Contents

PartIThePoisonTradeBeingChiefThis NobleBusinessTheNewMan

FeedingTimeSo Much inCommonHonestyGhostsBadDebtsA RaggedMultitudeBeloved of theMoonFlowers andPlaudits

Too ManyKnivesBestofEnemiesFortunesofWarTheKingmakerTheTrapHorribleOldMenPrepared for theWorstThe Habit ofCommandTheFirstDay

Such SweetSorrowPicked Up AShadowQuestionsTheFourthDayThe PerfectCoupleTheSeventhDayToo ManyMastersSweetVictory

RudeAwakeningsPartIIThe Number oftheDeadLeaves on theWaterAuthorityTheCircleGreaterGoodSkarlingsChairLeadership

A Rock and aHardPlaceCharityBetter LeftBuriedTomorrow'sHeroNightfallQuestionsThe Day ofJudgementSacrificesOpentheBox

DarkPathsReckoningsAftertheRainsAnswersTheWoundedPatrioticDutiesTheFirstLawTeaandThreatsBehind theThroneGood Men, EvilMen

Not What YouWantedLooseEndsTheBeginningAcknowledgments

Copyright © Joe Abercrombie2008AllrightsreservedTherightofJoeAbercrombietobeidentifiedastheauthorofthiswork has been asserted by himin accordance with theCopyright, Designs and PatentsAct1988.First published in Great Britainin2008byGollanczAn imprint of the OrionPublishingGroupOrionHouse,5 Upper St Martin's Lane,LondonWC2H9EAACIP catalogue record for thisbook is available from the

British Library ISBN 978 0575077898(cased)ISBN9780575077904(tradepaperback)57910864Typeset at The Spartan PressLtd,Lymington,HantsPrintedandboundintheUKbyCPI Mackays, Chatham ME58TDThe Orion Publishing Group'spolicy is to use papers that arenatural, renewable andrecyclable products and madefromwoodgrowninsustainableforests. The logging andmanufacturing processes are

expected to conform to theenvironmentalregulationsofthecountryoforigin.www.orionbooks.co.uk

FortheFourReadersYouknowwhoyouare

PARTI

'Lifebeingwhatitis,onedreamsofrevenge.'

PaulGauguin

ThePoisonTrade

^»

Superior Glokta stood in thehall,andwaited.Hestretched

his twisted neck out to oneside and then to the other,hearing the familiar clicks,feeling the familiar cords ofpain stretching out throughthe tangled muscles betweenhisshoulder-blades.WhydoIdo it, when it always hurtsme? Why must we test thepain? Tongue the ulcer, rubtheblister,pickthescab?

'Well?'hesnapped.

The marble bust at thefootofthestairsofferedonlyits silent contempt.And I getmore than enough of thatalready. Glokta shuffledaway, his useless footscrapingoverthetilesbehindhim, the tapping of his caneechoing amongst themouldings on the farawayceiling.

Whenitcametothegreat

noblemen on the OpenCouncil, Lord Ingelstad, theowner of this oversized hall,was an undersized manindeed.Theheadof a familywhose fortunes had declinedwiththepassingyears,whosewealth and influence hadshrivelled to almost nothing.And the more shrivelled theman, the more swollen hispretensions must become.

Why do they never realise?Small things only seemsmallerinlargespaces.

Somewhere in theshadowsaclockvomitedupafew sluggish chimes. Goodand late already. The moreshrivelledtheman,thelongerthewaitonhispleasure.ButIcanbepatient,whenImust.Ihavenodazzlingbanquets,noecstatic crowds, no beautiful

women waiting breathlesslyfor my arrival, after all. Notanymore.TheGurkishsawtothat, in the darkness beneaththe Emperors prisons. Hepressed his tongue into hisempty gums and grunted ashe shifted his leg, needlesfrom it shooting up his backandmakinghiseyelidflicker.I can be patient. The onegood thing about every step

being an ordeal. You soonlearnhowtotreadcarefully.

The door beside himopened sharply and Gloktasnapped his head round,doing his best to hide agrimace as his neck bonescrunched. Lord Ingelstadstood in the doorway: a big,fatherly man with a ruddycomplexion.He offered up afriendlysmileashebeckoned

Glokta into the room. Quiteas though this were a socialcall, and a welcome one atthat.

'I must apologise forkeeping you waiting,Superior.Ihavehadsomanyvisitors since I arrived inAdua, my head is in quite aspin!' Let us hope it doesn'tspin right off. 'So verymanyvisitors!'Visitors with offers,

no doubt. Offers for yourvote. Offers for your help inchoosing our next king. Butmyoffer,Ithink,youwillfindpainful to refuse. 'Will youtakewine,Superior?'

'No,myLord,thankyou.'Gloktahobbledpainfullyoverthe threshold. 'Iwill not staylong.I,too,haveagreatdealof business to attend to.'Elections don't rig

themselves,youknow.'Of course, of course.

Please be seated.' Ingelstaddropped happily into one ofhis chairs and gestured toanother. It took Glokta amoment to get settled,lowering himself carefully,thenshiftinghishipsuntilhediscovered a position inwhich his back did not givehimconstantpain. 'Andwhat

did youwish to discusswithme?'

'IhavecomeonbehalfofArchLectorSult. I hopeyouwill not be offended if I amblunt,buthisEminencewantsyourvote.'

The nobleman's heavyfeatures twisted in feignedpuzzlement. Very badlyfeigned, as it goes. 'I am notsure that I understand. My

voteonwhatissue?'Glokta wiped some wet

frombeneathhisleakingeye.Must we engage in suchundignified dancing? Youhavenotthebuildforit,andIhave not the legs. 'On theissueofwhowillnextoccupythethrone,LordIngelstad.'

'Ah.That.'Yes,that.Idiot.'SuperiorGlokta,IhopeIwillnot disappoint you, or his

Eminence,amanforwhomIhave nothing but the highestrespect,' and he bowed hishead with an exaggeratedshowofhumility,'whenIsaythat I could not, in all goodconscience, allow myself tobe influenced in any onedirection.IfeelthatI,andallthe members of the OpenCouncil, have been given asacredtrust.Iamdutybound

to vote for the man whoseems to me to be the veryfinest candidate, from themany excellent menavailable.'Andhe assumed agrin of the greatest self-satisfaction.

A fine speech. A villagedunce might have evenbelieved it.Howoftenhave Iheard it, or its like, the pastfewweeks?Traditionally, the

bargainingwould come next.The discussion of howmuch,exactly, a sacred trust isworth. How much silveroutweighsagoodconscience.Howmuchgoldcuts throughthebindingsofduty.ButIamnot in a bargaining moodtoday.

Glokta raised hiseyebrows very high, 'I mustcongratulate you on a noble

stand, Lord Ingelstad. Ifeveryone had your characterwewouldbelivinginabetterworld. A noble standindeed…especiallywhenyouhavesomuchtolose.Nolessthan everything, I suppose.'He winced as he took hiscane in one hand and rockedhimself painfully forwardtowardstheedgeofthechair.'But I see you will not be

swayed. and so I take myleave—'

'What can you refer to,Superior?' The nobleman'sunease was written plainlyacrosshisplumpface.

'Why, Lord Ingelstad, toyour corrupt businessdealings.'

Theruddycheekshadlostmuch of their glow. 'There

mustbesomemistake.''Oh no, I assure you.'

Glokta slid the papers ofconfession from the insidepocket of his coat. 'You arementioned often in theconfessions of seniorMercers, you see? Veryoften.' And he held thecrackling pages out so theyboth could see them. 'Hereyou are referred to as—and

notmy choice ofwords, youunderstand—an"accomplice". Here as the"primebeneficiary"ofamostunsavoury smugglingoperation.Andhere,youwillnote—and I almost blush tomention it— your name andthe word "treason" appear incloseproximity.'

Ingelstad sagged backintohischairandsethisglass

rattling down on the tablebeside him, a quantity ofwine sloshing out onto thepolishedwood.Oh,wereallyshouldwipe that up. It couldleave an awful stain, andsomestainsareimpossibletoremove.

'HisEminence,'continuedGlokta, 'counting you as afriend,wasabletokeepyourname out of the initial

enquiries, for everybody'ssake.Heunderstandsthatyouweremerelytryingtoreversethe failing fortunes of yourfamily, and is not withoutsympathy. If you were todisappoint him in thisbusiness of votes, however,his sympathy would bequickly exhausted. Do youtakemymeaning?' I feel thatI have made it abundantly

clear.'Ido,'croakedIngelstad.'And the bonds of duty?

Do they feel any looser,now?'

Thenoblemanswallowed,theflushquitevanishedfromhis face. 'I ameager toassisthis Eminence in any waypossible,ofcourse,but…thething is—' What now? A

desperateoffer?Adespairingbribe? An appeal to myconscience, even? 'ArepresentativeofHighJusticeMarovia came to meyesterday. A man calledHarlen Morrow. He madevery similarrepresentations… and notdissimilar threats.' Gloktafrowned. Did he now?Marovia,andhislittleworm.

Always just one step ahead,or just one step behind. Butnever faraway.A shrill notecrept into Ingelstad's voice.'What am I to do? I cannotsupportyouboth!IwillleaveAdua, Superior, and neverreturn! Iwill…Iwillabstainfromvoting—'

'You'lldonosuchfuckingthing!' hissed Glokta. 'You'llvote the way I tell you and

Marovia be damned!' Moreprodding?Distasteful, but sobeit.Aremyhandsnotfilthyto the elbow? Rummagingthroughanothersewerortwowill scarcely make thedifference. He let his voicesoften to an oily purr. 'Iobserved your daughters inthe park, yesterday.' Thenobleman's face lost its lastvestige of colour. 'Three

young innocents on the verycusp ofwomanhood, dressedall in the height of fashion,andeachonelovelierthanthelast. The youngest wouldbe…fifteen?'

'Thirteen,' croakedIngelstad.

'Ah.' And Glokta let hislips curl back to display histoothless smile. 'She bloomsearly.Theyhaveneverbefore

visitedAdua,amIcorrect?''Theyhavenot,'henearly

whispered.'I thought not. Their

excitement and delight astheytouredthegardensoftheAgriont were perfectlycharming. I swear, theymusthavecaught the eyeof everyeligible suitor in the capital.'He allowed his smile slowlyto fade. 'It would break my

heart, Lord Ingelstad, to seethree such delicate creaturessnatched suddenly away toone of Angland's harshestpenal institutions. Placeswhere beauty, and breeding,and a gentle disposition,attract an entirely differentandfarlessenjoyablekindofattention.' Glokta gave acarefully orchestratedshudder of dismay as he

leaned slowly forward towhisper. 'I would not wishthatlifeonadog.Andallonaccount of the indiscretionsofafatherwhohadthemeansof reparation well within hisgrasp.'

'But my daughters, theywerenotinvolved—'

'We are electing a newking! Everyone is involved!'Harsh, perhaps. But harsh

times demand harsh actions.Glokta struggled to his feet,hand wobbling on his canewith theeffort. 'Iwill tellhisEminence that he can countonyourvote.'

Ingelstad collapsed,suddenly and completely.Like a stabbedwineskin. Hisshoulders sagged, his facehung loose with horror andhopelessness. 'But the High

Justice…' he whispered.'Haveyounopity?'

Glokta could only shrug.'I did have. As a boy I wassoft-heartedbeyond thepointof foolishness. I swear, Iwouldcryataflycaughtinaspider'sweb.'Hegrimacedatabrutalspasmthroughhislegas he turned for the door.'Constant pain has cured meofthat.'

It was an intimate littlegathering. But the companyhardly inspires warmth.Superior Goyle glared atGlokta fromacross thehuge,roundtableinthehuge,roundoffice,hisbeadyeyes staringfrom his bony face. And notwith tender feelings, I ratherthink.

The attention of his

Eminence the Arch Lector,the head of his Majesty'sInquisition, was fixedelsewhere. Pinned to thecurving wall, taking upperhaps half of the entirechamber,were three hundredand twenty sheets of paper.One for everygreatheart onour noble Open Council.They crackled gently in thebreeze from the great

windows. Fluttering littlepapers for fluttering littlevotes. Each one was markedwithaname.Lord this,Lordthat, Lord someone ofwherever. Big men and littlemen.Menwhoseopinions,onthe whole, no one cared adamn for until PrinceRaynault fell out of his bedandintohisgrave.

Many of the pages had a

blobofcolouredwaxontheircorner. Some had two, oreven three. Allegiances.Which way will they vote?Blue for Lord Brock, red forLord Isher, black forMarovia, white for Sult, andso on. All subject to change,of course, depending whichway the wind blows them.Below were written lines ofsmall,densescript.Toosmall

forGloktatoreadfromwherehe was sitting, but he knewwhattheysaid.Wifewasoncea whore. Partial to youngmen.Drinkstoomuchforhisgood.Murdered a servant ina rage. Gambling debts hecannot cover. Secrets.Rumours. Lies. The tools ofthis noble trade. Threehundred and twenty names,andjustasmanysordidlittle

stories,eachonetobepickedat, and dug out, and jabbedour way. Politics. Truly, theworkoftherighteous.

So why do I do this?Why?

The Arch Lector hadmore pressing concerns.'Brock still leads,' hemurmured in a dour drone,staring at the shifting paperswith his white gloved hands

clasped behind his back. 'Hehassomefiftyvotes,moreorlesscertain.'Ascertainaswecan be in these uncertaintimes.'Isherisnotfarbehind,with forty or more to hisname. Skald has made somerecentgains,asfaraswecantell.Anunexpectedlyruthlessman. He has the Stariklanddelegationmoreorlessinhishand,which gives him thirty

votes, perhaps, and Barezinabout the same.Theyare thefour main contenders, asthingsstand.'

Butwho knows? Perhapsthe King will live anotheryear,andbythetimeitcomestoavotewe'llallhavekilledeach other. Glokta had tostifle a grin at the thought.The Lords' Round heapedwith richly-dressed corpses,

every great nobleman in theUnion and all twelvemembers of the ClosedCouncil.Each stabbed in theback by theman beside. Theuglytruthofgovernment…

'Did you speak toHeugen?'snappedSult.

Goyle tossed his baldinghead and sneered at Gloktawith seething annoyance.'Lord Heugen is still

struggling under the delusionthat he could be our nextking, though he cannotcertainly controlmore than adozen chairs. He barely hadtimetohearourofferhewasso busy scrabbling to coaxoutmore votes. Perhaps in aweek, or two, he will seereason. Then he might beencouraged to lean our way,butIwouldn'tbetonit.More

likely he'll throw in his lotwith Isher. The two of themhave always been close, Iunderstand.'

'Good for them,' hissedSult.'WhataboutIngelstad?'

Glokta stirred in his seat.'I presented him with yourultimatum in very bluntterms,yourEminence.'

'Thenwecancountonhis

vote?'How to put this? 'I could

not say so with absolutecertainty. High JusticeMarovia was able to makethreatsalmostidenticaltoourown, throughhismanHarlenMorrow.'

'Morrow? Isn't he somelickspittleofHoffs?'

'It would seem he has

moved up in the world.' Ordown,dependingonhowyoulookatit.

'He could be taken careof.' Goyle wore a mostunsavoury expression. 'Quiteeasily—'

'No!' snapped Sult. 'Whyis it, Goyle, that no soonerdoes a problem appear thanyouwant to kill it!Wemusttread carefully for now, and

show ourselves to bereasonable men, open tonegotiation.'He strode to thewindow, the bright sunlightglittering purple through thegreat stone on his ring ofoffice. 'Meanwhile thebusiness of actually runningthecountry is ignored.Taxesgo uncollected. Crimes gounpunished.Thisbastardtheycall the Tanner, this

demagogue, this traitor,speaks in public at villagefairs, urging open rebellion!Daily now, peasants leavetheir farms and turn tobanditry, perpetrating untoldtheft and damage. Chaosspreads, andwehavenot theresources to stamp it out.Thereareonlytworegimentsof the King's Own left inAdua, scarcely enough to

maintain order in the city.Who knows if one of ournoble Lords will tire ofwaitinganddecidetotryandseize thecrownprematurely?Iwouldnotputitpastthem!'

'WillthearmyreturnfromtheNorthsoon?'askedGoyle.

'Unlikely. That oafMarshalBurr has spent threemonths squatting outsideDunbrec, and given Bethod

ampletimetoregroupbeyondthe Whiteflow. Who knowswhenhe'll finally get the jobdone, if ever!'Months spentdestroying our own fortress.It almost makes one wishwe'd put less effort intobuildingtheplace.

'Twenty-five votes.' TheArch Lector scowled at thecrackling papers. 'Twenty-five, and Marovia has

eighteen? We're scarcelymaking progress! For everyvote we gain we lose onesomewhereelse!'

Goyle leaned forwards inhis chair. 'Perhaps, yourEminence, thetimehascometo call againonour friend attheUniversity—'

The Arch Lector hissedfuriously,andGoylesnappedhismouthshut.Gloktalooked

out the great window,pretending that he had heardnothing out of the ordinary.The six crumbling spires oftheUniversity dominated theview. But what help couldanyone possibly find there?Amongst the decay, and thedust, from those old idiots ofAdepti?

Sultdidnotgivehimlongtoconsiderit. 'Iwillspeakto

Heugen myself.' And hejabbedoneofthepaperswithafinger.'Goyle,writetoLordGovernor Meed and try toelicit his support. Glokta,arrange an interview withLord Wetterlant. He has yettodeclarehimselfonewayorthe other. Get out there, thepairofyou.'Sultturnedfromhis sheets full of secrets andfixedonGloktawithhishard

blue eyes. 'Get out there andget…me…votes!'

BeingChief

«^»

'Cold night!' shouted theDogman. 'Thought it wasmeanttobesummer!'

The three of 'em looked

up. The nearest was an oldmanwithgreyhairandafacelooked like it had seen someweather. Just past himwas ayoungerman,missinghisleftarm above the elbow. Thethird was no more'n a boy,stood down the end of thequayand frowningoutat thedarksea.

Dogman faked a nastylimp as he walked over,

dragging one leg behind himand wincing like he was inpain. He shuffled under thelamp, dangling on its highpole with the warning bellbeside it, and held up the jarsotheycouldallsee.

Theoldmangrinned,andleaned his spear against thewall. 'Always cold, down bythe water.' He came up,rubbing his hands together.

'Just as well we got you tokeepuswarm,eh?'

'Aye. Good luck allround.' Dogman pulled outthe stopper and let it dangle,lifted one of the mugs andpouredoutaslosh.

'No need to be shy, eh,lad?'

'Iguessthereain'tatthat.'Dogman sloshed out some

more.Themanwithonearmhad to set his spear downwhenhegothandedhismug.The boy came up last, andlookedDogmanover,wary.

The old one nudged himwithanelbow.'Yousureyourmother'd care for youdrinking,boy?'

'Who cares what she'dsay?' he growled, trying tomake his high voice sound

gruff.Dogman handed him a

mug. 'You're old enough tohold a spear, you're oldenough to hold a cup, Ireckon.'

'I'm old enough!' hesnapped, snatching it out o'Dogman's hand, but heshuddered when he drankfromit.Dogmanrememberedhisfirstdrink,feelingmighty

sick and wondering what allthe fuss was about, and hesmiled to himself. The boythoughthewasbeinglaughedat,most likely. 'Whoareyouanyway?'

Theoldboytutted. 'Don'tmind him. He's still youngenoughtothinkthatrudenesswinsrespect.'

''S alright,' said Dogman,pouring himself a mug then

setting the jar down on thestones, taking time to thinkoutwhattosay,makesurehedidn'tmakenomistakes. 'Myname'sCregg.'He'dknownaman called Cregg once, gotkilled in a scrap up in thehills. Dogman hadn't likedhim much, and he'd no ideawhythatnamecametomind,butonewasaboutasgoodasanother right then, he

reckoned. He slapped histhigh. 'Got poked in the legup at Dunbrec and it ain'thealed right. Can't march nomore. Reckon my days atholdingalineareover,somychief sent me down here, towatchthewaterwithyoulot.'He looked out at the sea,flapping and sparkling underthe moon like a thing alive.'Can'tsayI'mtoosorryabout

it, though. Being honest, Ihad a skin full o' fighting.'That last bit was no lie, atleast.

'Knowhowyoufeel,'saidOne-Arm, waving his stumpin Dogman's face. 'How'rethingsupthere?'

'Alright. Union are stillsat outside their own walls,trying everything to get in,andwe'reontheothersideo'

the river, waiting for 'em.Beenthatwayforweeks.'

'I heard some boys havegone over to the Union. Iheard old Threetrees was upthere,gotkilledinthatbattle.'

'He was a great man,RuddThreetrees,'saidtheoldboy,'greatman.'

'Aye.' Dogman nodded.'Thathewas.'

'Heard the Dogman tookhis place, though,' said One-Arm.

'Thatafact?''SoIheard.Meanbastard,

that.Huge big lad.They callhim Dogman 'cause he bitsome woman's teats off onetime.'

Dogmanblinked.'Dotheynow?Well,Ineversawhim.'

'I heard the Bloody-Ninewas up there,' whispered theboy, eyes big like he wastalkingaboutaghost.

The other two snorted athim. 'The Bloody-Nine'sdead,boy,andgoodriddanceto that evil fucker.'One-Armshuddered. 'Damn it but yougetsomefoolnotions!'

'JustwhatIheard,isall.'

Theoldboyswilleddownsomemoregrogandsmackedhis lips. 'Don't much matterwho's where. Union'll mostlikely get bored once they'vegottheirfortback.Getboredandgo home, across the sea,and everything back tonormal. None of 'em will becomingdownheretoUffrith,anyway.'

'No,' said One-Arm

happily. 'They'll not becominghere.'

'Then why we out herewatchingfor'em?'whinedtheboy.

The old man rolled hiseyes, like he'd heard it tentimes before and alwaysmade the same answer.''Causethat'sthetaskwebeengiven,lad.'

'Andonceyougota task,youbestdoitright.'Dogmanremembered Logen tellinghim the same thing, andThreetrees too. Both gonenow, and back in the mud,but it was still as true as itever was. 'Even if it's a dulltask,oradangerous,oradarkone. Even if it's a task you'drathernotdo.'Damnit,butheneededtopiss.Alwaysdid,at

atimelikethis.'Trueenough,'saidtheold

man, smiling down into hismug. 'Things've got to getdone.'

'That they do. Shame,though. You seem a niceenough set o' lads.' And theDogman reached behind hisback, just like he wasscratchinghisarse.

'Shame?' The boy lookedpuzzled. 'How d'you mean a—'

That was when Dowcame up behind him and cuthisneckopen.

Same moment, almost,Grim's dirty hand clampeddown on One-Arm's mouthand the bloody point of ablade slid out the gap in hiscloak. Dogman jumped

forwardandgavetheoldmanthree quick stabs in the ribs.He wheezed, and stumbled,eyeswide,mug still hangingfrom his hand, groggy droolspilling out his open mouth.Thenhefelldown.

The boy crawled a littleway.Hehadonehand tohisneck,tryingtokeepthebloodin, the other reaching outtowards thepole thewarning

bell was hung on. He hadsome bones, the Dogmanreckoned, to be thinking ofthebellwithaslit throat,buthedidn'tdraghimselfmore'na stride beforeDow stompeddownhardonthebackofhisneckandsquashedhimflat.

Dogman winced as heheard the boy's neck bonescrunch.Hehadn'tdeservedtodielikethat,most likely.But

that's what war is. A lot offolk getting killed that don'tdeserve it. The job hadneeded doing, and they'ddone it, and were all threestill alive.About asmuch ashecould'vehoped for fromapiece of work like that, butsomehow it still left a sourtaste on him. He'd neverfound it easy, but it washarderthanever,nowhewas

chief. Strange, how it's thatmucheasiertokillfolkwhenyou've got someone tellingyou to do it. Hard business,killing. Harder than you'dthink.

Unlessyourname'sBlackDow,ofcourse.Thatbastardwould kill a man as easy ashe'd take a piss. That waswhatmadehimsodamngoodat it. Dogman watched him

bend down, strip the cloakfrom One-Arm's limp bodyand pull it round his ownshoulders,thenrollthecorpseoff into the sea, careless asdumpingrubbish.

'You got two arms,' saidGrim, already with the oldman'scloakon.

Dow looked down athimself. 'What're you sayingexactly? I ain't cutting my

arm off to make for a betterdisguise,y'idiot!'

'He means keep it out o'sight.'DogmanwatchedDowwipe out a mug with a dirtyfinger, pour himself a slugand knock it back. 'How canyoudrinkatatimelikethis?'he asked, pulling the boy'sbloodycloakoffhiscorpse.

Dow shrugged as hepoured himself another.

'Shame to waste it. And likeyou said. Cold night.' Hebroke a nasty grin. 'Damn it,but you can talk, Dogman.Name's Cregg.' He took acouple of limping steps.'Stabbed in me arse up atDunbrec!Where d'you get itfrom?' He slapped Grim'sshoulderwith thebackofhishand. 'Fucking lovely, eh?They got aword for it, don't

they?What'sthatword,now?''Plausible,'saidGrim.Dow's eyes lit up.

'Plausible. That's what y'are,Dogman. You're oneplausible bastard. I swear,you could've told 'em youwas Skarling Hoodless hisown self and they'd havebelieved it. Don't know howyoucankeepastraightface!'

Dogman didn't feel toomuchlikelaughing.Hedidn'tlike looking at them twocorpses, still laid out on thestones.Keptworryingthattheboy'd get cold without hiscloak. Damn fool thing tothink about, given he waslying in a pool of his ownbloodastrideacross.

'Never mind about that,'he grunted. 'Dump these two

hereandgetoverbythegate.Don't know when there'll beotherscoming.'

'Right y'are, chief, righty'are,whateveryousay.'Dowheaved the two of them offinto the water, then heunhooked the clapper frominsidethebellandtossedthatintotheseaforgoodmeasure.

'Shame,'saidGrim.

'Whatis?''Wasteofabell.'Dow blinked at him.

'Wasteofabell,Iswear!Yougotyourselfalottosayallofa sudden, and you knowwhat? I think I liked youbetterbefore.Wasteofabell?Youlostyourmind,boy?'

Grim shrugged.'Southernersmightwant one,

whentheygethere.''They can fucking take a

dive for the clapper then,can't they!' And DowsnatchedupOne-Arm'sspearand strode over to the opengate, one hand stuffed insidehisstolencloak,grumblingtohimself.'Wasteofabell…bythefuckingdead…'

TheDogmanstretcheduponhis toesandunhookedthe

lamp, held it up, facing thesea,thenheliftedonesideofhis cloak to cover it, broughtit down again. Lifted it up,brought it down. One moretime and he hooked itflickering back on the pole.Seemed a tiny little flameright then, to warm all theirhopes at. A tiny little flame,to be seen all the way outthere on the water, but the

onlyonetheyhad.He was waiting all the

timeforthewholebusinesstogowrong, for the clamour togo up in the town, for fivedozenCarls to come pouringout that open gate and givethe three o' them the killingthey deserved. He wasbursting to piss, thinkingaboutit.Buttheydidn'tcome.No sound but the empty bell

creakingon itspole, thecoldwaves slapping on stone andwood. It was just the waythey'dplannedit.

The first boat camegliding out the darkness,Shiversgrinning in theprow.AscoreofCarlswerepressedinto the boat behind him,workingtheoarsrealcareful,white faces tensed up, teethgritted with the effort of

keeping quiet. Still, everyclick and clank of wood andmetal set the Dogman'snervestojumping.

Shiversandhisboyshungsomesacksof strawover theside as theybrought theboatin close, stopping the woodscraping on the stones, allthought out theweek before.They tossed up ropes andDogman and Grim caught

'em,draggedtheboatuptightand tied it off. Dogmanlooked over at Dow, leaningstillandeasyagainstthewallbythegate,andheshookhishead gently, to say no onewas moving in the town.Then Shivers was up thesteps, smooth and quiet,squatting down in thedarkness.

'Nice work, chief,' he

whispered, smiling rightacross his face. 'Nice andneat.'

'There'll be time to slapeach others' backs later. Gettheresto'themboatstiedoff.'

'Right y'are.' There weremore boats coming now,more Carls, more sacks ofstraw. Shivers' boys pulledthemin,starteddraggingmenupontothequay.Allkindsof

menwho'dcomeoverthelastfew weeks. Men who didn'tcareforBethod'snewwayofdoing things.Soon therewasagoodcrowdof'emdownbythe water. SomanyDogmancould hardly believe theyweren'tseen.

They formed up intogroups, just the way they'dplanned, each one with theirownchiefandtheirowntask.

A couple of the lads knewUffrith and they'd made aplan of the place in the dirt,the way Threetrees used to.Dogmanhadeveryoneof'emlearn it.He grinnedwhen hethought of how much BlackDow had carped about that,but it was worth it now. Hesquattedbythegate,andtheycamepast,onedarkandsilentgroupatatime.

Tulwas first up, a dozenCarls behind him. 'Alright,Thunderhead,' said Dogman,'yougotthemaingate.'

'Aye,'noddedTul.'Biggesttasko'thelot,so

tryandgetitdonequiet.''Quiet,yougotit.''Luckthen,Tul.''Won't need it.' And the

gianthurriedoffintothedark

streetswithhiscrewbehind.'Red Hat, you got the

tower by the well and thewallsbeside.'

'ThatIhave.''Shivers, you and your

boys are keeping awatch onthetownsquare.'

'Like the owl watches,chief.'

And so on, past they

went, through the gate andinto the dark streets, makingnomore noise than thewindoff the sea and thewavesonthe dock, Dogman givingeach crew their task andslapping'emoffontheirway.BlackDowcameuplast,andahard-looking set ofmenhehadbehindhim.

'Dow, you got theheadman's hall. Stack it up

with some wood, like wesaid, but don't set fire to it,you hear? Don't kill anyoneyoudon'thaveto.Notyet.'

'Notyet,fairenough.''And Dow.' He turned

back. 'Don'tgobotheringanywomenfolkeither.'

'WhatdoyouthinkIam?'he asked, teeth gleaming inthe darkness, 'Some kind of

ananimal?'And that was it done.

TherewasjusthimandGrim,andafewotherstowatchthewater. 'Uh,' said Grim,noddinghisheadslowly.Thatwas high praise indeed fromhim.

Dogman pointed over atthe pole. 'Get us that bell,would you?' he said. 'Mighthaveauseforitafterall.'

By the dead, but it made asound. Dogman had to halfclosehiseyes,hiswholearmtrembling as he whacked atthebellwiththehandleofhisknife. He didn't feel toocomfortable in amongst allthose buildings, squashed inby walls and fences. Hehadn't spent much time intownsinhislife,andwhathe

had spent he hadn't muchenjoyed. Either burningthings and causing mischiefafter a siege,or lying aroundin Bethod's prisons, waitingtobekilled.

He blinked round at thejumble of slate roofs, thewallsofoldgreystone,blackwood, dirty grey render, allgreasy with the thin rain.Seemedastrangewaytolive,

sleeping in abox,wakingallyour days in the exact samespot. The idea alone madehim restless, as though thatbell hadn't got him twitchyenough already. He clearedhis throat and set it downonthecobblesbesidehim.Thenhe stood there waiting, onehandon thehiltofhis swordinawaythathehopedmeantbusiness.

Some flapping footfallscamefromdownastreetanda little girl ran out into thesquare.Herjawdroppedopenwhen she saw them standingthere, a dozen men allbeardedandarmed,TulDuruin their midst. Probably shenever sawamanhalf sobig.She turned around sharp torun the other way, almostslipping over on the slick

cobbles. Then she saw Dowsittingonapileofwood justbehindher,leaningbackeasyagainst the wall, his drawnsword on his knees, and shefrozestonestill.

'That's alright, girl,'growled Dow. 'You can staywherey'are.'

There were more of 'emcoming now, hurrying downinto the square from all

around, all getting that sameshocked lookwhen they sawDogman and his lads stoodwaiting. Women and boys,mostly, and a couple of oldmen. Dragged out o' theirbedsbythebellandstillhalfasleep, eyes red and facespuffy, clothes tangled, armedwithwhateverwastohand.Aboywith a butcher's cleaver.An oldman all stooped over

with a sword looked evenolder than he was. A girl atthefrontwithapitchforkandalotofmessydarkhair,hadalook on her face remindedDogman of Shari. Hard andthoughtful, theway she usedto look at him before theystarted lying together.Dogmanfrowneddownatherdirtybarefeet,hopingthathewouldn'thavetokillher.

Getting 'em good andscaredwouldbethebestwayto get things done quick andeasy.SoDogmantriedtotalklike someone to be feared,ratherthansomeonewhowasshitting himself. Like Logenmight've talked. Or maybethat was more fear than wasneedful. Like Threetrees,then.Toughbutfair,wantingwhatwasbestforeveryone.

'The headman amongyou?'hegrowled.

'I'mhim,' croaked theoldmanwith the sword,his faceallslackwithshockatfindinga score of well-armedstrangers standing in themiddle of his town square.'Brass is my name.Who thehellmightyoube?'

'I'mtheDogman,andthishereisHardingGrim,andthe

big lad is Tul DuruThunderhead.' Some eyeswent wide, some folkmuttered to each other.Seemed they'd heard thenames before. 'We're herewith five hundred Carls andlast night we took your cityoff you.' A few gasps andsqueals at that. It was closertotwohundred,buttherewasnopoint telling 'em so.They

might've got the notion thatfightingwasagood ideaandhe'd no wish to end upstabbingawoman,orgettingstabbed by one either.'There's plenty more of us,roundabout,andyourguardsare all trussed up, those wedidn't have to kill. Some o'my boys, and you ought toknow I'm talking of BlackDow—'

'That's me.' Dow flashedhisnastygrin,andafewfolkshuffled fearfully away fromhimlikethey'dbeentoldhellitselfwassatthere.

'… Well, they were forputting the torch straight toyourhousesandgettingsomekilling done. Do things likewe used to with the Bloody-Nine in charge, you takemymeaning?' Some child in

amongstthereststartedtocryabit,awetkindofsnuffling.The boy stared round him,cleaverwobblinginhishand,the dark-haired girl blinkedand clung on tighter to herpitch-fork. They got the gist,alright.'ButIthoughtI'dgiveyoua fair chance togiveup,being as the town's full withwomenfolk and children andall the rest. My score's with

Bethod,notwithyoupeople.The Union want to use thisplaceas aport, bring inmenand supplies and whatever.They'll be here inside anhour, in their ships. A lot of'em. It's happening with orwithout your say so. I guessmypointiswecandothisthebloodyway, if that's thewayyou want it. The dead knowwe've had the practice. Or

you can give up yourweapons, if you've got 'em,andwecanallgetalong,niceand…what'sthewordforit?'

'Civilised,'saidGrim.'Aye. Civilised. What

d'yousay?'The oldman fingered his

sword, looking like he'drather have leant on it thanswung it, andhestaredupat

thewalls,whereafewof theCarlswerelookingdown,andhisshouldersslumped.'Lookslike you got us cold. TheDogman, eh? I always heardyouwasacleverbastard.Noone much left here to fightyou, anyway. Bethod tookeverymancouldholdaspearand a shield at once.' Helooked round at the sorrycrowd behind him. 'Will you

leavethewomenbe?''We'llleave'embe.''Thosethatwanttobeleft

be,' said Dow, leering at thegirlwiththepitch-fork.

'We'll leave 'em be,'growledDogman,givinghimahardlook.'I'llseetoit.'

'Well then,' wheezed theold man, shuffling up andwincing as he knelt and

dropped his rusty blade atDogman's feet. 'You're abettermanthanBethod,farasI'm concerned. I suppose Iought to be thanking you foryourmercy,ifyoukeepyourword.'

'Uh.' Dogman didn't feeltoomerciful.He doubted theold boy he'd killed on thedockwouldbe thankinghim,or the one-armed man

stabbedthroughfrombehind,or the ladwith the cut throatwho'd had his whole lifestolen.

Onebyonetherestofthecrowdcameforward,andoneby one the weapons, if youcould call 'em that, gotdropped in a heap.A pile ofold rusty tools and junk.Theboy came up last and let hiscleaverclatterdownwith the

rest, gave a scared look atBlackDow,thenhurriedbacktotheothersandclungtothedark-hairedgirl'shand.

They stood there, in awide-eyed huddle, andDogman could almost smelltheir fear.TheywerewaitingforDow and hisCarls to setto hacking 'em down wherethey stood. They werewaiting to get herded in a

house and locked in and theplacesetfireto.Dogmanhadseen all that before. So hedidn't blame 'em one bit astheyallcrowdedtogetherlikesheeppressedupinafieldinwinter. He'd have done thesame.

'Alright!' he barked.'That's it! Back to yourhouses,orwhatever.Union'llbe here before midday, and

it'd be better if the streetswereempty.'

TheyblinkedatDogman,andatTul,andatBlackDow,and at each other. Theyswallowedand trembled, andmuttered their thanks to thedead.Theybrokeup, slowly,and spread out, andwent offtheir own ways. Alive, toeveryone'sgreatrelief.

'Nicely done, chief,' said

Tul in Dogman's ear.'Threetrees himself couldn'thavedoneitnobetter.'

Dow sidled up from theotherside.'Aboutthewomen,though, if you're asking myopinion—'

'I'mnot,'saidDogman.'Have you seen my son?'

There was one woman whowasn't going home. She was

coming up from one man toanother,half-tearsinhereyesand her face all wild fromworry. The Dogman put hishead down and looked theother way. 'My son, he wasonguard,downbythewater!Youseenhim?'ShetuggedatDogman's coat, her voicecracked and wet-sounding.'Please,where'smyson?'

'You think I knowwhere

everyone's at?' he snapped inher weepy face. He strodeaway like he had a load ofimportant stuff to do, and allthe while he was thinking—you're a coward, Dogman,you're a bastard bloodycoward.Somehero,pullinganeat trick on a bunch ofwomen,andchildren,andoldmen.

Itain'teasy,beingchief.

ThisNobleBusiness

«^»

The great moat had beendrained early in the siege,

leaving behind a wide ditchfull of blackmud.At the farend of the bridge across itfour soldiers worked by acart, dragging corpses to thebank and rolling themfloppingdownto thebottom.The corpses of the lastdefenders, gashed andburned, spattered with bloodanddirt.Wildmen,frompastthe River Crinna far to the

east, tangle-haired andbearded. Their limp bodiesseemed pitifully witheredafter three months sealed upbehind thewalls ofDunbrec,pitifully starved. Scarcelyhuman. Itwas hard forWestto take much joy in thevictory over such sorrycreaturesasthese.

'Seemsashame,'mutteredJalenhorm, 'after they fought

sobravely.Toendlikethat.'West watched another

ragged corpse slither downthebankand into the tangledheapofmuddylimbs.'Thisishow most sieges end.Especially for the brave.They'll be buried down therein the muck, then the moatwill be flooded again. Thewaters of theWhiteflowwillsurge over them, and their

bravery, or lack of it, willhavemeantnothing.'

The fortress of Dunbrecloomed over the two officersas they crossed the bridge,black outlines of walls andtowers like great, stark holesintheheavywhitesky.Afewraggedbirdscircledabove.Acouplemorecroakedfromthescarredbattlements.

It had taken General

Kroy'smenamonth tomakethis same journey, bloodilyrepulsed time and again, andto finally break through theheavy doors under a steadyrain of arrows, stones, andboiling water. Another weekofclaustrophobicslaughtertoforce the dozen strides downthe tunnel beyond, to burstthrough the second gatewithaxeand fireand finally seize

control of the outer wall.Every advantage had lainwiththedefenders.Theplacehad been most carefullydesignedtoensurethatitwasso.

And once they hadmadeitthroughthegatehouse,theirproblems were only justbeginning. The inner wallwas twice the height andthickness of the outer,

dominating its walkways atevery point. There had beennoshelterfrommissilesfromthesixmonstroustowers.

To conquer that secondwall Kroy's men had triedevery strategy in the manualof siege. They had workedwith pick and crowbar, butthe masonry was five stridesthick at the base. They hadmade an effort at amine but

the ground was waterloggedoutside the fortress and solidAngland rock beneath. Theyhadbombardedtheplacewithcatapults, but scarcelyscratched the mightybastions.Theyhadcomewithscaling ladders, again andagain,inwavesandinparties,by surprise at night orbrazenlyintheday,andinthedarkness and the light the

straggling lines of Unionwounded had shuffled awayfromtheirfailedattempts,thedead dragged solemnlybehind.Theyhadfinallytriedreasoning with the wilddefenders, through themedium of a Northerntranslator,andtheunfortunateman had been pelted withnightsoil.

It had been pure fortune,

intheend.Afterstudyingthemovementsoftheguards,oneenterprising sergeant hadtried his luck with a grappleunder coverofnight.Hehadclimbedupandadozenotherbravemenhadfollowedhim.They took the defenders bysurprise, killed several ofthem and seized thegatehouse. The whole efforttooktenminutesandcostone

Union life. It was a fittingirony, to West's mind, thathavingtriedeveryroundaboutmethod and been bloodilyrepulsed,theUnionarmyhadfinally entered the innerfortressbyitsopenfrontgate.

A soldier was bent overnearthatarchwaynow,beingnoisily sick onto the stainedflagstones. West passed himwith some foreboding, the

sound of his clicking bootheelsechoingaroundthelongtunnel, and emerged into thewide courtyard at the centreof the fortress. It was aregular hexagon, echoing theshape of the inner and outerwalls,allpartoftheperfectlysymmetrical design. Westdoubted that the architectswould have approved,however,ofthestateinwhich

the Northmen had left theplace.

A long wooden buildingat one side of the yard,perhapsa stables,hadcaughtfireintheattackandwasnowreduced to amassof charredbeams, the embers stillglowing.Thoseclearingawaythemesshad toomuchworkoutside the walls, and theground was still scattered

with fallen weapons andtangled corpses. The Uniondead had been stretched outin rows near one corner andcoveredupwithblankets.TheNorthmen lay in everyattitude, on their faces or ontheir backs, curled up orstretchedoutwhere they fell.Beneath the bodies the stoneflagsweredeeplyscored,andnot just with the random

damage of a three-monthsiege.Agreatcirclehadbeenchiselled from the rock, andothercircleswithinit,strangemarksandsymbolslaidoutinan intricate design.West didnot care for its look in theleast. Worse still, he wasbecoming aware of arepulsive stench to theplace,more pungent even than thetangofburnedwood.

'What ever is that smell?'muttered Jalenhorm, puttingonehandoverhismouth.

A sergeant nearbyoverheard him. 'Seems thatourNorthernfriendschosetodecorate the place.' Hepointedupabovetheirheads,and West followed thegauntleted finger with hiseyes.

They were so decayed

that it tookhimamoment torealise hewas looking at theremains of men. They hadbeennailed,spread-eagled,totheinsidewallsofeachofthetowers,highabovethelean-tobuildings round thecourtyard.Rottingoffalhungdown from their bellies,crawlingwith flies. Cutwiththe Bloody Cross, as theNorthmen would say.

Tattered shreds of brightly-coloured Union uniformswere still vaguely visible,flutteringinthebreezeamongthe masses of putrefyingflesh.

Clearly they had beenhanging there some time.Sincebefore thesiegebegan,certainly. Perhaps since thefortress first fell to theNorthmen. Corpses of the

original defenders, nailedthere, rotting, for all thosemonths.Threeappearedtobewithout their heads. Thecompanionpieces,perhaps,tothosethreegiftsthathadbeensent toMarshal Burr all thattimeago.Westfoundhimselfwondering, pointlessly,whetheranyofthemhadbeenalive when they were nailedup. Spit rushed into his

mouth, the sound of fliesbuzzing seeming suddenly,sickeninglyloud.

Jalenhorm had gone paleas a ghost. He did not sayanything.Hedidnothaveto.'What happened here?'muttered West through hisgritted teeth, as much tohimselfasanything.

'Well, sir, we think theywerehopingtogethelp.'The

sergeant grinned at him,clearly possessed of a verystrong stomach. 'Help fromsome unfriendly gods, we'vebeenguessing.Seemsthatnoone was listening downbelowthough,eh?'

West frowned at theragged markings on theground.'Getridofthem!Tearuptheflagsandreplacethemif you have to.' His eyes

strayed to the decayingcadavers above, and he felthis stomach give a painfulsqueeze. 'And offer a ten-markbounty to themanwithgutsenoughtoclimbupthereandcutthosecorpsesdown.'

'Tenmarks,sir?Bringmeoverthatladder!'

West turned and strodeoutthroughtheopengatesofthe fortress of Dunbrec,

holdinghisbreathandhopinglike hell that he never hadoccasion to visit the placeagain.Heknewthathewouldbeback,though.Ifonlyinhisdreams.

Briefings with Poulder andKroyweremorethanenoughto sicken the healthiest ofmen, and LordMarshal Burrwas by no means in that

category. The commander ofHis Majesty's armies inAngland was as pitifullyshrunken as the defenders ofDunbrechadbeen,hissimpleuniformhangingloosearoundhim while his pale skinseemed stretched too tightover the bones. In a dozenshort weeks he had aged asmanyyears.His hand shook,hisliptrembled,hecouldnot

stand for long, andcouldnotrideatall.Fromtimeto timehewould grimace and shiveras though he was racked byunseen pangs. West hardlyknew how he was able tocarryon,butcarryonhedid,fourteen hours a day andmore. He attended to hisduties with all his olddiligence. Only now theyseemed to eat him up, piece

bypiece.Burrfrownedgrimlyupat

the great map of the borderregion, his hands resting onhisbelly.TheWhiteflowwasawindingbluelinedownthemiddle, Dunbrec a blackhexagon marked in swirlyscript.On its left, theUnion.On its right, the North. 'So,'hecroaked,thencoughedandcleared his throat, 'The

fortressisbackinourhands.'GeneralKroygaveastiff

nod.'Itis.''Finally,' observed

Poulderunderhisbreath.Thetwogeneralsstillappearedtoregard Bethod and hisNorthmen as a minordistraction from the realenemy;eachother.

Kroy bristled, his staff

muttering around him like aflock of angry crows.'DunbrecwasdesignedbytheUnion's foremost militaryarchitects, and no expensewas spared in itsconstruction!Capturingithasbeennomeantask!'

'Of course, of course,'growled Burr, doing his bestto mount a diversion.'Damned difficult place to

take.Dowehave any notionof how the Northmenmanagedit?'

'None survived to tell uswhat trickery theyemployed,sir. They fought, withoutexception, to the death. Thelast few barricadedthemselves in the stablesandsetfiretothestructure.'

BurrglancedatWest,andslowly shook his head. 'How

can one understand such anenemy?Whatistheconditionofthefortressnow?'

'The moat was drained,the outer gatehouse partlydestroyed, considerabledamage done to the innerwall. The defenders toredown some buildings forwood to burn and stones tothrow and left the rest in…'Kroy worked his lips as

though struggling to find thewords. 'A very poorcondition. Repairs will takesomeweeks.'

'Huh.' Burr rubbedunhappily at his stomach.'The Closed Council areanxious that we cross theWhiteflow into the North assoonaspossible,andtakethefight to the enemy. Positivenews for the restless

populace,andsoon.''The capture of Uffrith,'

leapedinPoulder,withagrinof towering smugness, 'hasleft our position far stronger.We have gained at a strokeone of the best ports in theNorth, perfectly situated tosupplyour forcesaswepushinto enemy territory. Before,everything had to come thelength of Angland by cart,

over bad roads in badweather.Nowwecanbringinsupplies and reinforcementsbyshipandalmoststraighttothe front! And the wholething managed without asinglecasualty!'

West was not about toallow him to steal the creditforthat.

'Absolutely,' hedroned inan emotionless monotone.

'Ournorthernallieshaveonceagainprovedinvaluable.'

Poulder's red-jacketedstaff frowned and grumbled.'They played a part,' theGeneralwasforcedtoadmit.

'Their leader, theDogman,cametouswiththeoriginal plan, executed ithimself using his own men,and delivered the town toyou, its gates open and its

people compliant. That wasmyunderstanding.'

Poulder frowned angrilyacrossatKroy,whowasnowallowing himself the verythinnest of smiles. 'My menare in possession of the cityandarealreadybuildingupastockpile of supplies! Wehave outflanked the enemyand forced him to fall backtowards Carleon! That,

Colonel West, is surely theissue here, and not preciselywhodidwhat!'

'Indeed!' cut in Burr,waving one big hand. 'Youhavebothdonegreatservicesfor your country. But wemust now look forward tofuture successes. GeneralKroy, arrange for workparties to be left behind tocomplete the repairs to

Dunbrec, and a regiment oflevies to man the defences.With a commander thatknowshisbusiness,please.Itwould be embarrassing, tosay the least, if we were tolose the fortress for a secondtime.'

'Therewillbenomistake,'snarledKroyatPoulder, 'youcandependonit.'

'The rest of the army can

crosstheWhiteflowandformup on the far bank. Thenwecan begin to press east andnorthward, towards Carleon,usingtheharbouratUffrithtobring in our supplies. WehavedriventheenemyoutofAngland.Nowwemustpressforward and grind Bethod tohis knees.' And the Marshaltwisted a heavy fist into hispalm by way of

demonstration.'My division will be

across the river by tomorrowevening,' hissed Poulder atKroy,'andingoodorder!'

Burr grimaced. 'Wemustmove carefully,whatever theClosedCouncil say. The lasttime a Union army crossedthe Whiteflow was whenKing Casamir invaded theNorth. I need hardly remind

you that he was forced towithdraw in some disarray.Bethod has caught us outbefore, and will only growstronger ashe falls back intohis own territory. We mustwork together. This is not acompetition,gentlemen.'

The two generalsimmediately competed witheach other to be the one toagreemost.Westgavealong

sigh,andrubbedatthebridgeofhisnose.

TheNewMan

«^»

'And so we return.' Bayazfrowned towards the city: abright, white crescent spreadoutaround theglitteringbay.

Slowlybutdecisivelyitcamecloser, reaching out andwrapping Jezal in itswelcoming embrace. Thefeatures grew distinct, greenparks peeping out betweenthe houses, white spiresthrustingupfromthemassofbuildings. He could see thetoweringwallsoftheAgriont,sunlight glinting fromburnished domes above. The

House of the Maker loomedhigh over all, but even thatforbiddingmassnowseemed,somehow,tospeakofwarmthandsafety.

He was home. He hadsurvived. It felt like ahundred years since he hadstood at the stern of a notdissimilarship,miserableandforlorn, watching Adua slidesadly away into the distance.

Over the surging water, thesnapping sailcloth, the criesof the seabirds, he began todistinguishthedistantrumbleofthecity.Itsoundedlikethemostwonderfulmusichehadever heard. He closed hiseyes and dragged the air inhardthroughhisnostrils.Therottensalttangofthebaywassweetashoneyonhistongue.

'One takes ityouenjoyed

thetrip,then,Captain?'askedBayaz,withheavyirony.

Jezalcouldonlygrin.'I'menjoyingtheendofit.'

'No need to bedownhearted,'offeredBrotherLongfoot. 'Sometimes adifficult journey does notdeliver its full benefit untillong after one returns. Thetrials are brief, but thewisdom gained lasts a

lifetime!''Huh.' The First of the

Magi curled his lip. 'Travelbrings wisdom only to thewise. It renders the ignorantmore ignorant than ever.Master Ninefingers! Are youdetermined to return to theNorth?'

Logen took a brief breakfrom frowning at the water.'I'vegotnoreasontostay.'He

glanced sideways at Ferro,andsheglaredback.

'Whylookatme?'Logen shook his head.

'Do you knowwhat? I've nofucking idea.' If there hadbeen anything vaguelyresembling a romancebetween them, it appearednow to have collapsedirreparably into a sullendislike.

'Well,'saidBayaz,raisinghis brows, 'if you aredecided.'Heheldhishandoutto the Northman and Jezalwatched them shake. 'GiveBethodakickfromme,onceyou have him under yourboot.'

'ThatIwill,unlesshegetsmeunderhis.'

'Never easy, kickingupwards.My thanks foryour

help, and for your manners.Perhapsyouwillbemyguestagain,oneday,atthelibrary.Wewill lookout at the lake,and laugh about our highadventures in thewestof theWorld.'

'I'llhopeforit.'ButLogenhardly lookedas if therewasmuch laughter in him, ormuchhope either.He lookedlikeamanwhohadrunoutof

choices.In silence Jezal watched

as the ropes were throwndown to the quay and madefast, the long gangplanksquealedout totheshoreandscraped onto the stones.Bayaz called out to hisapprentice. 'Master Quai!Time for us to disembark!'And the pale young manfollowed his master down

from the ship without abackward glance, BrotherLong-footbehindthem.

'Good luck, then,' saidJezal, offering his hand toLogen.

'And to you.' TheNorthman grinned, ignoredthehandand foldedhim inatight andunpleasant-smellingembrace. They stayed therefor a somewhat touching,

somewhat embarrassingmoment, then Ninefingersclappedhimon thebackandlethimgo.

'Perhaps I'll see you, upthere in the North.' Jezal'svoicewasjusttheslightestbitcracked, in spite of all hisefforts.'Iftheysendme…'

'Maybe, but… I think I'llhopenot.LikeIsaid,ifIwasyou I'd find a good woman

and leave thekilling to thosewithlesssense.'

'Likeyou?''Aye.Likeme.'Helooked

over at Ferro. 'So that's itthen,eh,Ferro?'

'Uh.' She shrugged herscrawnyshoulders,andstrodeoffdownthegangplank.

Logen's face twitched atthat. 'Right,' he muttered at

herback.'Niceknowingyou.'Hewaggled the stumpofhismissing finger at Jezal. 'Sayone thing for LogenNinefingers, say he's got atouchwiththewomen.'

'Mmm.''Aye.''Right.' Jezal was finding

actually leaving strangelydifficult. They had been

almost constant companionsfor the last six months. Tobeginwithhehadfeltnothingbutcontemptfortheman,butnow that it came to it, itwaslikeleavingamuch-respectedolder brother. Far worse, infact, for Jezal had neverthought too highly of hisactual brothers. So hedithered on the deck, andLogen grinned at him as

though he guessed just whathewasthinking.

'Don'tworry.I'lltrytogetalongwithoutyou.'

Jezal managed half asmile. 'Just try to rememberwhatI toldyou, ifyouget inanotherfight.'

'I'd say, unfortunately,that'sprettymuchacertainty.'

Then there was really

nothing Jezal could do butturnawayandclatterdowntothe shore, pretending thatsomethinghadblownintohiseye on the way. It seemed alongwalktothebusyquay,tostandnexttoBayazandQuai,LongfootandFerro.

'Master Ninefingers canlookafterhimself, Idaresay,'saidtheFirstoftheMagi.

'Oh,yesindeed,'chuckled

Longfoot,'fewbetter!'Jezaltookalastlookback

over his shoulder as theyheaded off into the city.Logenraisedonehandtohimfrom the railof the ship,andthen the corner of awarehouse came betweenthem,andhewasgone.Ferroloitered for a moment,frowning back towards thesea, her fists clenched and a

muscleworkingonthesideofherhead.ThensheturnedandsawJezalwatchingher.

'Whatareyoulookingat?'Andshepushedpasthimandfollowed the others, into theswarmingstreetsofAdua.

ThecitywasjustasJezalremembered it, and yeteverythingwasdifferent.Thebuildings seemed to haveshrunk and huddled in

meanly together. Even thewide Middleway, the greatcentral artery of the city, felthorribly squashed after thehuge open spaces of the OldEmpire, the awe-inspiringvistas of ruined Aulcus. Theskyhadbeenhigher,outthereon the great plain. Hereeverythingwas reduced, and,to make matters worse, hadan unpleasant smell he had

neverbeforenoticed.Hewentwith his nose wrinkled,dodging between thebuffeting flow of passers-bywithbadgrace.

It was the people thatwere strangest of all. It hadbeen months since Jezal hadseen more than ten at onetime. Now there weresuddenly thousands pressedin all around him, furiously

intent on their own doings.Soft, and scrubbed, anddecked out in gaudy colours,as freakish to him now ascircus performers. Fashionshad moved on while he wasaway facing death in thebarren west of the World.Hatswerewornatadifferentangle, sleeveshad swollen toawider cut, shirt collars hadshrivelled to a length that

would have been thoughtpreposterously short a yearbefore. Jezal snorted tohimself. It seemed bizarrethatsuchnonsensecouldeverhave interested him, and hewatchedagroupofperfumeddandiesstruttingpastwiththehighestcontempt.

Their group dwindled asthey passed on through thecity.FirstLongfootmadehis

effusive farewellswithmuchpressing of hands, talk ofhonours and privileges, andpromisesofreunionthatJezalsuspected, and indeed ratherhoped, were insincere. NearthegreatmarketsquareoftheFour Corners, Quai wasdispatchedonsomeerrandorother with all his habitualsullen silence. That left onlythe First of the Magi as a

companion, with Ferroslouching angrily alongbehind.

Beinghonest,Jezalwouldnot have minded had thegroup dwindled considerablyfurther. Ninefingers mighthave proved himself astaunch companion, but therest of the dysfunctionalfamily would hardly havebeen among Jezal's chosen

dinner guests. He had longago given up any hope thatFerro's armour of scowlswouldcracktorevealacaringsoul within. But at least herabysmal temper waspredictable. Bayaz, ifanything, was an even moreunnerving companion: onehalf grand-fatherly goodhumour, the other half whoknew what? Whenever the

old man opened his mouthJezal flinched in anticipationofsomeuglysurprise.

But he chatted pleasantlyenough for the time being.'Might I askwhat your plansarenow,CaptainLuthar?'

'Well, I suppose Iwillbesent to Angland, to fightagainsttheNorthmen.'

'I imagine so. Although

we never know what turnsfatemaytake.'

Jezal did not much carefor the sound of that. 'Andyou?Willyoubegoingbackto…' He realised he had nottheslightestideaofwheretheMagus had appeared from inthefirstplace.

'Not quite yet. I willremain in Adua for themoment. Great things are

afoot, my boy, great things.PerhapsIwillstaytoseehowtheyturnout.'

'Move,bitch!'cameayellfromthesideoftheroad.

Threemembersofthecitywatch had gathered round adirty-faced girl in a tattereddress.Onewas leaningdownoverherwithastickclenchedin his fist, shouting in herface while she cringed back.

An unhappy-seeming presshad gathered to watch,workmen and labourersmostly, scarcely cleaner thanthebeggarherself.

'Why don't you let herbe?'onegrumbled.

One of the watchmentook awarning step at them,raising his stick, while hisfriend seized hold of thebeggar by her shoulder,

kicking over a cup in theroad, sending a few coinstinklingintothegutter.

'That seems excessive,'saidJezalunderhisbreath.

'Well.' Bayaz watcheddownhisnose. 'Thesesortofthings happen all the time.Are you telling me you'venever seen a beggar movedalongbefore?'

Jezal had, of course,often, and never raised aneyebrow. Beggars could notsimplybelefttoclutterupthestreets, after all. And yet forsome reason the processwasmaking him uncomfortable.The unfortunate waif kickedandcried,andtheguardsmandraggedheranotherstrideonher back with entirelyunnecessary violence, clearly

enjoying himself. It was notso much the act itself thatJezalobjectedto,asthattheywould do it in front of himwithout a thought for hisfeelings. It rendered himsomehowcomplicit.

'That is a disgrace,' hehissedthroughgrittedteeth.

Bayaz shrugged. 'If itbothers you that much, whynotdosomethingaboutit?'

Thewatchman chose thatmoment to seize the girl byherscruffyhairandgiveherasharpblowwithhisstick,andshe squealed and fell, herarmsoverherhead.Jezalfelthisfacetwist.Inamomenthehad shoved through thecrowd and dealt the man aresounding boot to hisbackside, sending himsprawling in the gutter. One

of his companions cameforwardwithhisstickout,butstumbled back a momentlater.Jezalrealisedhehadhissteels drawn, the polishedblades glinting in theshadowsbesidethebuilding.

The audience gasped andedgedback.Jezalblinked.Hehadnotintendedthebusinessto go anything like this far.Damn Bayaz and his idiotic

advice.Buttherewasnothingfor it now but to carry itthrough.Heassumedhismostfearless and arrogantexpression.

'One step further and I'llstick you like the swine youare.' He looked from one ofthe watchmen to the other.'Well?Doanyofyoucare totest me?' He earnestly hopedthatnoneof themdid,buthe

need not haveworried. Theywere predictably cowardly inthe face of determinedresistance, and loitered justoutofrangeofhissteels.

'No one deals with thewatch like that. We'll findyou,youcandependon—'

'Finding me will presentno difficulty. My name isCaptainLuthar,of theKing'sOwn. I am resident in the

Agriont. You cannot miss it.It is the fortress thatdominates the city!' And hejabbed up the street with hislongsteel,makingoneof thewatchmen stumble away infear. 'I will receive you atyour convenience and youcan explain to my patron,Lord Marshal Varuz, yourdisgraceful behaviourtowardsthiswoman,acitizen

of the Union guilty of nogreater crime than beingpoor!'

A ludicrously overblownspeech,ofcourse.Jezalfoundhimself almost flushing withembarrassment at that lastpart.Hehadalwaysdespisedpoor people, and he was farfrom sure his opinions hadfundamentally changed, buthe got carried away halfway

through and had no choicebuttofinishwithaflourish.

Still, his words had theireffect on the citywatch.Thethree men backed away, forsomereasongrinningasifthewholebusinesshadgone justastheyplanned,leavingJezalto the unwanted approval ofthecrowd.

'Welldone,lad!'

'Good thing someone'sgotsomeguts.'

'Whatdidhesayhisnamewas?'

'Captain Luthar!' roaredBayaz suddenly, causingJezal to jerk round halfwaythrough sheathing his steels.'CaptainJezaldanLuthar,thewinner of last year'sContest,just now returned from hisadventures in the west!

Luthar,thename!''Luthar,didhesay?''The one who won the

Contest?''That's him! I saw him

beatGorst!'The whole crowd were

staring, wide-eyed andrespectful. One of themreached out, as though totouchthehemofhiscoat,and

Jezal stumbled backwards,almost tripping over thebeggar-girlwhohadbeenthecauseofthewholefiasco.

'Thank you,' she gushed,inanuglycommoner'saccentrendered still less appealingby her bloody mouth. 'Oh,thankyou,sir.'

'It was nothing.' Jezaledged away, deeplyuncomfortable. She was

extremely dirty, at closequarters, and he had nowishto contract an illness. Theattention of the group as awhole was, in fact, anythingbutpleasant.Hecontinued toshufflebackwardswhile theywatched him, all smiles andadmiringmutterings.

Ferro was frowning athim as they moved awayfrom the Four Corners. 'Is

theresomething?'hesnapped.Sheshrugged. 'You'renot

asmuch of a coward as youwere.'

'My thanks for that epicpraise.'HeroundedonBayaz.'Whatthehellwasthat?'

'That was you carryingout a charitable act,my boy,and I was proud to see it. Itwould seemmy lessonshave

not been entirely wasted onyou.'

'I meant,' growled Jezal,who felt himself to havegainedlessthannothingfromBayaz' constant lecturing,'what were you about,proclaiming my name to alland sundry? The story willnowspreadallovertown!'

'Ihadnotconsideredthat.'The Magus gave a faint

smile. 'I simply felt that youdeserved the credit for yournoble actions. Helping thoseless fortunate, the aid of aladyindistress,protectingtheweak and so forth.Admirable,truly.'

'But—' muttered Jezal,unsurewhetherhewasbeingtakenforafool.

'Here our paths diverge,myyoungfriend.'

'Oh.Theydo?''Where are you going?'

snappedFerrosuspiciously.'I have a few matters to

attend to,' said the Magus,'andyouwillbecomingwithme.'

'Why would I do that?'Sheappearedtobeinaworsemood even than usual sincethey left the docks, which

wasnomeanachievement.Bayaz' eyes rolled to the

sky. 'Because you lack thesocial graces necessary tofunction for longer than fiveminutesonyourowninsucha place as this. Why else?YouwillbegoingbacktotheAgriont, I assume?' he askedJezal.

'Yes.Yes,ofcourse.'

'Well, then. I would liketothankyou,CaptainLuthar,forthepartyouplayedinthatlittleadventureofours.'

'How dare you, youmagical arsehole? The entirebusiness was a colossal,painful, disfiguring waste ofmy time, and a failure toboot.' But what Jezal reallysaidwas, 'Ofcourse,yes.'Hetook the old man's hand,

preparing to give it a limpshake.'Ithasbeenanhonour.'

Bayaz' grip wasshockinglyfirm.'Thatisgoodto hear.' Jezal found himselfdrawn very close to the oldman's face, staring into hisglittering green eyes atunnervingly close quarters.'We may have the need tocollaborateagain.'

Jezalblinked.Collaborate

really was an ugly choice ofword. 'Well then… er…perhaps I will… see youlater?' Never would havebeen preferable, in hisopinion.

But Bayaz only grinnedasheletgoofJezal'sbuzzingfingers. 'Oh, I feel sure weshallmeetagain.'

The sun shone pleasantlythrough the branches of thearomatic cedar, casting adappled shade on the groundbeneath, just as it used to.Apleasant breeze flutteredthroughthecourtyardandthebirds twittered in thebranches of the trees, just asthey always had. The oldbuildingsof thebarrackshadnot changed, crowding in,

coatedwithrustlingivyonallsidesofthenarrowcourtyard.But there the similarity toJezal's happy memoriesended.Adustingofmosshadcreptupthelegsofthechairs,the surface of the table hadacquireda thickcrustofbirddroppings,thegrasshadgoneundipped for weeks on endand seed-heads thrashed atJezal'scalvesashewandered

past.The players themselves

were long gone. Hewatchedthe shadows shifting on thegrey wood, remembering thesound of their laughter, thetaste of smoke and strongspirits,thefeelofthecardsinhishand.HereJalenhormhadsat, playing at being toughand manly. Here Kaspa hadlaughed at jokes at his own

expense. Here West hadleaned back and shaken hishead with resigneddisapproval. Here Brint hadshuffled nervously at hishand,hopingforbigwinsthatnevercame.

AndherehadbeenJezal'splace. He dragged the chairout from the clutching grass,sat down in it with one bootupon the table and rocked it

onto its rear legs. It seemedhard to believe, now, that hehad sat here, watching andscheming, thinking abouthowbest tomakehis friendsseem small. He told himselfhewouldneverhaveengagedin any such foolishness now.No more than a couple ofhands,anyway.

If he had thought that athorough wash, a careful

shave, a plucking of bristlesand a long-winded arrangingof hairwouldmake him feelathome,hewasdisappointed.Thefamiliarroutineslefthimfeeling like a stranger in hisowndustyrooms.Itwashardto become excited over theshining of the boots andbuttons,orthearrangementofthegoldbraidjustso.

When he finally stood

beforethemirror,wherelongago he had whiled away somany delightful hours, hefoundhisreflectiondecidedlyunnerving. A lean andweather-worn adventurerstared bright-eyed from theVisserine glass, his sandybeard doing little to disguisethe ugly scar down his bentjaw. His old uniforms wereall unpleasantly tight,

scratchilystarched,chokinglyconstricted round the collar.He no longer felt like hebelonged in them to anydegree.Henolongerfeltlikeasoldier.

He scarcely even knewwhoheshouldreportto,afterall this time away. Everyofficerhewasawareof,moreor less,waswith thearmyinAngland. He supposed he

could have sought out LordMarshalVaruz,hadhe reallywantedto,butthefactwashehad learned enough aboutdanger now to not want torush at it. He would do hisduty, if hewas asked. But itwouldhavetofindhimfirst.

In the meantime, he hadother business to attend to.The very thought made himterrified and thrilled at once,

andhepushedafingerinsidehis collar and tugged at it inan effort to relieve thepressure in his throat. It didnot work. Still, as LogenNinefingershadbeensoveryfond of saying: it was bettertodo it, than to livewith thefear of it. He picked up hisdress sword, but after aminute of staring at theabsurd brass scrollwork on

the hilt, he tossed it on thefloor and kicked it under hisbed. Look less than you are,Logen would have said. Heretrievedhistravel-wornlongsteel and slid it through theclasponhisbelt, tookadeepbreath, and walked to thedoor.

There was nothingintimidating about the street.

It was a quiet part of town,far off from chatteringcommerce and rumblingindustry. In the next road aknife sharpenerwas throatilyproclaiming his trade. Underthe eaves of the modesthouses a pigeon coo-cooedhalfheartedly. Somewherenearby thesoundofcloppinghooves and cracklingcarriage-wheels rose and

faded. Otherwise all wasquiet.

He had already walkedpast the house once in eachdirection,anddarednotdosoagain for fear that Ardeewould see him through awindow, recognise him, andwonderwhat the hell hewasup to.Sohemadecircuitsofthe upper part of the street,practisingwhathewouldsay

when she appeared at thedoor.

'I am returned.' No, no,too high-blown. 'Hello, howare you?'No, too casual. 'It'sme, Luthar.' Too stiff.'Ardee… I've missed you.'Too needy. He saw a manfrowning at him from anupstairs window, and hecoughed and made offquickly towards the house,

murmuring to himself overand over. 'Better to do it,better to do it, better to doit…'

His fist pounded againstthe wood. He stood andwaited,heart thumping inhisteeth. The latch clicked andJezal put on his mostingratiating smile. The dooropened and a short, round-faced and highly unattractive

girl stared at him from thedoorway. There could be nodoubt, however things hadchanged, that she was notArdee.'Yes?'

'Er…' A servant. Howcould he have been such afool as to thinkArdeewouldopenherownfrontdoor?Shewas a commoner, not abeggar.Heclearedhisthroat.'I am returned… I mean to

say… does Ardee West livehere?'

'She does.' The maidopened the door far enoughfor Jezal to step through intothedimhallway.'WhoshallIsayiscalling?'

'CaptainLuthar.'Her head snapped round

as though it had an invisiblestring attached to it and he

had given it a sudden jerk.'Captain…JezaldanLuthar?'

'Yes,' he muttered,mystified. Could Ardee havebeendiscussinghimwith thehelp?

'Oh… oh, if you wait…'The maid pointed to adoorwayandhurriedoff,eyeswide,quiteas if theEmperorofGurkhulhadcomecalling.

Thedimlivingroomgavetheimpressionofhavingbeendecorated by someone withtoo much money, too littletaste, and not nearly enoughspace for their ambitions.There were several garishlyupholstered chairs, an over-sized and over-decoratedcabinet, and a monumentalcanvas on one wall which,haditbeenanybigger,would

have required the room tobeknocked through into theneighbouring house. Twodusty shafts of light came inthrough the gaps in thecurtains, gleaming on thehighly polished, if slightlywonky, surfaceof an antiquetable. Each piecemight havepassedmusteronitsown,butcrowded together the effectwas quite suffocating. Still,

Jezal told himself as hefrownedroundatitall,hehadcome for Ardee, not for herfurniture.

It was ridiculous. Hisknees were weak, his mouthwas dry, his head wasspinning, and with everymoment that passed it gotworse. He had not felt thisscared in Aulcus, with acrowd of screaming Shanka

bearing down on him. Hetook a nervous circuit of theroom, fists clenching andunclenching. He peered outinto the quiet street. Heleaned over a chair toexamine the massivepainting.Amuscular-seemingking lounged in an outsizecrown while fur-trimmedlords bowed and scrapedaround his feet. Harod the

Great, Jezal guessed, but therecognitionbroughthimlittlejoy. Bayaz' favourite andmost tiresome topic ofconversation had been theachievements of that man.Harod the Great could bepickled in vinegar for allJezal cared. Harod the Greatcouldgo—

'Well,well,well…'Shestoodinthedoorway,

bright light from the hallbeyond glowing in her darkhair and down the edges ofher white dress, her head ononesideandthefaintestghostof a smile on her shadowyface. She seemed hardly tohave changed. So often inlife, moments that are longanticipated turn out to beprofound disappointments.Seeing Ardee again, after all

that time apart, wasundoubtedly an exception.All his carefully preparedconversation evaporated inthat one instant, leaving himas empty-headed as he hadbeen when he first laid eyesonher.

'You're alive, then,' shemurmured.

'Yes… er… just about.'Hemanagedhalfanawkward

smile. 'Did you think I wasdead?'

'I hoped you were.' Thatwiped the grin off his facewith sharp effect. 'When Ididn'tgetsomuchasaletter.ButreallyIthoughtyou'djustforgottenaboutme.'

Jezalwinced. 'I'm sorry Ididn't write. Very sorry. Iwanted to…' She swung thedoor shut and leaned against

itwith her hands behind her,frowningathimallthewhile.'There wasn't a day I didn'twantto.ButIwascalledfor,and never had the chance totell anyone, not even myfamily. I was… I was faraway,inthewest.'

'I know you were. Thewholecityisbuzzingwithit,and if I've heard, it must becommonknowledgeindeed.'

'You'veheard?'Ardee jerked her head

towardsthehall.'Ihaditfromthemaid.'

'Fromthemaid?'Howthehell could anyone in Aduahaveheardanythingabouthismisadventures, let aloneArdee West's maid? He wasassailed with suddenunpleasing images. Crowdsof servants giggling at the

thought of him lying aroundcrying over his broken face.Everyone who was anyonegossiping about what a foolhe must have looked beingfedwithaspoonbyascarredbrute of aNorthman.He felthimselfblushingtothetipsofhisears.'Whatdidshesay?'

'Oh, you know.' Shewandered absently into theroom. 'That you scaled the

walls at the siege ofDarmium,wasit?Openedthegates to the Emperor's menandsoon.'

'What?' He was evenmore baffled than before.'Darmium? I mean to say…whotoldher…'

She came closer, andcloser,andhegrewmoreandmore flustered until hestammered to a stop. Closer

yet, and she was lookingslightlyupwardsintohisfacewithher lipsparted.Soclosethat he was sure she wasgoingtotakehiminherarmsandkisshim.Soclosethatheleaned forward slightly inanticipation, half-closing hiseyes,hislipstingling…Thenshe passed him, her hairnearly flicking in his face,and went on to the cabinet,

opening it and taking out adecanter,leavinghimbehind,maroonedonthecarpet.

In gormless silence hewatched her fill two glassesand offer one out, winesloppingandtricklingstickilydown the side. 'You'vechanged.' Jezal felt a suddensurge of shame and his handjerkeduptocoverhisscarredjaw on an instinct. 'I don't

mean that. Not just that,anyway. Everything. You'redifferent,somehow.'

'I…'Theeffectshehadonhimwas,ifanything,strongernow than it used tobe.Thenthere had not been all theweightofexpectation, all thelong day-dreaming andanticipation out in thewilderness. 'I'vemissed you.'He said it without thinking,

then found himself flushingandhadtotryandchangethesubject.'Haveyouheardfromyourbrother?'

'He's been writing everyweek.' She threw her headback and drained her glass,started to fill it again. 'EversinceI foundouthewasstillalive,anyway.'

'What?'

'I thought he was dead,foramonthormore.Heonlyjustescapedfromthebattle.'

'There was a battle?'squeaked Jezal, just beforerememberingtherewasawaron.Of course therehadbeenbattles.He brought his voiceback under control. 'Whatbattle?'

'The one where PrinceLadislawaskilled.'

'Ladisla's dead?' hesquealed, voice shooting upinto a girlish register again.The few times he had seenthe Crown Prince the manhad seemed so self-absorbedastobeindestructible.Itwashard to believe he couldsimply be stabbed with asword,orshotwithanarrow,anddie, likeanyoneelse,butthereitwas.

'Andthenhisbrotherwasmurdered—'

'Raynault?Murdered?''In his bed in the palace.

When the king dies, they'llchooseanewonebyavoteinOpenCouncil.'

'A vote?' His voice rosesohigh at that he almost feltsome sick at the back of histhroat.

She was already fillingher glass again. 'Uthman'semissary was hanged for themurder, despite most likelybeing innocent, and so thewar with the Gurkish isdraggingon—'

'We're at war with theGurkishaswell?'

'Dagoska fell at the startoftheyear.'

'Dagoska… fell?' Jezalemptiedhisglass inonelongswallow and stared at thecarpet, trying to fit it all intohishead.Heshouldnothavebeensurprised,ofcourse,thatthingshadmovedonwhilehewas away, but he had hardlyexpected the world to turnupside down. War with theGurkish,battles in theNorth,votestochooseanewking?

'Youneedanother?'askedArdee, tilting the decanter inherhand.

'I think I'd better.' Greatevents, of course, just asBayaz had said. He watchedher pour, frowning downintently, almost angrily, asthewinegurgledout.Hesawalittlescaronhertoplipthathe had never noticed before,and he felt a sudden

compulsion to touch it, andpush his fingers in her hair,and hold her against him.Great events, but it allseemed of small importancecompared to what happenednow, in this room. Whoknew?The course of his lifemight turn on the next fewmoments,ifhecouldfindtheright words, and makehimselfsaythem.

'I reallydidmissyou,'hemanaged. A miserable effortwhich she dismissed with abittersnort.

'Don'tbeafool.'He caught her hand,

making her look him in theeye. 'I've been a fool all mylife. Not now. There weretimes, out there on the plain,the only thing that kept mealive was the thought that…

that I might be with youagain.Everyday Iwanted tosee you…' She did nothingbut frown back at him,entirelyunmoved.Herfailureto melt into his arms washighlyfrustrating,afterallhehad been through. 'Ardee,please, I didn't come here toargue.'

She scowled at the flooras she threw down another

glass. 'I don't knowwhyyoudidcomehere.'

'BecauseIloveyou,andIwant never to be separatedfrom you again! Please, tellmethatyouwillbemywife!'He almost said it, but at thelast moment he saw herscornful sneer, and hestopped himself. He hadentirely forgotten howdifficultshecouldbe.'Icame

heretosaythatI'msorry.Iletyoudown,Iknow.IcameassoonasIcould,butIseethatyou're not in the mood. I'llcomebacklater.'

He brushed past her andmade for the door butArdeegottherefirst,twistedthekeyin the lock and snatched itout. 'You leave me all alonehere, without so much as aletter, then when you come

back you want to leavewithoutevenakiss?'Shetooka lurching step at him andJezal found himself backingoff.

'Ardee,you'redrunk.'Sheflickedherheadwith

annoyance. 'I'm alwaysdrunk. Didn't you say youmissedme?'

'But,'hemuttered,starting

for some reason to feelslightlyscared,'Ithought—'

'There's your problem,yousee?Thinking.You'renogood at it.' She herded himback against the edge of thetable,andhegothisswordsobadlytangledupwithhislegshehadtoputahanddowntostophimselffalling.

'Haven't I been waiting?'shewhispered,andherbreath

onhisfacewashotandsour-sweet with wine. 'Just likeyou asked me?' Her mouthbrushed gently against his,and the tip of her tongueslipped out and lappedagainsthislips,andshemadesoft gurgling sounds in herthroat and pressed herself upagainsthim.Hefeltherhandslide down onto his groin,rubbingathimgentlythrough

histrousers.The feelingwas pleasant,

of course, and caused aninstant stiffening. Pleasant inthe extreme, but more thanslightly worrying. He lookednervously towards the door.'Whatabout the servants?'hecroaked.

'If they don't like it theycan find another fucking job,can't they? They weren't my

idea.''Thenwhose—ah!'Shetwistedherfingersin

hishairanddraggedhisheadpainfully round so she wasspeaking right into his face.'Forget about them! Youcamehereforme,didn'tyou?'

'Yes…yes,ofcourse!''Say it, then!' Her hand

pressed up hard against his

trousers, almost painful, butnotquite.

'Ah…Icameforyou.''Well? Here I am.' And

her fingers fumbled with hisbeltanddragged itopen. 'Noneedtobeshynow.'

He tried to catch herwrist. 'Ardee, wait—' Herother hand caught him astinging slap right across the

face and knocked his headsideways, hard enough tomakehisearsring.

'I've been sitting here forsixmonthsdoingnothing'shehissed in his face, wordsslightly slurred. 'Do youknow how bored I've been?Andnowyou'retellingmetowait?Fuckyourself!'Shedugroughly into his trousers anddraggedhisprickout,rubbing

at him with one hand,squeezingathisfacewiththeotherwhileheclosedhiseyesand gasped shallow breathsintohermouth,nothinginhismindbutherfingers.

