they’ll fall back beyond the Whiteflow and we’ll win without ever drawing our swords.’
Scale clapped Stour on the shoulder so hard he nearly knocked him over the table. ‘You’re like a fighting dog, can’t wait to slip the leash! So was I, once. So was I.’ And the King of the Northmen stared off into the firepit, eyes shining with reflected fire, and drained his cup again, and held it out again, and made the girl shrug back her long braid and dart forward with the jug. Again.
Clover took a sip from his own cup. ‘Don’t ever let me drift along on past glories, Wonderful.’
She gave a grunt. ‘You’d have to have some glories to do that.’
‘Tell me how you beat Stranger-Come-Knocking one more time!’ roared Scale. He was one of those men couldn’t say anything quietly. ‘By the dead, I wish I could’ve been there!’ And he knocked his iron hand against the table with a clonk. ‘Where’s that girl? Fill a cup for my heir!’
Stour sat back and flung one boot up on the table. ‘Well, Uncle, when I crossed the Crinna with a thousand Carls, I knew we were far outnumbered …’
Wonderful rubbed at her temples. ‘Must’ve heard this story ten times the last ten weeks.’
‘Aye,’ said Clover, ‘and every telling makes Stour a bigger hero. Soon he’ll be beating a thousand barbarians with his hands behind his back and his sword tied to his cock.’
‘Warriors.’ Sulfur gave a heavy sigh, as if at a spell of bad weather. ‘It seems the Great Wolf is in no mood to discuss the future of the North tonight.’
‘No, Master Sulfur!’ If it had been any other man, Clover would’ve called the note in Black Calder’s voice a wheedle. ‘Like all storms, he’ll soon blow himself out.’
‘Alas, I have so much other business.’ Sulfur’s eyes shifted to Clover for a moment. Different-coloured eyes, he noticed, as they glittered in the torchlight. ‘Never the slightest peace, eh, Master Steepfield?’
‘I reckon not,’ muttered Clover, no idea who this bastard was or how he knew his old name, but judging it always wise to agree with a dangerous man. And any man Black Calder feared was a dangerous man, whether he wore a sword or not. ‘They call me Clover these days, though.’
‘Calling a wolf a cow will not make him give milk. The same could be said of calling chaos order.’ Sulfur put aside his cup and stood, looking down at Calder. ‘My master appreciates that we must sometimes have a little chaos if a better order is to emerge. There can be no progress without pain, no creation without destruction. That is why he has indulged this little war of yours.’ He looked up as Scale roared with laughter at some new flourish of Stour’s, and the warriors about them competed with each other to blast the spittiest peels of merriment. ‘My master loves to see the earth ploughed, from time to time.’
Calder nodded. ‘That’s all I’m trying to do.’
‘Provided the soil settles quickly and a new seed is sown. Otherwise how can he reap a harvest?’
‘Tell him this war will be done soon,’ said Calder, ‘and the harvest richer than ever. We’ll win. He’ll win.’
‘Whoever wins, he wins. You know that. But too much chaos is bad for everyone’s business.’ Sulfur plucked his staff from the wall. ‘It is often the doom of men blessed with greatness that they are cursed with short memories. Your father, for instance. I advise you to keep that pit always in your mind. The one outside Osrung.’ And Sulfur smiled as he turned away. A toothy little bright-eyed smile, but it seemed to Clover there was somehow a threat in it.
He leaned close to Wonderful. ‘Everyone serves someone, I reckon.’
‘Looks that way,’ she said as she watched Sulfur slip from the hall. ‘And they’re usually a prick.’
The moment he was gone, Calder thumped furiously at the table. ‘By the fucking dead!’ He glared over at his son, still boasting to his king’s great delight. ‘He’s worse than ever and my brother only encourages him! Didn’t I tell you to keep him on the right path?’
Clover helplessly spread his hands. ‘There’s only so much even the best shepherd can do with a wilful ram, Chief.’
‘At this rate, he’ll end up as mutton! What did Stolicus say? Never fear your enemy, but always respect him? This Brock woman’s for damn sure no fool and the Dogman’s for damn sure no coward.’
‘Reckon they’re just waiting for their