Craw wasn’t sure he cared for that notion. ‘At least in the line, or the charge, or the circle a man can fight. Pretend to have a hand in the outcome.’ He winced as he touched the fresh stitching with his fingertips. ‘How do you make a song about someone whose head got splattered while he was half way through saying nothing much?’
‘Like Splitfoot.’
‘Aye.’ Craw wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anyone look deader than that bastard.
‘I want you to take his place.’
‘Eh?’ said Craw. ‘My ears are still whining. Not sure I heard you right.’
Dow leaned closer. ‘I want you to be my Second. Lead my Carls. Watch my back.’
Craw stared. ‘Me?’
‘Aye, you, what did I fucking say?’
‘But … why the hell me?’
‘You got the experience, and the respect …’ Dow looked at him for a moment, his jaw clenched tight. Then he waved a hand like he was swatting a fly. ‘You remind me o’ Threetrees.’
Craw blinked. It might’ve been one of the best things anyone had ever said to him, and not from a source prone to lazy compliments. Or any compliments at all, in fact. ‘Well … I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Chief. That means a lot. A hell of a bloody lot. If I ever get to be a tenth of the man he was then I’ll be more’n satisfied—’
‘Shit on that. Just tell me you’ll do it. I need someone I can count on, Craw, and you do things the old way. You’re a straight edge, and there ain’t many left. Just tell me you’ll do it.’ He had a strange look to him, suddenly. An odd, weak twist to his mouth. If Craw hadn’t known better, he’d have called it fear, and suddenly he saw it.
Dow had no one he could turn his back to. No friends but those he’d scared into serving him and a mountain of enemies. No choice but to trust to a man he hardly knew ’cause he reminded him of an old comrade long gone back to the mud. The cost of a great big name. The harvest of a lifetime in the black business.
‘’Course I’ll do it.’ And like that it was said. Maybe he felt for Dow in that moment, however mad it sounded. Maybe he understood the loneliness of being Chief. Or maybe the embers of his own ambitions, that he’d thought burned out beside his brothers’ graves long ago, flared up one last time when Dow raked ’em over. Either way it was said, and there was no unsaying it. Without wondering if it was the right thing to do. For him, or for his dozen, or for anyone, and straight away Craw had a terrible feeling like he’d made a bastard of a mistake. ‘Just while the battle’s on, though,’ he added, rowing back from the waterfall fast as he could. ‘I’ll hold the gap ’til you find someone better.’
‘Good man.’ Dow held out his hand, and they shook, and when Craw looked up again it was into that wolf grin, not a trace of weakness or fear or anything even close. ‘You done the right thing, Craw.’
Craw watched Dow walk back up the hillside towards the stones, wondering whether he’d really let his hard mask slip or if he’d just slipped a soft one on. The right thing? Had Craw just signed up as right hand to one of the most hated men in the world? A man with more enemies than any other in a land where everyone had too many? A man he didn’t even particularly like, promised to guard with his life? He gave a groan.
What would his dozen have to say about this? Yon shaking his head with a face like thunder. Drofd looking all hurt and confused. Brack rubbing at his temples with his— Brack was back to the mud, he realised with a jolt. Wonderful? By the dead, what would she have to—
‘Craw.’ And there she was, right at his elbow.
‘Ah!’ he said, taking a step away.
‘How’s the face?’
‘Er … all right … I guess. Everyone else all right?’
‘Yon got a splinter in his hand and it’s made him pissier’n ever, but he’ll live.’
‘Good. That’s … good. That everyone’s all right, that is, not … not the splinter.’
Her brows drew in, guessing something was wrong, which wasn’t too difficult since he was making a pitiful effort at hiding it. ‘What did our noble Protector want?’
‘He wanted …’ Craw worked his lips for a moment, wondering how to frame it, but a turd’s a turd however it’s framed. ‘He wanted to offer me Splitfoot’s place.’
He’d been expecting her to laugh her arse off, but she just narrowed her eyes. ‘You? Why?’
Good question, he was starting to wonder about it now. ‘He said I’m a straight edge.’
‘I see.’
‘He said … I remind him of Threetrees.’ Realising what a pompous cock he sounded even as the words came out.
He’d definitely been expecting her to laugh at that, but she just narrowed her eyes more. ‘You’re a man can be trusted. Everyone knows that. But I can see better reasons.’
‘Like what?’
‘You were tight with Bethod and his crowd, and with Threetrees before him, and maybe Dow thinks you’ll bring him a few friends he hasn’t already got. Or at any rate a few less enemies.’ Craw frowned. Those were better reasons. ‘That and he knows Whirrun’ll go wherever you go, and Whirrun’s a damn good man to have standing behind you if things get ugly.’ Shit. She was double right. She’d sussed it all straight off. ‘And knowing Black Dow, things are sure to get ugly … What did you tell him?’
Craw winced. ‘I said yes,’ and hurried after with, ‘just while the battle’s on.’
‘I see.’ Still no anger, and no surprise either. She just watched him. That was making him more nervy than if she’d punched him in the face. ‘And what about the dozen?’
‘Well …’ Ashamed to say he hadn’t really considered it. ‘Guess you’ll be coming along with me, if you’ll have it. Unless you want to go back to your farm and your family and—’
‘Retire?’
‘Aye.’
She snorted. ‘The pipe and the porch and the sunset on the water? That’s you, not me.’
‘Then … I reckon it’s your dozen for the time being.’
‘All right.’
‘You ain’t going to give me a tongue-lashing?’
‘About what?’
‘Not taking my own advice, for a start. About how I should keep my head down, not stick my neck out, get everyone in the crew through alive, how old horses can’t jump new fences and blah, blah, blah—’
‘That’s what you’d say. I’m not you, Craw.’
He blinked. ‘Guess not. Then you think this is the right thing to do?’
‘The right thing?’ She turned away with a hint of a grin. ‘That’s you an’ all.’ And she strolled back up towards the Heroes, one hand resting slack on her sword hilt, and left him stood there in the wind.
‘By the bloody dead.’ He looked off across the hillside, desperately searching for a finger that still had some nail left to chew at.
Shivers was standing not far off. Saying nothing. Just staring. Looking, in fact, like a man who felt himself stepped in front of. Craw’s wince became a full grimace. Seemed that was getting to be the normal shape to his face, one way and another. ‘A man’s worst enemies are his own ambitions,’ Bethod used to tell him. ‘Mine have got me in all the shit I’m in today.’
‘Welcome to the shit,’ he muttered to himself through gritted teeth. That’s the problem with mistakes. You can make ’em in an instant. Years upon years spent tiptoeing about like a fool, then you take your eye away for a moment and …
Bang.
Escape
Finree thought they were in some kind of shack. The floor was damp dirt, a chill draught across it making her shiver. The place smelled of fust and animals.
They had blindfolded her, and marched her lurching across the wet fields into the trees, crops tangling her feet, bushes clutching at her dress. It was a good thing she had been wearing her riding boots or she would probably have ended up barefoot. She had heard fighting behind them, she thought. Aliz had kept screaming for a while, her voice getting more and more hoarse, but eventually stopped. It changed nothing. They had crossed water on a creaking boat. Maybe over to the north side of the river. They had been shoved in here, heard a door wobble shut and the clattering of a bar on the outside.