Clover raised his brows. “Thought I’d at least walk in first. Guess I could shuffle in on my knees but that’d wear quite considerably on my trousers and everyone’s patience.” He twirled his finger around, turning back towards the door. “But I’ll happily head back out and start again if there’s a better way to go about it—”
“You don’t need to kneel, Clover,” said Stour, waving him closer. “Old friend like you? Don’t be a cunt, Greenway.”
Greenway gave an epic sneer which made him, in Clover’s opinion, look more of a cunt than ever. Some men just can’t help themselves. All the ones in this room, certainly. It was then he noticed there was a new cage in the corner, hanging from one of the high rafters, gently turning. Didn’t seem a good sign. There was someone in it, too, naked and beaten bloody but with eyes still open. That seemed an even worse sign.
“Unless I’m mistook,” said Clover, “you’ve got Gregun Hollowhead in a cage.”
Stour narrowed his eyes. “I’ve a room full of bastards to tell me what I know already.”
“I could’ve sworn he was on our side.”
“I had my doubts,” said Stour, curling his lip at the cage. “When I raised his taxes, he didn’t want to pay. Felt quite angry about it. Made other folk angry.”
“How’s he feeling now, d’you reckon?” asked Greenway.
Clover scratched gently at his scar. “Bit sore, by the look o’ things.”
“My father was always for buying him off,” said Stour. “Him and men like him.”
“Black Calder’s a great one for compromise.”
“I’m not.”
“No,” said Clover. “I see that.”
“Men are greedy, aren’t they? No gratitude. They don’t think about what they’ve already got from you, only about what they can get next.”
“There’s a lot of arseholes about, all right,” said Clover, letting his eyes sweep across Stour’s closest.
“And Hollowhead and his sons and all those shits from the West Valleys, they’re closer to Uffrith than Carleon. Don’t trust ’em.”
“Do you trust ’em more now?”
“At least we all know where we stand.”
“The Nail’s one of his sons, no? Dangerous man, that.”
The warriors ranged about the walls competed to look more dangerous themselves. “You scared?” asked Greenway.
“Constantly,” said Clover, “but that’s probably just my age. What you going to do with Hollowhead?”
Stour glowered at the cage and gave a great sniff. “Still thinking. Let him go so he can pay the taxes or cut the bloody cross in him as an example.”
“He’ll have taught folk a good lesson whichever you choose,” said Greenway.
Clover had his doubts as he watched that cage gently turn. Hollowhead was a popular man. Lot of friends and family all over those valleys on the border with Uffrith. Lot of hard fighters who’d be less than happy about that man being in a cage. Black Calder had spent years stitching the ripped-up North together with threats and whispers and debts and favours. Can’t do it just with fear alone. But it was hardly Clover’s job to say so.
He looked away from Hollowhead and smiled. “Well, I wish you joy of the outcome, whatever you decide.”
“Huh.” Stour’s wet, sly eyes slid back to Clover. “And how about you? Get some joy out o’ the Shanka?”
“Joy is not the word I’d pick, my king, but when your chief gives you a task, as old Threetrees used to say, you get on with it, so we bowed to the inevitable. You know me, I don’t mind bowing. Specially not to the inevitable.”
“Got no pride, eh, Clover?”
“Used to have, my king. Used to have a fucking surfeit. Like a field in spring can draw too many bees. But I found when you’re struggling, there’s not a lot you can buy with the stuff. Pride, that is, not bees. So I shed mine. Don’t miss it in the least.”
Stour narrowed his eyes at Flick. “Who’s this?”
“This is Flick.” And Clover clapped a hand down on the lad’s scrawny shoulder. “He’s my best man.”
“He looks a good one,” said Stour, and his arseholes laughed. More arseholes than there used to be. The North had an infinite supply.
“Man should have friends, I reckon,” said Clover.
“Definitely. Need someone to stab, don’t you?”
More laughter. Took an effort for Clover to smile, but he managed it. He jerked his head sideways at Flick. “Need me to stab him, my king?”
“Nah. Y’already proved what you are, Clover. I’d hate to take your best man away. What’s he got there?”
“Little present for you.” Clover took the bag from Flick and upended it, and the Shanka heads bounced and rolled out across the floor. He wished those had been the first scattered across Skarling’s Hall, but he’d a sorry sense severed heads had been quite a frequent decoration down the years.
Greenway took a step back with his arm across his face. “They fucking stink!”
“Don’t be a cunt, Greenway.” Stour sprang eagerly from his chair and trotted over to look down at ’em, still a trace of a limp when he moved from the Young Lion’s sword-cut. “So you taught the Shanka a lesson, eh?”
“Not sure flatheads really learn lessons,” said Clover.
“Not these ones, anyway.” Stour nudged the half-rotten heads around with one bare foot so he could see their leering faces. “Ugly bastards, eh?”
“I find myself on shaky ground when it comes to criticising others’ looks,” said Clover.
“And we none of us look our best dead,” added Flick, then cleared his throat and looked down at the ground. “My king.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Stour, giving him that wet-eyed stare. “I can think of quite a few folk I’d prefer as corpses. I’m heading down to Uffrith, Clover. Like you to come along.”
“To fight?”
“No, no, no.” Which was something of a relief, as Clover couldn’t say he’d much enjoyed their last war with the Union. “Gave my word in the Circle, didn’t I? Swore a solemn oath to the Young Lion! Think I’d break my word?”
“Honestly, my king, I haven’t a fucking clue what you’ll do one moment to the next.”
Stour grinned. “Well, wouldn’t life be dull if you could see everything coming? You know a fellow called Oxel?”
“One o’ the Dogman’s War Chiefs. Wouldn’t trust him to hold the bucket while I pissed.”
“Sometimes a shifty bastard’s what you need, though, eh? Dogman’s on the way out. Old. And sick, I hear. When he’s gone, Uffrith needs to go to someone. Oxel wants it to be me.”
“And what about that solemn oath in the Circle?”
Stour shrugged. “Swore not to take it. Didn’t say a thing about it dropping in my lap. Uffrith wants to be part o’ the North, who am I to argue?”
“And if there’s some don’t want to join?” asked Clover.
Stour nodded towards the cage. “I can get more o’ those. Off you go, now.”