found a new father in the River Lords? How
kind of them.’
‘I piss on the golden doorsteps of the River Lords,’ the burly
pirate told her.
‘These things are known: he does,’ Asmander confirmed wryly.
Her eyes had narrowed, but she seemed content not to peel
back Venater’s past any more than that. ‘Men come to us from
the south, this year. Men who offer us bronze coin to fight. Do
you also offer us coin to fight, Champion of the Riverlands?’
‘No.’ An easy shrug, and he had guessed that there would be
some from the Nation who had sought mercenaries here. After
all, why else was he himself heading north, if not to try and
tempt the fabled Iron Wolves to support his prince, his childhood friend?
As always, thinking on the man his family had sworn allegiance to, Asmander felt a point of pain as though the knife was
at his own chest. His honour and his family duty were both
stretched tight about the success of this mission. He only hoped
that the two did not part company, or he would be like a man
caught with each foot on a different boat.
Thinking on his father, he was grimly aware how honour and
family seldom shared the same house these days.
Eshmir the Hetman spoke then. She was a foundling of the
Horse, with the flat features and snub nose of a northerner but
the ruddy skin of the Stone People, and she danced carefully
through a conversation with the Malikah that elegantly checked
and repaired all of the ties the Society had built here. While she
spoke, the subdued, slope-shouldered men who were the
Malikah’s mates – or slaves, or both – passed back and forth
with gourds of a liquor that made Asmander’s eyes water.Venater,
he saw, was putting the stuff away with gusto.
‘Champion of the River Lords.’ He snapped back to himself
as the Malikah addressed him. ‘When you return to your lands
in triumph, no doubt you will found your own house.’
‘Many things are possible,’ Asmander allowed.
‘Before then, will you drink your fill of the women of the
Crown of the World, and cause them to lament your leaving
them?’ She had a cruel smile on her, as she toyed with a necklace of horn and gold.
‘Even this, even this is possible.’
‘They are cold, up in the Crown of the World. They have no
fire such as we have here.’ It was plain what she was after and it
was because he was a Champion, that rare and special thing.
The Laughing Men had none, he had heard, but their enemies
of the Lion did, and perhaps she foresaw his seed and her womb
breeding a hero of the next generation. In truth, there was a
power to her that was greatly attractive, as power always was,
but he shook his head regretfully.
‘Alas, I am sworn to my father. My loins are not my own.’
She snorted at that, and Venater muttered a snide, ‘This
much is known,’ which made Asmander want to hit him.
‘Do none of my beautiful daughters catch your eye, for just
one night?’ the Malikah asked him, and that made him sad for a
moment. The space that was between them was not contained
merely within the interior of her hut; it was the years between
his youth and her age. There was no sign of it on her face, but
her words showed that she felt it.
‘You honour me.’ The most polite of all refusals, contained in
the tone and not the words, and she did not press him further.
4
To navigate the sides of the pit, she Stepped to her tiger shape
again, descending with the beast’s agility but human forethought. All the while the Snake’s cold eyes were fixed on her,
and not a muscle of him moved. Only when she had descended
to his level did she realize that she had given him a weapon
against her: she had revealed her mother’s shape to him, that she
had hidden so assiduously from everyone she knew.
For a moment she froze, close enough to the huddled man
that she could have dug her claws in him. Had he enchanted her
somehow, that she had made such an error? Where had her habitual caution
kind of them.’
‘I piss on the golden doorsteps of the River Lords,’ the burly
pirate told her.
‘These things are known: he does,’ Asmander confirmed wryly.
Her eyes had narrowed, but she seemed content not to peel
back Venater’s past any more than that. ‘Men come to us from
the south, this year. Men who offer us bronze coin to fight. Do
you also offer us coin to fight, Champion of the Riverlands?’
‘No.’ An easy shrug, and he had guessed that there would be
some from the Nation who had sought mercenaries here. After
all, why else was he himself heading north, if not to try and
tempt the fabled Iron Wolves to support his prince, his childhood friend?
As always, thinking on the man his family had sworn allegiance to, Asmander felt a point of pain as though the knife was
at his own chest. His honour and his family duty were both
stretched tight about the success of this mission. He only hoped
that the two did not part company, or he would be like a man
caught with each foot on a different boat.
Thinking on his father, he was grimly aware how honour and
family seldom shared the same house these days.
Eshmir the Hetman spoke then. She was a foundling of the
Horse, with the flat features and snub nose of a northerner but
the ruddy skin of the Stone People, and she danced carefully
through a conversation with the Malikah that elegantly checked
and repaired all of the ties the Society had built here. While she
spoke, the subdued, slope-shouldered men who were the
Malikah’s mates – or slaves, or both – passed back and forth
with gourds of a liquor that made Asmander’s eyes water.Venater,
he saw, was putting the stuff away with gusto.
‘Champion of the River Lords.’ He snapped back to himself
as the Malikah addressed him. ‘When you return to your lands
in triumph, no doubt you will found your own house.’
‘Many things are possible,’ Asmander allowed.
‘Before then, will you drink your fill of the women of the
Crown of the World, and cause them to lament your leaving
them?’ She had a cruel smile on her, as she toyed with a necklace of horn and gold.
‘Even this, even this is possible.’
‘They are cold, up in the Crown of the World. They have no
fire such as we have here.’ It was plain what she was after and it
was because he was a Champion, that rare and special thing.
The Laughing Men had none, he had heard, but their enemies
of the Lion did, and perhaps she foresaw his seed and her womb
breeding a hero of the next generation. In truth, there was a
power to her that was greatly attractive, as power always was,
but he shook his head regretfully.
‘Alas, I am sworn to my father. My loins are not my own.’
She snorted at that, and Venater muttered a snide, ‘This
much is known,’ which made Asmander want to hit him.
‘Do none of my beautiful daughters catch your eye, for just
one night?’ the Malikah asked him, and that made him sad for a
moment. The space that was between them was not contained
merely within the interior of her hut; it was the years between
his youth and her age. There was no sign of it on her face, but
her words showed that she felt it.
‘You honour me.’ The most polite of all refusals, contained in
the tone and not the words, and she did not press him further.
4
To navigate the sides of the pit, she Stepped to her tiger shape
again, descending with the beast’s agility but human forethought. All the while the Snake’s cold eyes were fixed on her,
and not a muscle of him moved. Only when she had descended
to his level did she realize that she had given him a weapon
against her: she had revealed her mother’s shape to him, that she
had hidden so assiduously from everyone she knew.
For a moment she froze, close enough to the huddled man
that she could have dug her claws in him. Had he enchanted her
somehow, that she had made such an error? Where had her habitual caution
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