‘You can be whatever bit of the nut you like,’ said Craw, ‘long as you’re there when it cracks.’

‘Oh, I’m going nowhere until you show me my destiny.’ Whirrun pushed back his hood and scrubbed a hand through his flattened hair. ‘Just like Shoglig promised me you would.’

Craw sighed. ‘Can’t wait. Questions?’ No sound except the wind fumbling across the grass, the clapping of palms as they all finished shaking hands, the grunt and jingle as Brack finally got Yon’s armour buckled. ‘All right. ’Case I don’t have the chance to say it again, been an honour fighting with you all. Or an honour slogging across the North in all weathers, anyway. Just keep in mind what Rudd Threetrees once told me. Let’s us get them killed, and not the other way round.’

Wonderful grinned. ‘Best damn advice about war I ever heard.’

The rest of Hardbread’s lads were coming now. The big group. Coming slowly, taking time, up the long slope towards the Children. More than dots now. A lot more’n dots. Men, with a purpose, the odd glint of sunlight on sharp metal. A heavy hand thumped down on his shoulder and Craw jumped, but it was only Yon behind him.

‘A word, Chief?’

‘What’s to do?’ Though he knew already.

‘The usual. If I’m killed—’

Craw nodded, keen to cut it short. ‘I’ll find your sons, and give ’em your share.’

‘And?’

‘I’ll tell ’em what you were.’

‘All of it.’

‘All of it.’

‘Good. And don’t dress it up any, you old bastard.’

Craw waved a hand at his stained coat. ‘When did you last see me dress anything up?’

Yon might’ve had a trace of a smile as they clasped hands. ‘Not lately, Chief, that’s sure.’ Left Craw wondering who’d need telling when he went back to the mud. His family were all here.

‘Talking time,’ said Wonderful.

Hardbread had left his men behind at the Children and was climbing the grassy slope with empty hands and open grin turned up towards the Heroes. Craw drew his sword, felt the frightening, reassuring weight of it in his hand. Knew the sharpness of it, worked at with whetstone every day for a dozen years. Life and death in a length of metal.

‘Makes you feel big, don’t it?’ Shivers spun his own axe around in one fist. A brutal-looking article, studs through the heavy wooden shaft, bearded head notched and gleaming. ‘A man should always be armed. If only for the feel of it.’

‘An unarmed man is like an unroofed house,’ muttered Yon.

‘They’ll both end up leaking,’ Brack finished for him.

Hardbread stopped well within bowshot, long grass brushing at his calves. ‘Hey, hey, Craw! Still up there, then?’

‘Sadly, yes.’

‘Sleeping well?’

‘I’d rather have a feather pillow. You brought me one?’

‘Wish I had one spare. That Caul Shivers up there with you?’

‘Aye. And he brought two dozen Carls with him.’ It was worth a stab, but Hardbread only grinned.