08 A Little Hatred: Book One (The Age of Madness)

‘But you did make a show of it, and you took me lightly, and you fucking lost.’ And Leo had to admit he greatly enjoyed saying it. ‘Now you owe me your life.’

Stour clenched his fist as if he was about to strike. But you won’t punch anyone too hard lying on your back, and they both knew it. He sagged down, looking away, like one wolf beaten by another, slinking off into the undergrowth. ‘A lesson learned.’ His eyes slid back to Leo’s. ‘Next time, I won’t give you the same chance.’

‘There’ll be no next time. Even if you do walk again. You’re not the only one can learn a lesson.’

‘Then why did you come here?’

‘’Cause my mother says boys whine about what’s done. Men decide what will be.’

‘You always listen to your mother?’

‘I complain about it, but yes.’ He was no diplomat, after all. Bluntness would win the day, or nothing would. ‘She’s a very clever woman.’

‘Sounds like something my father would say.’

‘I hear he’s a very clever man.’

‘So he’s always telling me. Let’s look to the future, then,’ said Stour. ‘What do you see there, Young Lion?’

What indeed? Leo took a long breath. ‘The Bloody-Nine won ten duels in the Circle, but he let most of his opponents live. Rudd Threetrees. Black Dow. Harding Grim.’

‘I know the names.’

‘He left them bound to serve.’

Stour curled his lip. ‘You want me to serve you?’

‘The Great Wolf for a pet?’ He saw Stour’s face twist with anger, made him wait a moment longer before going on. ‘I don’t need you for a servant. I want you for a friend.’

Stour gave a disbelieving snort, bursting with pride and scorn. Everything he did burst with pride and scorn, even though he lost. ‘For a what?’

‘I reckon we want the same thing, you and I.’

‘And what the fuck is that?’

‘Glory!’ barked Leo, voice clapping off the narrow walls and making Stour flinch. ‘You want men to whisper your name with fear. With awe. With pride. You want to hear it in the songs, in the same breath as the Bloody-Nine’s, and Whirrun of Bligh’s, and the great warriors of the age! You want fame.’ And Leo shook his clenched fist in Stour’s face. ‘Fame in the Circle and fame on the battlefield! You want to strive against great enemies and put the bastards in the mud. You want to win!’ He snapped that word out like a battle cry, and Stour’s face twitched at it, like a miser’s who’s seen the glint of gold. ‘And you know how I know?’ Leo smiled, or at any rate showed his teeth. ‘’Cause I do, too.’

The room was silent again. Just the rustle as a log shifted in the fireplace. Stour had turned thoughtful, eyes fixed on Leo. Two handsome young heroes at the height of their strength. A lord governor and a king-in-waiting, ready to step out from the long shadows of their parents. A pair of champions, men of action, already with great victories under their belts, set to inherit the world and reforge it the way they saw fit.

‘Maybe we understand each other after all,’ Stour said softly.

‘We have to be neighbours,’ said Leo, sitting forward. ‘We could waste our strength fighting each other. Waste our lives watching for the knife in our backs, like our oh-so-clever parents have. But we’re our own men, I reckon, and we can find our own way. The Circle of the World is wide. No shortage of other enemies. Might do better if we fought the bastards together.’

‘It’s a pretty picture,’ said the Great Wolf, eyes shining, and Leo wondered if he might trust the thoughtful Stour even less than the furious one. ‘But do you really reckon a wolf and a lion can share the meat?’

‘If there’s enough meat to go around, why not?’

Stour slowly started to smile. ‘Then let’s shake on it, Young Lion.’ And he thrust his hand towards Leo.

Leo wondered if he really was sticking his head in the wolf’s mouth, but he’d come this far. There was no way back. So he winced as he stood, reaching out to take Stour’s hand.

He gave a gasp as the fingers snapped tight around his and he was jerked forward, pain lancing through his wounded side. He found himself bent over Stour with a dagger-blade tickling his neck.

‘Trot into the wolf’s lair talking of friendship?’ Stour clicked his tongue. ‘Not very clever.’

‘No one’s ever accused me of being clever. But we’ve tried being enemies.’ Leo reached around the blade of Stour’s knife to scratch gently at his bandaged face. ‘Look where it’s got us.’

The Great Wolf bared his teeth and Leo felt the knife’s edge press against his throat, the tension in Stour’s arm as he gripped the handle tight.

‘I like you, Brock. Maybe we’re two of a kind after all.’ Stour’s snarl became a grin, and he rammed the knife into the wattle wall, much to Leo’s relief. ‘The Young Lion and the Great Wolf together.’ The grin became a smirk as he squeezed Leo’s hand even tighter. ‘There’s a partnership’ll make the world tremble!’

Empty Chests