“Calder’s canny,” said Isern. “No doubt he’ll have spies here.”

Stour was one kind of enemy. He’d come right at you. Black Calder was another. “Doubt he’s halfway as weak as he seems,” said Rikke. “He’s still got friends, and he’ll already be gathering ’em.”

“And the year’s getting late,” said Shivers, nodding towards the white sky outside the windows.

“We need to bring him to us.” Rikke dropped into Skarling’s Chair and slung her leg over one of the arms, trying to look right at home, though the dead knew there was no getting comfortable in that bloody thing. “Fight him on the ground we choose at the time we choose.”

“How you figuring to do that?” asked Hardbread.

“I already know how.” Rikke put a fingertip to her tattooed cheek and gave Shivers a big wink with her Long Eye. “I’ve seen it.”

No one laughed at that these days. No one mocked and no one disagreed. There was a respectful murmur at it, in fact. Fearful glances and nervous shiftings from one foot to another. These Named Men, killers all, standing in awe of Skinny Rikke and her Long Eye. A year ago she’d hidden from Stour Nightfall in a freezing stream. Now she had him locked in his own cage. She who used to have fits and shit herself in the streets of Uffrith had stolen half the North. Was enough to make her burst out laughing, almost. But that would’ve spoiled the mood.

“Patience,” she said, softly, tapping at the peeled paint on the arm of Skarling’s Chair with her fingernail. “We need to chew what we’ve bit before we bite off more. While you boys were having fun on the way from Uffrith there’s been work to do up here.”

“I’m always ready to work,” said Shivers.

“We’ve been laying in food for the winter, and I’ve a sense folk in the next valley are holding out on us. Might be…” She glanced sideways at Isern. “I’ve been too soft-hearted with ’em. Need you to take some stonier hearts up there.”

The curved reflection of the tall windows gleamed in Shivers’ metal eye. “A warning or a wounding?”

She wanted to say warning. But they all were watching. Watching and judging. And before this set of bastards she couldn’t afford to look too forgiving. “You be the judge. And take Hardbread with you, since he’s in such a bloodthirsty mood.”

“Right y’are.” And Shivers beckoned Hardbread and a few others after him as he headed for the door.

“Clover?”

“Rikke?”

“Take your people up to the Redwater Valley. Calder’s boys’ve been busy over there. Burned a few farms. Make it clear this side of the river’s mine.”

“Right back into the cold.” Clover aimed a wistful sigh at the fire. “We’d be honoured, wouldn’t we, Sholla?”

The blank-faced girl looked blank as ever. “Inexpressibly.”

Rikke beckoned Corleth over as Clover and his people tramped out. “Get some water boiled and clean that bastard in the cage, eh?”