“You think they like Black Calder better?” snapped Rikke.

“No one likes Black Calder. They worry what’ll happen if he wins.”

A silence. “And they think he will,” Rikke finished for him.

Hardbread spread his hands. “Isern-i-Phail’s gone, the Nail’s turned against us…”

Just went to show, people say they want fair rulers but, in the end, they’d rather have a bastard in charge. Case of what they’re used to, maybe. She hopped down from the dais so she could talk to the two old Named Men at closer quarters. “So what? We give up Skarling’s Chair? After all the work we’ve put in taking it?”

Hardbread shrugged. “In the end… it’s just a chair.”

“It bloody isn’t!” Rikke snapped, making him turn his wrinkled old face away, as if from a chilly wind. “It’s a sign o’ who’s in charge. I let Black Calder take it back and he’ll take back the North, bit by bit, and we’ll be stuck where we started, but without Angland to help us. Have we heard aught from Clover?”

“Nothing,” said Shivers. “But we know Calder’s gathering men.”

Hardbread was nodding away. “He’s never done things by halves. Might have an army ready to march by now.”

“But it’s winter still,” said Corleth, softly. Everyone turned to look at her, and she went a bit pink in the cheeks, but she kept talking. “Not so cold as it was, but there’s snow thick on the roads towards Currahome. No way Calder comes till the weather warms. Should be time for men to make it to the West Valleys and back ’fore spring.”

Shivers looked unhappy. Even more than usual. “It’s a risk.”

Rikke wished she had a chagga pellet to push around her mouth, but Isern wasn’t there to roll ’em, so she was going without. “Have to take some risks if you’re going to win. Hardbread? Gather every man we can spare.”

He gave Shivers a worried glance. “All right.”

Rikke drew him close, lowering her voice. “As we discussed, now, Hardbread. You remember what we discussed?”

“I do,” he said. “You can rely on me.”

Rikke frowned. “Don’t like it when folk say they can be relied on. Implies a strong possibility they can’t be. My father had three War Chiefs. Red Hat, Oxel and you. I remember ’em fondly. Well, apart from Oxel, he was a cunt. But you’re the last of that whole crowd.” She reached out and gently adjusted his mail coat. “Wouldn’t want you to go the same way.”

“They both got murdered in the Circle,” said Hardbread.

Rikke gave him a significant look from under her brows. “I know. I’m the one made it happen.”

There was a pause. Hardbread swallowed. “I remember what we discussed.”

“Get to it, then, y’old bastard! I want to see the Nail strung up by his fucking fruits!”

“Won’t they just… I don’t know… tear off?”

“I didn’t mean it literally.” Rikke scratched her head. “But I guess if they did, that’d get the point across.” Certainly no one would be complaining that she was too soft afterwards.