"Then what?"
"Named share. Rope. nails. good boots if the Andals have them. Salt counted before food. Food by mouths brought, unless Harrag argues like a dead goat."
The broad woman with the broken nose grunted. "Food by mouth gives Moon Brothers too much."
"Moon Brothers bring too many mouths," Sella said. "That is their only talent."
Oren kept his face still.
Varok glanced at him. "You may repeat that if you want the talk to end before it starts."
"I forget quickly when useful."
"Good."
The old man lifted his ruined hand. "If Harrag means lower sheds, I hear. If Harrag means the main Gate, I laugh from home."
"No," Sella said. "You laugh at his fire, so he hears it properly."
That got more laughter.
Varok let it pass, then cut through it. "Enough."
The camp quieted.
He looked at Oren. "Tell Harrag this. Varok will come to his fire if the snow allows. I bring Sella and old Murren. Not half my camp. Not yet. Stone Crows hold the high paths, or Stone Crows go home. Moon Brothers do not crowd our ledges. Painted Dogs do not make plans for stones they cannot climb. Burned Men do not throw fire where we must walk after."
Oren nodded. "I'll carry it."
"Carry it clean."
"I heard you."
"No," Varok said. "You heard words. Clean means you do not make them softer because Harrag is your chief."
Oren looked at him for a moment. Then he nodded again. "Stone Crows hold the high paths. Moon Brothers step where you allow. Painted Dogs do not command your stones. Burned Men do not burn your road. Varok comes to hear, not swear blood."
Varok's expression changed very slightly.
"Better."
Sella stood and handed Oren's knives back.
That surprised him.
She saw it. "Do not look grateful. It makes me regret things."
Oren tucked the knives away. "I'll try to be unpleasant."
"You have a good start."
Old Murren leaned closer to the fire and spat into it. "Tell Harrag something from me too."
Oren waited.
"The Bloody Gate is not a gate."
Dannel, who had been silent far longer than anyone had expected, frowned. "It's called—"
Oren elbowed him hard enough to stop the rest.
Murren's one good eye stayed on Oren. "It is a throat. Men who think gates open and close forget throats bite."
"I'll tell him."
"Tell him exactly."
"I will."
Varok tossed the bark strip into the fire.
Oren stiffened.
Varok watched it curl and blacken. "That was Harrag's first word. I have heard it. He gets mine by stone."
Sella took a small black chip from a pouch and tied a crow feather around it with a strip of sinew. She pressed it into Oren's palm.
"For Harrag."
"What does it say?"
"It says we heard," she said. "It does not say yes."
Oren closed his fingers around it. "Mountain words are careful these days."
"No," Varok said. "Men are hungry."
...
They made him sleep by the lower fire.
Stone Crow hospitality was a thin hide, a place out of the wind, and a bowl of broth that tasted faintly of bird. Oren accepted all three. Dannel fell asleep quickly, which proved youth could survive humiliation better than wisdom could.
Oren did not sleep well.
His ankle throbbed. Snow moved somewhere above with soft, sliding sounds. Twice he opened his eyes because he thought someone had stepped near him, but saw only stone and shadow. Stone Crows did not snore loudly. Even asleep, they seemed to dislike giving away position.
Near midnight, he heard voices above.
Varok and Sella, perhaps. Or Sella and Murren. The words came down broken.
"Lower sheds."
"Gate sees some."
"Not all."
"Moon Brothers will want the front."
"Let them want."
"Burned Men?"
A pause.
"The witch will smell it."
"And say no?"
"Maybe."
"Good."
"Maybe not good."
Then the snow shifted and the words were gone.
Oren lay still.
By dawn, the sky had cleared enough to show a hard strip of pale light between the rocks. Sella woke him by nudging his boot with the end of her spear.
"Up, Painted Dog. Your chief waits to be disappointed."
Oren sat up, grimaced at his ankle, and started tying his wrap tighter.
Dannel rubbed his eyes. "Are they coming?"
Sella looked at him as if he had asked whether snow was cold. "They are hearing."
"That means coming."
"That means hearing."
Oren stood before Dannel could answer.
Varok waited above the path, cloak moving in the wind, crow skull pale at his throat. He did not come down.
"Tell Harrag one more thing," he said.
Oren looked up.
"If Moon Brothers refuse, I still come to hear. If Burned Men refuse, I still come to hear. If both refuse, I come with fewer men and more laughter."
Sella smiled from beside him.
Varok did not.
"And if Harrag thinks that means I have agreed to bleed, tell him Stone Crows bleed for stone, food, and themselves. Not for Painted Dog dreams."
Oren nodded. "I'll tell him close to those words."
"Those words."
Oren gave the smallest bow he could give without making it look like one, then turned down the path with Dannel behind him.
By the time they left Stone Crow ground, the black stone was heavy inside his cloak.
Not yes.
Not no.
Terms.
That was enough to carry home.