Her teeth nipped at hislip, almost painful, and thenharder. 'Ah,'hegrunted. 'Ah!'Shewasdecidedlybitinghim.Bitingwith awill, as thoughhis lipwereapieceofgristle

to be chewed through. Hetried to pull away but thetablewasathisbackandshehad him fast. The pain wasalmost as great as the shock,and then, as the biting wenton,considerablygreater.

'Aargh!' He grabbed holdof her wrist with one handand twisted it behind herback, yanked her arm andshoved her down onto the

table. He heard her gasp asher facecrackedhardagainstthepolishedwood.

Hestoodoverher, frozenwith dismay, hismouth saltywithblood.Hecouldseeonedark eye through Ardee'stangled hair, expressionless,watching him over hertwisted shoulder. The hairmoved round her mouth asshe breathed, fast. He let go

of her wrist, suddenly, sawherarmmove, themarks leftby his fingers angry pink onherskin.Herhandsliddownand took hold of a fistful ofher dress and pulled it up,took another fistful andpulled it up, until her skirtswere all tangled around herwaist and her bare, pale arsewasslickingupathim.

Well.Hemighthavebeen

anewman,buthewasstillaman.

Witheachthrustherheadtappedagainsttheplaster,andhis skin slapped against thebacks of her thighs, and histrousers sagged further andfurtherdownhislegsuntilhissword-hilt was scrapingagainst the carpet.With eachthrust the table made anoutragedcreaking,louderand

louder every time, as thoughthey were fucking over theback of some disapprovingoldman.Witheachthrustshemadeagrunt,andhemadeagasp, not of pleasure or painin particular, but a necessarymoving of air in response tovigorous exercise. It was alloverwithmercifulswiftness.

Sooften in life,momentsthat are long anticipated

prove to be a profounddisappointment. This wasundoubtedly one of thoseoccasions.Whenhehadspentall those interminable hoursout on the plain, saddle-soreand in fear of his life,dreaming of seeing Ardeeagain, a quick and violentcoupling on the table in hertasteless living-room had notbeen quite what he'd had in

mind. When they were donehe pushed his wilting prickback inside his trousers,guilty, and ashamed, andmiserableintheextreme.Thesound of his belt-buckleclinking made him want tosmash his face against thewall.

She got up, and let herskirts drop, and smoothedthem down, her face to the

floor. He reached for hershoulder. 'Ardee—' Sheshook him angrily off, andwalked away. She tossedsomethingonthefloorbehindher and it rattled on thecarpet.Thekeytothedoor.

'Youcango.''Icanwhat?''Go! You got what you

wanted,didn'tyou?'

He licked disbelieving athisbloodylip.'Youthinkthisis what I wanted?' Nothingbutsilence.'Iloveyou.'

Shegaveakindofcough,asifshewasabouttobesick,and she slowly shook herhead.'Why?'

He wasn't sure he knew.He wasn't sure what hemeant, or how he felt anymore. He wanted to start

again, but he didn't knowhow.Thewholethingwasaninexplicable nightmare fromwhich he hoped soon towake. 'What do you mean,why?'

She bent over, fistsclenched, and screamed athim. 'I'm fucking nothing!Everyone who knows mehates me! My own fatherhated me! My own brother!'

Her voice cracked, and herface screwed up, and hermouth spat with anger andmisery. 'Everything I touch Iruin! I'm nothing but shit!Why can't you see it?' Andshe put her hands over herface, and turned her back onhim,andhershouldersshook.

Heblinkedather,hisownlip trembling. The old JezaldanLutharwouldmostlikely

have made a quick grab forthat key, sprinted from theroomandoffdownthestreet,never to come back, andcountedhimselfluckytohavegot away so easily. The newonethoughtaboutit.

He thought about it hard.But he had more characterthan that. Or so he toldhimself.

'I love you.' The words

tasted like lies in his bloodymouth, but he had gone fartoo far now to turn back. 'Istillloveyou.'Hecrossedtheroom,andthoughshetriedtopushhimoffheputhisarmsaround her. 'Nothing'schanged.' He pushed hisfingersintoherhair,andheldher head against his chestwhile she cried softly,sobbing snot down the front

ofhisgarishuniform.'Nothing's changed,' he

whispered. But of course ithad.

FeedingTime

«^»

Theydidnotsit soclose thatit was obvious they weretogether.Twomenwho,inthecourseoftheirdailybusiness,

happen to have placed theirarses on the same piece ofwood. It was early morning,and although the sun cast astingingglareinGlokta'seyesand lent the dewy grass, therustling trees, the shiftingwater in the park a goldenglow, there was still atreacherous nip to the air.Lord Wetterlant wasevidently an early riser. But

then so am I. Nothingencourages a man to leavehisbedlikebeingkeptawakeallnightbysearingcramps.

HisLordshipreachedintoapaperbag,drewoutapinchofbreaddustbetween thumband forefinger, and tossed itat his feet. A mob of self-important ducks had alreadygathered, and now theyfussedateachotherfuriously

in their efforts to get at thecrumbs while the oldnobleman watched them, hislined face a slack andemotionlessmask.

'I am under no illusions,Superior,' he droned, almostwithout moving his lips andwithout looking up at all. 'Iam not a big enoughman tocompete in this contest, evenshouldIwishto.ButIambig

enoughtogetsomethingfromit.I intendtogetwhatIcan.'Straighttobusiness,then,foronce. No need to talk aboutthe weather, or how thechildren are, or the relativemerits of different-colouredducks.

'There is no shame inthat.'

'Idonotthinkso.Ihaveafamily to feed, and it grows

bytheyear.Istronglyadviseagainst too many children.'Hah, That shouldn't be aproblem. 'And then I keepdogs, and they must be fedalso, and have greatappetites.' Wetterlant gave along, wheezing sigh, andtossedthebirdsanotherpinchofbread.'Thehigheryourise,Superior, the moredependents cry at you for

scraps;thatisasadfact.''You carry a large

responsibility, my Lord.'Glokta grimaced at a spasmin his leg, and cautiouslystretched it out until he felthis knee click. 'How large,mightIask?'

'I have my own vote, ofcourse, and control the votesof three other chairs on theOpen Council. Families tied

tomyownbybondsof land,of friendship, of marriage,and of long tradition.' Suchbonds may proveinsubstantialintimessuchasthese.

'You are certain of thosethree?'

WetterlantturnedhiscoldeyesonGlokta.'Iamnofool,Superior.Ikeepmydogswellchained.Iamcertainofthem.

As certain as we can be ofanything, in these uncertaintimes.' He tossed morecrumbsintothegrassandtheducks quacked, and pecked,and beat at each other withtheirwings.

'Fourvotes in total, then.'No mean share of the greatpie.

'Fourvotesintotal.'

Glokta cleared his throat,checked quickly that therewasnoonewithinearshot.Agirl with a tragic face staredlistlessly into the water justdown the path. Twodishevelled officers of theKing'sOwnsatonabenchasfar away on the other side,holding forth to each otherloudly about who had beendrunker the night before.

Might the tragic girl belistening for Lord Brock?Might the two officers reportto High Justice Marovia? Iseeagentseverywhere,anditis just as well. There areagents everywhere. Helowered his voice to awhisper. 'His Eminencewould be willing to offerfifteen thousand marks foreachvote.'

'I see.' Wetterlant'shoodedeyesdidnotsomuchas twitch. 'So little meatwould scarcely satisfy mydogs. It would leave nothingfor my own table. I shouldtellyouthatLordBarezin, ina highly roundabout manner,already offered me eighteenthousandavote,aswellasanexcellent stretch of land thatbordersmyownestates.Deer

hunting woods. Are you ahuntingman,Superior?'

'Iwas.'Glokta tapped hisruined leg. 'Butnot for sometime.'

'Ah. My commiserations.Ihavealwayslovedthesport.ButthenLordBrockcametovisit me.'How charming foryou both. 'He was goodenough to make an offer oftwenty thousand, and a very

suitable match of hisyoungest daughter for myeldestson.'

'Youaccepted?''Itoldhimitwastooearly

toacceptanything.''I am sure his Eminence

could stretch to twenty-one,butthatwouldhavetobe—'

'High Justice Marovia'sman already offered me

twenty-five.''Harlen Morrow?' hissed

Glokta throughhis remainingteeth.

LordWetterlant raisedaneyebrow. 'I believe that wasthename.'

'I regret that I can onlymatch that offer at present. Iwill inform his Eminence ofyour position.'His delight, I

am sure, will know nobounds.

'I lookforwardtohearingfrom you, Superior.'Wetterlant turnedback tohisducks and permitted them afew more crumbs, a vaguesmilehoveringroundhis lipsas he watched them tusslewitheachother.

Glokta hobbled painfully upto the ordinary house in theunexceptional street,somethingresemblingasmileonhisface.Amomentfreeofthe suffocating company ofthe great and the good. Amoment in which I do nothavetolie,orcheat,orwatchfor a knife in my back.PerhapsI'llevenfindaroomthat doesn't still stink of

Harlen Morrow. That wouldbearefreshing—

The door opened sharplyeven as he raised his fist toknock,andhewasleftstaringinto the grinning face of aman wearing the uniform ofanofficer intheKing'sOwn.It was so unexpected thatGloktadidnot recognisehimat first. Then he felt a surgeofdismay.

'Why, Captain Luthar.What a surprise.' And athoroughlyunpleasantone.

He was considerablychanged.Where once he hadbeen boyish and smooth, hehad acquired a somewhatangular, even a weather-beaten look. Where once hehad carried his chin with anarrogant lift, he now had analmost apologetic tilt to his

face. He had grown a beardtoo, perhaps in anunsuccessful attempt todisguise a vicious-lookingscarthroughhislipanddownhis jaw. Though it has farfromrenderedhimugly,alas.

'InquisitorGlokta…er…''Superior.''Really?'Lutharblinkedat

himforamoment.'Well…in

that case…' The easy smilereappeared, and Glokta wassurprised to find himselfbeing shaken warmly by thehand. 'Congratulations. Iwould love to chat but dutycalls. I haven't long in thecity, you see. Off to theNorth,andsoon.'

'Of course.' Gloktafrowned after him as hestepped jauntily off up the

street, with just the onefurtive glance over hisshoulder as he rounded thecorner. Leaving only thequestion of why hewas herein the first place. Gloktahobbled through the opendoor and shut it quietlybehind him. Althoughhonestly, a young manleaving a young woman'shouse in the early morning?

One scarcely requires hisMajesty's Inquisition to solvethatparticularmystery.DidInotleavemorethanmyshareof residences in the earlyhours, after all? Pretendingto hope that I wasn'tobserved, but really ratherhopingthatIwas?Hepassedthrough thedoorway into theliving room. Or was that adifferentman?

Ardee West stood withherbacktohim,andheheardthe sound of wine tricklinginto a glass. 'Did you forgetsomething?' she asked overher shoulder, voice soft andplayful.NotatoneIoftengetto hear women use. Horror,disgust, and the slightesttouch of pity are morecommon. There was aclinkingas sheput thebottle

away.'Ordidyoudecideyoureally couldn't live withoutanother—'Shehadacrookedsmile on her face as sheturned, but it slid offsuddenly when she saw whowasstandingthere.

Glokta snorted. 'Don'tworry, I get that reactionfrom everyone. Evenmyself,every morning, when I lookinto themirror.' If Icaneven

manage to stand up in frontofthedamnthing.

'It'snot like that,andyouknow it. I just wasn'texpectingyoutowanderin.'

'We've all had quite theshock this morning, then.You'll never guess who Ipassedinyourhallway.'

She froze for just amoment,thentossedherhead

dismissivelyandslurpedwinefrom her glass. 'Aren't yougoingtogivemeaclue?'

'Alright, I will.' Gloktawincedasheloweredhimselfinto a chair, stretching hisachinglegoutinfrontofhim.'AyoungofficerintheKing'sOwn, no doubt with ascintillating future ahead ofhim.'Thoughwecanallhopeotherwise.

Ardee glared at him overthe rim. 'There are so manyofficers in the King's Own Ican scarcely tell one fromanother.'

'Really?Thisonewonlastyear'sContest,Ibelieve.'

'I hardly remember whowasinthefinal.Everyyearislikethelast,don'tyoufind?'

'True. Since I competed

it's been straight downhill.But I thought you mightremember this particularfellow.Lookedasifsomeonemighthavehithiminthefacesincewelastmet.Quitehard,Iwouldsay.'ThoughnothalfashardasI'dhaveliked.

'You're angry with me,'she said, but without theappearance of the slightestconcern.

'I'd say disappointed. Butwhat would you expect? Ithought you were clevererthanthis.'

'Cleverness is noguarantee of sensiblebehaviour.My father used tosay so all the time.' Shefinished her wine with apractised flick of her head.'Don'tworry. Ican lookaftermyself.'

'No you can't. You'vemade that abundantly clear.Yourealisewhatwillhappenif people find out? You'll beshunned.'

'What would be thedifference?' she sneered athim. 'Perhaps you'll besurprised to learn I get fewinvitationstothepalacenow.I barely even qualify as anembarrassment. No one

speakstome.'Apartfromme,of course, but I'm hardly thetype of company youngwomen hope for. 'No onecaresashitwhatIdo.Iftheyfind out it will be no worsethan they expect from aslattern like me. Damncommoners, no more self-control than animals, don'tyou know. Anyway, didn'tyoutellmeIcouldfuckwho

Ipleased?''I also told you the less

fuckingthebetter.''AndIsupposethat'swhat

youtoldallyourconquests,isit?'

Glokta grimaced. Notexactly. I coaxed and Ipleaded, I threatened and Ibullied. Your beauty haswoundedme,woundedme in

the heart! I am wretched, Iwill die without you! Haveyounopity?Doyounot loveme?Idideverythingshortofdisplay the instruments, thenwhen I got what I wanted Itossed them aside and wentmerrily on to the next withneverabackwardglance.

'Hah!' snorted Ardee, asthough she guessed what hewas thinking. 'Sand dan

Glokta,givinglecturesonthebenefits of chastity? Please!How many women did youruin before the Gurkishruined you? You werenotorious!'

A muscle began totremble in his neck, and heworked his shoulder rounduntil he felt it soften. Shemakesafairpoint.Perhapsasoftwordwith thegentleman

inquestionwilldothetrick.Asoft word, or a hard nightwith Practical Frost. 'Yourbed,yourbusiness,Isuppose,as they say in Styria. HowdoesthegreatCaptainLutharcome to be among theciviliansinanycase?Doesn'the have Northmen to rout?Who will save Angland,whilehe'shere?'

'Hewasn'tinAngland.'

'No?' Father find him anice,outof thewayspot,didhe?

'He's been in the OldEmpire,orsomesuch.Acrossthe sea to the west and faraway.' She sighed as thoughshe had heard a great dealabout it and was nowthoroughly bored of thesubject.

'Old Empire? What the

hellwasheuptooutthere?''Why don't you ask him?

Somejourney.Hetalkedalotabout a Northman.Ninefingers,orsomething.'

Glokta's head jerked up.'Ninefingers?'

'Mmm.Himandsomeoldbaldman.'

A flurry of twitches randown Glokta's face. 'Bayaz.'

Ardee shrugged and swiggedfromher glass again, alreadydeveloping a slight drunkenclumsinesstohermovements.Bayaz. All we need, with anelection coming, is that oldliarstickinghishairlessheadin. 'Is he here, now, in thecity?'

'How should I know?'grumbled Ardee. 'Nobodytellsmeanything.'

SoMuchinCommon

«^»

Ferrostalkedroundtheroom,and scowled. She poured her

scorn out into the sweet-smellingair,ontotherustlinghangings, over the greatwindows and the highbalcony beyond them. Shesneeredatthedarkpicturesoffat pale kings, at the shiningfurniture scattered about thewide floor. She hated thisplace, with its soft beds andits soft people. She infinitelypreferred the dust and thirst

of the Badlands of Kanta.Life therewashard, andhot,andbrief.

Butatleastitwashonest.This Union, and this city

ofAduainparticular,andthisfortress of the Agriontespecially,wereallpackedtobursting with lies. She feltthemonherskin,likeanoilystain she could not rub off.And Bayaz was sunk in the

very midst of it. He hadtrickedherintofollowinghimacross theworld for nothing.They had found no ancientweapon to use against theGurkish.Nowhesmiled,andlaughed, and whisperedsecrets with old men. Menwho came in sweating fromthe heat outside, and leftsweatingevenmore.

She would never have

admitted it to anyone else.Shedespisedhavingtoadmitit to herself. She missedNinefingers. Though she hadneverbeenable toshowit, ithad been a reassurance,having someone she couldhalfwaytrust.

Nowshehadtolookoverherownshoulder.

All she had for companywas the apprentice, and he

was worse than nothing. Hesat and watched her insilence, his book ignored onthe table beside him.Watching and smilingwithout joy, as though heknew something she shouldhave guessed. As though hethought her a fool for notseeingit.Thatonlymadeherangrier than ever. So sheprowled round the room,

frowning at everything, herfists clenched and her jawlockedlight.

'You should go back totheSouth,Ferro.'

Shestoppedinhertracks,andscowledatQuai.Hewasright, of course. Nothingwouldhavepleasedhermorethan to leave these Godlesspinks behind forever andfight the Gurkish with

weapons she understood.Tear vengeance from themwith her teeth, if she had to.He was right, but thatchanged nothing. Ferro hadnever been much for takingadvice. 'What do you knowabout what I should do,scrawnypinkfool?'

'Morethanyouthink.'Hedid not take his slow eyesawayfromherforamoment.

'We aremuch alike, you andI.Youmaynotseeit,andyetweare.Somuchincommon.'Ferro frowned. She did notknow what the sickly idiotmeantbythat,butshedidnotlike the sound of it. 'Bayazwill bring you nothing youneed.Hecannotbe trusted. Ifound out too late, but youstill have time. You shouldfindanothermaster.'

'I have no master,' shesnappedathim.'Iamfree.'

OnecornerofQuai'spalelips twitched up. 'Neither ofus will ever be free. Go.There is nothing for youhere.'

'Whydoyoustay,then?''Forvengeance.'Ferro frowned deeper.

'Vengeanceforwhat?'

The apprentice leanedforward,hisbrighteyesfixedon hers. The door creakedopen and he snapped hismouth shut, sat back andlooked out of the window.Justas ifhehadnevermeanttospeak.

Damnapprenticewithhisdamn riddles. Ferro turnedherscowltowardsthedoor.

Bayaz came slowly

through into the room, ateacupheldcarefully level inonehand.HedidnotsomuchaslookinFerro'sdirectionashe swept past and out theopen door onto the balcony.Damn Magus. She stalkedafter, narrowing her eyes attheglare.Theywerehighup,and the Agriont was spreadout before them, as it hadbeen when she and

Ninefingers climbed over therooftops,longago.Groupsofidle pinks lazed on theshining grass below, just asthey had done before Ferroleft for theOldEmpire.Andyet not everything was thesame.

Everywhere in the city,now,therewasakindoffear.Shecouldsee it ineachsoft,paleface.Intheireveryword

and gesture. A breathlessexpectation, like the airbeforethestormbreaks.Likea field of dry grass, ready toburst into flame at theslightest spark. She did notknowwhattheywerewaitingfor,andshedidnotcare.

Butshehadheardalotoftalkaboutvotes.

The First of the Magiwatched her as she stepped

through the door, the brightsunshiningonthesideofhisbaldhead.'Tea,Ferro?'

Ferro hated tea, andBayazknewit.TeawaswhattheGurkishdrankwhen theyhad treachery in mind. Sheremembered the soldiersdrinking it while shestruggled in the dust. Sheremembered the slaversdrinking it while they talked

prices. She rememberedUthman drinking it while hechuckled at her rage and herhelplessness. Now Bayazdrank it, little cup helddaintily between his thickthumband forefinger, andhesmiled.

Ferro ground her teeth. 'Iam done here, pink. Youpromised me vengeance andhave givenmenothing. I am

goingbacktotheSouth.''Indeed? We would be

sorry to lose you. ButGurkhulandtheUnionareatwar. There are no shipssailing to Kanta at present.There may not be for sometimetocome.'

'Then how will I getthere?'

'You have made it

abundantlyclear thatyouarenotmy responsibility. I haveputaroofoveryourheadandyou show scant gratitude. Ifyou wish to leave, you canmake your ownarrangements. My brotherYulwei should return to usshortly. Perhaps he will beprepared to take you underhiswing.'

'Notgoodenough.'Bayaz

glared at her. A fearsomelook, perhaps, but Ferro wasnot Longfoot, or Luthar, orQuai.Shehadnomaster,andwould never have another.'Notgoodenough,Isaid!'

'Why is it that you insiston testing the limits of mypatience?It isnotwithoutanend,youknow.'

'Neitherismine.'

Bayaz snorted. 'Yoursscarcely even has abeginning, as MasterNinefingers could no doubttestify. I do declare, Ferro,you have all the charm of agoat, and a mean-temperedgoatatthat.'Hestuckhislipsout, tipped up his cup andsucked delicately from therim. Only with a mightyeffort was Ferro able to stop

herselffromslappingitoutofhishand,andbuttingthebaldbastard in the face into thebargain. 'But if fighting theGurkishisstillwhatyouhaveinmind—'

'Always.''ThenIamsurethatIcan

still find a use for yourtalents. Something that doesnot require a sense ofhumour. My purposes with

regard to the Gurkish areunchanged.Thestrugglemustcontinue, albeit with otherweapons.' His eyes slidsideways, towards the greattowerthatloomedupoverthefortress.

Ferro knew little aboutbeautyandcaredstillless,butthat building was a beautifulthing tohermind.Therewasnosoftness,no indulgence in

thatmountainofnakedstone.Therewasabrutalhonestyinits shape. A mercilessprecision in its sharp, blackangles. Something about itfascinatedher.

'What is that place?' sheasked.

Bayaz narrowed his eyesat her. 'The House of theMaker.'

'Whatisinside?''Noneofyourbusiness.'Ferro almost spat with

annoyance. 'You lived there.You served Kanedias. Youhelped the Maker with hisworks. You told us all this,outon theplains.So tellme,whatisinside?'

'You have a sharpmemory, Ferro, but you

forget one thing.We did notfind the Seed. I do not needyou. I do not need, inparticular, to answer yourendlessquestionsany longer.Imagine my dismay.' Hesucked primly at his teaagain, raising his brows andpeering out at the lazy pinksinthepark.

Ferro forceda smileontoher own face.Or as close as

shecouldget toa smile.Shebared her teeth, at least. Sheremembered well enoughwhat the bitter old womanCawneil had said, and howmuch it had annoyed him.Shewoulddo the same. 'TheMaker.You tried to steal hissecrets.You tried to stealhisdaughter. Tolomei was hername. Her father threw herfrom the roof. In return for

her betrayal, in opening hisgatestoyou.AmIwrong?'

Bayaz angrily flicked thelast drops from his cup overthe balcony. Ferro watchedthemglitterinthebrightsun,tumbling downwards. 'Yes,Ferro, the Maker threw hisdaughter from the roof. Itwould seem thatwearebothunluckyinlove,eh?Badluckfor us. Worse luck for our

lovers. Who would havedreamedwehavesomuchincommon?' Ferro wonderedabout shoving the pinkbastard off the balcony afterhistea.Buthestillowedher,and she meant to collect. Sosheonlyscowled,andduckedbackthroughthedoorway.

There was a new arrivalin the room. A man withcurly hair and a wide smile.

Hehadatallstaffinhishand,a case of weathered leatheroveroneshoulder.Therewassomething strange about hiseyes— one light, one dark.There was something abouthis watchful gaze that madeFerro suspicious. Even morethanusual.

'Ah, the famous FerroMaljinn. Forgive mycuriosity, but it is not every

day that one encounters aperson of your… remarkableancestry.'

Ferro did not like that heknew her name, or herancestry, or anything abouther.'Whoareyou?'

'Wherearemymanners?IamYoruSulfur, of the orderof Magi,' and he offered hishand. She did not take it buthe only smiled. 'Not one of

theoriginaltwelve,ofcourse,notI.Merelyanafterthought.A late addition. I was onceapprenticetogreatBayaz.'

Ferrosnorted.Thathardlyqualified him for trust in herestimation.'Whathappened?'

'Igraduated.'Bayaz tossed his cup

down rattling on a table bythe window. 'Yoru,' he said,

and the newcomer humblybowed his head. 'My thanksfor your work thus far.Precise and to the point, asalways.'

Sulfur's smile grewbroader. 'A small cog in alargemachine,MasterBayaz,butItrytobeasturdyone.'

'You have yet to let medown. I do not forget that.How is your next little game

progressing?''Ready to begin, at your

command.''Let us begin now. There

is nothing to be gained bydelay.'

'I shall make thepreparations. I have alsobrought this, as you asked.'Heswungthebagdownfromhis shoulder and gingerly

reached inside. He slowlydrew out a book. Large andblack, its heavy covershacked, and scarred, andcharred by fire. 'Glustrod'sbook,'hemurmuredsoftly,asthough afraid to say thewords.

Bayaz frowned. 'Keep it,for now. There was anunexpectedcomplication.'

'A complication?' Sulfur

slid the book back into itscasewithsomerelief.

'What we sought… wasnotthere.'

'Then—''As regards our other

plans,nothingischanged.''Of course.' Sulfur bowed

his head again. 'Lord Isherwillalreadybeonhisway.'

'Very well.' Bayaz

glanced over at Ferro, asthough he had only justremembered that she wasthere. 'For the time being,perhaps you would be goodenoughtogiveustheroom?Ihave a visitor that I mustattendto.'

She was happy to leave,butshetookhertimemoving,ifonlybecauseBayazwantedher gone quickly. She

unfolded her arms, stood onthe spot and stretched. Shestrolled to the door by aroundabout route, letting herfeet scuff against the boardsand fill the room with theiruglyscraping.Shestoppedontheway to gaze at a picture,topokeatachair,toflickatashiny pot, none of whichinterested her at all. All thewhile Quai watched, and

Bayaz frowned, and Sulfurgrinned his knowing littlegrin. She stopped in thedoorway.

'Now?''Yes, now,' snapped

Bayaz.She looked round the

roomonemoretime.'FuckingMagi,' she snorted, and slidthroughthedoor.

She almostwalked into atall old pink in the roombeyond. He wore a heavyrobe, even in the heat, andhad a sparkling chain aroundhis shoulders. A big manloomedbehindhim,grimandwatchful. A guard. Ferro didnot like the old pink's look.He stared down his nose ather, chin tilted up, as thoughshewereadog.

As though she were aslave.

'Ssssss.' Shehissed in hisface as she shouldered pasthim. He gave an outragedsnort and his guard gaveFerro a hard look. Sheignored it. Hard looks meannothing. If he wanted herknee in his face he could tryandtouchher.Buthedidnot.The two of them went in

throughthedoor.'Ah, Lord Isher!' she

heard Bayaz saying, justbeforeitshut. 'Iamdelightedthatyoucouldvisitusatshortnotice.'

'I came at once. Mygrandfather always said that—'

'Your grandfather was awiseman,andagoodfriend.

I would like to discuss withyou,ifImay,thesituationinthe Open Council. Will youtaketea…?'

Honesty

«^»

Jezal lay on his back, hishands behind his head, thesheets around his waist. HewatchedArdeelookingoutof

the window, her elbows onthesill,herchinonherhands.He watched Ardee, and hethanked the fates that somelong-forgotten designer ofmilitary apparel had seen fitto provide the officers of theKing's Own with a high-waisted jacket. He thankedthemwithadeepandearnestgratitude, because his jacketwasallshewaswearing.

It was amazing howthings had changed betweenthem, since that bitter,bewildering reunion. For aweek they had not spent anight apart, and for a weekthe smile had barely left hisface. Occasionally thememorywouldwallowup,ofcourse,unbiddenandhorriblysurprising, like a bloatedcorpsebobbingtothesurface

of thepondwhileoneenjoysa picnic on the shore, ofArdeebitingandhittinghim,crying and screaming in hisface. But when it did so hewould fix his grin, and seeher smile at him, and soonenough he would be able toshove those unpleasantthoughtsbackdownagain,atleastfornow.Thenhewouldcongratulatehimselfonbeing

a big enough man to do it,andongivingher thebenefitofthedoubt.

'Ardee,' he wheedled ather.

'Mmm?''Comebacktobed.''Why?''Because I love you.'

Strange, how the more hesaidit,theeasieritbecame.

Shegaveaboredsigh.'Soyoukeepsaying.'

'It'strue.'She turned round, hands

onthesillbehind,herbodyadarkoutlineagainstthebrightwindow. 'Andwhatdoes thatmean, exactly? That you'vebeen fucking me for a weekand you haven't had enoughyet?'

'I don't think I'll ever getenough.'

'Well,' and she pushedherself away from thewindow and padded acrossthe boards. 'I don't supposethere's any harm in findingout, is there?Nomoreharm,anyway.' She stopped at thefootof thebed. 'Justpromisemeonething.'

Jezal swallowed, worried

at what she might ask him,worriedatwhathemightsayin reply. 'Anything,' hemurmured,forcinghimselftosmile.

'Don'tletmedown.'His smile grew easier.

That was not so hard to sayyes to. He was a changedman, after all. 'Of course, Ipromise.'

'Good.'Shecreptupontothe bed, on her hands andknees, eyes fixed on his facewhilehewriggledhis toes inanticipation under the sheet.She knelt up, one leg oneithersideofhim,andjerkedthe jacket smooth across herchest. 'Wellthen,Captain,doIpassmuster?'

'I would say…' and hegrabbedthefrontofthejacket

andpulledherdownontopofhim, slippedhis hands insideit, 'that you are without adoubt…'andheslidhishandunder her breast and rubbedathernipplewithhis thumb,'the finest-looking soldier inmycompany.'

She pressed her groinagainsthis through the sheet,andworkedherhipsbackandforward. 'Ah, the Captain is

alreadyatattention…''Foryou?Constantly…'Her mouth licked and

sucked at his, smearing spitonhisface,andhepushedhishand between her legs andshe rubbed herself against itforawhile,hisstickyfingerssquelching in and out of her.Shegruntedandsighedinherthroat, and he did the same.She reached down and

dragged the sheet out of theway. He took hold of hisprick and she wriggled herhipsuntiltheyfoundtherightspot and worked her waydown onto him, her hairtickling at his face, herrasping breath tickling at hisear.

There were two heavyknocks at the door, and theyboth froze. Another two

knocks. Ardee put her headup, pushing her hair out ofher flushedface. 'What is it?'she called, voice thick andthroaty.

'There's someone for theCaptain.' The maid. 'Is he…ishestillhere?'

Ardee's eyes rolled downto Jezal's. 'I daresay I couldgetamessagetohim!'Hebiton his lip to stifle a laugh,

reachedupandpinchedathernipple and she slapped hishandaway.'Whoisit?'

'A Knight Herald!' Jezalfelt his smile fading. Thosebastards never seemed tobringgoodnews,andalwaysat the worst possible times.'LordMarshalVaruzneedstospeaktotheCaptainurgently.They'reallovertownlookingfor him.' Jezal cursed under

hisbreath. It seemed that thearmy had finally realised hewasback.

'Tell him thatwhen I seethe Captain I will let himknow!' shouted Ardee, andthe sound of footstepsretreated down the corridoroutside.

'Fuck!' Jezal hissed assoonashewassurethemaidwas gone, not that she could

havebeen in toomuchdoubtaboutwhathadbeengoingonfor the past few days andnights.'I'llhavetogo.'

'Now?''Now, curse them. If I

don'tthey'lljustkeeplooking,and the sooner I go, thesoonerIcangetback.'

She sighed and rolledover onto her back while he

slithered off the bed andstarted hunting round theroomforhisscatteredclothes.His shirt had a wine staindown the front, his trouserswere creased and rumpled,but they would have to do.Cuttingtheperfectfigurewasnolongerhisonegoalinlife.He sat down on the bed topull his boots on and he felther kneel behind him, her

handsslidingacrosshischest,herlipsbrushingathisearasshe whispered to him. 'Soyou'llbeleavingmeallaloneagain,will you?Heading offto Angland, to slaughterNorthmenwithmybrother?'

Jezal leaned down withsome difficulty and heavedone boot on. 'Perhaps.Perhaps not.' The idea of thesoldiering life no longer

inspired him. He had seenenoughofviolence,closeup,to know it was extremelyfrighteningandhurt likehell.Glory and fame seemed likemeagre rewards for all therisks involved. 'I'm givingseriousthought totheideaofresigningmycommission.'

'You are? And doingwhat?'

'I'm not sure.' He turned

his head and raised aneyebrow at her. 'Maybe I'llfindagoodwomanandsettledown.'

'A goodwoman?Do youknowany?'

'I was hoping you mighthavesomesuggestions.'

She pressed her lipstogether. 'Letme think.Doesshehavetobebeautiful?'

'No, no, beautifulwomenare always so bloodydemanding. Plain asditchwater,please.'

'Clever?'Jezal snorted. 'Anything

but that. I am notorious formy empty-headedness. Aclever woman would onlymakeme look the dunce thewhole time.' He dragged theother boot on, peeled her

hands awayand stoodup. 'Awide-eyed and thoughtlesscalfwouldbeideal.Someonetoendlesslyagreewithme.'

Ardee clapped her hands.'Ohyes,Icanseeheronyounow, trailing from your armlikeanemptydress,akindofechoatahigherpitch.Noblebloodthough,Iimagine?'

'Of course, nothing butthebest.OnepointonwhichI

could never compromise.And fair hair, I have aweaknessforit.'

'Oh,Ientirelyagree.Darkhair is so commonplace, soverymuch the colourofdirt,and filth, and muck.' Sheshuddered. 'I feel sullied justthinkingofit.'

'Above all,' as he pushedhis sword through the clasponhis belt, 'a calmand even

temper. Ihavehadmyfillofsurprises.'

'Naturally.Lifeisdifficultenough without a womanmaking trouble. So terriblyundignified.' She raised hereyebrows. 'I will thinkthroughmyacquaintance.'

'Excellent. In themeantime, and although youwear it with far greater dashthanIevercould,Iwillneed

myjacket.''Oh,yes,sir.'Shepulledit

off and flung it at him, thenstretchedoutonthebed,starknaked, back arched, handsaboveherhead,wrigglingherhips slowly back and forth,oneknee in theair, theotherleg stretched out, big toepointing at him. 'You aren'tgoing to leave me alone fortoolong,though,areyou?'

He watched her for amoment. 'Don't you daremove a fucking inch,' hecroaked, then he pulled thejacket on, wedged his prickbetween his thighs andwaddled out the door, bentover. He hoped it would godown before he had hisbriefing with the LordMarshal, but he was notentirelysureitwould.

Once again, Jezal foundhimselfinoneofHighJusticeMarovia's cavernouschambers, standing all aloneontheemptyfloor,facingtheenormous, polished tablewhilethreeoldmenregardedhim grimly from the otherside.

Astheclerkshutthehighdoorswithanechoingboom,

he had a deeply worryingsenseofhavinglivedthroughthis very experience before.The day he had beensummoned from the boat forAngland, torn from hisfriends and his ambitions, tobesentonamadcap,doomedjourney into the middle ofnowhere. A journey that hadcost him some of his looksandnearlyhislife.Itwassafe

tosaythathedidnotentirelyrelish being back here, andhoped most fervently for abetteroutcome.

From that point of view,theabsenceoftheFirstoftheMagi was something of atonic, even if the panel wasotherwise far fromcomforting. Facing himwerethe hard old faces of LordMarshal Varuz, High Justice

Marovia, and LordChamberlainHoff.

Varuz was busy waxingon about Jezal's fineachievements in the OldEmpire. He had, evidently,heardaverydifferentversionof events from the one thatJezalhimselfremembered.

'…greatadventuresinthewest, as I understand it,bringinghonourtotheUnion

on foreign fields. I wasparticularly impressed by thestory of your charge acrossthe bridge at Darmium. Didthat really happen the way Ihavebeentold?'

'Across the bridge, sir,well, truthfully, er…' Heshould probably have askedthe old foolwhat the hell hewastalkingabout,buthewasfar too busy thinking of

Ardee, stretched out naked.Shit on his country. Duty bedamned. He could resign hiscommissionnowandbebackin her bed before the hourwasout.'Thethingis—'

'That was your favourite,was it?'askedHoff, loweringhis goblet. 'It was the oneabout theEmperor'sdaughterthat most caught my fancy.'AndhelookedatJezalwitha

twinkle in his eye thatimplied a story of a saucytone.

'Honestly, your Grace,I'venottheslightestideahowthat rumour began. Nothingofthekindoccurred,Iassureyou. The whole businessappears somehow to havebecome greatly exaggerated—'

'Well, one glorious

rumour is worth tendisappointing truths, wouldyounotagree?'

Jezal blinked. 'Well, er, Isuppose—'

'Inanycase,'cutinVaruz,'the Closed Council havereceived excellent reports ofyourconductwhileabroad.'

'Theyhave?''Many and various

reports,andallglowing.'Jezal could not help

grinning, though he had towonder from whom suchreportsmight have come.Hecould scarcely imagine FerroMaljinn gushing about hisfine qualities. 'Well, yourlordshipsareverykind,but Imust—'

'As a result of yourdedicationandcourageinthis

difficult and vital task, I amdelighted to announce thatyouhavebeenelevatedtotherank of Colonel, withimmediateeffect.'

Jezal's eyes opened upverywide.'Ihave?'

'You have indeed, myboy, and no one coulddeserveitmore.'

To rise two ranks in one

afternoon was anunprecedented honour,especially when he hadfought in no battle, carriedoutnorecentdeedsofvalour,and made no ultimatesacrifices. Unless youcounted leaving off themostrecent bedding of his bestfriend's sister halfway. Asacrifice, no doubt, butscarcely thekind thatusually

earnedtheKing'sfavour.'I, er, I…' He could not

escapeaglowofsatisfaction.A new uniform, and morebraid,andsoforth,andmorepeople to tell what to do.Gloryandfameweremeagrerewards, perhaps, but he hadtaken the risks already, andnowhadonlytosayyes.Hadhe not suffered? Had he notearnedit?

He did not have to thinkabout it for so very long.Hescarcelyhad to thinkabout itatall.Theideaofleavingthearmy and settling downreceded rapidly into the fardistance. 'Iwould be entirelyhonoured to accept thisexceptional…er…honour.'

'Then we are all equallydelighted,' said Hoff sourly.'Now to business. You are

aware, Colonel Luthar, thatthere has been some troublewiththepeasantsoflate?'

Surprisingly,nonewshadreached Ardee's bedroom.'Nothingserious,surely,yourGrace?'

'Notunlessyoucallafull-blownrevoltserious.'

'Revolt?'Jezalswallowed.'This man, the Tanner,'

spat the Lord Chamberlain.'He has been touring thecountryside for months,whipping up dissatisfaction,sowing the seeds ofdisobedience, inciting thepeasantry to crimes againsttheir masters, against theirlords,againsttheirking!'

'No one ever suspected itwouldreachthepointofopenrebellion.' Varuz worked his

mouthangrily.'Butfollowinga demonstration near Keln agroupofpeasantsencouragedby this Tanner armedthemselves and refused todisband. Theywon a victoryoverthelocallandowner,andthe insurrection spread. Nowwe hear they crushed asignificant force under LordFinster yesterday, burned hismanor house and hung three

taxcollectors.Theyareintheprocess of ravaging thecountrysideinthedirectionofAdua.'

'Ravaging?' murmuredJezal, glancing at the door.Ravaging really was a veryuglyword.

'It is a most regrettablebusiness,'bemoanedMarovia.'Halfofthemarehonestmen,faithful to their king, pushed

to this through the greed oftheirlandlords.'

Varuzsneeredhisdisgust.'There can be no excuse fortreason! The other half arethieves,andblackguards,andmalcontents. They should bewhippedtothegallows!'

'The Closed Council hasmade its decision,' cut inHoff. 'This Tanner hasdeclared his intention to

present a list of demands totheKing. To the King! Newfreedoms. New rights. Everyman the equal of his brotherand other such dangerousnonsense. Soon it willbecome known that they areontheirwayandtherewillbepanic.Riots insupportof thepeasants, and riots againstthem.Thingsarebalancedona knife edge already. Two

warsinprogressandthekingin fading health, with noheir?'Hoffbashedatthetablewith his fist, making Jezaljump. 'They must not beallowedtoreachthecity.'

Marshal Varuz claspedhis hands before him. 'Thetwo regiments of the King'sOwn that have remained inMidderlandwillbesentouttocounter this threat. A list of

concessions,' and he scowledashesaidtheword,'hasbeenprepared. If thepeasantswillacceptnegotiation,andreturntotheirhomes,theirlivescanbespared. If thisTannerwillnot see reason, then his so-called army must bedestroyed. Scattered. Brokenup.'

'Killed,' said Hoff,rubbingatastainonthetable

with his heavy thumb. 'Andthe ringleaders delivered tohisMajesty'sInquisition.'

'Regrettable,' murmuredJezal, without thinking,feeling a cold shiver at thevery mention of thatinstitution.

'Necessary,'saidMarovia,sadlyshakinghishead.

'But hardly

straightforward.' Varuzfrowned at Jezal across thetable.'Ineachvillage,ineachtown,ineveryfieldandfarmthey have passed throughthey have picked up morerecruits. The country is alivewith malcontents. Ill-disciplined,ofcourse,andill-equipped, but at our lastestimatetheynumberedsomefortythousand.'

'Forty… thousand?' Jezalshifted his weight nervously.He had supposed they wereperhaps discussing a fewhundred, and those withoutproper footwear. There wasno danger here, of course,safe behind the walls of theAgriont,thewallsofthecity.But forty thousand was anawful lot of very angrymen.Eveniftheywerepeasants.

'The King's Own aremaking their preparations:one regiment of horse andone of foot. All that ismissingnowisacommanderfortheexpedition.'

'Huh,' grunted Jezal. Hedid not begrudge thatunfortunatemanhisposition,commanding a forceoutnumbered five to oneagainst a bunch of savages

buoyed up by righteousnessand petty victories, drunk onhatred of noblemen andmonarchy, thirsty for bloodandloot…

Jezal's eyes went widerstill.'Me?'

'You.'Hefumbledforthewords.

'I do not wish to seem…ungrateful, you understand,

but, surely, I mean to say,there must be men bettersuited to the task. LordMarshal, you yourself have—'

'This is a complicatedtime.' Hoff glared sternly atJezal frombeneathhisbushybrows. 'A very complicatedtime. We need someonewithout… affiliations. Weneed someone with a clean

slate. You fit the billadmirably.'

'But… negotiating withpeasants, your Grace, yourWorship, Lord Marshal, Ihavenounderstandingof theissues! I have nounderstandingoflaw!'

'Wearenotblind toyourdeficiencies,' saidHoff. 'Thatis why there will be arepresentative from the

Closed Council with you.Someone who possessesunchallenged expertise in allthoseareas.'

A heavy hand slappedsuddenly down on Jezal'sshoulder. 'I toldyou itwouldbe sooner rather than later,my boy!' Jezal slowly turnedhishead, a feelingof terribledismay boiling up from hisstomach, and there was the

First of the Magi, grinninginto his face from a distanceof nomore than a foot, verymuchpresentafterall. Itwasno surprise, really, that thebald old meddler wasinvolved in this. Strange andpainful events seemed tofollow in hiswake like straydogs barking behind thebutcher'swagon.

'Thepeasants'army,ifwe

can call it such, is campedwithin four days' slovenlymarch of the city, spread outacross the country, seekingfor forage.' Varuz cranedforward, poking at the tablewithafinger.

'You will proceedimmediately to interceptthem.Ourhopeshangonthis,Colonel Luthar. Do youunderstandyourorders?'

'Yes, sir,' he whispered,trying and utterly failing tosoundenthusiastic.

'The two of us, backtogether?' Bayaz chuckled.'They'd better run, eh, myboy?'

'Of course,' murmuredJezal,miserably.He had hadhisownchancetoescape,hischancetostartanewlife,andhe had given it up in return

foranextrastarortwoonhisjacket. Too late he realisedhisawfulblunder.Bayaz'griptightened round his shoulder,drew him to a fatherlydistance,anddidnotfeellikereleasing him. There reallywasnowayout.

Jezal steppedoutof thedoorto his quarters in a greathurry, cursing as he dragged

his box behind him. It reallywas an awful imposition thathe had been obliged to carryhis own luggage, but timewas extremely pressing if hewas to save the Union fromthe madness of its ownpeople.Hehadgivenonlythebriefest consideration to theideaofsprintingforthedocksand taking passage on thefirst ship to distant Suljuk,

before angrily dismissing it.He had taken the promotionwith his eyes open, and nowhesupposedhehadnochoicebuttoseeitthrough.Bettertodo it, than to live with thefear of it, and so forth. Hetwisted his key in the lock,turned around, and recoiledwith a girlish gasp of shock.There was someone in theshadows opposite his door,

andthefeelingofhorroronlyworsened when he realisedwhoitwas.

The cripple Glokta stoodagainst the wall, leaningheavily on his cane andgrinning his repulsive,toothless grin. 'A word,ColonelLuthar.'

'Ifyouarereferringtothisbusinesswith thepeasants, itis well in hand.' Jezal was

unable to keep the sneer ofdisgust entirely off his face.'You need not troubleyourselfonthat—'

'I amnot referring to thatbusiness.'

'Thenwhat?''ArdeeWest.'The corridor seemed

suddenly very empty, veryquiet. The soldiers, the

officers, the servants, allawayinAngland.Therewerejust the two of them, for allJezal knew, in the entirebarracks. 'I fail to see howthatisanyconcernof—'

'Her brother, our mutualfriend Collem West, you doremember him? Worried-looking fellow, losing hishair. Bit of a temper.' Jezalfelt a guilty flush across his

face.Herememberedthemanwell enough, of course, andhis temper in particular. 'Hecame to me shortly beforedeparting for the war inAngland. He asked me tolook to his sister's welfarewhile he was away, riskinghis life. I promised todo so.'Glokta shuffled slightlycloser and Jezal's flesh crept.'A responsibility which, I

assureyou,Itakeasseriouslyas any task the Arch Lectormightchoosetogiveme.'

'Isee,'croakedJezal.Thatcertainly explained thecripple's presence at herhouse the other day, whichhad, until then, been causinghim some confusion. He feltno easier in his mind,however. Considerably less,infact.

'IhardlythinkthatCollemWest would be best pleasedwith what has beentranspiring these last fewdays,doyou?'

Jezalshiftedguiltily fromonefoottotheother. 'IadmitthatIhavevisitedher—'

'Your visits,' whisperedthe cripple, 'are not good forthat girl's reputation.We areleft with three options.

Firstly, and this is mypersonal favourite, you walkaway, and you pretend younevermether,andyouneverseeheragain.'

'Unacceptable,' Jezalfound himself saying, hisvoicesurprisinglybrash.

'Secondly, then, youmarry the lady, and all'sforgotten.'

A course that Jezal wasconsidering, but he wasdamnedifhe'dbebulliedintoitbythistwistedremnantofaman.'Andthird?'heenquired,with what he felt was fittingcontempt.

'Third?' A particularlydisgusting flurry of twitchescrawled up the side ofGlokta's wasted face. 'I don'tthink you want to know too

muchaboutnumberthree.Letusonlysaythatitwillincludealongnightofpassionwithafurnace and a set of razors,and an even longer morninginvolving a sack, an anvil,and the bottom of the canal.You might find that one ofthe other two options suitsyoubetter.'

Before he knew what hewas doing Jezal had taken a

step forward, forcing Gloktatorockback,wincing,againstthe wall. 'I do not have toexplain myself to you! Myvisitsarebetweenmeandtheladyinquestion,butforyourinformation, I long agoresolvedtomarryher,andammerely waiting for the rightmoment!'Jezalstoodthereinthe darkness, hardly able tobelieve what he had heard

himselfsay.Damnhismouth,it still landed him in allmanneroftrouble.

Glokta's narrow left eyeblinked.'Ah,luckyher.'

Jezal found himselfmovingforwardagain,almostbuttingthecrippleinthefaceand crushing him helplessagainstthewall.'That'sright!Soyoucanshoveyourthreatsupyourcrippledarse!'

Evensquashedagainstthewall, Glokta's surprise onlylasted an instant. Then heleered his toothless grin, hiseyelid fluttering and a longtear running down his gauntcheek. 'Why,ColonelLuthar,it is difficult for me toconcentratewith you so veryclose.'HestrokedthefrontofJezal'suniformwith thebackofhishand. 'Especiallygiven

your unexpected interest inmy arse.' Jezal jerked back,mouth sour with disgust. 'Itseems that Bayaz succeededwhere Varuz failed, eh? Hetaught you where your spineis! My congratulations onyour forthcoming wedding.ButIthinkI'llkeepmyrazorshandy, just in case you don'tfollow through. I'm so gladwe had this chance to talk.'

And Glokta limped offtowards the stairs, his canetappingontheboards,hisleftbootscrapingalongbehind.

'As am I!' shouted Jezalafter him. But nothing couldhave been further from thetruth.

Ghosts

«^»

Uffrith didn't lookmuch likeitused to.Ofcourse, the lasttime Logen had seen theplace had been years ago, at

night,afterthesiege.Crowdsof Bethod's Carls wanderingthe streets—shouting, andsinging, and drinking.Looking for folk to rob andrape, setting fire to anythingthat would hold a flame.Logen remembered lying inthat room after he'd beatenThreetrees, crying andgurgling at the pain allthroughhim.Heremembered

scowlingoutthewindowandseeing the glow from theflames, listening to thescreams over the town,wishing he was out theremaking mischief andwondering if he'd ever standupagain.

Itwasdifferentnow,withthe Union in charge, but itwasn't so very much moreorganised. The grey harbour

waschokedwithshipstoobigfor the wharves. Soldiersswarmed through the narrowstreets, dropping gear allover. Carts and mules andhorses, all loaded down andpiledup,triedtoshoveawaythrough the press. Woundedlimped on crutches downtowards the docks, or werecarried on stretchers throughthe spotting drizzle, bloody

bandages staredatwide-eyedby the fresh-faced ladsgoingtheotherway.Hereandthere,looking greatly puzzled atthis mighty flood of strangepeople sweeping throughtheir town, some Northernerwas standing in a doorway.Womenmostly,andchildren,andoldmen.

Logenwalked fastup thesloping streets, pushing

through the crowds with hishead down and his hood up.He kept his fists bunched athissides,sonoonewouldseethe stump of his missingfinger.HekepttheswordthatBayaz had given himwrapped up in a blanket onhis back, under his pack,where it wouldn't makeanyone nervous. All thesame, his shoulders prickled

everystepoftheway.Hewaswaiting to hear someoneshout, 'It's the Bloody-Nine!'He was waiting for folk tostart running, screaming,pelting him with rubbish,facesallstampedwithhorror.

Butnoonedid.Onemorefigure that didn't belong wasnothing to look at in all thatdamp chaos, and if anyonemight have known him here,

theyweren't looking forhim.Most likely they'd all heardhewentback to themud, faraway, and were good andglad about it too. Still, therewas no point staying longerthan he had to.He strode uptoaUnionofficerwholookedasifhemightbeinchargeofsomething, pushed his hoodback and tried to put a smileonhisface.

Hegotascornfullookforhis trouble. 'We've no workfor you, if that's what you'relookingfor.'

'You don't have my kindofwork.' Logen held out theletter that Bayaz had givenhim.

The man unfolded it andlooked it over. He frownedand read it again. Then helooked doubtfully up at

Logen,mouthworking. 'Wellthen. I see.' He pointedtowards a crowd of youngmen, standing nervous anduncertaina fewstridesaway,huddledmiserablytogetherastherainstartedtothickenup.'There's a convoy ofreinforcementsleavingforthefront this afternoon.You cantravelwithus.'

'Fair enough.'Theydidn't

look like they'd be muchreinforcement, those scared-seeming lads, but that didn'tmattertohim.Hedidn'tmuchcarewhohetravelledwith,aslong as they were pointed atBethod.

The trees clattered by oneither side of the road—dimgreen and black, full ofshadows. Full of surprises,

maybe.Itwasatoughwaytotravel. Tough on the handsfrom clinging to the rail alltheway,even tougheron thearse from bouncing andjolting on that hard seat.Butthey were getting there,gradually, and Logenreckoned that was the mainthing.

There were more cartsbehind, spread out in a slow

line along the road, loadeddown with men, food,clothes,weapons, and all thestuffyouneedtomakeawar.Each one had a lamp lit,hangingupnear the front, sothere was a trail of bobbinglights in the dull dusk, downinto thevalleyandup thefarslope,markingoutthepathofthe road they'd followedthroughthewoods.

Logen turned and lookedat the Union boys, gatheredup in a clump near the frontof the cart.Nineof them, alljolting and swaying abouttogether with the jumping ofthe axles, and all keeping aswell clear of him as theycould.

'You seen scars like thaton a man before?' onemuttered, not guessing he

couldspeaktheirtongue.'Whoisheanyway?''Dunno. A Northman, I

guess.''I can see he's a

Northman, idiot. I meanwhat'shedoingherewithus?'

'Maybehe'sascout.''Big bastard for a scout,

ain'the?'Logen grinned to himself

as he watched the trees rollpast. He felt the cool breezeonhisface,smelledthemist,the earth, the cold, wet, air.Heneverwouldhavethoughthe'd be happy to be back intheNorth,buthewas. Itwasgood, after all that time astranger, to be in a placewhereheknewtherules.

They camped out on theroad, the ten of them. One

groupoutofmany,strungoutthrough thewoods, each oneclustered close to their cart.Nineladsononesideofabigfire, a pot of stew bubblingover the top of it and givingoff a fine-smelling steam.Logen watched them stirringit,talkingtoeachotherabouthome,andwhatwascoming,and how long they'd be outthere.

Afterawhileoneofthemstartedspooning thefoodoutintobowlsandhanding themround. He looked over atLogen, once he was donewith the rest, then served uponemore.Heedgedoverlikehe was coming at a wolfscage.

'Er…' He held the bowloutatarm'slength.'Stew?'Heopened his mouth up wide

and pointed into it with hisfreehand.

'Thanks, friend,' saidLogen as he took the bowl,'butIknowwheretoputit.'

Theladsallstaredathim,a row of worried-lookingfaces, litupflickeringyellowon the far side of the fire,more suspicious than ever athim speaking their language.'Youtalkcommon?Youkept

thatquiet,didn'tyou?''Best to seem less than

youare,inmyexperience.''Ifyousayso,'saidthelad

who'd given him the bowl.'What'syourname,then?'

Logen wondered for amomentifheshouldmakeupalie.Somenothingnamethatno one could have heard of.Buthewaswhohewas, and

sooner or later someonewould know him. That, andhe'd never been much atlying. 'Logen Ninefingers,theycallme.'

The lads looked blank.They'd never heard of him,andwhywouldtheyhave?Abunch of farmers' sons fromfaraway,inthesunnyUnion.They looked like they barelyknewtheirownnames.

'What are you here for?'oneofthemaskedhim.

'Sameasyou. I'mhere tokill.' The boys looked a bitnervy at that. 'Not you, don'tworry.I'vegotsomescorestosettle.' He nodded off up theroad.'WithBethod.'

The ladsexchangedsomeglances, then one of themshrugged. 'Well. Long asyou're on our side, I guess.'

He got up and dragged abottle out of his pack. 'Youwantadrink?'

'Well, now.' Logengrinnedandheldouthiscup.'I'veneveryetsaidnotothat.'He knocked it down in one,smacked his lips as he felt itwarming his gullet. The ladpouredhimanother. 'Thanks.Best not give me too much,though.'

'Why?' he asked. 'Willyoukillusthen?'

'Killyou?Ifyou'relucky.''Andifwe'renot?'Logen grinned over his

mug.'I'llsing.'Theladcrackedasmileat

that, and one of his matesstarted laughing. Nextmomentanarrowhissed intohissideandhecoughedblood

down his shirt, the bottledropping on the grass, winegurgling out in the dark.Another boy had a shaftsticking in his thigh. He satthere,frozen,staringdownatit. 'Where did that…' Theneveryone was shouting,fumbling for weapons orthrowing themselves flat ontheir faces. A couple morearrows whizzed over, one

clattering into the fire andsending up a shower ofsparks.

Logen threw his stewaway, snatched up his swordand started running. Heblundered into one of theboysonthewayandknockedhim on his face, slipped andslid, righted himself and ranfulltiltforthetreeswherethearrow came from. Itwas run

right at them, or run away,and he made the choicewithout thinking. Sometimesit doesn't matter too muchwhat choice you make, aslongasyoumakeitquickandstick to it.Logen sawoneofthe archers as he rushed upclose,aflashofhispaleskininthedarknessashereachedfor another arrow. He pulledthe Maker's sword from its

tattered sheath and let go afightingroar.

Thebowmancould'vegothisarrowawaybeforeLogenwas on him,most likely, butit would've been a closething,andintheendhedidn'thave thebones tostand therewaiting. Not many men canweigh their choices properlywhile death comes racing upat them.Hedroppedthebow

toolateandturnedtorun,andLogenhackedhiminthebackbefore he got more than astride or two, knocked himscreamingintothebushes.Hedragged himself round faceup, all tangled in the brush,screechingandfumblingforaknife.Logen lifted the swordto finish the job. Then bloodsprayed out of the archer'smouth and he trembled, fell

backandwasquiet.'Still alive,' Logen

mouthedtohimself,squattingdown low beside the corpse,straining into thedarkness. Itwould probably have beenbetterforallconcernedifhe'drun theotherway,but itwasa bit late for that. Probablyhavebeenbetterifhe'dstayedinAdua,but itwasabit lateforthattoo.

'BloodyNorth,' he cursedin a whisper. If he let thesebastardsgo they'dbemakingmischief all the way to thefrontandLogenwouldn'tgetawinkofsleepforworrying,asidefromthegoodchanceofan arrow in his face. Betterodds coming for them, thanwaiting for them to come tohim. A lesson he'd learnedfromhardexperience.

He could hear the rest ofthe ambush crashing awaythrough the brush and he setout after them, fist clenchedtight round the grip of hissword. He felt his waybetween the trunks, keepinghis distance. The light of thefire and the noise of theUnion boys shoutingdwindledbehindhimuntilhewas deep in the woods,

smelling of pines and wetearth,onlythesoundofmen'shurrying feet to guide him.He made himself part of theforest, theway he had in theolddays. Itwasn't sohard todo. The knack came rightback as though he'd beencreeping in the trees everynight for years. Voicesechoedthroughthenight,andLogen pressed himself still

and silent up behind a pine-trunk,listening.

'Where'sDirty-Nose?'Therewasapause.'Dead,

Ireckon.''Dead?How?''They had someone with

'em,Crow.Somebigfucker.'Crow.Logenknewthename.Knewthevoicetoo,nowthathe heard it. A Named Man

who'd fought for Littlebone.You couldn't have calledthemfriends,himandLogen,but they'd known each other.They'dbeenclosetogetherinthe line at Carleon, fightingside by side. And now heretheywereagainwithnomorethan a few strides betweenthem, more than willing tokill each other. Strange, theturns fate can take. Fighting

with a man and fightingagainst him are only awhisker apart. Far closertogether than not fighting atall.

'Northman,washe?'cameCrow'svoice.

'Might've been. Whoeverit was he knew his business.Came up real quick. I didn'thavetimetogetashaftaway.'

'Bastard! We ain't lettingthatpass.We'llcampouthereand follow 'em tomorrow.Might be we'll get him then,thisbigone.'

'Ohaye,we'llfuckinggethim. Don't you worry aboutthatnone.I'llcuthisneckforhim,thebastard.'

'Good for you. 'Til thenyoucankeepaneyeopenforhimwhiletherestofuscatch

some sleep. Might be theanger'll keep you awake thistime,eh?'

'Aye,chief.Righty'are.'Logen sat and watched,

catchingglimpsesthroughthetrees as four of them spreadout their blankets and rolleduptosleep.Thefifthtookhisplace,backtotheothers,andlooked out the way they'dcome, sitting guard. Logen

waited, and he heard onebegin to snore. Some rainstarted up, and it tapped andtrickled on the branches ofthe pines. After a while itspattered into his hair, intohisclothes,randownhisfaceandfelltothewetearth,drip,drip,drip.Logensat,stillandsilentasastone.

It can be a fearsomeweapon, patience. One that

fewmenever learntouse.Ahardthing,tokeepyourmindon killing once you're out ofdanger and your blood'scooled off. But Logen hadalwayshad the trickof it.Sohe sat and let the slow timesneak by, and thought aboutlongago,until themoonwashigh,andtherewaspalelightwashing down between thetrees with the tickling rain.

Pale light enough for him toseehistasksby.

He uncurled his legs andstarted moving, working hisway between the tree trunks,planting his feet nice andgentle in the brush. The rainwashisally,patterandtricklemasking the soft sounds hisboots made as he circledroundbehindtheguard.

He slid out a knife, wet

blade glinting once in thepatchy moonlight, and hepaddedoutfromthetreesandthrough their camp. Betweenthe sleeping men, closeenough to touch them.Closeas a brother. The guardsniffedandshiftedunhappily,dragging his wet blanketround his shoulders, allbeadedupwithtwinklingraindrops. Logen stopped and

waited, looked down at thepale face of one of thesleepers, turned sideways,eyes closed and mouth wideopen, breath making faintsmokeintheclammynight.

The guard was still now,and Logen slipped up closebehind him, holding hisbreath. He reached out withhislefthand,fingersworkingin the misty air, feeling for

the moment. He reached outwith his right hand, fistclenchedtightroundthehardgrip of his knife. He felt hislips curling back from hisgritted teeth. Now was thetime, and when the timecomes, you strike with nobackwardglances.

Logen reached round andclamped his hand tight overthe guard's mouth, cut his

throat quick and hard, deepenough that he felt the bladescraping on his neck bones.Hejerkedandstruggledforamoment,butLogenheldhimtight, tight as a lover, andhemade no more than a quietgurgle.Logenfeltbloodoverhishands,hotandsticky.Hedidn't worry yet about theothers. If one of them wokeall they'd see would be the

outline of one man in thedarkness, and that was alltheywereexpecting.

It wasn't long before theguard went limp, and Logenlaid him down gently on hisside, head flopping. Fourshapes lay there under theirwetblankets,helpless.Maybethere'd been a time whenLogenwould've had toworkhimself up to a job like this.

Whenhe'd have had to thinkabout why it was the rightthing to do. But if there hadbeen,itwaslonggone.UpintheNorth,thetimeyouspendthinkingwillbe the timeyouget killed in. All they werenow were four tasks to getdone.

He crept up to the first,lifted his bloody knife,overhand, and stabbed him

clean in the heart rightthrough his coat, handpressed over his mouth. Hedied quieter than he slept.Logencameuponthesecondone, ready to do the same.His boot clattered intosomethingmetal.Waterflask,maybe. Whatever it was, itmade quite the racket. Thesleeping man's eyes workedopen,hestartedtolifthimself

up. Logen rammed the knifein his gut and dragged at it,slitting his belly open. Hemade a kind of a wheeze,mouth and eyes wide,clutchingatLogen'sarm.

'Eh?' The third one satstraightupandstaring.Logentorehishandfreeandheavedhis sword out. 'Wha' the—'Themanliftedhisarmup,onaninstinct,andthedullblade

tookhishandoffat thewristand chopped deep into hisskull, sending black spots ofbloodshowering into thewetair and knocking him downonhisback.

But that gave the last ofthem time enough to roll outofhisblanketandgrabupanaxe. Now he stood hunchedover, hands spread out,fighting ready like a man

who'd had plenty of practiceatit.Crow.Logencouldhearhis breath hissing, see itsmokingintherain.

'Youshould'vestartedwi'me!'hehissed.

Logen couldn't deny it.He'd been concentrating ongetting them all killed, andhadn'tpaidmuchmindtotheorder.Still,itwasabitlatetoworry now. He shrugged.

'Startorfinish,ain'ttoomuchdifference.'

'We'llsee.'Crowweighedhis axe in the misty air,shifting around, looking foranopening.Logenstoodstilland caught his breath, thesword hanging down by hisside,thegripcoldandwetinhis clenched fist. He'd neverbeen much of a one formoving until it was time.

'Best tell me your name,while you still got breath inyou. I like to knowwho I'vekilled.'

'You already know me,Crow.' Logen held his otherhandup,andheletthefingersspreadout,andthemoonlightglinted black on his bloodyhand, and on the bloodystump of his missing finger.'Wewere side by side in the

line at Carleon. Neverthoughtyou'dallforgetmesosoon. But things don't oftenturn out the way we expect,eh?'

He'd stopped movingnow, had Crow. Logencouldn't see more than agleamofhiseyesinthedark,but he could tell the doubtand the fear in the way hestood. 'No,' he whispered,

shaking his head in thedarkness. 'Can't be!Ninefingersisdead!'

'That so?' Logen took adeepbreathandpusheditout,slow, into the wet night.'ReckonImustbehisghost.'

They'd dug some sort of ahole to squat in, the Unionlads, sacks and boxes up on

thesidesasarampart.Logencould see the odd facemoving over the top, staringoff into the trees, the dulllight from the guttering fireglintingonanarrowheadoraspear tip. Dug in, watchingfor another ambush. If they'dbeennervybefore, theyweremost likely shittingthemselves now. Probablyoneofthemwouldgetscared

and shoot him as soon as hemade himself known. DamnUnionbowshadatriggerthatwentoffatatouch,oncetheywere drawn. Would havebeen just about his luck, togetkilledovernothing in themiddle of nowhere, and byhisownsidetoo,buthedidn'thave much of a choice. Notunless he wanted to walk uptothefront.

So he cleared his throatand called out. 'Now no oneshoot or anything!' A stringwent and a bolt thudded intoa tree a couple of strides tohisleft.Logenhuncheddownagainstthewetearth.'Nooneshoot,Isaid!'

'Who'soutthere?''It's me, Ninefingers!'

Silence. 'The Northman whowasonthecart!'

A long pause, and somewhispering. 'Alright! Butcomeoutslow,andkeepyourhands where we can seethem!'

'Fair enough!' Hestraightenedupandcreptoutfrom the trees, hands heldhigh.'Justdon'tshootme,eh?That'syourendofthedeal!'

He walked across thegroundtowardsthefire,arms

spread out, wincing at thethought of getting a bolt inhis chest any minute. Herecognised the faces of thelads from before, them andtheofficerwhohadchargeofthe supply column.A coupleof them followed him withtheir bows as he steppedslowly over the makeshiftparapet and down into thetrench.Ithadbeendugalong

in front of the fire, but notthatwell,andtherewasabigpuddleinthebottom.

'Where the hell did youget to?'demanded theofficerangrily.

'Tracking them thatambushedustonight.'

'Did you catch 'em?' oneoftheboysasked.

'ThatIdid.'

'And?''Dead.' Logen nodded at

the puddle in the bottom ofthehole.'Soyouneedn'tsleepin the water tonight. Any ofthatstewleft?'

'How many were there?'snappedtheofficer.

Logen poked around theembersofthefire,butthepotwas empty. Just his luck,

again.'Five.''You, on your own,

againstfive?''There were six to begin

with, but I killed one at thestart. He's in the trees overtheresomewhere.'Logendugaheelofbreadoutofhispackandrubbeditroundtheinsideof thepot, trying toget a bitof meat grease on there, atleast.'Iwaiteduntiltheywere

sleeping, so I only had tofightoneof'em,facetoface.Alwaysbeen lucky thatway,I guess.' He didn't feel thatlucky.Lookingathishandinthe firelight, it was stillstained with blood. Darkblood under his fingernails,dried into the lines in hispalm.'Alwaysbeenlucky.'

Theofficerhardly lookedconvinced.'Howdoweknow

that you aren't one of them?That you weren't spying onus? That they aren't waitingouttherenow,foryoutogivethem a signal when we'revulnerable?'

'You've been vulnerablethe whole way,' snortedLogen. 'But it's a fairquestion.Ithoughtyoumightask it.' He pulled the canvasbag out fromhis belt. 'That's

why I brought you this.' Theofficerfrownedashereachedout for it, shook it open,peered suspiciously inside.He swallowed. 'Like I said,there were five. So you gotten thumbs in there. Thatsatisfyyou?'

The officer looked moresick than satisfied, but henodded, lips squeezedtogether, and held the bag

back out to him at arm'slength.

Logen shook his head.'Keep it. It's a finger I'mmissing.IgotallthethumbsIneed.'

Thecartlurchedtoastop.Forthe last mile or two they'dmoved at a crawl. Now theroad, if you could use the

wordaboutaseaofmud,waschoked up with flounderingmen. They squelched theirwayfromonenearsolidspotto another, flowing throughthe thin rain between thepress of mired carts andunhappyhorses, thestacksofcrates and barrels, the ill-pitched tents.Logenwatcheda group of filth-caked ladsstrainingatawagonstuckup

to its axles in the muck,withoutmuchsuccess. Itwaslike seeing an army sinkslowly into a bog. A vastshipwreck,onland.

Logen's travellingcompanions were down toseven now, hunched andgaunt, looking mighty tiredfromsleeplessnightsandbadweather on the trail. Onedead,onesentbacktoUffrith

already with an arrow in hisleg.Notthebeststarttotheirtime in theNorth, butLogendoubted it would get anybetter from here on. Heclambereddownoff thebackofthecart,bootssinkingintothe well-rutted mud, archedhis back and stretched hisaching legs out, dragged hispackdown.

'Luck,then,'hesaidtothe

lads. None of them spoke.They'd hardly said aword tohim since the night of theambush. Most likely thatwhole business with thethumbshadgotthemworried.Butifthatwastheworsttheysawwhile theywere up herethey'd have done alright,Logenreckoned.Heshruggedand turned away, startedfloundering through the

muck.Just up ahead the officer

from the supply column wasbeing dealt a talking-to by atall, grim-looking man in ared uniform, seemed like theclosest thing they had in allthis mess to someone incharge. It took Logen aminute to recognise him.They'dsattogetheratafeast,in very different

surroundings, and they'dtalked of war. He lookedolder, leaner, tougher, now.He had a hard frown on hisfaceandalotofhardgreyinhis wet hair, but he grinnedwhenhe sawLogenstandingthere, and walked up to himwithhishandout.

'By the dead,' he said ingood Northern, 'but fate canplaysometricks.Iknowyou.'

'Likewise.''Ninefingers,wasn'tit?''That's right. And you're

West.FromAngland.''That I am. Sorry I can't

give you a better welcome,butthearmyonlygotuphereadayor twoagoand,asyoucansee, thingsaren'tquite inorderyet.Notthere,idiot!'heroaredatadrivertryingtoget

his cart between two others,the space between themnowhere near wide enough.'Doyouhavesucha thingassummer in this bloodycountry?'

'You're looking at it.Didn'tyouseewinter?'

'Huh. You've a pointthere. What brings you uphere,anyway?'

Logen handed West theletter. He hunched over toshield it from the rain andreadit,frowning.

'Signed by LordChamberlainHoff,eh?'

'Thatagoodthing?'Westpursedhislipsashe

handed the letter back. 'Isuppose that depends. Itmeans you've got some

powerful friends. Or somepowerfulenemies.'

'Bitofboth,maybe.'Westgrinned. 'Ifindthey

go together. You've come tofight?'

'ThatIhave.''Good.Wecanalwaysuse

a man with experience.' Hewatched the recruitsclamberingdownoffthecarts

andgave a long sigh. 'We'vestill got far too many herewithout. You should go upand join the rest of theNorthmen.'

'You've got Northmenwithyou?'

'We have, and morecoming over every day.Seems that a lot of themaren'ttoohappywiththewaytheir King has been leading

them.AbouthisdealwiththeShankainparticular.'

'Deal?With the Shanka?'Logen frowned. He'd neverhave thought that evenBethodwouldstoopthatlow,butitwashardlythefirsttimehe'd been disappointed. 'He'sgot Flatheads fighting withhim?'

'He certainly does. He'sgot Flatheads, and we've got

Northmen. It's a strangeworld,alright.'

'That it surely is,' saidLogen, shaking his head.'Howmanydoyouhave?'

'About three hundred, I'dsay,atlastcount,thoughtheydon't take too well to beingcounted.'

'Reckon I'llmake it threehundred and one, then, if

you'llhaveme.''They'recampedup there,

on the left wing,' and hepointed towards the darkoutline of trees against theeveningsky.

'Right enough.Who's thechief?'

'Fellow called theDogman.'

Logenstaredathimfora

long moment. 'Called thewhat?'

'Dogman. You knowhim?'

'You could say that,'whispered Logen, a smilespreading right across hisface.'Youcouldsaythat.'

Dusk was pressing on fastandnightwaspressinginfast

behind,andthey'djustgotthelong fire burning as Logenwalked up. He could see theshapes of the Carls takingtheirplacesdowneachsideofit, heads and shoulders cutout black against the flames.He could hear their voicesandtheirlaughter,loudinthestilleveningnowtherainhadstopped.

It had been a long time

since he heard a crowd ofmen all speaking Northern,and it sounded strange in hisears, even if it was his owntongue. Itbroughtbacksomeugly memories. Crowds ofmen shouting at him,shouting for him. Crowdscharging intobattle, cheeringtheirvictories,mourningtheirdead. He could smell meatcooking from somewhere. A

sweet, rich smell that tickledhis nose and made his gutgrumble.

There was a torch set upon a pole by the path, and abored-looking lad stoodunderneath it with a spear,frowning at Logen as hewalkedup.Must'vedrawntheshort straw, to be on guardwhile the otherswere eating,and he didn't look too happy

aboutit.'What d'you want?' he

growled.'You got the Dogman

here?''Aye,whatofit?''I'llneedtospeaktohim.''Willyou,now?'Another man walked up,

well past his prime, with ashock of grey hair and a

leathery face. 'What we gothere?'

'New recruit,' grumbledthe lad. 'Wants to see thechief.'

The old man squinted atLogen, frowning. 'DoIknowyou,friend?'

Logen lifted up his facesothetorchlightfellacrossit.Better to look a man in the

eye,andlethimseeyou,andshow him you feel no fear.That was the way his fatherhadtaughthim.'Idon'tknow.Doyou?'

'Wheredidyoucomeoverfrom?Whitesides'crew,isit?'

'No. I been workingalone.'

'Alone?Well,now.Seemslike I recognise—' The old

boy's eyes opened up wide,andhisjawsaggedopen,andhis face went white as cutchalk. 'By all the fuckingdead,' hewhispered, taking astumbling step back. 'It's theBloody-Nine!'

Maybe Logen had beenhoping no one would knowhim. That they'd all haveforgotten. That they'd havenew things to worry them,

and he'd be just a man likeany other. But now he sawthatlookontheoldboy'sface—that shitting-himself look,and itwas clear enoughhowit would be. Just the way itused to be.And theworst ofit was, now that Logen wasrecognised, and he saw thatfear,andthathorror,andthatrespect,hewasn'tsurethathedidn't like seeing it. He'd

earnedit,hadn'the?Afterall,factsarefacts.

HewastheBloody-Nine.The laddidn'tquiteget it

yet.'Havingajokeonmeareyer? You'll be tellingme it'sBethod his self come overnext,eh?'Butnoonelaughed,andLogen liftedhishandupand stared through the gapwherehismiddle fingerusedto be. The lad looked from

that stump, to the tremblingoldmanandback.

'Shit,'hecroaked.'Where'syourchief,boy?'

Logen's own voice scaredhim.Flat,anddead,andcoldasthewinter.

'He's… he's…' The ladraised a quivering finger topointtowardsthefires.

'Wellthen.GuessI'llsniff

him out myself.' The two ofthem edged out of Logen'sway. He didn't exactly smileas he passed. More he drewhislipsbacktoshowthemhisteeth. There was a certainreputation to be lived up to,after all. 'No need to worry,'he hissed in their faces. 'I'monyourside,ain'tI?'

No one said a word tohim as he walked along

behind theCarls, up towardstheheadofthefire.Acoupleof them glanced over theirshoulders, but nothing morethananynewcomerinacampmight get. They'd no ideawho he was, yet, but theysoon would have. That ladand that old man would bewhispering, and thewhisperswouldspreadaroundthefire,aswhispersdo,andeveryone

wouldbewatchinghim.He started as a great

shadowmovedbesidehim,sobig he'd taken it for a tree atfirst. A huge, big man,scratching at his beard,smilingat the fire.TulDuru.There could be nomistakingtheThunderhead, even in thehalf-light. Not a man thatsize. Made Logen wonderafresh how the hell he'd

beatenhiminthefirstplace.He felt a strange urge,

rightthen,justtoputhisheaddown andwalk past, off intothe night and never lookback. Then hewouldn't havetobe theBloody-Nine again.It would just have been afresh lad and an old man,swore they saw a ghost onenight. He could've gone faraway, and started new, and

beenwhoeverhewanted.Buthe'd tried that once already,andithaddonehimnogood.The past was always rightbehind him, breathing on hisneck. It was time to turnaroundandfaceit.

'Alright there, big lad.'Tulpeeredathiminthedusk,orange light and blackshadowshiftingacrosshisbigrockofaface,hisbigrugofa

beard.'Who…holdon…'Logen

swallowed.He'dnoidea,nowhethoughtaboutit,whatanyofthemmightmakeofseeinghim again. They'd beenenemies long before theywere friends, after all. Eachone of them had fought him.Each one had been keen tokill him, and with goodreasonstoo.Thenhe'drunoff

south and left them to theShanka. What if all he gotafterayearormoreapartwasacoldlook?

ThenTulgrabbedholdofhim and folded him in acrushing hug. 'You're alive!'Heletgoofhimlongenoughtocheckhehadtherightman,thenhuggedhimagain.

'Aye, I'm alive,' wheezedLogen,justenoughbreathleft

inhimtosayit.Seemedhe'dget one warm welcome, atleast.

Tulwasgrinningalloverhis face. 'Come on.' And hebeckoned Logen after. 'Theladsaregoingtoshit!'

HefollowedTul,hisheartbeating in his mouth, up totheheadofthefire,wherethechief would sit with hisclosest Named Men. And

theretheywere,sataroundonthe ground. Dogman was inthe middle, mutteringsomething quiet to Dow.Grim was on the other side,leaning on one elbow,fiddling with the flights onhis arrows. It was just likenothinghadchanged.

'Got someone here to seeyou, Dogman,' said Tul, hisvoice squeaky from keeping

thesurprisein.'Haveyou,now?'Dogman

peered up at Logen, but hewas hidden in the shadowsbehind Tul's great shoulder.'Can't it wait 'til after we'veeaten?'

'Do you know, I don'tthinkitcan.'

'Why?Whoisit?''Who is it?' Tul grabbed

Logen's shoulder and shovedhim lurching out into thefirelight. 'It's only LogenfuckingNinefingers!'Logen'sboot slid in the mud and henearly pitched on his arse,had towavehis armsaroundall over to keep his balance.The talk around the fire allsputtered out in a momentand every face was turnedtowards him. Two long,

frozenrowsofthem,slackinthe shifting light, no soundbut the sighingwind and thecrackling fire. The Dogmanstaredupathimasthoughhewasseeingthedeadwalk,hismouth hanging wider andwider open with everypassingmoment.

'I thought you was allkilled,' said Logen as he gothis balance back. 'Guess

there's such a thing as beingtoorealistic'

Dogman got to his feet,slowly.Heheldouthishand,andLogentookholdofit.

Therewasnothingtosay.Not for men who'd beenthroughasmuchasthetwoofthem had together—fightingthe Shanka, crossing themountains, getting throughthewars, and after. Years of

it. Dogman pressed his handand Logen slapped his otherhand on top of it, andDogman slapped his otherhand on top of that. Theygrinned at each other, andnodded,andthingswerebackthe way they had been.Nothingneededsaying.

