguf Col picked me out for the task, on his death-pyre after the Shanka tore out his innards. Purplish.’

‘What?’

‘His innards. It has to go to someone, Craw. Ain’t you the one always saying there’s a right way to do things? Has to go to someone.’

They stood in silence for a moment longer, peering into the brightness beyond the trees, the wind stirring the leaves and making them rustle, shaking a few dry bits of green down onto the spears, and helmets, and shoulders of all those men kneeling in the brush. Birds chirping in the branches, tweet bloody tweet, and even quieter the distant screaming of Reachey’s charge.

Men were moving on the eastern flank of the Heroes. Union men, coming down. Craw rubbed his sweaty palms together, and drew his sword. ‘Whirrun.’

‘Aye?’

‘You ever wonder if Shoglig might’ve been wrong?’

‘Every bloody fight I get into.’

Devoutly to be Wished

Your August Majesty,

General Jalenhorm’s division has reached the town of Osrung, seized the crossings of the river with the usual focused competence, and the Sixth and Rostod Regiments have taken up a strong position on a hill the Northmen call the Heroes. From its summit one receives a commanding view of the country for miles around, including the all-important road north to Carleon, but, aside from a dead fire, we have seen no sign of the enemy.

The roads continue to be our most stubborn antagonists. The leading elements of General Mitterick’s division have reached the valley, but become thoroughly entangled with the rearmost units of Jalenhorm’s, making—

Gorst looked up sharply. He had caught the faintest hint of voices on the wind, and though he could not make out the words there was no mistaking a note of frantic excitement.

Probably deluding myself. I have a talent for it. There was no sign of excitement here behind the river. Men were scattered about the south bank, lazing in the sun while their horses grazed contentedly around them. One coughed on a chagga pipe. Another group were singing quietly as they passed around a flask. Not far away their commander, Colonel Vallimir, was arguing with a messenger over the precise meaning of General Jalenhorm’s latest order.