The well-used war gear heaped in the corner. A reminder that the man in here had been a warrior. A stubborn insistence that he would be again.
‘Well, well. The Young Lion himself come a-calling.’ Stour Nightfall lay back in a shadowed corner, bandaged leg raised on rolled blankets. His lip was twisted into an epic sneer, as if to make up for the bruises around both eyes and the crusting of blood under his swollen nose. ‘The last bastard I expected to see at my sickbed is the bastard who put me here.’
Leo hooked his walking stick over the back of the chair and sat down heavily. ‘A great warrior always tries to surprise.’
‘You speak good Northern.’
‘I lived a year in Uffrith, with the Dogman.’
Stour’s eyes gleamed in the half-light. Like a wolf’s eyes in the darkness of the forest. ‘And I hear you poke his scrag of a daughter.’
Leo held his eye. ‘When I’m not stabbing Black Calder’s scrag of a son.’
Stour’s sneer grew more savage. ‘’Cause of your sword, they say I might not walk again.’
Leo was too sore himself to find much sympathy. It would win nothing here anyway. ‘You’re mistaking me for someone who cares a shit,’ he said. ‘I’m no nursemaid and no fucking diplomat, either. I’m a warrior. Like you.’
‘You’re nothing like me.’ Stour squirmed back on his mattress, grimacing as he shifted his leg. ‘I could’ve put you in the mud a dozen times over.’
‘I daresay.’
‘I was the better swordsman, by far.’
‘I daresay.’
‘If I hadn’t made a show of it—’
‘But you did make a show of it, and you took me lightly, and you fucking lost.’ And Leo had to admit he greatly enjoyed saying it. ‘Now you owe me your life.’
Stour clenched his fist as if he was about to strike. But you won’t punch anyone too hard lying on your back, and they both knew it. He sagged down, looking away, like one wolf beaten by another, slinking off into the undergrowth. ‘A lesson learned.’ His eyes slid back to Leo’s. ‘Next time, I won’t give you the same chance.’
‘There’ll be no next time. Even if you do walk again. You’re not the only one can learn a lesson.’
‘Then why did you come here?’
‘’Cause my mother says boys whine about what’s done. Men decide what will be.’
‘You always listen to your mother?’
‘I complain about it, but yes.’ He was no diplomat, after all. Bluntness would win the day, or nothing would. ‘She’s a very clever woman.’
‘Sounds like something my father would say.’
‘I hear he’s a very clever man.’
‘So he’s always telling me. Let’s look to the future, then,’ said Stour. ‘What do you see there, Young Lion?’
What indeed? Leo took a long breath. ‘The Bloody-Nine won ten duels in the Circle, but he let most of his opponents live. Rudd Threetrees. Black Dow. Harding Grim.’
‘I know the names.’
‘He left them bound to serve.’
Stour curled his lip. ‘You want me to serve you?’
‘The Great Wolf for a pet?’ He saw Stour’s face twist with anger, made him wait a moment longer before going on. ‘I don’t need you for a servant. I want you for a friend.’
Stour gave a disbelieving snort, bursting with pride and scorn. Everything he did burst with pride and scorn, even though he lost. ‘For a what?’
‘I reckon we want the same thing, you and I.’
‘And what the fuck is that?’
‘Glory!’ barked Leo, voice clapping off the narrow walls and making Stour flinch. ‘You want men to whisper your name with fear. With awe. With pride. You want to hear it in the songs, in the same breath as the Bloody-Nine’s, and Whirrun of Bligh’s, and the great warriors of the age! You want fame.’ And Leo shook his clenched fist in Stour’s face. ‘Fame in the Circle and fame on the battlefield! You want to strive against great enemies and put the bastards in the mud. You want to win!’ He snapped that word out like a battle cry, and Stour’s face twitched at it, like a miser’s who’s seen the glint of gold. ‘And you know how I know?’ Leo smiled, or at any rate showed his teeth. ‘’Cause I do, too.’
The room was silent again. Just the rustle as a log shifted in the fireplace. Stour had turned thoughtful, eyes fixed on Leo. Two handsome young heroes at the height of their strength. A lord governor and a king-in-waiting, ready to step out from the long shadows of their parents. A pair of champions, men