“You can never have too many friends,” said Clover, while thinking that there were a few a man was better off without.

Calder was twisting one hand with the other, like a serving girl hoping some lord didn’t take against the ale she’d poured him. “You know how grateful I’ve always been for your help.”

“You lacked somewhat of manners when you first came to visit me, as I recall.” Bayaz peered down his nose at Calder as if he was still a prideful pup. “But in all the years since the battle at the Heroes, my support for you has never wavered.”

“Nor mine for you.” Calder swallowed, a little queasily. “Manners should be answered with like manners, I’ve always felt.”

“Well said. If only the younger generation had your hard-won wisdom.” And Bayaz gave Clover a nod and made for the door, sparing a sideways smile at that black-haired lad, already making a fool of another grown warrior.

Clover frowned after him. “Haven’t I heard you say the help of magi is never worth the cost?”

“He only shows up when he knows you’ve got no choice.” Calder’s face had snapped back into its frown like a bent willow switch snaps back into the shape it grew in. “But there comes a time you have to play every card, no matter the price.” He led Clover past the fire-pit to the high chair at its end, leaving the clash of steel and the appreciation of the warriors behind. “This was my father’s hall. Before he took Carleon. This was where his dream of a North united was born.”

“Like most births,” said Clover, “I hear there was a lot of blood.”

“Couldn’t get anything done without a lot of blood in those days.”

“And now?”

Calder conceded the point with a little shrug of his shoulders and dropped into the chair Bethod must once have sat in. “You want some ale, Clover?”

“I’ve never yet said no to ale.” He swung one leg over a bench, tossed his hat down as a cushion and perched himself by the fire-pit, watched a girl slosh ale into a cup for him. “Have to say I feared I might not get so warm a welcome.”

“Always got along, haven’t we?”

“We have.” Clover glanced about at the hard faces. The hard hands near the hard weapons. He decided if Calder had wanted him dead he wouldn’t have wasted poison, and took a sup. “But then I turned on you and your son.” Might’ve seemed madness to bring it up, but he judged it better to face it now than find it stabbing him in the arse later.

Calder narrowed his eyes. “I’d assumed you must’ve come to tell me how sorry you are for that.”

Lies would get him nowhere with Black Calder. The truth might not, either, but he liked the odds better. “For turning on you, I’m sorry. For turning on your son, I’m not.”

“You’re saying he deserved it?”