‘Your brother’s out west,’ said Dow. ‘Doing some fighting.’

‘You know what that is, do you, boy?’ Tenways turned his head and spat through the gap in his brown front teeth.

‘Is it … the thing with all the swords?’ Calder took a hopeful look around the stable but no allies had crept in, and he ended up glancing at Shivers’ ruined frown, which was even worse than Dow’s smile. However often he saw that scar, it was always more hideous than he remembered. ‘How about Reachey?’

‘Your wife’s daddy’s a day or so east,’ said Dow. ‘Putting on a weapontake.’

Golden snorted. ‘I’d be surprised if there’s a boy can grip a blade isn’t pressed already.’

‘Well, he’s scraping up what there is. Reckon we’ll need every ready hand when it comes to a battle. Yours too, maybe.’

‘Oh, you’ll have to hold me back!’ Calder slapped the hilt of his sword. ‘Can’t wait to get started!’

‘You ever even drawn the fucking thing?’ sneered Tenways, stretching his neck out to spit again.

‘Just the once. I had to trim your daughter’s hairy cunt before I could get at it.’

Dow burst out laughing. Golden chuckled. Ironhead gave the faintest of grins. Tenways choked on his spit and left a string of glistening drool down his chin, but Calder didn’t much care. He was better off scoring points with those who weren’t quite a lost cause yet. Somehow he needed to win at least one of these unpromising bastards over to his side.

‘Never thought I’d say this.’ Dow sighed and wiped one eye with a finger, ‘but I’ve missed you, Calder.’

‘Likewise. I’d much rather be trading horseshit in a stable than back at Carleon kissing my wife. What’s to do?’

‘You know.’ Dow took the pommel of his sword between finger and thumb, turning it this way and that so the silver mark near the hilt glinted. ‘War. Skirmish here, raid there. We cut off some stragglers, they burn out some villages. War. Your brother’s been hitting fast, giving the Southerners something to think about. Useful man your brother, got some sting in him.’

‘Shame your father didn’t have more’n one son,’ growled Tenways.

‘Keep talking, old man,’ said Calder, ‘I can make you look a prick all day.’

Tenways bristled but Dow waved him down. ‘Enough cock-measuring. We’ve a war to fight.’

‘And how many victories, so far?’

A brief, unhappy pause. ‘No battle,’ grunted Ironhead.

‘This Kroy,’ sneered Golden back across the stable, ‘the one in charge o’ the Union.’

‘Marshal, they call him.’

‘Whatever they call him, he’s a cautious bastard.’

‘Baby-stepping coward fuck,’ growled Tenways.

Dow shrugged. ‘Naught cowardly about stepping careful. Wouldn’t be my style with his numbers, but …’ And he turned his grin on Calder. ‘Your father always used to say, “In war it’s the winning counts. The rest is for fools to sing about.” So Kroy’s going slow, hoping to wear out our patience. We Northmen ain’t known for it, after all. He’s split his army in three parts.’