'Grim.Goodtoseeyou.''Uh,' grunted Grim,

handing him up a mug then

looking back to his shafts,just as though Logen hadgone for a piss aminute agoandcomebackaminutelaterlike everyone had expected.Logenhadtogrin.He'dhavehopedfornothingelse.

'That Black Dow hidingdownthere?'

'I'dhavehiddenbetterifIknewyouwerecoming.'Dowlooked Logen up and down

with a grin not entirelywelcoming. 'If it ain'tNinefingershis self.Thoughtyousaidhewentoveracliff?'hebarkedatDogman.

'That'swhatIsaw.''Oh, I went over.' Logen

remembered the wind in hismouth,therockandthesnowturningaroundhim,thecrashas the water crushed hisbreath out. 'I went on over

andIwashedupwhole,moreor less.' Dogmanmade roomfor him on the stretched-outhides by the fire, and he satdown,andtheotherssatnearhim.

Dow was shaking hishead. 'You always was aluckybastardwhenitcametostaying alive. I should'veknownyou'dturnup.'

'I thought the Flatheads

had got you all sure,' saidLogen. 'Howd'yougetoutofthere?'

'Threetrees got us out,'saidDogman.

Tul nodded. 'Led us outand over the mountains, andhuntedthroughtheNorth,andall the way down intoAngland.'

'Squabbling all the way

like a bunch of old women,nodoubt?'

DogmangrinnedacrossatDow. 'There was somemoaningonthetrail.'

'Where's Threetrees now,then?' Logen was lookingforward to having a wordwiththatoldboy.

'Dead,'saidGrim.Logen winced. He'd

guessed that might be theway, since Dogman was incharge. Tul nodded his bighead. 'Died fighting.Leadinga charge, into the Shanka.Diedfightingthat thing.ThatFeared.'

'Bastard fucking thing.'And Dow hawked some spitintothemud.

'WhataboutForley?'

'Dead n'all,' barked Dow.'He went into Carleon, towarnBethod that the Shankawere coming over themountains. Calder had himkilled, just for thesportof it.Bastard!' And he spat again.He'dalwaysbeenagreatoneforspitting,hadDow.

'Dead.' Logen shook hishead. Forley dead, andThreetrees dead, it was a

damnshame.Butitwasn'tsolong since he thought thewhole lot of themwere backinthemud,sofourstillgoingwasquitethebonus,inaway.'Well. Good men both. Thebest, and died well, by thesound of it. As well as mencan,anyway.'

'Aye,' said Tul, lifting upa mug. 'As well as you can.Here'stothedead.'

Theyalldrank in silence,andLogensmackedhislipsatthe taste of beer. Too longaway. 'So, a year gone by,'gruntedDow.'Wedonesomekilling, and we walked adamn long way, and wefoughtinabastardofabattle.We lost twomenandwegotusanewchief.Whatthehellyoubeenupto,Ninefingers?'

'Well…thatthereissome

kind of a tale.' Logenwonderedwhatkind,exactly,and found he wasn't sure. 'Ithought the Shanka got youall, since life's taught me toexpect the worst, so I wentsouth, and I fell in with thiswizard. I went a sort ofjourney with him, across thesea and far away, to findsome kind of a thing, whichwhenwe got there…weren't

there.' It all sounded morethanabitmadnowhesaidit.

'What kind of a thing?'asked Tul, his face allscrewedupwithpuzzlement.

'Do you know what?'Logen sucked at his teeth,tasting of drink. 'I can't saythat I really know.' They alllookedateachotherasiftheyneverheardsuchadamn-foolstory,andLogenhadtoadmit

theyprobablyhadn't. 'Still, ithardlymattersnow.Turnsoutlife ain't quite the bastard Itookitfor.'AndhegaveTulafriendlyclapontheback.

The Dogman puffed outhis cheeks. 'Well, we're gladyou're back, anyway. Guessyou'll be taking your placeagainnow,eh?'

'Myplace?'

'You'llbetakingover,no?I mean to say, you werechief.'

'Used to be, maybe, butI'venoplanstogobacktoit.Seems as if these lads arehappyenoughwiththingsthewaytheyare.'

'But you know a sightmore than me about leadingmen—'

'Idon'tknowthat'safact.Me being in charge neverworked out too well foranyone, now did it? Not forus, not for those who foughtwith us, not for them wefought against.' Logenhunched his shoulders at thememories. 'I'll put my wordin, if you want it, but I'dsooner follow you. I did mytime, and it wasn't a good

one.'Dogman looked like he'd

been hoping for a differentoutcome. 'Well… if you'resure…'

'I'm sure.' And Logenslapped him on the shoulder.'Noteasy,isit,beingchief?'

'No,' grumbled Dogman.'Itbloodyain't.'

'Besides,Ireckonalotof

these lads have been on theother side of an argumentwith me before, and they'renot altogether pleased to seeme.' Logen looked down thefire at the hard faces, heardthemutteringswithhisnamein them, too quiet to tell thematter for sure, but he couldguess that it wasn'tcomplimentary.

'They'llbegladenoughto

haveyoualongside'emwhenthefightingstarts,don'tworryaboutthat.'

'Maybe.'Seemedanawfulshamethathe'dhavetosettokillingbeforefolkwouldgivehimsomuchasanod.Sharplooks came at him from outthedark, flickingawaywhenhe looked back. There wasonly one man, more or less,who met his eye. A big lad

withlonghair,halfwaydownthefire.

'Who's that?' askedLogen.

'Who'swhat?''That lad down there

staringatme.''That there is Shivers.'

Dogman sucked at hispointed teeth. 'He's got a lotof bones, Shivers. Fought

withusafewtimesnow,andhedoesitdamnwell.Firstofall I'll tell you he's a goodmanandweowehim.ThenIought to mention that he'sRattleneck'sson.'

Logen felt a wave ofsickness.'He'swhat?'

'Hisotherson.''Theboy?''Long time ago now, all

that.Boysgrowup.'A long time ago, maybe,

but nothing was forgotten.Logen could see that straightaway. Nothing was everforgotten, up here in theNorth, and he should'veknown better than to think itmight be. 'I should saysomethingtohim.Ifwehaveto fight together… I shouldsaysomething.'

Dogman winced. 'Mightbebetterthatyoudon't.Somewounds are best not pickedat.Eat,andtalktohiminthemorning. Everything soundsfairer inthedaylight.Thatoryoucandecideagainstit.'

'Uh,'gruntedGrim.Logen stood up. 'You're

right, most likely, but it'sbettertodoit—'

'Thantolivewiththefearof it.' Dogman nodded intothe fire. 'You been missed,Logen,andthat'safact.'

'You too, Dogman. Youtoo.'

Hewalked down throughthe darkness, smelly withsmoke and meat and men,alongbehindtheCarlssittingat the fire. He felt themhunching their shoulders,

muttering as he passed. Heknew what they werethinking. The Bloody-Nine,right behind me, and there'snoworsemanintheworldtohave your back to. He couldsee Shiverswatching him alltheway,oneeyecoldthroughhis long hair, lips pressedtogether in a hard line. Hehadaknifeoutforeating,butjust as good for stabbing a

man. Logen watched thefirelightgleamingonitsedgeas he squatted down besidehim.

'So you're the Bloody-Nine.'

Logen grimaced. 'Aye. Ireckon.'

Shivers nodded, stillstaring at him. 'This is whattheBloody-Ninelookslike.'

'Hope you're notdisappointed.'

'Oh no.Notme.Good tohave a face on you, after allthistime.'

Logenlookeddownattheground, trying to think ofsomewaytocomeatit.Somewaytomovehishands,orsethis face, some words thatmightstarttomakethetiniestpart of it right. 'Those were

hard times, back then,' heendedupsaying.

'Harder'nnow?'Logen chewed at his lip.

'Well,maybenot.''Times are always hard, I

reckon,'saidShiversbetweengritted teeth. 'That ain't anexcusefordoingarunnyshit.'

'You're right. There ain'tany excuses for what I did.

I'm not proud of it. Don'tknow what else I can say,except I hope you can put itout of the way, and we canfightsidebyside.'

'I'll be honest with you,'said Shivers, and his voicewas strangled-sounding, likehewastryingnottoshout,ortrying not to cry, or both atonce,maybe.'It'sahardthingto just put behind me. You

killedmybrother,whenyou'dpromisedhimmercy,andyoucuthisarmsandlegsoff,andyou nailed his head onBethod's standard.' Hisknuckles were tremblingwhite round the grip of hisknife, and Logen saw that itwas taking all he had not tostab him in the face, and hedidn't blame him. He didn'tblamehimonebit.'Myfather

neverwasthesameafterthat.He'd nothing in him anymore. I spent a lot of yearsdreaming of killing you,Bloody-Nine.'

Logen nodded, slowly.'Well. You'll never be alonewiththatdream.'

He caught other coldlooksfromacrosstheflames,now.Frowns in theshadows,grim faces in the flickering

light. Men he didn't evenknow,afraidtotheirbones,ornursingscoresagainsthim.Awholelotoffearandawholelotof scores.Hecould countonthefingersofonehandthefolkwhowerepleased toseehim alive. Even missing afinger.Andthiswassupposedtobehissideofthefight.

Dogman had been right.Some wounds are best not

picked at. Logen got up, hisshoulders prickling, andwalked back to the head ofthe fire,where the talk cameeasier.He'dnodoubtShiverswanted to kill him just asmuchasheeverhad,butthatwasnosurprise.

You have to be realistic.No words could ever makerightthethingshe'ddone.

BadDebts

«^»

SuperiorGlokta,

ThoughIbelievethatwehave never been

formally introduced, Ihave heard your namementioned often thesepastfewweeks.Withoutcausingoffence, Ihope,itseemsasifeveryroomI enter you haverecently left,orareduesoon to arrive in, andevery negotiation Iundertakeismademorecomplicated by your

involvement.Althoughouremployersare very much opposedinthisbusiness,thereisno reason why weshould not behave likecivilisedmen. Itmaybethat you and I canhammer out between usan understanding thatwill leave us both withless work and more

progress.Iwillbewaitingforyouat the slaughter-yardnear the Tour Cornerstomorrowmorningfromsix. My apologies forsuch a noisy choice ofspot but I feel ourconversation would bebetterkeptprivate.I daresay that neitheroneofusistobeputoff

by a little ordureunderfoot.

HarlenMorrow,Secretary to HighJusticeMarovia.

Beingkind,theplacestank.Itwould seem that a fewhundredlivepigsdonotsmellsosweetasonewouldexpect.The floor of the shadowy

warehouse was slick withtheirstinkingslurry,thethickair full of their desperatenoise. They honked andsquealed, grunted and jostledeach other in their writhingpens, sensing, perhaps, thatthe slaughterman's knife wasnot sovery faraway.But,asMorrowhadobserved,Gloktawas not one to be put off bythe noise, or the knives, or,

for thatmatter,anunpleasantodour. I spend my dayswading through themetaphorical filth, after all.Why not the real thing? Theslippery footingwasmore ofa problem. He hobbled withtiny steps, his leg burning.Imagine arriving at mymeeting caked in pig dung.Thatwouldhardlyprojecttheright image of fearsome

ruthlessness,wouldit?He saw Morrow now,

leaning on one of the pens.Just like a farmer admiringhis prize-winning herd.Gloktalimpedupbesidehim,boots squelching, wincingand breathing hard, sweattrickling down his back.'Well,Morrow,youknowjusthow to make a girl feelspecial,I'llgiveyouthat.'

Marovia's secretarygrinned up at him, a smallman with a round face andeyeglasses. 'Superior Glokta,may I first say that I havenothing but the highestrespectforyourachievementsin Gurkhul, your methods innegotiation,and—'

'I did not come here toexchange pleasantries,Morrow. If that's all your

business I can think ofsweeter-smellingvenues.'

'And sweeter companionstoo, I do not doubt. Tobusiness, then. These aretryingtimes.'

'I'mwithyouthere.''Change. Uncertainty.

Unease amongst thepeasantry—'

'Alittlemorethanunease,

Iwouldsay,wouldn'tyou?''Rebellion, then. Let us

hope that the ClosedCouncil's trust in ColonelLuthar will be justified, andhewillstoptherebelsoutsidethecity.'

'Iwouldn'ttrusthiscorpseto stop an arrow, but Isuppose the Closed Councilhavetheirreasons.'

'Theyalwaysdo.Though,ofcourse,theydonotalwaysagree with each other.' Theynever agree about anything.It's practically a rule of thedamn institution. 'But it isthose that serve them,' andMorrow peered significantlyover the rims of his eye-glasses,'thatcarrytheburdenfortheirlackofaccord.Ifeelthat we, in particular, have

beensteppingoneachother'stoes rather too much foreitherofourcomfort.'

'Huh,' sneered Glokta,workinghisnumbtoesinsidehisboot. 'Idohopeyour feetaren't too bruised. I couldnever live with myself if Icaused you to limp. Mightyouhaveasolutioninmind?'

'You could say that.' Hesmiled down at the pigs,

watching them squirm andgrunt and clamber over oneanother. 'Wehadhogsonthefarm, where I grew up.'Mercy. Anything but the lifestory. 'It was myresponsibility to feed them.Rising in the morning, soearly itwas still dark, breathsmoking in the cold.'Oh, hepaintsavividpicture!YoungMaster Morrow, up to his

knees in filth, watching hispigs gorge themselves, anddreaming of escape. A bravenewlife intheglitteringcity!Morrow grinned up at him,dim light twinkling on thelensesofhis spectacles. 'Youknow, these things will eatanything.Evencripples.'

Ah.Sothat'sit.It was then that Glokta

became aware of a man

moving furtively towardsthem from the far end of theshed.Aburly-lookingmanina raggedcoat, keeping to theshadows. He had his armpressed tightly by his side,hand tuckedup inhis sleeve.Just as if he were hiding aknifeup there,andnotdoingit very well. Better just towalkupwithasmileonyourface and the knife in plain

view. There are a hundredreasonstocarryabladeinaslaughterhouse.Buttherecanonlyeverbeonereasontotryandhideone.

He glanced over hisshoulder,wincingashisneckclicked. Another man, muchlikethefirst,wascreepingupfrom that direction. Gloktaraised his eyebrows. 'Thugs?Howveryunoriginal.'

'Unoriginal,perhaps,butIthinkyouwillfindthemquiteeffective.'

'So I'm to be slaughteredin the slaughterhouse, eh,Morrow? Butchered at thebutchers! Sand dan Glokta,breaker of hearts, winner ofthe Contest, hero of theGurkish war, shat out thearses of a dozen differentpigs!' He snorted with

laughter and had to wipesomesnotoffhistoplip.

'I'msogladyouenjoytheirony,' muttered Morrow,lookingslightlyputout.

'Oh, I do. Fed to theswine. So obvious I canhonestly say it's not what Iexpected.' He gave a longsigh. 'But not expected andnotplannedforare twoquitedifferentthings.'

The bowstring made nosoundovertheclamourofthehogs.Thethugseemedatfirstto slip, to drop his shiningknife and fall on his side forno reason. Then Glokta sawtheboltpokingfromhisside.Not too great a surprise, ofcourse, and yet it alwaysseemslikemagic.

Thehiredmanattheotherend of the warehouse took a

shocked step back, neverseeing Practical Vitari slipsilently over the rail of theemptypenbehindhim.Therewas a flash of metal in thedarkness as she slashed thetendons at the back of hisknee and brought him down,hiscryquicklyshutoffasshepulled her chain tight roundhisneck.

Severard dropped down

easily from the rafters off toGlokta's left and squelchedinto the muck. He saunteredover, flatbow across hisshoulder, kicked the fallenknife off into the darknessand looked down at themanhe had shot. 'I owe you fivemarks,' he called to Frost.'Missed his heart, damn it.Liver,maybe?'

'Lither,' grunted the

albino, emerging from theshadowsat thefarendof thewarehouse. The manstruggled up to his knees,clutchingat theshaft throughhis side, twisted face halfcrustedwithfilth.Frost liftedhis stick as he passed anddealt him a crunching blowon the back of the head,putting a sharp end to hiscries and knocking him face

down in the muck. Vitari,meanwhile, had wrestled herman onto the floor and waskneeling on his back,dragging at the chain roundhisneck.Hisstrugglinggrewweaker, and weaker, andstopped. A little more deadmeat on the floor of theslaughterhouse.

Glokta looked back toMorrow. 'Howquicklythings

can change, eh,Harlen?Oneminute everyone wants toknow you. The next?' Hetapped sadly at his uselessfootwith thefilthy toeofhiscane. 'You're fucked. It's atoughlesson.'Ishouldknow.

Marovia's secretarybacked away, tongue dartingover his lips, one hand heldoutinfrontofhim.'Nowholdon—'

'Why?'Gloktapushedouthisbottomlip.'Doyoureallythink we can grow to loveeach other again after allthis?'

'Perhaps we can come tosome—'

'I'm not upset that youtried to killme.But tomakesuch a pathetic effort at it?We'reprofessionals,Morrow.It'saninsult,thatyouthought

thismightwork.''I'm hurt,' muttered

Severard.'Wounded,' sang Vitari,

chainjinglinginthedarkness.'Deethly othended,'

grunted Frost, herdingMorrow back towards thepen.

'YoushouldhavestucktolickingHoffs big drunk arse.

Or maybe you should havestayedonthefarm,withyourpigs.Toughwork,perhaps,intheearlymorning,andsoon.Butit'saliving.'

'Justwait!Justwuurgh—'Severard grabbed

Morrow's shoulder frombehind, stabbed him throughthe side of his neck andchopped his throat out ascalmlyas ifhewasguttinga

fish.Blood showered over

Glokta's boots and hestumbled back, wincing aspain shot up his ruined leg.'Shit!' he hissed through hisgums, nearly stumbling andfallingonhisarseinthefilth,onlymanagingtostayuprightbyclingingdesperatelytothefence beside him. 'Couldn'tyoujusthavestrangledhim?'

Severardshrugged. 'Sameresult,isn'tit?'Morrowslidtohisknees,eye-glassesskewedacross his face, one handclutching at his cut neckwhile bloodbubbledout intohisshirtcollar.

Glokta watched the clerktip onto his back, one legkicking at the floor, hisscraping heel leaving longstreaks in the stinkingmuck.

Alasforthepigsonthefarm.They will never now seeyoung master Morrowcoming back over the hill,returnedfromhisbravelifeinthe glittering city, his breathsmoking in the cold, coldmorning…

The secretary'sconvulsionsgrewgentler,andgentler, and he lay still.Glokta clung to the rail for a

moment,watchingthecorpse.When was it exactly that Ibecame… this? By smalldegrees, I suppose. One actpresses hard upon another,onapathwehavenochoicebut to follow, and each timethere are reasons. We dowhatwemust,wedowhatweare told, we do what iseasiest.What else canwe dobutsolveonesordidproblem

at a time? Then one day welook up and find that weare…this.

He looked at the bloodgleaming on his boot,wrinkled his nose andwipeditoffonMorrow'strouserleg.Ah, well. I would love tospend more time onphilosophy, but I haveofficials to bribe, andnoblemen to blackmail, and

votes to rig, and secretariesto murder, and lovers tothreaten. So many knives tojuggle.Andasoneclatterstothe filthy floor,anothermustgo up, blade spinning razorsharp above our heads. Itnevergetsanyeasier.

'Our magical friends arebackintown.'

Severard lifted his maskand scratched behind it. 'The

Magi?''TheFirstof thebastards,

noless,andhisboldcompanyof heroes. Him, and hisslinking apprentice, and thatwoman. The Navigator too.Keepaneyeonthem,andseeif there's a piglet we canseparate from the herd. It'shightimeweknewwhattheywereabout.Doyoustillhaveyour charming house, by the

water?''Ofcourse.''Good. Perhaps for once

wecangetaheadofthegame,and when his Eminencedemands answers we canhavethemtohand.'AndIcanfinallyearnapatontheheadfrommymaster.

'What shall we do withthese?' asked Vitari, jerking

her spiky head towards thecorpses.

Glokta sighed. 'The hogswilleatanything,apparently.'

ThecitywasgrowingdarkasGloktadraggedhisruinedlegthrough the emptying streetsand up towards the Agriont.Theshopkeeperswereclosingtheir doors, the householders

were lighting their lamps,candlelight spilling out intothe dusky alleyways throughchinks around the shutters.Happy families settling downto happy dinners, no doubt.Loving fathers with theirlovely wives, their adorablechildren, their full andmeaningfullives.Myheartfeltcongratulations.

He pressed his remaining

teeth intohis soregumswiththe effort of maintaining hispace, sweat starting todampen his shirt, his legburningmore andmore withevery lurching step. But I'mnot stopping for this uselesslumpofdeadmeat. The paincrept up from ankle to knee,fromkneetohip,fromhipallthe way up his twisted spineand into his skull. All this

effort just to kill a mid-leveladministrator, who workednomorethanafewbuildingsaway from the House ofQuestions in any case. It's adamn waste of my time, iswhatitis,it'sadamn—

'SuperiorGlokta?'A man had stepped up,

respectfully, his face inshadow. Glokta squinted athim.'DoI—'

It was well done, therewasnodenyingit.Hewasnoteven aware of the othermanuntil the bag was over hisheadandoneofhisarmswastwisted behind his back,pushing him helplesslyforward. He stumbled,fumbledhiscaneandhearditclattertothecobbles.

'Aargh!' A searing spasmshot through his back as he

tried unsuccessfully to draghis arm free, and he wasforced to hang limp, gaspingwithpaininsidethebag.Inamoment they had his wriststied and he felt a powerfulhand shoved under each ofhis armpits.Hewasmarchedaway with great speed, oneman on each side, his feetbarely scraping on thecobbles as they went. The

fastest I've walked in a goodlong while, anyway. Theirgripwasnotrough,butitwasirresistible.Professionals. Analtogetherbetterclassofthugthan Morrow stretched to.Whoever ordered this is nofool.Sowhodidorderit?

Sult himself, or one ofSult's enemies? One of hisrivals in the race for thethrone? High Justice

Marovia? Lord Brock?Anyone on the entire OpenCouncil? Or could it be theGurkish? They have neverbeen my closest friends. Thebanking house of Valint andBalk, perhaps, chosen finallytocall in theirdebt?Might Ihave seriously misjudgedyoungCaptainLuthar, even?Or could it simply beSuperior Goyle, no longer

keentosharehisjobwiththecripple? Itwas quite the list,now that he was forced toconsiderit.

He heard the footfallsslappingaroundhim.Narrowalleys. He had no idea howfartheyhadcome.Hisbreathechoed in the bag, rasping,throaty.Theheartthumps,theskinprickleswithcoldsweat.Excited. Scared, even. What

might they want with me?Peoplearenotsnatchedfromthestreetinordertobegivenpromotions, or confections,or tender kisses, more's thepity. I know why people aresnatchedfromthestreet.Fewbetter.

Down a set of steps, thetoes of his boots scuffinghelplessly against the treads.The sound of a heavy door

being heaved shut. Footstepsechoing in a tiled corridor.Anotherdoorclosing.Hefelthimself dumpedunceremoniously in a chair.Andnow,nodoubt,forbetterorworse,weshallfindout…

The bag was snatchedsuddenly from his head andGlokta blinked as harsh lightstabbed at his eyes. A whiteroom, toobright forcomfort.

A type of roomwith which Iam sadly familiar. And yet itlooks so much uglier fromthis side of the table.Someone was sittingopposite. Or the blurryoutline of a someone. Heclosed one eye and peeredthroughtheotherashisvisionadjusted.

'Well,' he murmured.'Whatasurprise.'

'Apleasantone,Ihope.''I suppose we'll see.'

Carlot dan Eider hadchanged. And it would seemthat exile has not entirelydisagreed with her. Her hairhad grown back, not all theway, perhaps, but more thanfar enough to manage afetching style. The bruisesround her throat had faded,there were only the very

faintest of marks where hercheek had been covered inscabs. She had swappedtraitor's sack-cloth for thetravellingclothesofaladyofmeans, and lookedextremelywellinthem.Jewelstwinkledonherfingers,andaroundherneck.Sheseemedeverybitasrich and sleek as when theyfirst met. That, and she wassmiling. The smile of the

player who holds all thecards.Whyisit thatIcannotlearn?Neverdoagoodturn.Especiallynotforawoman.

A small pair of scissorslay on the table before her,withineasyreach.Ofthetypethat rich women use to trimtheir nails. But just as goodfortrimmingtheskinfromthesoles of a man's feet, fortrimming his nostrils wider,

for trimming his ears off,stripbyslowstrip…

Glokta found it decidedlydifficult to move his eyesaway from those polishedlittle blades, shining in thebright lamplight. 'I thought Itoldyounevertocomeback,'he said, but his voice lackeditscustomaryauthority.

'You did. But then Ithought… why ever not? I

have assets in the city that Iwasnotwilling to relinquish,and some businessopportunities that I am keento take advantage of.' Shetookupthescissors, trimmedthe thinnest scrap from thecorner of one alreadyperfectly-shaped thumbnail,and frowned at the results.'And it's hardly as thoughyou'll be telling anyone I'm

here,now,isit?''My concerns for your

safety are all laid to rest,'gruntedGlokta.My concernsfor my own, alas, grow witheverymoment.Amanisneverso crippled, after all, that hecould not be more so. 'Didyou really need to go to allthistroublejusttoshareyourtravelarrangements?'

Hersmilegrewsomewhat

broader, if anything. 'I hopemymendidn'thurtyou.Ididaskthemtobegentle.Atleastforthetimebeing.'

'A gentle kidnapping isstill a kidnapping, though,don'tyoufind?'

'Kidnapping is such anugly word. Why don't wethink of it as an invitationdifficult to resist? At least Ilet you keep your clothes,

no?''Thatparticularfavourisa

mercytousboth,believeme.Aninvitationtowhat,mightIask, beyond a painfulmanhandling and a briefconversation?'

'I'm hurt that you needmore. But there wassomething else, since youmention it.' She pared awayanothersliverofnailwithher

scissors, and her eyes rolledup to his. 'A little debt leftover, from Dagoska. I fearthat I will not sleep easilyuntilitisrepaid.'

A few weeks in a blackcell and a choking to thepointofdeath?What formofrepayment might that earnme? 'Please, then,' hissedGlokta throughhis gums, hiseyelid flickering as he

watched those blades snip,snip, snip. 'I can scarcelystandthesuspense.'

'TheGurkisharecoming.'Hepaused for amoment,

wrong-footed.'Cominghere?''Yes. To Midderland. To

Adua. To you. They havebuilt a fleet, in secret. Theybeganbuildingitafterthelastwar, and now it is complete.

Ships to rival anything theUnion has.' She tossed herscissors down on the tableandgavealongsigh.'OrsoIhear.'

TheGurkish fleet, just asmy midnight visitor Yulweitoldme.Rumoursandghosts,perhaps.Butrumoursarenotalways lies. 'When will theyarrive?'

'I reallycouldn't say.The

mounting of such anexpedition is acolossalworkof organisation. But then theGurkishhavealwaysbeensovery much better organisedthan us. That's what makesdoing business with themsuchapleasure.'

My own dealings withthem have been less thandelightful, but still. 'In whatnumberswilltheycome?'

'A very great number, Iimagine.'

Glokta snorted. 'ForgivemeifI regardthewordsofaproven traitor with a certainscepticism, especially as youareratherthinonthedetails.'

'Haveityourway.You'rehere to be warned, notconvinced. I owe you thatmuch, I think, for givingmemylife.'

How wonderfully old-fashionedofyou. 'Andthatisall?'

She spread her hands.'Canaladynottrimhernailswithoutgivingoffence?'

'Could you not simplyhave written?' snappedGlokta, 'and spared me thechafingonmyunder-arms?'

'Oh, come now. You

never struckme as aman tobridle at a little chafing.Besides, it has given us thechancetorenewathoroughlyenjoyable friendship. Andyou have to allow me mylittle moment of triumph,after what you put methrough.'

I suppose that I can. I'vehad less charming threats,and at least she has better

tastethantomeetinapigsty.'I can simply walk away,then?'

'Did anyone pick up acane?' No one spoke. Eidergave a happy smile, showingGlokta her perfect whiteteeth. 'You can crawl away,then.Howdoesthatsound?'

Betterthanfloatingtothetop of the canal after a fewdays on the bottom, bloated

up likeagreatpale slugandsmellinglikeallthegravesinthecity.'AsgoodasI'llget,Isuppose.Idowonder,though.WhatistostopmehavingmyPracticals follow the scentofexpensive perfume after wearedonehereandfinishwhattheystarted?'

'It is so very like you tosaysuchathing.'Shesighed.'I should inform you that an

old and trustworthy businessacquaintance of mine has asealedletterinhispossession.In the event of my death, itwill be sent to the ArchLector, laying out to him theexact nature of my sentenceinDagoska.'

Glokta sucked sourly athis gums. Just what I need,another knife to juggle. 'Andwhat will occur if, entirely

independently from myactions, you succumb to therot?Orahousefallsonyou?Or you choke on a slice ofbread?'

Sheopenedhereyesverywide, as though the thoughthad only just occurred. 'Inany of those cases… Isuppose…theletterwouldbesent anyway, despite yourinnocence.' She gave a

helpless laugh. 'The world isnothinglikeasfairaplaceasit should be, in my opinion,andIdaresaythat thenativesof Dagoska, the enslavedmercenaries, and thebutcheredUnionsoldierswhoyoumade fight for your lostcause would concur.' Shesmiled as sweetly as if theywere discussing gardening.'Thingswould probably have

been far simpler for you ifyou'd hadme strangled, afterall.'

'Youreadmymind.'Butitis far too late now. I did agoodthing,andso,ofcourse,thereisapricetobepaid.

'Sotellme,beforewepartwaysagain,forwhat,wecanboth only hope, will be thelast time—are you involvedwith this business of the

vote?'Gloktafelthiseyetwitch.

'My duties would seem totouch upon it.' Indeed itoccupies my every wakinghour.

Carlot dan Eider leanedforward to a conspiratorialdistance, her elbows on thetable, her chin in her hands.'Whowillbethenextkingofthe Union, do you suppose?

Will itbeBrock?Isher?Willitbesomeoneelse?'

'A little early to say. I'mworkingonit.'

'Off you hobble, then.'She pushed out her bottomlip.'Andit'sprobablybetterifyou don't mention ourmeetingtohisEminence.'Shenodded, and Glokta felt thebagforcedbackoverhisface.

ARaggedMultitude

«^»

Jezal's command post, if youcould use the phrase in

relation to a man as utterlyconfused and clueless as hefelt,wasatthecrestofalongrise. It offered a splendidview of the shallow valleybelow.Atleast,itwouldhavebeen a splendid view inhappier times. As thingsstood, it had to be admitted,the spectacle was far frompleasant.

The main body of the

rebels entirely coveredseveral large fields furtherdown the valley, and a dark,and grubby, and threateninginfestation they seemed,glinting in placeswith brightsteel. Farming implementsand tradesman's tools,perhaps,butsharpones.

Evenatthisdistancetherewas disturbing evidence oforganisation.Straight,regular

gaps through themen for thequick movement ofmessengers and supplies. Itwas plain, even to Jezal'sunpractisedeye, that thiswasas much an army as a mob,andthatsomeonedownthereknew his business. A greatdeal better than he did,mostlikely.

Smaller, less organisedgroups of rebels were

scattered far andwide acrossthe landscape, each one aconsiderable body in its ownright. Men sent foraging forfood and water, picking thecountry clean. That crawlingblackmassonthegreenfieldsreminded Jezal of a horde ofblack ants crawling over apile of discarded applepeelings. He had not theslightest idea how many of

themtherewere,butitlookedat this distance as thoughforty thousand might havebeen a considerableunderestimate.

Downinthevillageinthebottom of the valley, behindthemainmassofrebels,fireswere burning. Bonfires orbuildings it was hard to say,but Jezal rather feared thelatter. Three tall columns of

dark smoke rose up anddrifted apart high above,giving to the air a faint andworryingtangoffire.

It was a commander'splace to set a tone offearlessness which his menwouldnotbeabletohelpbutfollow. Jezal knew that, ofcourse. And yet, lookingdownthatlong,slopingfield,he could not help but reflect

on the very great number ofmen at the other end, soominously purposeful. Hecould not stop his eyes fromdarting back towards theirown lines, so thin, meagre,and uncertain-seeming. Hecould not avoid wincing andtugging uncomfortably at hiscollar. The damn thing stillfeltfartootight.

'How do you wish the

regiments deployed, sir?'asked his adjutant, MajorOpker, with a look whichsomehowmanagedtobebothcondescending andsycophanticallatonce.

'Deployed? Er… well…'Jezal racked his brains forsomething vaguelyappropriate, let alonecorrect,to say. He had discoveredearly in his military career

that if one has an effectiveand experienced officerabove,coupledwitheffectiveand experienced soldiersbelow, one need do, andknow, nothing. This strategyhad stood him in fine steadfor several comfortablepeacetime years, but its oneshortcomingwasnowstarklylaidbare. If by somemiracleone rises to complete

command, the systemcollapsesentirely.

'Deployed…' he growled,furrowinghisbrowandtryingtogivetheimpressionhewassurveying theground, thoughhehadonlyahazyideawhatthat even meant. 'Infantry indouble line…' he ventured,remembering a fragment ofsome storyCollemWest hadonce told him. 'Behind this

hedgerow here.' And heslashedhisbatonportentouslyacrossthelandscape.Theuseof a baton, at least, he wasexpert in, having practicedextensivelybeforethemirror.

'Infrontofthehedgerow,theColonelmeans to say, ofcourse,' threw in Bayazsmoothly. 'Infantry deployedindoublelinetoeithersideofthat milestone. The light

cavalry in the trees there,heavy cavalry in awedge onthe far flank,where they canuse the open field to theiradvantage.' He displayed anuncanny familiarity withmilitary parlance. 'Flatbowsin a single line behind thehedgerow where they will atfirst be hidden from theenemy, and can give themplunging fire from the high

ground.' He winked at Jezal.'An excellent strategy,Colonel,ifImaysay.'

'Of course,' sneeredOpker, turning away to givetheorders.

Jezal gripped tight to hisbaton behind his back,rubbing nervously at his jawwith the other hand.Evidently there was a lotmore to command than

simply being called 'sir' byeveryone. He would reallyhave to read some bookswhenhegotbacktoAdua.Ifhegotback.

Three small dots haddetachedthemselvesfromthecrawling mass of humanitydowninthevalleyandstartedmoving up the rise towardthem. Shading his eyes withhishand, Jezalcould just see

a shred of white moving intheairabovethem.Aflagofparley. He felt Bayaz'decidedly uncomforting handonhisshoulder.

'Don'tworry,myboy,weare well prepared forviolence.But I feelconfidentit will not come to that.' Hegrinneddownatthevastmassof men below. 'Veryconfident.'

Jezal ardently wished hecouldhavesaidthesame.

For a famous demagogue,traitor, and inciter of riots,therewasnothingintheleastremarkable about the manknown as theTanner.He satcalmly inhis foldingchairatthe table in Jezal's tent, anordinaryfaceunderamopofcurly hair, aman ofmedium

size in a coat ofunexceptional style andcolour,agrinonhisfacethatimplied he knew very wellthatheheldtheupperhand.

'TheycallmetheTanner,'he said, 'and I have beennominated to speak for theallianceoftheoppressed,andthe exploited, and the put-upon down in the valley.Thesearetwoofmypartners

in this righteous and entirelypatriotic venture. My twogenerals, one might say.Goodman Hood,' and henodded sideways at a burlyman with a shovel beard, aruddy complexion, and aseething frown, 'and CotterHoist,'andhejerkedhisheadthe other way towards aweasellytypewithalongscaronhischeekandalazyeye.

'Honoured,' said Jezalwarily, though they lookedmore like brigands thanGenerals as far as he wasconcerned. 'I am ColonelLuthar.'

'Iknow.IsawyouwintheContest. Fine swordplay, myfriend,veryfine.'

'Oh,well, er…' Jezalwascaught off guard, 'thank you.This is my adjutant, Major

Opker, and this is… Bayaz,theFirstoftheMagi.'

Goodman Hood snortedhis disbelief, but the Tanneronly stroked thoughtfully athis lip. 'Good.Andyouhavecometofight,ornegotiate?'

'Wehave come for eitherone.' Jezal embarked on hisstatement. 'The ClosedCouncil, while condemningthe method of your

demonstration, concede thatyou may have legitimatedemands—'

Hood made a rumblingsnort.'Whatchoicehavetheygot,thebastards?'

Jezal pressed on. 'Well,er… they have instructedmeto offer you theseconcessions.' He held up thescroll thatHoff had preparedfor him, a huge thing with

elaborately carved handlesandasealthesizeofasaucer.'But I must caution you,'doing his very best to soundconfident, 'shouldyourefuse,we are quite ready to fight,and thatmymenare thebesttrained, best armed, bestprepared in the King'sservice. Each one of them isworthtwentyofyourrabble.'

The burly farmer gave a

threatening chuckle. 'LordFinsterthoughtthesame,andour rabblekickedhisarsealltheway from one end of hisestatestotheother.Hewouldhavegothimselfhungforhistrouble if he'd had a slowerhorse.Howfastisyourhorse,Colonel?'

The Tanner touched himgently on the shoulder.'Peace, now,my fiery friend.

We came to get terms, ifwecan get termswe can accept.Why not show us what youhavethere,Colonel,andwe'llsee if there is any need forthreats.'

JezalheldouttheweightydocumentandHoodsnatchedit angrily fromhishand, toreitopenandbegantoread,thethick paper crackling as itunrolled. The more he read,

thegrimmergrewhisfrown.'An insult!' he snapped

when he was done, givingJezal a brooding stare.'Lighter taxes and some shitabout the use of commonland? And that much they'llmostlikelyneverhonour!'Hetossed the scroll sideways tothe Tanner, and Jezalswallowed. He had not theleanest understanding of the

concessions or their possibleshortcomings, of course, butHood's response hardlyseemed to promise an earlyagreement.

TheTanner's eyesmovedlazily over the parchment.Different-colouredeyes,Jezalnoticed: one blue, one green.Whenhegottothebottomhelaid the document down andgave a theatrical sigh. 'These

termswilldo.''They will?' Jezal's eyes

opened wide with surprise,but nowhere near as far asGoodmanHood's.

'But these areworse thanthe last terms we wereoffered!' shouted the farmer.'BeforewesentFinster'smenrunning! You said then wecouldacceptnothingbutlandforeveryman!'

The Tanner screwed hisfaceup.'Thatwasthen.'

'Thatwas then?'mutteredHood, gaping with disbelief.'What happened to honestwagesforhonestwork?Whathappened to shares in theprofit? What happened toequal rights no matter thecost? You stood there, andyoupromisedme!'Heshovedhis hand towards the valley.

'You promised all of them!What's changed, except thatAdua'swithinourgrasp?Wecantakeallwewant!Wecan—'

'Isaythesetermswilldo!'snarled the Tanner with asuddenfury.'Unlessyoucareto fight the King's men onyour own! They follow me,Hood, not you, in case youhadn'tnoticed.'

'But you promised usfreedom, for every man! Itrusted you!' The farmer'sface hung slack with horror.'Wealltrustedyou.'

Jezal had never seen aman look so utterlyindifferent as the Tanner didnow. 'I suppose I must havethat kind of face that peopletrust,' he droned, and hisfriend Hoist shrugged and

staredathisfingernails.'Damn you, then! Damn

you all!' And Hood turnedand shoved angrily outthroughthetentflap.

JezalwasawareofBayazleaning sideways to whisperto Major Opker. 'Have thatmanarrestedbeforeheleavesthelines.'

'Arrested,myLord,but…

underaflagofparley?''Arrested,placed in irons,

and conducted to the Houseof Questions. A shred ofwhite cloth can be no hidingplacefromtheKing's justice.I believe Superior Goyle ishandlingtheinvestigations.'

'Er… of course.' Opkerrose to follow the Goodmanout of the tent, and Jezalsmiled nervously. There was

nodoubt that theTannerhadheard the exchange, but hegrinned on as though thefuture of his erstwhilecompanionwasnolongeranyofhisconcern.

'I must apologise for myassociate. In a matter likethis, you can't pleaseeveryone.' He gave aflamboyantwaveofhishand.'Butdon'tworry. I'll give the

littlepeopleabigspeech,andtell them we have all wefoughtfor,andthey'llsoonbeoff back to their homeswithnorealharmdone.Somefewwill be determined to maketrouble perhaps, but I'm sureyou can round them upwithout much effort, eh,ColonelLuthar?'

'Er… well,' mumbledJezal, left without the

slightest idea of what wasgoing on. 'I suppose that we—'

'Excellent.' The Tannersprang to his feet. 'I fear Imustnow takemy leave.Allkinds of errands to be about.Neveranypeace,eh,ColonelLuthar? Never the slightestpeace.' He exchanged a longglance with Bayaz, thenducked out into the daylight

andwasgone.'If anyone should ask,'

murmured the First of theMagi in Jezal's ear, 'I wouldtell themthat itwasa testingnegotiation,againstsharpanddetermined opponents, butthat you held your nerve,reminded them of their dutytokingandcountry,imploredthem to return to their fields,andsoforth.'

'But…' Jezal felt like hewanted to cry, he was sobaffled. Hugely baffled andhugelyrelievedatonce.'ButI—'

'If anyone should ask.'Therewas an edge toBayaz'voicethatimpliedtheepisodewasnowfinishedwith.

BelovedoftheMoon

«^»

TheDogmanstood,squintingintothesun,andwatchedthe

Union lads all shuffling pastthe other way. There's acertain look the beaten get,after a fight. Slow-moving,hunched-up, mud-spattered,mightily interested in theground. Dogman had seenthatlookbeforeoftenenough.He'd had it himself more'nonce. Sorrowful they'd lost.Shamed they'd been beaten.Guilty, to have given up

without getting a wound.Dogman knew how that felt,and a gnawing feeling itcouldbe,butguiltwasasightlesspainful thanasword-cut,andhealedasightquicker.

Some of the hurt weren'tso badly off. Bandaged orsplinted, limpingwitha stickor with their arm round amate's shoulders. Enough toget light duty for a few

weeks. Others weren't solucky. Dogman thought heknewone.An officer, hardlyold enough for a beard, hissmooth face all twisted upwith white pain and shock,his leg off just above theknee, his clothes, and thestretcher, and the two mencarryinghim,allspeckedandspatteredwithdarkblood.Hewas theonewho'dsaton the

gate, when Dogman andThreetrees had first come toOstenhormtojoinupwiththeUnion.Theonewho'dlookedat'emliketheywereapairofturds.Hedidn'tsoundsoveryclever now, squealing witheveryjoltofhisstretcher,butit hardly made the Dogmansmile. Losing a leg seemedlike harsh punishment for asneeringmanner.

West was down there bythepath, talkingtoanofficerwith a dirty bandage roundhis head. Dogman couldn'thear what they were saying,but he could guess the gist.Fromtimetotimeoneof'emwould point up towards thehills they'd come from. Asteep and nasty-looking pair,wooded mostly, with a fewhard faces of bare rock

showing. West turned andcaughttheDogman'seye,andhis face was grim as agravedigger's.Ithardlytookaquickmindtoseethatthewarweren'twonquiteyet.

'Shit,' muttered theDogman,underhisbreath.Hefeltthatsuckingfeelinginhisgut.Thatlowfeelingheusedto get whenever he had toscout out a new piece of

ground, whenever Threetreescalledforweapons,wheneverthere was nothing forbreakfastbutcoldwater.

Since he was chief,though, he seemed to have itpretty much all the time.Everything was his problemnow.'Nothingdoing?'

Westshookhisheadashewalked up. 'Bethod waswaiting for us, and in

numbers.He'sduginonthosehills. Well dug in and wellprepared, between us andCarleon.More than likely hewas ready for this before heevencrossedtheborder.'

'He always did like to beready, did Bethod. No wayroundhim?'

'Kroy's tried both theroads and had twomaulings.Now Poulder's tried the hills

headonandhadaworseone.'Dogman sighed. 'Noway

round.''No way that won't give

Bethodanicechancetostickthekniferightintous.'

'And Bethod won't bemissing no chance like that.It'swhathe'llbehopingfor.'

'TheLordMarshalagrees.He wants you to take your

mennorth.'Westglaredoutatthe grey whispers of otherhills, further off. 'He wantsyou to look for a weakness.There's no way Bethod cancoverthewholerange.'

'Is there not?' askedDogman. 'I guess we'll see.'Then he headed off into thetrees.Theboysweregoingtolovethis.

He strode up the track,

soon came up on where hiscrewwere campedout.Theywere growing all the time.Might've been four hundrednow,allcounted,andatoughcrowdtoo.Thosewho'dnevermuchcaredforBethodinthefirst place, mostly, who'dfought against him in thewars. Who'd fought againsttheDogman aswell, for thatmatter. The woods were

chokedupwith'em,satroundfires, cooking, polishing atweaponsandworkingatgear,a couple having a practice ateach other with blades.Dogmanwincedat thesoundof steel clashing. There'd bemore of that later, and withbloodier results, he didn'tdoubt.

'Chief!' they shouted athim. 'Dogman! The chief!

Heyhey!'Theyclapped theirhands and tapped theirweaponsontherockstheysaton.Dogman held up his fist,and gave the odd half-grin,and said 'aye, good, good,'and all that. He still didn'thavetheslightestcluehowtoactlikeachief,ifthetruthbetold, so he just acted like healways had. The band allseemed happy enough,

though. He guessed theyalwaysdid.Until theystartedlosing fights, and decidedtheywantedanewchief.

He came up on the firewhere thepickofhisNamedMen were passing the day.NosignofLogen,buttherestof the old crew were satround it, looking bored.Those that were still alive,leastways. Tul saw him

coming.'TheDogman'sback.''Uh,' saidGrim, trimming

atsomefeatherswitharazor.Dow was busy mopping

grease out of a pan with achunko'bread.

'How'd the Union get onwiththemhills,then?'Andhehad a sneer to his voice thatsaid he knew the answeralready. 'Makea shit from it,

didthey?''Well, they came out

second, if that's what you'reasking.'

'Second o' two sides iswhatIcallshit.'

Dogman took a deepbreath and let it pass.'Bethod's dug in good,watching the roads toCarleon. No one can see an

easyway to come at him, oran easy way around himneither. He was good andreadyforthis,Ireckon.'

'I could've bloody toldyou that!' barked Dow,spraying out greasy crumbs.'He'll haveLittlebone on oneo' themhills, andWhitesideson the other, then he'll havePale-as-Snow and Goringfurther out. Those fourwon't

be giving anyone anychances,butiftheydecideto,Bethod'll be sat behind withthe rest, and hisShanka, andhis fucking Feared, ready tosnuff'emoutdouble-time.'

'More'n likely.' Tul heldhis sword up to the light,peered at it, then set topolishing up the blade again.'Always liked tohaveaplan,didBethod.'

'And what do them thathold our leash have to say?'sneered Dow. 'What sort ofwork'stheFuriousgotforhisanimals?'

'Burr wants us to movenorth a way, through thewoods, see if Bethod's left aweakspotupthere.'

'Huh,' snorted Dow.'Bethod ain't in the habit ofleavingholes.Notunlesshe's

left one he means for us tofall into. Fall into and breakournecks.'

'Well I guess we'd betterbe careful where we treadthen,eh?'

'Morebloodyerrands.'Dogmanreckonedhewas

gettingaboutassickofDow'smoaning as Threetrees usedto be. 'And just what else

would it be, eh? That's whatlifeis.Abunchoferrands.Ifyou're worth a shit you doyour best at 'em. What's gotupyourarseanyway?'

'This!' Dow jerked hishead into the trees. 'Just this!Nothing'schangedthatmuch,has it?Wemightbeover theWhiteflow, and back in theNorth, but Bethod's dug ingood and proper up there,

withnowayfortheUniontoget round him that won'tleave theirarseshangingout.Andiftheydoknockhimoffthemhills,whatthen?IftheygettoCarleonandtheygetin,and theyburn it just as goodas Ninefingers did the lasttime, so what? Don't meannothing.Bethod'llkeepgoing,just like he always does,fightingandfallingback,and

there'll always be more hillsto sit on, and more tricks toplay.Time'llcome,theUnionwill have had their fill andthey'll piss off south andleave us to it. ThenBethod'sgoing to turn around, andwhat d'you know? He'll betheonechasingusallthewayacross the fuckingNorth andback. Winter, summer,winter,summer,andit'smore

ofthesameoldshit.Hereweare, fewer of us than thereused to be, but still pissingaround in the woods. Feelfamiliar?'

It did, somewhat, now itwas mentioned, but Dogmandidn't see what he could doabout it. 'Logen's back, now,eh?That'llhelp.'

Dowsnortedagain. 'Hah!Just when did the Bloody-

Ninebringanythingbutdeathalongwithhim?'

'Steadynow,'gruntedTul.'You owe him, remember?Wealldo.'

'There'sa limitonwhataman should owe, I reckon.'Dow tossedhispandownbythe fire and stoodup,wipinghis hands on his coat.'Where'shebeen,eh?Heleftusupinthevalleyswithouta

word,didn'the?LeftustotheFlatheads and pissed offhalfway across the world!Who'stosayhewon'twanderoffagain,ifitsuitshim,orgoover to Bethod, or set tomurder over nothing, or thedeadknowwhat?'

Dogman looked at Tul,and Tul looked back, guilty.They'd all seen Logen dosomedamndarkwork,when

the mood was on him. 'Thatwas a long time ago,' saidTul.'Thingschange.'

Dow only grinned. 'No.They don't. Tell yourselvesthattaleifitmakesyousleepeasier,butI'llbekeepingoneeyeopen, Ican tellyou that!It's the Bloody-Nine we'retalking of.Who knows whathe'lldonext?'

'I've one idea.' The

Dogman turned round andsaw Logen, leaning upagainst a tree, and he wasstartingtosmilewhenhesawthe look in his eye. A lookDogman remembered fromway back, and dragged allkind of ugly memories upafter it. That look the deadhave,whenthelife'sgoneoutof 'em, and they care fornothinganymore.

'You got a thing to saythen you can say it to myface,Ireckon.'Logenwalkedup, right up close to Dow,with his head falling on oneside, scars all pale on hishanging-down face. TheDogman felt the hairs on hisarmsstandingup,coldfeelingeven though the sun waswarm.

'Come on, Logen,'

wheedledTul,tryingtosoundlike the whole business wasalla laughwhen itwasplainasaslowdeathitwasnosuchthing. 'Dow didn't meannothingbyit.He'sjust—'

Logen spoke right overhim, staringDow in the facewith his corpse's eyes all thelongwhile. 'I thoughtwhenIgave you the last lesson thatyou'dneverneedanother.But

I guess some folk have shortmemories.' He came in evencloser, so close that theirfaces were almost touching.'Well? You need a learning,boy?'

Dogman winced, sure assure they'd set to killing oneanother,andhowthehellhe'dstop 'emonce theystartedhehadn't the faintest clue. Atense moment all round, it

seemed to last for ever. Hewouldn'thavetakenthatfromanyotherman,aliveordead,Black Dow, not evenThreetrees, but in the end hejustsplitayellowgrin.

'Nah. One lesson's all Ineed.'Andheturnedhisheadsideways,hawkedupandspatonto the ground. Then hebackedoff,nohurry,thatgrinstill on his face, like he was

sayinghe'd takea telling thistime,maybe,buthemightnotthenext.

Oncehewasgone,andnoblood spilled, Tul blew outhardlikethey'dgotawaywithmurder. 'Right then. North,was it? Someone better gettheladsreadytomove.'

'Uh,' said Grim, slidingthe last arrow intohisquiverand following him off

throughthetrees.Logen stood there for a

moment, watching 'em walk.When they'dgotawayoutofsightheturnedround,andhesquatted down by the fire,hunched over with his armsresting on his knees and hishands dangling. 'Thank thedead for that. I nearly shitmyself.'

Dogman realised he'd

been holding onto his breaththewholewhile,andheletitrush out in a gasp. 'I think Imight've, just a bit. Did youhavetodothat?'

'You know I did. Let aman like Dow take libertiesandhewon't ever stop.Thenall the rest of these ladswillget the idea that theBloody-Nine ain't anything like sofrighteningastheyheard,and

it'llbeamatteroftimebeforesomeone with a grudgedecidestotakeabladetome.'

Dogman shook his head.'That'sahardwayofthinkingaboutthings.'

'That's the way they are.They haven't changed any.Theyneverdo.'

True, maybe, but theyweren't ever going to change

if no one gave 'em half achance. 'Still. You sure allthat'sneedful?'

'Not for youmaybe.Yougot that knack that folk likeyou.' Logen scratched at hisjaw,lookingsadlyoffintothewoods. 'Reckon Imissedmychance at that about fifteenyearsago.AndIain'tgettinganother.'

The woods were warm andfamiliar. Birds twittered inthe branches, not caring adamn for Bethod, or theUnion,oranyo'thedoingsofmen. Nowhere had everseemed more peaceful, andDogman didn't like that onebit. He sniffed at the air,sifting it through his nose,over his tongue. He wasdouble careful these days,

sincethatshaftcameoverandkilled Cathil in the battle.Might have been he could'vesaved her, if he'd trusted hisown nose a mite more. Hewishedhehadsavedher.Butwishingdon'thelpany.

Dowsquatteddowninthebrush,staringoffintothestillforest. 'What is it, Dogman?Whatd'yousmell?'

'Men, I reckon, but kind

ofsour,somehow.'Hesniffedagain.'Smellslike—'

Anarrowflittedupoutofthetrees,clickedintothetreetrunkjustbesideDogmanandstuckthere,quivering.

'Shit!'hesquealed,slidingdown on his arse andfumblinghisownbowoffhisshoulder, much too late asalways. Dow slithered downcursing beside him and they

got all tangled up with eachother.Dogmannearlygothiseye poked out onDow's axebefore he managed to pushhim off.He shoved his palmout at themen behind to saystop, but they were alreadyscatteringforcover,crawlingfor trees and rocks on theirbellies, pulling out weaponsandstaringintothewoods.

Avoicedriftedoverfrom

the forest ahead. 'You withBethod?' Whoever it wasspoke Northern with somestrange-soundingaccent.

DowandDogmanlookedat each other for a minute,then shrugged. 'No!' Dowroared back. 'And if you are,you'd best make ready tomeetthedead!'

A pause. 'We're not withthat bastard, and never will

be!''Good enough!' shouted

Dogman, puttinghis headupno more'n an inch, his bowfull drawn and ready in hishands. 'Show yourselves,then!'

A man stepped out frombehind a tree maybe sixstrides distant. Dogman wasthat shocked he nearlyfumbledthestringandletthe

shaft fly. More men startedsliding out of the woods allround. Dozens of 'em. Theirhair was tangled, their facesweresmearedwithstreaksofbrown dirt and blue paint,their clotheswere ragged furandhalf-tannedhides,buttheheadsof theirspears,andthepointsoftheirarrows,andtheblades of their rough-forgedswords all shone bright and

clean.'Hillmen,' Dogman

muttered.'Hillmen we are, and

proud of it!' A great bigvoice, echoing out from thewoods. A few of 'em startedto shuffle to one side, likethey were making way forsomeone. Dogman blinked.There was a child comingbetween them.Agirl,maybe

tenyearsold,withdirtybarefeet.Shehadahugehammerover one shoulder, a thicklength of wood a stride longwith a scarred lump of ironthesizeofabrickforahead.Far andaway toobig forherto swing. It was giving hersome trouble even holding itup.

Alittleboycamenext.Hehada roundshieldacrosshis

back,muchtoowideforhim,and a great axe he waslugging along in both hands.Another boy was at hisshoulderwithaspeartwiceashigh as he was, the brightpoint waving around abovehis head, gold twinklingunder the blade in the stripsofsunlight.Hekepthavingtolookuptomakesurehedidn'tcatchitonabranch.

'I'm dreaming,' mutteredtheDogman.'Aren'tI?'

Dowfrowned.'Ify'areit'sastrangeone.'

They weren't alone, thethree children. Some hugebastard was coming upbehind. He had a ragged furround his great wideshoulders, and some bignecklace hanging down onhis great fat belly.A load of

bones. Fingerbones, theDogmansawashegotcloser.Men'sfingers,mixedupwithflat bits of wood, strangesignscutintothem.Hehadagreat yellow grin hacked outfrom his grey-brown beard,but that didn't put theDogmananymoreatease.

'Oh shit,' groaned Dow,'let'sgoback.Backsouthandenougho'this.'

'Why?Youknowhim?'Dow turned his head and

spat.'Crummock-i-Phail,ain'tit.'

Dogmanalmostwished ithad turned out to be anambush, now, rather than achat. Itwas a fact that everychild knew. Crummock-i-Phail, chief of the hillmen,was about the maddestbastard in the whole damn

North.Hepushed thespearsand

the arrows gently out of hiswayashecame.'Noneedforthat now, is there, mybeauties?We'reallfriends,orgot the same enemies, atleast, which is far better,d'you see?We all have a lotof enemies up in them hills,don't we, though? ThemoonknowsIloveagoodfight,but

coming at them great bigrocks,withBethodandallhisarse-lickers stuck in tight ontop? That's a bit too muchfight for anyone, eh? EvenyournewSouthernfriends.'

Hestoppedjustinfrontofthem, fingerbones swingingand rattling. The threechildren stopped behind him,fidgeting with their greathuge weapons and frowning

upatDowandtheDogman.'I'm Crummock-i-Phail,'

he said. 'Chief of all thehillmen.Oralltheonesasareworth a shit.' He grinned asthoughhe'd just turned up toa wedding. 'And who mightbe in charge o' this merryouting?'

Dogman felt that hollowfeeling again, but there wasnothingforit.'That'dbeme.'

Crummock raised hisbrowsathim.'Woulditnow?You're a little fellow to betelling all these big fellowsjustwhattobeabout,areyounot? You must have quitesome name on yourshoulders,I'mthinking.'

'I'm the Dogman. This isBlackDow.'

'Some strange sort of acrewyougothere,'saidDow,

frowningatthechildren.'Oh it is! It is! And a

brave one at that! The ladwithmy spear, that'smy sonScofen.Theonewithmyaxeismy son Rond.' Crummockfrowned at the girl with thehammer. 'This lad's name Ican'tremember.'

'I'm your daughter!'shoutedthegirl.

'What, did I run out ofsons?'

'Scenn got too old andyou give him 'is own sword,andSceft's toosmall tocarrynothingyet.'

Crummock shook hishead. 'Don't hardly seemright,abloodywomantakingthehammer.'

The girl threw the

hammerdownon thegroundandbootedCrummock inhisshin. 'You can carry ityourselfthen,y'oldbastard!'

'Ah!' he squawked,laughing and rubbing his legat once. 'Now I rememberyou, Isern. Your kicking'sbrought it all back in a rush.Youcantakethehammer,soyou can. Smallest one getsthebiggestload,eh?'

'You want the axe, Da?'The smaller lad held the axeup,wobbling.

'You want the hammer?'Thegirldraggeditupoutthebrush and shouldered herbrotherouttheway.

'No,my loves, all I needfor now is words, and I'veplenty of those without yourhelp. You can watch yourfather work some murder

soon, if things run smooth,but there'll be no need foraxes or hammers today. Wedidn'tcomeheretokill.'

'Whydidyoucomehere?'asked Dogman, though hewasn't sure he even wantedtheanswer.

'Right to business is it,and no time to be friendly?'Crummockstretchedhisneckto theside,hisarmsoverhis

head, and lifted one foot andshook itaround. 'Icameherebecause I woke in the night,and I walked out into thedarkness, and the moonwhispered to me. In theforest,d'yousee?Inthetrees,and in thevoicesof theowlsin the trees, and d'you knowwhatthemoonsaid?'

'Thatyou'remadasfuck?'growledDow.

Crummock slapped hishuge thigh. 'You've a prettyway of talking for an uglyman,BlackDow,butno.Themoon said…' And hebeckonedtotheDogmanlikehe had some secret to share.'You got the Bloody-Ninedownhere.'

'What if we do?' Logencame up quiet from behind,left hand resting on his

sword. Tul and Grim camewith him, frowning at all thepainted-face hillmen stoodabout, and at the three dirtychildren,andattheirgreatfatfathermostofall.

'There he is!' roaredCrummock, sticking out onegreat sausage of a tremblingfinger.'Takeyourfistoffthatblade, Bloody-Nine, before Ipiss my breaks!' He dropped

downonhiskneesinthedirt.'Thisishim!Thisistheone!'He shuffled forward throughthe brush and he clung toLogen's leg, pressing himselfupagainstitlikeadogtohismaster.

Logen stared down athim.'Getoffmyleg.'

'That I will!' Crummockjerked away and droppeddown on his fat arse in the

dirt.Dogman had never seensuch a performance. Lookedlike the rumours about himbeing cracked were rightenough. 'Doyouknowafinething,Bloody-Nine?'

'More'none,asitgoes.''Here's another, then. I

saw you fight ShamaHeartless.Isawyousplithimopenlikeapigeonforthepot,and I couldn't have done it

better my blessed self. Alovely thing to see!'Dogmanfrowned.He'dbeentheretoo,andhedidn'tremembermuchlovely about it. 'I said then,'andCrummockroseuptohisknees, 'and I said since,' andhestooduponhisfeet,'andIsaidwhenIcamedownfromthehillstoseekyouout,'andhelifteduphisarmtopointatLogen. 'That you're a man

more beloved of the moonthananyother!'

Dogman looked over atLogen, and Logen shrugged.'Who's to saywhat themoonlikesordoesn't?Whatofit?'

'Whatofit,hesays!Hah!I could watch him kill thewhole world, and a thing ofbeautyitwouldbe!Thewhatof it is, I have a plan. Itflowed up with the cold

springs under the mountains,and was carried along in thestreamsunderthestones,andwashedupontheshoreofthesacred lake right beside me,while I was dippingmy toesinthefrosty.'

Logen scratched at hisscarred jaw. 'We'vegotworktobeabout,Crummock.Yougot something worth sayingyoucangettoit.'

'ThenIwill.Bethodhatesme, and the feeling'smutual,but he hates you more.Becauseyou've stoodagainsthim,andyou'relivingproofaman of the North can be hisownman,withoutbendingonhis knee and tonguing thearse of that golden-hatbastard and his two fat sonsand his witch.' He frowned.'ThoughIcouldbepersuaded

to take my tongue to her.D'youfollowmesofar?'

'I'm keeping up,' saidLogen, but Dogman weren'taltogethersurethathewas.

'Just whistle if you dropbehind and I'll come rightback for you. My meaning'sthis. If Bethodwere to get agood chance at catching youall alone, away from yourUnionfriends,yourcrawling-

like-ants sunny-weatherlovers over down thereyonder, then, well, he mightgive up a lot to take it. Hemight be coaxed down fromhis pretty hills for a chancelike that, I'm thinking,hmmm?'

'You're betting that hehatesmealot.'

'What?Doyoudoubtthata man could hate you that

much?' Crummock turnedaway, spreading his greatlongarmsoutwideatTulandGrim. 'But it's not just you,Bloody-Nine! It's all of you,andmeaswell,andmythreesonshere!'Thegirlthrewthehammer down again andplantedherhandsonherhips,but Crummock blathered onregardless. 'I'm thinking yourboys join up with my boys

and it might be we'll haveeight hundred spears. We'llhead up north, like we'regoing up into the HighPlaces, to get around behindBethod and play merrymischief with his arse end.I'm thinking that'll get hisblood up. I'm thinking hewon't be able to pass on achancetoputallofusbackinthemud.'

The Dogman thought itover.Chanceswerethata lotof Bethod's people werejumpyaboutnow.WorriedtobefightingonthewrongsideoftheWhiteflow.Maybetheywere hearing the Bloody-Nine was back, and thinkingthey'dpickedthewrongside.Bethod would love to put afew heads on sticks foreveryone to look at.

Ninefingers, and Crummock-i-Phail, Tul Duru and BlackDow, and maybe even theDogman too. He'd like that,would Bethod. Show theNorth there was no future inanythingbuthim.He'dlikeitalot.

'Supposingwedowanderoff north,' asked Dogman.'How'sBethod even going toknowaboutit?'

Crummockgrinnedwiderthan ever. 'Oh, he'll knowbecausehiswitch'llknow.'

'Bloody witch,' piped uptheladwiththespear,histhinarms trembling as he foughttokeepitupstraight.

'That spell-cooking,painted-face bitch Bethodkeepswith him.Or does shekeephimwithher?There'saquestion, though.Eitherway,

she's watching. Ain't she,Bloody-Nine?'

'I know who you mean,'said Logen, and not lookinghappy. 'Caurib. A friend o'mine once told me she hadthe long eye.' Dogman didn'thave the first clue about allthat, but ifLogenwas takingit to heart he reckoned he'dbettertoo.

'The long eye, is it?'

grinned Crummock. 'Yourfriend'sgotaprettynameforan ugly trick. She sees allmanner of goings-on with it.All kind of things it'd bebetter for us if she didn't.Bethod trustshereyesbeforehetrustshisown, thesedays,and he'll have her watchingfor us, and for you inparticular. She'll have bothherlongeyesopenforit,that

shewill.Imaybenowizard,'and he spun one of thewooden signs around andaround on his necklace, 'butthe moon knows I'm nostranger to the businessneither.'

'And what if it goes likeyou say?' rumbledTul, 'whathappensthen?ApartfromwegiveBethodourheads?'

'Oh,Ilikemyheadwhere

it is, big lad. We draw himon,northbynorth,that'swhatthe forest told me. There's aplace up in the mountains, aplacewelllovedbythemoon.Astrongvalley,andwatchedover by the dead of myfamily, and the dead of mypeople, and the dead of themountains, all the way backuntil when the world wasmade.'

Dogman scratched hishead. 'A fortress in themountains?'

'A strong, high place.Highandstrongenoughforafew to hold off amany untilhelp were to arrive.We lurehimonupintothevalley,andyourUnionfriendsfollowupatalazydistance.Farenoughthat his witch don't see 'emcoming,she'ssobusylooking

at us. Then, while he's allcaughtupintryingtosnuffusout for good and all, theSoutherners creep up behind,and—' He slapped his palmstogether with an echoingcrack. 'We squash himbetween us, the sheep-fuckingbastard!'

'Sheep-fucker!'cursed thegirl, kicking at the hammerontheground.

They all looked at eachother foramoment.Dogmandidn'tmuchlikethesoundofthis for a plan. He didn'tmuch like the notion oftrustingtheirlivestothesay-soo'thiscrazyhillman.Butitsounded like some kind of achance. Enough that hecouldn't just sayno,howevermuchhe'dhave liked to. 'Wegottotalkonthis.'

'Course you do, my newbest friends, course you do.Don't take too long about itthough, eh?' Crummockgrinned wide. 'I been downfromtheHighPlacesforwaytoo long, and the rest o' mybeautiful children, and mybeautiful wives, and thebeautiful mountainsthemselveswillallofthembemissing me. Think on the

sunny side o' this. If Bethoddon't follow, you get a fewnights sat up in the HighPlaces as the summer dies,warming yourselves at myfire, and listening to mysongs, and watching the sungoing down over themountains. That sound sobad?Doesit?'

'You thinkingof listeningtothatmadbastard?'muttered

Tul, once they'd got out ofearshot.'Witchesandwizardsand all that bloody rubbish?He makes it up as he goesalong!'

Logen scratched his face.'He'snowherenearasmadashe sounds. He's held outagainst Bethod all theseyears.Theonlyonewhohas.Twelvewintersisitnow,he'sbeenhiding,andraiding,and

keeping one foot ahead? Upin the mountains maybe, butstill.He'dhavetobeslipperyasfishesandtoughasirontomakethatwork.'

'You trust him, then?'askedDogman.

'Trust him?' Logensnorted. 'Shit, no. But hisfeud with Bethod's deepereven than ours is. He's rightabout that witch, I seen her,

and I seen someother thingsthis past year… if he saysshe'll see us, I reckon Ibelieve him. If she doesn't,andBethoddon'tcome,well,nothinglostisthere?'

Dogman had that emptyfeeling, worse'n ever. Helooked over at Crummock,sitting on a rock with hischildren round him, and themadman smiled back a

mouthful of yellow teeth.Hardlythemanyou'dwanttohang all your hopes on, butDogman could feel the windchanging.'We'dbetakingonebastardofarisk,'hemuttered.'What ifBethodcaughtup tousandgothisway?'

'Wemovefast,then,don'twe!'growledDow.'It'sawar.Takingrisksiswhatyoudoifyoureckononwinning!'

'Uh,'gruntedGrim.Tul nodded his big head.

'We'vegottodosomething.Ididn't come here to watchBethodsitonahill.Heneedstobegotdown.'

'Got down where we canset to work on him!' hissedDow.

'But it's your choice.'Logenclappedhishanddown

on the Dogman's shoulder.'You'rethechief.'

He was the chief. Heremembered them decidingon it, gathered roundThreetrees' grave. Dogmanhad to admit, he'd muchratherhavetoldCrummocktofuck himself, then turnedround and headed back, andtoldWest theynever foundathingexceptwoods.Butonce

you've got a task, you get itdone. That's what Threetreeswould'vesaid.

Dogmangavealongsigh,that feeling in his gutbubbling up so high he wasright on the point of puking.'Alright. But this plan ain'tgoing to get us anything butdead unless the Union areready todo theirpart, and ingoodtimetoo.We'lltakeitto

Furious, and let their chiefBurrknowwhatwe'reabout.'

'Furious?'askedLogen.Tulgrinned.'Longstory.'

FlowersandPlaudits

«^»

Jezal still did not have theslightest idea why it was

necessaryforhimtowearhisbestuniform.Thedamnthingwas stiff as a board andcreaking with braid. It hadbeendesignedforstandingtoattentioninratherthanriding,and,asaresult,dugpainfullyinto his stomach with everymovement of his horse. ButBayazhadinsisted,anditwassurprisingly difficult to sayno to the old fool, whether

Jezal was supposed to be incommand of this expeditionor not. It had seemed easier,in the end, just to do as hewas told. So he rode at thehead of the long column insome discomfort, constantlytugging at his tunic andsweating profusely in thebright sun. The oneconsolationwasthathegottobreathe fresh air. Everyone

elsehadtoeathisdust.Tofurtheraddtohispain,

Bayaz was intent oncontinuing the themes thathadmadeJezalsoveryboredallthewaytotheedgeoftheWorldandback.

'…itisvitalforakingtomaintain thegoodopinionofhis subjects.And it is not sovery hard to do. The lowlyhavesmallambitions,andare

satisfied with smallindulgences. They need notget fair treatment.Theyneedonlythinkthattheydo…'

Jezal found that after awhile he could ignore thedroning of the old man'svoice, in the same way thatone could ignore the barkingof an old dog that barked allthetime.Heslumpedintohissaddle and allowed his

thoughts to wander. Andwhere else would they findtheirway,buttoArdee?

He had landed himself inquiteapickle,alright.Outonthe plain, things had seemedso very simple. Get home,marryher,happilyeverafter.Now, back in Adua, backamong the powerful, andback in his old habits, theygrew more complicated by

the day. The possibility ofdamage to his reputation andhisprospectswereissuesthatcould not simply bedismissed.Hewas aColonelin the King's Own, and thatmeant certain standards touphold.

'… Harod the Greatalways had respect for thecommon man. More thanonce, itwas the secret of his

victoriesoverhispeers…'And then Ardee herself

was so much morecomplicated in person thanshe had been as a silentmemory. Nine parts witty,clever, fearless, attractive.One part a mean anddestructive drunk. Everymoment with her was alottery, but perhaps it wasthat sense of danger that

struck the sparks when theytouched,madehisskin tingleand his mouth go dry… hisskin was tingling now, evenat the thought.He had neverfelt like this about a womanbefore,notever.Surelyitwaslove. It had to be. But waslove enough? How longwould it last?Marriage, afterall, was forever, and foreverwasaverylongtime.

Anindefiniteextensionoftheir current not-so secretromancewouldhavebeenhispreferred choice, but thatbastard Glokta had stuck hisruined foot through thatpossibility.Anvils,andsacks,andcanals.Jezalrememberedthat white monster shovinghisbagoveraprisoner'sheadonapublicthoroughfare,andshudderedatthethought.But

he had to admit that thecripple was right. Jezal'svisits were not good for thatgirl's reputation. One shouldtreat others the way onewouldwant to be treated, hesupposed, just asNinefingershadoncesaid.Butitcertainlywasadamnedinconvenience.

'…areyouevenlistening,myboy?'

'Eh? Er… yes, of course.

HarodtheGreat,andsoforth.The high respect he had forthecommonman.'

'Appeared to have,'grumbled Bayaz. 'And heknew how to take a lessontoo.'

They were getting closeto Adua now, passing out ofthefarmlandandthroughoneof the huddles of shacks,impromptu dwellings, cheap

innsandcheaperbrothelsthathadgrownuparoundeachofthe city's gates, huddlingabout the road, each onealmost a town in its ownright. Up into the longshadow of Casamir's Wall,the outermost of the city'slines of defence. A dourguardsmen stood on eitherside of the high archway,gatesmarkedwiththeGolden

sun of the Union standingopen. They passed throughthedarkness andout into thelight.Jezalblinked.

A not inconsiderablenumber of people hadgatheredinthecobbledspacebeyond, pressing in on eithersideoftheroad,heldbackbymembers of the city watch.They burst into a chorus ofhappycheersastheysawhim

ride through the gate. Jezalwondered for a moment if itwas a case of mistakenidentity, and they had beenexpecting someone of actualimportance.Harod theGreat,perhaps, for all he knew. Hesoon began to make out thename 'Luthar' repeatedamongst the noise, however.A girl at the front flung aflower at him, lost under his

horse's hooves, and shoutedsomethinghecouldnotmakeout.ButhermannerleftJezalwith no doubts. All thesepeoplehadgatheredforhim.

'What's happening?' hewhispered to the First of theMagi.

Bayaz grinned as thoughhe,atleast,hadexpectedit.'Iimagine the people of Aduawishtocelebrateyourvictory

overtherebels.''Theydo?'Hewincedand

gave a limp-wristed wave,and the cheering grewnoticeably in volume. Thecrowdonlythickenedastheymade their way into the cityand the space reduced.Therewerepeople scatteredupanddown the narrow streets,people at the downstairswindows and people higher

up, whooping and cheering.More flowers were thrownfrom a balcony high abovethe road. One stuck in hissaddleandJezalpickeditup,turned it round and round inhishand.

'Allthis…forme?''Did you not save the

city? Did you not stop therebels, andwithout spilling adropofbloodoneitherside?'

'But they gave up for noreason.Ididn'tdoanything!'

Bayazshrugged,snatchedthe flower from Jezal's handandsniffedatit,thentosseditaway and nodded his headtowards a clump of cheeringtradesmen crowding a streetcorner. 'It would seem theydisagree. Just keep yourmouth shut and smile. That'salwaysgoodadvice.'

Jezal did his best tooblige, but the smiles werenot coming easily. LogenNinefingers, he wasreasonably sure, would nothave approved. If there wasan opposite to trying to looklike less than youwere, thenthis, surely, was its verydefinition. He glancednervously around, convincedthat the crowds would

suddenly recognise him forthe utter fraud he felt, andreplace the flowers and callsof admiration with angryjeersandthecontentsoftheirchamberpots.

Butitdidnothappen.Thecheering continued as Jezaland his long column ofsoldiers worked their slowwaythroughtheThreeFarmsdistrict.WitheachstreetJezal

passed down he relaxed alittle more. He slowly beganto feel as if he must indeedhave achieved somethingworthy of the honour. Towonder if he might, in fact,have been a dauntlesscommander, a masterfulnegotiator. If the people ofthe city wished to worshiphimastheirhero,hebegantosuppose it would be churlish

torefuse.They passed through a

gate in Arnault's Wall andinto thecentraldistrictof thecity. Jezal sat up tall in hissaddle and puffed out hischest. Bayaz dropped behindto a respectful distance,allowing him to lead thecolumn alone. The cheeringmounted as they trampeddownthewideMiddleway,as

theycrossedtheFourCornerstowards the Agriont. It waslike the feeling of victory atthe Contest, only it hadinvolved considerably lesswork, and was that reallysuch an awful thing? Whatharmcoulditdo?Ninefingersand his humility be damned.Jezalhadearnedtheattention.He plastered a radiant smileacross his face. He lifted his

arm with self-satisfiedconfidence, and began towave.

The great walls of theAgriont rose up ahead andJezal crossed themoat to thelooming south gatehouse,rode up the long tunnel intothe fortress, the cracklinghoovesandtrampingbootsofthe King's Own echoing inthe darkness behind him. He

processed slowly down theKingsway, approvinglyobserved by the great stonemonarchs of old and theiradvisers, between highbuildings crammed withonlookers, and into theSquareofMarshals.

Crowds had beencarefully arranged on eachside of the vast open space,leaving a long track of bare

stonedownthemiddle.Atthefar end a wide stand ofbenches had been erected, acrimson canopy in the centredenoting the presence ofroyalty. The noise andspectaclewerebreathtaking.

Jezal remembered thetriumph laid on for MarshalVaruzwhenhereturnedfromhis victory over theGurkish,remembered staring wide-

eyed,littlemorethanachild.He had caught one fleetingglimpse of the Marshalhimself,seatedhighonagreycharger, but never imaginedthatonedayhemight ride inthe place of honour. It stillseemed strange, if he washonest. After all, he haddefeated a bunch of peasantsratherthanthemostpowerfulnation in the Circle of the

World.Still,itwashardlyhisplace to judge who wasworthyofatriumphandwhowasnot,wasit?

And so Jezal spurred hishorse forwards, passingbetween the rows of smilingfaces, waving arms, throughair thick with support andapproval. He saw that thegreat men of the ClosedCouncilwerearrangedacross

the front rowof benches.Herecognised Arch Lector Sultinshiningwhite,HighJusticeMaroviainsolemnblack.Hiserstwhile fencing master,Lord Marshal Varuz, wasthere,LordChamberlainHoffjust beside him. Allapplauding, mostly with afaint disdain which Jezalfound rather ungracious. Inthemidst,wellproppedupon

a gilded chair, was the Kinghimself.

Jezal, now fully adjustedto his role of conqueringhero, dragged hard on thebridle making his steed rearup, front hooves thrashingtheatrically at the air. Hevaulted from the saddle,approached the royal dais,and sank gracefully down onone knee, head bowed, the

applause of the crowdechoingaroundhim, toawaittheKing'sgratitude.Woulditbe too much to hope for afurther promotion? Perhapseven a title of his own? Itseemed suddenly hard tobelieve that he had beenforcedtoconsideraquietlifeinobscurity,notsoverylongago.

'YourMajesty…'heheard

Hoffsaying,andhepeeredupfrom under his brows. TheKing was asleep, his eyesfirmly closed, his mouthhangingopen.Hardlyagreatsurprise in its own way, theman was long past his best,butJezalcouldnothelpbeinggalled. It was the secondtime, after all, that he hadslumbered through one ofJezal's moments of glory.

Hoff nudged the monarch assubtly as possible with anelbow, but when he did notwake, was forced to leanclosetowhisperinhisear.

'Your Majesty—' He gotno further. The King leanedsideways, his head slumping,and fell all of a sudden fromhisgildedchair,sprawlingonhis back before the strickenmembers of the Closed

Council like a landedwhale.Hisscarletrobefloppedopento reveal a great wet stainacross his trousers and thecrowntumbledfromhishead,bounced once and clatteredacrosstheflags.

There was a collectivegasp, punctuated by a shriekfrom a lady near the back.Jezal could only stare, openmouthed, as the Lord

Chamberlain flung himselfdown on his knees, bendingover the stricken King. Asilent moment passed, amoment in which everyperson in the Square ofMarshals held their breath,then Hoff got slowly to hisfeet. His face had lost all ofitsredness.

'The King is dead!' hewailed, the tortured echoes

ringing from the towers andbuildings around the square.Jezal could only grimace. Itwasjusthisluck.Nownoonewouldbecheeringforhim.

