Isher grinned as he lowered his flatbow. “Long live King Harod the Second,” he said.

Forging the Future

“Right, then,” said Rikke, arranging herself in Skarling’s Chair in a manner that aimed for carefree and commanding at once and probably missed both by an equal margin. “Time to hand out the rewards.”

Isern’s jaw worked as she chewed. “And the punishments.”

“Aye.” Rikke tweaked that fine fur about her shoulders and wriggled her back as straight as she could. “Those, too.” Shivers gave the guards a nod, and there was a mighty creaking as the doors of Skarling’s Hall were swung wide.

Helps to start on a happy note, so it was the conquering heroes of Uffrith and the West Valleys that were shown in first. Hardbread swaggered at their head like a man a third of his age. The Nail, who really was a third of his age, loped along beside him with that round-shouldered hunch, hand slack on the battered pommel of his sword, a few new scabs and scuffs on him from the battle, but none the worse for that. None the worse at all.

“Well, didn’t you boys do me proud?” called Rikke. “I’d offer you gifts but I reckon the dead already did.”

“A bauble or two!” And Hardbread whirled a golden chain around on his pointed finger to widespread cheers.

“Hardbread,” said Rikke, “you stood by my father through good times and bad. Now you’ve done the same for me. I’m naming you my Second.”

His grey brows shot up. “Y’are?”

“Aye, and I’ll need you to start by keeping my chair warm a while.”

Those brows rose even higher. “What, Skarling’s Chair?”

“He may not have been a hero in quite your league, but I daresay you can lower yourself to his level for a week or two.”

“And I can think o’ few men indeed,” said Isern, “more practised than you at sitting down.”

Hardbread eyed the chair as if he had some doubts. “Where will you be?”

“I’ve a little trip to take before I can sit here secure.” Rikke found she was fussing with the emeralds around her neck and let them drop. “I hear tell my old friends the Young Lion and his wife—”

“Fanciest bitch I ever saw,” threw in Isern.

“—have seized power in the Union.”

“Quite the power seizers, them twain. However you push ’em down they keep floating back to the top, d’you see, like a pair o’ goat turds in the well.”

Shivers was turning that ring with the red stone around and around his little finger. “I hear little Leo’s taken a turn towards the vengeful.”

“Something wounded warriors are prone to do,” said the Nail, looking thoughtfully towards the corner where Stour’s cage used to hang.

“And most warriors end up wounded, one way or another,” lamented Hardbread, rubbing at his lip. “Why, I still remember the day Whirrun o’ Bligh caught me in the mouth with—”

“I need to go down to Adua,” said Rikke. “See if I can patch up the cracks in our friendship.”