was just ’cause she was pretty. The sad truth is that pretty people can slide through all kinds of scrapes that’d end very badly for the ugly.
Clover looked from Greenway to Magweer and shrugged. ‘Seems hunting girls just ain’t my sport.’
Stour stepped closer, staring at Clover with those ever-wet eyes of his. ‘Your sport is whatever I say it is.’
Clover shrugged it off. ‘I’m eager to serve, great prince, but I can’t just turn into a butterfly. Your father sent me for my cunning, not my running. Why, you might as well order the river to blow and the wind to flow.’
‘You’re loyal, ain’t you, Clover?’ Magweer said it softly, like it was some brilliant trap of words.
‘Reasonably so, I like to think. A man has to bend with the breeze.’
‘You turned on Glama Golden, I heard,’ said Greenway, climbing to new heights of sneer. ‘Cairm Ironhead, too.’
‘I was loyal to both,’ said Clover. ‘I was just more loyal to me. Truth is, men love to blab about loyalty till it might trap ’em on the losing side. Then there’s a chorus o’ silence on the issue. So I consider reasonably loyal to be a bit more loyal than most, and a lot more honest than most. It’s a fool who makes folk choose too often between loyalty and good sense. How’d she get loose, anyway?’
‘Caul Shivers was waiting on the other side of the river,’ hissed Stour, clenching his fists. ‘Killed four of my men.’
‘Shivers.’ Magweer was clenching his fists just the same way. ‘Wish I’d run into that old fucker.’
Wonderful and Clover burst out laughing at the exact same time. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, and she leaned back, fist on his shoulder, and no doubt they made quite a picture chortling away but they really couldn’t help ’emsleves.
‘Good one,’ said Clover, with a sigh. ‘Good one.’
‘What’s so fucking funny?’
Wonderful waved a finger at Magweer’s collection of weapons. ‘My friend, if you’d run into Caul Shivers, you’d be wearing all those axes up your arse. You should take care charging at fights. Sooner or later, you’ll trip over a bigger one than you wanted.’
‘There’s no fight too big for me,’ he growled back.
‘Really?’ asked Wonderful. ‘What if it’s just you and nineteen o’ them?’
Magweer opened his mouth, strained, but couldn’t find a reply. He was a child’s notion of what a warrior should be, all scowl and muscle and carrying half a blacksmith’s shop around. Clover gave a sigh. ‘You need to calm down, my friend.’
‘Or else what, old man?’
‘Or else you’ll make yourself sad, and ain’t the world a grim enough place without another frown? Everyone stomping around like the Bloody-Nine, like they’d murder the whole world if they got the chance.’
Stour narrowed his eyes. ‘The Bloody-Nine was the greatest warrior the North ever saw.’
‘I know,’ said Clover. ‘I watched him beat Fenris the Feared in the Circle.’
Silence. ‘You saw that?’ A hint of respect suddenly crept into Stour’s whining voice.
Wonderful laughed again and thumped that fist down on Clover’s shoulder. ‘He held a shield.’
‘You held a shield? When the Bloody-Nine fought the Feared?’
‘On behalf of your grandfather, Bethod,’ said Clover. ‘Eighteen years old and knowing half o’ nothing and thinking myself quite the hard bastard.’
‘Everyone says that was a great duel,’ breathed Stour, a faraway look in his wet eyes.
‘It was a bloody one. Sadly, I walked away with the wrong lessons. Enough that I ended up taking a challenge or two myself …’ Clover found he was scratching at his scar, and made himself leave it alone. ‘If you want my advice, stay out of the Circle.’
‘The Circle is where names are made!’ barked Stour, thumping his chest with a fist. ‘I beat Stranger-Come-Knocking there! Carved him all to hell.’
‘And from what I heard, it was a fight for the songs.’ Though what Clover actually heard was that Stranger-Come-Knocking got old and slow and lived past his reputation, a tragedy that befalls every great fighter not killed in his prime. ‘But each time you step into the Circle, you balance your life on a sword’s edge. Sooner or later, it won’t fall your way.’
Stour’s young warriors scoffed like they never heard aught so contemptible as this eminent good sense. ‘Did Black Dow fear the Circle?’ sneered Greenway.
‘Or Whirrun of Bligh, or Shama Heartless, or Rudd Threetrees?’ asked Magweer.
Wonderful rolled her eyes. No doubt she was about to point out that all four of those heroes died bloody deaths, and half of them in