TooManyKnives

«^»

Logen sat on a rock, twentystrides from the track that

Crummockwas leading themup. He knew all the ways,Crummock-i-Phail, all theways in the North. That wastherumour,andLogenhopeditwasa fact.Hedidn't fancybeing led straight into anambush. They were headingnorth,towardsthemountains.HopingtodrawBethoddownoff his hills and up into theHigh Places. Hoping the

Unionwouldcomeupbehindhim,andcatchhim ina trap.Anawfullotofhoping,that.

It was a hot, sunny day,and the earth under the treeswasbrokenwith shadowandslashed with bright sunlight,shifting as the branchesmoved in the wind, the sunslippingthroughandstabbingin Logen's face from time totime. Birds tweeted and

warbled, trees creaked andrustled, insects floated in thestill air, and the forest floorwasspatteredwithclumpsofflowers, white and blue.Summer, in the North, butnone of it made Logen feelany better. Summer was thebest season for killing, andhe'd seen plenty more mendie in good weather than inbad.Sohekepthiseyesopen,

looking out into the trees,watching hard and listeningharder.

That was the taskDogman had given him.Stayingoutontherightflank,makingsurenoneofBethod'sboyscreptupwhiletheywereall spread out in file downthat goat track. It suitedLogenwellenough.Kepthimon the edge, where none of

his own side might gettemptedtotryandkillhim.

Watching men movingquietthroughthetrees,voiceskept down low, weapons atthe ready, brought back arush of memories. Somegood, somebad.Mostly bad,it had to be said. One mancameawayfromtheothersasLogen watched, startedwalking towardshimthrough

thetrees.Hehadabiggrinonhis face, just as friendly asyou like, but that meantnothing, Logen had knownplentyofmenwhocouldgrinwhile they planned to killyou.He'ddoneithimself,andmorethanonce.

He turned his bodysideways a touch, sliding hishand down out of sight andcurlingit tightroundthegrip

of a knife. You can neverhave too many knives, hisfather had told him, and thatwasstrongadvice.Helookedaround,slowandeasy,justtomakesuretherewasnooneathisback,but therewereonlyemptytrees.Soheshiftedhisfeet for a better balance andstayed sitting, trying to lookasifnothingworriedhim,butwitheverymuscletensedand

readytospring.'Myname'sRedHat.'The

man stopped nomore than astrideaway,stillgrinning,hislefthandslackonthepommelof his sword, the other justhanging.

Logen's mind raced,thinkingoverallthemenhe'dwronged, or hurt, or gotbound up in a feud with.Thosehe'dleftalive,anyway.

Red Hat. He couldn't find aplaceforitanywhere,butthatwasnoreassurance.Tenmenwith ten big books couldn'thave kept track of all theenemies he'd made, and thefriendsandthefamilyandthealliesofallhisenemies.Andthatwaswithoutamantryingtokillhimwithoutmuchofareason, just tomake his ownname bigger. 'Can't say I

recognisethename.'Red Hat shrugged. 'No

reason you should do. Ifought for Old Man Yawl,way back. He was a goodman, was Yawl, a man youcouldrespect.'

'Aye,' said Logen, stillwatching hard for a suddenmove.

'Butwhenhewentbackto

the mud I got a place withLittlebone.'

'Never saw eye to eyewith Littlebone, even whenwewereonthesameside.'

'Neither did I, beinghonest. A right bastard. Allbloatedupwithvictories thatBethod won for him. Didn'tsitwellwithme.That'swhyIcameover,youknow?WhenI heard Threetreeswas here.'

He sniffed and looked downat the earth. 'Someone needsto do something about thatfuckingFeared.'

'So they tell me.' Logenwas hearing a lot about thisFeared, and none of it good,but it'd takemore thana fewwordsintherightdirectiontogethishandoffhisknife.

'Still, the Dogman's agood chief, I reckon. One of

the best I've had. Knows hisbusiness. Careful, like.Thinksaboutthings.'

'Aye. Always thought hewouldbe.'

'You think Bethod'sfollowingus?'

Logendidn'ttakehiseyesfromRedHat's.'Maybeheis,maybe he isn't. Don't reckonwe'll know 'til we get up in

the mountains and hear himknockingatthedoor.'

'You think the Union'llkeeptotheirendofit?'

'Don't see why not. ThatBurrseemstoknowwhathe'sabout,farasIcantell,andhisboy Furious as well. Theysaid they'll come, I reckonthey'll come. Not much wecan do about it either waynow,though,isthere?'

Red Hat wiped somesweat from his forehead,squintingoff into the trees. 'Ireckonyou're right.Anyway,all's I wanted to say was, Iwas in thebattle, at Ineward.Iwas on the other side fromyou,butIsawyoufight,andIkeptwellaway,Icantellyouthat.'He shookhishead, andgrinned. 'Never sawanythinglike that, before or since. I

suppose what I'm saying is,I'm happy to have you withus.Realhappy.'

'Y'are?' Logen blinked.'Alright,then.Good.'

Red Hat nodded. 'Well.That's all. See you in thefight,Ireckon.'

'Aye. In the fight.' Logenwatched him stride awaythrough the trees, but even

when Red Hat was well outofsight,hesomehowcouldn'tmake his hand uncurl fromthe grip of his knife, stillcouldn't lose the feeling thathehadtowatchhisback.

Seemed he'd let himselfforget what the North waslike. Or he'd let himselfpretend itwouldbedifferent.Nowhesawhismistake.He'dmadeatrapforhimself,years

ago.He'dmadeagreatheavychain, link by bloody link,andhe'dboundhimselfup init. Somehow he'd beenofferedthechancetogetfree,achancehedidn't comeneartodeserving,but insteadhe'dblundered back in, and nowthingswereapttogetbloody.

He could feel it coming.Agreatweight of death, likethe shadow of a mountain

fallingonhim.Everytimehesaidaword,ortookastep,orhad a thought, even, itseemed he'd somehowbrought it closer.Hedrank itdownwitheveryswallow,hesucked it in with everybreath. He hunched hisshouldersupandstareddownathisboots,stripsofsunlightacross the toes. He shouldneverhaveletgoofFerro.He

shouldhaveclung toher likea child to its mother. Howmany things halfway goodhad he been offered in hislife?Andnowhe'dturnedonedown, and chosen to comeback and settle some scores.He licked his teeth, and hespat sour spit out onto theearth. He should've knownbetter. Vengeance is neverhalfwayassimple,orhalfway

as sweet, as you think it'sgoingtobe.

'I bet you're wishing youdidn'tcomebackatall,eh?'

Logenjerkedhisheadup,on the point of pulling theknife and setting to work.Thenhe saw itwasonlyTulstandingoverhim.Hepushedthe blade away and let hishands drop. 'Do you knowwhat? The thought had

occurred.'The Thunderhead

squatted down beside him.'Sometimes I find my ownname's a heavy weight tocarry. Dread to think how anamelikeyoursmustdragataman.'

'Itcanseemaburden.''Ibet itcan.'Tulwatched

the men moving past, single

file,downonthedustytrack.'Don't mind 'em. They'll getusedtoyou.Andifthingsgetlow, well, you've always gotBlack Dow's smile to fallbackon,eh?'

Logen grinned. 'That'strue. It's quite the smile hehas, that man. It seems tolight up the whole world,don'tit?'

'Like sunshine on a

cloudyday.'Tulsatdownonthe rock next to him, pulledthe stopper from his canteenandhelditout.'I'msorry.'

'You'resorry?Forwhat?''That we didn't look for

you,afteryouwentover thatcliff.Thoughtyouweredead.'

'Can't say I holdmuchofagrudgeforthat.IwasprettydamnsureIwasdeadmyself.

I'mtheoneshouldhavegonelookingforyoulot,Ireckon.'

'Well. Should've lookedfor each other, maybe. But Iguess you learn to stophoping, after a while. Lifeteaches you to expect theworst,eh?'

'Youhavetoberealistic,Ireckon.'

'Thatyoudo.Still,itcame

outalright.Backwithusnow,aren'tyou?'

'Aye.' Logen sighed.'Back to warring, and badfood, and creeping throughwoods.'

'Woods,'gruntedTul,andhesplitabiggrin.'WillIevergettiredofem?

Logen took a drink fromthe canteen, then handed it

back, and Tul took a swighimself.Theysatthere,silent,foraminute.

'I didn't want this, youknow,Tul.'

'Course not. None of uswanted this. Don't mean wedon't deserve it, though, eh?'Tul slapped his big handdown on Logen's shoulder.'Youneed to talk itover, I'maround.'

Logen watched him go.He was a good man, theThunderhead. A man thatcould be trusted. There werestillafewleft.Tul,andGrim,and theDogman.BlackDowtoo,inhisownway.Italmostgave Logen some hope, thatdid. Almost made him gladthathechosetocomebacktothe North. Then he lookedbackatthefileofmenandhe

saw Shivers in there,watching him. Logen wouldhave liked to look away, butlooking away wasn'tsomething the Bloody-Ninecould do. So he sat there onhis rock, and they stared ateachother,andLogenfeltthehatred digging at him untilShivers was lost through thetrees. He shook his headagain, and sucked his teeth

again,andspat.You can never have too

many knives, his father hadtold him. Unless they'repointedatyou,andbypeoplewhodon'tlikeyoumuch.

BestofEnemies

«^»

Tap,tap.'Not now!' stormed

Colonel Glokta. 'I have allthese to get through!' Theremust have been ten thousandpapers of confession for himto sign. His desk wasgroaning with great heaps ofthem, and the nib of his penwassoftasbutter.Whatwiththeredink,hismarkslookedlike dark bloodstains sprayedacross the pale paper. 'Damnit!' he raged as he knocked

over the bottle with hiselbow,splashinginkoutoverthe desk, soaking into thepiles of papers, dripping tothe floor with a steady tap,tap,tap.

'There will be time laterfor you to confess. Ampletime.'

The Colonel frowned.The air had grown decidedlychill. 'You again! Always at

theworsttimes!''Yourememberme,then?''I seem to…' In truth, the

Colonelwasfindingithardtorecall from where. It lookedlike a woman in the corner,buthecouldnotmakeoutherface.

'TheMakerfellburning…he broke upon the bridgebelow…' The words were

familiar,butGloktacouldnothave said why. Old storiesand nonsense. He winced.Damnitbuthisleghurt.

'I seem to…' His usualconfidence was all ebbingaway.Theroomwasicycoldnow, he could see his breathsmoking before his face. Hestumbledupfromhischairashis unwelcome visitor camecloser, his leg aching with a

vengeance. 'What do youwant?'hemanagedtocroak.

The face came into thelight. It was none other thanMauthis, from the bankinghouse of Valint and Balk.'The Seed, Colonel.' And hesmiled his joyless smile. 'IwanttheSeed.'

'I… I…' Glokta's backfound the wall. He could gonofurther.

'The Seed!' Now it wasGoyle'sface,nowSult's,nowSeverard's, but they allmadethesamedemand. 'TheSeed!Ilosepatience!'

'Bayaz,' he whispered,squeezing his eyes closed,tears running out fromunderneath his lids. 'Bayazknows—'

'Tap, tap, torturer.' Thewoman's hissing voice again.

Afinger-tipjabbedatthesideofhishead,painfullyhard.'Ifthatoldliarknew,itwouldbemine already. No. You willfind it.' He could not speakforfear.'Youwillfindit,orIwill tear the price from yourtwisted flesh. So tap, tap,timetowake.'

The finger stabbed at hisskull again, digging into thesideofhisheadlikeadagger

blade. 'Tap, tap, cripple!'hissed the hideous voice inhis ear, breath so cold itseemed to burn his barecheek.'Tap,tap!'

Tap,tap.

For a moment Gloktahardly knew where he was.He jerked upright, strugglingwith the sheets, staringabout

him, hemmed in on everyside by threatening shadows,his own whimpering breathhissing in his head. Theneverything fell suddenly intoplace.Mynewapartments.Apleasant breeze stirred thecurtains in the sticky night,washingthroughtheoneopenwindow. Glokta saw itsshadow shifting on therendered wall. It swung shut

against the frame, open, thenshutagain.

Tap,tap.He closed his eyes and

breatheda longsigh.Wincedashesaggedbackinhisbed,stretching his legs out,working his toes against thecramps. Those toes theGurkishleftme,atleast.Onlyanotherdream.Everything is—

Thenheremembered,andhis eyes snapped wide open.TheKing is dead. Tomorrowweelectanewone.

The three hundred andtwenty papers were hanged,lifeless,fromtheirnails.Theyhad grown more and morecreased, battered, greasy andgrubby over the past fewweeks. As the business itselfhas slid further into the filth.

Many were ink smudged,coveredwithangrilyscrawlednotes, with fillings-in andcrossings-out. As men werebought and sold, bullied andblackmailed, bribed andbeguiled. Many were tornwhere wax had beenremoved, added, replacedwith other colours. As theallegiances shifted, as thepromiseswerebroken,as the

balance swung this way andthat.

Arch Lector Sult stoodglaring at them, like ashepherd at his troublesomeflock,hiswhitecoatrumpled,his white hair in disarray.Gloktahadneverbeforeseenhim look anything less thanperfectly presented.Hemust,atlast,tasteblood.Hisown.Iwould almost want to laugh,

ifmyownmouthwerenotsoterriblysalty.

'Brock has seventy-five,'Sult was hissing to himself,white gloved hands fussingwith each other behind hisback.'Brockhasseventy-five.Isherhasfifty-five.SkaldandBarezin, forty a piece.Brockhas seventy-five…' Hemuttered the numbers overandover,asthoughtheywere

a charm to protect him fromevil.Or from good, perhaps.'Isherhasfifty-five…'

Glokta had to suppress asmile.Brock,thenIsher,thenSkald and Barezin, while theInquisition and Judiciarystruggle over scraps. For allour efforts, the shape ofthings is much the same aswhen we began this uglydance.Wemightaswellhave

led the country then andsaved ourselves the trouble.Perhaps it is still not toolate…

Gloktanoisily clearedhisthroat and Sult's head jerkedround. 'You have somethingtocontribute?'

'In amanner of speaking,your Eminence.' Glokta kepthis tone as servile as hepossibly could. 'I received

some rather… troublinginformationrecently.'

Sultscowled,andnoddedhisheadat thepapers. 'Moretroublingthanthis?'

Equally,atanyrate.Afterall, whoever wins the votewill have but a briefcelebration if the Gurkisharriveandslaughterthelotofus a week later. 'It has beensuggested to me… that the

Gurkish are preparing toinvadeMidderland.'

There was a brief,uncomfortable pause.Scarcely a promisingreception, but we have setsailnow.Whatelsetodobutsteer straight for the storm?'Invade?' sneered Goyle.'Withwhat?'

'It is not the first time Ihave been told they have a

fleet.' Trying desperately topatch my foundering vessel.'A considerable fleet, built insecret, after the lastwar.Wecould easily make somepreparations, then if theGurkishdocome—'

'And what if you arewrong?'TheArchLectorwasfrowning mightily. 'Fromwhom did this informationcome?'

Oh, dear me no, thatwould never do. Carlot danEider?Alive?Buthow?Bodyfoundfloatingbythedocks…'An anonymous source,ArchLector.'

'Anonymous?' HisEminence glowered throughnarrowed eyes. 'And youwould have me go to theClosedCouncil,atatimelikethis, and put before them the

unproven gossip of youranonymous source?' Thewavesswampthedeck…

'I merely wished to alertyour Eminence to thepossibility—'

'When are they coming?'Thetornsailclothflapsinthegale…

'Myinformantdidnot—''Where will they land?'

The sailors topple screamingfromtherigging…

'Again, your Eminence Icannot—'

'What will be theirnumbers?' The wheel breaksoffinmyshakinghands…

Glokta winced, anddecidednottospeakatall.

'Then kindly refrain fromdistracting us with rumours,'

sneered Sult, his lip twistedwith contempt. The shipvanishes beneath themercilesswaves,hercargoofprecious warnings consignedto the deep, and her captainwill not bemissed. 'We havemore pressing concerns thana legion of Gurkishphantoms!'

'Of course, yourEminence.'AndiftheGurkish

come,whowillwehang?Oh,Superior Glokta, of course.Why ever did that damncripplenotspeakup?

Sult's mind had alreadyslipped back into its well-worncircles.'Wehavethirty-one votes and Marovia hassomething over twenty.Thirty-one. Not enough tomake the difference.' Heshook his head grimly, blue

eyes darting over the papers.As if there were some newway to look at them thatwould alter the terriblemathematics. 'Nowhere nearenough.'

'Unlesswewere to cometo an understanding withHighJusticeMarovia.'Again,a pause, even moreuncomfortable than last time.Oh dear. I must have said

thatoutloud.'An understanding?'

hissedSult.'With Marovia?' squealed

Goyle, his eyes bulgingwithtriumph. When the safeoptionsareallexhausted,wemust take risks. Is that notwhat I told myself as I rodedowntothebridge,whiletheGurkish massed upon theother side? Ah well, once

moreintothetempest…Gloktatookadeepbreath.

'Marovia'sseaton theClosedCouncil is no safer thananyone else's. We may havebeen working against eachother, but only out of habit.On the subject of this voteour aims are the same. Tosecure a weak candidate andmaintain the balance.Togetheryouhavemorethan

fifty votes. That might wellbeenoughtotipthescales.'

Goyle sneered hiscontempt. 'Join forces withthat peasant-lovinghypocrite? Have you lostyourreason?'

'Shut up, Goyle.' Sultglared at Glokta for a longwhile, his lips pursed inthought. Considering mypunishment, perhaps?

Anothertongue-lashing?Orareal lashing? Or my bodyfound floating— 'You areright. Go and speak toMarovia.'

Sand dan Glokta, oncemore the hero! Goyle's jawhung open. 'But… yourEminence!'

'The time for pride is farbehind us!' snarled Sult. 'Wemust seize any chance of

keeping Brock and the restfrom the throne. We mustfind compromises, howeverpainful, and we must takewhatever allies we can. Go!'he hissed over his shoulder,folding his arms and turningback to his crackling papers.'StrikeadealwithMarovia.'

Gloktagotstifflyupfromhis chair. A shame to leavesuch lovely company, but

whendutycalls…He treatedGoyle to the briefest oftoothlesssmiles,thentookuphis cane and limped for thedoor.

'And Glokta!' He wincedas he turned back into theroom. 'Marovia's aims andours maymeet for now. Butwe cannot trust him. Treadcarefully.'

'Of course, your

Eminence.'Ialwaysdo.Whatotherchoice,wheneverystepisagony?

TheprivateofficeoftheHighJusticewas as big as a barn,itsceilingcoveredinfestoonsofoldmoulding,riddledwithshadows. Although it wasonly late afternoon, the thickivyoutside thewindows,andthe thickgrimeon thepanes,

had sunk the place into aperpetual twilight. Totteringheapsofpaperswerestackedon every surface.Wedges ofdocuments tied with blacktape. Piles of leather-boundledgers. Stacks of dustyparchments in ostentatious,swirling script, stampedwithhuge seals of red wax andglittering gilt. A kingdom'sworth of law, it looked like.

And,indeed,itprobablyis.'Superior Glokta, good

evening.' Marovia himselfwas seated at a long tablenear the empty fireplace, setfor dinner, a flickeringcandelabramaking each dishglisten in the gloom. 'I hopeyoudonotmindifIeatwhilewe talk? I would rather dinein the comfort ofmy rooms,but I findmyself eating here

more and more. So much todo, you see?And one ofmysecretaries appears to havetaken a holidayunannounced.' A holiday tothe slaughterhouse floor, infact, byway of the intestinesof a herd of swine. 'Wouldyoucaretojoinme?'Maroviagestured at a large joint ofmeat, close to raw in thecentre, swimming in bloody

gravy.Gloktalickedathisempty

gums as he manoeuvredhimself intoachairopposite.'I would be delighted, yourWorship, but the laws ofdentistrypreventme.'

'Ah, of course. Thoselaws there can be nocircumventing, even by aHigh Justice. You have mysympathy, Superior. One of

my greatest pleasures is agood cut of meat, and thebloodierthebetter.Justshowthem the flame, I always tellmy cook. Just show it tothem.' Funny. I tell myPracticals to start the sameway. 'And to what do I owethisunexpectedvisit?Doyoucome on your own initiative,or at the urging of youremployer, my esteemed

colleague from the ClosedCouncil,ArchLectorSult?'

Your bitter mortal enemyfrom the Closed Council, doyou mean? 'His Eminence isawarethatIamhere.'

'Is he?' Marovia carvedanother slice and lifted itdripping onto his plate. 'Andwith what message has hesent you?Something relatingto tomorrow'sbusiness in the

OpenCouncil,perhaps?''You spoil my surprise,

your Worship. May I speakplainly?'

'Ifyouknowhow.'Glokta showed the High

Justice his empty grin. 'Thisaffair with the vote is aterrible thing for business.The doubt, the uncertainty,theworry.Badforeveryone's

business.''Some more than others.'

Marovia's knife squealedagainst the plate as he slit aribbonoffatfromtheedgeofhismeat.

'Of course. At particularrisk are those that sit on theClosed Council, and thosethat struggle on their behalf.Theyareunlikelytobegivensuch a free hand if powerful

men such as Brock or Isherarevotedtothethrone.'Someof us, indeed, are unlikely toliveouttheweek.

Maroviaspearedasliceofcarrotwithhisforkandstaredsourly at it. 'A lamentablestateofaffairs.Itwouldhavebeen preferable for allconcerned if Raynault orLadisla were still alive.' Hethought about it for a

moment. 'If Raynault werestill alive, at least. But thevote will take placetomorrow,howevermuchwemight tearourhair. It ishardnow to see our way to aremedy.' He looked from thecarrot to Glokta. 'Or do yousuggestone?'

'You, your Worship,control between twenty andthirty votes on the Open

Council.'Maroviashrugged.'Ihave

someinfluence,Icannotdenyit.'

'TheArchLectorcancallonthirtyvoteshimself.'

'GoodforhisEminence.''Not necessarily. If the

twoofyouopposeeachother,as you always have, yourvoteswillmeannothing.One

forIsher,theotherforBrock,andnodifferencemade.'

Marovia sighed. 'A sadend to our two glitteringcareers.'

'Unless you were to poolyour resources. Then youmight have sixty votesbetween you. As many,almost, as Brock controls.Enough to make a King ofSkald,orBarezin,orHeugen,

or even some unknown,dependingonhow thingsgo.Someonewhomightbemoreeasily influenced in thefuture. Someone who mightkeep the Closed Council hehas, rather than selecting anewone.'

'A King to make us allhappy,eh?'

'If youwere to express apreference for one man or

another, I could take thatback to his Eminence.'Moresteps, more coaxing, moredisappointments.Oh, to haveagreatofficeofmyown,andtositalldayincomfortwhilecringingbastardsslogupmystairs to smile at my insults,lap up my lies, beg for mypoisonoussupport.

'Shall I tell you whatwould make me happy,

SuperiorGlokta?'Now for the musings of

another power-mad old fart.'Byallmeans,yourWorship.'

Maroviatossedhiscutleryontohisplate,satbackinhischair and gave a long, tiredsigh. 'IwouldlikenoKingatall. I would like every manequalunderthelaw,tohaveasayintherunningofhisowncountry and the choosing of

hisown leaders. Iwould likenoKing,andnonobles,andaClosed Council selected by,and answerable to, thecitizensthemselves.AClosedCouncil open to all, youmightsay.Whatdoyouthinkofthat?'

Ithinksomepeoplewouldsay that it sounds verymuchlike treason. The rest wouldsimply call it madness. 'I

think, your Worship, thatyournotionisafantasy.'

'Whyso?''Becausethevastmajority

of men would far rather betold what to do than maketheirownchoices.Obedienceiseasy.'

TheHighJusticelaughed.'Perhaps you are right. Butthings will change. This

rebellionhasconvincedmeofit. Things will change, bysmallsteps.'

'I amsureLordBrockonthe throne is one small stepnone of uswould like to seetaken.'

'Lord Brock does indeedhave very strong opinions,mostly relating to himself.Youmakeaconvincingcase,Superior.'Maroviasatbackin

hischair,handsrestingonhisbelly, staring at Gloktathroughnarrowedeyes. 'Verywell. You may tell ArchLectorSult that thisoncewehave common cause. If aneutral candidate withsufficient support presentsthemselves, I will have myvotes cast along with his.Who could have thought it?The Closed Council united.'

He slowly shook his head.'Strangetimesindeed.'

'They certainly are, yourWorship.'Gloktastruggledtohisfeet,wincingasheputhisweight on his burning leg,and shuffled across thegloomy, echoing spacetowards the door. Strange,though,thatourHighJusticeis so philosophical on thesubject of losing his position

tomorrow. I have scarcelyeverseenamanlookcalmer.He paused as he touched thehandle of the door. Onewouldalmostsupposethatheknows something we do not.One might almost supposethathealreadyhasaplan inmind.

He turned back. 'Can Itrustyou,HighJustice?'

Marovia looked sharply

up, the carving knife poisedin his hand. 'What abeautifully quaint questionfrom a man in your line ofwork. I suppose that youcantrust me to act in my owninterests. Just as far as I cantrustyoutodothesame.Ourdealgoesnofurtherthanthat.Nor should it. You are aclever man, Superior, youmake me smile.' And he

turned back to his joint ofmeat, prodding at it with afork and making the bloodrun. 'Youshouldfindanothermaster.'

Glokta shuffled out. Acharming suggestion. But Ialready have two more thanI'dlike.

The prisoner was a scrawny,

sinewy specimen, naked andbagged as usual, with handsmanacledsecurelybehindhisback.GloktawatchedasFrostdragged him into the domedroom from the cells, hisstumbling bare feet flappingagainstthecoldfloor.

'Hewasn'ttoohardtogeta hold of,' Severard wassaying. 'He left the others awhile ago, but he's been

hanging round the city likethe smell of piss ever since.We picked him up yesterdaynight.'

Frost flung the prisonerdownin thechair.Where amI?Whohasme?Whatdotheywant? A horrifying moment,just before the work begins.The terror and thehelplessness,thesicktinglingof anticipation. My own

memory of it was sharplyrefreshed,onlytheotherday,at thehandsof the charmingMagisterEider.Iwassetfreeunmolested, however. Theprisoner sat there, head tiltedtooneside,thecanvasonthefrontof thebagmovingbackand forth with his hurriedbreath.Iverymuchdoubtthathewillbesolucky.

Glokta's eyes crept

reluctantly to the paintingabove the prisoner's baggedhead. Our old friendKanedias. The painted facestared grimly down from thedomed ceiling, the armsspreadwide,thecolourfulfirebehind. The Maker fellburning… He weighed theheavy hammer reluctantly inhishand.'Let'sgetonwithit,then.' Severard snatched the

canvas bag away with ashowyflourish.

The Navigator squintedinto the bright lamplight, aweather-beaten face, tannedand deeply lined, headshaved, like a priest. Or aconfessedtraitor,ofcourse.

'Your name is BrotherLongfoot?'

'Indeed! Of the noble

OrderofNavigators!IassureyouthatIaminnocentofanycrime!' The words came outin rush. 'I have done nothingunlawful,no.Thatwouldnotbemywayatall.Iamalaw-abidingman,andalwayshavebeen. I can think of nopossible reasonwhy I shouldbe manhandled in this way!None!' His eyes swivelleddown and he saw the anvil,

gleaming on the floorbetween him and Glokta,wherethetablewouldusuallyhave been.His voice rose anentire octave higher. 'TheOrder of Navigators is wellrespected,andIamamemberingoodstanding!Exceptionalstanding! Navigation is theforemost of my manyremarkable talents, it isindeed,theforemostof—'

Glokta cracked hishammeragainstthetopoftheanvilwithaclangtowakethedead. 'Stop! Talking!' Thelittlemanblinked,andgaped,but he shut up. Glokta sankbackinhischair,kneadingathis withered thigh, the painpricklinguphisback.'Doyouhaveanynotionofhow tiredIam?OfhowmuchIhavetodo?Theagonyofgettingout

of bed each morning leavesme a broken man before theday even begins, and thepresent moment is anexceptionallystressfulone. Itis therefore a matter of themost supreme indifference tomewhetheryoucanwalkforthe rest of your life,whetheryou can see for the rest ofyour life, whether you canhold your shit in for the rest

of your intensely short,intenselypainful life.Doyouunderstand?'

The Navigator lookedwide-eyed up at Frost,looming over him like anoutsize shadow. 'Iunderstand,'hewhispered.

'Good,'saidSeverard.'Ve'gooth,'saidFrost.'Very good indeed,' said

Glokta. 'Tell me, BrotherLongfoot, isoneamongyourremarkable talents asuperhuman resistance topain?'

The prisoner swallowed.'Itisnot.'

'Then the rules of thisgame are simple. I ask aquestion and you answerprecisely, correctly, and,aboveall,briefly.Do Imake

myselfclear?''I understand completely.

I do not speak other than to—'

Frost's fist sunk into hisgut and he folded up, eyesbulging. 'Do you see,' hissedGlokta, 'that your answerthere should have been yes?'The albino seized thewheezingNavigator'sleganddragged his foot up onto the

anvil.Oh, cold metal on thesensitive sole. Quiteunpleasant,butitcouldbesomuch worse. And somethingtells me it probably will be.FrostsnappedamanacleshutaroundLongfoot'sankle.

'Iapologiseforthelackofimagination.' Glokta sighed.'Inourdefence,it'sdifficulttobe always thinking ofsomething new. I mean,

smashingaman's feetwith alumphammer,it'sso…'

'Pethethrian?' venturedFrost.

Glokta heard a sharpvolley of laughter frombehind Severard's mask, felthis ownmouth grinning too.Hereallyshouldhavebeenacomedian, rather than atorturer. 'Pedestrian!Preciselyso.Butdon'tworry.

If we haven't got what weneed by the time we'vecrushed everything belowyour knees to pulp,we'll seeifwecan thinkof somethingmoreinventivefortherestofyour legs. How does thatsound?'

'ButIhavedonenothing!'squealed Longfoot, justgetting his breath back. 'Iknownothing!Idid—'

'Forget…aboutallthat.Itis meaningless now.' Gloktaleaned slowly, painfullyforwards, let the head of thehammertapgentlyagainsttheiron beside the Navigator'sbarefoot.'WhatIwantyoutoconcentrate on… are myquestions… and your toes…and this hammer. But don'tworryifyoufindthatdifficultnow.Believemewhen I say

—once the hammer startsfalling, you will find it easytoignoreeverythingelse.'

Longfoot stared at theanvil, nostrils flaring as hisbreathsnortedquickly inandout. And the seriousness ofthesituationfinallyimpressesitselfuponhim.

'Questions, then,' saidGlokta.'Youarefamiliarwiththe man who styles himself

Bayaz,theFirstoftheMagi?''Yes! Please! Yes! Until

recently he was myemployer.'

'Good.' Glokta shifted inhis chair, trying to find amore comfortable positionwhile bending forwards.'Very good. Youaccompanied him on ajourney?'

'Iwastheguide!''What was your

destination?''The IslandofShabulyan,

attheedgeoftheWorld.'Gloktalet theheadof the

hammer click against theanvil again. 'Ohcome,come.The edge of the World? Afantasy,surely?'

'Truly!Truly!Ihaveseen

it! I stood upon that islandwithmyownfeet!'

'Whowentwithyou?''There was… was Logen

Ninefingers, from the distantNorth.' Ah, yes, he of thescarsandthetightlips.'FerroMaljinn, a Kantic woman.'Theone that gave our friendSuperior Goyle so muchtrouble. 'Jezal dan Luthar,a… a Union officer.' A

posturing dolt. 'MalacusQuai,Bayaz' apprentice.'Theskinny liar with thetroglodyte'scomplexion.'AndthenBayazhimself!'

'Sixofyou?''Onlysix!''A long and a difficult

journey to undertake. Whatwasat theedgeof theWorldthatdemandedsuchaneffort,

besideswater?'Longfoot's lip trembled.

'Nothing!' Glokta frowned,andnudgedattheNavigator'sbig toe with the head of thehammer. 'It was not there!The thing thatBayaz sought!It was not there! He said hehadbeentricked!'

'What was it that hethoughtwouldbethere?'

'Hesaiditwasastone!''Astone?''The woman asked him.

Hesaiditwasarock…arockfrom the Other Side.' TheNavigatorshookhissweatinghead.'Anunholynotion!Iamgladwefoundnosuchthing.BayazcalledittheSeed!'

Glokta felt the grinmelting from his face. The

Seed.Isitmyimagination,orhas the room grown colder?'What else did he say aboutit?'

'Justmythsandnonsense!''Tryme.''Stories, about Glustrod,

andruinedAulcus,andtakingforms, and stealing faces!Aboutspeakingtodevils,andthe summoning of them.

AbouttheOtherSide.''What else?' Glokta dealt

Longfoot's toe a firmer tapwiththehammer.

'Ah!Ah!HesaidtheSeedwas the stuff of the worldbelow! That it was left overfrom before the Old Time,when demons walked theearth!He said it was a greatand powerful weapon! Thathemeanttouseit,againstthe

Gurkish! Against theProphet!' A weapon, frombefore the Old Time. Thesummoning of devils, thetaking of forms. Kanediasseemed to frown down fromthe wall more grimly thanever,andGloktaflinched.Heremembered his nightmaretrip into the House of theMaker, the patterns of lightonthefloor,theshiftingrings

in the darkness. Heremembered stepping outonto the roof, standing highabove the city withoutclimbingasinglestair.

'You did not find it?' hewhispered,hismouthdry.

'No!Itwasnotthere!''Andthen?''That was all! We came

back across the mountains.

Wemade a raft and rode thegreatAosbacktothesea.WetookashipfromCalcisandIsitbeforeyounow!'

Gloktanarrowedhiseyes,studying carefully hisprisoner'sface.Thereismore.I see it. 'What are you nottellingme?'

'I have told youeverything! I have no talentfor dissembling!' That, at

least, is true. His lies areplain.

'Ifyourcontract isended,whyareyoustillinthecity?'

'Because… because…'The Navigator's eyes dartedroundtheroom.

'Oh, dear me, no.' Theheavy hammer came downwith all of Glokta's crippledstrength and crushed

Longfoot'sbig toeflatwithadull thud. The Navigatorgapedatit,eyesbulgingfromhis head. Ah, that beautiful,horrible moment betweenstubbingyourtoeandfeelingthehurt.Hereitcomes.Hereit comes.Here it—Longfootlet vent a great shriek,squirmedaround inhischair,facecontortedwithagony.

'I know the feeling,' said

Glokta, wincing as hewriggled his own remainingtoes around in his sweatyboot. 'I truly, truly do, and Isympathise. That blindingflashofpain, thenupwashesthesickanddizzyfaintnessofthe shattered bone, then theslow pulsing up the leg thatseemstodragthewaterfromyour eyes and make yourwhole body tremble.'

Longfoot gasped, andwhimpered, tears glisteningon his cheeks. 'And whatcomes next? Weeks oflimping?Monthsofhobbling,crippled? And if the nextblow is to on your ankle?'GloktaproddedatLongfoot'sshin with the end of thehammer. 'Or square on yourkneecap,whatthen?Willyouever walk again? I know the

feelingswell,believeme.'Sohow can I inflict them now,on someone else? Heshrugged his twistedshoulders. One of life'smysteries. 'Another?' And heraisedthehammeragain.

'No! No! Wait!' wailedLongfoot. 'The priest! Godhelpme,apriestcame to theOrder! A Gurkish priest! Hesaid thatoneday theFirstof

the Magi might ask for aNavigator,andthathewishedto be told of it! That hewished to be told whathappenedafterward!Hemadethreats, terrible threats, wehad no choice but to obey! Iwas waiting in the city foranother Navigator, who willconvey the news! Only thismorning I told himeverything I have toldyou! I

was about to leave Adua, Iswear!'

'What was the name ofthis priest?' Longfoot saidnothing, his wet eyes wide,thebreathhissinginhisnose.Oh, why must they test me?Glokta looked down at theNavigator's toe. It wasalready starting to swell andgo blotchy, streaks of blackblood-blisters down each

side, the nail deep, broodingpurple,edgedwithangryred.Gloktaground theendof thehammer's handle savagelyinto it. 'The name of thepriest! His name! His name!His—'

'Aargh! Mamun! Godhelp me! His name wasMamun!' Mamun. Yulweispoke of him, in Dagoska.The first apprentice of the

Prophet himself. Togetherthey broke the Second Law,together they ate the flesh ofmen.

'Mamun. I see. Now.'Glokta craned furtherforward, ignoring an uglytingling up his twisted spine.'WhatisBayazdoinghere?'

Longfoot gaped, a longstring of drool hanging fromhisbottomlip.'Idon'tknow!'

'What does he want withus?WhatdoeshewantintheUnion?'

'Idon'tknow! Ihave toldyoueverything!'

'Leaning forwards is aconsiderable ordeal for me.One that I begin to tire of.'Gloktafrowned,andliftedthehammer, its polished headglinting.

'Ijustfindwaysfromhereto there! I only navigate!Please! No!' Longfootsqueezed his eyes shut,tongue wedged between histeeth.Here it comes. Here itcomes.Hereitcomes…

Gloktatossedthehammerclattering down on the floorand leaned back, rocking hisaching hips left and right totry and squeeze away the

aches. 'Verywell,' he sighed.'Iamsatisfied.'

The prisoner opened firstone grimacing eye, and thentheother.He lookedup, facefullofhope.'Icango?'

Severard chuckled softlybehind his mask. Even Frostmadeakindofhissingsound.'Of course you can go.'Glokta smiled his emptysmile. 'You can go back in

yourbag.'TheNavigator'sfacewent

slack with horror. 'God takepityonme.'

If there is a God, he hasnopityinhim.

FortunesofWar

«^»

LordMarshalBurrwasinthemidst of writing a letter, buthe smiled up asWest let the

tentflapdrop.

'Howareyou,Colonel?''Well enough, thank you,

sir.Thepreparationsarewellunderway. We should bereadytoleaveatfirstlight.'

'As efficient as ever.Where would I be withoutyou?' Burr gestured at thedecanter.'Wine?'

'Thank you, sir.' West

poured himself a glass.'Wouldyoucareforone?'

Burr indicated a batteredcanteen at his elbow. 'IbelieveitwouldbeprudentifIwastosticktowater.'

Westwinced,guiltily.Hehardly felt as if he had therighttoask,buttherewasnoescaping it now. 'How areyoufeeling,sir?'

'Much better, thank youfor asking. Much, muchbetter.'Hegrimaced, put onefist over his mouth, andburped. 'Not entirelyrecovered, but well on theway.'As though toprove thepoint he got up easily fromhis chair and strode to themap, hands clasped behindhisback.Hisfacehadindeedregained much of its colour.

He no longer stood hunchedover, wobbling as though hewereabouttofall.

'LordMarshal…Iwantedto speak to you… about thebattleatDunbrec'

Burrlookedround.'Aboutwhatfeatureofit?'

'When you were sick…'West teeteredonthebrinkofspeaking, then let the words

bubbleout.'Ididn'tsendforasurgeon!Icouldhave,but—'

'I'mproudthatyoudidn't.'West blinked.He had hardlydaredtohopeforthatanswer.'You did what I would havewanted you to do. It isimportant that an officershouldcare,butitisvitalthatheshouldnotcare toomuch.Hemust be able to place hismen in harm'sway.Hemust

be able to send them to theirdeaths, if he deems itnecessary.Hemustbeabletomakesacrifices,andtoweighthe greatest good, withoutemotion counting in hischoice. That is why I likeyou, West. You havecompassion in you, but youhave iron too.Onecannotbea great leader without acertain…ruthlessness.'

West found himself lostforwords.TheLordMarshalchuckled, and slapped thetablewithhisopenhand.'Butas it happens, no harmdone,eh? The line held, theNorthmenwere turnedoutofAngland, and I totteredthroughalive,asyoucansee!'

'Iamtrulygladtoseeyoufeelingbetter,sir.'

Burr grinned. 'Things are

looking up. We are free tomoveagain,withourlinesofsupplysecureandtheweatherfinallydry.IfyourDogman'splan works then we have achance of finishing Bethodwithin a couple of weeks!They've been a damncourageous and useful set ofallies!'

'Theyhave,sir.''But this trap must be

carefully baited, and sprungatjusttherightmoment.'Burrpeered at the map, rockingenergetically back andforwardonhisheels.'Ifwe'retoo early Bethod may slipaway. If we're too late ourNorthern friends could becrushed before we can reachthem.We have tomake surebloody Poulder and bloodyKroy don't drag their bloody

feet!' He winced and put ahandonhisstomach,reachedfor his canteen and took aswigofwater.

'I'd say you finally havethem house-trained, LordMarshal.'

'Don't you believe it.They'reonlywaitingfortheirchancetoputtheknifeinme,the pair of them! And nowtheKingisdead.Whoknows

whowillreplacehim?Votingforamonarch!Haveyoueverheardofsuchathing?'

West's mouth feltunpleasantly dry. It wasalmost impossible to believethat the whole business hadbeenpartlyhisowndoing. Itwould hardly have done totake credit for it however,giventhathisparthadbeentomurder theheir to the throne

in cold blood. 'Who do youthink they will choose, sir?'hecroaked.

'I'mnocourtier,West,forallIhaveaseatontheClosedCouncil. Brock, maybe, orIsher? I'll tell you one thingfor sure—if you think there'sviolence going on up here,it'll be twice as brutal backhome in Midderland, withhalf the mercy shown.' The

Marshal burped, andswallowed, and laid a handon his stomach. 'Gah. NoNorthman's anything like asruthless as those vultures ontheClosedCouncilwhentheyget started. And what willchange when they have theirnew man in his robes ofstate? Not much, I'mthinking.Notmuch.'

'Verylikely,sir.'

'I daresay there's nothingthatwecandoaboutiteitherway.Apairofbluntsoldiers,eh, West?' He stepped upclose to the map again, andtraced their route northwardstowards the mountains, histhick forefinger hissing overthe paper. 'We must makesureweare ready tomoveatsunup. Every hour could bevital. Poulder andKroy have

hadtheirorders?''Signedanddelivered,sir,

and they understand theurgency. Don't worry, LordMarshal,we'llbereadytogointhemorning.'

'Don't worry?' Burrsnorted. 'I'm the commanderof his Majesty's army.Worrying is what I do. Butyoushouldgetsomerest.'Hewaved West out of the tent

with one thick hand. 'I'll seeyouatfirstlight.'

They played their cards bytorchlight on the hillside, inthecalmnightunderthestars,andbytorchlightbelowthemthe Union army made itshurried preparations toadvance. Lamps bobbed andmoved,soldierscursed in thedarkness.Bangs,andclatters,

and the ill-tempered calls ofmen and beasts floatedthroughthestillair.

'There'll be no sleep foranyone tonight.' Brintfinished dealing and scrapedup his cards with hisfingernails.

'Iwish I could rememberthe last time I gotmore thanthree good hours together,'said West. Back in Adua,

most likely, before his sistercame to the city. Before theMarshalputhimonhis staff.Before he came back toAngland, before he metPrince Ladisla, before thefreezing journey north andthe thingshehaddoneon it.Hehunchedhisshouldersandfrowned down at his dog-earedcards.

'How'stheLordMarshal?'

askedJalenhorm.'Much better, I'm pleased

tosay.''Thank the fates for that.'

Kaspa raised his brows. 'Idon'tmuch fancy the idea ofthatpedantKroyincharge.'

'Or Poulder either,' saidBrint.'Theman'sruthlessasasnake.'

West could only agree.

Poulder and Kroy hated himalmostasmuchastheyhatedeach other. If one of themtook command he'd be luckyifhefoundhimselfswabbinglatrines the following day.Probablyhe'dbeonaboattoAdua within the week. Toswablatrinesthere.

'Have you heard aboutLuthar?'askedJalenhorm.

'Whatabouthim?'

'He'sbackinAdua.'Westlookedupsharply.Ardeewasin Adua, and the idea of thetwo of them together againwas not exactly a hearteningthought.

'I had a letter from mycousinAriss.'Kaspasquintedasheclumsilyfannedouthiscards. 'ShesaysJezalwasfaraway somewhere, on somekindofmissionfortheking.'

'A mission?' Westdoubted anyone would havetrusted Jezal with anythingimportantenoughtobecalledamission.

'All of Adua is buzzingwithit,apparently.'

'They say he led somecharge or other,' saidJalenhorm, 'across somebridge.'

Westraisedhiseyebrows.'Didhenow?'

'Theysayhekilledascoreofmenonthebattlefield.'

'Onlyascore?''They say he bedded the

Emperor's daughter,'murmuredBrint.

Westsnorted.'SomehowIfind that the most believableofthethree.'

Kaspa spluttered withlaughter. 'Well whatever thetruthofit,he'sbeenmadeuptoColonel.'

'Good for him,' mutteredWest,'healwaysseemstofallonhisfeet,thatboy.'

'Did you hear about thisrevolt?'

'My sister mentionedsomethingabout it inher last

letter.Why?''There was a full-scale

rebellion, Ariss tells me.Thousands of peasants,roaming the countryside,burning and looting, hanginganyone with a 'dan' in theirname. Guess who was givencommandoftheforcesenttostopthem?'

Westsighed. 'Notouroldfriend Jezal dan Luthar, by

anychance?''The very same, and he

persuadedthemtogobacktotheirhomes,howaboutthat?'

'Jezal dan Luthar,'murmured Brint, 'with thecommon touch. Who couldhavethoughtit?'

'Not me.' Jalenhormemptiedhisglassandpouredhimself another. 'But they're

calling him a hero now,apparently.'

'Toasting him in thetaverns,'saidBrint.

'CongratulatinghimintheOpenCouncil,'saidKaspa.

West scraped the jinglingpile of coins towards himwith the edge of his hand. 'Iwish I could say I wassurprised, but I always

guessed I'd be taking myorders from Lord MarshalLuthar one of these days.' Itcould have been worse, hesupposed. It couldhavebeenPoulderorKroy.

The first pink glow of dawnwas creeping across the topsofthehillsasWestwalkedupthe slope towards the LordMarshal's tent. It was past

time to give the word tomove. He saluted grimly totheguardsbesidetheflapandpushedonthrough.Onelampwasstillburninginthecornerbeyond,castingaruddyglowover the maps, over thefoldingchairsandthefoldingtables, filling the creases inthe blankets on Burr's bedwith black shadows. Westcrossedtoit,thinkingoverall

the tasks he had to get donethat morning, checking thathehadleftnothingout.

'Lord Marshal, PoulderandKroyarewaitingforyourwordtomove.'Burrlayuponhiscampbed,hiseyesclosed,his mouth open, sleepingpeacefully.Westwould haveliked to leave him there, buttime was already wasting.'Lord Marshal!' he snapped,

walking up close to the bed.Stillhedidnotrespond.

That was when Westnoticedthathischestwasnotmoving.

He reached out withhesitantfingersandheldthemaboveBurr'sopenmouth.Nowarmth.Nobreath.West feltthe horror slowly spreadingoutfromhischesttotheverytips of his fingers. There

could be no doubt. LordMarshalBurrwasdead.

Itwasgreymorningwhenthe coffin was carried fromthe tent on the shoulders ofsix solemn guardsmen, thesurgeonwalkingalongbehindwith his hat in his hand.Poulder, Kroy, West, and ascattering of the army'smostsenior men lined the path towatch it go. Burr himself

would no doubt haveapprovedofthesimpleboxinwhich his corpse would beshipped back to Adua. Thesame rough carpentry inwhich the Union's lowestlevieswereburied.

Weststaredatit,numb.Theman inside had been

like a father to him, or theclosest he had ever come tohaving one. A mentor and

protector, a patron and ateacher. An actual father,rather than the bullying,drunkenwormthatnaturehadcursed himwith.And yet hedid not feel sorrow as hestared at that rough woodenbox. He felt fear. For thearmy and for himself. Hisfirstinstinctwasnottoweep,it was to run. But there wasnowheretorunto.Everyman

had todohispart,nowmorethanever.

Kroyliftedhissharpchinandstoodupironrigidastheshadow of the casket passedacross them. 'Marshal Burrwillbemuchmissed.Hewasastaunchsoldier,andabraveleader.'

'A patriot,' chimed inPoulder, his lip trembling,one hand pressed against his

chestasthoughitmightburstopenwithemotion. 'Apatriotwho gave his life for hiscountry!Itwasmyhonourtoserveunderhisorders.'

West wanted to vomit attheir hypocrisy, but the factwas he desperately neededthem. The Dogman and hispeople were out in the hills,moving north, trying to lureBethod into a trap. If the

Union army did not follow,andsoon,theywouldhavenohelp when the King of theNorthmen finally caught upto them. They would onlysucceed in luring themselvesintotheirgraves.

'A terrible loss,' saidWest, watching the coffincarried slowly down thehillside, 'but we will honourhimbestbyfightingon.'

Kroy gave a regulationnod. 'Well said,Colonel.Wewill make these Northmenpay!'

'Wemust.Tothatend,weshould make ready toadvance. We are alreadybehindschedule,andtheplanreliesonprecise—'

'What?' Poulder stared athim as though he suspectedWest of having gone

suddenly insane. 'Moveforward? Without orders?Without a clear chain ofcommand?'

Kroy gave vent to anexplosivesnort.'Impossible.'

Poulder violently shookhishead.'Outofthequestion,entirelyoutofthequestion.'

'ButMarshalBurr'sorderswerequitespecific—'

'Circumstances have veryplainly altered.' Kroy's facewas an expressionless slab.'Until I receive explicitinstructions from the ClosedCouncil, no one will bemovingmydivisionsomuchasahair'sbreadth.'

'General Poulder, surelyyou—'

'In this particularcircumstance, I cannot but

agreewithGeneralKroy.Thearmy cannot move an inchuntil the Open Council hasselected a new king, and theking has appointed a newLord Marshal.' And he andKroyeyedeachotherwiththedeepesthatredanddistrust.

Weststoodstockstill,hismouthhanging slightlyopen,unable to believe his ears. Itwould take days for news of

Burr's death to reach theAgriont, and even if the newking decided on areplacement immediately,days for the orders to comeback.West pictured the longmiles of forested track toUffrith, the long leagues ofsalt water to Adua. A week,perhaps, if the decision wasmade at once, and with thegovernment in chaos that

hardlyseemedlikely.Inthemeantimethearmy

would sit there, doingnothing,thehillsbeforethemall but undefended, whileBethodwasgivenampletimetomarch north, slaughter theDogman and his friends, andreturn to his positions.Positions which, no doubt,untold numbers of their ownmen would be killed

assaulting once the armyfinally had a newcommander. All an utterlypointless, purposeless waste.Burr's coffin had only justpassed out of sight butalready, it seemed, it wasquiteas if themanhadneverlived. West felt the horrorcreeping up his throat,threatening to strangle himwithrageandfrustration.'But

the Dogman and hisNorthmen, our allies… theyarecountingonourhelp!'

'Unfortunate,' observedKroy.

'Regrettable,' murmuredPoulder, with a sharp intakeof breath, 'but you mustunderstand, Colonel West,that the entire business isquiteoutofourhands.'

Kroy nodded stiffly. 'Outofourhands.Andthatisall.'

West stared at the twoofthem, and a terrible wave ofpowerlessness swept overhim.Thesamefeelingthathehad when Prince Ladisladecided to cross the river,when Prince Ladisla decidedtoorderthecharge.Thesamefeeling that he had when hefloundered up in the mist,

blood in his eyes, and knewthedaywaslost.Thatfeelingthathewasnothingmorethananobserver.Thatfeelingthathe had promised himself hewould never have again. Hisownfault,perhaps.

Aman shouldonlymakesuchpromisesasheissurehecankeep.

TheKingmaker

«^»

Itwasahotdayoutside,andsunlight poured in through

the great stained-glasswindows, throwing colouredpatternsacross the tiled floorof the Lords' Round. Thegreat space usually felt airyandcool,eveninthesummer.Today it felt stuffy,suffocating, uncomfortablyhot. Jezal tugged his sweatycollar back and forth, tryingto let somebreathof air intohis uniform without moving

from his attitude of stiffattention.

Thelasttimehehadstoodin this spot, back to thecurvedwall,hadbeenthedaythe Guild of Mercers wasdissolved. It was hard toimaginethatitwaslittlemorethan a year ago, so muchseemed to have happenedsince. He had thought thenthat the Lords' Round could

not possibly have beenmorecrowded, more tense, moreexcited. How wrong he hadbeen.

The curved banks ofbenches that took up themajorityofthechamberwerecrammedtoburstingwiththeUnion's most powerfulnoblemen, and the air wasthick with their expectant,anxious, fearful whispering.

TheentireOpenCouncilwasin breathless attendance,wedged shoulder to fur-trimmed shoulder, each manwiththeglitteringchainabouthisshouldersthatmarkedhimout in gold or silver as thehead of his family. Jezalmight have had little moreunderstandingofpoliticsthanamushroom,butevenhehadto be excited by the

importance of the occasion.The selection of a newHighKing of the Union by openvote. He felt a flutter ofnerves in his throat at thethought.Asoccasionswent,itwas difficult to imagine onebigger.

The people of Aduacertainlyknewit.Beyondthewalls, in the streets andsquaresofthecity,theywere

waiting eagerly for news ofthe Open Council's decision.Waiting to cheer their newmonarch, or perhaps to jeerhim,dependingonthechoice.Beyondthehighdoorsof theLords' Round, the Square ofMarshals was a singleswarming crowd, each manand woman in the Agriontdesperate to be the first tohear word from inside.

Futures would be decided,great debts would be settled,fortuneswon and lost on theresult. Only a lucky fractionhad been permitted into thepublic gallery, but stillenough that the spectatorswerecrushedtogetheraroundthe balcony, in imminentdanger of being shoved overandplungingtothetiledfloorbelow.

Theinlaiddoorsatthefarendofthehallopenedwitharinging crash, the echoesrebounding from the distantceiling and booming aroundthe great space. There was arustling as every one of thecouncillors swivelled in hisseat to look towards theentrance,andthenaclatteroffeet as the Closed Councilapproachedsteadilydownthe

aisle between thebenches.Agaggle of secretaries, andclerks, and hangers-onhurried after, papers andledgersclutchedintheireagerhands. Lord ChamberlainHoff strode at their head,frowninggrimly.BehindhimwalkedSult,allinwhite,andMarovia, all in black, theirfaces equally solemn. Nextcame Varuz, and Halleck,

and… Jezal's face fell. WhoelsebuttheFirstoftheMagi,attired once again in hisoutrageous wizard's mantle,hisapprenticeskulkingathiselbow. Bayaz grinned asthoughheweredoingnothingmore than attending thetheatre. Their eyes met, andthe Magus had the gall towink. Jezal was far fromamused.

To a swelling chorus ofmutterings, the oldmen tooktheir high chairs behind along,curved table, facing thenoblemen on their bankedbenches.Theiraidesarrangedthemselves on smaller chairsand laid out their papers,opened their books,whispered to theirmasters inhushedvoices.Thetensioninthehall roseyet another step

towardsoutrighthysteria.Jezal felt a sweaty shiver

run up his back. Glokta wasthere,besidetheArchLector,and the familiar face wasanything but a reassurance.Jezal had been at Ardee'shouseonly thatmorning,andallnighttoo.Needlesstosay,he had neither forsworn hernor proposed marriage. Hishead spun from going round

and round the issue. Themore timehe spentwith her,the more impossible anydecisionseemedtobecome.

Glokta's fever-bright eyesswivelled to his, held them,then flicked away. Jezalswallowed, with somedifficulty. He had landedhimself in a devil of a spot,alright.What ever was he todo?

GloktagaveLutharonebriefglare. Just to remind him ofwhere we stand. Then heswivelled in his chair,grimacingashestretchedouthisthrobbingleg,pressinghistongue hard into his emptygumsashefeltthekneeclick.We have more importantbusiness than Jezal danLuthar. Far more important

business.For this one day, the

power lies with the OpenCouncil,nottheClosed.Withthe nobles, not thebureaucrats. With the many,not the few. Glokta lookeddownthetable,atthefacesofthegreatmenwhohadguidedthe course of the Union forthe last dozen years andmore: Sult, Hoff, Marovia,

Varuz, and all the rest. Onlyone member of the ClosedCouncil was smiling. Itsnewest and least welcomeaddition.

Bayazsatinhistallchair,hisonlycompanionhispallidapprentice, Malacus Quai.And he looks scantcompanionship for anyone.TheFirstoftheMagiseemedto revel in the bowel-

loosening tensionasmuchashis fellowswere horrified byit, his smile absurdly out ofplace among the frowns.Worriedfaces.Sweatybrows.Nervous whispers to theircronies. They perch onrazors,allofthem.AndItoo,of course. Let us not forgetpoor Sand dan Glokta,faithful public servant! Wecling to power by our

fingernails—slipping,slipping. We sit like theaccused, at our own trials.Weknowtheverdict isaboutto come down. Will it be anill-deserved reprieve? Gloktafelt a smile twitch the cornerof his mouth. Or analtogetherbloodiersentence?Whatsaythegentlemenofthejury?

His eyes flickered over

thefacesoftheOpenCouncilon their benches. Threehundred and twenty faces.Glokta pictured the papersnailed to the Arch Lector'swall,andhematchedthemtothe men sitting before him.The secrets, the lies, and theallegiances. The allegiancesmost of all. Which way willtheyvote?

He saw some whose

support he had made certainof.Orascertainaswecanbein these uncertain times. Hesaw Ingelstad's pink faceamong the press, near to theback,andthemanswallowedand lookedaway.As long asyou vote our way, you canlookwhere you like. He sawWetterlant's slack features afew rows back, and the mangave him an almost

imperceptiblenod.Soourlastoffer was acceptable. Fourmore for the Arch Lector?Enough to make thedifference,andkeepusinourjobs? To keep us all alive?Glokta felt his empty grinwiden.Weshallsoonsee…

In the centre of the frontrow, among the oldest andbest families ofMidderland'snobility,LordBrocksat,arms

folded,withalookofhungryexpectation. Our frontrunner, keen to spring fromthe gate. Not far from himwas Lord Isher, old andstately.The second favourite,still with every chance.Barezin and Heugen satnearby, wedgeduncomfortably together andoccasionally lookingsideways at each other with

somedistaste.Whoknows?Alate spurt and the thronecould be theirs. LordGovernorSkaldsatonthefarleft, at the front of thedelegations from Anglandand Starikland. New men,fromtheprovinces.Butavoteis still a vote, however wemightturnournosesup.Overon the far right twelveAldermen of Westport sat,

marked as outsiders by thecut of their clothes and thetoneoftheirskin.Yetadozenvotesstill,andundeclared.

There were norepresentatives of Dagoskatoday.There are none left atall, alas. Lord GovernorVurms was relieved of hispost. His son lost his headand could not attend. As forthe rest of the city—it was

conquered by the Gurkish.Well. Some wastage isinevitable. We will struggleonwithoutthem.Theboardisset, the pieces ready to bemoved. Who will be thewinner of this sordid littlegame, do we suppose? Weshallsoonsee…

The Announcer steppedforwardsintothecentreofthecircular floor, lifted his staff

high above his head andbrought itdownwithaseriesofmightycrashesthatechoedfrom the polished marblewalls. The chatter faded, themagnates shuffled round toface the floor, every facedrawn with tension. Apregnant silence settled overthe packed hall, and Gloktafelt a flurry of twitches slinkuptheleftsideofhisfaceand

sethiseyelidblinking.'I call thismeeting of the

OpenCounciloftheUniontoorder!' thundered theAnnouncer.Slowly, andwiththegrimmestoffrowns,LordHoff rose to face thecouncillors.

'My friends! Mycolleagues! My Lords ofMidderland, Angland, andStarikland, Aldermen of

Westport! Guslav the Fifth,our King… is dead. His twoheirs… are dead. One at thehands of our enemies in thenorth, the other, our enemiesin the south. Truly, this is atime of troubles, and we areleftwithoutaleader.'Heheldhisarmsupimploringlytothecouncillors. 'You are nowfaced with a graveresponsibility. The selection,

fromamongyournumber,ofa new High King of theUnion.AnymanwhoholdsachaironthisOpenCouncilisapotentialcandidate!Anyofyou… could be our nextKing.' A volley of near-hysterical whispers floateddownfromthepublicgallery,andHoffwasobligedtoraisehisvoicetoshoutoverthem.

'Suchavotehasonlybeen

takenoncebeforeinthelonghistory of our great nation!Afterthecivilwarandthefallof Morlic the Mad, whenArnault was raised to thethrone by near-unanimousaccord. He it was who siredthe great dynasty that lasteduntil a few short days ago.'Heletfallhisarmsandstaredsadlydownatthetiles. 'Wisewasthechoiceyourforebears

made that day.We can onlyhope that the man electedhere thismorning, by and infull view of his peers, willfoundadynastyjustasnoble,just as strong, just as even-handed, and just as long-lived!'

We can only hope forsomeonewhowill do as he'sdamnwelltold.

Ferro shoved a woman in along gown out of her way.She elbowed past a fat man,his jowls trembling withoutrage. She forced her waythrough to the balcony andglared down. The widechamberbelowwascrammedwith fur-trimmed old men,crowded together on highbanksof seating,eachwithasparkling chain round his

shoulders and a sparklingsheenofsweatacrosshispaleface.Oppositethem,behindacurvedtable,wereanothersetofmen,fewerinnumber.Shescowled as she saw Bayazsitting at one end of them,smiling as if he knew somesecret that no one else couldguess.

Justlikealways.Beside him stood a fat

pink with a face full ofbroken veins, shoutingsomething about each manvoting with his conscience.Ferro snorted. She wouldhavebeensurprisedifthefewhundredmendowntherehadfive whole consciencesbetweenthem.Itseemedasifthey were all attendingcarefully to the fat man'saddress, but Ferro saw

differently.The room was full of

signals.Men glanced sideways at

one another and gave subtlenods. They winked with oneeye or the other. Theytouched forefingers to nosesand ears. They scratched instrange ways. A web ofsecrets, spreading out toevery part of the chamber,

and with Bayaz sittinggrinning in the midst of it.Some way behind him, withhisbacktothewall,JezaldanLuthar was standing in auniformfestoonedwithshinythread. Ferro curled her lip.Shecouldseeitinthewayhestood.

Hehadlearnednothing.TheAnnouncerstabbedat

thefloorwithhisstickagain.

'Voting will now begin!'TherewasaraggedgroanandFerrosawthewomanshehadpushed past earlier slide tothe floor in a faint. Someonedraggedheraway, flappingapieceofpaperinherface,andthe ill-tempered press closedin tight behind. 'In the firstround the field will benarrowed to three choices!Therewillbeashowofhands

foreachcandidateinorderofthemost extensive lands andholdings!'

Down below on theirbenches, the richly dressedsweated and trembled likemenbeforeabattle.

'Firstly!' shrieked a clerk,voice cracking as heconsulted an enormousledger,'LordBrock!'

Up in the gallery peoplemoppedtheirfaces,mutteringand gasping as if they werefacingdeath.Perhapssomeofthem were. The whole placereeked of doubt, andexcitement, and terror. Sostrong it was contagious. Sostrong that even Ferro, whodid not care a shit for thepinks and their damn vote,felthermouthdry,herfingers

itching, her heart thumpingfast.

The Announcer turned toface the chamber. 'The firstcandidatewillbeLordBrock!All those members of theOpen Council who wish tovote for Lord Brock as thenextHighKingoftheUnion,willyoupleaseraiseyour—'

'Onemoment,myLords!'

Gloktajerkedhisheadround,but his neck-bones stuckhalfway and he had to peerfrom the corner of one dewyeye. He need hardly havebothered. I could haveguessed without looking whospoke. Bayaz had risen fromhis chair and was nowsmiling indulgently towardsthe Open Council. With

perfect timing. A volley ofoutraged calls rose up fromitsmembersinresponse.

'This is no time forinterruptions!'

'Lord Brock! I vote forBrock!'

'Anewdynasty!'Bayaz'smiledidnotslipa

hair'sbreadth.'Butwhatiftheold dynasty could continue?

Whatifwecouldmakeanewbeginning,' and he glancedsignificantly across the facesof his colleagues on theClosed Council, 'whilekeepingallthatisgoodinourpresent government?What ifthere was a way to healwounds, rather than to causethem?'

'How?'camethemockingcalls.

'Whatway?'Bayaz' smile grew

broader yet, 'Why, a royalbastard.'

There was a collectivegasp. Lord Brock bouncedfrom his seat.Quite as if hehad a spring under his arse.'This is an insult to thishouse! A scandal! A slur onthememoryofKingGuslav!'Indeed, he now seems not

onlyadroolingvegetable,buta lecherous one. Othercouncillors rose to join him,faces redwithoutrage,whitewith fury, shaking fists andmaking angry calls. Thewhole sweep of benchesseemedtohonkandgruntandwriggle.Just like thepigpensat the slaughterhouse,clamouring for any swill onoffer.

'Wait!' shrieked the ArchLector, his white-glovedhands raised in entreaty.Sensing some faint glimmerof hope in the darkness,perhaps? 'Wait, my Lords!Thereisnothingtobelostbylistening! We shall have thetruth here, even if it ispainful! The truth should beouronlyconcern!'Gloktahadtochomphisgumsdownona

splutter of laughter. Oh, ofcourse, your Eminence! Thetruthhaseverbeenyouronlycare!

But the babble graduallysubsided. Those councillorswho were on their feet wereshamed back into line.Theirhabit of obedience to theClosed Council is not easilybroken.Butthenhabitsneverare. Especially of obedience.

Only ask my mother's dogs.They grumbled their wayback into their seats, andallowedBayaztocontinue.

'Your Lordships haveperhapsheardofCarmeedanRoth?'Aswellofnoise fromthe gallery above confirmedthat the name was notunfamiliar. 'She was a greatfavouritewiththeKing,whenhewasyounger.Averygreat

favourite. So much so thatshe became pregnant with achild.' Another wave ofmuttering, louder. 'I havealways carried a sentimentalregard for the Union. I havealways had one eye on itswelfare, despite the scantthanksIhavereceivedfor it.'And Bayaz gave the verybriefestcurlofhisliptowardsthe members of the Closed

Council. 'So, when the ladydied in childbirth, I took theKing'sbastardintomycare.Iplaced him with a noblefamily, to bewell raised andwell educated, in case thenation should one day finditself without an heir. Myactions now seem prudentindeed.'

'Lies!' someone shrieked.'Lies!' But few voices joined

in.Theirtoneinsteadwasoneofcuriosity.

'Anaturalson?''Abastard?''CarmeedanRoth,didhe

say?'Theyhaveheard this tale

before. Rumours, perhaps,but familiar ones. Familiarenough to make them listen.Tomake them judgewhether

itwill be in their interests tobelieve.

But Lord Brock was notconvinced. 'A blatantfabrication! Itwill takemorethanrumourandconjecturetoswaythishouse!Producethisbastard, if you can, so-calledFirstoftheMagi!Workyourmagic!'

'No magic is needful,'sneered Bayaz. 'The King's

son is alreadywith us in thechamber.' Gasps ofconsternation from thegallery, sighs of amazementfrom thecouncillors, stunnedsilence from the ClosedCouncilandtheiraides,everyeye fixed onBayaz' pointingfinger as he swept out hishand towards the wall. 'Nootherman thanColonelJezaldanLuthar!'

The spasm began inGlokta's toeless foot, shot uphisruinedleg,sethis twistedspine shivering fromhis arseright to his skull, made hisface twitch like an angryjelly,madehisfewteethrattlein his empty gums, set hiseyelidflickeringfastasafly'swings.

TheechoesofBayaz' lastutterancewhisperedroundthe

suddenly silent hall. 'Luthar,Luthar,Luthar…'

You must be fuckingjoking.

The pale faces of thecouncillors were frozen,hanging in wide-eyed shock,squashed up in narrow-eyedrage. The pale men behindthe table gaped. The pale

peopleatthebalconypressedtheirhandsovertheirmouths.Jezal dan Luthar, who hadwept with self-pity whileFerro had stitched his face.Jezal dan Luthar, that leakypiss-pot of selfishness, andarrogance, and vanity. Jezaldan Luthar, who she hadcalled the princess of theUnion, had a chance ofendingthedayasitsKing.

Ferro could not helpherself.

She let her head dropback and she hacked, andcoughed, and gurgled withamusement. Tears sprung upin her eyes, her chest shookand her knees trembled. Sheclung to the rail of thebalcony, she gasped,blubbered,drooled.Ferrodidnot laugh often. She could

scarcely remember the lasttime.But JezaldanLuthar, aKing?

Thiswasfunny.

High above, in the publicgallery, someone had startedlaughing. A jagged cacklingcompletely inappropriate tothesolemnityofthemoment.But Jezal's first impulse,

when he realised that it washis name that Bayaz hadcalled out, when he realisedthat it was him theoutstretched finger waspointing to, was to join in.His second, as every face inthe entire vast space turnedinstantlytowardshim,wastovomit. The result was anungainly cough, a shame-faced grin, an unpleasant

burning at the very back ofthe mouth, and an instantpalingofthecomplexion.

'I…' he found himselfcroaking, but without theslightest idea of how hewould continue his sentence.What words could possiblyhelpatatimelikethis?Allhecould do was stand there,sweatingprofusely,tremblingunder his stiff uniform, as

Bayaz continued in ringingtones, his voice cutting overthe laughter bubbling downfromabove.

'I have the swornstatement of his adoptivefatherhere,attestingthatallIsayistrue,butdoesitmatter?Thetruthofitisplainforanymantosee!'Hisarmshotouttowards Jezal again. 'HewonaContest beforeyouall, and

accompaniedmeonajourneyfull of peril with never acomplaint! He charged thebridgeatDarmium,withoutathought for his own safety!He saved Adua from therevoltwithoutadropofbloodspilled! His valour and hisprowess, hiswisdom and hisselflessness are well knowntoall!Can itbedoubted thatthe blood of kings flows in

hisveins?'Jezal blinked. Odd facts

begantobobtothesurfaceofhissluggishmind.Hewasnotmuch like his brothers. Hisfatherhadalwaystreatedhimdifferently.Hehadgotallthelooks in the family. Hismouthwashangingopen,buthefoundhecouldnotcloseit.When his father had seenBayaz,at theContest,hehad

turned white as milk, asthoughherecognisedhim.

Hehaddone, andhewasnotJezal'sfatheratall.

When the king hadcongratulated Jezal on hisvictory,hehadmistakenhimfor his own son. Not suchblinding folly, evidently, aseveryonemighthavethought.The old fool had been closerto the mark than anyone.

Suddenly,itallmadehorriblesense.

He was a bastard.Literally.

Hewasthenaturalsonofaking.Whatwasmuchmore,he was slowly and withincreasingterrorbeginningtorealise, he was now beingseriously considered as hisreplacement.

'My Lords!' shoutedBayaz over the disbelievingchatter gaining steadily involume with every passingmoment. 'You sit amazed! Itis a difficult fact to accept, Ican understand. Especiallywith the suffocating heat inhere!' He signalled to theguards at both ends of thehall. 'Open the gates, please,andletushavesomeair!'

The doors were heavedopen and a gentle breezewashed into the Lords'Round.Acoolingbreeze,andsomething else with it. Hardtomakeoutat first,and thencoming more clearly.Something like the noise ofthe crowd at the Contest.Soft, repetitive, and morethanalittlefrightening.

'Luthar! Luthar! Luthar!'

The sound of his own name,chantedoverandoverfromamultitude of throats beyondthewallsof theAgriont,wasunmistakable.

Bayaz grinned. 'It wouldseem that the people of thecityhavealreadychosentheirfavouredcandidate.'

'This is not their choice!'roaredBrock,stillonhisfeetbut only now regaining his

composure.'Anymorethanitisyours!'

'Butitwouldbefoolishtoignore their opinion. Thesupport of the commonerscannot be lightly dismissed,especially in these restlesstimes. If they were to bedisappointed, in their currentmood, who knows whatmight occur? Riots in thestreets,orworse?Noneofus

wants that, surely, LordBrock?'

Severalof the councillorsshifted nervously on theirbenches,glancingtowardstheopen doors, whispering totheir neighbours, if theatmosphereintheRoundhadbeen confused before, it wasflabbergasted now. But theworry and surprise of theOpen Council was nothing

comparedtoJezal'sown.

A fascinating tale, but if hesupposes that the Union'sgreediest men will simplytake hisword for it and givethecrownawayhehasmadea staggering blunder,whether commoners wetthemselves at the name ofLutharornot.LordIsherrosefrom the front row for the

first time, stately andmagnificent,thejewelsonhischain of office flashing.Andso the furious objections, theoutraged denials, thedemands for punishmentbegin.

'Iwholeheartedlybelieve!'called Isher in ringing tones,'that the man known asColonel Jezal dan Luthar isnone other than the natural

childoftherecentlydeceasedKing Guslav the Fifth!'Glokta gawped. So, itseemed, did almost everyoneelseinthechamber.'Andthatheisfurtherfittedforruleonaccount of his exemplarycharacter and extensiveachievements,bothwithintheUnion and outside it!'Anotherpealofuglylaughtergurgled down from above,

butIsherignoredit.'Myvote,and the votes of mysupporters, arewholeheartedlyforLuthar!'

IfLuthar's eyes hadgoneany wider they might havedropped from his skull. Andwho can blame him? Nowone of the Westportdelegation was on his feet.'The Aldermen of Westportvote as oneman for Luthar!'

he sang out in his Styrianaccent. 'Natural son and heirtoKingGuslavtheFifth!'

A man jumped up a fewrows back. He glancedquickly and somewhatnervously at Glokta. Noneother than Lord Ingelstad.Thelyinglittleshit,what'sheabout? 'I am for Luthar!' heshrieked.

'And I, for Luthar!'

Wetterlant, his hooded eyesgivingawaynomoreemotionthantheyhadwhenhefedtheducks. Better offers, eh,gentlemen?Orbetterthreats?Glokta glanced at Bayaz.Hehad a faint smile on his faceas he watched others springfromtheirbenches todeclaretheirsupportfortheso-callednatural son of Guslav theFifth. Meanwhile, the

chantingofthecrowdsoutinthecitycouldstillbeheard.

'Luthar!Luthar!Luthar!'As the shock drained

away,Glokta'smindbegantoturn.So that iswhyourFirstof the Magi cheated in theContest on Luthar's behalf.That is why he has kept himclose, all this time. That iswhy he procured for him sonotableacommand.Ifhehad

presentedsomenobodyastheKing's son, he would havebeen laughed from thechamber. But Luthar, lovehimorhatehim,isoneofus.He is known, he is familiar,he is… acceptable. Gloktalooked at Bayaz withsomething close toadmiration. Pieces of apuzzle, patient years in thepreparation, calmly slotted

into place before ourdisbelieving eyes. And not athing thatwecando, except,perhaps, to dance along tohistune?

Sult leaned sideways inhis chair and hissed urgentlyin Glokta's ear. 'This boy,Luthar, what manner of amanishe?'

Glokta frowned over athim, standing dumbstruck by

the wall. He looked at thatmoment as if he couldscarcely be trusted to controlhis own bowels, let alone acountry.Still,youcouldhavesaid much the same for ourprevious King, and hedischarged his dutiesadmirably. His duties ofsittinganddrooling,whileweran the country for him.'Before his trip abroad, your

Eminence, he was as empty-headed, spineless and vain ayoungfoolasonemighthopeto find in the entire nation.The last timeIspoke tohim,though—'

'Perfect!''But,yourEminence,you

must see that this is allaccordingtoBayaz'plans—'

'Wewilldealwiththatold

foollater.Iamtakingadvice.'SultturnedtohissatMaroviawithout waiting for a reply.NowthetwooldmenlookedoutattheOpenCouncil,nowtheygavetheirnodsandtheirsignals to the men theycontrolled. All the while,Bayaz smiled. The way anengineer might smile as hisnew machine works for thefirsttime,preciselyaccording

to his design. The MaguscaughtGlokta'seye,andgavethe faintest of nods. Therewasnothing forGlokta todobut shrug, and give atoothless grin of his own. Iwonder if the timemaycomewhen we all wish we hadvotedforBrock.

Now Marovia wasspeaking hurriedly to Hoff.The Lord Chamberlain

frowned, nodded, turnedtowards the house andsignalled to the Announcer,who beat furiously on thefloorforsilence.

'My Lords of the OpenCouncil!' Hoff roared, oncesomething resembling quiethad been established. 'Thediscovery of a natural sonplainly changes thecomplexion of this debate!

Fate would appear to havegifted us the opportunity tocontinue the dynasty ofArnaultwithoutfurtherdoubtor conflict!' Fate gifts us? Irather think we have a lessdisinterested benefactor. 'Inview of these exceptionalcircumstances,andthestrongsupport already voiced bymembers of this house, theClosedCounciljudgesthatan

exceptional vote should nowbe taken. A single vote, onwhether the man previouslyknown as Jezal dan LutharshouldbedeclaredHighKingoftheUnionforthwith!'

'No!' roared Brock, veinsbulging from his neck. 'Istrongly protest!' But hemight as well have protestedagainst the incoming tide.The arms were already

shooting up in dauntingnumbers. The Aldermen ofWestport, the supporters ofLordIsher,thevotesthatSultandMarovia had bullied andbribed theirway.Glokta sawmanymore,now,menhehadthought undecided, or firmlydeclared for one man oranother. All lending theirsupport to Luthar with aspeed that strongly implies a

previousarrangement.Bayazsat back, arms folded, as hewatched the hands shootskywards. It was alreadybecoming terribly clear thatover half of the roomwas infavour.

'Yes!' hissed the ArchLector,asmileoftriumphonhisface.'Yes!'

Thosewhohadnotraisedtheirarms,mencommittedto

Brock,orBarezin,orHeugen,stared about them, stunnedand not a little horrified athow quickly the worldseemed to have passed themby. How quickly the chanceatpowerhasslippedthroughtheir fingers. And who canblame them? It has been asurprisingdayforusall.

LordBrockmadeonelasteffort,raisingafingertostab

at Luthar, still goggling bythe wall. 'What proof haveyou that he is the son ofanyone in particular, besidethewordofthisoldliar?'andhe gestured at Bayaz. 'Whatproof, my Lords? I demandproof!'

Angry mutterings sweptupanddownthebenches,butno one made themselvesconspicuous.Thesecondtime

Lord Brock has stood beforethis Council and demandedproof,andthesecondtimenoone has cared. What proofcould there be, after all? AbirthmarkonLuthar'sarseinthe shape of a crown?Proofis boring. Proof is tiresome.Proof is an irrelevance.People would far rather behanded an easy lie thansearch for a difficult truth,

especiallyifitsuitstheirownpurposes. And most of uswouldfarratherhaveaKingwith no friends and noenemies, than a King withplenty of both. Most of uswouldratherhavethingsstayas they are, than risk anuncertainfuture.

More hands were raised,and more. Luthar's supporthadrolledtoofarforanyone

mantostopit.Nowitislikeagreat boulder hurtling downa slope. They dare not standin its way in case they aresquashed to gravy. So theycrowd in behind, and addtheir own weight to it, andhope to snatch the scraps upafterward.

Brock turned, a deadlyfrownacrosshisface,andhestormed down the aisle and

outof thechamber.Probablyhehadhopedthatagoodpartof the Open Council wouldstorm out with him. But inthat,asinsomuchelsetoday,he must he harshlydisappointed.Nomorethanadozen of his most loyalfollowers accompanied himonthelonelymarchoutoftheLords' Round. The othershavebetter sense.Lord Isher

exchanged a long look withBayaz, then raised his palehand. Lords Barezin andHeugenwatchedthebestpartof their support flocking tothe cause of the youngpretender, glanced at eachother,retreatedbackintotheirseats and stayed carefullysilent. Skald opened hismouth to call out, lookedabout him, thought better of

it, and with evidentreluctance, slowly lifted hisarm.

There were no furtherprotests.

King Jezal the First wasraised to the throne by near-unanimousaccord.

TheTrap

«^»

Coming up into the HighPlaces again, and the air feltcrisp and clear, sharp andfamiliar in Logen's throat.

