Shallow gave him a sour look, but he dragged on the horse’s bridle, put his weight across its neck and got it down, then gave it a quick stab in the neck, leaning on it while it poured blood into the muck.

‘Shit on a shitty shit.’ Shallow shook his head. ‘There’s no money in killing horses. We’re taking risksies enoughsies coming over here in the first—’

‘Stop it.’

‘Stop what?’ As he dragged a fallen tree branch over the horse’s corpse.

Deep looked up at him. ‘Talking like a child, what do you think? It’s odd, is what it is. It’s like your head’s trapped at four years old.’

‘My parts of speech upset you?’ Chopping another branch free with his hatchet.

‘They do, as it goes, yes.’

Shallow got the horse hidden to his satisfaction. ‘Guess I’ll have to stopsy wopsy, then.’

Deep gave a long sigh through gritted teeth. One day he’d kill Shallow, or the other way around, he’d known it ever since he was ten years old. He unfolded the paper and held it up to the light.

‘What’s the matter of it?’ asked Shallow, peering over his shoulder.

Deep turned slowly to look at him. He wouldn’t have been surprised if today turned out to be the day. ‘What? Did I learn to read Southerner in my sleep and not realise? How in the land of the dead should I know what the bloody matter of it is?’

Shallow shrugged. ‘Fair point. It has the look of import, though.’

‘It do indeed have every appearance of significance.’

‘So?’

‘I guess it becomes a question of who we know might find ’emselves tempted to fork out for it.’

They looked at each other and said it together. ‘Calder.’

This time White-Eye Hansul rode up fast, and with no hint of a smile. His shield had a broken arrow shaft in it and there was a cut across his forehead. He looked like a man who’d been in action. Calder felt sick just seeing him.

‘Scale wants you to bring your men up.’ There was no laughter in his voice now. ‘The Southerners are coming across the bridge again and this time they’ve come hard. He can’t hold out much longer.’

‘All right.’ Calder had known the moment would come, but that didn’t make it any sweeter. ‘Get them ready.’

‘Aye.’ And Pale-as-Snow strode off barking orders.

Calder reached for his sword hilt and made a show of loosening it as he watched his brother’s men – his men – stand up from behind Clail’s Wall and prepare to join the battle. Time to write the first verse in the song of bold Prince Calder. And hope it wasn’t the last.

‘Your prince-li-ness!’

Calder looked round. ‘Foss Deep. You always come upon me at my brightest moments.’

‘I can smell desperation.’ Deep was dirty, and not just from a moral standpoint. Even dirtier than usual, as if he’d dived into a bog, which Calder didn’t doubt he would have if he’d thought there was a coin at the bottom.