“Starting from where you are, I hardly think that would prove too difficult.”

Shivers had some pride still, and this prick’s sniggering was starting to grate on it. He’d have liked to just knock him off his cart with an axe. But he was trying to do better, so he leaned over instead and spoke in Northern, nice and careful. “I think you’ve got a head full of shit, which is no surprise because your face looks like an arse. You little men are all the same. Always trying to prove how clever y’are so you’ve something to be proud of. But it don’t matter how much you laugh at me, I’ve won already. You’ll never be tall.” And he grinned right round his face. “Seeing across a crowded room will always be a dream to you.”

Morveer frowned. “And what is that jabber supposed to mean?”

“You’re the fucking scientist. You work it out.”

Day snorted with high laughter until Morveer caught her with a hard glance. She was still smiling, though, as she stripped the apple core to the pips and tossed it away. Shivers dropped back and watched the empty fields slither by, turned earth half-frozen with a morning frost. Made him think of home. He gave a sigh, and it smoked out against the grey sky. The friends Shivers had made in his life had all been fighters. Carls and Named Men, comrades in the line, most back in the mud, now, one way or another. He reckoned Friendly was the closest thing he’d get to that in the midst of Styria, so he gave his horse a nudge in the flanks and brought it up next to the convict.

“Hey.” Friendly didn’t say a word. He didn’t even move his head to show he’d heard. Silence stretched out. Looking at that brick wall of a face it was hard to picture the convict a bosom companion, chuckling away at his jokes. But a man’s got to clutch at some hope, don’t he? “You were a soldier, then?”

Friendly shook his head.

“But you fought in battles?”

And again.

Shivers ploughed on as if he’d said yes. Not much other choice, now. “I fought in a few. Charged in the mist with Bethod’s Carls north of the Cumnur. Held the line next to Rudd Threetrees at Dunbrec. Fought seven days in the mountains with the Dogman. Seven desperate days, those were.”

“Seven?” asked Friendly, one heavy brow twitching with interest.

“Aye,” sighed Shivers. “Seven.” The names of those men and those places meant nothing to no one down here. He watched a set of covered carts coming the other way, men with steel caps and flatbows in their hands frowning at him from their seats. “Where did you learn to fight, then?” he asked, the smear of hope at getting some decent conversation drying out quick.

“In Safety.”

“Eh?”

“Where they put you when they catch you for a crime.”

“Why keep you safe after that?”