Theirmarchhadbegungentlyas they came up through thewoods, a rise you'd hardlynotice.Thenthetreesthinnedout and their path took themup a valley between grassyfells, cracked with tricklingstreams, patched with sedgeand gorse. Now the valleyhad narrowed to a gorge,hemmedinonbothsideswithslopes of bare rock and

crumbling scree, gettingalways steeper. Above them,on either side of that gorge,two great crags rose up.Beyond, the hazy hints ofmountain peaks—grey, andlight grey, and even lightergrey, melted in the distanceintotheheavygreysky.

The sun was out, andmeaningbusiness, and itwashot to walk in, bright to

squint into. They were allweary from climbing, andworrying,andlookingbehindthem for Bethod. FourhundredCarls,maybe,andasmany painted-face hillmen,all spreadout in agreat longcolumn, cursing and spitting,boots crunching and slidingin the dry dirt and the loosestones.Crummock's daughterwas struggling up ahead of

Logen,bentdoubleundertheweight of her father'shammer, hair round her facedarkwithsweat.Logen'sowndaughter would have beenolderthanthat,bynow.Ifshehadn't been killed by theShanka, along with hermotherandherbrothers.ThatthoughtgaveLogenahollow,guiltyfeeling.Abadone.

'You want a hand with

thatmallet,girl?''No I fucking don't!' she

screamed at him, thendropped it off her shoulderand dragged it away up theslopebythehandle,scowlingat him all the way, thehammer's head clatteringalongandleavingagrooveinthe stonysoil.Logenblinkedafter her. Seemed his touchwith thewomenwent all the

way down to ones ten yearsold.

Crummock came upbehind him, fingerbonesswinging round his neck.'Fierce,ah?Y'avetobefierce,to get on in my family!' Heleanedcloseandgaveawink.'And she's the fiercest of thelot, that little bitch. If I'mhonest, she's my favourite.'He shook his head as he

watched her dragging at thathammer. 'She'll make somepoor bastard one hell of awife one day.We're here, incaseyouwerewondering.'

'Eh?' Logen wiped sweatfromhisface,frowningashestaredabout.'Where'sthe—'

Then he realised.Crummock's fortress, if youcould call it that, was rightaheadofthem.

The valley was no morethan a hundred strides nowfrom one cliff to the other,andawallwasbuiltacrossit.An ancient and crumblingwall of rough blocks, so fullof cracks, so coated withcreeper, brambles, seedinggrass, that it seemed almostpart of the mountains. Itwasn't a whole lot steeperthan the valley itself, and as

tall as three men on eachother's shoulders at itshighest, sagging here andthereasifitwasabouttofalldown on its own. In thecentre was a gate ofweathered grey planks,splattered with lichen,managing to seem rotten anddried-outbothatonce.

To one side of the wallthere was a tower, built up

against the cliff. Or at leastthere was a great naturalpillar sticking out from therock with half-cut chunks ofstone mortared to the top,making a wide platform onthecliff-side,overlookingthewall fromhighabove.Logenlooked at the Dogman as hetrudged up, and the Dogmansquinted at thatwall as if hecouldn't believewhat hewas

seeing.'Thisisit?'growledDow,

coming up next to them, hislip curling. A few trees hadtaken root at one side, justunder the tower, must havebeen fifty years ago at least.Nowtheyloomedupoverthewall. A man could haveclimbed them easily, andstepped inside the placewithoutevenstretchingfar.

Tul stared up at theragged excuse for a fortress.'A strong place in themountains,yousaid.'

'Strong…ish.'Crummockwavedhis hand. 'Wehillmenhave never been much forbuilding and so on. Whatwere you expecting? Tenmarble towers and a hallbigger'nSkarling's?'

'I was expecting a

halfwaydecentwall,atleast,'growledDow.

'Bah!Walls? I heard youwerecoldassnowandhotaspiss, Black Dow, and nowyou want walls to hidebehind?'

'We'llbeoutnumberedtentooneifBethoddoesturnup,you mad fuck! You're damnright I want a wall, and youtoldusthere'dbeone!'

'But you said it yourselffriend.'Crummockspokesoftand slow as though he wasexplaining it to a child, andhe tapped at the side of hishead with one thick finger.'I'm mad! Mad as a sack ofowls,andeveryonesaysso!Ican't remember the names ofmyownchildren.Whoknowswhat I think a wall lookslike? Ihardlyknowwhat I'm

talkingofmyself,mostofthetime, and you're fool enoughto listen tome?Youmustbemadyourselves!'

Logen rubbed at thebridge of his nose and hegave a groan. The Dogman'sCarls were gathering nearthemnow, lookingup at thatmossy heap of stones andmuttering to each other, farfrom happy. Logen could

hardly blame them. It was along, hot walk they'd had tofind this at theendof it.Buttheyhadnochoices,asfarashecouldsee. 'It'sabitlatetobuild a better one,' hegrumbled. 'We'll have to dowhatwecanwithwhatwe'vegot.'

'That's it Bloody-Nine,you need no wall and youknow it!' Crummock clapped

Logen on the arm with hisgreat fat hand. 'You cannotdie! You're beloved of themoon, my fine new friend,above all others!You cannotdie, not with the moonlookingoveryou!Youcannot—'

'Shutup,'saidLogen.They crunched sourly

across the slope towards thegate. Crummock called out

and the old doors wobbledopen. A pair of suspicioushillmen stood on the otherside,watchingthemcomein.Theysloggedupasteeprampcutintotherock,alltiredandgrumbling,andcameoutintoa flat space above. A saddlebetweenthetwocrags,mighthave been a hundred strideswide and two hundred long,sheercliffsofstoneallround.

There were a few woodenshacks and sheds scatteredabout the edges, all greenwith old moss, a slumpingstone hall built against therock face with smoke risingout of a squat chimney. Justnext to it a narrow stair wascutintothecliff,climbingupto the platform at the top ofthetower.

'Nowhere to run to,'

Logen muttered, 'if thingsturnsour.'

Crummock only grinnedthewider. 'Coursenot.That'sthe whole point, ain't it?Bethod'll think he's got uslikebeetlesinabottle.'

'He will have,' growledtheDogman.

'Aye, but then yourfriends will come up behind

him and won't he get thefather of all shocks, though?It'llalmostbeworthitforthelook on his face, the shit-eatingbastard!'

Logen worked his mouthand spat onto the stonyground. 'I wonder what thelooks on our faces'll be bythen? All slack and corpse-like would be my guess.' Aherd of shaggy sheep were

pressed in tight together in apen, staring around wide-eyed, bleating to each other.Hemmedinandhelpless,andLogenknewexactlyhowtheyfelt. From inside the fort,wherethegroundwasagooddeal higher, therewashardlya wall at all. You could'vesteppeduponto itswalkway,if you'd got long legs, andstood at its crumbling,moss-

riddenexcuseforaparapet.'Don't you worry your

beautiful self about nothing,Bloody-Nine,' laughedCrummock. 'My fortresscouldbebetterbuilt,I'llgrantyou, but the ground is withus, and the mountains, andthemoon, all smiling on ourbold endeavour. This is astrong place, with a stronghistory.Doyounotknowthe

storyofLaffatheBrave?''Can't say that I do.'

Logen wasn't altogether surehewantedtohearitnow,buthe was in the long habit ofnotgettingwhathewanted.

'Laffa was a great banditchief of the hillmen, a longtime ago. He raided all theclans around for years, himand his brothers. One hotsummer the clans had

enough, so they bandedtogether and hunted him inthe mountains. Here's wherehemadehis last stand.Righthereinthisfortress.Laffaandhis brothers and all hispeople.'

'What happened?' askedDogman.

'They all got killed, andtheirheadscutoffandput ina sack, and the sack was

buried in thepit theyused toshit in.' Crummock beamed.'Guessthat'swhytheycallitalaststand,eh?'

'That's it? That's thestory?'

'That's all of it that Iknow, but I'm not right surewhatelsetherecouldbe.Thatwas pretty much the end forLaffa,I'dsay.'

'Thanks for theencouragement.'

'That's alright, that'salright! I've more stories, ifyouneedmore!'

'No, no, that's enough forme.'Logenturnedandstartedwalking off, the Dogmanbeside him. 'You can tellmemoreoncewe'vewon!'

'Ha ha, Bloody-Nine!'

shoutedCrummockafterhim,'that'llbeastoryinitself,eh?You can't fool me! You'relike I am, beloved of themoon!Wefighthardestwhenour backs are to themountainsandthere'snowayout! Tell me it ain't so! Welove it when we got nochoices!'

'Oh aye,' Logenmutteredto himself as he stalked off

towards the gate. 'There'snothing better than nochoices.'

Dogman stood at the foot o'thewall, staringupat it, andwonderingwhattodotogivehim and the rest a betterchanceatlivingouttheweek.

'It'dbeagoodthingtogetall this creeper and grass

clearedoffit,'hesaid.'Makesit a damn sight easier toclimb.'

Tul raised an eyebrow.'Yousureitain'tallthatplantthat'sholdingittogether?'

Grimtuggedatavineanda shower of dried-outmortarcamewithit.

'Might be you're right.'Dogmansighed.'Cutoffwhat

wecan,then,eh?Someworkatthetopwouldbetimewellspentandall.Benicetohavea decent stack o' stones tohide behind when Bethodstartsshootingarrowsatus.'

'That it would,' said Tul.'Andwecoulddigus aditchdown here in front, plantsome stakes round thebottom, make it harder for'eratogetupclose.'

'Thenclose thatgate,nailit shut, and wedge a load ofrocksinbehindit.'

'We'llhavetroublegettingout,'saidTul.

Logensnorted.'Usgettingout won't be the pressingproblem,I'mthinking.'

'You've a point rightthere,' laughed Crummock,amblingupwith a lit pipe in

hisfatfist. 'It'sBethod'sboysgetting in that we shouldworryon.'

'Getting these wallspatched up would be a goodstart at settling my mind.'Dogman pointed at the treesgrown up over thewall. 'Weneed to get these cut downandcutup,carveusoutsomestone, mix us some mortarand all the rest. Crummock,

you got people can do that?Yougottools?'

He puffed at his pipe,frowning at Dogman all thelongwhile, then blew brownsmoke. 'I might have, but Iwon't take my orders fromsuch as you, Dogman. Themoon knowsmy talents, andthey're for murder, notmortaring.' Grim rolled hiseyes.

'Whowillyoutakeordersfrom?'askedLogen.

'I'll take 'em from you,Bloody-Nine, and from noother! The moon loves you,and I love the moon, andyou'rethemanfor—'

'Then get your peopletogether and get to fuckingcutting wood and stone. I'mboredo'yourblather.'

Crummock knocked outhis ashes sourly against thewall. 'You're no fun at all,youboys,youdonothingbutworry.You need to think onthe sunny side o' this. Theworst that can happen is thatBethoddon'tshow!'

'The worst?' Dogmanstared at him. 'You sure?What about if Bethod doescome,andhisCarlskickyour

wall over like a pile o' turdsandkilleverylastoneofus?'

Crummock's browfurrowed. He frowned downattheground.Hesquintedupat the clouds. 'True,' he said,breakingoutinasmile. 'Thatisworse.Yougotafastmind,lad.'

Dogmangavealongsigh,and stared down into thevalley. The wall might not

have been all they'd hopedfor, but you couldn't knockthe position. Coming up thatsteep slope against a set ofhard men, high above andwith nothing to lose, readyand more'n able to kill you.Thatwasnoone'sideao'fun.

'Tough to get organiseddown there,' said Logen,speaking Dog-man's ownthoughts. 'Specially with

arrowsplungingonyoufromabove and nothing to hidebehind. Hard to makenumbers count. I wouldn'tmuch fancy trying it myself.Howarewegoingtoworkit,iftheycome?'

'Ireckonwe'llmakethreecrews.' Dogman nodded tothe tower. 'Me up there withfive score or so o' the bestarchers. Good spot to shoot

from,that.Niceandhigh,andagoodviewofthefronto'thewall.'

'Uh,'saidGrim.'Maybe some strong lads

tothrowarockortwo.''I'lllobarock,'saidTul.'Fair enough. Then the

pick of our lads up on thewall, ready to take 'em onhand to hand, if they get up

there. That'll be your crew, Ireckon, Logen. Dow andShivers and Red Hat can beyourseconds.'

Logen nodded, notlooking all that happy. 'Aye,alright.'

'Then Crummock upbehind with his hillmen,ready to charge if theymakeit throughthegate.Ifwelastmore'naday,maybeyoucan

swap over. Hillmen on thewall, Logen and the restbehind.'

'That'squitetheplanforalittle man!' Crummockclapped him on the shoulderwith a huge hand and damnnearknockedhimonhisface.'Like as not you had it fromthe moon while you slept!Ain't one thing in it I'dchange!' He slapped his

meaty fist into his palm. 'Ilove a good charge! I hopethe Southerners don't come,andleavemorefortherestofus!Iwanttochargenow!'

'Good for you,' gruntedDogman.'Maybewecanfindyou a cliff to chargeoff.'Hesquinted into the sun, takinganother look up at the wallthat held all of their hopes.Hewouldn'thavecaredtotry

and climb it, not from thisside,but itwasn'thalfwayashigh,orasthick,orasstrongashe'dhave liked.Youdon'talwaysgetthingsthewayyoulike, Threetrees would havesaid. But just once would'vebeennice.

'The trap is ready,' saidCrummock, grinning downintothevalley.

The Dogman nodded.

'The only question is who'llget caught in it. Bethod? Orus?'

Logen walked through thenight, between the fires.Some fires had Carls roundthem, drinking Crummock'sbeer, and smoking hischagga, and laughing atstories. Others had hillmen,looking like wolves in the

shiftinglightwiththeirroughfurs, their tangled hair, theirhalf-painted faces. One wassinging, somewhere. Strangesongsinastrangetonguethatyapped and warbled like theanimalsintheforest,roseandfell like the valleys and thepeaks. Logen had to admithe'd been smoking, for thefirst time in a while, anddrinking too. Everything felt

warm.Thefires,andthemen,and the cool wind, even. Hewove his way through thedark, looking for the firewhere the Dogman and therest were sitting, and nothaving a clue which way tofind it. He was lost, and inmorewaysthanone.

'How many men youkilled, Da?' Had to beCrummock's daughter. There

weren't toomanyhighvoicesround that camp, more wasthe pity. Logen saw thehillman's great shape in thedarkness, his three childrensittingnearhim, theiroutsizeweapons propped up in easyreach.

'Oh,I'vekilledalegionof'em,Isern.'Crummock'sgreatdeep voice rumbled out atLogen as he came closer.

'More'n I can remember.Your father might not haveall his wits all the time, buthe's a bad enemy to have.One of the worst. You'll seethe truth of that close up,when Bethod and his arse-lickers come calling.' Helooked up and saw Logencoming through the night. 'Iswear, and I don't doubtBethodwouldswearwithme,

there'sonlyonebastardinallthe North who's nastier, andbloodier, and harder thanyourfather.'

'Who's that?' asked theboy with the shield. Logenfelt his heart sinking asCrummock's arm lifted up topointtowardshim.

'Why, that's him there.TheBloody-Nine.'

The girl glared at Logen.'He'snothing.Youcouldhavehim,Da!'

'By the dead, not me!Don'tevensayitgirl, incaseI make a piss-puddle bigenoughtodrownyouin.'

'Hedon'tlooklikemuch.''And there's a lesson for

all three of you.Not lookingmuch, not saying much, not

seeming much, that's a goodfirst step in beingdangerous,eh, Ninefingers? Then whenyou let the devil go free it'stwice the shock forwhateverpoorbastard'sontheendofit.Shock and surprise,my littlebeauties, and quickness tostrike,andlackofpity.Theseare the things that make akiller.Size,andstrength,andabigloudvoicearealrightin

their place, but they'renothing to that murderous,monstrous, merciless speed,eh,Bloody-Nine?'

It was a hard lesson forchildren, but Logen's fatherhad taught it to him young,and he'd kept it in mind allthese years. 'It's a sorry fact.He who strikes first oftenstrikeslast.'

'That he does!' shouted

Crummock,slappinghisgreatthigh. 'Well said! But it's ahappy fact, not a sorry one.You remember old Wilum,don'tyou,mychildren?'

'Thunder got him!'shouted the boy with theshield, 'in a storm, up in theHighPlaces!'

'That itdid!Onemomenthe's standing there, the nextthere's a noise like theworld

falling and a flash like thesun,andWilum'sdeadasmyboots!'

'His feet was on fire!'laughedthegirl.

'That they were, Isern.You saw how fast he died,how much the shock, howlittle the mercy that thelightning showed, well.' AndCrummock's eyes slid acrosstoLogen. 'That'swhat it'dbe

to cross that man there. Onemoment you'd say your hardword, the next?' He clappedhis hands together with acrack and made the threechildrenjump.'He'dsendyouback to themud. Faster thanthe sky killed Wilum, andwithnomoreregret.Yourlifehangs on a thread, everymomentyoustandwithintwostrides of that nothing-

lookingbastard there, does itnot,Bloody-Nine?'

'Well…' Logen wasn'tmuchenjoyingthis.

'How many men youkilled then?' the girl shoutedathim,stickingherchinout.

Crummock laughed andrubbed his hand in her hair.'The numbers aren't made tocount that high, Isern! He's

the king of killers! No manmade more deadly, notanywhereunderthemoon.'

'What about that Feared?'askedtheboywiththespear.

'Ohhhhhh,' cooedCrummock, smiling rightacross his face. 'He's not aman, Scofen.He's somethingelse.ButIwonder.FenristheFeared and theBloody-Nine,setting to kill one another?'

Herubbedhishandstogether.'Now that is a thing Iwouldliketosee.Thatisathingthemoon would love to shineupon.' His eyes rolled uptowards the sky and Logenfollowed themwith his own.The moon was up there,sitting in the black heavens,big and white, glowing likenewfire.

HorribleOldMen

«^»

Thetallwindowsstoodopen,allowingamercifulbreezeto

wash through thewidesalon,togivetheoccasionalcoolingkiss to Jezal's sweating face,to make the vast, antiquehangings flap and rustle.Everything in the chamberwas outsized—the cavernousdoorwayswerethreetimesashigh as a man, and theceiling, painted with thepeoples of the world bowingdown before an enormous

goldensun,wastwiceashighagain.Theimmensecanvasesonthewallsfeaturedlife-sizefigures in assorted majesticposes, whose warlikeexpressionswould give Jezaluncomfortable shockswheneverheturnedaround.

It seemed a space forgreatmen, forwisemen, forepic heroes or mightyvillains. A space for giants.

Jezal felt a tiny, meagre,stupidfoolinit.

'Your arm, if it pleaseyourMajesty,'murmuredoneof the tailors, managing togive Jezal orders whileremaining crushinglysycophantic.

'Yes, of course… I'msorry.' Jezal raised his arm alittlehigher,inwardlycursingat having apologised yet

again.Hewasakingnow,asBayaz was constantly tellinghim. Ifhehadshovedoneofthetailorsoutofthewindow,no apologywould have beennecessary. The man wouldprobably have thanked himprofusely for the attention ashe plummeted to the ground.As it was he merely gave awooden smile, and smoothlyunravelled his measuring

tape. His colleague wascrawling below, doingsomething similar aroundJezal's knees. The third waspunctiliously recording theirobservations in a marbledledger.

Jezal took a long breath,and frowned into the mirror.An uncertain-seeming youngidiot with a scar on his chingazed back at him from the

glass, draped with swatchesof glittering cloth as thoughhewereatailor'sdummy.Helooked, and certainly felt,more like a clown than aking. He looked a joke, andundoubtedly would havelaughed, had he not himselfbeen the ridiculous punch-line.

'Perhaps something afterthe Osprian fashion, then?'

The Royal Jeweller placedanother wooden nonsensecarefully on Jezal's head andexamined the results. It wasfar from an improvement.The damn thing looked likenothing so much as aninvertedchandelier.

'No, no!' snapped Bayaz,with some irritation. 'Far toofancy, far too clever, far toobig.Hewill scarcely be able

tostandinthedamnthing!Itneeds to be simple, to behonest,tobelight.Somethingamancouldfightin!'

The Royal Jewellerblinked. 'He will be fightinginthecrown?'

'No, dolt! But he mustlook as if he might!' Bayazcame up behind Jezal,snatched the woodencontraptionfromhisheadand

tossed it rattling on thepolishedfloor.ThenheseizedJezal by the arms and staredgrimly at his reflection fromover his shoulder. 'This is awarrior king in the finesttradition! The natural heir tothe Kingdom of Harod theGreat!Apeerlessswordsman,who has dealt wounds andreceived them, who has ledarmies to victory, who has

killedmenbythescore!''Score?' murmured Jezal,

uncertainly.Bayaz ignored him. 'A

man as comfortable withsaddle and sword as withthroneandsceptre!Hiscrownmustgowitharmour.Itmustgowithweapons. Itmust gowith steel. Now do youunderstand?'

The Jeweller noddedslowly. 'I believe so, myLord.'

'Good. And one morething.'

'MyLordhasbuttonameit.'

'Give it a big-arseddiamond.'

The Jeweller humblyinclined his head. 'That goes

withoutsaying.''Nowout.Out,allofyou!

His Majesty has affairs ofstatetoattendto.'

The ledger was snappedshut,thetapeswererolledupinamoment,theswatchesofcloth were whisked away.The tailors and the RoyalJeweller bowed their waybackwards from the roomwith a range of servile

mutterings, whisking thehuge, gilt-encrusted doorssilentlyshut.Jezalhadtostophimself from leaving withthem.Hekept forgetting thathewasnowhisMajesty.

'I have business?' heasked, turning from themirror and trying his best tosoundoffhandandmasterful.

Bayaz ushered him outintothegreathallwayoutside,

its walls covered inbeautifully rendered maps ofthe Union. 'You havebusiness with your ClosedCouncil.'

Jezal swallowed. Thevery name of the institutionwas daunting. Standing inmarble chambers, beingmeasured for new clothes,beingcalledyourMajesty,allof this was bemusing, but

hardly required a great efforton his part. Now he wasexpected to sit at the veryheart of government. Jezaldan Luthar, once widelycelebrated for his toweringignorance,wouldbesharingaroom with the twelve mostpowerful men in the Union.He would be expected tomake decisions that wouldaffect the lives of thousands.

Toholdhisowninthearenasof politics, and law, anddiplomacy, when his onlyareas of true expertise werefencing, drink, and women,andhewasforcedtoconcedethat, in that last areaat least,he did not seem to be quitethe expert he had oncereckonedhimself.

'TheClosedCouncil?'Hisvoice shot up to a register

moregirlish thankingly, andhe was forced to clear histhroat. 'Is there someparticular matter ofimportance?'hegrowledinanunconvincingbass.

'Some momentous newsarrivedfromtheNorthearliertoday.'

'Itdid?''I am afraid that Lord

Marshal Burr is dead. Thearmy needs a newcommander. Argument onthat issue will probably takeup a good few hours. Downhere,yourMajesty.'

'Hours?' muttered Jezal,his boot-heels clicking downa set of wide marble steps.Hours in the companyof theClosed Council. He rubbedhishandsnervouslytogether.

Bayaz seemed to guesshis thoughts. 'There is noneedforyoutofearthoseoldwolves.Youaretheirmaster,whatever they may havecome tobelieve.Atany timeyoucanreplacethem,orhavethem dragged away in irons,for that matter, should youdesire. Perhaps they haveforgotten it. It might be thatwewillneedtoremindthem,

induecourse.'They stepped through a

tall gateway flanked byKnights of the Body, theirhelmets clasped under theirarms but their faces kept socarefullyblank theymightaswell have had their visorsdown. A wide garden laybeyond, lined on all foursides by a shady colonnade,its white marble pillars

carved in the likenesses oftrees in leaf. Water splashedfrom fountains, sparkling inthe bright sunlight.Apair ofhuge orange birds with legsas thin as twigs strutted self-importantly about a perfectlyclipped lawn. They staredhaughtily at Jezal down theircurved beaks as he passedthem, evidently in no moredoubtthanhimthathewasan

utterimpostor.He gazed at the bright

flowers, and the shimmeringgreenery,andthefinestatues.He stared up at the ancientwalls,coatedwithred,white,and green creeper. Could itreallybethatallthisbelongedto him? All this, and thewhole Agriont besides? Washewalkingnowinthemightyfootstepsof thekingsofold?

Of Harod, and Casamir, andArnault?Itboggledthemind.Jezal had to blink and shakehishead,ashehadahundredtimesalreadythatday,simplyto prevent himself fromfalling over. Was he not thesamemanashehadbeenlastweek? He rubbed at hisbeard,as if tocheck,andfeltthescarbeneathit.Thesamemanwhohadbeensoakedout

on the wide plain, who hadbeen wounded among thestones, who had eaten half-cooked horsemeat and beengladtogetit?

Jezal clearedhis throat. 'Iwould like very much… Idon't knowwhether it wouldbepossible…tospeak tomyfather?'

'Yourfatherisdead.'

Jezal cursed silently tohimself. 'Of course he is, Imeant… the man I thoughtwasmyfather.'

'What is it that yousuppose he would tell you?That hemade bad decisions?That he had debts? That hetookmoneyfrommeinreturnforraisingyou?'

'He took money?'muttered Jezal, feeling more

forlornthanever.'Families rarely take in

orphans out of good will,even those with a winningmanner. The debts werecleared, and more thancleared.Ileftinstructionsthatyou should have fencinglessons as soon as you couldholda steel.Thatyoushouldhave a commission in theKing's Own, and be

encouragedtotakepartinthesummer Contest. That youshould be well prepared, incase this day should come.He carried out myinstructions to the letter. Butyou can see that a meetingbetween the two of youwould be an extremelyawkward scene for youboth.Onebestavoided.'

Jezal gave a ragged sigh.

'Ofcourse.Bestavoided.'Anunpleasant thought creptacross his mind. 'Is… is mynameevenJezal?'

'It is now that you havebeen crowned.' Bayaz raisedaneyebrow.'Why,wouldyoupreferanother?'

'No. No, of course not.'He turnedhisheadawayandblinked back the tears. Hisold life had been a lie. His

new one felt still more so.Even his own name was aninvention. They walked insilence through the gardensfor a moment, their feetcrunching in the gravel, sofresh and perfect that Jezalwondered if everystoneof itwasdailycleanedbyhand.

'Lord Isher will makemany representations to yourMajesty over the coming

weeksandmonths.''He will?' Jezal coughed,

and sniffed, and put on hisbravestface.'Why?'

'I promised him that histwo brothers would be madeLords Chamberlain andChancellor on the ClosedCouncil. That his familywould be preferred above allothers. Thatwas the price ofhissupportinthevote.'

'I see. Then I shouldhonourthebargain?'

'Absolutelynot.'Jezal frowned. 'I am not

surethatI—''Upon achieving power,

one should immediatelydistance oneself from allallies. They will feel theyown your victory, and norewards will ever satisfy

them. You should elevateyour enemies instead. Theywill gush over small tokens,knowing theydonot deservethem. Heugen, Barezin,Skald, Meed, these are themen you should bring intoyourcircle.'

'NotBrock?''Never Brock. He came

too close to wearing thecrown to ever feel himself

beneath it.Sooneror laterhemust be kicked back into hisplace. But not until you aresafe in your position, andhaveplentifulsupport.'

'Isee,'Jezalpuffedouthischeeks. Evidently there wasmore to being king than fineclothes, a haughty manner,and always getting thebiggestchair.

'This way.' Out of the

garden and into a shadowyhallway panelled with blackwoodandlinedwithanarrayofantiquearmstobogglethemind. Assorted suits of fullarmour stood to glitteringattention: plate and chain-mail,hauberkandcuirass,allstamped and emblazonedwith the golden sun of theUnion. Ceremonialgreatswords as tall as aman,

and halberds considerablytaller,wereboltedtothewallin an elaborate procession.Underthemweremountedanarmy'sworthof axes,maces,morningstars and bladescurvedandstraight, longandshort, thick and thin.WeaponsforgedintheUnion,weapons captured from theGurkish,weaponsstolenfromStyrian dead on bloody

battlefields. Victories anddefeats, commemorated insteel.Highabove,theflagsofforgotten regiments,gloriously slaughtered to aman in thewarsof longago,hung tattered and lifelessfromcharredpikestaffs.

A heavy double doorloomed at the far end of thiscollection, black andunadorned, as inviting as a

scaffold. Knights Heraldstood on either side of it,solemn as executioners,winged helmets glittering.Men taxed not only withguarding the centre ofgovernment, but withcarrying theKing'sOrders towhatevercorneroftheUnionwas necessary. His orders,Jezal realised with a suddenfurtherlurchofnerves.

'His Majesty seeksaudience with the ClosedCouncil,' intonedBayaz. Thetwo men reached out andpulled the heavy doors open.An angry voice surged outinto thecorridor. 'Theremustbe further concessions orthere will only be furtherunrest!Wecannotsimply—'

'HighJustice,Ibelievewehaveavisitor.'

The White Chamber wassomething of adisappointment after themagnificence of the rest ofthe palace. It was not thatlarge. There was nodecorationon theplainwhitewalls. The windows werenarrow, almost cell-like,making the place seemgloomyeven in thesunshine.Therewasnodraftandtheair

was uncomfortably close andstale. The only furniturewasa long table of dark wood,piled high with papers, andsixplain,hardchairsarrangeddowneithersidewithanotherat the foot and one more,noticeably higher than theothers, at the head. Jezal'sownchair,hesupposed.

The Closed Council roseas he ducked reluctantly into

the room. As frightening aselectionofoldmenascouldever have been collected inone place, and everyman ofthem staring right at Jezal inexpectantsilence.He jumpedas the door was heaved shutbehind him, the latchdropping with an unnervingfinality.

'YourMajesty,' and LordChamberlain Hoff bowed

deep, 'may I and mycolleagues first congratulateyou on your well-deservedelevation to the throne. Weallfeelthatwehaveinyouaworthy replacement forKingGuslav, and look forward toadvising you, and carryingout your orders, over thecomingmonthsandyears.'Hebowed again, and thecollection of formidable old

men clapped their hands inpoliteapplause.

'Why, thankyouall,' saidJezal, pleasantly surprised,however little he might feellikeaworthyreplacementforanything. Perhaps thiswouldnot be so painful as he hadfeared. The old wolvesseemedtameenoughtohim.

'Pleaseallowme tomakethe introductions,' murmured

Hoff. 'ArchLectorSult,headofyourInquisition.'

'Anhonourtoserve,yourMajesty.'

'High Justice Marovia,chiefLawLord.'

'Likewise, your Majesty,anhonour.'

'With Lord MarshalVaruz, I believe you arealreadywellacquainted.'

The old soldier beamed.'Itwasaprivilegetotrainyouinthepast,yourMajesty,andwill be a privilege to adviseyounow.'

So they went on, Jezalsmiling and nodding to eachman in turn. Halleck, theLordChancellor.Torlichorm,the High Consul. Reutzer,Lord Admiral of the Fleet,andsoon,andsoon.Finally

Hoffusheredhimto thehighchair at theheadof the tableand Jezal enthroned himselfwhile the Closed Councilsmiled on. He grinnedgormlessly up at them for amoment, and then realised.'Oh,pleasebeseated.'

Theoldmensat,acoupleof them with evident wincesofpainasoldkneescrunchedandoldbacksclicked.Bayaz

dropped carelessly into thechair at the foot of the table,opposite Jezal, as though hehadbeenoccupying it all hislife. Robes rustled as oldarses shifted on polishedwood,andgraduallytheroomwent silent as a tomb. Onechair was empty at Varuz'elbow.ThechairwhereLordMarshalBurrwouldhavesat,had he not been assigned to

dutyintheNorth.Hadhenotbeendead.Adozendauntingold men waited politely forJezal to speak. A dozen oldmen who he had thought ofuntil recently as occupyingthe pinnacle of power, allnow answerable to him. Asituationhecouldneverhaveimagined in his most self-indulgent daydreams. Heclearedhisthroat.

'Praycontinue,myLords.Iwill tryandcatchupaswego.'

Hoff flashed a humblesmile. 'Of course, yourMajesty. If at any time yourequireexplanation,youhavebuttoask.'

'Thank you,' said Jezal,'thank—'

Halleck's grinding voice

cut over him. 'Back to theissueofdisciplineamong thepeasantry,therefore.'

'We have alreadyprepared concessions!'snapped Sult. 'Concessionswhich the peasants werehappytoaccept.'

'A shred of bandage tobind a suppurating wound!'returnedMarovia.'Itisonlyamatter of time before

rebellion comes again. Theonly way we can avoid it isby giving the common manwhatheneeds.Nomorethanis fair!Wemust involvehimintheprocessofgovernment.'

'Involve him!' sneeredSult.

'We must transfer theburden of tax to thelandowners!'

Halleck's eyes rolled totheceiling.'Notthisnonsenseagain.'

'Our current system hasstood for centuries,' barkedSult.

'It has failed forcenturies!' threw backMarovia.

Jezal cleared his throatand theheadsof theoldmen

snappedroundtolookathim.'Could each man not simplybe taxed the sameproportionof his income, regardless ofwhether he is a peasant or anobleman… and then,perhaps…' He trailed off. Ithad seemed a simple enoughidea to him, but now alleleven bureaucrats werestaringathim,shocked,quiteas ifadomesticpethadbeen

ill-advisedly allowed into theroom, and it had suddenlydecided to speak up on thesubjectoftaxation.Atthefarend of the table, Bayazsilently examined hisfingernails. There was nohelpthere.

'Ah, your Majesty,'ventured Torlichorm insoothingtones,'suchasystemwould be almost impossible

toadminister.'Andheblinkedin a manner that said, 'Howdo you manage to dressyourself, given yourincredibleignorance?'

Jezalflushedtothelipsofhisears.'Isee.'

'The subject of taxation,'droned Halleck, 'is astupendously complex one.'AndhegaveJezalalookthatsaid, 'It is far too complex a

subject to fit insideyour tinyfragmentofamind.'

'It would perhaps bebetter, your Majesty, if youwere to leave the tediousdetails to your humbleservants.' Marovia had anunderstandingsmilethatsaid,'Itwouldperhapsbebetter ifyoukeptyourmouthshutandavoided embarrassing thegrown-ups.'

'Ofcourse.'Jezalretreatedshame-facedly into his chair.'Ofcourse.'

Andso itwenton,as themorning ground by, as thestrips of light from thewindows slunk slowly overtheheapsofpapersacrossthewide table. Gradually, Jezalbegantoworkouttherulesofthisgame.Horriblycomplex,and yet horribly simple. The

aging players were splitroughlyintotwoteams.ArchLector Sult and High JusticeMarovia were the captains,fighting viciously over everysubject,nomatterhowsmall,each with three supporterswho agreed with their everyutterance. Lord Hoff,meanwhile, ineffectuallyassisted by Lord MarshalVaruz, played the role of

referee,andstruggledtobuildbridges across theunbridgeable divide betweenthesetwoentrenchedcamps.

Jezal's mistake had notbeen to think that he wouldnotknowwhattosay,thoughof course, he did not. Hismistakehadbeentothinkthatanyone would want him tosay anything. All they caredabout was continuing their

own profitless struggles.They had become used,perhaps, to conducting theaffairsofstatewithadroolinghalfwit at the head of thetable. Jezal now realised thatthey saw in him a like-for-like trade. He began towonderiftheywereright.

'If your Majesty couldsign here… and here… andhere…andthere…'

Thepenscratchedagainstpaper after paper, the oldvoices droned on, and heldforth, and bickered one withthe other. The grey mensmiled,andsighed,andshooktheir heads indulgentlywheneverhespoke,andsohespoke less and less. Theybullied him with praise andblindedhimwithexplanation.They bound him up in

meaningless hours of law,and form, and tradition. Hesagged slowly lower andlower into his uncomfortablechair. A servant broughtwine, and he drank, andbecamedrunk,andbored,andeven more drunk and bored.Minute by stretched-outminute,Jezalbegantorealise:there was nothing soindescribably dull, once you

gotdowntothenutsandboltsofit,asultimatepower.

'Now to a sad matter,'observedHoff,oncethemostrecentargumenthadsputteredto a reluctant compromise.'Ourcolleague,LordMarshalBurr, isdead.Hisbody isonits way back to us from theNorth, and will be interredwith full honours. In themeantime, however, it is our

duty to recommend areplacement.Thefirstchairtobe filled in this room sincethe death of the esteemedChancellor Feekt. LordMarshalVaruz?'

The old soldier clearedhis throat,wincing as thoughhe realised he was about toopen a floodgate that mightvery well drown them all.'There are two clear

contenders for thepost.Botharemenofundoubtedbraveryandexperience,whosemeritsare well known to thiscouncil. I have no doubt thateither General Poulder orGeneralKroywould—'

'There can be not theslightestdoubtthatPoulderisthe betterman!' snarled Sult,and Halleck immediatelyvoicedhisassent.

'On the contrary!' hissedMarovia, to angry murmursfrom his camp, 'Kroy istransparently the betterchoice!'

Itwasanareainwhich,asan officer of someexperience, Jezal felt hemight have been of someminuscule value, but not oneoftheClosedCouncilseemedeven to consider seeking his

opinion. He sagged backsulkily into his chair, andtook another slurp of winefromhisgobletwhile theoldwolves continued to snapviciouslyatoneanother.

'Perhaps we shoulddiscuss this matter at greaterlengthlater!'cutinLordHoffover the increasinglyacrimonious debate. 'HisMajesty is growing fatigued

with the fine points of theissue, and there is noparticular urgency to thematter!' Sult and Maroviaglared at each other, but didnotspeak.Hoffgaveasighofrelief. 'Very well. Our nextpoint of business relates tothe supply of our army inAngland. Colonel Westwritesinhisdispatches—'

'West?' Jezal sat up

sharply,hisvoice roughwithwine. The name was likesmelling salts to a faintinggirl, a solid and dependablerock to cling to in the midstofallthischaos.IfonlyWesthad been there now, to helphim through, things wouldhave made so much moresense… he blinked at thechairthatBurrhadleftbehindhim, sitting empty at Varuz'

shoulder. Jezal was drunk,perhaps,buthewasking.Hecleared his wet throat.'Colonel West shall be mynewLordMarshal!'

There was a stunnedsilence. The twelve old menstared. Then Torlichormchuckled indulgently, in amanner that said, 'How willweshuthimup?'

'Your Majesty, Colonel

West is known to youpersonally, and a braveman,ofcourse…'

The entire Council, itseemed,hadfinallyfoundoneissueonwhichtheycouldallagree. 'First through thebreachatUlriochand soon,'muttered Varuz, shaking hishead,'butreally—'

'… he is junior, andinexperienced,and…'

'He is a commoner,' saidHoff,eyebrowsraised.

'An unseemly break withtradition,'lamentedHalleck.

'Poulder would be farsuperior!' snarled Sult atMarovia.

'Kroy is the man!'Maroviabarkedback.

Torlichormgaveasyrupysmile,ofthekindawet-nurse

might use while trying tocalm a troublesome infant.'Soyousee,yourMajesty,wecannot possibly considerColonelWestas—'

Jezal's empty gobletbounced off Torlichorm'sbald forehead with a loudcrackandclatteredawayintothe corner of the room. Theoldmangaveawailofshockand pain and slid from his

chair, blood running from alonggashacrosshisface.

'Cannot?' screamed Jezal,onhisfeet,eyesstartingfromhis head. 'You dare to givemefucking"cannot",youoldbastard? You belong to me,allofyou!'Hisfingerstabbedfuriouslyattheair.'Youexisttoadviseme,nottodictatetome! I rule here! Me!' Hesnatcheduptheinkbottleand

hurled it across the room. Itburst apart against the wall,spraying a great black stainacross the plaster andspattering the arm of ArchLector Sult's perfect whitecoat with black spots. 'Me!Me! The tradition we needhere is one of fuckingobedience!' He grabbed asheafofdocumentsandflungthem at Marovia, filling the

air with fluttering paper.'Never again give me"cannot!"Never!'

Elevensetsofdumbstruckeyes stared at Jezal. One setsmiled,downat theveryendof the table. That made himangrier than ever. 'CollemWest shall be my new LordMarshal!' he screeched, andkicked his chair over in afury. 'At our next meeting I

willbetreatedwiththeproperrespect, or I'll have the packof you in chains! In fuckingchains… and… and…' Hisheadwashurting,now,ratherbadly. He had throwneverythingwithineasyreach,and was becomingdesperately unsure of how toproceed.

Bayaz rose sternly fromhischair.'MyLords,thatwill

beallfortoday.'The Closed Council

needed no furtherencouragement. Papersflapped, robes rustled, chairssquealedastheyscrambledtobefirstoutoftheroom.Hoffmade it into the corridor.Marovia followed closebehind and Sult swept afterhim. Varuz helpedTorlichormupfromthefloor

andguidedhimbyhiselbow.'I apologise,' he waswheezing as he was hustled,bloody-faced, through thedoor, 'your Majesty, Iapologiseprofusely…'

Bayazstoodsternlyattheendofthetable,watchingthecouncillors hurry from theroom. Jezal lurked opposite,frozen somewhere betweenfurther anger and mortal

embarrassment, butincreasingly tending towardsthelatter.ItseemedtotakeanageforthelastmemberoftheClosed Council to finallyescapefromtheroom,andforthe great black doors to bedraggedshut.

The First of the Magiturned towards Jezal, and abroad smile broke suddenlyout across his face. 'Richly

done, your Majesty, richlydone.'

'What?' Jezal had beensure thathehadmadeanassof himself to a degree fromwhichhecouldneverrecover.

'Your advisers will thinktwice before taking youlightly again, I think. Not anew strategy, but no lesseffective for that. Harod theGreat was himself possessed

of a fearsome temper, andmade excellent use of it.After one of his tantrums noone would dare to questionhis decisions for weeks.'Bayaz chuckled. 'Though Isuspect that even Harodwouldhavebalkedatdealinga wound to his own HighConsul.'

'That was no tantrum!'snarled Jezal, his temper

flickeringupagain.Ifhewasbeset by horrible old men,then Bayaz was himself theworstculpritbyfar.'IfIamaking I will be treated likeone!Irefusetobedictatedtoin my own palace! Not byanyone…notby…Imean…'

Bayazglaredbackathim,his green eyes frighteninglyhard, and spoke with frostycalm. 'If your intention is to

lose your temper with me,your Majesty, I wouldstronglyadviseagainstit.'

Jezal's rage had been onthe very verge of fadingalready, and now, under theicy gaze of the Magus, itwilted away entirely. 'Ofcourse…I'msorry…I'mverysorry.'Heclosedhiseyesandstared numbly down at thepolished tabletop. He never

used to say sorry foranything.Now that hewas aking,andneededtoapologisetonoman,hefoundhecouldnot stop. 'I did not ask forthis,' he muttered weakly,floppingdowninhischair. 'Idon't knowhow it happened.Ididnothingtodeserveit.'

'Of course not.' Bayazcameslowlyaroundthetable.'Nomancaneverdeservethe

throne.Thatiswhyyoumuststrivetobeworthyofitnow.Everyday. Justasyourgreatpredecessors did. Casamir.Arnault,Harodhimself.'

Jezal took a long breath,andblewitout. 'You'reright,of course. How can youalwaysberight?'

Bayaz held up a humblehand. 'Always right?Scarcely. But I have the

benefit of long experience,and am here to guide you asbest I can.You havemade afine start along a difficultroad, and you should beproud, as I am. There arecertainstepswecannotdelay,however. Chief among themisyourwedding.'

Jezalgaped.'Wedding?''Anunmarriedkingislike

a chair with three legs, your

Majesty. Apt to fall. Yourrump has only just touchedthe throne, and it is far fromsettledthere.Youneedawifewho brings you support, andyou need heirs so that yoursubjectsmay feel secure.Allthat delay will bring isopportunities for yourenemiestoworkagainstyou.'

The blows fell so rapidlythat Jezal had to grasp his

head,hoping tostop it flyingapart. 'My enemies?' Had henot always tried to get onwitheveryone?

'Can you be so naive?Lord Brock is doubtlessalready plotting against you.LordIsherwillnotbeputoffindefinitely. Others on theOpen Council supported yououtoffear,orwerepaidtodoso.'

'Paid?'gaspedJezal.'Such support does not

lastforever.Youmustmarry,andyourwifemustbringyoupowerfulallies.'

'ButIhave…'Jezallickedhis lips, uncertain of how tobroach the subject. 'Somecommitments…inthatline.'

'Ardee West?' Jezal halfopened his mouth to ask

Bayazhowheknewsomuchabout his romanticentanglements, but quicklythought better of it. The oldman seemed to know farmore about him than he didhimself,afterall.'Iknowhowitis,Jezal.Ihavelivedalonglife. Of course you love her.Ofcourseyouwouldgiveupanything for her, now. Butthatfeeling,trustme,willnot

last.'Jezal shifted his weight

uncomfortably. He tried topictureArdee'sunevensmile,the softness of her hair, thesoundof her laugh.Thewaythat had given him suchcomfort,outontheplain.Butit was hard to think of hernow without rememberingher teeth sinking into his lip,his face tingling from her

slap, the sound of the tablecreaking back and forwardunderneath them.Theshame,and the guilt, and thecomplexity. Bayaz' voicecontinued: mercilessly calm,brutally realistic, ruthlesslyreasonable.

'Itisonlynaturalthatyoumadecommitments,butyourpast life is gone, and yourcommitmentshavegonewith

it. You are a king, now, andyourpeopledemand thatyoubehave like one. They needsomething to look up to.Somethingeffortlesslyhigherthan themselves. We aretalkingof theHighQueenoftheUnion.Amothertokings.A farmer's daughter with atendency towardsunpredictablebehaviourandapenchant forheavydrinking?

I think not.' Jezal flinched tohear Ardee described thatway, but he could hardlyarguethepoint.

'Youare anatural son.Awife of unimpeachablebreedingwouldlendyourlinefargreaterweight.Fargreaterrespect.There is aworld fullof eligible women, yourMajesty, all born to highstation.Dukes'daughters,and

kings' sisters, beautiful andcultured. A world ofprincessestochoosefrom.'

Jezal felt his eyebrowsrising. He loved Ardee, ofcourse, but Bayaz made adevastating argument. Therewassomuchmoretothinkofnow than his own needs, ifthe idea of himself as a kingwasabsurd,theideaofArdeeas a queenwas triply so.He

loved her, of course. In away. But a world ofprincesses to choose from?That was a phrase it wasdecidedly hard to find faultwith.

'You see it!' The First oftheMagi snapped his fingersin triumph. 'I will send toDukeOrsoofTalins, thathisdaughter Terez should beintroduced to you.' He held

up a calming hand. 'Just tobegin with, you understand.Talins would make apowerfulally.'Hesmiled,andleaned forward tomurmur inJezal'sear. 'Butyouneednotleave everything behind, ifyou truly are attached to thisgirl. Kings often keepmistresses,youknow.'

And that, of course,decidedthematter.

PreparedfortheWorst

«^»

Gloktasatinhisdiningroom,staring down at his table,

rubbing at his aching thighwith one hand. His otherstirredabsentlyat thefortunein jewels spread out on theblackleathercase.

WhydoIdothis?WhydoI stay here, and askquestions?Icouldbegoneonthenext tide,andnooneanyworse off. Perhaps a tour ofthe beautiful cities of Styria?Acruise round theThousand

Isles? Finally to farawayThond, or distant Suljuk, tolive out my twisted days inpeace among people who donotunderstandawordIsay?Hurting no one? Keeping nosecrets? Caring no more forinnocence or guilt, for truthorforlies,thandotheselittlelumpsofrock.

Thegems twinkled in thecandlelight, clicking against

each other, tickling at hisfingers as he pushed themthrough one way, and backthe other. But his Eminencewould weep and weep at mysudden disappearance. So,one imagines, would thebanking house of Valint andBalk. Where in all the wideCircle of the World would Ibesafefromthetearsofsuchpowerfulmasters? Andwhy?

So I can sit on my crippledarseallthelongday,waitingfor the killers to come? So Icanlieinbed,andache,andthinkaboutallthatI'velost?

He frowned down at thejewels: clean, and hard, andbeautiful. Imademy choiceslongago.When I tookValintand Balk's money. When Ikissed the ring of office.BeforetheEmperor'sprisons,

even,whenIrodedowntothebridge, sure that onlymagnificent Sand danGloktacouldsavetheworld…

Athumpingknockechoedthrough the roomandGloktajerked his head up, toothlessmouthhangingopen.As longasitisnottheArchLector—

'Open up, in the name ofhisEminence!'

He grimaced at a spasmthrough his back as hedragged himself out of hischair,clawing thestones intoa heap. Priceless, glitteringhandfuls of them. Sweat hadbroken out across hisforehead.

What if the Arch Lectorwere to discover my littletreasuretrove?Hegiggledtohimself ashe snatchedat the

leather case. I was going tomentionallthis,reallyIwas,but the timing never seemedquite right. A small matter,after all—no more than aking's ransom. His fingersfumbledwith the jewels, andin his haste he flicked oneastray and it droppedsparkling to the floor with asharpclick,click.

Another knock, louder

this time, the heavy lockshuddering from the force ofit.'Openup!'

'I'm just coming!' Heforcedhimselfdownontohishandsandkneeswithamoan,castingaboutacrossthefloor,his neck burning with pain.He saw it—a flat green onesittingon theboards, shiningbrightinthefirelight.

Gotyou,youbastard!He

snatcheditup,pulledhimselftohis feetby theedgeof thetable, folded up the case,once,twice.Notimetohideitaway.Heshoveditinsidehisshirt, right down so it wasbehind his belt, then hegrabbed his cane and limpedtowards the front door,wiping his sweaty face,adjusting his clothes, doinghis best to present an

unruffledappearance.'I'm coming! There's no

needto—'Four huge Practicals

shoved past him into hisapartments, almost knockinghim over. Beyond them, inthecorridoroutside,stoodhisEminence the Arch Lector,frowningbalefully, twomorevast Practicals at his back.Asurprising hour for such a

gratifying visit. Glokta couldhear the four men stompingaround his apartments,throwing open doors, pullingopen cupboards.Never mindme,gentlemen,makeyourselfathome.Afteramomenttheymarchedbackin.

'Empty,' grunted one,frombehindhismask.

'Huh,' sneered Sult,moving smoothly over the

threshold, staring about himwithascowlofcontempt.Mynew lodgings, itwould seem,are scarcelymore impressivethan my old ones. His sixPracticals took up positionsaround the walls of Glokta'sdining room, arms foldedacross their chests,watching.Anawfullotofgreatbigmen,to keep an eye on one littlecripple.

Sult'sshoesstabbedatthefloor as he strode up anddown, his blue eyes bulging,a furious frown twisting hisface. It does not take amasterful judge of characterto see that he is not a happyman. Might one of my uglysecrets have come to hisattention? One of my littledisobediences? Glokta felt asweatytremblingslinkuphis

bentspine.Thenon-executionof Magister Eider, perhaps?MyagreementwithPracticalVitari to tell less than thewhole truth? The corner ofthe leather pouch dug gentlyintohis ribs ashe shiftedhiships. Or merely the smallmatter of the large fortunewith which I was purchasedby a highly suspect bankinghouse?

An image sprangunbidden intoGlokta'smind,of the jewel-case suddenlysplittingbehindhisbelt,gemsspilling from his trouser legsin a priceless cascade whilethe Arch Lector and hisPracticals stared inamazement.IwonderhowI'dtry to explain that one? Hehad to stifle a giggle at thethought.

'That bastard Bayaz!'snarledSult,hiswhite-glovedhands curling into shakingfists.

Glokta felt himself relaxbythesmallesthair.Iamnottheproblem,then.Notyet,atleast.'Bayaz?'

'That bald liar, thatsmirking impostor, thatancient charlatan! He hasstolen the Closed Council!'

Stop,thief.'HehasthatwormLuthar dictating to us! Youtold me he was a spinelessnothing!'Itoldyouheusedtobe a spineless nothing, andyou ignoredme. 'This cursedpuppy-dog proves to haveteeth,andisnotafraidtousethem, and that First of thebastard Magi is holding hisleash! He is laughing at us!Heislaughingatme!Atme!'

screamedSult,stabbingathischestwithaclawingfinger.

'I—''Damn your excuses,

Glokta! I am drowning in aseaofdamnedexcuses,whenwhat I need are answers!What I need are solutions!WhatIneedistoknowmoreaboutthisliar!'

Then perhaps this will

impress you. 'I have already,in fact, taken the liberty ofsomestepsinthatdirection.'

'Whatsteps?''I was able to take his

Navigator into custody,' saidGlokta, allowing himself thesmallestofsmiles.

'The Navigator?' Sultgave no sign of beingimpressed.'Andwhatdidthat

stargazingimbeciletellyou?'Glokta paused. 'That he

journeyed across the OldEmpire to the edge of theWorld with Bayaz and ournew king, before hisenthronement.' He struggledfor words that would fitcleanly into Sult's world oflogic, and reasons, and neatexplanations. 'That theywereseeking for… a relic, of the

OldTime—''Relics?' asked Sult, his

frowndeepening.'OldTime?'Glokta swallowed.

'Indeed,but theydidnot findit—'

'Sowenowknowoneofathousand things that Bayazdidnot do?Bah!'Sult rippedangrily at the air with hishand.'Heisnobody,andtold

you less than nothing! Moreofyourmythsandrubbish!'

'Of course, yourEminence,' muttered Glokta.There really is no pleasingsomepeople.

Sult frowneddownat thesquares board under thewindow, his white-glovedhandhoveringoverthepiecesas if tomake amove. 'I losetrack of how often you have

failedme,butIwillgiveyoua final chance to redeemyourself. Look into this Firstof theMagi oncemore. Findsome weakness, someweapon we can use againsthim.He is a disease, andwemust burn him out.' Heproddedangrilyatoneof thewhite pieces. 'I want himdestroyed! I want himfinished! I want him in the

House of Questions, inchains!'

Glokta swallowed. 'YourEminence, Bayaz isensconced in the palace, andwell beyond my reach… hisprotégé is now our King…'Thanks in part to our owndesperate efforts. Gloktaalmost winced, but he couldnot stop himself from askingthequestion.'HowamItodo

it?''How?' shrieked Sult,

'how,youcrippledworm?'Heswept his hand furiouslyacross the board and dashedthepiecesspinningacrossthefloor.And Iwonderwhowillhave to bend down to pickthose up? The six Practicals,as though controlled by thepitch of the Arch Lector'svoice, detached themselves

from the walls and loomedmenacingly into the room. 'IfI wished to attend to everydetailmyselfIwouldhavenoneed of your worthlessservices! Get out there andget it done, you twistedslime!'

'Your Eminence is tookind,' muttered Glokta,humbly inclining his headonce more. But even the

lowest dog needs a scratchbehind theears, from time totime, or he might go for hismaster'sthroat…

'And look into his storywhileyou'reaboutit.'

'Story,ArchLector?''This fairytale of Carmee

dan Roth!' Sult's eyes wentnarrower still, hard creasescutting into the bridge of his

nose. 'If we cannot take theleashourselves,wemusthavethe dog put down, do youunderstand?'

Glokta felt his eyetwitching, in spite of hiseffortstomakeitbestill.Wefind a way to bring KingJezal's reign to an abruptend.Dangerous.If theUnionis a ship, it has but latelycomethroughastorm,andis

listing badly. We have lostonecaptain.Replaceanothernow, and the boat mightbreak apart entirely.Wewillall be swimming in somedeep, cold, unknown watersthen. CivilWar, anyone? Hefrowned down at the squarespieces scattered across hisfloor. But his Eminence hasspoken.WhatisitthatShickelsaid?Whenyourmastergives

you a task, you do your bestatit.Evenifthetaskisadarkone.Andsomeofusareonlysuitedtodarktasks…

'Carmee dan Roth, andher bastard. I shall find thetruth of it, your Eminence,youcandependonme.'

Sult'ssneercurledtoevengreater heights of contempt.'Ifonly!'

TheHouse ofQuestionswasbusy, for an evening. Gloktasaw no one as he limpeddown the corridor, hisexcusesforteethpressedintohis lip, his hand clenchedtightaroundthehandleofhiscane,slipperywithsweat.Hesaw no one, but he heardthem.

Voices bubbled from

behind the iron-bound doors.Lowandinsistent.Asking thequestions. High anddesperate. Spilling theanswers.Fromtimetotimeashriek,oraroar,orahowlofpain would cut through theheavy silence. Those hardlyneed explaining. Severardwas leaning against the dirtywall as Glokta limpedtowards him, one foot up on

the plaster, whistlingtunelesslybehindhismask.

'What's all this?' askedGlokta.

'Some of Lord Brock'speople got drunk, then theygotnoisy.Fiftyof 'em,madequiteamessupneartheFourCorners. Moaning aboutrights, whining on how thepeople were cheated,mouthing off how Brock

should'vebeenking.Theysayit was a demonstration. Wesayitwastreason.'

'Treason, eh?' Thedefinition is notoriouslyflexible. 'Pick out someringleaders and get somepapersigned.AnglandisbackinUnionhands.Hightimewestarted filling the place upwithtraitors.'

'They're already at it.

Anythingelse?''Oh, of course.' Juggling

knives.Onecomesdown,twogo up. Always more bladesspinning in theair, andeachonewithadeadlyedge.'Ihada visit from his Eminenceearlier today. A brief visit,buttoolongformytaste.'

'Workforus?''Nothing that will make

youarichman,ifthat'swhatyou'rehopingfor.'

'I'm always hoping. I'mwhatyoucallanoptimist.'

'Lucky for you.' I rathertend the other way. Gloktatook a deep breath and let itout in a long sigh. 'TheFirstof the Magi and his boldcompanions.'

'Again?'

'His Eminence wantsinformation.'

'ThisBayaz, though. Isn'thetightwithournewking?'

Glokta raisedaneyebrowas a muffled roar of painechoed down the corridor.Tight?Hemightaswellhavemadehimoutofclay.'Thatiswhy we must keep our eyesuponhim,PracticalSeverard.For his own protection.

Powerfulmen have powerfulenemies, aswell as powerfulfriends.'

'Think that Navigatorknowsanythingelse?'

'Nothing that will do thetrick.'

'Shame. I was gettingused to having the littlebastardaround.Hetellsahellofastoryaboutahugefish.'

Glokta sucked at hisempty gums. 'Keep himwhereheisfornow.PerhapsPracticalFrostwillappreciatehis tall tales.' He has a finesenseofhumour.

'If theNavigator'snouse,whodowesqueeze?'

Who indeed? Ninefingersis gone. Bayaz himself istuckeduptight inthepalace,and his apprentice hardly

leaveshisside.TheerstwhileJezal dan Luthar, we mustconcede, is now far beyondourreach…'Whatabout thatwoman?'

Severard looked up.'What,thatbrownbitch?'

'She'sstillinthecity,isn'tshe?'

'LastIheard.''Followher,then,andfind

outwhatshe'sabout.'ThePracticalpaused. 'Do

Ihaveto?''What?Youscared?'Severard lifted up his

mask and scratchedunderneath it. 'I can think ofpeopleI'dratherfollow.'

'Life is a series of thingswe would rather not do.'Glokta looked up and down

the corridor, making surethere was no one there. 'Wealso need to ask somequestions about Carmee danRoth,supposedmotherofourpresentking.'

'Whatsortofquestions?'He leaned towards

Severardandhissedquietlyinhis ear. 'Questions like—didshereallybearachildbeforeshe died? Was that child

really the issue of theoveractive loins of KingGuslav?Isthatchildtrulythesameman that we now haveonthethrone?Youknowthekind of questions.'Questionsthat could landus in a greatdeal of trouble. Questionsthat some people might calltreason. After all, thedefinition is notoriouslyflexible.

Severard's mask lookedthesameasever,but therestof his face was decidedlyworried.'Yousurewewanttogodiggingthere?'

'Why don't you ask theArch Lector if he's sure? Hesoundedsuretome.GetFrostto help you if you're havingtrouble.'

'But… what are welookingfor?Howwillwe—'

'How?'hissedGlokta.'IfIwished to attend to everydetailmyselfIwouldhavenoneedofyourservices.Getoutthereandgetitdone!'

WhenGloktahadbeenyoungand beautiful, quick andpromising, admired andenvied, he had spent a greatdealof time in the tavernsofAdua. Though I never

remember falling this far,eveninmydarkestmoods.

He scarcely felt out ofplace now, as he hobbledamong the customers. To becrippled was the norm here,and he had more teeth thanaverage. Nearly everyonecarried unsightly scars ordebilitating injuries, sores orwarts to make a toad blush.There were men with faces

roughastheskinonabowlofoldporridge.Menwhoshookworse than leaves in a galeand stank of week-old piss.Menwho looked as if they'dslit a child's throat just tokeep their knives sharp. Adrunken whore slouchedagainst a post in an attitudethat could hardly have beenarousing to the mostdesperate sailor. That same

reek of sour beer andhopelessness, sour sweatandearly death that I rememberfrom the sites of my worstexcesses.Onlystronger.

There were some privatebooths at one end of thestinking common room,vaulted archways full ofmiserable shadows and evenmore miserable drunks. Andwhomightoneexpect to find

insuchsurroundings?Gloktashuffled to a stop beside thelastofthem.

'Well, well, well. I neverthought I'd see you aliveagain.'

Nicomo Cosca lookedevenworsethanwhenGloktafirst met him, if that waspossible. He was spread outagainst the slimy wall, hishands dangling, his head

hangingover toone side, hiseyes scarcely open as hewatched Glokta work hispainful way into a chairopposite.His skinwas soapypale in the flickering lightfrom the single mean candleflame,darkpouchesunderhiseyes, dark shadows shiftingover his pinched and pointedface. The rash on his neckhad grown angrier, and

spreadup the sideofhis jawlikeivyuparuin.Withjustalittle more effort he mightlooknearlyasillasme.

'Superior Glokta,' hewheezed, inavoiceas roughas tree-bark, 'I am delightedthat you received mymessage.What an honour torenew our acquaintance,against all the odds. Yourmasters did not reward your

effortsintheSouthwithacutthroat,eh?'

'Iwasassurprisedasyouare, but no.' Though there isstill ample time. 'How wasDagoskaafterIleft?'

TheStyrianpuffedouthishollowcheeks. 'Dagoskawasa real mess, since you areasking.Alotofmendead.Alot of men made slaves.That'swhathappenswhenthe

Gurkish come to dinner, eh?Goodmenwith bad endings,and the bad men did littlebetter. Bad endings foreveryone. Your friendGeneralVissbruckgotoneofthem.'

'I understand he cut hisown throat.' To rapturousapproval from the public.'Howdidyougetaway?'

The corner of Cosca's

mouth curled up, as thoughhewouldhave liked to smilebut had not the energy. 'Idisguisedmyselfasaservantgirl, and I fucked my wayout.'

'Ingenious.' But far morelikely you were the one whoopened the gates to theGurkish, in return for yourfreedom. Iwonder if Iwouldhave done the same, in that

position? Probably. 'Andluckyforusboth.'

'They say that luck is awoman.She'sdrawn to thosethatleastdeserveher.'

'Perhaps so.' Though Iappear to be bothundeserving and unlucky. 'ItiscertainlyfortunatethatyoushouldappearinAduaatthismoment. Things are…unsettled.'

Gloktaheardasqueaking,rustlingsoundandalargeratdashed out from under hischair and paused for amoment in full view. Coscadelvedaclumsyhandintohisstained jacketandwhipped itout. A throwing knife flewout with it, flashed throughthe air. It shuddered into theboards a good stride or twowideof themark.Theratsat

thereforamomentlonger,asthough to communicate itscontempt, thenscurriedawaybetween the table and chairlegs, the scuffedbootsof thepatrons.

Cosca sucked at hisstained teeth as he slitheredfromtheboothtoretrievehisblade. 'I used to be dazzlingwith a throwing knife, youknow.'

'Beautifulwomenused tohang from my every word.'Glokta sucked at his ownemptygums.'Timeschange.'

'So I hear. All kinds ofchanges. New rulers meannew worries. Worries meanbusiness, for people in mytrade.'

'It might be that I willhaveauseforyourparticulartalents,beforetoolong.'

'Icannotsay that Iwouldturnyoudown.'Coscatippedhis bottle up and stuck histongue into the neck, lickingoutthelasttrickle. 'Mypurseis empty as a dry well. Soempty, in fact, that I don'tevenhaveapurse.'

There,at least, Iamabletoassist.Gloktachecked thattheywere not observed, thentossed something across the

rough table top and watchedit bounce with a click and aspin to a halt in front ofCosca.Themercenarypickedit up between finger andthumb, held it to the candleflameandstaredatitthroughone bloodshot eye. 'Thisseemstobeadiamond.'

'Consider yourself onretainer. I daresay you couldfindsomelike-mindedmento

assist you. Some reliablemen,whotellnotalesandaskno questions. Some goodmen,tohelpout.'

'Some bad men, do youmean?'

Glokta grinned,displaying the gaps in histeeth.'Well.Isupposethatalldepends on whether you'rethe employer, or you're thejob.'

'I suppose itdoesat that.'Cosca let his empty bottledrop to the ill-formedfloorboards. 'Andwhat is thejob,Superior?'

'Fornow,justtowait,andstay out of sight.' He leanedfrom the booth with a winceand snapped his fingers at asurly serving girl. 'Anotherbottle of what my friend isdrinking!'

'Andlater?''I'm sure I can find

something foryou todo.'Heshuffled painfully forward inhischairtowhisper.'Betweenyouandme,IheardarumourthattheGurkisharecoming.'

Cosca winced. 'Themagain? Must we? Thosebastards don't play by therules.God,andrighteousness,and belief.' He shuddered.

'Makesmenervous.''Well, whoever it is

bangingonthedoor,I'msureI can organise a heroic laststand, against the odds,without hope of relief.' I amnotlackingforenemies,afterall.

The mercenary's eyesglinted as the girl thumped afull bottle down on thewarpedtablebeforehim.'Ah,

lostcauses.Myfavourite.'

TheHabitofCommand

«^»

West sat in the LordMarshal's tent and stared

hopelesslyintospace.Forthepastyearhehadscarcelyhadan idle moment. Now,suddenly, there was nothingfor him to do but wait. Hekept expecting to see Burrpush through the flap andwalk to the maps, his fistsclenchedbehindhim.Hekeptexpecting to feel hisreassuring presence aroundthe camp, to hear his

booming voice call thewayward officers to order.But of course he would not.Notnowandnoteveragain.

On the left sat GeneralKroy's staff, solemn andsinister in their blackuniforms, as rigidly pressedasever.Ontheright loungedPoulder's men, top buttonscarelessly undone in an openaffront to their opposite

numbers, as puffed-up aspeacocks displaying their tailfeathers. The two greatGenerals themselves eyedeach other with all thesuspicion of rival armiesacross a battlefield, awaitingtheedictthatwouldraiseoneofthemtotheClosedCouncilandtheheightsofpower,anddash the other's hopes forever. The edict that would

name the new King of theUnion, and his new LordMarshal.

It was to be Poulder orKroy, of course, and bothanticipated their final,glorious victory over theother. In the meantime thearmy,andWest inparticular,sat paralysed. Powerless. Farto thenorth theDogmanandhis companions, who had

saved West's life in thewilderness more times thanhe could remember, were nodoubt fighting for survival,watchingdesperatelyforhelpthatwouldnevercome.

For West, the entirebusiness was verymuch likebeingathisownfuneral,andone attended chiefly bysneering, grinning, posturingenemies.ItwastobePoulder

orKroy,andwhicheveroneitwas,hewasdoomed.Poulderhated him with a flamingpassion, Kroy with an icyscorn. The only fall swifterand more complete than hisown would be that ofPoulder, or of Kroy,whichever of them wasfinally overlooked by theClosedCouncil.

There was a dim

commotion outside, andheads turned keenly to look.Therewasascuffleoffeetupto the tent, and severalofficers rose anxiously fromtheirchairs.Theflapwastornaside and the Knight Heraldfinally burst jingling throughit.Hewasimmenselytall,thewings on his helmet almostpoking a hole in the tent'sceilingashe straightenedup.

He had a leather case overone armoured shoulder,stampedwith the golden sunof the Union.West stared atit,holdinghisbreath.

'Present your message,'urged Kroy, holding out hishand.

'Presentittome!'snappedPoulder.

Thetwomenjostledeach

otherwithscantdignitywhilethe Knight Herald frowneddown at them, impassive. 'IsColonelWest in attendance?'he demanded, in a boomingbass. Every eye, and mostespecially those of PoulderandKroy,swivelledround.

Westfoundhimselfrisinghesitantly from his chair.'Er…IamWest.'

The Knight Herald

stepped carelessly aroundGeneral Kroy and advancedon West, spurs rattling. Heopened his dispatch case,pulledoutarollofparchmentandheld itup. 'On theking'sorders.'

The final irony ofWest'sunpredictable career, itseemed,wasthathewouldbetheonetoannouncethenameof the man who would

dismiss him in dishonourmoments later.But if hewasto fall on his sword, delaywouldonlyincreasethepain.He took the scroll from theKnight's gauntleted hand andbroke the heavy seal. Heunrolled it halfway, a blockofflowingscriptcomingintoview. The room held itsbreathashebegantoread.

West gave vent to a

disbelieving giggle. Evenwith the tent as tense as acourtroom waiting forjudgement,hecouldnothelphimself. He had to go overthe first section twice morebefore he came close totakingitin.

'What is amusing?'demandedKroy.

'The Open Council haselected Jezal dan Luthar as

the new King of the Union,henceforthknownasJezaltheFirst.'Westhadtostiflemorelaughter even though, if itwasajoke,itwasnotafunnyone.

'Luthar?' someone asked.'WhothehellisLuthar?'

'That boy who won theContest?'

It was all, somehow,

awfullyappropriate.Jezalhadalwaysbehavedas thoughhewasbetterthaneveryoneelse.Now, it seemed, hewas.Butallofthat,momentousthoughit might have been, was aside-issuehere.

'Who is the new LordMarshal?' growledKroy, andthe two staffs shuffledforward,allontheirfeetnow,forming a half-circle of

expectation.West took a deep breath,

gathered himself like a childpreparing to plunge into anicypool.Hepulledthescrollopen and his eyes scannedquickly over the lower blockof writing. He frowned.Neither Poulder's name norKroy's appeared anywhere.He read it again, morecarefully. His knees felt

suddenlyveryweak.'Who does it name?'

Pouldernearlyshrieked.Westopened his mouth, but hecould not find thewords.Heheld the letter out, andPoulder snatched it from hishand while Kroy struggledunsuccessfully to look overhisshoulder.

'No,' breathed Poulder,evidently having reached the

end.Kroy wrestled the

dispatch away and his eyesflickered over it. 'This mustbeamistake!'

ButtheKnightHeralddidnot think so. 'The ClosedCouncilarenotinthehabitofmaking mistakes. You havetheKing's orders!'He turnedtoWestandbowed.'MyLordMarshal,Ibidyoufarewell.'

The army's best andbrightest allgawpedatWest,jaws dangling. 'Er… yes,' hemanagedtostammer.'Yes,ofcourse.'

An hour later, the tent wasempty. West sat alone atBurr'swritingdesk,nervouslyarrangingandrearrangingthepen, ink, paper, and most ofallthelargeletterhehadjust

sealedwithablobofredwax.He frowned down at it, andupatthemapsontheboards,and back down at his handssitting idle on the scarredleather, and he tried tounderstandwhat the hell hadhappened.

Asfarashecouldtell,hehadbeensuddenlyelevatedtooneofthehighestpositionsinthe Union. Lord Marshal

West. With the possibleexception of Bethod himself,he was the most powerfulmanonthissideoftheCircleSea.PoulderandKroywouldbeobligedtocallhim'sir'.Hehad a chair on the ClosedCouncil. Him!CollemWest!A commoner, who had beenscorned, and bullied, andpatronised his entire life.How could it possibly have

happened?Notthroughmerit,certainly. Not through anyactionorinactiononhispart.Through pure chance. Achancefriendshipwithamanwho, in many ways, he didnot particularly like, and hadcertainlyneverexpectedtodohimanyfavours.Amanwho,in a stroke of fortune thatcould only be described as amiracle,hadnowascendedto

thethroneoftheUnion.His disbelieving laughter

was short-lived. A mostunpleasant image wasforming in his head. PrinceLadisla, lying somewhere inthe wilderness with his headbroken open, half-naked andunburied.Westswallowed. Ifit had not been for him,Ladisla would now be king,and he would be swabbing

latrines instead of preparingtotakecommandofthearmy.Hisheadwas starting tohurtandherubbeduncomfortablyathistemples.Perhapshehadplayed a crucial part in hisownadvancementafterall.

The tent flap rustled asPike came through with hisburned-out ruin of a grin.'GeneralKroyishere.'

'Lethimsweatamoment.'

But it was West who wassweating.Hewipedhismoistpalmstogetherandtuggedthejacketofhisuniformsmooth,his Colonel's insignia butrecently cut from theshoulders. He had to appearto be in complete andeffortless control, just asMarshal Burr had alwaysdone. Just as Marshal Varuzhad used to, out in the dry

wastelands of Gurkhul. Hehad to squash Poulder andKroy while he had thechance. If he did not do itnow, he would be forever attheirmercy.Apieceofmeat,torn between two furiousdogs. He reluctantly pickeduptheletterandhelditouttoPike.

'Could we not just hangthe pair of them, sir?' asked

theconvictashetookit.'Ifonly.Butwecannotdo

without them, howevertroublesome they may be. Anew King, a new LordMarshal, both men that, byand large, no one has everheard of. The soldiers needleaderstheyknow.'Hetookalongbreath throughhisnose,puffing out his chest. Eachman had to do his part, and

thatwasall.Heletithissout.'Show in General Kroy,please.'

'Yes, sir.' Pike held thetentflapopenandroaredout,'GeneralKroy!'

Kroy's black uniform,chased about the collar withembroidered golden leaves,wassoheavilystarchedthatitwasasurprisehecouldmoveatall.Hedrewhimselfupand

stood to vibrating attention,eyes fixed on the middledistance. His salute wasimpeccable, everypart of hisbody in regulation position,andyethesomehowmanagedto make his contempt anddisappointmentplaintosee.

'May I first offer mycongratulations,' he grated,'LordMarshal.'

'Thank you, General.

Graciouslysaid.''A considerable

promotion, foronesoyoung,soinexperienced—'

'I have been aprofessional soldier somedozen years, and fought intwowars and several battles.ItwouldseemhisMajestytheKing deems me sufficientlyseasoned.'

Kroy cleared his throat.'Ofcourse,LordMarshal.Butyou are new to highcommand.Inmyopinionyouwould be wise to seek theassistance of a moreexperiencedman.'

'I agree with youabsolutely.'

Kroyliftedoneeyebrowafraction. 'I am glad to hearthat.'

'Thatmanshould,withoutthe slightest doubt, beGeneralPoulder.'Togivehimcredit, Kroy's face did notmove.Asmall squeak issuedfrom his nose. The onlyindication of what,West didnot doubt,was his boundlessdismay. He had been hurtwhenhearrived.Nowhewasreeling.Theverybesttimetoplungethebladeintothehilt.

'I have always been a greatadmirer of General Poulder'sapproach to soldiering. Hisdash.Hisvigour.Heis,tomymind, the very definition ofwhatanofficershouldbe.'

'Quite so,' hissed Kroythroughgrittedteeth.

'I am takinghisadvice ina number of areas. There isonly one major issue uponwhichwediffered.'

'Indeed?''You, General Kroy.'

Kroy's face had assumed thecolour of a plucked chicken,the trace of scorn replacedquick-timebyadefinitetingeofhorror. 'Poulderwasoftheopinion that you should bedismissedimmediately.Iwasfor giving you one morechance.SergeantPike?'

'Sir.' The ex-convict

stepped forward smartly andheldout theletter.West tookit from him and displayed ittotheGeneral.

'This is a letter to theking. I begin by remindinghim of the happy years weservedtogetherinAdua.Igoon to lay out in detail thereasons for your immediatedismissal in dishonour. Yourunrepentant stubbornness,

GeneralKroy.Yourtendencyto steal the credit. Yourbloodless inflexibility. Yourinsubordinate reluctance toworkwithotherofficers.'Ifitwas possible for Kroy's faceto grow yetmore drawn andpale it did so, steadily, as hestared at the folded paper. 'Iearnestly hope that I willnever have to send it. But Iwill, at the slightest

provocation to myself or toGeneral Poulder, am Iunderstood?'

Kroy appeared to gropefor words. 'Perfectlyunderstood,'hecroakedintheend,'myLordMarshal.'

'Excellent. We areextremely tardy insettingofffor our rendezvous with ourNorthern allies and I hate toarrive late to ameeting.You

will transfer your cavalry tomycommand,fornow.Iwillbe taking them north withGeneralPoulder,inpursuitofBethod.'

'AndI,sir?''A few Northmen still

remainon thehills aboveus.Itwill be your task to sweepthemawayandcleartheroadto Carleon, giving ourenemies the impression that

ourmainbodyhasnotmovednorth. Succeed in that and Imay be willing to trust youwithmore.Youwillmakethearrangements before firstlight.' Kroy opened hismouth, as though about tocomplain at the impossibilityof the request. 'You havesomethingtoadd?'

The General quicklythought better of it. 'No, sir.

Before first light, of course.'Heevenmanagedtoforcehisface into a shape vaguelyresemblingasmile.

West did not have to trytoohard to smileback. 'I amglad you are embracing thischance to redeem yourself,General. You are dismissed.'Kroy snapped to attentiononcemore, spun on his heel,caught his leg up with his

sabre and stumbled from thetentinsomedisarray.

West took a long breath.His head was pounding. Hewanted nothingmore than toliedown for a fewmoments,but there was no time. Hetugged the jacket of hisuniform smooth again. If hehad survived that nightmarejourney north through thesnow, he could survive this.

'SendinGeneralPoulder.'Poulder swaggered into

the tent as though he ownedthe place and stood toslapdash attention, his saluteas flamboyant as Kroy's hadbeen rigid. 'Lord MarshalWest, Iwould like to extendto you my earnestcongratulations on yourunexpectedadvancement.'Hegrinned unconvincingly, but

Westdidnotjoinhim.Hesatthere,frowningupatPoulderasifhewasaproblemthathewas considering a harshsolution to. He sat there forsome time, saying nothing.The General's eyes began todart nervously around thetent. He gave an apologeticcough. 'Might I ask, LordMarshal, what you had todiscusswithGeneralKroy?'

'Why, all manner ofthings.' West kept his facestony hard. 'My respect forGeneral Kroy on all mattersmilitary isboundless.Wearemuch alike, he and I. Hisprecision. His attention todetail.Heis,tomymind,thevery definition of what asoldiershouldbe.'

'He is a mostaccomplished officer,'

Pouldermanagedtohiss.'He is. I have been

elevatedwithgreatrapiditytomyposition,andIfeelIneeda senior man, a man with awealth of experience, to actas a… as a mentor, if youwill,nowthatMarshalBurrisgone.GeneralKroyhasbeengoodenoughtoagreetoserveinthatcapacity.'

'Has he indeed?'A sheen

of sweat was forming acrossPoulder'sforehead.

'HehasmadeanumberofexcellentsuggestionswhichIam already putting intopractice. Therewas only oneissue onwhichwe could notagree.'Hesteepledhisfingerson the desk before him andlookedsternlyatPoulderoverthe top of them. 'You werethat issue, General Poulder.

You.''I,LordMarshal?''Kroy pressed for your

immediate dismissal.'Poulder's fleshy face wasrapidly turning pink. 'But Ihavedecidedtoextendtoyouonefinalopportunity.'

West picked up the verysame paper that he haddisplayed to Kroy. 'This is a

letter to the king. I begin bythanking him for mypromotion,byenquiringafterhis health, by reminding himof our close personalfriendship. Igoon to layoutindetail the reasons foryourimmediate cashiering indisgrace. Your unbecomingarrogance, General Poulder.Your tendency to steal thecredit. Your reluctance to

obey orders. Your stubborninability to work with otherofficers. Iearnestlyhope thatI will never have to send it.But I will, at the slightestprovocation. The slightestprovocation to myself or toGeneral Kroy, am Iunderstood?'

