“But his time’s done.”

“No arguing with that.” Flatstone lowered his head. “His time’s done, and yours has come, and that’s the way of things.”

“The question on my mind is—could you be as loyal to me as you were to him?”

He looked up sharply and blinked about the room. Then he squared his shoulders. “I believe I could.”

“A big man like you could kneel to a little woman like me?”

“I’d say you were over middle height,” muttered Isern.

“Aye, but that spoils the balance o’ the phrase.”

“No shame kneeling to a woman who’s proved herself the way you have,” said Flatstone.

Rikke raised her brows. “So…?”

“Oh. Right.” And with a pained grunt, hands still bound behind him, Flatstone wobbled down to one knee.

“My father always said, why waste what can be used? Reckon that goes for men as much as aught else. More, since so much effort goes into making the bastards.” Some mutters of agreement from the warriors about the hall. They didn’t mind mercy for a fighter who’d fought his hardest. They knew they might end up kneeling where he was one day, if luck tipped the wrong way. “I want you to gather any of your Carls who lived through the battle and are willing to serve me and take the bones o’ these Crinna fucks back the way they came. While you’re out there, teach any that’ve wandered across the water since a hard lesson. You understand?”

Flatstone nodded. “I do.”

“I do…?”

“I do, Chief.”

Shivers cut the rope on Flatstone’s wrists and, as he stood, handed him back the axe he’d given up on the day of the battle, bright gold swirling on the blade. He looked up at Rikke as he took it. “I appreciate the chance. Won’t let you down.”

“Oh, I know.” Rikke turned her Long Eye towards him. “I’ve seen it.”

He swallowed and strode for the door.

“Soft,” grunted Isern, sourly.

“It’s worth giving your enemies a chance. They know they can’t expect one and might be thankful for it.” Rikke frowned sideways. “Friends are much harder to please.”

And indeed, Isern’s scowl got deeper than ever as the next pair were dragged in. Corleth and her granny, dirty from the cells and with their hands bound tight.

“Easy,” said Rikke. “We won, remember? We can afford to be generous.”

“Just ’cause you can afford it,” grunted Isern as the young woman and the old were shoved down before the dais and left squinting in the sunlight, “doesn’t mean you should buy it. Is Corleth even your name?”

“It is.” The girl didn’t look much chastened, her jaw jutting. As much fight in her as when she first came to Uffrith.

“Got anything to say for yourself?” asked Rikke.

“I could kneel here and spew excuses but you all know me for a liar. Where’d be the point?”

“We done what was asked of us,” croaked out the old woman.

“Shame you didn’t do it better,” sneered Isern, “you might not be kneeling there.”