“I’d no idea you cared, Chief.”

“I don’t.” He raised a brow at Flick. “But you’re so dumb you’d make things worse.” He pointed it at Sholla. “And you’re far too skinny to hide behind.” He pointed it at Downside. “And let’s not even start on you.”

“Sure you want to wear that?” asked Sholla. “For this?”

Clover frowned down at the fine wolfskin cloak Stour used to wear. She had a point. Turning up to talk to Black Calder in his stolen son’s stolen finery would be less than wise. “Shit,” he said, undoing the buckle with some reluctance, since it was by no means the weather for disrobing, and tossed it over to Sholla. “If my luck’s a lot better’n usual, I’ll see you back here soon.”

“And if your luck’s about like usual?” Sholla hissed after him, grinning as she pulled the cloak about her own bony shoulders.

“Then I reckon you got a good cloak out of it.” And Clover stepped from the trees, wedged his hands under his armpits and trudged towards the bridge.

Trapper stood at the far end with his thumbs in his sword-belt and a wrinkle to his lip. “If it isn’t Jonas fucking Clover.”

“It’s the longer version of my name,” said Clover, already shivering, “but used often enough that I’m obliged to answer to it.”

“Funny.” It was the one with the lambskin coat, the one Downside coshed on the head last time they met. “I’d find the sight of your guts funnier yet.”

“You don’t seem to be killing me, mind you.”

Trapper turned his head and sourly spat. “No.”

“A better result than I’d expected, if I’m honest.”

“Aye. Black Calder told us you’d be along.”

“How did he know?”

“He’s Black Calder, ain’t he? Knowing things is what he’s known for.” He held out his hand and snapped his fingers.

“Right y’are.” Clover unbuckled his sword-belt and handed it over. Could scarcely remember the last time he drew the damn thing except to oil it anyway. “You should know I regret what happened last time we met,” he said, following Trapper up the muddy road. “Didn’t want anyone dead, but bloody Downside, he’s one o’ those bastards leaves a trail o’ wreckage with every stride.”

“You choose to have a man like that in your crew, you could do a better job o’ reining him in.” Trapper shook his head in disgust. “You could hardly have done a worse.”

“Not entirely fair,” said Clover. “You’re still casting a shadow.”

No surprise that they walked the rest of the way in moody silence. There was snow on the sloping fields, and the low stone walls, and the bare trees on the valley side, and on the steep roofs of the houses scattered towards the top. There were tents about, too, and campfires, and fighting men huddled close around their warmth. Fewer than Clover had been expecting, though. Thralls and Carls, a few grizzled old faces he recognised. Not enough to pose any threat to Rikke, even now the Nail and his West Valley boys had cleared off.