Poulderswallowed,sweatglistening all over his ruddyface. 'You are, my Lord

Marshal.''Good. I am trusting

GeneralKroytoseizecontrolof the hills between us andCarleon. Until you proveyourselfworthyofaseparatecommand you will stay withme. I want your divisionready to move north beforefirst light, and the swiftestunits to the fore. OurNorthernalliesarerelyingon

us, and I do not mean to letthem down. At first light,General,andwiththegreatestspeed.'

'The greatest speed, ofcourse.Youcanrelyonme…sir.'

'I hope so, in spiteofmyreservations.Everymanmustdo his part, General Poulder.Everyman.'

Poulder blinked andworkedhismouth,halfturnedto leave, rememberedbelatedly to salute, thenstrode from the tent. Westwatchedtheflapmovingeversogentlyinthewindoutside,then he sighed, crumpled theletter up in his hand andtosseditawayintothecorner.It was nothing but a blanksheetofpaper,afterall.

Pike raised one pink,mostly hairless brow.'Sweetly done, sir, if I maysay. Even in the camps, Ineversawbetterlying.'

'Thank you, Sergeant.Now that I begin, I find Iwarm to thework.Myfatheralways warned me againstuntruths,butbetweenyouandme the man was a shit, acoward, and a failure. If he

was here now I'd spit in hisface.'

West rose and walked tothe largest-scaleof themaps,stood before it, his handsclasped behind his back. Injust the way that MarshalBurr would have done, herealised. He examined thedirty finger-smudge in themountainswhereCrummock-i-Phail had indicated the

position of his fortress. Hetraced the route to theUnionarmy's own current position,fartothesouth,andfrowned.It was hard to believe that aUnion cartographer couldever have come close tosurveying that terrain inperson, and the flamboyantshapes of the hills and rivershad an undoubted flavour ofmake-believeaboutthem.

'Howlongdoyouthinkitwill take to get there, sir?'askedPike.

'Impossible to say.' Evenif they got startedimmediately, which wasunlikely.Even ifPoulder didas he was told, which wasdoubly so. Even if the mapwas halfway accurate, whichheknewitwasnot.Heshookhis head grimly. 'Impossible

tosay.'

TheFirstDay

«^»

The eastern sky was justcatching fire. Long strips ofpinkcloudand long stripsofblack cloud were stretched

out across the pale blue, thehazy grey shapes ofmountains notched andjagged as a butcher's knifeunderneath. The western skywas amass of dark iron still—coldandcomfortless.

'Nice day for it,' saidCrummock.

'Aye.' But Logen wasn'tsure there was any such athing.

'Well, if Bethod don'tshow, and we get nothingkilled at all, at least you lotwill have done wonders formywall,eh?'

It was amazing howwelland how fast a man couldpatch awallwhen itwas thepileofstonesthatmightsavehisownlife.Afewshortdaysand they had the wholestretch of it built up and

mortared,mostof theivycutaway. From inside the fort,where the ground was thatmuch higher, it didn't looktoofearsome.Fromoutsideitwas three times theheightofatallmanuptothewalkway.They'dnewmadetheparapetneck-high at the top, withplenty of good slots forshooting and throwing rocksfrom. Then they'd dug out a

decent ditch in front, andlineditwithsharpstakes.

They were still digging,over on the left where thewallmet the cliff and it waseasiest to climb over. ThatwasDow'sstretch,andLogencouldhearhimshoutingathisboys over the sound ofshovels. 'Get digging, youlazy fucks! I'll not be killedfor your lack of work! Put

your back into it, youbastards!' and so on, all daylong. One way of gettingwork out of a man, Logenreckoned.

They'd dug the ditch outespecially deep right in frontof the old gate. A nicereminder to everyone thattherewere no plans to leave.But it was still the weakestspot, and there was no

missing it. That was whereLogen would be, if Bethodcame.Rightinthemiddle,onShivers' stretch of wall. Hewas standing above thearchway now, not far fromLogen and Crummock, hislong hair flapping about inthebreeze,pointingoutsomecracks that still neededmortaring.

'Wall's looking good!'

Logenshoutedathim.Shivers looked round,

worked his mouth, then spatover his shoulder. 'Aye,' hegrowled,andturnedaway.

Crummock leaned close.'If it comes to a battle you'llhavetowatchyourbackwiththatone,Bloody-Nine.'

'I reckon so.' The middleofafightwasagoodplaceto

settle a score with aman onyour own side. No one everchecked too carefully if thecorpses got it in the back orthe front once the fightingwasdone.Everyonetoobusycrying at their cuts, ordigging, or running away.Logengavethebighillmanalong stare. 'I'll have a lot ofmentowatchifitcomestoabattle. We ain't so very

friendlythatyouwon'tbeoneofem.

'Likewise,' saidCrummock, grinning all theway across his big, beardedface. 'We both got areputationforbeingnone toopicky who gets killed, oncethekillingstarts.Butthat'snobad thing. Too much trustmakesmensloppy.'

'Too much trust?' It had

beenawhilesinceLogenhadtoomuch of anything exceptenemies.Hejerkedhisthumbtowards the tower. 'I'mgoingup, check if they've seenanything.'

'I hope they have!' saidCrummock, rubbing his fatpalms together. 'I hope thatbastardcomestoday!'

Logenhoppeddownfromthe wall and walked out

across the fort, if you couldcall it that, past Carls andhillmen, sat ingroupseating,or talking, or cleaningweapons. A few who'd beenon guard through the nightwrapped up in blankets,asleep. He passed the penwhere the sheep werehuddledtogether,agooddealfewerthantherehadbeen.Hepassedthemakeshiftforgeset

up near the stone shed, acouple of soot-smeared menworking a bellows, anotherpouringmetalintomouldsforarrow heads. They'd need adamn lot of arrow-heads ifBethod came calling. Hecame to the narrow steps cutinto the rock-face and tookthemtwoatatime,upabovethe fort to the top of thetower.

There was a big pile ofrocks for throwing up there,on that shelf on themountainside, and six bigbarrelswedged fullof shafts.Thepickof thearchersstoodatthenew-mortaredparapets,the men with the best eyesand the best ears, keepingwatchforBethod.Logensawthe Dogman in amongst therest,withGrimononesideof

himandTulontheother.'Chief!' It still made

Logensmiletosayit.Alongtime, they'd done things theother way around, but itworked a lot better like this,to his mind. At least no onewas scared all the time. Notof their own chief, anyway.'Seeanything?'

The Dogman grinnedround, and offered himout a

flask.'Alot,asitgoes.''Uh,' said Grim. The sun

was getting up above themountains now, slitting theclouds with bright lines,eating into the shadowsacross thehard land, burningaway the dawn haze. Thegreat fells loomed up boldand careless on either side,smeared with yellow greengrass and fern on the slopes,

strips of bare rock breakingthrough the brown summits.Below, the bare valley wasquiet and still. Spotted withthorn bushes and clumps ofstuntedtrees,creasedwiththepaths of dried-out streams.Just as empty as it had beenthe day before, and the daybefore that, and ever sincethey'dgotthere.

It reminded Logen of his

youth, climbing up in theHighPlaces,alone.Daysatatime, testing himself againstthemountains.Beforehiswasanamethatanyonehadheardof.Beforehemarried,orhadchildren, and before hiswifeandhischildrenwentbacktothe mud. The happy valleysof the past. He sucked in along, cold breath of the highair, and he blew it out. 'It's

quite a spot for a view,alright, but I meant have weseen anything of our oldfriend.'

'You mean Bethod, theright royal King of theNorthmen? No, no sign ofhim.Notahair.'

Tul shook his big head.'Would've expected there tobe some sign by now, if hewascoming.'

Logen sloshed somewater round his mouth andspatitoutoverthesideofthetower, watched it splatter onthe rocks way down below.'Maybe he won't fall for it.'He could see the happy sideof Bethod not coming.Vengeance is a nice enoughnotion at a distance, but thegetting of it close up isn't sovery pretty. Especially when

you're outnumbered ten toonewithnowheretorunto.

'Maybe he won't at that,'saidDogman,wistful. 'How'sthewall?'

'Alright, long as theydon't bring such a thing as aladderwith'em.Howlongdoyou reckon we wait, beforewe—'

'Uh,' grunted Grim, his

long finger pointing downintothevalley.

Logen saw a flicker ofmovement down there. Andagain. He swallowed. Acouple of men, maybe,creepingthroughtheboulderslike beetles through gravel.He felt the men tense up allaround him, heard themmuttering. 'Shit,' he hissed.He looked sideways at the

Dogman, and the Dogmanlooked back. 'Seems likeCrummock'splanworked.'

'Seems that way. Far asgetting Bethod to follow us,atleast.'

'Aye.Therestisthetrickybit.' The bit that was morethan likely to get them allkilled, but Logen knew theywere all thinking it withouthimsayingaword.

'Now we just hope thattheUnion keeps their end ofthedeal,'saidDogman.

'Wehope.'Logen tried tosmile, but it didn't come outtoo good. Hoping had neverturnedoutthatwellforhim.

Once they'd started coming,thevalleyhadfilledupquick,right in front of Dogman's

eyes.Niceandclean, just thewayBethodhadalwaysdonethings.Thestandardsweresetout between the two rockfaces, three times a goodbowshotdistant,andtheCarlsand the Thralls were pressedin tight around 'em, alllookinguptowardstheirwall.The sunwas getting up highin ablue skywith just a fewshreds of cloud to cast a

shadow,andallthatweightofsteelflashedandsparkedliketheseaunderthemoon.

Theirsignswereallthere,all Bethod's best from wayback—Whitesides, Goring,Pale-as-Snow, Littlebone.Then there were others—sharpandraggedmarksfromout past the Crinna. Wildmen, made dark and bloodydeals with Bethod. Dogman

could hear them whoopingand calling to each other,strange sounds like animalsmightmakeintheforest.

Quite a gathering, all inall, and the Dogman couldsmell the fear and the doubtthickas soupupon thewall.A lot of weapons beingfingered, a lot of lips beingchewed. He did his best tokeep his face hard and

careless, the way thatThreetrees would've done.The way a chief should.Howevermuchhisownkneeswantedtotremble.

'How many now, youreckon?'askedLogen.

Dogman let his eyeswander over 'em, thinkingabout it. 'Eight thousand doyouthink,orten,maybe?'

A pause. 'That's aboutwhatIwasthinking.'

'Alotmore'nus,anyway,'Dogman said, keeping hisvoicelow.

'Aye. But fights aren'talways won by the biggernumbers.'

'Course not.' Dogmanworked his lips as he lookedatallthemmen.'Justmostly.'

There was plenty going ondown there, up at the front,shovels glinting, a ditch andanearthramparttakingshape,allacrossthevalley.

'Doing some digging o'theirown,'gruntedDow.

'Always was thorough,was Bethod,' said Dogman.'Taking his time. Doing itright.'

Logen nodded. 'Makesurenoneofusgetaway.'

Dogman heard the soundof Crummock's laughterbehind him. 'Getting awaywasn't ever the purpose o'this,though,eh?'

Bethod's own standardwasgoingupnow,neartotheback but still towering overthe others. Huge great thing,red circle on black. Dogman

frowned at it, flapping in thebreeze. He rememberedseeingitmonthsago,backinAngland. Back whenThreetrees had still beenalive, and Cathil too. Heworked his tongue round hissourmouth.

'King o' the fuckingNorthmen,'hemuttered.

Afewmencameoutfromthe front, where they were

digging, started walking uptowardsthewall.Fiveof'em,allingoodarmour,theoneatthefrontwithhisarmsspreadoutwide.

'Jawing time,' mutteredDow, thengobbeddown intothe ditch. They came upclose, the five,up in frontofthe patched-up gate, mailcoats shining dull in thebrightening sun. The first of

'em had long white hair andone white eye, and weren'ttoohardtoremember.White-EyeHansul.He lookedolderthan he used to, but didn'ttheyall?He'dbeentheonetoaskThreetreestosurrender,atUffrith, andbeen told topissoff. He'd had shit throwndownonhimatHeonan.He'doffered duels to Black Dow,and to Tul Duru, and to

Harding Grim. Duels againstBethod's champion. Duelsagainst the Bloody-Nine.He'ddonealotoftalkingforBethod,andhe'd tolda loto'lies.

'That Shite-Eye Hansuldown there?' jeered BlackDawathim. 'StillsuckingonBethod'scock,areyou?'

The old warrior grinnedupatthem.'Man'sgottofeed

hisfamilysomehow,don'the,and one cock tastes prettymuchlikeanother,ifyouaskme! Don't pretend like yourmouths ain't all tasted saltyenoughbefore!'

He had some kind ofpoint there, the Dogman hadtoadmit.They'dallfoughtforBethod themselves, after all.'What're you after, Hansul?'he shouted. 'Bethod want to

surrendertous,doeshe?''You'd have thought so,

wouldn't you, outnumberedlike he is, but that's notwhyI'm here.He's ready to fight,justlikealways,butI'mmoreofatalkerthanafighter,andI talked him into giving youall a chance. I got two sonsdown there, in with the rest,and call me selfish but I'drathernothave 'em inharm's

way. I'm hoping we canmaybe talk our way clear ofthis.'

'Don't seem too likely!'shoutedDogman, 'but give ita go if you must, I've gotnothing else pressing ontoday!'

'Here's the thing, then!Bethod don't particularlywant to waste time, andsweat,andbloodonclimbing

your little shit-pile of awall.He's got business with theSoutherners he wants to getsettled.It'sscarcelyworththebreath of pointing out thebastard of a fix you're in.We've got the numbersmore'n ten to one, I reckon.Much more, and you've noway out. Bethod says anyman wants to give up nowcangoinpeace.Allhehasto

doisgiveoverhisweapons.''And his head soon

afterwards,eh?'barkedDow.Hansul took a big breath

in, likehehardlyexpectedtobebelieved.'Bethodsaysanyman wants to can go free.That'shisword.'

'Fuck his word!' Dowsneeredathim,anddownthewalls men jeered and spat

theirsupport.'D'youthinkweain'tallseenhimbreakit tentimes before? I done shitsworthmore!'

'Lies,o' course,' chuckledCrummock, 'but it'straditional,no?Togetabito'lying done, before we getstarted on the hard work.You'd feel insulted if hedidn't give it some kind of atry at least. Any man, is it?'

he called down. 'What aboutCrummock-i-Phail,canhegofree?WhatabouttheBloody-Nine?'

Hansul's face sagged atthe name. 'It's true then?Ninefingers is up there, ishe?'

Dogman feltLogencomeup beside and show himselfonthewall.White-Eyeturnedpale, and his shoulders

slumped. 'Well,' Dogmanheardhimsayingquiet,'ithastobeblood,then.'

Logen leaned lazily onthe parapet, and he gaveHansul and his Carls a look.Thathungry,emptylook,likehewaspickingwhichoneofa herd o' sheep to slaughterfirst. 'You can tell Bethodwe'll come out.' He left apause. 'Oncewe'vekilled the

fuckingloto'you.'A rippleof laughterwent

down the walls, and menjeered and shook theirweaponsintheair.Notfunnywords, particularly, but hardones,whichwaswhattheyallneeded to hear, Dogmanreckoned. Good way to getrid of their fear, for amoment. He even managedhalfasmilehimself.

White-Eye just stoodthere,infrontoftheirricketygate, and he waited for theboystogoquiet. 'Iheardyouwaschiefof thiscrowdnow,Dogman. So you don't haveto take your orders from thisblood-mad butcher no more.That your answer as well?Thatthewayitis?'

Dogman shrugged. 'Justwhatotherwaydidyouthink

it'd be?We didn't come hereto talk,Hansul.Youcanpissoffback,now.'

Some more laughter, andsome more cheers, and onelad down at Shivers' end ofthe wall pulled his trousersdownandstuckhisbarearseover theparapet.So thatwasthatforthenegotiations.

White-Eye shook hishead. 'Alright, then. I'll tell

him. Back to the mud withthe lot o' you, I reckon, andwell earned.Youcan tell thedead I tried, when you meet'em!' He started picking hisway back down the valley,thefourCarlsbehindhim.

Logen loomed forward,all of a sudden. 'I'll belooking for your sons,Hansul!' he screamed, spitflying out his snarling,

grinningmouthandawayintothe wind, 'When the workbegins! You can tell BethodI'm waiting! Tell 'em all I'llbewaiting!'

Astrangestillnessfellonthewalland themenupon it,onthevalleyandthemenwithinit. That kind of stillness thatcomes sometimes, before abattle,whenboth sidesknow

what to expect. The samestillnessthatLogenhadfeltatCarleon, before he drew hissword and roared for thecharge. Before he lost hisfinger. Before he was theBloody-Nine. Long ago,whenthingsweresimpler.

Bethod's ditch was deepenough for him, and theThralls had put away theirshovelsandmovedbehind it.

TheDogmanhadclimbedthesteps back to the tower, nodoubt taken up his bowbesideGrimandTul,andwaswaiting. Crummock wasbehind the wall with hisHillmen, lined up fierce andready.Dowwaswithhisladsontheleft.RedHatwaswithhisboysontheright.Shiverswasn't far from Logen, bothofthemstoodabovethegate,

waiting.Thestandardsdowninthe

valley flapped and rustledgentlyinthewind.Ahammerclanged once, twice, threetimes in the fortress behindthem. A bird called, highabove. A man whispered,somewhere, then was still.Logen closed his eyes, andtipped his face back, and hefelt the hot sun and the cool

breezeof theHighPlacesonhisskin.Allasquietasifhe'dbeenalone,andtherewerenoten thousand men about himeager to set to killing oneanother.Sostill,andcalm,healmostsmiled.Wasthiswhatlifewould have been, if he'dneverheldablade?

For the length of threebreaths or so, LogenNinefingers was a man of

peace.Then he heard the sound

of men moving, and heopened his eyes. Bethod'sCarls shuffled to the sidesofthe valley, rank after rank ofthem,withacrunchingoffeetand a rattling of gear. Theyleft a rocky path, an openspace through their midst.Out of that gap black shapescame, swarming over the

ditch like angry ants from abroken nest, boiling up theslope towards the wall in aformless mass of twistedlimbs, and snarling mouthsandscrapingclaws.

Shanka, and even Logenhad never seen half somanyin one place. The valleycrawled with them—agibbering, clattering,squawkinginfestation.

'By the fucking dead,'someonewhispered.

Logen wondered if heshouldshoutsomethingtothemenonthewallsaroundhim.Ifhe shouldcry, 'Steady!',or'Hold!'.Somethingtohelpputsome heart in his lads, theway a leader was meant to.But what would have beenthepoint?Everyoneof themhad fought before and knew

his business. Every one ofthemknewthatitwasfightordie, and there was no betterspur to aman's courage thanthat.

SoLogengrittedhisteeth,andhecurledhisfingerstightround the cold grip of theMaker's sword, and he slidthedullmetalfromitsscarredsheath, and he watched theFlatheads come. A hundred

stridesawaynow,maybe,thefront runners, andcomingonfast.

'Readyyourbows!'roaredLogen.

'Bows!'echoedShivers.'Arrows!' came Dow's

harsh scream from down thewall, and Red Hat's bellowfrom the other side. Allaround Logen the bows

creaked as they were drawn,men taking their aim, jawsclenched, faces grim anddirty.TheFlatheadscameon,heedless, teeth shining,tongues lolling, bitter eyesbright with hate. Soon, now,very soon. Logen spun thegripoftheswordroundinhishand.

'Soon,'hewhispered.

'Start fuckingshooting, then!'And the Dogman loosed hisshaft into the crowd ofShanka. Strings buzzed allroundhimandthefirstvolleywent hissing down. Arrowsmissed their marks, bouncedoff rock and spun away,arrowsfoundtheirmarksandbrought Flatheads squealingdown in a tangle of blacklimbs.Menreachedformore,

calm and solid, the bestarchersinthewholecrewandknowingit.

Bows clicked and shaftstwittered and Shanka dieddown in the valley, and thearchers took aim, nice andeasy, loosing 'em off and onto the next. Dogman heardthe order from down belowand he saw the twitch andflicker of shafts flying from

the walls. More Flatheadsdropped, thrashing andstrugglinginthedirt.

'Easyassquashingantsinabowl!'someoneshouted.

'Aye!' growled theDogman, 'except ants won'tclimbupoutofthatbowlandcut your fucking head off!Less talk and more arrows!'He watched the first Shankacome up to their fresh-dug

ditch, start floundering in,trying to drag the stakesdown,scrabblingaboutatthebottomofthewall.

Tul heaved a great stoneup over his head, leaned outand flung it spinning downwith a roar. Dogman saw itcrash into a Shanka's headbelow in the ditch and dashitsbrainsout, red against therocks, saw it bounce and

tumble into others, send acouple reeling. More fell,screeching as shafts flitteddown into them, but therewere plenty behind, slidingintotheditch,swarmingovereach other. They crushed upto the wall, spreading outdown its length, a few ofthemhurlingspearsupat themen on top, or shootingclumsyarrows.

Nowtheywerestartingtoclimb, claws digging intopitted stone, haulingthemselves up, and up. Slowacross most of the wall, andgetting torn off by rocks andarrows from above. Quickeron the far side, over on theleft, furthest from theDogmanandhisboys,whereBlack Dow had the watch.Even quicker round the gate,

where there was still someivystucktothestone.

'Damn it, but thosebastards can climb!' hissedtheDogman,fumblingouthisnextshaft.

'Uh,'gruntedGrim.

The Shanka's hand slappeddown on the top of theparapet, a twisted claw,

scratching at the stones.Logenwatchedthearmcomeafter, bent and ugly, patchedwiththickhairandsquirmingwith thick sinew. Now camethe flattened top of its baldhead, a hulking lump ofheavy brow, great jawyawning wide, sharp teethslick with spit. The deep seteyes met his. Logen's swordsplit its skulldown to its flat

stub of nose and popped oneeyefromitssocket.

Men shot arrows andducked down as arrowsbounced from stone.A spearwent twittering past overLogen'shead.Downbelowhecould hear the Shankascratching and tearing at thegates, beating at them withclubs and hammers, couldhear them shrieking with

rage. Shanka hissed andsquawkedastheytriedtopullthemselves over the parapetandmenhackedatthemwithsword and axe, poked themoffthewallwithspears.

He could hear Shiversroaring, 'Get 'em away fromthe gate! Away from thegate!' Men bellowed curses.OneCarlwho'dbeen leaningoutovertheparapetfellback,

coughing.He had a Shanka'sspearthroughhim,justunderhis shoulder, the pointmakingtheshirtstickrightupoff his back. He blinkeddown at the warped shaft,opened his mouth to saysomething. He groaned, tooka couple of wobbling steps,and a big Flathead starteddragging itself over theparapet behind him, its arm

stretchedoutonthestone.The Maker's sword

chopped deep into it justbelow the elbow, spatteringsticky spots across Logen'sface. The blade caught stoneandmadehishand sing, senthim stumbling long enoughfor the Shanka to drag itselfover, its flopping arm onlyjustheldonbyaflapofskinand sinew, dark blood

droolingoutinlongspurts.ItcameforLogenwithits

other claw but he caught itswrist, kicked its kneesideways and brought itdown.Before it could get uphe'dchoppeda longgashoutof itsback,splintersofwhitebone showing in the greatwound. It thrashed andstruggled, splattering bloodaround, and Logen caught it

tightunderthethroat,heavedit back over the wall andflung it off. It fell, andcrashed into another juststarting to climb. Both ofthem went sprawling in theditch, one scrabbling aroundwith a broken stake in itsthroat.

A young lad stood there,gawping, bow hanging limpfromhishand.

'Did I tell you to stopfucking shooting?' Logenroaredathim,andheblinkedand nocked a shaft with atrembling hand, hurried backto the parapet. There weremeneverywherefighting,andshouting,shootingarrowsandswinging blades. He sawthree Carls stabbing at aFlatheadwiththeirspears.Hesaw Shivers plant a blow in

the small of another's back,blood leaping in the air indark streaks. He saw a mansmash a Flathead in the facewith his shield, just as it gotto the top of the wall, andknock it into the empty air.Logen slashed at a Shanka'shand, slipped in some bloodand fell on his side, nearlystabbedhimself.Hecrawledastrideortwoandfumbledhis

way up. He hacked aShanka's arm off that wasalreadyspittedthrashingonaCarl'sspear,choppedhalfwaythrough another's neck as itshowed itself over theparapet. He lurched after itandstaredover.

One Shanka was still onthewall, andLogenwas justpointing to itwhen an arrowfrom off the tower took it in

theback.Itcrasheddownintothe ditch, stuck on a stake.Theonesroundthegatewereall done, crushed with rocksand bristling with brokenarrows. That was it for thecentre, and Red Hat's sidewas already clear. Over onthe left therewerestill a fewup on the walls, but Dow'sboysweregettingwellontopof themnow.EvenasLogen

watched he saw a coupleflung down bloody into theditch.

In the valley they startedwavering, edging away,squeaking and shrieking,arrows still falling amongthem from the Dogman'sarchers. Seemed that evenShanka could have enough.Theystartedtoturn,toscuttlebacktowardsBethod'sditch.

'We done 'em!' someonebellowed, and then everyonewas cheering and screaming.The boy with the bow waswaving itoverhisheadnow,grinning like he'd beatenBethodallbyhimself.

Logendidn'tcelebrate.Hefrowned out at the greatcrowd of Carls beyond theditch, the standards ofBethod's host flapping over

theminthebreeze.Briefandbloody, that one might havebeen, but the next time theycameitwaslikelytobealotless brief, and a lot morebloody. He made his achingfist uncurl from round theMaker's sword, leaned it upagainst the parapet, and hepressed one hand with theother to stop them shaking.Hetookalongbreath.

'Stillalive,'hewhispered.

Logen sat sharpening hisknives, the firelight flashingon the blades as he turnedthem this way and that,stroking them with thewhetstone, licking hisfingertip and wiping asmudge away, getting themnice and clean. You couldneverhavetoomany,andthat

was a fact.He grinned as heremembered what Ferro'sanswer to that had been.Unless you fall into a riveranddrownforall thatweightof iron. He wondered for anidlemoment if he'd ever seeher again, but it didn't looklikely. You have to berealistic,afterall,andgettingthrough tomorrow seemedlikequitetheambition.

Grim sat opposite,trimmingsomestraightsticksto use as arrow shafts.There'dstillbeentheslightestglimmer of dusk in the skywhen they'd sat downtogether.Now itwas dark aspitch but for the dusty stars,and neither one of them hadsaid a word the whole time.That was Harding Grim foryou,anditsuitedLogenwell

enough. A comfortablesilence was much preferableto aworrisome conversation,butnothinglastsforever.

The sound of angryfootsteps came out of thedarkness and Black Dowstalkeduptothefire,TulandCrummock just behind him.He had a frown on his faceblack enough to have earnedhisname,andadirtybandage

round his forearm, a longstreak of dark blood driedintoit.

'Pick up a cut, did you?'askedLogen.

'Bah!'Dowdroppeddownbesidethefire.'Nothingbutascratch. Fucking Flatheads!I'llburnthelotof'em!'

'How about the rest ofyou?'

Tul grinned. 'My palmsare terrible chafed fromheftingrocks,butI'matoughbastard.I'lllivethroughit.'

'And I still find myselfmiserably idle,' saidCrummock,'withmychildrenlooking to my weapons, andcuttingarrowsfromthedead.Goodworkforchildren, that,gets 'emcomfortable roundacorpse. The moon's keen to

see me fight, though, so sheis,andsoamI.'

Logensuckedathisteeth.'You'll get your chance,Crummock, I'd not worryabout that. Bethod's gotplentyforeveryone,Ireckon.'

'I never seen Flatheadscome on like that,' Dowwasmusing. 'Right at a well-mannedwallwithnoladders,no tools. It ain't too clever,

your Flathead, but it ain'tstupid either. They likeambushes. They like cover,and hiding, and creepingaround. They can be madfearless, when they have tobe, but to come on like that,bychoice?Notnatural.'

Crummock chuckled, agreatraspyrumbling.'Shankafighting for one set of menagainst another ain't natural

either. These aren't naturaltimes. Might be Bethod'switch has worked somecharm to get 'em all stirredup. Cooked herself a chantandaritualtofillthosethingswithhateofus.'

'Danced naked round agreen fire and all the rest, Idon'tdoubt,'saidTul.

'The moon will see usright,myfriends,don'tworry

yourself on that score!'Crummock rattled the bonesaround his neck. 'The moonloves us all, and we cannotdiewhilethere's—'

'Tell it to those as wentback to the mud today.'Logen jerked his head overtowards the fresh dug gravesat the back of the fortress.Therewasno seeing them inthe darkness, but they were

there. A score or so longhumpsofturnedandpressed-downearth.

But the big hillman onlysmiled. 'I'd call them thehappyones, though,wouldn'tyou? Least they all get theirown beds, don't they? We'llbeluckyifwedon'tgoinpitsfor a dozen each once thework gets hot. There'll benowhere for the living to

sleep otherwise. Pits for ascore!Don't tellmeyouain'tseen that before, or dug theholesyourownsweetself.'

Logen got up. 'Maybe Ihave,butIdidn'tlikeitany.'

'Course you did!'Crummock roared after him.'Don't give me that, Bloody-Nine!'

Logen didn't look back.

Thereweretorchessetonthewall, every ten paces or so,brightflamesinthedarkness,white specks of insectsfloating around them. Menstoodintheirlight,leaningontheirspears,bowsclenchedintheir hands, swords drawn,watching the night forsurprises.Bethod had alwaysloved surprises, and Logenreckoned they'd have some

beforetheywerethrough,onewayoranother.

Hecameuptotheparapetand set his hands on theclammystone,frowneddownat the fires burning in theblackness of the valley.Bethod'sfires,farawayinthedark, and their own ones,bonfires built up and lit justbelow the wall to try andcatch any clever bastards

trying to sneakup.Theycastflickering circles across theshadowy rocks, with here orthere the twisted corpse of aFlathead, hacked and flungfrom the wall or stuck witharrows.

Logenfeltsomeonemovebehind him and his backprickled, eyes sliding to thecorners. Shivers, maybe,cometosettletheirscoreand

shove him off the wall.Shivers, or one of a hundredotherswith somegrudge thatLogenhadforgottenbut theynever would. He made surehishandwasclosetoablade,andhebaredhisteeth,andhemadereadytospinandstrike.

'We did good today,though, eh?' said theDogman. 'Lost less thantwenty.'

Logen breathed easyagain, and he let his handdrop. 'We did alright. ButBethod's just getting started.He's prodding, to see wherewe're weakest, see if he canwearusdown.Heknowsthattime's the thing. Mostvaluable thing there is, inwar. A day or two's worthmore to him than a load ofFlatheads. If he can crush us

quick he'll take the losses, Ireckon.'

'Best thing might be toholdout,then,eh?'

Off in the darkness, faraway and echoing, Logencould just hear the clangandclatter of smithing andcarpentry. 'They're buildingdown there. All the stuffthey'llneedtoclimbourwall,fill in our ditch. Lots of

ladders,andall therest.He'lltake us quick if he can,Bethod,buthe'lltakeusslowifhehasto.'

Dogman nodded. 'Well,like I said. Best thing to dowould be to hold out. If allgoes to plan, the Union'll beheresoon.'

'They'd better be. Planshave a way of coming apartwhenyouleanon'em.'

SuchSweetSorrow

«^»

'HisResplendence,theGrandDuke ofOspria, desires only

thebestofrelations…'Jezalcoulddolittlebutsit

and smile, as he had beensitting and smiling all thewhole interminable day. Hisface, and his rump, wereaching from it. The burblingof the ambassador continuedunabated, accompanied byflamboyant hand gestures.Occasionally he would damthe river of blather for a

moment,sothathistranslatorcould render his platitudesinto the common tongue. Heneedscarcelyhavebothered.

'… the great city ofOspria was always honouredto count herself among theclosest friends of yourillustrious father, KingGuslav, and now seeksnothing more than thecontinuing friendship of the

governmentandpeopleoftheUnion…'

Jezal had sat and smiledthrough the longmorning, inhis bejewelled chair, on hishigh marble dais, as theambassadors of the worldcametopaytheiringratiatingrespects. He had sat as thesun rose in the sky andpoured mercilessly throughthevastwindows,glintingon

the gilt mouldings thatencrusted every inch of wallandceiling,flashingfromthegreat mirrors, and silvercandlesticks,andgrandvases,striking multi-coloured firefrom the tinkling glass beadson the three monstrouschandeliers.

'… the Grand Dukewishes once again to expresshis brotherly regret at the

minor incident last spring,and assures you that nothingofthekindwillhappenagain,provided the soldiers ofWestportstayontheirsideoftheborder…'

He had sat through theendlessafternoonastheroomgrew hotter and hotter,squirming as therepresentatives of theworld'sgreat leaders bowed in and

scraped out with identicalbland congratulations in adozendifferentlanguages.Hehadsatasthesunwentdown,andhundredsofcandleswerelit and hoisted up, twinklingat him from themirrors, andthe darkened windows, andthe highly polished floor.Hesat, smiling, and receivingpraise from men whosecountries he had scarcely

even heard of before thatendlessdaybegan.

'… His Resplendencefurthermore hopes and truststhat the hostilities betweenyour great nation and theEmpireofGurkhulmaysooncometoanend,andthattrademay once more flow freelyaroundtheCircleSea.'

Both ambassador andtranslator paused politely for

a rare instant and Jezalmanaged to stir himself intosluggish speech. 'We have asimilar hope. Please conveytotheGrandDukeourthanksfor the wonderful gift.' Twolackeys, meanwhile, heavedthehugechesttoonesideandplaced it with the rest of thegaudy rubbish Jezal hadaccumulatedthatday.

Further Styrian chatter

flowedoutintotheroom.'HisResplendence wishes toconvey his heartfeltcongratulations on yourAugust Majesty'sforthcoming marriage to thePrincess Terez, the Jewel ofTalins, surely the greatestbeauty alive in all the wideCircle of the World.' Jezalcould only fight to maintainhis stretched grin. He had

heardthematchspokenofasa settled thing so often thatdaythathehadlostthewilltocorrect the misconception,andhadinfactalmoststartedto think of himself asengaged. All he cared aboutwasthattheaudiencesshouldfinallybefinishedwith,sohemight steal a moment todrownhimselfinpeace.

'His Resplendence has

further instructed us to wishyour August Majesty a longand happy reign,' explainedthe translator, 'and manyheirs, that your line maycontinue undiminished inglory.' Jezal forced his smilea tooth wider, and inclinedhis head. 'I bid you goodevening!'

The Osprian ambassadorbowed with a theatrical

flourish, sweeping off hisenormous hat, itsmulticoloured feathersthrashing with enthusiasm.Then he shuffled backwards,still bent over, across thegleaming floor.He somehowmade it out into the corridorwithout pitching over on hisback, and the great doors,festooned with gold leaf,were smoothly shut upon

him.Jezal snatched the crown

from his head and tossed itonto the cushion beside thethrone, rubbing at the chafemarksroundhissweatyscalpwith one hand while hetuggedhisembroideredcollaropenwith the other.Nothinghelped. He still felt dizzy,weak,oppressivelyhot.

Hoff was already

ingratiating himself ontoJezal'sleftside.'Thatwasthelastof theambassadors,yourMajesty. Tomorrow will beoccupied by the nobility ofMidderland. They are eagertopayhomage—'

'Lotsofhomageandlittlehelp,I'llbebound!'

Hoff managed a chuckleof suffocating falseness. 'Ha,ha, ha, your Majesty. They

have sought audiences fromdawn,andwewouldnotwishtooffendthemby—'

'Damn it!' hissed Jezal,jumping up and shaking hislegsinavainefforttounstickhis trousers from his sweatybackside. He jerked hiscrimson sash over his headand flung it away, tore hisgilded frock coat open andtried to rip it off, but in the

endhegothishandcaughtinone cuff and had to turn thebloodythinginsideoutbeforehecouldfinallygetfreeofit.

'Damn it!' He hurled itdownonthemarbledaiswithhalf a mind to stamp it torags. Then he rememberedhimself. Hoff had taken acautious step back, and wasfrowning as if he haddiscovered his fine new

mansionwas afflictedwith aterrible case of rot. Theassorted servants, pages, andKnights, both Herald and ofthe Body, were all staringstudiously ahead, doing theirbest to imitate statues. Overin the dark corner of theroom, Bayaz was standing.His eyes were sunk inshadow, but his face wasstonygrim.

Jezal blushed like anaughty schoolboy called toaccount, and pressed onehandoverhiseyes,'Aterriblytrying day…' He hurrieddownthestepsofthedaisandout of the audience chamberwith his head down. Theblaring of a belated andslightly off-key fanfarepursued him down thehallway. So, unfortunately,

didtheFirstoftheMagi.'That was not gracious,'

saidBayaz.'Rareragesrendera man frightening. Commononesrenderhimridiculous.'

'I apologise,' growledJezal through gritted teeth.'The crown is a mightyburden.'

'A mighty burden and amighty honour both.We had

adiscussion,asIrecall,aboutyour striving tobeworthyofit.' The Magus left asignificant pause. 'Perhapsyoumightstriveharder.'

Jezalrubbedathisachingtemples. 'I just need amoment tomyself is all. Justamoment.'

'Take all the time youneed.Butwehavebusinessinthe morning, your Majesty,

business we cannot avoid.The nobility of Midderlandwill not wait to congratulateyou. I will see you at dawn,brimful with energy andenthusiasm,Iamsure.'

'Yes, yes!' Jezal snappedoverhisshoulder.'Brimful!'

He burst out into a smallcourtyard, surrounded onthree sides by a shadowycolonnade, and stood still in

the cool evening. He shookhimself, squeezed his eyesshut,lethisheadtipbackandtook a long, slow breath. Aminute alone. He wonderedif, aside from pissing orsleeping, it was the first hehadbeenpermittedsincethatdayofmadness in theLords'Round.

He was the victim, orperhaps the beneficiary, of

the most almighty blunder.Somehow, everyone hadmistaken him for a king,when he was very clearly aselfish,cluelessidiotwhohadscarcely in his life thoughtmorethanadayahead.Everytime someone called him,'yourMajesty'hefeltmoreofa fraud, and with eachmoment that passed he wasmoreguiltilysurprisednot to

havebeenfoundout.He wandered across the

perfectlawn,givingventtoalong, self-pitying sigh. Itcaught in his throat. Therewas a Knight of the Bodybeside a doorway opposite,standing to attention sorigidly that Jezal had hardlynoticedhim.Hecursedunderhis breath. Could he not beleft alone for five minutes

together? He frowned as hewalked closer. The manseemed somehow familiar.Agreatbigfellowwithashavedheadandanoticeablelackofneck…

'BremerdanGorst!''Your Majesty,' said

Gorst, his armour rattling ashe clashed his meaty fistagainst his polishedbreastplate.

'It is a pleasure to seeyou!' Jezal had disliked themanfromthefirstmomenthehad laid eyes on him, andbeing bludgeoned round afencing circle by him,whetherJezalhadwonintheend or no, had not improvedhis opinion of the necklessbrute. Now, however,anything resembling afamiliar facewas likeaglass

of water in the desert. Jezalactually found himselfreaching out and squeezingthe man's heavy hand asthoughtheywereoldfriends,and had to make himself letgoofit.

'Your Majesty does metoomuchhonour.'

'Please, youneednot callme that! How did you cometobepartofthehousehold?I

thought that you served withLordBrock'sguard?'

'Thatpostdidnotsuitme,'said Gorst in his strangelyhigh, piping voice. 'I waslucky enough to find a placewiththeKnightsof theBodysome months ago, your Maj—'Hecuthimselfoff.

An ideaslunk intoJezal'shead. He looked over hisshoulder, but there was no

one else nearby. The gardenwas still as a graveyard, itsshadowy arcades as quiet ascrypts. 'Bremer… I may callyouBremer,mayI?'

'I suppose that my kingmay call me whatever hewishes.'

'I wonder… could I askyouforafavour?'

Gorst blinked. 'Your

Majestyhasonlytoask.'

Jezalspunaroundasheheardthe door open.Gorst steppedout into the colonnade withthe soft jingle of armour. Acloaked and hooded figurefollowed him, silently. Theoldexcitementwasstill thereas she pushed back her hoodand a chink of light from awindow above crept across

thelowerpartofherface.Hecould see the bright curve ofher cheek, one side of hermouth, the outline of anostril, thegleamofhereyesin the shadows, and thatwasall.

'Thank you, Gorst,' saidJezal. 'You may leave us.'The big man thumped hischestandbacked through thearchway, pulling the door to

behind him. Hardly the firsttime they had met in secret,of course, but things weredifferent now. He wonderedif it would end with kissesandsoftwordsbetweenthem,orifitwouldsimplyend.Thestartwasfarfrompromising.

'Your August Majesty,'said Ardee with the veryheaviest of irony. 'What atowering honour. Should I

grovel on my face? Or do Icurtsey?'

However hard herwords,the sound of her voice stillmade the breath catch in histhroat. 'Curtsey?'hemanagedto say. 'Do you even knowhow?'

'Intruth,notreally.Ihavenothadthetrainingforpolitesociety,andnowthelackofitquite crushes me.' She

stepped forward, frowninginto the darkened garden.'When I was a girl, in mywildest flights of fancy, Iused to dream of beinginvited to the palace, a guestof the king himself. Wewould eat fine cakes, anddrinkfinewine,andtalkfinetalkofimportantthings,deepintothenight.'Ardeepressedher hands to her chest and

fluttered her eyelashes.'Thank you for making thepitiful dreams of one poorwretch come true, if only forthe briefest moment. Theother beggars will neverbelievemewhenItellthem!'

'We are all more than alittle shocked by the turneventshavetaken.'

'Oh, we are indeed, yourMajesty.'

Jezal flinched. 'Don't callmethat.Notyou.'

'WhatshouldIcallyou?''My name. Jezal, that is.

The way you used to…please.'

'If I must. You promisedme, Jezal. You promised meyouwouldnotletmedown.'

'IknowIdid,andImeanttokeepmypromise…butthe

fact is…' King or not, hefumbled with the words asmuch as he ever had, thenblurtedthemout inanidioticspurt. 'I cannot marry you! Isurelywould have done, hadnot…'Heraisedhisarmsandhopelessly let them drop.'Had not all this happened.But it has happened, andthereisnothingthatIcando.Icannotmarryyou.'

'Of course not.' Hermouth gave a bitter twist.'Promises are for children. Inever thought it very likely,evenbefore.Eveninmymostunrealisticmoments.Nowthenotion seems ridiculous. Theking and the peasant-girl.Absurd.Themosthackneyedstory-book would never daresuggestit.'

'Itneednotmean thatwe

never see each other again.'He took a hesitant steptowards her. 'Things will bedifferent, of course, but wecan still findmoments…'Hereached out, slowly,awkwardly. 'Moments whenwe can be together.' Hetouched her face, gently, andfelt the same guilty thrill healways had. 'We can be toeach other just as we were.

Youwouldnotneedtoworry.Everything would be takencareof…'

She looked him in theeye.'So…you'dlikemetobeyourwhore?'

He jerked his hand back.'No!Ofcoursenot!Imean…I would like you to be…'What did he mean? Hefumbled desperately for abetterword.'Mylover?'

'Ah.Isee.Andwhenyoutake a wife, what will I bethen? What word do youthinkyourqueenmightusetodescribe me?' Jezalswallowed, and looked at hisshoes. 'A whore is still awhore, whatever word youuse.Easily tiredof,andevenmore easily replaced. Andwhenyoutireofme,andyoufind other lovers? What will

theycallmethen?'Shegaveabitter snort. 'I'm scum, and Iknow it, but you must thinkevenlessofmethanIdo.'

'It's notmy fault.'He felttears in his eyes. Pain, orrelief, it was hard to tell. Abitter alloy of both, perhaps.'It'snotmyfault.'

'Of course it isn't. I don'tblameyou. Iblamemyself. Iused to think Ihadbad luck,

but my brother was right. Imake bad choices.' Shelookedathimwith thatsamejudging expression in herdark eyes that she had whenthey first met. 'I could havefound a good man, but Ichose you. I should haveknownbetter.'Shereachedupand touched his face, rubbedatearfromhischeekwithherthumb. Just as she hadwhen

they parted before, in thepark, in the rain. But thenthere had been the hope thattheywouldmeet again.Nowthere was none. She sighed,and let her arm drop, andstared sulkily out into thegarden.

Jezal blinked. Could thatreally be all? He yearned tosaysomelast tenderword,atleast, some bitter-sweet

farewell, but his mind wasempty. What words couldthere possibly be that couldmake any difference? Theywere done, and more talkwouldonlyhavebeen salt inthe cuts. Wasted breath. Hesethisjaw,andwipedthelastdamp streaks from his face.She was right. The king andthe peasant-girl. What couldhavebeenmoreridiculous?

'Gorst!' he barked. Thedoor squealed open and themuscle-bound guardsmanemerged from the shadows,hisheadhumblybowed.'Youmay escort the lady back toherhome.'

He nodded, and stoodawayfromthedarkarchway.Ardee turned and walkedtowards it, pulling up herhood, and Jezal watched her

go.Hewonderedifshewouldpause on the threshold andlook back, and their eyeswouldmeet, and therewouldbe one last moment betweenthem.Onelastcatchingofhisbreath.Onelasttuggingathisheart.

Butshedidnotlookback.Without the slightest pauseshe stepped through andwasgone,andGorstafterher,and

Jezal was left in the moonlitgarden.Alone.

PickedUpAShadow

«^»

Ferro sat on the warehouseroof, her eyes narrowed

against the bright sun, herlegs crossed underneath her.She watched the boats, andthe people flowing off them.ShewatchedforYulwei.Thatwaswhyshecamehereeveryday.

There was war betweenthe Union and Gurkhul, ameaninglesswarwithalotoftalk and no fighting, and sono ships went to Kanta. But

Yulwei went where hepleased. He could take herback to the South, so shecouldhavehervengeanceonthe Gurkish. Until he came,she was trapped with thepinks. She ground her teeth,and clenched her fists, andgrimaced at her ownuselessness. Her boredom.Her wasted time. She wouldhave prayed to God for

Yulweitocome.ButGodneverlistened.JezaldanLuthar,foolthat

hewas,forreasonsshecouldnot comprehend, had beengivenacrownandmadeking.Bayaz, who Ferro was surehad been behind the wholebusiness, now spent everyhourwithhim.Still trying tomakehimaleaderofmen,nodoubt. Just as he had all the

longwayacrosstheplainandback,withsmallresults.

JezaldanLuthar,theKingof the Union. Ninefingerswouldhavelaughedlongandhardat that, ifhecouldhaveheardit.Ferrosmiledtothinkof him laughing. Then sherealisedthatshewassmiling,andmadeherselfstop.Bayazhad promised her vengeance,and given her nothing, and

left her mired here,powerless.Therewasnothingtosmileat.

She sat, and watched theboatsforYulwei.

She did not watch forNinefingers.Shedidnothopeto see him slouch onto thedocks.Thatwouldhavebeena foolish, childish hope,belongingtothefoolishchildshe had been when the

Gurkish took her for a slave.He would not change hismindandcomeback.Shehadmade sure of it. Strange,though, how she keptthinking that she sawhim, inamongstthecrowds.

The dockers had come torecognise her. They hadshouted at her, for a while.'Comedownhere,mylovely,and give me a kiss!' one of

them had called, and hisfriends had laughed. ThenFerrohadthrownhalfabrickat his head and knocked himin thesea.Hehadnothing tosay to her once they fishedhim out. None of them had,and that suited her wellenough.

She sat, and watched theboats.

She sat until the sunwas

low, casting a bright glareacross the bottoms of theclouds, making the shiftingwaves sparkle. Until thecrowds thinned out, and thecartsstoppedmoving,andtheshouting and bustle of thedocks faded to a dusty quiet.Until the breeze grew coolagainstherskin.

Yulwei was not comingtoday.

She climbed down fromtheroofofthewarehouseandworked her way through theback streets towards theMiddleway.Itwasasshewaswalkingdownthatwideroad,scowling at the people whopassed her, that she realised.Shewasbeingfollowed.

He did it well, andcarefully. Sometimes closer,sometimes further back.

Stayingoutofplainsight,butneverhiding.She tooka fewturns to make sure, and healways followed. He wasdressed all in black, withlong, lank hair and a maskcoveringpart ofhis face.Allinblack, likea shadow.Likethe men that had chased herand Ninefingers, before theyleft for the Old Empire. Shewatched him out of the

corners of her eyes, neverlookingstraightathim,neverletting him know that sheknew.

He would find out soonenough.

She took a turn down adingy alley, stopped andwaited behind the corner.Pressed up against the grimystonework, holding herbreath. Her bow and her

swordmightbefaraway,butshock was the only weaponshe needed. That and herhands, and her feet, and herteeth.

She heard the footstepscoming. Careful footsteps,padding down the alley, sosoft she could barely hearthem.Shefoundthatshewassmiling. It felt good to haveanenemy,tohaveapurpose.

Very good, after so longwithout one. It filled theempty space inside her, evenif it was only for amoment.She gritted her teeth, feelingthe fury swelling up in herchest. Hot and exciting. Safeand familiar.Like thekissofanoldlover,muchmissed.

When he rounded thecorner her fist was alreadyswinging.Itcrunchedintohis

mask and sent him reeling.Shepressedinclose,crackinghim in the face with eachhand and knocking his headrightandleft.Hefumbledforaknife,buthewas slowanddizzy and the blade wasbarelyoutofitssheathbeforeshe had his wrist tight. Herelbowsnappedhisheadback,jabbedintohisthroatandlefthim gurgling. She tore the

knife out of his limp hand,spun around and kicked himin the gut so he bent over.Her knee thudded into hismask and sent him onto hisbackinthedirt.Shefollowedhimdown,her legswrappingtight around his waist, herarmacrosshischest,hisownknife pressed up against histhroat.

'Look at this,' she

whisperedinhisface. 'Ihavepickedupashadow.'

'Glugh,' came frombehindhismask,hiseyesstillrolling.

'Hardtotalkwiththaton,eh?' And she slashed thestrapsofhismaskwithajerkoftheknife,thebladeleavinga long scratch down hischeek. He did not look sodangerous without it. Much

youngerthanshehadthought,with a rash of spots aroundhis chin and a growth ofdownyhaironhistoplip.Hejerked his head and his eyescame back into focus. Hesnarled,triedtotwistfree,butshehadhimfast,andatouchof the knife against his necksooncalmedhim.

'Why are you followingme?'

'I'mnotfucking—'Ferro had never been a

patient woman. Straddlinghershadowasshewasitwasan easy thing to rear up andsmash her elbow into hisface.Hedidhisbest towardheroff,butallherweightwason his hips and he washelpless. Her arm crashedthroughhishandsandintohismouth, his nose, his cheek,

cracking his head backagainst the greasy cobbles.Four of those and the fightwas out of him. His headlolledback,andshecroucheddown over him again andtuckedtheknifeupunderhisneck. Blood bubbled out ofhis nose and his mouth andrandownthesideofhis faceindarkstreaks.

'Followingmenow?'

'I just watch.' His voiceclicked in his bloodymouth.'I justwatch. I don't give theorders.'

The Gurkish soldiers didnot give the orders to killFerro'speopleandmakeheraslave. That did not makethem innocent. That did notmake them safe from her.'Whodoes?'

He coughed, andhis face

twitched, bubbles of bloodblew out of his swollennostrils. Nothing else. Ferrofrowned.

'What?' She moved theknifedownandprickedathisthigh with the point, 'youthink I never cut a cock offbefore?'

'Glokta,' he mumbled,closinghiseyes.'Iwork…forGlokta.'

'Glokta.'Thenamemeantnothing to her, but it wassomethingtofollow.

She slid the knife backup,up tohisneck.The lumpon his throat rose and fell,brushing against the edge ofthe blade. She clenched herjaw, and worked her fingersround the grip, frowningdown. Tears had started toglitter in the corners of his

eyes.Best toget itdone,andaway. Safest. But her handwashardtomove.

'Give me a reason not todoit.'

The tears welled up andran down the sides of hisbloody face. 'My birds,' hewhispered.

'Birds?''There'llbenoonetofeed

them. I deserve it, sureenough, but my birds…they've done nothing.' Shenarrowedhereyesathim.

Birds. Strange, the thingsthatpeoplehavetolivefor.

Herfatherhadkeptabird.Sherememberedit,inacage,hanging from a pole. Auseless thing, that could notevenfly,onlyclingtoatwig.He had taught it words. She

remembered watching himfeeding it, when she was achild. Long ago, before theGurkishcame.

'Ssssss,' she hissed in hisface, pressing the knife upagainst his neck and makinghim cower. Then she pulledthe blade away, got up andstoodoverhim.'Themomentwhen I seeyouagainwillbeyourlast.Backtoyourbirds,

shadow.'He nodded, his wet eyes

wide, and she turned andstalked off down the darkalleyway, into the dusk.When she crossed a bridgeshe tossed the knife away. Itvanished with a splash, andripplesspreadoutingrowingcirclesacrosstheslimywater.A mistake, most likely, tohave left that man alive.

Mercywasalwaysamistake,inherexperience.

But it seemed shewas inamercifulmoodtoday.

Questions

«^»

Colonel Glokta was amagnificent dancer, ofcourse, but with his legfeelingasstiffasitdiditwas

difficult for him to trulyshine. The constant buzzingof flies was a furtherdistraction, and his partnerwasnot helping.ArdeeWestlooked well enough, but herconstant giggling wasbecomingquitetheirritation.

'Stop that!' snapped theColonel,whirling her aroundthelaboratoryoftheAdeptusPhysical,thespecimensinthe

jars pulsing and wobbling intimetothemusic.

'Partially eaten,' grinnedKandelau, one eyeenormously magnifiedthrough his eyeglass. Hepointed downwards with histongs.'Thisisafoot.'

Gloktapushed thebushesaside, one hand pressed overhis face. The butcheredcorpse lay there, glistening

red, scarcely recognisable ashuman. Ardee laughed andlaughed at the sight of it.'Partiallyeaten!'shetitteredathim. Colonel Glokta did notfind the business in anywayamusing. The sound of flieswas growing louder andlouder, threatening to drownoutthemusicentirely.Worseyet, it was getting terriblycoldinthepark.

'Careless of me,' said avoicefrombehind.

'Howdoyoumean?''Just toleaveit there.But

sometimesitisbettertomovequickly, than to movecarefully,eh,cripple?'

'I remember this,'murmured Glokta. It hadgrowncolderyet,andhewasshivering like a leaf. 'I

rememberthis!''Ofcourse,'whisperedthe

voice. A woman's voice, butnotArdee.Alowandhissingvoice, that made his eyetwitch.

'What can I do?' TheColonel could feel his gorgerising.Thewoundsintheredmeat yawned.The flieswereso loud he could hardly hearthereply.

'Perhapsyoushouldgotothe University, and ask foradvice.' Icy breath brushedhis neck and made his backshiver.'Perhapswhileyouarethere… you could ask themabouttheSeed.'

Glokta lurched to the bottomof the steps and staggeredsideways,fallingbackagainstthe wall, the breath hissing

over hiswet tongue.His leftleg trembled, his left eyetwitched, as though the twowere connected by a cord ofpain that cut into his arse,guts, back, shoulder, neck,face,andtightenedwitheverymovement,howeversmall.

He forced himself to bestill. To breathe long andslow. He made his mindmove off the pain and on to

other things.LikeBayaz,andhis failedquest for thisSeed.After all, his Eminence iswaiting,andisnotknownforhispatience.Hestretchedhisneck out to either side andfelt the bones clickingbetweenhistwistedshoulder-blades.Hepressedhistongueinto his gums and shuffledaway from the steps, into thecooldarknessofthestacks.

They had not changedmuch in the past year. Orprobably in a few centuriesbefore that. The vaultedspaces smelled of fust andage, lit only by a couple ofnickering, grimy lamps,sagging shelves stretchingaway into the shiftingshadows.Time to go diggingonceagain through thedustyrefuse of history. The

Adeptus Historical did notappeartohavechangedmucheither. He sat at his staineddesk, poring over a mouldy-looking pile of papers in thelight fromasinglesquirmingcandle flame.HesquintedupasGloktahobbledcloser.

'Who'sthere?''Glokta.' He peered up

suspiciously towards theshadowy ceiling. 'What

happenedtoyourcrow?''Dead,' grunted the

ancientlibrariansadly.'History, you might say!'

The old man did not laugh.'Ah, well. It happens to usall.' And some sooner thanothers. 'I have questions foryou.'

The Adeptus Historicalcranedforwardoverhisdesk,

peering dewily up at Gloktaas though he had never seenanother human before. 'Iremember you.' Miracles dohappen,then? 'YouaskedmeaboutBayaz.First apprenticeofgreat Juvens, first letter inthealphabetofthe—'

'Yes,yes,we'vebeenoverthis.'

Theoldmangaveasulkyfrown. 'Did you bring that

scrollback?''The Maker fell burning,

andsoon?I'mafraidnot.TheArchLectorhasit.'

'Gah. Ihear far toomuchabout that man these days.Them upstairs are alwayscarping on him. HisEminence this, and hisEminence that. I'm sick ofhearingit!'Iknowverymuchhowyoufeel.'Everyone'sina

spin,thesedays.Aspinandaruckus.'

'Lots of changes upstairs.Wehaveanewking.'

'I know that! Guslav, isit?'

Gloktagavealongsighashesettledhimselfinthechairontheothersideof thedesk.'Yes, yes, he's the one.'Onlythirtyyearsoutofdate,orso.

I'm surprised he didn't thinkHarod theGreatwas still onthethrone.

'What do you want thistime?'

Oh, to fumble in thedarknessforanswersthatarealways just out of reach. 'IwanttoknowabouttheSeed.'

The lined face did notmove.'Thewhat?'

'Itwasmentioned inyourprecious scroll. That thingthat Bayaz and his magicalfriends searched for in theHouseoftheMaker,afterthedeath of Kanedias. After thedeathofJuvens.'

'Bah!'TheAdeptuswavedhis hand, the saggy fleshunder his wrist wobbling.'Secrets, power. It's all ametaphor.'

'Bayaz does not seem tothink so.'Glokta shuffled hischaircloser,andspokelower.Though there cannot beanyone to hear, or to care ifthey did. 'I heard it was apiece of the Other Side, leftover from the Old Time,whendevilswalkedourearth.The stuff of magic, madesolid.'

The old man wheezed

with papery laughter,displaying a rotten cavern ofa mouth with fewer teetheventhanGlokta'sown.'Ididnot take you for asuperstitious man, Superior.'Nor was I one, when I lastcame here with questions.Before my visit to the Houseof the Maker, before mymeetingwithYulwei,beforeIsaw Shickel smile while they

burnedher.Whathappytimestheywere,beforeIhadheardof Bayaz, when things stillmade sense. The Adeptuswipedhisrunnyeyeswithhispalsied mockery of a hand.'Wheredidyouhearthat?'

Oh, from a Navigatorwith his foot on an anvil.'Neveryoumindfromwhere.'

'Well, you know moreabout it thanme. I readonce

that rocks sometimes fall outofthesky.Somesaytheyarefragments of the stars. Somesay they are splinters, flungout from the chaos of hell.Dangerous to touch. Terriblycold.'

Cold? Glokta couldalmost feel that icy breathupon his neck, and hewriggled his shoulders at it,forcing himself not to glance

behind him. 'Tell me abouthell.'ThoughIthinkIalreadyknowmore thanmost on thesubject.

'Eh?''Hell,oldman.TheOther

Side.''They say it is where

magic comes from, if youbelieveinsuchthings.'

'Ihavelearnedtokeepan

openmindonthesubject.''An open mind is like to

anopenwound,aptto—''So I have heard, but we

arespeakingofhell.'Thelibrarianlickedathis

sagging lips. 'Legend has itthat there was a time whenour world and the worldbelow were one, and devilsroamed the earth. Great Euz

cast them out, and spoke theFirst Law—forbidding all totouch the Other Side, or tospeak to devils, or to tamperwiththegatesbetween.'

'TheFirstLaw,eh?''HissonGlustrod,hungry

forpower,ignoredhisfather'swarnings, and he sought outsecrets, and summoneddevils, and sent them againsthis enemies. It is said his

follyledtothedestructionofAulcusandthefalloftheOldEmpire, and that when hedestroyedhimself,he left thegates ajar…but I amnot theexpertonallthat.'

'Whois?'The old man grimaced.

'Therewerebookshere.Veryold.Beautifulbooks,fromthetime of the Master Maker.Books on the subject of the

Other Side. The dividebetween. The gates and thelocks.BooksonthesubjectoftheTellersofSecrets, andoftheir summoning andsending. A load of inventionif you ask me. Myth andfantasy.'

'Therewerebooks?''They have been missing

from my shelves for someyearsnow.'

'Missing? Where arethey?'

The old man frowned.'Strange, that you of allpeopleshouldaskthat—'

'Enough!' Glokta turnedasquicklyashecouldtolookbehind him. Silber, theUniversity Administrator,stoodat thefootof thesteps,with a look of the strangesthorror and surprise on his

rigidface.Quiteas ifhehadseen a ghost. Or even ademon. 'That will be quiteenough, Superior! We thankyouforyourvisit.'

'Enough?' Glokta gave afrown of his own. 'HisEminencewillnotbe—'

'I know what hisEminence will or will notbe…' An unpleasantlyfamiliar voice. Superior

Goyleworkedhiswayslowlydown the steps. He strolledaround Silber, across theshadowy floor between theshelves. 'And I say enough.We most heartily thank youfor your visit.' He leanedforwards, eyes poppingfuriously from his head.'Makeityourlast!'

There had been somestartlingchangesinthedining

hall since Glokta wentdownstairs. The evening hadgrown dark outside the dirtywindows, the candles hadbeen lit in their tarnishedsconces.And,ofcourse,thereis the matter of two dozenwidely assorted Practical oftheInquisition.

Two narrow-eyed nativesofSuljuksatstaringatGloktaovertheirmasks,aslikeasif

they had been twins, theirblackbootsupontheancientdining table, four curvedswords lying sheathedon thewood before them. Threedark-skinnedmen stood nearone dark window, headsshaved, each with an axe athis belt and a shield on hisback. A great tall Practicalloomed up by the fireplace,long and thin as a birch tree

withblondhairhangingoverhismasked face. Beside wasa short one, almost dwarfish,hisbeltbristlingwithknives.

Glokta recognised thehuge Northman called theStone-Splitter from hisprevious visit to theUniversity.But it looks as ifhe has been attempting tosplitstoneswithhisfacesincewe last met, and with great

persistence. His cheeks wereuneven, his brows werewonky,thebridgeofhisnosepointed sharply to the left.Hisruinofafacewasalmostasdisturbingastheenormousmallethehadclenchedinhismassivefists.Butnotquite.

So it went on, as strangeand worrying a collection ofmurderersascouldeverhavebeencollectedtogetherinone

place, and all heavily armed.And it seems that SuperiorGoylehasrestockedhisfreakshow. In the midst of them,and seeming quite at home,stood Practical Vitari,pointing this way and that,giving orders. You wouldnever have thought she wasthe mothering type, seeinghernow,butIsupposeweallhaveourhiddentalents.

Glokta threw his rightarm up in the air. 'Who arewekilling?'

All eyes turned towardshim. Vitari stalked over, afrown across the freckledbridgeofhernose. 'What thehellareyoudoinghere?'

'Icouldaskyou thesamequestion.'

'If youknowwhat's good

for you, you'll ask noquestionsatall.'

Glokta leered his emptysmile at her. 'If I knewwhatwas good for me I'd neverhave lost my teeth, andquestions are all I have left.What'sinthisoldpileofdustthat'sofinteresttoyou?'

'That's none of mybusiness, and even less ofyours. If you're looking for

traitors, maybe you shouldlook inyourownhousefirst,eh?'

'And what is thatsupposedtomean?'

Vitarileanedclosetohimand whispered through hermask. 'Yousavedmy life, soletme return the favour.Getaway from here. Get away,andkeepaway.'

Glokta shuffled down thepassageway and up to hisheavy door.As far as Bayazgoes, we are no further on.Nothingthatwillbringararesmile to the face of hisEminence. Summonings andsendings. Gods and devils.Always more questions. Heturned his key impatiently inthe lock, desperate to sit

down and take the weightfromhis trembling leg.Whatwas Goyle doing at theuniversity?Goyle,andVitari,and twodozenPracticals,allarmed as if they were goingto war? He took a wincingstepoverthethreshold.Theremustbesome—

'Gah!' He felt his canesnatchedawayandhelurchedsideways,clutchingattheair.

Something crunched into hisface and filled his headwithblinding pain. The nextmoment the floor thumpedhiminthebackanddrovehiswind out in a long sigh. Heblinkedandslobbered,mouthsalty with blood, the darkroom swaying madly aroundhim.Ohdear,ohdear.A fistintheface,unlessIammuchmistaken. It never loses its

impact.Ahandgrabbedthecollar

of his coat and dragged himup, the cloth cutting into histhroat and making himsquawk like a strangledchicken.

Another had him by thebeltandhewashauledbodilyalong, his knees and the toesof his boots scraping limpovertheboards.Hestruggled

weakly on a reflex, but onlymanaged to send a stab ofpainthroughhisownback.

The bathroom doorcracked against his head andbanged open on the wall, hewasdraggedpowerlessacrossthe darkened room towardsthe bath, still full of dirtywater from that morning.'Wait!' he croaked as hewaswrestledover theedge. 'Who

are—blurghhhh!'The cold water closed

around his head, the bubblesrushed around his face. Hewas held there, struggling,eyesbulgingopenwithshockandpanic,untilitseemedhislungs would burst. Then hewas yanked up by the hair,water pouring from his faceand splattering into the bath.A simple technique, but

undeniably effective. I amgreatly discomfited. He tookinagaspingbreath. 'Whatdoyou—blarghhh!'

Back into the darkness,suchairashehadmanagedtodrag in gurgling out into thedirtywater.Butwhoever it isletmebreathe.Iamnotbeingmurdered. I am beingsoftened up. Softened up forquestions. I would laugh at

the irony… were there anybreath…leftinmybody…Heshoved at the bath andthrashedatthewater.Hislegskicked pointlessly, but thehandon thebackofhisneckwas made of steel. Hisstomachclenchedandhisribsheaved, desperate to drag inair.Do not breathe… do notbreathe…donotbreathe!Hewas just sucking in a great

lungful of dirty water as hewas snatched up from thebath and flung onto theboards, coughing, gasping,vomitingallatonce.

'You are Glokta?' Awoman's voice, short andhard, with a rough Kanticaccent.

She squatted down infrontofhim,balancedontheballs of her feet, her wrists

restingonherknees,herlongbrown hands hanging limp.Sheworeaman'sshirt, loosearound her scrawnyshoulders, wet sleeves rolledup around her bony wrists.Herblackhairwashackedoffshortandstuckfromherheadin greasy clumps. She had athin,palescardownherhardface,ascowlonherthinlips,but itwasher eyes thatwere

most off-putting, gleamingyellow in the half light fromthe corridor. Small wonderthat Severard was reluctantto follow her. I should havelistenedtohim.

'YouareGlokta?'There was no point

denying it. He wiped thebitterdroolfromhischinwithashakinghand.'IamGlokta.'

'Why are you watchingme?'

He pushed himselfpainfully up to sitting. 'Whatmakes you think I will haveanythingtosayto—'

Herfiststruckhimonthepointofhischinandsnappedhisheadback,toreagaspoutof him. His jaws bangedtogether and one toothpunchedaholeinthebottom

ofhistongue.Hesaggedbackagainst the wall, the darkroomlurching,hiseyesfillingup with tears. When thingscamebackintofocusshewasstaring at him, yellow eyesnarrowed. 'Iwill keephittingyou until you give meanswers,oryoudie.'

'Mythanks.''Thanks?'

'I think you might haveloosened my neck up just afraction.' Glokta smiled,showing her his few bloodyteeth. 'For two years Iwas acaptive of the Gurkish. Twoyears in the darkness of theEmperor'sprisons.Twoyearsofcutting,andchiselling,andburning. Do you think thethought of a slap or twoscares me?' He chuckled

bloodylaughterinherface.'Ithurts more when I piss! Doyou think I'm scared to die?'He grimaced at the stabbingthroughhisspineasheleanedtowards her. 'Everymorning… that I wake upalive… is a disappointment!If you want answers you'llhave to give me answers.Likeforlike.'

She stared at him for a

long moment, not blinking.'You were a prisoner of theGurkish?'

Gloktasweptahandoverhis twisted body. 'They gavemeallthis.'

'Huh. We have both lostsomething to the Gurkish,then.' She slid down ontocrossedlegs.'Questions.Likefor like.But if you try to lietome—'

'Questions, then. I wouldbe failing in my duties as ahost if Ididnotallowyoutogofirst.'

She did not smile. Butthen she does not seem thejoking type. 'Why are youwatchingme?'

Icouldlie,butforwhat?Imight as well die telling thetruth. 'I am watching Bayaz.The two of you seem

friendly,andBayazishardtowatch these days. So I amwatchingyou.'

She scowled. 'He is nofriend of mine. He promisedmevengeance, that isall.Hehasyettodeliver.'

'Life is full ofdisappointments.'

'Life is made ofdisappointments. Ask your

question,cripple.'Once she has her

answers, will it be bath-timeagain,and this timemy last?Her flat yellow eyes gavenothingaway.Empty,liketheeyes of an animal. But whataremychoices?Helickedtheblood from his lips, andleaned back against thewall.I might as well die a littlewiser.'WhatistheSeed?'

Her frown deepened bythe smallest fraction. 'Bayazsaiditisaweapon.Aweaponof very great power. GreatenoughtoturnShaffatodust.He thought it was hidden, attheedgeoftheWorld,buthewaswrong.Hewasnothappytobewrong.'She frownedathim for a silent moment.'Why are you watchingBayaz?'

'Because he stole thecrown and put it on aspinelessworm.'

She snorted. 'There atleastwecanagree.'

'There are those in mygovernmentwhoworryaboutthe direction in which hemight take us. Who worryprofoundly.' Glokta licked atone bloody tooth. 'Where ishetakingus?'

'Hetellsmenothing.Idonottrusthim,andhedoesnottrustme.'

'Theretoowecanagree.''He planned to use the

Seedasaweapon.Hedidnotfind it, sohemust findotherweapons. My guess is he istaking you to war. A waragainst Khalul, and hisEaters.'

Glokta felt a flurry oftwitchesrunupthesideofhisface and set his eyelidfluttering.Damn treacherousjelly! Her head jerked to theside.'Youknowofthem?'

'A passing acquaintance.'Well, where's the harm? 'Icaught one, in Dagoska. Iaskeditquestions.'

'Whatdidittellyou?'

'It talkedof righteousnessandjustice.'TwothingsthatIhavenever seen. 'It talked ofwarandsacrifice.'TwothingsthatIhaveseentoomuchof.'ItsaidthatyourfriendBayazkilled his own master.' Thewomandidnotmovesomuchasaneyelash. 'It said that itsfather, the Prophet Khalul,stillseeksvengeance.'

'Vengeance,' she hissed,

herhandsbunchingintofists.'Iwillshowthemvengeance!'

'Whatdidtheydotoyou?''They killed my people.'

Sheuncrossedherlegs.'Theymade me a slave.' She rosesmoothlytoherfeet,loomingoverhim. 'Theystolemy lifefromme.'

Glokta felt the corner ofhis mouth twitch up. 'One

more thing we have incommon.' And I sense myborrowedtimeisup.

She reached down andgrabbed two fistfuls of hiswet coat. She dragged himfrom the floorwith fearsomestrength, his back sliding upthewall.Body found floatingin the bath . . . ?He felt hisnostrilsopeningwide, theairhissing fast in his bloody

nose, his heart thumping inanticipation. No doubt myruined bodywill struggle, asbest it can. An irresistiblereaction to the lack of air.Theunconquerableinstincttobreathe. No doubt I willthrash and wriggle, just asTulkis, the Gurkishambassador, thrashed andwriggled when they hangedhim,anddraggedhisgutsout

fornothing.Hedidhis twistedbest to

stayupunderhisownpower,tostandasclosetostraightashe couldmanage.After all, Iwas a proudman once, evenif that is all far behind me.Hardly the end that ColonelGloktawouldhavehopedfor.Drowned in the bath by awoman in a dirty shirt. Willtheyfindmeslumpedoverthe

rim, my arse in the air? Butwhatdoes itmatter?It isnothow you die, but how youlived,thatcounts.

She let go of his coat,flattenedthefrontwithaslapofherhand.Andwhathasmylife been, these past years?What do I have that I mighttruly miss? Stairs? Soup?Pain? Lying in the darknesswith the memories of the

thingsIhavedonediggingatme? Waking in the morningto the stink of my own shit?Will I miss tea with ArdeeWest? A little perhaps. Butwill Imiss teawith the ArchLector? It almost makes youwonder why I didn't do itmyself, years ago. He staredinto his killer's eyes, as hardand bright as yellow glass,andhesmiled.Asmileofthe

purestrelief.'Iamready.''For what?' She pressed

somethingintohislimphand.The handle of his cane. 'IfyouhavemorebusinesswithBayaz, leave me out of it. Iwill not be so gentle nexttime.' She backed slowlytowardsthedoorway,abrightrectangleagainsttheshadowywall. She turned, and thesound of her boots receded

down the corridor. Asidefromthesoft tip-tapofwaterdripping from his wet coat,allfellsilent.

And so, it seems, Isurvive. Again. Glokta raisedhis eyebrows. Perhaps thetrickisnotwantingto.

TheFourthDay

«^»

Hewas an ugly bastard, thisEasterner. A huge big one,

dressed all in stinking, half-tannedfursandabitofrustedchain-mail, more ornamentthanprotection.Greasyblackhair,bounduphereandtherewith rough-forged silverrings, dripped with the thinrain. He had a great scardown one cheek and anotheracross his forehead, and thecountless nicks and pittingsoflesserwoundsandboilsas

alad,noseflattenedandbentsidewayslikeadentedspoon.His eyes were screwed uptight with effort, his yellowteeth were bared, the fronttwomissing, his grey tonguepressed into the gap. A facethathadseenwarallitsdays.A face that had lived bysword, and axe, and spear,andcountedeverydayaliveabonus.

For Logen, it was almostlikelookinginamirror.

They held each other astight as a pair of bad lovers,blind to everything aroundthem. They lumbered backand forward, lurching likefeuding drunkards. Theyplucked and tugged, bit andgouged, gripped and tore,strained in frozen fury,blasting sour breath in each

other's faces.An ugly, and awearying, and a fatal dance,and all the while the raincamedown.

Logen took a painful diginthegutandhadtotwistandwriggle to smother a second.He gave a half-hearted head-butt and did nothing morethen scuff Ugly's face withhis forehead. He nearly gottripped, stumbled, felt the

Easterner shift his weight,trying to find a set to throwhim. Logen managed to dighim in the fruits with histhigh before he could do it,enough to make his arms goweak for a moment, enoughsohecouldslidehishandupontoUgly'sneck.

Logen forced that handup, inch by painful inch, hisstretched-out forefinger

creeping over the Easterner'spitted face while he peereddownat it,cross-eyed, tryingtotiphisheadoutoftheway.HishandgrippedpainfultightroundLogen'swrist,tryingtohaul it back, but Logen hadhis shoulder dipped, hisweight set right. The fingeredged past his grimacingmouth, over his top lip, intoUgly's bent nose, and Logen

felthisbrokennaildiggingatthe flesh inside. He crookedhisfinger,andbaredhisteeth,andtwisteditaboutasbesthecould.

The Easterner hissed andthrashed around, but he washooked.He'dnochoicebuttograbatLogen'swristwithhisother hand and try to dragthat tearing finger out of hisface.But that leftLogen one

handfree.He snatched a knife out

andgruntedashestabbed,hisarmjerkinginandout.Quickpunches,butwithsteelontheend of them. The bladesquelched in the Easterner'sgut, and his thigh, and hisarm, and his chest, bloodcoming out in long streaks,splattering them both andtrickling into the puddles

under their boots. Once hewas stabbed enough Logencaught him by his coat,hauledhimintotheairwithajaw-clenched effort, androared as he flung him overthe battlements. Heplummeted away, limp as acarcass and soon to be one,crashed to the ground inamonghisfellows.

Logen bent over the

parapet, gasping at the wetair, the rain drops flittingdown away from him. Therewere hundreds of them, itseemed like, milling aroundin theseaofmudat thebaseof the wall.Wild men, fromout past the Crinna, wherethey hardly spoke right andcared nothing for the dead.They all were rain-soakedand filth-spattered, hiding

underrough-madeshieldsandwaving rough-forgedweapons, barbed and brutal.Their standards stoodflapping in the rain behindthem, bones and raggedhides,ghostlyshadowsinthedownpour.

Some were carryingrickety ladders forwards, orlifting those that had beenthrown down, trying to foot

them near the wall and haulthem up while rocks andspears and sodden arrowsflapped and splattered intothe mud. Others wereclimbing, shields held overtheirheads,twoladdersupatDow'sside,oneonRedHat'sside, one just toLogen's left.A pair of big savages wereswinging great axes againstthe scarred gates, chopping

wet splinters out with everyblow.Logenpointedatthem,screamed uselessly into thewet. No one heard him, orcould have over the greatnoise of drumming rain, ofcrashing, thudding, scraping,blades on shields, shafts inflesh, battle cries and shrieksofpain.

He fumbledhis swordupfrom the puddles on the

walkway, dull metalglistening with beads ofwater. Just near him one ofShivers'Carlswas facing offagainst an Easterner who'dscrambled from the top of aladder. They traded a coupleof blows, axe against shieldthen sword swishing at theempty air. The Easterner'saxe-arm went up again andLogen hacked it off at the

elbow,stumbledintohisbackand knocked him screamingonhisface.TheCarlfinishedhimwith a chop to the backof the skull, pointed hisbloody sword over Logen'sshoulder.

'There!'Another Easterner with a

big hook nose just getting tothe topof the ladder, leaningforwardover thebattlements,

right arm going back with aspear ready. Logen bellowedashecameforhim.

His eyes went wide andthespearwobbled,toolatetothrow. He tried to swing outof the way, clinging to thewetwoodwithhisfreehand,butonlymanagedtodragtheladder grating across thebattlements. Logen's swordstabbed him under the arm

and he flailed back with agrunt, dropping his spearbehindhim.Logenstabbedathimagain,slippedandlungedtoo far, near falling into hisarms. Big-Nose clawed athim, trying to bundle himover the parapet. Logensmashedhiminthefacewiththepommelofhisswordandknocked his head back, tooksometeethoutwithasecond

blow.The third one knockedhimsenselessandhefellbackoff the ladder, plummetingdown and taking one of hisfriends into the mud withhim.

'Bring that pole!' Logenroared at the Carl with thesword.

'What?''Pole,youfucker!'

TheCarlsnatchedthewetlengthofwoodupand threwit through the rain. Logendropped his sword andwedged the branched endagainst one upright of theladder,startedpushingforallhewasworth.TheCarlcameand added his weight to it,and the ladder creaked,wobbled, and started tippingback. An Easterner's face

cameupoverthebattlements,surprised-looking.Hesawthepole. He saw Logen and theCarl growling at it. Hetumbled off as the ladderdropped away, down on theheadsofthebastardsbelow.

Further along the wallanother ladder had just beenpushed back up and theEasterners were starting toclimbit,shieldsupovertheir

headswhileRedHat and hisboys chucked rocks at them.Somehadgot to thetopoveronDow'sbitof thewall,andhe could hear the shoutingfrom there, the sounds ofmurder.Logengnawedathisbloody lip, wonderingwhether to push on downthere and give them somehelp, but he decided against.He'd be needed here before

long.SohetookuptheMaker's

sword, and he nodded to theCarl who'd helped him, andhe stood and caught hisbreath. He waited for theEasternerstocomeagain,andall around him men fought,andkilled,anddied.

