‘Hadn’t been with us long, Athroc, but he made his mark. Won’t be forgot.’ Craw thought on all the other lads he’d buried, faces and names worn away by the years, and couldn’t even guess the number of ’em. ‘He stood with his crew. Fought well.’ Died badly, hacked with an axe, on ground that meant nothing. ‘Did the right thing. All you can ask of a man, I reckon. If there’s any—’

‘Craw!’ Shivers was standing maybe thirty strides away on the south side of the circle.

‘Not now!’ he hissed back.

‘Aye,’ said Shivers. ‘Now.’

Craw hurried over, the grey valley opening up between two of the stones. ‘What am I looking— Uh.’ Beyond the river, at the foot of Black Fell, there were horsemen on the brown strip of the Uffrith Road. Riding fast towards Osrung, smudges of dust rising behind. Could’ve been forty. Could’ve been more.

‘And there.’

‘Shit.’ Another couple of score coming the other way, towards the Old Bridge. Taking the crossings. Getting around both sides of the Heroes. The surge of worry was almost a pain in Craw’s chest. ‘Where’s Scorry at?’ Staring about like he’d put something down and couldn’t remember where. Scorry was right behind him, holding up one finger. Craw breathed out slow, patting him on the shoulder. ‘There you are. There you are.’

‘Chief,’ muttered Drofd.

Craw followed his pointing finger. The road south from Adwein, sloping down into the valley from the fold between two fells, was busy with movement. He snapped his eyeglass open and peered towards it. ‘It’s the Union.’

‘How many, d’you reckon?’

The wind swept some mist away and, for just a moment, Craw could see the column stretching back between the hills, men and metal, spears prickling and flags waving above. Stretching back far as he could see.

‘Looks like all of ’em,’ breathed Wonderful.

Brack leaned over. ‘Tell me we ain’t fighting this time.’

Craw lowered his eyeglass. ‘Sometimes the right thing to do is run like fuck. Pack up!’ he bellowed. ‘Right now! We’re moving out!’

His crew always kept most of their gear stowed and they were busy packing the rest quick sharp, Scorry with a jaunty marching tune on the go. Jolly Yon was stomping the little fire out with one boot while Whirrun watched, already packed since all he owned was the Father of Swords and he had it in one hand.

‘Why put it out?’ asked Whirrun.

‘I ain’t leaving those bastards my fire,’ grunted Yon.

‘Don’t reckon they’ll all be able to fit around it, do you?’

‘Even so.’

‘We can’t even all fit around it.’

‘Still.’

‘Who knows? You leave it, maybe one of those Union fellows burns himself and they all get scared and go home.’

Yon looked up for a moment, then ground the last embers out under his boot. ‘I ain’t leaving those bastards my fire.’

‘That’s it then?’ asked Agrick. Craw found it hard to look in his eye. There was something desperate in it. ‘That’s all the words he gets?’