Agrick had planted a few arrows in the earth, flights fluttering like the seed heads on the long grass. Now he rocked back on his heels, rubbing at his jaw. ‘Might be he’ll wait for dark.’

‘No. If he’s been sent more men, it’s ’cause the Dogman wants this hill. The Union wants this hill. He won’t risk us getting help by tonight.’

‘Then …’ muttered Drofd.

‘Aye. I reckon they’ll be coming now.’

By some unhappy chance, as Craw said the word ‘now’, men started to ease out from the shadows of the Children. They formed up in an orderly row, at a steady pace. A shield wall perhaps a dozen men wide, spear-points of a second row glittering behind, archers on the flanks, staying in the cover of the shields.

‘Old style,’ said Wonderful, nocking an arrow.

‘Wouldn’t expect nothing else from Hardbread. He’s old style himself.’ A bit like Craw. Two old leftover fools lasted longer than they’d any right to, setting to knock chunks out of each other. The right way, at least. They’d do it the right bloody way. He looked to the sides, straining for some sign of the two little groups who’d broken off. Couldn’t see no one. Crawling in the long grass, maybe, or just biding their time.

Agrick drew his bowstring back to his frown. ‘When d’you want me to shoot?’

‘Soon as you can hit something.’

‘Anyone in particular?’

Craw scraped his tongue over his front teeth. ‘Anyone you can put down.’ Say it straight, why not, he ought to have the bones to say it, at least. ‘Anyone you can kill.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Do your worst and I’ll be happier.’

‘Right y’are.’ Agrick let fly, just a ranging shot, flitting over the heads of Hardbread’s lot and making ’em duck. Wonderful’s first arrow stuck humming into a shield and the man behind it dropped back, dragging the shield wall apart. It was starting to break up anyway, for all Hardbread’s shouting. Some men moving quicker, some tiring faster on that bastard of a slope.

Drofd shot too, his arrow going way high, lost somewhere short of the Children. ‘Shit!’ he cursed, snatching at another arrow with a trembling hand.

‘Easy, Drofd, easy. Breathe.’ But Craw was finding easy breathing a bit of a challenge himself. He’d never cared for arrows. ’Specially, it hardly needed saying, when they were falling out of the sky at him. They didn’t look much but they could have your death on the end, all right. He remembered seeing the shower of ’em dropping down towards their line at Ineward, like a flock of angry birds. Nowhere to run to. Just had to hope.

One sailed up now and he stepped sideways, behind the nearest Hero, crouching in the cover of his shield. Not much fun watching that shaft spin down, wondering whether the wind would snatch it at the last moment and put it right through him. It glanced off the stone and spun harmlessly away. Not a lot of air between your death and an arrow in the grass.