Devils, in a cold, wet,bloody hell. Four days of it,now,anditfeltasifhe'dbeen

thereforever.Asifhe'dneverleft.Perhapsheneverhad.

Like the Dogman's lifeweren't difficult enoughalready,therehadtoberain.

Wetwasanarcher'sworstfear, alright. Apart frombeing ridden down byhorsemen, maybe, but thatweren't so likely up a tower.

The bows were slippery, thestrings were stretchy, thefeathers were sodden, whichallmadeforsomeineffectiveshooting. Rain was costingthemtheiradvantage,andthatwasaworry,butitcouldcostthem more than that beforethe daywas out. There werethree big wild bastardsworking at the gates, twoswinging heavy axes at the

softened wood, the thirdtrying to get a pry-bar in thegapsthey'dmadeandtearthetimbersapart.

'If we don't deal withthem,they'llhavethosegatesin!' Dogman shouted hoarseintothewetair.

'Uh,' said Grim, noddinghis head, water flicking offhisshaggythatchofhair.

Took a good bit ofbellowing and pointing fromhimandTul,butDogmangota crowd of his lads lined upby the slick parapet. Threescore wet bows, all loweredat once, all drawn backcreaking, all pointing downtowardsthatgate.Threescoremen, frowning and takingaim, all dripping with waterand getting wetter every

minute.'Alrightthen,loose!'The bows went more or

less together, the soundsmuffled. The shafts spundown, bouncing off the wetwall, sticking in the roughwood of the gate, pricklingthe ground all round wheretheditchusedtobe,beforeitbecame just another load ofmud. Not what you'd call

accurate,but therewerea lotofshafts,andifyoucan'tgetquality, then numbers willhave to do the job for you.The Easterner on the rightdroppedhisaxe,threearrowssticking out his chest, onethrough his leg. The one ontheleftslippedandfellonhisside, went floundering forcover, an arrow in hisshoulder. The one with the

barwent down on his knees,thrashing around andgrabbing behind him, tryingto get at a shaft in the smallofhisback.

'Alright! Good!' theDogmanshouted.Noneoftherestof'emseemedkeentotrythe gate for the moment,which was something to begrateful for. There were stillplenty trying the ladders, but

thatwasahardertasktodealwith from up here. Theymight just as easily shoottheir own boys on the wallsastheenemyinthisweather.Dogmangrittedhisteeth,andloosed a harmless, loopingwet arrow down into themilling crowd. Nothing theycould do. The walls wasShivers job, and Dow's, andRed Hat's. The walls was

Logen'sjob.

Therewasacrack,loudasthesky falling. The world wentreeling bright, and soupyslow, sounds all echoing.Logen stumbled through thisdream-place, the swordclattering out of his stupidfingers, lurched against thewallandgrappledwithitasitswayed around, trying to

understand what hadhappened and not gettingthere.

Twomenwerestrugglingwith eachotherover a spear,wrestling and jerking roundand round, and Logencouldn't remember why. Aman with long hair took agreat slow blow with a clubon his shield, a couple ofsplinters spinning, then he

swept an axe round, teethbared and shining, caught awild-lookingman in the legsand tore him off his feet.Thereweremen everywhere,wet and furious, dirt andblood stained. A battle,maybe? Which side was heon?

Logen felt somethingwarmticklinghiseye,andhetouched his hand to it.

Frowned down at his redfingertips,turningpinkastherainpatteredonthem.Blood.Had someone hit him on thehead, then? Or was hedreamingit?Amemory,fromlongago.

Hespunroundjustbeforethe club came down andcrushedhisskull likeanegg,caught some hairy bastard'swrists with both hands. The

world was suddenly fast,noisy, pain pulsing in hishead. He lurched against theparapet, staring into a dirty,bearded, angry face, presseduptightagainsthis.

Logenletgotheclubwithonehand,startedsnatchingathis belt for a knife. Hecouldn't feel one. All thattime spent sharpening allthose blades, and now he

neededonetherewasnothingto hand. Then he realised.Thebladehewaslookingforwas stuck in that uglybastard, down in the mudsomewhereat thebaseof thewall.He scrabbled round theother side of his belt, stillwrestling at the club, butlosing that battle now, giventhatheonlyhadtheonehandtoworkwith.Logengotbent

back, slowly, over thebattlements. His fingersfoundthegripofaknife.Thehairy Easterner tore his clubfree and lifted it up, openinghismouthwide and giving astinkingyell.

Logen stabbed him rightthrough the face, and thebladewentthroughonecheekand out the other and took acouple of teeth with it.

Hairy's bellow turned to ahigh-pitched howl and hedropped his club andstumbledaway,eyesbulging.Logen slid down andsnatched his sword fromunder the trampling feet ofthe two fighting over thespear, waited a moment forthe Easterner to come roundclose to him, then choppedthroughthebackofonethigh

andbroughthimdownwithascreamwhere the Carl couldseetohim.

Hairy was still droolingblood,onehandonthegripofthe knife through his face,tryingtoworkitfree.Logen'ssword made a red gashthrough the wet furs on hisside, brought him to hisknees. The next swing splithisheadinhalf.

Not ten strides awayShivers was in bad trouble,backed up with threeEasterners at him, anotherjust getting to the top of aladder, and all his boys keptbusybehind.Hewincedashetook a hard blow from ahammer across his shield,stumbled back, his axedropping from his hand andclattering on the stone. The

thought did pass throughLogen's mind that he'd be adeal better off if Shivers gothis head flattened. But theodds were good that he'd benext.

Sohetookagreatbreath,andbellowedashecharged.

The first one turned justintimetogethisfacehackedopen rather than the back ofhis skull. The second got his

shield up, but Logen wentlow and chopped cleanthroughhis shin instead, senthimshriekingdownontohisback,bloodpumpingoutintothe pools ofwater across thewalkway.Thethirdonewasabig bastard, wild red hairstickingallwaysoffhishead.He had Shivers stunned andon his knees by the parapet,his shield hanging down,

blood running from a cut onhis forehead.RedHair raisedabighammeruptofinishthejob. Logen stabbed himthrough the back before hegotthechance,thelongbladesliding through him right tothe hilt. Never take a manface to face if you can killhim from behind, Logen'sfather used to say, and thatwasonegoodpieceofadvice

he'd always tried to follow.Red Hair thrashed andsquealed,twistingmadlywithhis last breaths, draggingLogen around after him bythe hilt of his sword, but itwasn't long before hedropped.

Logen grabbed Shiversunderthearmandhauledhimup. He frowned hard as hiseyes came back into focus,

sawwhowashelpinghim.Heleaneddownandsnatchedhisfallenaxeupfromthestones.Logen wondered for amoment if he was about toget it buried in his skull, butShivers only stood there,blood running down his wetface from the cut across hishead.

'Behind you,' saidLogen,nodding past his shoulder.

Shiversturned,Logendidthesame, and they stood withtheir backs to each other.There were three or fourladders up now, around thegate, and the battle on thewalls had broken up into afew separate, bloody littlefights.TherewereEasternersclambering over the parapet,screaming their meaninglessjabber, hard faces and hard

weapons glistening wet,coming at Logen along thewall while more draggedthemselvesup.Behindhimheheard the clash and grunt ofShivers fighting, but he paidit no mind. He could onlydealwithwhatwasinfrontofhim.Youhave tobe realisticaboutthesethings.

He shuffled back,showing weariness that was

onlyhalf-feigned, thenas thefirst of them came on hegritted his teeth and leapedforward, cut him across thefaceandsenthimscreaming,hand clasped to his eyes.Logen stumbled into anotherand got barged in the chestwithashield,itsrimcatchinghim under the chin andmakinghimbitehistongue.

Logennearlytrippedover

the sprawled-out corpse of adead Carl, righted himselfjust in time, flailed with hisswordandhitnothing, reeledafteritandfeltsomethingcutinto his leg as he went. Hegasped, and hopped, wavingthe sword around, all off-balance. He lunged at somemoving fur, his leg gaveunder him and he piled intosomeone. They fell together

and Logen's head crackedagainstthestone.Theyrolledand Logen struggled up ontop, shouting and drooling,tangled his fingers in anEasterner's greasy hair andsmashed his face into thestone, again and again untilhis skull went soft. Hedragged himself away, hearda blade clang against thewalkway where he'd been,

hauled himself up to hisknees, sword loose in onestickyhand.

He knelt there, waterrunning down his face,dragginginair.Moreofthemcoming at him, and nowheretogo.Hislegwashurting,nostrengthinhisarms.Hisheadfelt light, like it might floataway.Nostrengthlefttofightwith, hardly. More of them

coming at him, one at thefront with thick leathergloves, a big maul in hishands, its heavy spiked headred with blood. Looked likehe'dalreadybrokenoneskullwithit,andLogen'swouldbenext. Then Bethod would'vewon,atlast.

Logen felt a cold feelingstabathisgut.Ahard,emptyfeeling.His knuckles clicked

as the muscles in his handwent rigid, gripping thesword painful tight. 'No!' hehissed. 'No, no, no.' But hemightaswellhavesaidnotothe rain. That cold feelingspread out, up throughLogen's face, tugging hismouth into a bloody smile.Glovescamecloser,hismaulscraping against the wetstone. He glanced over his

shoulder.His head came apart,

spraying out blood.Crummock-i-Phailroaredlikean angry bear, fingerbonesflying round his neck, hisgreathammerwhirling roundand round his head in hugecircles. The next Easternertried to back away, holdingup his shield. Crummock'shammer swung two-handed,

rippedhislegsoutfromunderhim, sent him tumbling overandoverandontohisfaceonthe stone. The big hillmansprang up onto thewalkway,nimbleasadancerforallhisgreat bulk, caught the nextman a blow in the stomachthat hurled him through theair and left him crumpledagainstthebattlements.

Logenwatchedonesetof

savages murdering another,breathing hard asCrummock's boys whoopedand screamed, paint on theirfaces smeared in the rain.They flooded up onto thewall, hacking at theEasterners with their roughswords and their bright axes,driving them back andshoving their ladders away,flinging theirbodiesover the

parapet and into the mudbelow.

He knelt there, in apuddle, leaning on the coldgrip of Kanedias' sword, itspoint dug into the stonewalkway. He bent over andbreathed hard, his cold gutsucking in and out, his rawmouth salty, his nose full ofthe stinkofblood.Hehardlydaredtolookup.Heclenched

histeeth,andclosedhiseyes,andhawkedsourspitupontothe stones. He forced thatcold feeling in his stomachdown and it slunk away, fornow, at least, and left himwithonlypainandwearinesstoworryabout.

'Lookslikethosebastardshad enough,' cameCrummock's laughing voicefrom out of the drizzle. The

hillmantippedhisheadback,mouthopen,stuckhistongueout into the rain, then lickedhislips.'Thatwassomegoodwork you put in today,Bloody-Nine.Not that itain'tmy special pleasure towatchyou at it, but I'm glad to getmyshare.'Heheftedhisgreatlonghammerup inonehandandspunitroundasifitwasawillow switch,peering at a

greatbloodystainontheheadwithaclumpofhairstuck toit,thengrinningwide.

Logen looked up at him,hardlyenoughstrengthlefttolift his head. 'Oh aye. Goodwork. We'll go at the backtomorrow though, eh, sinceyou're that keen? You cantakethefuckingwall.'

The rainwas slacking, downto a thin spit and drizzle. Aglimmer of fading sunlightbroke through the saggingclouds, bringing Bethod'scamp back into view, hismuddy ditch and hisstandards, tents scatteredacross the valley. Dogmansquinted, thought he couldsee a few men stood aroundthe front watching the

Easternersrunback,aglintofsunlight on something. Aneye-glass maybe, like theUnion used, usually to lookthe wrong way. Dogmanwondered if it was Bethoddown there, watching it allhappen. Itwould be just likeBethodtohavegothimselfaneye-glass.

He felt a big hand claphim on the shoulder. 'We

gave 'em a slap, chief,'rumbledTul,'andagood'un!'

Therewas small doubt o'that.TherewerealotofdeadEasterners scattered in themud round the base of thatwall,alotofwoundedcarriedby their mates, or draggingthemselves slow and painfulback towards their lines. Buttherewereafairfewkilledontheirsideof thewallaswell.

Dogmancould seea stackofmuddy corpses over near theback of the fortress wheretheywere doing the burying.He could hear someonescreaming. Hard and nastyscreams, the kind a manmakeswhenheneeds a limbtakenoff,orhe'shadoneoffalready.

'Wegave'emaslap,aye,'Dogman muttered, 'but they

gave us one as well. I'm notsure how many slaps we'llstand.'Thebarrelsthatcarriedtheir arrows were no more'nhalffullnow,therockscloseto run out. 'Best send someboys to pick over the dead!'he shouted to the men overhis shoulder. 'Get what wecanwhilewecan!'

'Can't have too manyarrows at a time like this,'

said Tul. 'Number o' thoseCrinna bastards we killedtoday, I reckon we'll havemore spears tonight than wehadthismorning.'

Dogmanmanagedtoputagrinonhis face. 'Niceof 'emtobringussomethingtofightwith.'

'Aye. Reckon they'd getbored right quick if we ranout of arrows.' Tul laughed,

and he clapped the Dogmanonthebackharder thanever,hardenoughtomakehisteethrattle. 'Wedidwell!Youdidwell! We're still alive, ain'twe?'

'Someofusare.'Dogmanlookeddownat thecorpseoftheonemanwho'ddieduponthe tower. An old boy, hairmostly grey, a rough-madearrow in his neck. Bad luck,

thathadbeen,tocatchashaftonadayaswetastoday,butyou're sure to get a measureof luck in a fight, both goodand bad. He frowned downinto the darkening valley.'WherethehellaretheUnionat?'

Atleasttherainhadstopped.You have to be grateful forthe small things in life, like

some smoky kind of a fireafterthewet.Youhavetobegrateful for the small things,when any minute might beyourlast.

Logensatalonebesidehisscrub of a flame, and rubbedgently at his right palm. Itwas sore, pink, stiff fromgripping theroughhiltof theMaker's sword all the longday,blisteredroundthejoints

of his fingers. His head wasbruised all over. The cut onhislegwasburningsome,buthe could still walk wellenough.Hecould'veendedupalotworse.Thereweremorethan three score buried now,andtheywereputtingtheminpits for a dozen each, just asCrummock had said theywould.Threescoreandmoregone back to the mud, and

twicethatmanyhurt,alotofthembad.

Over by the big fire, hecould hear Dow growlingabouthowhe'dstabbedsomeEasterner in the fruits. Hecould hear Tul's rumblinglaughter. Logen hardly feltlike a part of it, any more.Maybeheneverhadbeen.Aset of men he'd fought andbeaten.Liveshe'dspared,for

no reason that made sense.Men who'd hated him worsethandeath,butbeenboundtofollow. Hardly more hisfriends than Shivers was.Perhaps theDogmanwas hisonly true friend in all thewideCircleoftheWorld,andeveninhiseyes,fromtimetotime,Logenthoughthecouldsee that old trace of doubt,that old trace of fear. He

wondered if he could see itnow,astheDogmancameupoutofthedarkness.

'You think they'll cometonight?'heasked.

'He'll give it a go in thedark sooner or later,' saidLogen, 'butmy guess is he'llleave it 'til we're a bit moreworndown.'

'Yougetmoreworndown

thanthis?''I guess we'll find out.'

Logen grimaced as hestretchedout his aching legs.'It really seems like this shitusedtobeeasier.'

Dogmangaveasnort.Nota laugh, really. More justletting Logen know he'dheard. 'Memory can worksome magic. You rememberCarleon?'

'Course I do.' Logenlooked down at his missingfinger, and he bunched hisfist, so it looked the same asitalwayshad.'Strange,howitall seemed so simpleback inthem days. Who you foughtfor,andwhy.Can'tsayiteverbotheredme.'

'It bothered me,' saidDogman.

'It did? You should've

saidsomething.''Would you have

listened?''No.Iguessnot.'They sat there for a

minute,insilence.'You reckon we'll live

through this?' asked theDogman.

'Maybe.IftheUnionturnsup tomorrow, or the day

after.''Youthinktheywill?''Maybe.Wecanhope.''Hoping for a thing don't

makeithappen.''The opposite, usually.

Buteverydaywe'restillaliveis a chance.Maybe this timeit'llwork.'

Dogman frowned at theshifting flames. 'That's a lot

ofmaybes.''That'swar.''Who'dhavethoughtwe'd

be relying on a bunch ofSoutherners to solve ourproblemsforus,eh?'

'I reckon you solve 'emany way you can. You havetoberealistic'

'Beingrealistic,then.Youreckon we'll live through

this?'Logenthoughtaboutitfor

awhile.'Maybe.'Boots squelched in the

softearth,andShiverswalkedup quiet towards the fire.There was a grey bandagewrapped round his head,wherehe'dtakenthatcut,andhishairhungdowndampandgreasyfromunderit.

'Chief,'hesaid.Dogmansmiledashegot

up, and clapped him on theshoulder. 'Alright, Shivers.That was good work, today.I'm glad you came over, lad.Weallare.'HegaveLogenalong look. 'Allofus.ThinkImight tryandgeta rest foraminute. I'll see you boyswhen they come again.Mostlikely it'll be soon enough.'

Hewalkedoff into thenight,and left Shivers and Logenstaringoneattheother.

Probably Logen shouldhave got his hand near to aknife, watched for suddenmovesandalltherest.Buthewastootiredandtoosoreforit. So he just sat there, andwatched. Shivers pressed hislips together, squatting downbeside thefireopposite,slow

and reluctant, as if he wasabout to eat something heknewwas rotten, but had nochoice.

'If I'd have been in yourplace,'hesaid,afterawhile,'Iwould've let those bastardskillmetoday.'

'Fewyears ago I'm sure Iwould've.'

'Whatchanged?'

Logen frowned as hethought about it. Then heshrugged his achingshoulders. 'I'm trying to bebetterthanIwas.'

'Youthinkthat'senough?''WhatelsecanIdo?'Shivers frowned at the

fire. 'I wanted to say…' Heworked the words around inhismouthandspat themout.

'That I'm grateful, I guess.You saved my life today. Iknow it.' He wasn't happyabout saying it, and Logenknew why. It's hard to bedone a favour by aman youhate. It's hard to hate him somuch afterwards. Losing anenemy can be worse thanlosinga friend, if you'vehadhimforlongenough.

SoLogenshruggedagain.

'It's nothing. What a manshoulddo forhiscrew, that'sall. I owe you a lot more. Iknow that. I can never paywhatIoweyou.'

'No.But it's somekindo'start at it, far as I'mconcerned.' Shivers got upand took a step away. Thenhe stopped, and turned back,firelight shifting over oneside of his hard, angry face.

'Itain'teverassimple,isit,asa man is just good or bad?Not even you. Not evenBethod.Notanybody.'

'No.' Logen sat andwatched the flames moving.'No, it ain't ever that simple.Weallgotourreasons.Goodmen and bad men. It's all amatterofwhereyoustand.'

ThePerfectCouple

«^»

One of Jezal's countlessfootmen perched on the

stepladder, and lowered thecrown with frowningprecision onto his head, itssingle enormous diamondflashingpricelesslybright.Hegaveittheveryslightesttwistback and forth, the fur-trimmed rim gripping Jezal'sskull.Heclimbedbackdown,whisked thestepladderaway,and surveyed the result. Sodid half a dozen of his

fellows.Oneofthemsteppedforward to tweak the precisepositioning of Jezal's gold-embroidered sleeve. Anothergrimaced as he flicked aninfinitesimal speck of dustfromhispurewhitecollar.

'Very good,' said Bayaz,nodding thoughtfully tohimself. 'I believe that youarereadyforyourwedding.'

The peculiar thing, now

that Jezalhada raremomentto thinkabout it,was thathehadnot,inanywayofwhichhe was aware, agreed to getmarried. He had neitherproposed nor accepted aproposal. He had neveractuallysaid'yes'toanything.And yet here he was,preparing to be joined inmatrimony in a few shorthours, and to a woman he

scarcely knew at all. It hadnotescapedhisnotice that inorder to have been managedso quickly the arrangementsmust have been wellunderway before Bayaz hadeven suggested the notion.PerhapsbeforeJezalhadevenbeen crowned… but hesupposed it was not so verysurprising. Since hisenthronement he had drifted

helplessly through oneincomprehensible event afteranother, like a manshipwreckedandstrugglingtokeep his head above water,out of sight of land, draggedwho knew where by unseen,irresistible currents. Butconsiderablybetterdressed.

Hewasgradually startingto realise that the morepowerful a man became, the

fewer choices he really had.CaptainJezaldanLutharhadbeen able to eat what heliked,tosleepwhenheliked,to see who he liked. HisAugust Majesty King Jezalthe First, on the other hand,wasboundbyinvisiblechainsof tradition, expectation, andresponsibility, thatprescribedeveryaspectofhisexistence,howeversmall.

Bayaz took a discerningstepforward.'Perhapsthetopbuttonundonehere—'

Jezal jerked away withsome annoyance. Theattention of the Magus toevery tiny detail of his lifewas becoming more thantiresome. It seemed that hecould scarcelyuse the latrinewithout the old bastardpoking through the results. 'I

know how to button a coat!'he snapped. 'Should I expecttofindyouheretonightwhenI bring my new wife to ourbed-chamber, ready toinstruct me on how best tousemyprick?'

The footmen coughed,and averted their eyes, andscraped away towards thecorners of the room. Bayazhimself neither smiled nor

frowned. 'I stand alwaysreadytoadviseyourMajesty,butIhadhopedthatmightbeone item of business youcouldmanagealone.'

'I hope you're well preparedforourlittleouting.I'vebeengetting ready all morn—'Ardeefrozewhenshelookedup and saw Glokta's face.'Whathappenedtoyou?'

'What, this?' He wavedhis hand at themottledmassof bruises. 'AKantic womanbroke into my apartments inthe night, punched merepeatedly and near drownedmeinthebath.'AnexperienceIwouldnotrecommend.

Evidently she did notbelieve him. 'What reallyhappened?'

'Ifelldownthestairs.'

'Ah. Stairs. They can bebrutal bastards when you'renot that firm on your feet.'She stared at her half-fullglass,hereyesslightlymisty.

'Areyoudrunk?''It'stheafternoon,isn'tit?

I try always to be drunk bynow.Onceyoustartajobyoushouldgiveityourbest.Orsomyfatherlikedtotellme.'

Glokta narrowed his eyesat her, and she stared backevenly over the rim of herglass. No trembling lip, notragic face, no streaks ofbitter tears down the cheek.She seemed no less happythan usual. Or no moreunhappy, perhaps. But JezaldanLuthar'sweddingdaycanbe no joyous occasion forher.Nooneappreciatesbeing

jilted, whatever thecircumstances.Nooneenjoysbeingabandoned.

'We need not go, youknow.' Glokta winced as hetriedunsuccessfullytostretchsome movement into hiswasted leg, and the winceitself caused a ripple of painthrough his split lips andacross his battered face. 'Icertainly won't complain if I

do not have to walk anotherstep today. We can sit here,and talk of rubbish andpolitics.'

'And miss the king'smarriage?'gaspedArdee,onehand pressed to her chest infakehorror.'ButIreallymustseewhatthePrincessTereziswearing!They say she is themost beautiful woman in theworld,andevenscumlikeme

must have someone to lookup to.' She tipped back herhead and swilled down thelast of her wine. 'Havingfuckedthegroomisreallynoexcuse for missing awedding,youknow.'

The flagship of Grand DukeOrso of Talins ploughedslowly, deliberately,majestically forwards, under

no more than quarter sail, ahost of seabirds flapping andcalling in the rich blue skyabove. It was by far thelargest ship that Jezal, oranyone among the vastcrowds that lined the quayand crammed the roofs andwindows of the buildingsalongthewaterfront,hadeverlaideyesupon.

It was decked out in its

finest: coloured buntingflutteredfromtheriggingandits threetoweringmastswerehung with bright flags, thesable cross of Talins and thegoldensunoftheUnion,sideby side in honour of thehappyoccasion.Butitlookedno less menacing for that. Itlooked as Logen Ninefingersmight have in a dandy'sjacket. Unmistakably still a

man of war, and appearingmore savage rather than lessforthegaudyfineryinwhichitwasplainlyuncomfortable.As the means of bringing asingle woman to Adua, andthat woman Jezal's bride-to-be, this mighty vessel wasanything but reassuring. Itimplied that Grand DukeOrsomightbeanintimidatingpresenceasafather-in-law.

Jezal saw sailors now,crawling among the myriadropes like ants through abush, bringing the acres ofsailcloth in with well-practised speed. They let themighty ship plough forwardunder itsownmomentum, itsvast shadow falling over thequay and plunging half thewelcoming party intodarkness. It slowed, the air

fullofthecreakingoftimbersand hawsers. It came to adeliberate stop, dwarfing thenow tiny-seeming boatsmeeklytetheredtoeithersideasatigermightdwarfkittens.The golden figurehead, awoman twice life-sizethrusting a spear towards theheavens,glitteredmenacinglyfaroverJezal'shead.

A huge wharf had been

specially constructed in themiddleofthequaywherethedraught was at its deepest.Down this gently slopingramptheroyalpartyofTalinsdescended into Adua, likevisitors from a distant starwhere everyone was rich,beautiful, and obliviouslyhappy.

To either side marched arow of bearded guardsmen,

all dressed in identical blackuniforms, their helmetspolished toapainfulpitchofmirror brightness. Betweenthem, in two rows of six,came a dozen ladies-in-waiting, each one arrayed inred, or blue, or vivid purplesilks,eachoneassplendidasaqueenherself.

But not one of theawestruck multitude on the

waterfrontcouldhavebeeninanydoubtwhowasthecentreof attention. The PrincessTerezglidedalongatthefore:tall,slender,impossiblyregal,asgracefulasacircusdancerand as stately as anEmpressof legend. Her pure whitegown was stitched withglittering gold, hershimmering hair was thecolour of polished bronze, a

chain of daunting diamondsflashed and sparkled on herpale chest in the brightsunlight.The JewelofTalinsseemedatthatmomentanaptnameindeed.Terezlookedaspure and dazzling, as proudand brilliant, as hard andbeautiful as a flawlessgemstone.

As her feet touched thestones the crowds burst out

into a tumultuous cheer, andflowerpetalsbegan to fall inwell-orchestrated cascadesfrom the windows of thebuildings high above. So itwas that she advanced onJezal with magnificentdignity, her head heldimperiously high, her handsclasped proudly before her,overasoftcarpetandthrougha sweet-smelling haze of

flutteringpinkandred.To call it a breathtaking

entrance would have beenunderstatement of an epicorder.

'Your August Majesty,'she murmured, somehowmanaging to make him feellike the humble one as shecurtsied, and behind her theladies followed suit, and theguardsmen bowed low, all

with impeccablecoordination. 'My father, theGrand Duke Orso of Talins,sendshisprofoundapologies,'and she rose up perfectlyerect againas thoughhoistedby invisible strings, 'buturgent business in Styriaprevents him from attendingourwedding.'

'You are all we need,'croakedJezal,cursingsilently

amomentlaterasherealisedhe had completely ignoredtheproperformofaddress.Itwas somewhat difficult tothink clearly, under thecircumstances. Terez waseven more breathtaking nowthan when he had last seenher, a year or more ago,arguing savagelywith PrinceLadislaatthefeastheldinhishonour. The memory of her

vicious shrieking did little toencouragehim,butthenJezalwould hardly have beendelighted by the prospect ofmarrying Ladisla himself.Afterall, themanhadbeenacomplete ass. Jezal was anentirely different sort ofperson and could no doubtexpect a different response.Sohehoped.

'Please, your Highness,'

and he held out his hand toher. She rested hers on it,seeming toweigh less thanafeather.

'Your Majesty does metoomuchhonour.'

The hooves of the greyhorses crackled on thepaving, the carriage-wheelswhirred smoothly. They setoff up the Kingsway, acompany of Knights of the

Body riding in tightformation around them, armsand armour glinting, eachstride of the greatthoroughfare lined withappreciative commoners,each door and window filledwith smiling subjects. Allthere to cheer for their newking,andforthewomansoontobetheirqueen.

Jezal knew he must look

an utter idiot next to her. Aclumsy, lowborn, ill-mannered oaf, who had nottheslightestrighttosharehercarriage, unless, perhaps, shewas using him as a footrest.He had never in his life felttrulyinferiorbefore.Hecouldscarcely believe that he wasmarryingthiswoman.Today.His hands were shaking.Positively shaking. Perhaps

some heartfelt words mighthelpthembothrelax.

'Terez…' She continuedto wave imperiously to thecrowds. 'I realise… that wedonotknoweachotherintheleast, but… I would like toknow you.' The slightesttwitch of her mouth was theonly sign that she had heardhim. 'I know that this musthavecomeasaterribleshock

toyou, justas ithas tome. Ihope, if there is anything Ican do… to make it easier,that—'

'My father feels theinterests of my country arebest served by thismarriage,andit isadaughter'splacetoobey. Those of us born tohighstationarelongpreparedtomakesacrifices.'

Her perfect head turned

smoothlyonherperfectneck,and she smiled. A smileslightly forced, perhaps, butnolessradiantforthat.Itwashard tobelieve thata facesosmoothandflawlesscouldbemadeofmeat,likeeverybodyelse's. It seemed likeporcelain, or polished stone.It was a constant, magicaldelight to see it move. Hewondered if her lips were

coolorwarm.Hewouldhaveliked very much to find out.She leaned close to him, andplacedherhandgentlyontheback of his. Warm,undoubtedly warm, and soft,andverymuchmadeofflesh.'Youreallyshouldwave,'shemurmured, her voice full ofStyriansong.

'Er, yes,' he croaked, hismouth very dry, 'yes, of

course.'

Glokta stood, Ardee besidehim,andfrownedatthedoorsof theLords'Round.Beyondthose towering gates, in thegreat circular hall, theceremony was taking place.Oh,joyous,joyousday!HighJustice Marovia's wiseexhortations would beechoing from the gilded

dome, the happy couplewould be speaking theirsolemn vows with lighthearts. Only the lucky fewhad been allowed within tobear witness. The rest of usmustworship fromafar. Andquiteacrowdhadgatheredtodojustthat.ThewideSquareofMarshalswaschokedwiththem. Glokta's ears werestuffed with their excited

babbling. A sycophanticthrong, all eager for theirdivineMajestiestoemerge.

He rocked impatientlyback and forth, from side toside, grimacing and hissing,tryingtogetthebloodtoflowinhisachinglegs,thecrampstobestill.Butstandinginoneplace for this length of timeis,toputitsimply,torture.

'Howlongcanawedding

take?'Ardee raised one dark

eyebrow. 'Perhaps theycouldn't keep their hands offeach other, and are busyconsummating the marriagerightthereontheflooroftheLords'Round.'

'How bloody long can aconsummationtake?'

'Lean on me if you need

to,' she said, holding out herelbowtohim.

'The cripple using thedrunk for support?' Gloktafrowned. 'Wemake quite thecouple.'

'Fall over if you prefer,andknockouttherestofyourteeth. I'll lose no sleep overit.'

PerhapsIshouldtakeher

up on the offer, if only for amoment.Afterall,where'stheharm?Butthenthefirstshrillcheersbegantofloatup,soonjoined by more and moreuntil a jubilant roar wasmaking the air throb. Thedoors of the Lords' Roundwere finally being heavedopen,and theHighKingandQueenof theUnionemergedinto thebright sunlight, hand

inhand.Even Glokta was forced

to admit that they made adazzling pair. Likemonarchsofmyththeystoodarrayedinbrilliant white, trimmed withtwinkling embroidery,matching golden suns acrossthe back of her long gownandhislongcoat,glitteringasthey turned to the crowds.Each tall, and slender, and

graceful, each crowned withshining gold and a singleflashing diamond. Both sovery young, and so verybeautiful, and with all theirhappy, rich, and powerfullives aheadof them.Hurrah!Hurrah for them! Myshrivelled turd of a heartburstsopenwithjoy!

GloktarestedhishandonArdee'selbow,andhe leaned

towards her, and he smiledhis most twisted, toothless,grotesque grin. 'Is it reallytrue that our King is morehandsomethanI?'

'Offensive nonsense!' Shethrustoutherchestandtossedher head, giving Glokta awithering sneer down hernose. 'And I sparkle morebrightly than the Jewel ofTalins!'

'Oh,youdo,mydear,youabsolutelydo.Wemakethemlooklikebeggars!'

'Likescum.''Likecripples.'Theychuckledtogetheras

the royal pair sweptmajestically across thesquare, accompanied by ascore of watchful Knights ofthe Body. The Closed

Council followedbehindat arespectful distance, elevenstately old men with Bayazamong them in his arcanevestments, smiling almost aswide as the glorious couplethemselves.

'I didn't even like him,'muttered Ardee under herbreath, 'to begin with. Notreally.' That certainly makestwoofus.

'Noneed toweep.You'refar too sharp to have beensatisfied with a dullard likehim.'

She breathed in sharply.'I'm sure you're right. But Iwassobored,andlonely,andtired.' And drunk, no doubt.She shrugged her shouldershopelessly. 'Hemademefeellike I was something morethan a burden. He made me

feel…wanted.'And what makes you

suppose that I want to knowabout it? 'Wanted, you say?Howwonderful.Andnow?'

She looked miserablydown at the ground, andGlokta felt just the smallesttrace of guilt. But guilt onlyreally hurts when there'snothingelsetoworryabout.

'Itwashardlyas if itwastrue love.' He saw the thinsinewsinherneckmovingassheswallowed.'ButsomehowI always thought itwould bememakingafoolofhim.'

'Huh.'How rarely any ofusgetwhatweexpect.

Theroyalpartyprocessedgraduallyoutofview,thelastsplendidcourtiersandshiningbodyguards tramping after

them, the sound of rapturousapplausecreepingofftowardsthe palace. Towards theirglorious futures, and weguilty secrets are by nomeansinvited.

'Here we stand,'murmured Ardee. 'The off-cuts.'

'Thewretchedleavings.''Therottenstalks.'

'I wouldn't worry overmuch.' Glokta gave a sigh.'You are still young, clever,andpassablypretty.'

'Epicpraiseindeed.''You have all your teeth

andbothyourlegs.Amarkedadvantageover someofus. Ido not doubt that you willsoon find some otherhighborn idiot to entrap, andnoharmdone.'

She turned away fromhim, and hunched hershoulders, and he guessedthatshewasbitingherlip.Hewinced,andliftedhishandtolay it on her shoulder… Thesamehand thatcutSeppdanTeufels fingers into slices,thatpinchedthenipplesfromInquisitorHarker'schest,thatcarved oneGurkish emissaryinto pieces and burned

another, that sent innocentmentorotinAngland,andsoon,and soon…He jerked itback,and let it fall.Better tocryall the tears in theworldthanbetouchedbythathand.Comfort comes from othersources, and flows to otherdestinations. He frowned outacross the square, and leftArdeetohermisery.

Thecrowdcheeredon.

Itwasamagnificentevent,ofcourse. No effort or expensehadbeenspared.Jezalwouldnothavebeenatallsurprisedifhehadfivehundredguests,andnomore thanadozenofthemknowntohimselfinanysignificantdegree.TheLordsandLadiesoftheUnion.Thegreat men of Closed andOpen Councils. The richest

and the most powerful,dressed in their best and ontheirbestbehaviour.

The Chamber of Mirrorswasafittingvenue.Themostspectacularroomintheentirepalace, asbig as abattlefieldandmade to seem larger yetby the great mirrors whichcovered every wall, creatingthe disconcerting impressionof dozens of other

magnificent weddings, indozens of other adjoiningballrooms. A multitude ofcandles flickered and wavedon the tables, and in thesconces, and among thecrystal chandeliers highabove. Their soft light shoneonthesilverware,glitteredonthe jewels of the guests, andwas reflected back from thedarkwalls,gleaming into the

far, dim distance: a millionpoints of light, like the starsin a darknight sky.Adozenof the Union's finestmusicians played subtle andentrancing music, and itmingled with the swell ofsatisfiedchatter,theclinkandrattle of old money and newcutlery.

It was a joyouscelebration.Theeveningofa

lifetime.Fortheguests.For Jezal it was

something else, and he wasnot sure what. He sat at agilded table with his queenbeside him, the two of themoutnumbered ten to one byfawning servants, displayedto the full viewof thewholeassemblyasthoughtheywerea pair of prize exhibits in azoo. Jezal sat in a haze of

awkwardness, in a dreamlikesilence,startlingfromtimetotime like a sick rabbit as apowderedfootmanblindsidedhim with vegetables. Terezsat on his right, occasionallyspearing the slightest morselwithadiscerningfork, liftingit, chewing it, swallowing itwith elegant precision. Jezalhadnever thought that itwaspossibletoeatbeautifully.He

nowrealisedhismistake.He could scarcely

remember the ringing wordsof the High Justice that had,he supposed, bound the twoof them irrevocably together.Somethingaboutloveandthesecurity of the nation, hevaguely recalled. But hecouldseetheringthathehadhanded numbly to Terez inthe Lords' Round, its

enormous blood-red stoneglittering on her longmiddlefinger. He chewed at a sliceof the finest meat, and ittastedlikemudinhismouth.Theyweremanandwife.

He saw now that Bayazhad been right, as always.The people longed forsomething effortlessly higherthan themselves. They mightnotallhavehadthekingthey

wouldhaveaskedfor,butnoone could possibly deny thatTerezwasallaqueenshouldbe and more. The mere ideaofArdeeWest sitting in thatgildedchairwasabsurd.Andyet Jezal felt a pang of guiltwhen the idea occurred,closely followedbyagreateroneofsadness.Itwouldhavebeen a comfort to havesomeone to talk to, then. He

gaveapainfulsigh.Ifhewasto spend his life with thiswoman, they would have tospeak. The sooner theybegan, he supposed, thebetter.

'I hear that Talins… is amostbeautifulcity.'

'Indeed,' she said withcareful formality, 'but Aduahas its sights also.' Shepaused, and looked down

unhopefullyatherplate.Jezal cleared his throat.

'This is somewhat… difficultto adjust to.' He ventured afractionofasmile.

She blinked, and lookedoutattheroom.'Itis.'

'Doyoudance?'She turned her head

smoothly to look at himwithout theslightestapparent

movement of her shoulders.'Alittle.'

He pushed back his chairandstoodup. 'Thenshallwe,yourMajesty?'

'As you wish, yourMajesty.'

As they made their waytowards the middle of thewide floor, the chattergradually diminished. The

Chamber of Mirrors grewdeathly quiet aside from theclickingofhispolishedboots,andherpolishedshoes,ontheglistening stone. Jezalswallowed as they took theirplaces, surrounded on threesides by the long tables, andthe legions of magnificentguests, all watching. He hadrather that same feeling ofbreathless anticipation, of

fear and excitement, that hehad used to have when hesteppedintothefencingcircleagainst an unknownopponent, before the roaringcrowd.

Theystoodstillasstatues,lookingintoeachother'seyes.He held out his hand, palmup. She reached out, butinstead of taking it shepressed the back of her hand

firmlyagainstthebackofhisandpusheditupsothat theirfingerswere level. She liftedone eyebrow by the slightestmargin. A silent challenge,that no one else in the hallcouldpossiblyhaveseen.

The first long drawn-outnote sobbed from the stringsand echoed around thechamber. They set off,circling each other with

exaggerated slowness, thegolden hem of Terez' dressswishingacrossthefloor,herfeet out of sight so that sheappeared to glide rather thantake steps, her chin heldpainfully high. They movedfirst one way and then theother, and in the mirrorsaroundthemathousandothercouples moved in time,stretching away into the

shadowy distance, crownedanddressedinflawlesswhiteandgold.

As the second phrasebegan, and other instrumentsjoined in, Jezal began torealise that he was utterlyoutclassed, worse than everhe had been by Bremer danGorst.Terezmovedwithsuchimmaculatepoisethathewassureshecouldhavebalanced

a glass of wine on her headwithout spilling a drop. Themusic grew louder, faster,bolder,andTerez'movementscame faster and bolder withit. It seemed as if shesomehow controlled themusicians with heroutstretched hands, the twowere linked so perfectly. Hetried to steer her and shestepped effortlessly around

him.Shefeintedonewayandwhirled the other and Jezalalmostwentoveronhisarse.She dodged and spun withmasterful disguise and lefthimlungingatnothing.

The music grew fasteryet, themusicians sawedandplucked with furiousconcentration. Jezal made avain attempt to catch her butTerez twisted away, dazzling

himwithaflurryofskirtsthathe could barely follow. Shealmost tripped him with afoot which was gone beforehe knew it, tossed her headandalmoststabbedhimintheeyewithhercrown.ThegreatandgoodoftheUnionlookedoninenchantedsilence.EvenJezal found himself adumbstruck spectator. It wasthe most he could do to

remain in roughly the rightpositions tobemadeanutterfoolof.

He was not sure whetherhe was relieved ordisappointedwhen themusicslowedagainandsheofferedout her hand as though itwere a rare treasure. Hepressed the back of hisagainst it and they circledeach other, drawing closer

andcloser.Asthelastrefrainwept from the instrumentsshe pressed herself againsthim,herbacktohischest.

Slowly they turned, andslower still, his nose full ofthe smell of her hair. At thelast long note she sank backand he lowered her gently,her neck stretching out, herhead dropping, her delicatecrown almost brushing the

floor.Andtherewassilence.The room broke into

rapturous applause, but Jezalhardly heard them. He wastoo busy staring at his wife.There was a faint colour toher cheek now, her lipsslightly parted exposingflawless front teeth, and thelines of her jaw, andstretched-out neck, andslender collar-bones were

etched with shadow andringed with sparklingdiamonds. Lower down herchest rose and fellimperiously in her bodicewith her rapid breathing, theslightest,fascinatingsheenofsweat nestling in hercleavage. Jezal would havevery much liked to nestletherehimself.Heblinked,hisown breath sharp in his

throat.'IfitpleaseyourMajesty,'

shemurmured.'Eh?Oh…of course.' He

whisked her back to her feetas the applause continued.'Youdance…magnificently.'

'Your Majesty is tookind,' she replied, with thebarest fragment of a smile,but a smile nonetheless. He

beamed gormlessly back ather. His fear and confusionhad, in the space of a singledance, smoothly transformedinto a most pleasurableexcitement. He had beengifted a glimpse beneath theicyshell,andplainlyhisnewQueen was a woman of rareand fiery passion. A hiddenside to her that he was nowgreatly looking forward to

investigatingfurther.Lookingforward so sharply, in fact,thathewasforcedtoaverthiseyes and stare off into thecorner, frowning and tryingdesperately to think of otherthings, lest the tightness ofhis trousers caused him toembarrasshimself in frontoftheassembledguests.

The sight of Bayazgrinninginthecornerwasfor

once just what he needed tosee, theoldman's cold smilecooling his ardour as surelyasabucketoficedwater.

Glokta had left Ardee in herover-furnished living roommaking every effort to geteven more drunk, and eversincehehadfoundhimselfina black mood. Even for me.There's nothing like the

company of someone evenmore wretched than yourselfto make you feel better.Trouble is, take their miseryawayandyourownpressesintwice as cold and drearybehindit.

He slurped another halfmouthful of gritty soup fromhis spoon, grimaced as heforced the over-salty slopdown his throat. I wonder

how wonderful a time KingJezal is enjoying now?Lauded and admired by all,gorging himself on the bestfood and the best company.Hedroppedthespoonintothebowl, his left eye twitching,andwincedatarippleofpainthrough his back and downintohisleg.EightyearssincetheGurkishreleasedme,yetIam still their prisoner, and

alwayswill be. Trapped in acell no bigger than my owncrippledbody.

The door creaked openand Barnam shuffled in tocollect the bowl. Gloktalooked from the half-deadsoup to the half-dead oldman. The best food, and thebestcompany.Hewouldhavelaughed if his split lips hadallowedit.

'Finished, sir?' asked theservant.

'More than likely.' I havebeenunabletopullthemeansofdestroyingBayazoutofmyarse, and so, of course, hisEminencewillnotbepleased.How displeased can he get,do we suppose, before heloses patience entirely? Butwhatcanbedone?

Barnam carried the bowl

from the room, pulled thedoorshutbehindhim,andleftGlokta alone with his pain.WhatisitthatIdidtodeservethis? And what is it thatLuthardid?IshenotjustasIwas? Arrogant, vain, andselfishashell? Isheabetterman? Then why has lifepunished me so harshly, andrewardedhimsorichly?

But Glokta already knew

the answer.The same reasonthatinnocentSeppdanTeufellanguishes in Angland withhis fingers shortened. Thesame reason that loyalGeneral Vissbruck died inDagoska, while treacherousMagister Eider was let live.The same reason that Tulkis,theGurkishAmbassador,wasbutchered in front of ahowlingcrowdforacrimehe

didnotcommit.He pressed his sore

tongue into one of his fewremaining teeth. Life is notfair.

Jezal pranced down thehallway in a dream, but nolonger the panickednightmare of the morning.His head was spinning from

praise, and applause, andapproval. His body wasglowing with dancing, andwine, and, increasingly, lust.With Terez beside him, forthe first time in his briefreign,hetrulyfeltlikeaking.Gems and metal, silk andembroidery,andpale,smoothskin all shone excitingly inthe soft candlelight. Theevening had turned out to be

a delight, and the nightpromised only to be betteryet.Terezmighthaveseemedas hard as a jewel from adistance, but Jezal had heldher inhisarms,andheknewbetter.

The great panelled doorsoftheroyalbedchamberwereheld open by a pair ofcringing footmen, then shutsilently as the King and

Queen of the Union sweptpast. The mighty beddominated the far sideof theroom, sprays of tall feathersat the corners of its canopycastinglongshadowsupontothe gilded ceiling. Its richgreencurtainshunginvitinglywide,thesilkenspacebeyondfilledwithsoftandtantalisingshadows.

Terez took a few slow

steps into the chamber aheadof him, her head bowed,while Jezal turned thekey inthe lockwith a long, smoothrattling of wards. His breathcame fast as he stepped upbehind his wife, lifted hishand and placed it gently onherbareshoulder.Hefeltthemuscles stiffen under hersmooth skin, smiled at hernervousness, matching his

ownsoclosely.Hewonderedifheshouldsaysomethingtotry and calm her, but whatwould have been thepurpose? They both knewwhathadtohappennow,andJezalforonewasimpatienttobegin.

He came closer, slippinghis free hand around herwaist, feeling his palm hissover rough silk. He brushed

thenapeofherneckwithhislips,once, twice, three times.He nuzzled against her hair,dragginginherfragranceandbreathingitoutsoftlyagainstthe side of her face. He felthertrembleathisbreathuponher skin, but that onlyencouraged him. He slid hisringersoverhershoulderandacross her chest, herdiamonds trailing over the

backofhishandasheslippedit down into her bodice. Hemovedupcloseryet,pressinghimselfagainsther,makingasatisfied growl in his throat,his prick nudging pleasantlyinto her backside throughtheirclothes—

Inamomentshehadtornaway from him with a gasp,spunaroundandslappedhimacross the facewith a smack

thatsethisheadringing.'Youfilthybastard!'sheshriekedinhis face, spit flying from hertwistedmouth. 'Yousonofafuckingwhore!Howdareyoutouch me? Ladisla was acretin, but at least his bloodwasclean!'

Jezal gaped, one handpressed against his burningface, his whole body rigidwith shock. He reached out

feebly with his other hand.'ButI—ooof!'

Her knee caught himbetweenthelegswithpitilessaccuracy, driving the windfrom his chest, making himteeter for a breathlessmoment, then bringing himdownlikeasledgehammertoa house of cards. As he slidgroaning to thecarpet in thatspecial, shooting agony that

only a blow to the fruits canproduce, it was littleconsolation that he had beenright.

His Queen was quiteevidently a woman of rareandfierypassion.

The tears flowing soliberally from his eyes werenot just of pain, and awfulsurprise, and temporarydisappointment, they were,

increasingly, of deepeninghorror. It seemed that hehadmisjudged Terez' feelingsmost seriously. She hadsmiled for the crowds, butnow, in private, she gaveevery indication of despisinghimandallhestoodfor.Thefact that he had been born abastardwashardlysomethinghecouldeverchange.Forallhe knew his wedding night

was about to be spent on theroyal floor. The queen hadalready hurried across theroom, and the curtainsof thebed were tightly drawnagainsthim.

TheSeventhDay

«^»

The Easterners had comeagain last night. Crept up by

darkness, found a spot toclimb in and killed a sentry.Thenthey'dsetaladderandacrowd of 'em had sneakedinside by the time theywerefound out. The cries hadwoken the Dogman, hardlysleeping anyway, and he'dscrabbledawakeintheblack,all tangled with his blanket.Enemies inside the fortress,men running and shouting,

shadows in the dark,everything reeking of panicand chaos. Men fighting bystarlight, and by torchlight,and by no light at all, bladesswungwithhardlyanotionofwhere they were headed,boots stumbling and kickingshowers of bright sparks outofthegutteringcampfires.

They'ddriven'embackinthe end. They'd herded them

to the wall, and cut themdown in numbers, and onlythree had lived to drop theirweapons and give up.A badmistakeforthem,asitturnedout.Therewerea lotofmendead,thesesevendays.Everytimethesunwentdowntherewere more graves. No onewas in much of a mercifulmood, providing they'd beensuited that way in the first

place, and notmany had. Sowhen they'd caught thesethree,BlackDowhadtrussed'em up on the wall whereBethodandall the rest couldsee. Trussed 'em up in thehard blue dawn, first streaksof light just stabbing acrossthe black sky, and he'ddoused them allwith oil andset a spark to them. One byonehe'ddoneit.Sotheothers

could see what was comingand set to screaming beforetheirturn.

Dogmandidn'tmuchtaketo seeing men on fire. Hedidn't like hearing theirshrieks and their fatcrackling.Hedidn'tsmileatanose-full of the sick-sweetstink of their burning meat.But he didn't think of tryingtostopitneither.Therewasa

time for soft opinions, andthis weren't it. Mercy andweakness are the same thingin war, and there's no prizesfor nice behaviour. He'dlearned that from Bethod, along time ago. Maybe nowthoseEasternerswouldgiveita second thought before theycame again at night andfucked up everyone'sbreakfast.

Might help to put somesteel in the rest of theDogman's crew besides,becausemorethanafewweregetting itchy. Some lads hadtried to get away two nightsbefore.Givenup their placesandcreptoverthewallinthedarkness, tried to get downinto the valley. Bethod hadtheir heads on spears out infront of his ditch now. A

dozen battered lumps, hairblowing about in the breeze.You could hardly see theirfaces from the wall, but itseemedsomehowtheyhadanangry, upset sort of a look.Like they blamed theDogman for leading them tothis. As though he hadn'tenough to worry about withthereproachesoftheliving.

He frowned down at

Bethod's camp, the shapesofhis tents and his signs juststartingtocomeupblackoutof themist and the darkness,and he wondered what hecould do, except for standthere, and wait. All his boyswere looking to him, hopinghe'dpullsometrickofmagicto get them out of this alive.ButDogmandidn'tknowanymagic. A valley, and a wall,

andnowaysout.Nowaysouthad been the whole point oftheplan.Hewonderediftheycould stand another day. Butthen he'd wondered thatyesterdaymorning.

'What's Bethod planningfor today, dowe reckon?' hemurmuredtohimself.'What'shegotplanned?'

'A massacre?' gruntedGrim.

Dogmangavehimahardlook. 'Attack is the word Imight've picked, but Iwouldn't be surprised if weget it your way, before theday's out.' He narrowed hiseyesandstareddownintotheshadowyvalley,hopingtoseewhathe'dbeenhopingforallthe last seven long days.Some sign that the Unionwere coming. But there was

nothing.BelowBethod'swidecamp, his tents, and hisstandards, and his masses ofmen, there was nothing butthebareandemptyland,mistclingingintheshadyhollows.

Tul nudged him in theribs with a great big elbow,andmanaged tomakeagrin.'Idon'tknowabout thisplan.WaitingfortheUnion,andallthat.Soundsabitrisky,ifyou

ask me. Any chance I canchangemymindnow?'

TheDogmandidn'tlaugh.He hadn't any laughter left.'Notmuch.'

'No.'Thegiantpuffedouta weighty sigh. 'I don'tsupposethereis.'

Sevendays,sincetheShankafirstcameatthewalls.Seven

days, and it felt like sevenmonths. Logen hardly had amuscle that didn't ache fromharduse.Hewascoveredinalegion of bruises, a host ofscratches, an army of grazes,and knocks, and burns. Hehadthelongcutdownhislegbandaged, his ribs all boundup tight from getting kickedin them, apair ofgood-sizedscabs under his hair, his

shoulder stiff as wood fromwherehe'dgotbatteredwithashield, his knuckles scrapedandswollenfrompunchingatan Easterner and catchingstone instead. He was oneenormoussorespot.

The rest of the crowdwere little better off. Therewas hardly a man in thewhole fortress without somekind of an injury. Even

Crummock's daughter hadpicked up a scratch fromsomewhere. One of Shivers'boyshadlosthimselfafingerthe day before yesterday.Little one, on his left hand.He was looking at it now,wrapped up tight in dirty,bloodycloth,wincing.

'Burns, don't it?' he said,looking up at Logen,bunching up the rest of his

fingers and opening themagain.

Logenshould'vefeltsorryfor him, probably. Herememberedthepain,andthedisappointment even worse.Hardly able to believe thatyouwouldn'thavethatfingeranymore, for the whole restof your life. But he'd got nopity left for anyone beyondhimself. 'It surely does,' he

grunted.'Feelslikeit'sstillthere.''Aye.''Does that feeling go

away?''Intime.''Howmuchtime?''More than we've got,

mostlikely.'The man nodded, slow

andgrim.'Aye.'

Sevendays, and even thecold stone and wet wood ofthe fortress itself seemed tohave had enough. The newparapets were crumbled andsagging, shored up as bestthey could be, and crumbledagain. The gates werechopped to rotten firewood,daylight showing through thehacked-out gaps, boulderspiledinbehind.Afirmknock

might have brought themdown. A firm knock mighthave brought Logen down,for that matter, the way hewasfeeling.

He took a mouthful ofsour water from his flask.Theyweregettingtotherankstuff at the bottom of thebarrels.Lowonfoodtoo,andon everything else. Hope, inparticular, was in short and

dwindlingsupply.'Stillalive,'he whispered to himself, buttherewasn'tmuch triumph init. Even less than usual.Civilisation might not havebeenalltohistaste,butasoftbed, a strange place to piss,andabitofscornfromsomeskinny idiotsdidn't seemlikesuch a bad option right then.He was busy asking himselffor the thousandth time why

he came back at allwhen heheard Crummock-i-Phail'svoicebehindhim.

'Well,well,Bloody-Nine.Youlooktired,man.'

Logen frowned up. Thehillman's mad blather wasstarting to grate on him. 'It'sbeen hard work these pastdays, in case you hadn'tnoticed.'

'I have, and I've had mypart in it, haven't I, mybeauties?' His three childrenlookedateachother.

'Aye?' said the girl in atinyvoice.

Crummockfrowneddownat them. 'Don't like the waythe game's played no more,eh?Howabout you,Bloody-Nine? The moon stoppedsmiling, has it? You scared,

areyou?'Logen gave the fat

bastard a long, hard look.'Tired is what I am,Crummock. Tired o' yourfortress, your food, andmostof all I'm tired of yourfucking talk. Not everyoneloves the sound o' your fatlipsflappingasmuchasyou.Why don't you piss off andseeifyoucanfitthemoonup

yourarse.'Crummock split a grin, a

curve of yellow teethstanding out from his brownbeard. 'That's theman I love,right there.' One of his sons,theone thatcarried the spearwith him,was tugging at hisshirt. 'What the hell is it,boy?'

'Whathappensifwelose,Da?'

'If we what?' growledCrummock,andhecuffedhisson round the head with agreat hand and knocked himon his face in the dirt. 'Onyour feet! There'll be nolosinghere,boy!'

'Notwhilethemoonlovesus,' muttered his sister, butnotthatloud.

Logen watched the ladstrugglingup,holdingahand

to his bloody mouth andlookinglikehewantedtocry.He knew that feeling.Probably he should've saidsomething about treating achild that way. Maybe hewould've, on the first day,orthesecondeven.Notnow.Hewas too tired, and too sore,and too scared to care muchaboutit.

Black Dow ambled up,

somethingnot too far fromasmileacrosshisface.Theoneman in the whole campwhomight'vebeen said tobe in abetter mood than usual, andyou know you're in somesorry shit when Black Dowstartssmiling.

'Ninefingers,'hegrunted.'Dow.Run out ofmen to

burn,haveyou?'

'Reckon Bethod'll besending me some morepresently.' He noddedtowardsthewall.'Whatd'youthinkhe'llsendtoday?'

'After what we gave 'emlast night, I reckon thoseCrinnabastardsarejustaboutdone.'

'Bloodysavages. I reckontheyareatthat.'

'And there've been noShankaforafewdaysnow.'

'Four days, since he senttheFlatheadsatus.'

Logen squinted up at thesky, slowly getting lighter.'Looks like good weathertoday. Good weather forarmour,andswords,andmenwalkingshouldertoshoulder.Good weather to try andfinish us. Wouldn't be

surprisedifhesendstheCarlstoday.'

'Norme.''His best,' said Logen,

'fromway back.Wouldn't besurprised to see Whitesides,and Goring, and Pale-as-Snow,andfuckingLittleboneandalltherestcomestrollinguptothegateafterbreakfast.'

Dow snorted. 'His best?

Right crowd o' cunts, those.'And he turned his head andspatontothemud.

'You'll get no argumentfromme.'

'Thatso?Didn'tyoufightalongside 'em, all those hardandbloodyyears?'

'I did. But I can't say Ievermuchliked'em.'

'Well, if it's any

consolation, I doubt theythink too much o' you thesedays.' Dow gave him a longlook. 'When did Bethod stopsuitingyou,eh,Ninefingers?'

Logenstaredbackathim.'Hard to say. Bit by bit, Ireckon. Maybe he got to bemore of a bastard as timewenton.OrmaybeIgottobelessofone.'

'Or maybe there ain't

room on one side for twobastards as big as the pair o'you.'

'Oh, Idon'tknow.'Logengot up. 'You and me workreal sweet together.' Hestalked away from Dow,thinking about what easywork Malacus Quai, andFerroMaljinn,andevenJezaldanLutharhadbeen.

Seven days, and they

were all at each other'sthroats. All angry, all tired.Seven days. The oneconsolation was that therecouldn'tbemanymore.

'They'recoming.'

Dogman's eyes flickedsideways. Like most of thefew things Grim said, ithardly needed saying. They

could all see it as clearly asthesunrising.Bethod'sCarlswereonthemove.

They were in no hurry.They came on stiff andsteady, painted shields heldup in front, eyes to thegateway. Standards flappedover their heads. Signs theDogman recognised fromwayback.Hewonderedhowmany of those men down

there he'd fought alongside.How many of their faces hecould put a name to. Howmany he'd drunk with, eatenwith, laughed with, that he'dhave to do his best to putback in the mud. He took along breath. The battlefield'sno place for sentiment,Threetreeshadtoldhimonce,and he'd taken it right toheart.

'Alright!'He lifted up hishand as themen around himon the tower readied theirbows, 'Hold on to 'em for aminuteyet!'

The Carls stomped onthrough the churned-up mudand the broken rocks wherethe valley narrowed, past thebodies of Easterners, andShanka, left twisted wherethey lay, hacked, or crushed,

or stuckwith broken arrows.They didn't falter, or lose astep, the wall of shieldsshifted as they came, butdidn'tbreak.Nottheslightestgap.

'They march tight,'mutteredTul.

'Aye. Too tight, thebastards.'

They were getting close,

now. Close enough thatDogman had to try somearrows. 'Alright, boys! Aimhigh and let 'em drop!' Thefirst flightwent hissing fromthe tower, arced up high andstarted to fall on that tightcolumn. They shifted theirshields to meet them andarrows thudded into paintedwood, spun off helmets andglanced off mail. A couple

found marks, a shriek wentup. Holes showed, here orthere,buttherestjuststeppedonover, trudgingup towardsthewall.

Dogman frowned at thebarrelswhere theshaftswerekept. Less than quarter full,now, and most of those dugout from dead men. 'Carefulnow!Pickyourmarks,lads!'

'Uh,' said Grim, pointing

down below. A good-sizedpack o' men were scurryingoutfromtheditch,dressedinstiff leatherandsteelcapped.Theyformedupinafewneatrows,kneelingdown,tendingto their weapons. Flatbows,liketheUnionused.

'Get down!' shoutedDogman.

Those nasty little bowsrattled and spat.Most of the

boys on the tower were wellbehind their parapet by then,but one optimist who'd beenleaningoutgotaboltthroughhis mouth, swayed andtoppled, silent, off the tower.Anothertookoneinhischest,breathingwith awheeze likewindthroughasplitpine.

'Alright! Give 'emsomething back!' They allcame up at once and sent

down a volley, stringshumming, peppering thosebastardswithplungingshafts.Their bows might not havehad the same spit to 'em,butwith the height the arrowsstill came hard, andBethod'sarchers had nothing to hidebehind.More than a few fellback or started crawlingaway, screaming andsquealing,buttherankbehind

pushed through, slow andsteady,kneltdownandaimedtheirflatbows.

Another flight of boltscamehissingup.Menduckedand threw themselves down.One zipped right past theDogman's head and clickedofftherockfacebehind.Pureluckhedidn'tgetpinnedwithit. A couple of the otherswereless lucky.Oneladwas

lying on his back, a pair ofbolts stuck in his chest,peering down at 'em andwhispering, 'shit', to himself,overandover.

'Bastards!''Let'emhaveitback!'Shafts and bolts started

flapping up both ways, menshouting and taking aim, allanger and gritted teeth.

'Steady!' shouted Dogman,'steady!' but no one hardlyheard him. With the extrapoke from theheightand thecover they had from thewalls, didn't take long forDogman's boys to get theupper hand. Bethod's archersstarted scramblingback, thena couple dropped theirflatbows andmade a run forit, one getting a shaft right

through his back. The reststarted tobreak for theditch,leaving their woundedcrawlinginthemud.

'Uh,' said Grim again.While they'd been busytrading shafts the Carls hadmade it right to the gate,shields up over their headsagainst the rocks and arrowsthe hillmen were chuckingdown. They'd got the ditch

filled inadayor twobefore,and now the column openedup in the middle and thosemailed men moved like theywere passing something tothe front. Dogman caught aglimpse of it. A long, thintreetrunk,cutdowntouseasa ram, branches left on shortso men could give it a firmswing. Dogman heard thefirst tearing crash of it

workingat theirsorryexcuseforagate.

'Shit,'hemuttered.Knots of Thralls were

charging forward now, light-armed and light-armoured,carryingladdersbetween'em,countingonspeed tomake itto the walls. Plenty fell,pricked with spear or arrow,knockedwithrocks.Someoftheir ladders were pushed

back,buttheywerequickandfull of bones, and stuck totheir task. Soon therewere acoupleofgroupsonthewallswhile more pressed up theladders behind, fighting withCrummock's people andgetting the better by purefreshness and weight ofnumbers.

Now there was a bigcrack and the gate went

down.Dogmansawthattree-trunkswingonelasttimeandcave one door right in. TheCarlsstruggledwiththeotherand heaved it open, a coupleof stones bouncing from theshields and spinning away.Thefrontfewstartedpressingforwardsthroughthegate.

'Shit,'saidGrim.'They're through,'

breathedtheDogman,andhe

watched Bethod's Carls pushon into that narrow gap in amailed tide, trampling theshattered gates under theirheavy boots, dragging therocks behind out of theway,their bright-painted shieldsup, their bright-polishedweaponsready.Toeithersidethe Thralls swarmed up theirladders and onto the wall,pressingCrummock'shillmen

back down the walkways.Like a high river bursting adam, Bethod's host flowedinto the broken fortress, firstin a trickle, and soon in aflood.

'I'm going down!' snarledTul, dragging his great longswordoutofitssheath.

Dogman thought abouttryingtostophim,butthenhejust nodded, tired, and

watched the Thunderheadcharge off down the steps, afew others following. Therewas no point getting in theirway. Seemed like itwas fastreachingthattime.

Time for each man tochoosewherehe'ddie.

Logen saw them comethrough the gates, up the

ramp and into the fortress.Time seemed to move slow.He saw each design on eachshieldpickedoutsharpinthemorning sun—black tree, redbridge, twowolvesongreen,threehorsesonyellow.Metalglinted and flashed—shield'srim,mail'sring,spear'spoint,sword's edge.On they came,yellingtheirbattlecries,highandthin,thewaythey'ddone

foryears.Thebreathcrawledin and out of Logen's nose.The Thralls and the hillmenfoughtonthewallsasiftheywereunderwater,theirsoundsdull and muffled. His palmssweated, and tickled, anditched as he watched theCarls break in. Hardlyseemed as if it could be truethat he had to charge intothose bastards and kill as

many as he could. What adamnfoolnotion.

He felt that powerfulneed, as he always had attimes like that, to turn andrun. All around he felt thefear of the others, theiruncertain shuffling, theiredgingbackwards.Asensibleenough instinct, except therewas nowhere now to run to.Nowhere except forwards,

into the teeth of the enemy,and hope to drive them outbefore they could get afoothold. There was nothingto think about. It was theironlychance.

So Logen lifted theMaker's sword high, and hegave a meaningless scream,and he started running. Heheard the shouts aroundhim,felt the men moving with

him, the jostling and rattlingofweapons.Theground,andthewall,andtheCarlsheranat jolted and wobbled. Hisboots pounded on the earth,his own quick breath hissedandrushedwiththewind.

HesawtheCarlshurryingtoset their shields, to formawall, to make ready theirspearsandtheirweapons,butthey were in a mess after

coming through that narrowgate, flustered by thescreaming mass of mencharging down on them.Thewar-criesdiedintheirthroatsand their faces sagged fromtriumphtoshock.Acoupleatthe edges started to havedoubts,andtheyfaltered,andshuffled back, and thenLogen and the rest were onthem.

He managed to twistaround awobbling spear andland a good hard chop on ashieldwithalltheforceofhischarge, knock his mansprawling in themud.Logenhackedathislegashetriedtoget up and the blade cutthrough mail and left a longgash in flesh, brought himshrieking down again.Logenswung at another Carl, felt

the Maker's sword squealagainst the metal rim of ashield and slide into flesh.Aman gurgled, vomited blooddown the front of his mailcoat.

Logen saw an axe thudintoahelmetandleaveadentthe size of a fist in it. Hereeled out of the way of aspearthrustanditstuckintheribs of a man beside him. A

sword hacked into a shieldand sent splinters flying intoLogen'seyes.Heblinked,anddodged, slid in the muck,choppedatanarmasittoreathis coat and felt it break,flapping in its mail sleeve.Eyes rolled in a bloody face.Somethingshovedhimintheback and nearly pushed himontoasword.

Therewashardlyspaceto

swing, then there was nospace at all. Men crushed infrom behind, crushed inthroughthegate,addingtheirstraining, mindless weight tothepressinthecentre.Logenwas squashed in tight,shoulder to shoulder. Mengasped and grunted, dug andelbowed at each other,stabbed with knives andgouged at faces with their

fingers. He thought he sawLittlebone in the press, teethbared in a snarl, long greyhairstragglingoutfromundera helmet set with whirls ofgold,spatteredwithstreaksofred, shouting himself hoarse.Logen tried to press towardshimbut the blind currents ofbattlesnatchedhimawayandcarriedthemfarapart.

He stabbed at someone

underashieldrim,wincedashefeltsomethingdigintohiship. A long, slow, burning,getting worse andworse. Hegrowledas theblade cut, notswung, or thrust, just heldthere while he was squashedup against it. He thrashedwith his elbows, with hishead,managed to twist awayfrom the pain, felt thewetness of blood down his

leg. He found himself withroom, got his sword-handfree, hacked at a shield,chopped a head open on thebackswingthenfoundhimselfshovedupagainst it,his facepressedintowarmbrains.

He saw a shield jerk upout of the corner of his eye.The edge caught him in thethroat, under the chin,snapped his head back and

filled his skull with blindinglight. Before he knew it hewas rolling, coughing,slithering in the filth downamongtheboots.

He dragged himselfnowhere, clutching at dirt,spitting blood, bootssquelching and straining inthe mud all around him.Crawling through a dark,terrifying, shifting forest of

legs, the screamsofpainandrage filtering down fromabove with the flickeringlight. Feet kicked at him,stomped on him, battered ateverypartofhim.Hetriedtostruggleupandaboot in themouth sent him limp again.He rolled over, gasping, sawa bearded Carl in the samestate,impossibletosaywhichsidehewason,tryingtopush

himself up out of the mud.Theireyesmet,foramoment,then a glinting spear bladeshot down from above andstabbed theCarl in the back,once, twice, three times. Hewent limp, blood gurglingdown through his beard.Therewerebodiesallaround,ontheirfacesandtheirsides,lyinginamongstthedroppedand broken gear, kicked and

knocked around likechildren'sdolls,someofthemstill twitching, clutching,grunting.

Logen squawked as abootsquelcheddownhardonhishand,crushinghisfingersinto themuck.He fumbled aknifefromhisbeltandstartedslashing weakly at the legaboveit,bloodyteethgritted.Somethingcrackedhiminthe

topof thehead and sent himsprawlingonhisfaceagain.

The world was a noisyblur, apainful smear, amassof feet and anger. He didn'tknow which way he wasfacing,whichwaywasupordown. His mouth tasted ofmetal, thirsty. There wasblood inhiseyes,mud inhiseyes,hisheadwaspounding,hewantedtobesick.

BacktotheNorth,andgetsome vengeance. What thefuckhadhebeenthinking?

Someone screamed, stuckwith a flatbow bolt, but theDogmanhadnotimetoworryabouthim.

Whitesides' Thralls wereup on the wall under thetower, and a few had got

aroundandontothestairway.They were charging up itnow,orascloseastheycouldget to a charge on thosenarrow steps. Dogmandroppedhisbowandfumbledhisswordoutfromitssheath,gotaknifereadyin theotherhand. A few of the otherstook up spears, gatheredround the head of thestairway as the Thralls came

up.Dogmanswallowed.He'dnever been much for fightslikethis,toetotoe,nomore'nthe length of an axe fromyour enemies. He'd ratherhave kept things to a politedistance, but that didn't seemtobewhatthesebastardshadinmind.

An awkward kind of afight started up at the top ofthe steps, defenders poking

with spears, trying to shovethe Thralls off, them pokingback, shoving with shields,tryingtogetafootholdontheplatformat the top, everyonetaking care in case they tookthe long drop right back tothemud.

Onechargedthroughwitha spear, screaming at the topof his lungs, and Grim shothim in the face, cool as you

like,nomore'nastrideortwodistant.Hestaggeredasteportwo, bent right overwith theflights of the arrows stickingout his mouth and the pointoutthebackofhisneck,thenDogman took the top of hishead off with his sword andsenthiscorpsesprawling.

AbigThrallwithwildredhair leaped up the steps,swinging a big axe, roaring

likeamadman.Hegotrounda spear and felled an archerwith a blow that spatteredblood across the rock face,charged on through, folkscatteringouto'theway.

Dogman dithered, tryingto look like he was an idiot,thenwhentheaxecamedownhe dodged left and the blademissedhimbyawhisker.Thered-haired Thrall stumbled,

tired from getting over thewall and up all them steps,most likely. A long way toclimb, especially withnothingbutyourdeathat theend of it. Dogman kickedhard at the side of his kneeandhislegbuckled,heyelledas he lurched towards theedge of the stairs. Dogmanchopped at him with hissword, caught him a slash

across theback, hard enoughtosendhimovertheedge.Hedroppedhisaxe,screamedashetumbledthroughtheemptyair.

Dogman felt somethingmove, turned just in time tosee another Thrall coming athimfromtheside.Hetwistedround and knocked the firstsword-cutclear,gaspedashefelt thesecondthudcoldinto

his arm, heard his swordclatter out of his limp hand.Hejerkedawayfromanotherswing,trippedandwentdownonhisback.TheThrallcameathim,liftinguphisswordtofinish the job, but before hegot more'n a stride Grimloomed up quick from theside, caught hold of hissword-armandhelditpinned.Dogmanscrambledup,taking

ahardgrip onhis knifewithhis good hand, and stabbedthe Thrall right in his chest.They stayed there, the threeof 'em, tangled up tighttogether, still in themidst ofall that madness, for as longas it took for theman todie.Then Dogman pulled hisknife free and Grim let himfall.

They'd got the best of it

up on the tower, at least fornow. There was just oneThrall left on his feet, andwhile theDogmanwatchedacoupleofhisladsherdedhimup to the parapet and pokedhim off with spears. Therewere corpses scattered allabout the place. A couple ofdozen Thralls, maybe halfthat many of the Dogman'sboys. One of 'em was

proppedagainstthecliffface,chestheavingashebreathed,facepastypale,bloodyhandsclutchedtohisslashedguts.

Dogman's hand wouldn'twork right, the fingersdangled useless. He tuggedhisshirtsleeveup,sawalonggash oozing from his elbowalmost all the way to hiswrist. His guts gave a heaveand he coughed a bit of

burning puke up and spat itout.Woundsonother peopleyoucangetusedto.Cutsoutof your own flesh alwayshaveahorrorto'em.

Down below, inside thewall,thefightwasjoinedandnothing but a boiling, tight-pressedmass.Dogman couldhardly tell which men wereon which side. He stoodfrozen,bloodyknifeclutched

in one bloody hand. Therewere no answers now, noplans. It was every man forhimself. If they lived out thedayitwouldbebyluckalone,and he was starting to doubthehadthatmuchluckleft.Hefelt someone tugging at hissleeve.Grim.Hefollowedhispointedfingerwithhiseyes.

Beyond Bethod's camp,down in the valley, a great

cloudofdustwascomingup,a brown haze. Underneath,glittering in themorningsun,the armour of horsemen.Hishand clamped tight roundGrim's wrist, hope suddenlyflickering alive again.'FuckingUnion!'hebreathed,hardlydaringtobelieveit.

West squinted through hiseye-glass, lowered it and

peeredupthevalley,squintedthrough it again. 'You'resure?'

'Yes,sir.'Jalenhorm'sbig,honestfacewasstreakedwiththe dirt of eight days' hardriding. 'And it looks as ifthey're still holding out, justbarely.'

'General Poulder!'snappedWest.

'My Lord Marshal?'murmured Poulder with hisnewly acquired veneer ofsycophancy.

'Are the cavalry ready tocharge?'

The General blinked.'They are not properlydeployed, have been ridinghard these past days, andwouldbecharginguphilloverbrokengroundandatastrong

and determined enemy.Theywill do as you order, ofcourse, Lord Marshal, but itmight be prudent to wait forourinfantryto—'

'Prudence is a luxury.'Westfrowneduptowardsthatinnocuous space between thetwo fells. Attack at once,while the Dogman and hisNorthmenstillheldout?Theymightenjoy theadvantageof

surprise, and crush Bethodbetweenthem,butthecavalrywould be charging uphill,menandmountsdisorganisedand fatigued from hardmarching. Or wait for theinfantry to arrive, still somehours behind, and mount awell-planned assault? But bythen would the Dogman andhis friends have beenslaughtered to a man, their

fortress taken and Bethodwell prepared to meet anattackfromonesideonly?

West chewed at his lip,trying to ignore the fact thatthousandsofliveshunguponhis decision. To attack nowwas the greater risk, butmight offer the greaterrewards. A chance to finishthiswarwithinabloodyhour.Theymightneveragaincatch

theKingoftheNorthmenoffguard.Whatwas it thatBurrhad said to him, the nightbefore he died? One cannotbe a great leader without acertain…ruthlessness.

'Prepare the charge, anddeployourinfantryacrossthemouth of the valley as soonas they arrive. We mustpreventBethodandanyofhisforces from escaping. If

sacrifices are to be made, Iintend that they bemeaningful.' Poulder lookedanythingbutconvinced. 'Willyou force me to agree withGeneralKroy'sassessmentofyour fighting qualities,General Poulder? Or do youintend toprove the twoofuswrong?'

The General snapped toattention, his moustaches

vibratingwithneweagerness.'Respectfully, sir, to proveyou wrong! I will order thechargeimmediately!'

Hegavehisblackchargerthespursand flewoffup thevalley, towards the placewherethedustycavalryweremassing, pursued by severalmembers of his staff. Westshiftedinhissaddle,chewingworriedlyathis lip.Hishead

was beginning to hurt again.A charge, uphill, against adeterminedenemy.

ColonelGloktawould nodoubt have grinned at theprospect of such a deadlygamble.PrinceLadislawouldhave approved of suchcavalier carelessness withother men's lives. LordSmund would have slappedbacks, and talkedofvimand

vigour,andcalledforwine.And only look what

becameofthosethreeheroes.

Logen heard a great roar,faint, and far away. Lightcame at his half-closed eyes,as though the fight wasopened up wide. Shadowsflickered. A great bootsquelchedinthefilthinfront

ofhis face.Voicesbellowed,far above. He felt himselfgrabbedby theshirt,draggedthrough the mud, feet andlegsthrashingallaroundhim.He saw the sky, painfulbright, blinked and dribbledat it. He lay still, limp as arag.

'Logen! You alright?Whereyouhurt?'

'I—' he croaked, then

startedcoughing.'D'you know me?'

SomethingslappedatLogen'sface, slapped some sluggishthought into his head. Ashaggy shape loomed overhim, dark against the brightsky.Logensquintedatit.TulDuruThunderhead,unlesshewasmuchmistaken.Whatthehell was he doing here?Thinking was painful. The

more Logen thought, themorepainhewasin.Hisjawwasonfire,feelingtwicethesize it usually did.His everybreath was a shuddering,slaveringgasp.

Above him the bigman'smouthmoved,and thewordsboomed and rang againstLogen's ears, but they werenothing but noise. His legprickled unpleasantly, far

away, his own heartbeatleaped and jerked andpounded at his head. Heheard sounds, clashing andrattling, coming at him fromall sides, and the soundsthemselves hurt him, madehis jaw burn all the worse,unbearable.

'Get…'Theairraspedandclicked, but no sound wouldcome. Itwasn'thisvoiceany

longer. He reached out, withhis last strength, and he puthis palm against Tul's chest,and he tried to push himaway, but the big man onlycaughthishandandpresseditwithhisown.

'It's alright,' he growled.'I'vegotyou.'

'Aye,' whispered Logen,and the smile spread outacross his bloodymouth. He

grippedthatgreathandwithasudden, terrible strength, andwith his other fist he foundthe handle of a knife, tuckeddownwarm against his skin.The good blade darted out,swiftas thesnakeandjustasdeadly, and sank into thebigman's thick neck to the hilt.He looked surprised, as thehot blood poured from hisopen throat,drooledfromhis

openmouth,soakedhisheavybeard,dribbledfromhisnoseand down his chest, but heshouldn'thave.

TotouchtheBloody-Ninewastotouchdeath,anddeathhasno favourites, andmakesnoexceptions.

TheBloody-Nineroseup,shoving the great corpseaway from him, and his redfist closed tight around the

giant's sword, a heavy lengthofstar-brightmetal,darkandbeautiful,a righteous tool fortheworkthatawaitedhim.Somuchwork.

Butgoodworkisthebestof blessings. The Bloody-Nine opened his mouth, andshrieked out all hisbottomless love and hisendlesshateinonelongwail.The ground rushed

underneath him, and theheaving, writhing, beautifulbattle reached out and tookhim in its soft embrace, andhewashome.

The faces of the deadshifted, blurred around him,roaring their curses andbellowing their anger. Buttheir hate of him only madehimstronger.Thelongswordflungmenoutofhispathand

left themtwistedandbroken,hackedanddrooling,howlingwith happiness. Who foughtwhowasnoneofhisconcern.The livingwere on one side,andhewason theother,andhecarvedaredandrighteouswaythroughtheirranks.

