There was no point clinging to the lie. They’d found her out long before. “Look,” she said, voice wobbling, “I can talk to Calder, after the battle’s done, make some kind o’ deal—”

“After it’s done?” Rikke looked at her like she was the one who’d lost her reason. “Why would I need your help then? After it’s done, Calder’ll be begging to talk to me.”

Corleth blinked at her. “You can’t win!”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“You’re way outnumbered! You chased all your friends away!”

“Did I?” Rikke tapped the tattoo on her cheek. “Or did I see all this coming, and it’s just the way I wanted it?”

Corleth had thought she had everything tied up neat. Now it looked like she was the one who’d been tied up all along. “You’re mad,” she whispered.

“I’ve heard that before, too! But mad’s just a different way of seeing things. Shivers, you reckon it’s time for a toot on that horn o’ yours?”

Shivers looked out at the fighting like Corleth’s granny looking at the soup, judging whether it was the right moment to toss in the carrots. “Aye,” he said, one loose strand of grey hair flicking around his frown with the wind, “rude to keep everyone waiting.” And he raised his horn to his lips and gave a great blast.

“What’s happening?” muttered Hardbread, trying to get a look through the trees. But all he could see was more trees. Distant twinkle of daylight, maybe, between the trunks, through the leaves. But the whole idea was being far enough into the woods they wouldn’t be seen. And that meant, pretty much by definition, not seeing much themselves.

“Calder’s attacking, I reckon,” muttered Brandal, chewing at his thumbnail.

“Yes, that, I know that, I can bloody hear it!” A distant clamour of voices, echoing lazily from far off. Like a fair in the next valley. “But other than that, I mean.”

Damn, he was nervous. Aside from a couple of Calder’s scouts they’d captured and another one they’d shot as he rode away, they’d seen no action. It seemed a mad plan. It had seemed a mad plan all along. No way a man sharp as Black Calder would fall for it. But Rikke had just nodded and tapped her cheek in that knowing way and said, I’ve seen it. It couldn’t be denied that she’d seen her way to her father’s bench in Uffrith. It couldn’t be denied that she’d seen her way to Skarling’s Chair in Carleon. That had all seemed mad, too. Who knew what was sane any more? Certainly not Hardbread. And, frankly, it would’ve taken a braver man than him to tell her no.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous. Stomach churning away. He smothered a burp, rubbed at his breastbone where the sore fire seemed to burn up his throat. By the dead, if they waited much longer he’d need to shit again. That’d be just his luck, to get the call while he was squatting in the brush, trousers down.