Anaxeflashedinthesun,abrightcurvelikethewaningmoon, and the Bloody-Nineslid below it, kicked a man

away with a heavy boot. Helifted up a shield, but thegreat sword split the paintedtree,andthewoodbeneathit,andthearmbeneaththat,andtore open themail behind asthough it was nothing but acobweb, and split his bellylikeasackofangrysnakes.

Aboy-childcowered,andslithered away on his back,clutchingatagreatshieldand

anaxetoobigforhimtolift.The Bloody-Nine laughed athis fear, teeth bared brightand smiling. A tiny voiceseemed to whisper forrestraint,buttheBloody-Ninehardly heard it. His swordhard-swung split big shieldand small body together andsprayed blood across the dirtandthestoneandthestrickenfacesofthemenwatching.

'Good,' he said, and heshowedhis bloody smile.Hewas the Great Leveller.Manor woman, young or old, allweredealtwithexactlyalike.Thatwasthebrutalbeautyofit, the awful symmetry of it,theperfectjusticeofit.Therecould be no escape and noexcuses. He came forward,tallerthanthemountains,andthe men shuffled, and

muttered,andspreadoutfromhim. A circle of shields, ofpainted designs, of floweringtrees,andripplingwater,andsnarlingfaces.

Theirwordstickledathisears.

'It'shim.''Ninefingers.''TheBloody-Nine!'Acircleoffear,withhim

at the centre, and they werewisetofear.

Theirdeathswerewrittenin the shapes of sweet bloodon the bitter ground. Theirdeathswerewhispered in thebuzzing of the flies on thecorpses beyond the wall.Theirdeathswerestampedontheir faces, carried on thewind,heldinthecrookedlinebetween the mountains and

thesky.Deadmen,all.'Who's next to the mud?'

hewhispered.A bold Carl stepped

forward, a shield on his armwithacoiledserpentuponit.Before he could even lift hisspear the Bloody-Nine'ssword had made a greatcircle, above the top of hisshield and below the bottomof his helmet. The point of

the blade stole the jawbonefrom his head, cleaved intotheshoulderofthenextman,ate deep into his chest anddrove him into the earth,blood flying from his silentmouth. Another man loomedupand theswordfellonhimlikeafallingstar,crushedhishelmet and the skull beneathit down to his mouth. Thebodydroppedonitsbackand

dancedamerryjiginthedirt.'Dance!' laughed the

Bloody-Nine, and the swordreeled around him. He filledtheairwithblood,andbrokenweapons, and the parts ofmen, and these good thingswrote secret letters, anddescribedsacredpatterns thatonly he could see andunderstand. Blades prickedand nicked and dug at him

but they were nothing. Herepaid each mark upon hisburning skin one-hundredfold, and the Bloody-Ninelaughed, and the wind, andthe fire, and the faces on theshieldslaughedwithhim,andcouldnotstop.

He was the storm in theHigh Places, his voice asterrible as the thunder, hisarm as quick, as deadly, as

pitiless as the lightning. Herammed the sword through aman'sguts,rippeditbackandsmashedaman'smouthapartwith the pommel, snatchedhis spear away with his freehandandflungit throughtheneck of a third, split aCarl'sside yawning open as hepassed. He reeled, spun,rolled,drunkendizzy,spittingfireandlaughter.Heforgeda

new circle about him. Acircle as wide as the giant'ssword.A circle inwhich theworldbelongedtohim.

His enemies lurkedbeyonditslimitnow,shuffledback from it, full of fear.Theyknewhim,hecouldseeit in their faces. They hadheard whispers of his work,andnowhehadgiventhemabloodylesson,andtheyknew

the truth of it, and he smiledto see them enlightened.Theforemostof themhelduphisopen hand, bent forward andlaid his axe down on theground.

'You are forgiven,'whispered the Bloody-Nine,and lethisownswordclatterto the dirt. Then he dartedforward and seized the manby his throat, lifting him up

into the air with both hishands. He thrashed andkicked and wrestled, but theBloody-Nine's red grip wasthe swelling ice that burststhe very bones of the earthapart.

'You are forgiven!' Hishandsweremadeofiron,andhis thumbs sunk deeper anddeeper into the man's neckuntil blood welled up from

under them, andhe lifted thekicking corpse out to arm'slength and held it above himuntil it was still. He flung itaway, and it fell upon themud and flopped over andover inamanner thatgreatlypleasedhim.

'Forgiven…'Hewalkedtothe bright archway through acringing crowd, shying awaylike sheep from the wolf,

leavingamuddypaththroughtheirmidst, strewnwith theirfallen shields and weapons.Beyond, in the sun, bright-armoured horsemen movedacross the dusty valley, theirswordstwinklingastheyroseand fell, herding runningfigures this way and that,riding between the highstandards, rippling gently inthe wind. He stood in that

ragged gateway, with thesplintered doors under hisboots, and the corpses of hisfriends and of his enemiesscattered about him, and heheard the sounds of mencheeringvictory.

And Logen closed hiseyes,andbreathed.

TooManyMasters

«^»

In spite of the hot summerday outside, the banking hall

was a cool, dim, shadowyplace. A place full ofwhispers, and quiet echoes,built of sharp, dark marblelike a new tomb. Such thinshafts of sunlight as brokethrough the narrow windowswere full of wriggling dustmotes.Therewasnosmelltospeakof.Exceptthestenchofdishonesty,which even I findalmost overpowering. The

surroundingsmay be cleanerthan theHouseofQuestions,but I suspect there is moretruth told among thecriminals.

There were no piles ofshining gold ingots ondisplay. There was not somuch as a single coin inevidence.Onlypens,andink,and heaps of dull paper.Valint and Balk's employees

were not swaddled infabulous robes such asMagister Kault of theMercers had worn. They didnot sport flashing jewels asMagisterEideroftheSpicershad. They were small, grey-dressed men with seriousexpressions. The onlyflashing was from the oddpairofstudiouseye-glasses.

Sothisiswhattruewealth

looks like. This is how truepower appears. The austeretempleofthegoldengoddess.He watched the clerksworkingattheirneatstacksofdocuments,attheirneatdesksarranged in neat rows.Theretheacolytes,inductedintothelowest mysteries of thechurch.His eyes flickered tothosewaiting.Merchantsandmoneylenders, shopkeepers

and shysters, traders andtricksters in long queues, orwaiting nervously on hardchairs around the hardwalls.Fine clothes, perhaps, butanxiousmanners.The fearfulcongregation,readytocowershouldthedeityofcommerceshowhervengefulstreak.

ButIamnothercreature.Glokta shouldered his waypastthelongestqueue,thetip

of his cane squealing loudagainst the tiles, snarling, 'Iam crippled!' if one of themerchants dared to look hisway.

The clerk blinked at himwhenhe reached the frontoftheline.'HowmayI—'

'Mauthis,'barkedGlokta.'AndwhoshallIsayis—''The cripple.' Convey me

tothehighpriest,thatImightcleansemycrimesinbankingnotes.

'Icannotsimply—''You are expected!'

Another clerk, a few rowsback, had stood up from hisdesk.'Pleasecomewithme.'

Glokta gave the unhappyqueue a toothless leer as helimpedoutbetweenthedesks

toward a door in the far,panelled wall, but his smiledid not last. Beyond it, a setof high steps rose up, lightfilteringdownfromanarrowwindowatthetop.

What is it about power,that it has to be higher upthan everyone else? Can aman not be powerful on theground floor?He cursed andstruggled up after his

impatientguide,thendraggedhis useless leg down a longhallway with many highdoors on either side. Theclerk leaned forward andhumbly knocked at one,waited for a muffled 'Yes?'andopenedit.

Mauthis sat behind amonumental desk watchingGlokta hobble over thethreshold. His face could

havebeencarved fromwoodfor all the warmth orwelcomeitdisplayed.On theexpanse of blood-colouredleather before him pens, andink, and neat piles of paperswere arranged with all themercilessprecisionofrecruitsonaparadeground.

'The visitor you wereexpecting, sir.' The clerkhastenedforwardwithasheaf

of documents. 'And there arealsotheseforyourattention.'

Mauthis turned hisemotionless eyes to them.'Yes…yes…yes…yes…allthese toTalins…'Glokta didnotwaittobeasked.AndI'vebeen in pain for far too longtopretendnottobe.He tooka lurching step and saggedinto the nearest chair, stiffleather creaking

uncomfortably under hisachingarse.Butitwillserve.

The papers crackled asMauthisleafedthroughthem,hispenscratchinghisnameatthe bottom of each one. Hepaused at the last. 'And no.This must be called in atonce.' He reached forwardand tookholdof a stamp, itswooden handle polished bylong use, and rocked it

carefullyinitstrayofredink.It thumped down against thepaper with a disturbingfinality. And is somemerchant's life squashed outunder that stamp, do wesuppose? Is that ruin anddespair, so carelesslyadministered? Is that wivesand children, out upon thestreet? There is no bloodhere, there are no screams,

andyetmenaredestroyedascompletelyas theyare in theHouseofQuestions,andwithafractionoftheeffort.

Glokta'seyesfollowedtheclerk as he hurried out withthe documents. Or is itmerely a receipt for ten bits,refused? Who can say? Thedoor was pulled softly andprecisely shut with thegentlestofsmoothclicks.

Mauthis paused only toalign his pen precisely withtheedgeofhisdesk, thenhelooked up at Glokta. 'I amtruly grateful that you haveansweredpromptly.'

Glokta snorted. 'The toneof your note did not seem toallow for delay.' He wincedas he lifted his aching legwith both hands and heavedhis dirty boot up onto the

chairbesidehim. 'Ihopeyouwill return the favour andcomepromptlytothepoint.Iam extremely busy.' I haveMagitodestroy,andKingstobring down, and, if I cannotdooneor theother, Ihaveapressingappointmenttohavemythroatcutandbetossedinthesea.

Mauthis' face did not somuchas flicker. 'Onceagain,

I find that my superiors arenot best pleased with thedirection of yourinvestigations.'

Isthatso?'Yoursuperiorsare people of deep pocketsand shallow patience. Whatnow offends their delicatesensibilities?'

'Your investigation intothe lineage of our newKing,hisAugustMajesty Jezal the

First.' Glokta felt his eyetwitch, and he pressed hishand against it with a soursucking of his gums. 'Inparticular your enquiries intothe person of Carmee danRoth, the circumstances ofher untimelydemise, and thecloseness of her friendshipwith our previous King,Guslav the Fifth. Do I comeclose enough to thepoint for

yourtaste?'A little closer than I

would like, in fact. 'Thoseenquiries have scarcely evenbegun.Ifinditsurprisingthatyour superiors are so verywell informed. Do theyacquire their informationfromacrystalball,oramagicmirror?'Or from someone atthe House of Questions wholikes to talk? Or from

someone closer to me eventhanthat,perhaps?

Mauthis sighed, or atleast, he allowed some air toissuefromhisface.'Itoldyouto assume that they knoweverything.Youwilldiscoverit is no exaggeration,particularly if you choose totryanddeceivethem.Iwouldadvise you very stronglyagainstthatcourseofaction.'

'Believe me when I say,'mutteredGloktathroughtightlips, 'that I have no interestwhatsoever in the King'sparentage, but his Eminencehas demanded it, and keenlyawaits a report of myprogress. What am I to tellhim?'

Mauthis stared back witha face full of sympathy. Asmuch sympathy as one stone

might have for another. 'Myemployers do not care whatyou tell him, provided thatyouobeythem.Iseethatyoufind yourself in a difficultposition,butspeakingplainly,Superior, I do not see achoiceforyou.Isupposeyoucould go to theArch Lector,andlaybeforehimthewholehistory of our involvement.The gift you took from my

employers, the conditionsunderwhichitwasgiven,theconsideration you havealready extended to us.PerhapshisEminenceismoreforgiving of divided loyaltiesthanheappearstobe.'

'Huh,' snortedGlokta. If Idid not know better, I mighthave almost taken that for ajoke. His Eminence is onlyslightly less forgiving than a

scorpion, and we both knowit.

'Or you could honouryour commitment to myemployers, and do as theydemand.'

'They asked for favours,when I signed the damnreceipt. Now they makedemands? Where does itend?'

'Thatisnotformetosay,Superior. Or for you to ask.'Mauthis' eyes flickeredtowards the door. He leanedacrosshisdeskandspokesoftand low. 'But if my ownexperience is anything to goby… it will not end. Myemployers have paid. Andthey always get what theyhavepaidfor.Always.'

Glokta swallowed. It

wouldseemthat,inthiscase,they have paid formy abjectobedience. It would notnormally be a difficulty, ofcourse, I am every bit asabjectas thenextman, ifnotmoreso.But theArchLectordemandsthesame.Twowell-informed and mercilessmasters in direct oppositionbegins too late to seem likeonetoomany.Twotoomany,

some might say. But asMauthis so kindly explains, Ihave no choice. He slid hisboot off the chair, leaving along streak of dirt across theleather,andshiftedhisweightpainfullyashebeganthelongprocessofgettingup.'Isthereanything else, or do youremployersmerelywishmetodefy the most powerful manintheUnion?'

'They wish you also towatchhim.'

Glokta froze. 'They wishmetowhat?'

'There has been a greatdeal of change of late,Superior.Changemeansnewopportunities, but too muchchange is bad for business.My employers feel a periodof stability is in everyone'sbest interests. They are

satisfied with the situation.'Mauthis clenched his palehands together on the redleather. 'They are concernedthat some figures within thegovernment may not besatisfied.That theymayseekfurther change. That theirrash actions might lead tochaos. His Eminenceconcerns them especially.They wish to know what he

does. What he plans. Theywish, in particular, to knowwhat he is doing in theUniversity.'

Glokta gave a splutter ofdisbelieving laughter. 'Is thatall?'

The ironywaswasted onMauthis. 'For now. It mightbe best if you were to leaveby the back entrance. Myemployers will expect news

withintheweek.'Glokta grimaced as he

struggled down the narrowstaircase at the back of thebuilding, sideways on like acrab, the sweat standing outfrom his forehead, and notjust from the effort. Howcould theyknow?First that Iwas looking into PrinceRaynault's death, against theArchLectorsorders,andnow

that I am looking into ourMajesty'smother,ontheArchLector's behalf Assume theyknow everything, of course,but no one knows anythingwithoutbeingtold.

Who…told?Who asked the questions,

about the Prince and abouttheKing?Whose first loyaltyistomoney?Whohasalreadygivenmeuponce to savehis

skin? Glokta paused for amoment, in themiddleof thesteps,andfrowned.Oh,dear,dear. Is it every man forhimself, now? Has it alwaysbeen?

The pain shooting up hiswasted leg was the onlyreply.

SweetVictory

«^»

West sat, arms crossed uponhis saddle-bow, staringnumbly up the dusty valley.'We won,' said Pike, in a

voice without emotion. Justthe same voice in which hemighthavesaid,'Welost.'

A couple of tatteredstandards still stood, hanginglifeless. Bethod's own greatbanner had been torn downand trampled beneath horses'hooves, and now itsthreadbareframestuckupatatwisted angle, above thesettling fog of dust, like

clean-picked bones.A fittingsymbol for thesuddenfalloftheKingoftheNorthmen.

Poulder reined in hishorse beside West, smilingprimly at the carnage like aschoolmaster at an orderlyclassroom.

'How did we fare,General?'

'Casualtiesappeartohave

been heavy, sir, especially inour front ranks, but theenemywere largely taken bysurprise. Most of their besttroops were alreadycommitted to the attack onthefortress.Onceourcavalrygotthemontherun,wedrovethemallthewaytothewalls!Picked their camp clean.'Poulder wrinkled his nose,moustaches trembling with

distaste. 'Several hundred ofthosedevilishShankaweputto the sword, and a muchgreater number we drove offinto the hills to the north,fromwhence,Idonotdoubt,theywill be greatly reluctantto return. We wrought aslaughter among theNorthmen to satisfy KingCasamirhimself,and theresthave laid down their arms.

We guess at five thousandprisoners, sir. Bethod's armyhas been quite crushed.Crushed!' He gave a girlishchuckle. 'No one could denythat you have well and trulyavenged the death of CrownPrince Ladisla today, LordMarshal!'

West swallowed. 'Ofcourse. Well and trulyavenged.'

'A master-stroke, to useour Northmen as a decoy. Abold and a decisivemanoeuvre. I am, and willalways be, honoured to haveplayed my small part! Afamous day for Union arms!Marshal Burr would havebeenproudtoseeit!'

Westhadneverinhislifeexpected to receive praisefrom General Poulder, but

now the great moment hadcome he found that he couldtakenopleasureinit.Hehadperformednoactsofbravery.He had taken no risks withhis own life. He had donenothing but say charge. Hefelt saddle-sore and bone-weary, his jaw ached frombeing constantly clenchedwith worry. Even speakingseemed an effort. 'Is Bethod

among the dead, or thecaptured?'

'As to specific prisoners,sir,Icouldnotsay.Itmaybethat our Northern allies havehim.' Poulder gave vent to ajagged chuckle. 'In whichcase I doubt he'll be with usmuch longer, eh, Marshal?Eh, Sergeant Pike?' Hegrinnedashedrewhisfingersharply across his belly and

clicked his tongue. 'Thebloody cross for him, Ishouldn't wonder! Isn't thatwhat they do, these savages?Thebloodycross,isn'tit?'

West did not see thefunny side. 'Ensure that ourprisoners are given food andwater, and such assistancewiththeirwoundedasweareabletoprovide.Weshouldbegraciousinvictory.'Itseemed

like the sort of thing that aleader should say, after abattle.

'Quite so, my LordMarshal.'AndPouldergaveasmart salute, the very modelofanobedientunderling,thenreined his mount sidewaysandspurredaway.

West slid down from hisown horse, gathered himselffor a moment, and began to

trudge on foot up the valley.Pike came after him, sworddrawn.

'Can't be too careful, sir,'hesaid.

'No,' murmured West. 'Isupposenot.'

The long slope wasscatteredwithmen,aliveanddead. The corpses of Unionhorsemenlaywheretheyhad

fallen.Surgeonstendedtothewounded with bloody handsandgrimfaces.Somemensatand wept, perhaps by fallencomrades. Some starednumblyat theirownwounds.Others howled and gurgled,screamed for help, or water.Still others rushed tobring ittothem.Finalkindnesses,forthe dying.A long processionof sullen prisoners was

winding down the valleyalongside the rock wall,watched carefully bymounted Union soldiers.Nearbyweretangledheapsofsurrenderedweapons,pilesofmail coats, stacks of paintedshields.

West picked his wayslowlythroughwhathadbeenBethod's camp, rendered inone furious half-hour into a

great expanse of rubbish,scatteredacrossthebarerockand the hard earth. Thetwisted bodies of men andhorsesweremixedinwiththetrampled frames of tents,ripped and dragged-outcanvas, burst barrels, brokenboxes, gear for cooking, andmending, and fighting. Alltroddenintothechurnedmud,stamped with the smeared

printsofhoovesandboots.In the midst of all this

chaos there were strangeislands of calm, where allseemedundisturbed,justasitmust have been beforeWestorderedthecharge.Apotstillhungoverasmoulderingfire,stewbubblinginside.Asetofspears were neatly stackedagainsteachother,withstooland whetstone beside, ready

to be sharpened. Threebedrolls formed a perfecttriangle, blanketswell foldedat the head of each one, allneatandorderly,exceptthataman lay sprawled acrossthem, the contents of hisgapingskullsplatteredacrossthepalewool.

Not far beyond a Unionofficer knelt in the mud,cradling another in his arms.

West felt a sick twinge ofrecognition. The one on hisknees was his old friendLieutenant Brint. The onelying limpwashisold friendLieutenant Kaspa. For somereason, West felt an almostoverpowering urge to walkaway, off up the slopewithoutstopping,andpretendnottohaveseenthem.Hehadto force himself to stride

over, his mouth filling withsourspit.

Brintlookedup,palefacestreaked with tears. 'Anarrow,' he whispered. 'Just astray.Heneverevendrewhissword.'

'Bad luck,' grunted Pike.'Badluck.'

West stared down. Badluck indeed. He could just

see, snapped off at the edgeof Kaspa's beard, under hisjaw, the broken shaft of anarrow, but there wassurprisingly little blood. Fewmarksofanykind.Asplatterof mud down one sleeve ofhisuniform,andthatwasall.Despitethefacttheywere,inessence,staringcross-eyedatnothing,West couldnot helpthe feeling that Kaspa's eyes

werelookingdirectlyintohis.Therewas a peevish twist tohis lip, an accusatorywrinklingofhisbrows.Westalmostwantedtotakehimupon it, demand to know whathe meant by it, then had toremind himself that the manwasdead.

'A letter, then,' mutteredWest,hisfingersfussingwitheachother,'tohisfamily.'

Brint gave a miserablesniff which West found, forsome reason, utterlyinfuriating.'Yes,aletter.'

'Yes. Sergeant Pike, withme.' West could not standthere a moment longer. Heturnedawayfromhisfriends,one living andonedead, andstrode off up the valley. Hedidhisverybestnottodwellon the fact that, had he not

orderedthecharge,oneofthemostpleasantandinoffensivemen of his acquaintancewould still be alive. Onecannot be a leader without acertain ruthlessness, perhaps.Butruthlessnessisnotalwayseasy.

He and Pike flounderedover a crushed earth rampartand a trampled ditch, thevalley growing steadily

narrower, the high cliffs ofstone pressing in on eitherside. More corpses here.Northmen,andwildmensuchastheyfoundinDunbrec,andShanka too, all pepperedliberally across the brokenground. West could see thewallofthefortressnow,littlemore than a mossy hump inthe landscape with moredeathscatteredrounditsfoot.

'They held out in there,for seven days?' mutteredPike.

'Soitwouldseem.'The one entrance was a

rough archway in the centreof thewall, its gates torn offand lying ruined. Thereseemed to be three strangeshapes within it. As he gotcloser, West realised withsome discomfort what they

were. Three men, hangingdead by their necks fromropesoverthetopofthewall,their limp boots swinginggently at about chest height.There were a lot of grimNorthmen gathered aroundthatgate, lookingupat thosedangling corpses with somesatisfaction.Oneinparticularturned a cruel grin on WestandPikeastheycameclose.

'Well,well,well,ifitain'tmy old friend Furious,' saidBlackDow.'Turneduplatetothe party, eh? You alwayswasaslowmover,lad.'

'There were somedifficulties. Marshal Burr isdead.'

'Back to the mud, eh?Well, he's in good company,at least. Plenty of good mendone that these past days.

Who'syourchief,now?'Westtookalongbreath.'I

am.'Dow laughed, and West

watched him laugh, feelingthe slightest bit sick. 'Bigchief Furious, what do youknow?' and he stood upstraight andmade amockeryof a Union salute while thebodiesturnedslowlythiswayand that behind him. 'You

should meet my friends.They'reallbigmen too.Thishere is Crendel Goring,fought for Bethod from wayback.'Andhereachedupandgave one of the bodies ashove, watched it sway backandforth.

'This here is Whitesides,andyoucouldn'thavefoundabetter man anywhere forkilling folkandstealing their

land.'Andhegavethenextapushandsetitspinningroundandroundoneway,thenbackthe other, limbs all limp andfloppy.

'And this one here isLittlebone.Ashard a bastardas I've ever hung.' This lastmanwashackedneartomeat,his gold-chased armourbattered and dented, a greatwound across his chest and

his hanging grey hair thickwith blood. One leg was offbelowhisknee,andapoolofdry blood stained the groundunderneathhim.

'What happened to him?'askedWest.

'ToLittlebone?'Thegreatfat hillman, Crummock-i-Phail,was one of the crowd.'Hegotcutdowninthebattle,fighting to the lastman,over

yonder.''That he did,' said Dow,

andhegaveWestagrinevenbigger than usual. 'But that'sno kind of a reason not tohanghimnow,Ireckon.'

Crummock laughed. 'Nokind of a reason!' And hesmiled at the three bodiesturning round and round, theropescreaking. 'Theymakeapretty picture, don't they,

hanging there?They say youcan see all the beauty in theworld in the way a hangedmanswings.'

'Whodoes?'askedWest.Crummock shrugged his

greatshoulders.'Them.''Them, eh?' West

swallowed his nausea andpushed his way between thehanging bodies into the

fortress. 'They surely are abloodthirstycrowd.'

Dogman took another pull atthe flask. He was gettinggoodanddrunknow.'Alright.Let'sgetitdonethen.'

HewincedasGrimstuckthe needle in, curled his lipsback and hissed through histeeth. A nice pricking and

niggling to add to the dullthrob. The needle wentthrough theskinanddraggedthe thread after, andDogman'sarmstartedburningworse and worse. He tookanother swig, rocking backand forward, but it didn'thelp.

'Shit,' he hissed. 'Shit,shit!'

Grim looked up at him.

'Don'twatch,then.'Dogman turned his head.

The Union uniform jumpedoutathimstraightaway.Redcloth in the midst of all thatbrowndirt. 'Furious!' shoutedtheDogman,feelingagrinonhis face even through thepain. 'Glad you could makeit!Realglad!'

'Better to come late thannottocomeatall.'

'You'll get no trace of anargument fromme. That is afact.'

West frowned down atGrimsewinghisarmup.'Youalright?'

'Well, you know. Tul'sdead.'

'Dead?' West stared athim.'How?'

'It'sabattle,ain'tit?Dead

men are the point o' thefucking exercise.' He wavedtheflaskaround.'I'vebeensathere, thinking about what Icould've done differently.Stopped him going downthem steps, or gone downwith him to watch his back,ormadetheskyfallin,orallkind o' stupid notions, noneof 'em any help to the deadnor the living. Seems I can't

stopthinking,though.'Westfrowneddownatthe

rutted earth. 'Might be's agamewithnowinners.'

'Ah, fuck!' Dogmansnarled as the needle jabbedinto his arm again, and heflung the empty flaskbouncing away. 'The wholefucking business has nowinners,though,doesit!Shitonitall,Isay.'

Grimpulledhisknifeoutand cut the thread. 'Moveyourfingers.'Itburnedalltheway up Dogman's arm tomakeafist,butheforcedthefingers closed, growling atthe pain as they bunched uptight.

'Looksalright,'saidGrim.'You'relucky.'

TheDogmanstaredroundmiserably at the carnage. 'So

thisiswhatlucklookslike,isit?I'veoftenwondered.'Grimshrugged his shoulders,ripped a piece of cloth for abandage.

'DoyouhaveBethod?'Dogman looked up at

West, hismouthopen. 'Don'tyou?'

'Alotofprisoners,buthewasn'tamongthem.'

Dogman turned his headand spat his disgust out intothe mud. 'Nor his witch, norhisFeared,norneitheroneofhis swollen up sons, I'll bebound.'

'Iimaginethey'llberidingfor Carleon as swiftly aspossible.'

'More'nlikely.''Iimaginehe'lltrytoraise

newforces,tofindnewallies,toprepareforasiege.'

'Ishouldn'twonder.''Weshouldfollowhimas

soon as the prisoners aresecure.'

Dogman felt a suddenwaveofhopelessness,enoughalmosttoknockhimover.'Bythe dead. Bethod got away.'He laughed, and felt tears

prickling his eyes the nextmoment. 'Will there ever beanendtoit?'

Grim finished wrappingthe bandage and tied it uptight.'You'redone.'

Dogman stared back athim. 'Done? I'm starting tothink I won't ever be done.'He held his hand out. 'Helpme up, eh, Furious? I got afriendtobury.'

The sun was getting lowwhen they put Tul in theground, just peering over thetops of the mountains andtouching the edges of theclouds with gold. Goodweather,toburyagoodman.They stood round the grave,all packed in tight. Therewere plenty of others beingburied, the sad words for

themwept andwhispered allaround, but Tul had beenwell-loved, nomanmore, sothere was quite the crowd.Even so, all round Logenthere was a gap. An emptyspaceamanwide.Thatspaceheusedtohavearoundhiminthe old days, where no onewould dare to stand. Logenhardly blamed them. He'dhave run away himself, if he

could.'Who wants to speak?'

askedtheDogman,lookingatthem, one by one. Logenstared down at his feet, notevenabletomeethiseye,letalone say a word. He wasn'tsure what had happened, inthebattle,buthecouldguess.He could guesswell enough,from the bits he didremember. He glanced

around, licking at his splitlips, but if anyone elseguessed, they kept it tothemselves.

'No one going to say aword?' asked Dogman again,hisvoicecracking.

'Guess it best be fuckingme, then, eh?' And BlackDow stepped forward. Hetookalonglookroundatthegathering. Took a long look

at Logen in particular, itseemed to him, but that wasmost likely just his ownworriesplayingtricks.

'Tul Duru Thunderhead,'saidDow. 'Back to themud.The dead know, we didn'talways see things the sameway, me and him. Didn'toften agree on nothing, butmaybe that was my fault, asI'm a contrary bastard at the

besto'times.Iregretitnow,Ireckon.Nowit's toolate.'Hetookaraggedbreath.

'Tul Duru. Every man intheNorthknewhisname,andevery man said it withrespect,evenhisenemies.Hewas the sort o' man… thatgaveyouhope,Ireckon.Thatgave you hope. You wantstrength, do you? You wantcourage? You want things

donerightandproper,theoldway?'Henoddeddownatthenew-turned earth. 'There yougo. Tul Duru Thunderhead.Look no fucking further. I'mless, now that he's gone, andso are all o' you.' And Dowturned and stalked off awayfrom the grave and into thedusk,hisheaddown.

'We're all less,' mutteredDogman, staringdownat the

earth with the glimmer of atear inhiseye. 'Goodwords.'They all looked broken up,every one of them stoodaround the grave. West, andhis man Pike, and Shivers,and even Grim. All brokenup.

Logen wanted to feel astheydid.Hewantedtoweep.For thedeathofagoodman.For the fact that hemight've

been the one to cause it.Butthe tears wouldn't come. Hefrowned down at the fresh-turned earth, as the sun sankbehindthemountains,andthefortress in the High Placesgrew dark, and he felt lessthannothing.

If you want to be a newmanyouhave to stay innewplaces, and do new things,with peoplewho never knew

youbefore.Ifyougobacktothesameoldways,whatelsecan you be but the same oldperson? You have to berealistic.He'dplayedatbeingadifferentman,butithadallbeenlies.Thehardestkindtoseethrough.Thekindyoutellyourself.HewastheBloody-Nine. That was the fact, andhowever he twisted, andsquirmed, and wished to be

someone else, there was noescaping it. Logenwanted tocare.

But the Bloody-Ninecaresfornothing.

RudeAwakenings

«^»

Jezal was smiling when hebegan to wake. They were

done with this madcapmission, and soon he wouldbe back in Adua. Back inArdee'sarms.Warmandsafe.He snuggled down into hisblanketsat the thought.Thenhe frowned. There was aknockingsoundcomingfromsomewhere. He opened hiseyesacrack.Someonehissedathimfromacross the room,andheturnedhishead.

He saw Terez' face, palein the darkness, glaring frombetweenthebedcurtains,andthelastfewweekscamebackinahorriblerush.Shelookedjust as she had the day hemarried her, surely, and yetthe perfect face of his queenseemednowuglyandhatefultohim.

The royal bedchamberhadbecomeabattlefield.The

border, watched with irondetermination, was aninvisible line between doorand fireplace which Jezalcrossed at his peril. The farsideof the roomwasStyrianterritory, and themighty beditself was Terez' strongestcitadel, its defencesapparently impregnable. Onthe second night of theirmarriage,hopingperhapsthat

there had been somemisunderstandingonthefirst,he had mounted a half-heartedassaultwhichhadlefthim with a bloody nose.Since then he had settled inhopelessly for a long andfruitlesssiege.

Terez was the verymistress of deception. Hewould sleep on the floor, oron some item of furniture

never quite long enough, orwherever he pleased as longasitwasnotwithher.Thenatbreakfast she would smile athim, and speak of nothing,sometimes even place herhand fondlyonhiswhen sheknew they were beingwatched. Occasionally shewould even have himbelieving that all was nowwell,butassoonastheywere

aloneshewouldturnherbackon him, and bludgeon himwith silence, and stab himwithlooksofsuchepicscornanddisgust thathewantedtobesick.

Her ladies-in-waitingbehaved towards him withscarcely less contemptwhenever he had themisfortune to find himself intheir whispering presence.

One in particular, theCountess Shalere, apparentlyhiswife'sclosest friendsinceatenderage,eyedhimalwayswith amurderous hatred.Onone occasion he hadblundered into the salonwherealldozenofthemweresittingarrangedaroundTerez,muttering in Styrian. He hadfelt like a peasant boystumbling upon a coven of

extremely well-presentedwitches, chanting some darkcurse. Probably one directedtowards himself. He wasmade to feel like the lowest,most repulsive animal alive.And he was a king, in hisownpalace.

For some reason he livedin inexplicable horror thatsomebody would realise thetruth, but if any of the

servants noticed they kept itto themselves. He wonderedif he should have toldsomeone, but who? Andwhat? Lord Chamberlain,goodday.Mywiferefusestofuck me. Your Eminence,well met. My wife will notlookatme.HighJustice,howareyou?TheQueendespisesme, by theway.Most of all,he feared telling Bayaz. He

hadwarned theMagus awayfromhispersonalaffairsinnouncertain terms, and couldscarcely go crawling for hishelpnow.

And so he went alongwith the fiction, miserableandconfused,andwitheveryday that he pretended atmarital bliss it became moreand more impossible to seehiswayclearofit.Hiswhole

life stretched away beforehim—loveless, friendless,andsleepingonthefloor.

'Well?'hissedTerez.'Well what?' he snarled

back.'Thedoor!'As if on cue there was a

brutal banging at the door,making it rattle in its frame.'Nothing good ever comes

fromTalins,' Jezalwhisperedunder his breath, as he flungback his blankets andstruggledup from the carpet,stumbled angrily across theroom and turned the key inthelock.

Gorststoodinthehallwayoutside, clad in full armourandwith his sword drawn, alantern held up in one hand,harshlightacrossonesideof

hisheavy,worriedface.Fromsomewhere down the hallcame the sound of echoingfootsteps, of confusedshouting, the flickering ofdistant lamps. Jezal frowned,suddenlywideawake.Hedidnotlikethefeelofthis.

'Your Majesty,' saidGorst.

'What the hell is goingon?'

'The Gurkish haveinvadedMidderland.'

Ferro's eyes snapped open.Shesprangupfromthesettle,her feet planted wide in afighting stance, the torn-offtable leg gripped tight in herfist. She cursed under herbreath.Shehadfallenasleep,and nothing good everhappened when she did that.

But there was no one in theroom.

Alldarkandsilent.Nosignof thecripple,or

his black-masked servants.No sign of the armouredguards who watched herthrough narrowed eyeswhenever she took a stepdown the tiled halls of thiscursed place. Only theslightest chink of light under

the panelled door that ledthroughtoBayaz'room.Thatand a quiet murmuring ofvoices. She frowned, andpaddedover,kneelingsilentlybesidethekeyhole.

'Wherehavetheylanded?'Bayaz' voice, muffledthroughthewood.

'Their first boats cameashore in the grey dusk, onthe empty beaches at the

southwestern tip ofMidderland, near to Keln.'Yulwei. Ferro felt a tinglingthrill, her breath coming fastand cold in her nostrils. 'Areyouprepared?'

Bayaz snorted. 'Wecouldscarcelybelessso.IwasnotexpectingKhalul tomove sosoon, or so suddenly. Theylanded in the night, eh?Unannounced. Did Lord

Brocknotseethemcome?''My guess is that he saw

them all too well, andwelcomed them by previousarrangement.Nodoubthehasbeen promised the throne ofthe Union, once the Gurkishhave crushed all resistanceand hung your bastard fromthe gates of the Agriont. Hewill be king—subject to themightofUthman-ul-Dosht,of

course.''Treachery.''Ofanunremarkablekind.

Itshouldhardlyshocksuchaswe, eh, brother? We haveseenworse,Ithink,anddoneworsetoo,perhaps.'

'Some things must bedone.'

SheheardYulwei sigh. 'Ineverdeniedit.'

'HowmanyGurkish?''Theynevercomeinones

and twos. Five legions,perhaps, so far, but they areonly the vanguard. Manymorearecoming.Thousands.The whole South moves towar.'

'IsKhalulwiththem?''Why would he be? He

staysinSarkant,inhissunny

gardens upon the mountainterraces, and waits for newsof your destruction. Mamunleads them. Fruit of thedesert, thrice blessed andthrice—'

'Iknowthenameshecallshimself,thearrogantworm!'

'Whatever he callshimself, he is grown strong,and the Hundred Words arewith him. They are here for

you, brother.They are come.IfIwalkedinyourfootstepsIwould be away.Away to thecoldNorth,whilethereisstilltime.'

'Andthenwhat?Willtheynot followme?Should I fleeto the edge of the World? Iwasthere,notlongago,anditholds littleappeal. Ihaveyetafewcardslefttoplay.'

Alongpause. 'Youfound

theSeed?''No.'Another pause. 'I am not

sorry. To tinker with thoseforces… to bend the FirstLaw, if not to break it. Thelast time that thingwas useditmadea ruinofAulcus andcameneartomakingaruinofthe whole world. It is betterleftburied.'

'Even if our hopes areburiedwithit?'

'There are greater thingsat risk than my hopes, oryours.'

Ferro did not care a shitforBayaz'hopes,orYulwei'seitherifitcametothat.Theyhad both deceived her. Shehad swallowed a bellyful oftheir lies, and their secrets,and their promises. She had

done nothing but talk, andwait, and talk again for fartoo long. She stood up, andlifted her leg, and gave afighting scream. Her heelcaught the lock and tore itfromtheframe,sentthedoorshudderingopen.Thetwooldmen sat at a table nearby, asingle lamp throwing lightover the dark face, and thepale.Athirdfiguresat in the

shadows of the far corner.Quai, silent and sunk indarkness.

'Could you not haveknocked?'askedBayaz.

Yulwei's smile was abright curve inhisdark skin.'Ferro! It is good to see youstill—'

'When are the Gurkishcoming?'

His grin faded, and hegave a long sigh. 'I see thatyou have not learnedpatience.'

'Ilearntit,thenranoutofit.Whenaretheycoming?'

'Soon. Their scouts arealready moving through thecountryside of Midderland,takingthevillagesandlayingthe fortresses under siege,making the country safe for

the rest who will comebehind.'

'Someone should stopthem,' muttered Ferro, hernailsdiggingintoherpalms.

Bayaz sat back in hischair, the shadows collectinginhiscraggyface.'Youspeakmy very thoughts.Your luckhas changed, eh, Ferro? Ipromisedyouvengeance,andnow itdrops ripeandbloody

intoyourlap.Uthman'sarmyhas landed. Thousands ofGurkish, and ready for war.They might be at the citygateswithintwoweeks.'

'Two weeks,' whisperedFerro.

'ButIhavenodoubtsomeUnion soldiers will be goingout to greet them sooner. Icould find you a place withthem,ifyoucannotwait.'

She had waited longenough. Thousands ofGurkish, and ready for war.The smile tugged at onecornerofFerro'smouth, thengrew, and grew, until hercheekswereaching.

PARTII

'LastArgumentofKings'Inscribedonhiscannonsby

LouisXIV

TheNumberoftheDead

«^»

It was quiet in the village.The few houses, built from

oldstonewithroofsofmossyslate, seemed deserted. Theonlylifeinthefieldsbeyond,mostly fresh-harvested andploughed over, were ahandful of miserable crows.Next to Ferro the bell in thetower creaked softly. Someloose shutters on a windowswung and tapped. A fewcurled-upleavesfellonagustof wind and fluttered gently

to the empty square. On thehorizonthreecolumnsofdarksmoke rose up just as gentlyintotheheavysky.

The Gurkish werecoming,and theyalwayshadlovedtoburn.

'Maljinn!' Major Vallimirwas below, framed by thetrapdoor, and Ferro scowleddown. He reminded her ofJezal dan Luthar when she

had first met him. A plump,pale face stuffed with thatinfuriating mixture of panicand arrogance. It was plainenough that he had never setan ambush for a goat before,let alone for Gurkish scouts.But still he pretended heknew best. 'Do you seeanything?' he hissed at her,forthefifthtimeinanhour.

'Iseethemcoming,'Ferro

growledback.'Howmany?''Stilladozen.''Howfaroff?''Perhaps quarter of an

hour's ride, now, and yourasking will not make themcomequicker.'

'When they are in thesquare, Iwill give the signalwithtwoclaps.'

'Make sure you do notmissonehandwiththeother,pink.'

'I told you not to callmethat!'Abriefpause.'Wemusttake one of them alive, toquestion.'

Ferro wrinkled her nose.HertastedidnotleantowardstakingGurkishalive.'Wewillsee.'

She turned back to thehorizon,andsoonenoughsheheard the sound of Vallimirwhisperingorders tosomeofhis men. The rest werescattered around the otherbuildings, hiding. An oddcrowdofleft-oversoldiers.Afew were veterans, but mostof them were even youngerand more twitchy thanVallimir himself. Ferro

wished, and not for the firsttime, that they hadNinefingers with them. Likehimornot,noonecouldhavedeniedthatthemanknewhisbusiness.Withhim,Ferrohadknown what she would get.Solid experience or, onoccasion, murderous fury.Either one would have beenuseful.

But Ninefingers was not

there.SoFerrostoodinthewide

window of the bell tower,alone,frowningoutacrosstherolling fields of Midderland,andwatched the riders comecloser. A dozen Gurkishscouts, trotting in a loosegroup down a track.Wriggling specks on a palestreakbetweenpatchworksofdarkearth.

They slowed as theypassed the first wood-builtbarn, spreading out. A greatGurkish host would numbersoldiers from all across theEmpire,fightersfromascoreof different conqueredprovinces. These twelvescoutswereKadiris, by theirlong faces and narrow eyes,their saddlebags of patternedcloth, lightly armed with

bows and spears. Killingthem would not be muchvengeance, but it would besome. It would fill the spacefor now. A space that hadbeenemptyfartoolong.

Oneof themstartled as acrow flapped up from ascraggy tree. Ferro held herbreath, sure that Vallimir orone of his blundering pinkswouldchoosethatmomentto

trip over one another. Buttherewas only silence as thehorsemeneasedcarefullyintothevillagesquare,theirleaderwith one hand raised forcaution.Helookedrightupather, but saw nothing.Arrogant fools. They sawonlywhattheywantedtosee.A village from whicheveryone had fled, crushedwith fear of the Emperor's

matchless army. Her fistclenched tight around herbow.Theywouldlearn.

Shewouldteachthem.Theleaderhadasquareof

floppypaperoutinhishands,peeringat itas though itwasa message in a language hedid not understand. A map,maybe.Oneofhismenreinedhishorseinandslidfromthesaddle,tookitsbridleandled

it towards a mossy trough.Two more sat loose on theirmounts,talkingandgrinning,moving their hands, tellingjokes. A fourth cleaned hisfingernails with a knife.Another rode slowly roundthe edge of the square,leaning from his saddle andpeering in through thewindows of the houses.Looking for something to

steal. One of the joke-tellersburst into a deep peal oflaughter.

Then two sharp clapsechoedfromthebuildings.

The scout by the troughwasjustfillinghisflaskwhenFerro's shaft sank into hischest. The canteen tumbledfrom his hand, shining dropsspilling from the neck.Flatbows rattled in the

windows. Scouts yelled andstared. One horse stumbledsideways and fell, puffs ofdust rising from its flailinghooves, crushing its riderscreamingunderneathit.

Union soldiers chargedfrom the buildings, shouting,spears ready. One of theriders had his sword half-drawn when he was nailedwith a flatbow bolt, fell

lolling from the saddle.Ferro's second arrowtookanotherintheback.Theonewhohadbeenpickinghisfingernailswasdumped fromhishorse,stumbledupintimetoseeaUnionsoldiercomingathimwithaspear.Hethrewdown his knife and held hisarms up too late, was runthrough anyway, the spearpoint sticking bloody out of

hisbackashefell.Twoofthemmadeadash

thewaytheyhadcome.Ferrotook aim at one, but as theyreached the narrow lane arope was pulled tight acrossthe gap. The pair of themwere snatched from theirsaddles, dragging a Unionsoldier yelping from abuilding, bouncing along afew strides on his face, rope

stuck tight round his arm.OneofFerro's arrowscaughtascoutbetweenhisshoulder-blades as he tried to pushhimselfupfromthedust.Theother dragged himself agroggy few strides before aUnion soldier hit him in theheadwithaswordandleftthebackofhisskullhangingoff.

Of the dozen, only theleader got away from the

village.He spurred his horsefor a narrow fence betweentwo buildings, jumping itwithhoovesclatteringagainstthe top rail. He galloped offacrossthecoarsestubbleofaharvested field, pressed lowinto his saddle, jerking hisheelsintohishorse'sflanks.

Ferro took a long, slowaim,feelingthesmiletuggingatthecornersofherface.All

in a moment she judged thewayhewassittingthesaddle,the speed of the horse, theheight of the tower, felt thewind on her face, theweightoftheshaft,thetensioninthewood, the string biting intoher lip. She watched thearrow fly, a spinning blacksplinter against the grey sky,andthehorserushedforwardstomeetit.

Sometimes, God isgenerous.

The leader arched hisback and tumbled from thesaddle, rolling over and overon the dusty earth, specks ofmud and cut stalks flying uparoundhim.HiscryofagonycametoFerro'searamomentlater. Her lips curled backfurtherfromherteeth.

'Hah!' She threw thebow

over her shoulder, slid downthe ladder, vaulted throughthe backwindow and dashedoutacrossthefield.Herbootsthudded in the soft soilbetween the clumps ofstubble, her hand tightenedaroundthegripofhersword.

The man mewled in thedirtashetriedtodraghimselftowardshishorse.Hegotonedesperate finger hooked over

thestirrupasheheardFerro'squick footsteps behind, butfell backwith a squealwhenhetriedtolifthimself.Helayonhissideassheranup, theblade hissing angry from itswooden sheath. His eyesrolled towardsher,wildwithpainandfear.

Adarkface,likeherown.An unexceptional face of

fortyyearsold,withapatchy

beard and a pale birth-markon one cheek, dust caked tothe other, beads of shiningsweat across his forehead.She stood over him, andsunlight glinted on the edgeofthecurvedsword.

'Give me a reason not todoit,'shefoundshehadsaid.Strange, that she had said it,and to a soldier in theEmperor's army, of all

people.Intheheatanddustofthe Badlands of Kanta shehad not been in the habit ofoffering chances. Perhapssomething had changed inher, out there in thewet andruinedwestoftheworld.

He stared up for amoment, his lip trembling.'I…' he croaked, 'mydaughters! I have twodaughters. Ipray to see them

married…'Ferro frowned. She

should not have let him starttalking. A father, withdaughters. Just as she hadonce had a father, been adaughter.Thismanhaddonehernoharm.HewasnomoreGurkishthanshewas.Hehadnot chosen to fight, mostlikely, or had any choice buttodo as themightyUthman-

ul-Doshtcommanded.'I will go… I swear to

God… I will go back to mywifeandmydaughters…'

The arrow had taken himjust under the shoulder andgone clean through, snappedoff when he hit the ground.She could see the splinteredshaft under his arm. It hadmissed his lung, by the wayhe was talking. It would not

kill him. Not right away, atleast. Ferro could help himonto his horse and he wouldbe gone, with a chance tolive.

The scout held up atrembling hand, a spatter ofblood on his long thumb.'Please…thisisnotmywarI—'

The sword carved a deepwound out of his face,

through his mouth, splittinghislowerjawapart.Hemadea hissing moan. The nextblowcuthisheadhalfoff.Herolled over, dark bloodpouring out into the darkearth,clutchingatthestubbleof the shorncrop.Theswordbroke the back of his skullopenandhewasstill.

It seemed that Ferro wasnot in a merciful mood that

day.The butchered scout's

horse stared dumbly at her.'What?' she snapped.Perhapsshehadchanged,outthereinthewest, butnoone changesthatmuch.OnelesssoldierinUthman's army was a goodthing, wherever he camefrom. She had no need tomake excuses for herself.Especiallynottoahorse.She

grabbedatitsbridleandgaveitayank.

Vallimirmighthavebeena pink fool, but Ferro had toadmit that he had managedthe ambush well. Ten scoutslaydeadinthevillagesquare,their torn clothes flapping inthe breeze, their bloodsmeared across the dustyground. The only Unioncasualty was the idiot who

had been jerked over by hisownrope,coveredindustandscratches.

Agoodday'swork,sofar.Asoldierpokedatoneof

thecorpseswithhisboot. 'Sothis iswhat theGurkish looklike, eh? Not so fearsomenow.'

'These are not Gurkish,'said Ferro. 'Kadiri scouts,

pressedintoservice.Theydidnotwanttobehereanymorethan you wanted them here.'The man stared back at her,puzzled and annoyed. 'Kantais full of people. NoteveryonewithabrownfaceisGurkish, or prays to theirGod, or bows to theirEmperor.'

'Mostdo.''Mosthavenochoice.'

'They're still the enemy,'hesneered.

'I did not say we shouldspare them.' She shoulderedpast, back through the doorintothebuildingwiththebelltower.ItseemedVallimirhadmanaged to take a prisonerafter all.Heand someotherswere clustered nervouslyaround one of the scouts, onhiskneeswithhisarmsbound

tightly behind him.Hehad abloody graze down one sideof his face, staring up withthat look that prisoners tendtohave.

Scared.'Where… is… your…

main… body?' Vallimir wasdemanding.

'He does not speak yourtongue, pink,' snapped Ferro,

'andshoutingitwillnothelp.'Vallimir looked angrily

round at her. 'Perhaps weshouldhavebroughtsomeonewith us who speaks Kantic,'hesaidwithheavyirony.

'Perhaps.'There was a long pause,

whileVallimirwaitedforherto say more, but she saidnothing. Eventually, he gave

a long sigh. 'Do you speakKantic?'

'Ofcourse.''Then would you be so

kind as to ask him somequestionsforus?'

Ferro suckedher teeth.Awasteofhertime,butifithadto be done, it was best donequickly. 'What shall I askhim?'

'Well…howfarawaytheGurkish army is, how manyare in it,what route they aretaking,youknow—'

'Huh.' Ferro squatteddown in frontof theprisonerand looked him squarely inthe eyes. He stared back,helpless and frightened, nodoubt wondering what shewas doing with these pinks.Shewonderedherself.

'Who are you?' hewhispered.

She drew her knife andheld it up. 'You will answermy questions, or I will killyou with this knife. That iswho I am. Where is theGurkisharmy?'

He licked his lips.'Perhaps… two days marchaway,tothesouth.'

'Howmany?''More than I could count.

Many thousands. People ofthe deserts, and the plains,andthe—'

'What route are theytaking?'

'I do not know.Wewereonly told to ride to thisvillage, and see whether itwas empty.' He swallowed,

the lump on the front of hissweatythroatbobbingupanddown. 'Perhaps my Captainknowsmore—'

'Ssss,' hissed Ferro. HisCaptain would be tellingnobodyanythingnowshehadcarved up his head. 'A lot ofthem,' she snapped atVallimir, in common, 'andmany more to come, twodays'march behind.He does

not know their route. Whatnow?'

Vallimir rubbed at thelight stubble on his jaw. 'Isuppose… we should takehim back to the Agriont.Deliver him to theInquisition.'

'He knows nothing. Hewill only slow us down.Weshouldkillhim.'

'He surrendered! To killhim would be no better thanmurder, war or no war.'Vallimir beckoned to one ofthesoldiers.'Iwon'thavethatonmyconscience.'

'I will.' Ferro's knife slidsmoothly into the scout'sheart,andout.Hismouthandhiseyesopenedupverywide.Blood bubbled through thesplitclothonhischest,spread

outquicklyinadarkring.Hegawped at it, making a longsuckingsound.

'Glugh…' His headdropped back, his bodysagged.Sheturnedtoseethesoldiers staring at her, palefacespuffedupwithshock.Abusydayfor them,maybe.Alot to learn, but they wouldsoongetusedtoit.

That, or the Gurkish

wouldkillthem.'They want to burn your

farms, and your towns, andyour cities. They want tomakeslavesofyourchildren.They want everyone in theworld to pray to God in thesame way they do, with thesamewordstheyuse,andforyour landtobeaprovinceoftheir Empire. I know this.'Ferrowiped the blade of her

knife on the sleeve of thedead man's tunic. 'The onlydifference between war andmurder is the number of thedead.'

Vallimir stared down atthecorpseofhisprisoner fora moment, his lipsthoughtfully pursed. Ferrowondered if he had morebackbone than she had givenhim credit for. Finally, he

turned towardsher. 'What doyousuggest?'

'We could wait for morehere. Perhaps even get somereal Gurkish this time. Butthatmightmeantoomanyforwefew.'

'So?''East, or north, and set

anothertraplikethisone.''AnddefeattheEmperor's

armyadozenmenata time?Smallsteps.'

Ferro shrugged. 'Smallsteps in the right direction.Unless you've seen enough,andwant to go back to yourwalls.'

Vallimir gave her a longfrown, then he turned to oneof his men, a heavy-builtveteran with a scar on hischeek. 'Thereisavillagejust

east of here, is there not,SergeantForest?'

'Yes, sir. Marlhof is nomorethantenmilesdistant.'

'Willthatsuityou?'askedVallimir,raisingoneeyebrowatFerro.

'Dead Gurkish suit me.Thatisall.'

LeavesontheWater

«^»

'Carleon,' said Logen. 'Aye,'said Dogman. It squatted

there,intheforkoftheriver,under the brooding clouds.Hardshapesof tallwallsandtowers on the sheer bluffabove the fast-flowingwater,upwhereSkarling'shallusedtostand.Slateroofsandstonebuildingssquashedintightonthe long downward slope,clusteredinroundthefootofthehillandwithanotherwalloutside, everything leant a

cold, sharp shine from therain just finished falling.Dogman couldn't say hewasglad to see the place again.Everyvisityethadturnedoutbadly.

'It's changed some, sincethebattle,allthemyearsago.'Logen was looking down athisspread-outhand,wagglingthe stump of his missingfinger.

'There weren't no wallslikethatrounditthen.'

'No. But thereweren't noUnionarmyrounditneither.'

Dogman couldn't deny itwas a comforting fact. TheUnion pickets worked theirwaythroughtheemptyfieldsabout the city, awobbly lineof earthworks, and stakes,andfences,withmenmovingbehind 'em, dull sunlight

catchingmetalnowandthen.Thousands of men, well-armed and vengeful, keepingBethodpennedup.

'Yousurehe'sinthere?''Don't seewhereelsehe's

gottogo.Helostmostofhisbest boys up in themountains. No friends left, Ireckon.'

'We've all got less than

we used to,' Dogmanmuttered. 'I guesswe just sithere. We got time, after all.Lots of it. We sit here andwatchthegrassgrow,andwewaitforBethodtogiveup.'

'Aye.' But Logen didn'tlooklikehebelievedit.

'Aye,' said Dogman. Butjust giving up didn't soundmuch like the Bethod heknew.

He turnedhisheadat thesound of hooves fast on theroad, saw one of thosemessengerswithahelmetlikean angry chicken race fromthe trees and towardsWest'stent,horsewell-latheredfromhardriding.Hereinedupinafumbling hurry, near fell outofhissaddleinhisrushtogetdown, wobbled past a fewstaring officers and in

throughtheflap.Dogmanfeltthat familiarweightofworryinhisgut.'That'sgotthetasteo'badnews.'

'Whatotherkindisthere?'There was some flutter

down there now, soldiersshouting,throwingtheirarmsaround. 'Best go and seewhat's happened,' mutteredDogman, though he'd muchrather have walked the other

way. Crummock was stoodnear the tent, frowningat thecommotion.

'Something's up,' said thehillman. 'But I don'tunderstand a thing theseSoutherners say or do. Iswear,they'reallmad.'

Madchattercamesurgingout of that tent alright,whenDogman pushed back theflap. There were Union

officers all around the placeandinabastardofamuddle.West was in the midst of it,face pale as fresh milk, hisfists clenched tight aroundnothing.

'Furious!' Dogmangrabbed him by the arm.'Whatthehell'shappening?'

'The Gurkish haveinvaded Midderland.' Westpulled his arm free and took

toshouting.'Thewhohavedonewhat

now?'mutteredCrummock.'TheGurkish.'Logenwas

frowning deep. 'Brown folk,from way down south. Hardfolk,byallaccounts.'

Pike had come up now,his burned face grim. 'Theylandedan armyby sea.Theymight have reached Adua

already.''Hold on, now.' Dogman

didn't know a thing aboutGurkish, or Adua, orMidderland, but his badfeeling was getting worseevery moment. 'What're youtellingus,exactly?'

'We've been orderedhome.Now.'

Dogman stared. He

should've known all along itcouldn't be this simple. Hegrabbed West by the armagain,stabbingdowntowardsCarleonwithhisdirty finger.'We've nothing like the menweneedtocarryonasiegeo'thisplacewithoutyou!'

'I know,' said West, 'andI'msorry.But there'snothingIcando.GetovertoGeneralPoulder!' he snapped at a

youngladwithasquint. 'Tellhim to get his division readyto march for the coast atonce!'

Dogman blinked, feelingsick to his stomach. 'So wefoughtsevendaysintheHighPlaces for nothing?Tul died,andthedeadknowhowmanymore, for nothing?' It alwaystook him by surprise, howfast something could fall

apart once you were leaningon it. 'That's it, then.Back towoods,andcold,andrunning,andkilling.Noendtoit.'

'Might be another way,'saidCrummock.

'Whatway?'The chief of the hillmen

had a sly grin. 'You know,don'tyouBloody-Nine?'

'Aye. I know.'Logenhad

alooklikeamanwhoknowshe's about to hang, and he'sstaring at the tree they'regoing to do it from. 'Whenhave you got to leave,Furious?'

Westfrowned.'Wehavealot of men and not a lot ofroad. Poulder's divisiontomorrow, I imagine, andKroy'sthedayafter.'

Crummock's grin got a

shade wider. 'So all daytomorrow, there'll be piles o'men sat here, dug in roundBethod, looking like they'renevergoingnowhere,eh?'

'Isupposetherecouldbe.''Giveme tomorrow,' said

Logen.'Givemejustthatandmaybe I can settle things.ThenI'llcomesouthwithyouif I'm still alive, and bringwho I can. That's my word.

We'll help you with theGurkish.'

'What difference can onedaymake?'askedWest.

'Aye,' muttered Dogman,'what's one day?' Troublewas, he could already guesstheanswer.

Water trickled under the oldbridge, past the trees and off

down the green hillside.Down towards Carleon.Logenwatched a few yellowleaves carried on it, turninground and round, draggedpast the mossy stones. Hewishedthathecouldjustfloataway, but it didn't seemlikely.

'Wefoughthere,' said theDogman.'ThreetreesandTul,Dow and Grim, and me.

Forley's buried in themwoodssomewhere.'

'Youwanttogoupthere?'asked Logen. 'Give him avisit,seeif—'

'What for? I doubt avisit'll do me any good, andI'mdamnsureitwon'tdohimany. Nothing will. That'swhat it is to be dead. Yousureaboutthis,Logen?'

'You see another way?TheUnionwon'tstick.Mightbe our last chance to finishwith Bethod. Not that muchtolose,isthere?'

'There'syourlife.'Logentookalongbreath.

'Can't think of too manypeoplewhoplacemuchvalueonthat.Youcomingdown?'

Dogman shook his head.

'Reckon I'll stay up here. Ihadabellyfullo'Bethod.'

'Alright then. Alright.' Itwas as if all themoments ofLogen's life, things said andthings done, choices hehardly remembered making,had led him to this. Nowthere was no choice at all.Maybe there never hadbeen.Hewasliketheleavesonthewater—carried along, down

towardsCarleon,andnothinghecoulddoaboutit.Hegavehisheels tohishorseandoffdown the slope alone, downthe dirt track, beside thegurglingstream.

Everything seemedpickedoutclearerthanusual,as the day wore down. Herode past trees, damp leavesgettingreadytofall—goldenyellow,burningorange,vivid

purple,allthecoloursoffire.Down towards the valleybottomthroughtheheavyair,justatraceofautumnmisttoit, sharp in his throat. Thesounds of saddle creaking,harness rattling, hoofbeats inthe soft ground all camemuffled. He trotted throughthe empty fields, turnedmudpocked with weeds, past theUnion pickets, a ditch and a

lineofsharpenedstakes,threetimesbowshotfromthewalls.Soldiers there, in studdedjackets and steel caps,watched him pass withfrownsontheirfaces.

Hepulledonthereinsandslowed his horse to a walk.He clattered over a woodenbridge, one of Bethod's newones, the river underneathsurgingwiththeautumnrain.

Up the gentle rise, the walllooming over him. High,sheer,darkandsolidlooking.Athreateningpieceofwallifever there'd been one. Hecouldn't see men at the slotsin the battlements, but heguessed theyhad tobe there.He swallowed, spit movingawkward in his throat, thenmade himself sit up tall,pretending he wasn't cut and

aching all over from sevendays of battle in themountains.Hewonderedifhewas about to hear a flatbowclick, feel the stab of painthendropintothemud,dead.Some kind of anembarrassingsongthatwouldmake.

'Well,well,well!' cameadeep voice, and Logen knewitrightaway.Whoelsewould

itbebutBethod?Thestrangethingwasthat

hewasgladtohearit,forthequickest moment. Until heremembered all the bloodbetween them. Until heremembered they hated eachother.You canhave enemiesyouneverreallymeet,Logenhadplenty.Youcankillmenyou don't know, he'd done itoften.Butyoucan'ttrulyhate

a man without loving himfirst, and there's always atraceofthatloveleftover.

'I'm taking a look downfrom my gates and whoshould ride up out of thepast?' Bethod called to him.'The Bloody-Nine! Wouldyoubelieve it? I'dorganise afeast, but we've no food tospareinhere!'Hestoodthere,at theparapet,highupabove

the doors, fists on the stone.He didn't sneer. He didn'tsmile. He didn't do much ofanything.

'If it ain't theKing o' theNorthmen!' Logen shoutedup. 'Stillgotyourgoldenhat,then?'

Bethod touched the ringroundhishead, thebig jewelon his brow glittering withthe setting sun. 'Why

wouldn'tIhave?''Let me see…' Logen

looked left and right, up anddownthebarewalls.'Justthatyou've got shit all left to beKingof,farasIcantell.'

'Huh. I reckonwe'rebothfeeling lonely. Where areyour friends, Bloody-Nine?Those killers you likedaround you. Where's theThunderhead, and Grim, and

theDogman,andthatbastardBlackDow?'

'All done with, Bethod.Dead, up in the mountains.Dead as Skarling. Them andLittlebone, and Goring, andWhitesides, and plenty morebesides.'

Bethod looked grim atthat. 'Not much to cheerabout, if you're asking me.That's someusefulmengone

back to themud,onewayoranother. Some friends ofmine, and some of yours.There never is a happyoutcome with we two, isthere? Bad as friends, andworse as enemies. What didyou come here for,Ninefingers?'

Logen sat there, for amoment, thinking of all theothertimeshe'ddonewhathe

had to do now. Thechallenges he'd made, andtheir outcomes, and therewere no happy memoriesamongthatlot.Sayonethingfor Logen Ninefingers, sayhe's reluctant. But there wasno other way. 'I'm here tomake a challenge!' hebellowed,andthesoundof itechoed back from the damp,dark walls and died a slow

deathinthemistyair.Bethod tipped back his

head and laughed. A laughwithoutmuchjoyinit,Logenreckoned. 'By the dead,Ninefingers, but you neverchange.You're like someolddog no one can stop frombarking. Challenge? Whathave we got left to fightover?'

'Iwin,youopenthegates

and belong to me. Myprisoner. I lose, the Unionpack up and sail for home,andyou'refree.'

Bethod's smile slowlyfadedandhiseyesnarrowed,suspicious. Logen knew thatlookfromwayback.Turningover the chances, sortingthrough the reasons why.'That sounds like a goldenoffer, considering the fix I'm

in.Hard tobelieve it.What'sinitforyourSouthernfriendsupthere?'

Logen snorted. 'They'llwait,iftheyhaveto,buttheydon't much care about you,Bethod. You're nothing tothem, for all your bluster.Theykickedyourarseacrossthe North already and theyreckonyou'llnotbebotheringthem again either way. If I

win, they get your head. If Ilose,theycangohomeearly.'

'I'mnothing to them,eh?'Bethod split a sad smile. 'Isthatwhatit'scometo,afterallmy work, and sweat, andpain? Are you happy,Ninefingers? To see all I'vefoughtforputinthedust?'

'Why shouldn't I be?You'venoonebutyourselftoblame for it. It was you

brought us to this. Take mychallenge, Bethod, thenmaybe one of us can havepeace!'

The King of theNorthmen gaped down, eyeswide. 'Nooneelse toblame?Me?Howsoonweallforget!'He grabbed the chain roundhis shoulders and rattled it.'YouthinkIwantedthis?Youthink I asked for any of it?

AllIwantedwasastripmoreland to feed my people, tostop the big clans squeezingme.AllIwantedwastowinafew victories to be proud of,topassonsomethingbettertomy sons than I got frommyfather.' He leaned forward,his hands clutching at thebattlements. 'Who was italways had to push a stepfurther? Who was it would

never let me stop?Whowasithadtotasteblood,andoncehe'd tasted itgotdrunkon it,wentmadwithit,couldneverget enough?' His fingerstabbed down. 'Who else buttheBloody-Nine?'

'That's not how it was,'growledLogen.

Bethod's laughter echoedharshonthewind.'Isitnot?Iwanted to talk with Shama

Heartless,butyouhad tokillhim!ItriedtostrikeadealatHeonan,butyouhadtoclimbup and settle your score, andstart a dozen more! Peace,you say? I begged you to letmemakepeaceatUffrith,butyou had to fight Threetrees!On my knees I begged you,but you had to have thebiggestnameinalltheNorth!Then once you'd beaten him,

you broke your word to meand let him live, as thoughthere was nothing bigger tothink about than your damnpride!'

'That's not how it was,'saidLogen.

'There's not aman in theNorth that doesn't know thetruthofit!Peace?Hah!WhataboutRattleneck,eh?Iwouldhave ransomed his son back

tohim,andwecouldallhavegone home happy, but no!What did you say to me?Easier to stop theWhiteflowthantostoptheBloody-Nine!Thenyouhadtonailhisheadtomystandard for thewholeworld to see, so thevengeance would never findan end!Every time I tried tostop, you dragged me on,deeper and deeper into the

mire!Until therecouldbenostopping any longer! Until itwas kill or be killed!Until Ihad to put down the wholeNorth! You made me King,Ninefingers. What otherchoicesdidyouleaveme?'

'That's not how it was,'whispered Logen. But heknewithadbeen.

'Tell yourself that I'm thecause of all your woes if it

makes you happy! Tellyourself I'm the mercilessone, the murderous one, thebloodthirsty one, but askyourself who I learned itfrom. I had the best master!Playatbeingthegoodmanifyou please, the man with nochoices, but we both knowwhat you really are. Peace?You'll never have peace,Bloody-Nine.You'remadeof

death!'Logen would've liked to

denyit,butitwouldjusthavebeen more lies. Bethod trulyknew him. Bethod trulyunderstood him. Better thananyone. His worst enemy,andstillhisbestfriend.'Thenwhy not kill me, when youhadthechance?'

The King of theNorthmenfrowned,asthough

he couldn't understandsomething.Thenhestartedtolaughagain.Heshriekedwithit.'Youdon'tknowwhy?Youstood right beside him andyoudon'tknow?Youlearnednothing from me,Ninefingers! After all theseyears, you still let the rainwashyouanywayitpleases!'

'What're you saying?'snarledLogen.

'Bayaz!''Bayaz?Whatofhim?''I was ready to put the

bloody cross in you, sinkyourcarcassinabogwithallthe rest of your misfit idiotsandwashappy todo it, untilthatoldliarcamecalling!'

'And?''I owed him, and he

wantedyouletgo.Itwasthat

meddlingold fuck that savedyour worthless hide, andnothingelse!'

'Why?' growled Logen,notknowingwhattomakeofit, but not liking that hewaslearningaboutitsolongaftereveryoneelse.

But Bethod onlychuckled. 'Maybe I didn'tgrovel low enough for histaste. You're the one he

saved,youaskhimthewhys,ifyoulivelongenough.ButIdon't think you will. I takeyour challenge! Here.Tomorrow. At sunrise.' Herubbed his palms together.'Man against man, with thefuture of the North hangingbloody on the outcome! Justasitusedtobe,eh,Logen?Inthe old days? In the sunnyvalleys of the past? Roll the

dice together onemore time,shall we?' The King of theNorthmen stepped slowlyback, away from thebattlements. 'Some thingshave changed, though. I've anewchampionnow! If Iwasyou, I'd say your goodbyestonight,andgetreadyfor themud!Afterall…whatwas ityou used to tellme… ?' Hislaughterfadedslowlyintothe

dusk. 'You have to berealistic!'

'Good piece o' meat,' saidGrim.

A warm fire and a goodpieceofmeatweretwothingstobethankfulfor,andthere'dbeen times enough whenDogman had a lot less, butwatchingtheblooddripfrom

that chunk of mutton wasmaking him feel sick.Reminded him of the bloodthat came out of ShamaHeartless when Logen splithimopen.Yearsago,maybe,but the Dogman could see itfresh as yesterday. He couldhear the roars from themen,the shields crashing together.Hecouldsmellthesoursweatand the fresh blood on the

snow.'By the dead,' grunted

Dogman,mouthwateringlikehe was about to puke. 'Howcan you think about eatingnow?'

Dow gave a toothy grin.'Us going hungry ain't goingto help Ninefingers any.Nothingis.That'sthepointofaduel,ain't it?Allaboutoneman.' He poked at the meat

with his knife and made theblood run sizzling into thefire. Then he sat back,thoughtful. 'You reckon hecan do it? Really? Youremember that thing?'Dogman felt a ghost of thesickfearhe'dhadinthemist,and he shuddered to hisboots.Heweren't likely everto forget the sight of thatgiant coming through the

murk,thesightofhispaintedfist rising, the sound of itcrunching into Threetrees'ribs andcrushing the lifeoutofhim.

'If anyone can do it,' hegrowled through his grittedteeth,'IreckonLogencan.'

'Uh,'gruntedGrim.'Aye,butdoyouthinkhe

will? That's my question.

That, andwhathappens ifhedon't?' It was a question thatDogmancouldhardlybeartothinkupananswerto.Logenwould be dead, for a firstthing. Then there'd be nosiege of Carleon anymore.Dogmanhadtoofewmenleftafter themountains tokeepapiss-potsurrounded,letalonethe best walled city in theNorth.Bethodcoulddoashe

pleased—seek out help, andfind new friends, and set tofighting again. Therewas noonetougherinatightcorner.

'Logen can do it,' hewhispered, bunching his fistsandfeelingthelongcutdownhisarmburning.'Hehasto.'

He nearly fell in the firewhen a great fat handthumpedhimontheback.'BythedeadbutIneverseensuch

a fire-full o' long faces!'Dogman winced. The crazyhillman was hardly what heneeded to lift his mood,grinningoutofthenightwithhischildrenbehindhim,greatbig weapons over theirshoulders.

Crummock was down tojustthetwonow,sinceoneofhis sons got killed up in themountains,buthedidn'tseem

soupsetaboutit.He'dlosthisspear too, snapped off insome Easterner, as he wasfond of saying, so he stilldidn't have to carry aughthimself. Neither one of thechildrenhad saidmuchsincethe battle, or not in theDogman's hearing, anyway.No more talk about howmany men folk might'vekilled. The seeing of it close

upcouldbeawoefuldrainonyour enthusiasm for thebusiness of war. Dogmanknew well enough how thatwent.

But Crummock himselfhad no trouble keepingcheerful. 'Where'sNinefingers got himself offto?'

'Gone off on his own.Always liked to do that,

beforeaduel.''Mmm.' Crummock

stroked at the fingerbonesround his neck. 'Speaking tothemoon,I'llbebound.'

'Shitting himself is closertoit,Ireckon.'

'Well, as long as you getthe shitting done before thefight, I don't reckon anyonecould grumble.' He grinned

all across his face. 'No one'sloved of the moon like theBloody-Nine, I tell you! Noone in all thewideCircle ofthe World. He's got somekind of chance at winning afairfight,andthat'sthebestaman could hope for againstthat devil-thing. There's onlyoneproblem.'

'Justone?''There'llbenofairfightas

long as that damn witch isalive.'

The Dogman felt hisshouldersslumpevenfurther.'Howd'youmean?'

Crummock spun one ofthe wooden signs on hisnecklaceroundandaround.'Ican't see her letting Bethodlose, and herself along withhim, can you? A witch ascleverasthatone?There'sall

kindsofmagicshecouldmix.All kinds of blessings andcurses.Allkindsofwaysthatbitch could tilt the outcome,asthoughthechancesweren'ttiltedenoughalready.'

'Eh?''My point is this.

Someoneneedstostopher.'Dogmanhadn'tthoughthe

couldfeelanylower.Nowhe

knewbetter. 'Good luckwiththat,'hemuttered.

'Haha,my lad,haha. I'dlove todo it, too,but they'vegot an awful stretch ofwallsdownthere,andI'mnotmuchfor climbing over 'em.'Crummock slapped one fathand against his fat belly.'Twice too much meat forthat. No, what we need forthis task is a small man, but

with great big fruits on him.No doubt we do, and themoonknowsit.Amanwithatalent for creeping about,sharp-eyed and sure-footed.We need someone with aquickhandandaquickmind.'He looked at the Dogman,and he grinned. 'Now whereisitthatwe'dfindamanlikethat,doyoureckon?'

'You know what?'

Dogman put his face in hishands.'I'venofuckingidea.'

Logenliftedthebatteredflaskto his lips and took amouthful. He felt the sharpliquor tinglingonhis tongue,ticklingathis throat, thatoldneed to swallow. He leanedforward, pursed his lips, andblewitout inafinespray.Agout of firewent up into the

coldnight.Hepeeredintothedarkness,sawnothingbuttheblack outlines of tree-trunks,the shifting black shadowsthat his fire cast betweenthem.

He shook the flask backand forth, heard the lastmeasure sloshing inside. Heshruggedhisshoulders,putittohismouthand tipped italltheway, felt it burndown to

hisstomach.Thespiritscouldshare with him tonight.Chancesweregoodthat,aftertomorrow, he wouldn't becallingonthemagain.

'Ninefingers.' The voicerustled at him like the leavesfalling.

One spirit slid out fromtheshadows,cameupintothelightfromthefire.Therewasno trace of recognition about

it, and Logen found he wasrelieved. There was noaccusationeither,nofearandnodistrust.Itdidn'tcarewhathewas,orwhathe'ddone.

Logen tossed the emptyflask down beside him. 'Onyourown?'

'Yes.''Well, you're never alone

if you bring laughter with

you.' The spirit said nothing.'Reckonlaughter'sathingformen,notforspirits.'

'Yes.''Don't speak much, do

you?''Ididnotcallonyou.''True.' Logen stared into

thefire.'Ihavetofightamantomorrow. A man calledFenristheFeared.'

'Heisnotaman.''Youknowofhim,then?''Heisold.''Byyourreckoning?''Nothing is old by my

reckoning, but he goes backto theOldTimeandbeyond.Hehadanothermaster,then.'

'Whatmaster?''Glustrod.'Thenamewaslikeaknife

in the ear.Noname could'vebeen less expected, or lesswelcome.Thewindblewcoldthrough the trees, andmemories of the toweringruins of Aulcus crowded inonLogen,andmadehisbackshiver. 'No chance it's somedifferent Glustrod than theonecameclose todestroyinghalftheworld?'

'There is no other. He it

wasthatwrotethesignsupontheFeared'sskin.SignsintheOld Tongue, the language ofdevils, across his left side.That flesh is of the worldbelow. Where the word ofGlustrod is written, theFearedcannotbeharmed.'

'Cannot be harmed? Notatall?'Logenthoughtaboutitamoment. 'Whynotwriteonbothsides?'

'AskGlustrod.''Idon'tthinkthat'slikely.''No.'Alongpause. 'What

willyoudo,Ninefingers?'Logen peered off

sideways into the trees. Thenotionof settingoff running,and never looking back,seemed a pretty one, rightthen. Sometimes it can bebetter to livewith the fearof

it, than to die doing it,whatever Logen's father hadtoldhim.

'Iranbefore,'hemuttered,'and I only ran a circle. Forme, Bethod's at the end ofeverypath.'

'Then that is all our talk.'The spirit stood up from thefire.

'Perhaps I'll see you

again.''I do not think so. The

magic leaks from the world,and my kind sleep. I do notthinkso.EvenifyoubeattheFeared,andIdonotthinkyouwill.'

'Message o' hope then,eh?' Logen snorted. 'Luck gowithyou.'

Thespiritfadedbackinto

thedarkness,andwasgone.Itdid not wish Logen luck. Itdidnotcare.

Authority

«^»

Itwas a dour and depressingmeeting, even for theClosedCouncil.Theweatherbeyondthe narrow windows was

sullen and overcast,promising storms but neverdelivering, casting theWhiteChamber into a chill gloom.From time to time heavygustsofwindwouldrattletheold window panes, makingJezal start and shiver in hisfur-trimmedrobe.

The grim expressions ofthe dozen old faces did littleto warm his bones. Lord

Marshal Varuz was allclenched jaw and harshdetermination. LordChamberlain Hoff clutchedhis goblet like a drowningman clinging to the lastfragment of his boat. HighJustice Marovia frowned asthough he were about topronounce thedeathsentenceon the entire gathering,himself among them. Arch

Lector Sult's thin lip waspermanently curled as hiscoldeyesslidfromBayaz,toJezal,toMarovia,andback.

The First of the Magihimself glared down thetable. 'The situation, please,LordMarshalVaruz.'

'Thesituation,honestly,isgrim. Adua is in uproar.Perhaps one third of thepopulation has already fled.

TheGurkish blockademeansthat few supplies aremakingittothemarkets.Curfewsareinplacebutsomecitizensarestillseizingtheopportunitytorob, steal and riot while theauthorities are occupiedelsewhere.'

Marovia shook his head,grey beard swaying gently.'Andwe can only expect thesituation to deteriorate as the

Gurkish come closer to thecity.'

'Which they are,' saidVaruz, 'at the rate of severalmilesaday.Wearedoingallwe can to frustrate them, butwith our resources solimited… they may well beoutside the gates within theweek.'

Therewereafewshockedgasps, breathed oaths,

nervoussidewaysglances.'Sosoon?' Jezal's voice crackedslightlyashesaidit.

'I am afraid so, yourMajesty.'

'What is the Gurkishstrength?'askedMarovia.

'Estimatesvarywildly.Atpresent however…' andVaruzsuckedworriedlyathisteeth, 'it appears they fieldat

leastfiftythousand.'There were further sharp

intakes of breath, not leastfrom Jezal's own throat. 'Somany?'mutteredHalleck.

'And thousands morelandingeverydaynearKeln,'putinAdmiralReutzer,doingnothing to lift the mood.'With the best part of ournavy on its way to retrievethe army after its northern

adventure, we are powerlesstostopthem.'

Jezal licked his lips. Thewalls of the wide roomseemed to close in furtherwitheverymoment. 'Whatofourtroops?'

Varuz and Reutzerexchangedabriefglance.'Wehave two regiments of theKing'sOwn, one of foot andone of horse, some six

thousand men in all. TheGreyWatch, tasked with thedefence of theAgriont itself,numbers four thousand. TheKnights Herald and of theBody form an elite of somefive hundred. In addition,therearenon-combatsoldiers—cooks,grooms,smiths,andso forth—who could bearmedinanemergency—'

'I believe this qualifies,'

observedBayaz.'—perhaps some few

thousand more. The citywatchmight be of someuse,but they are hardlyprofessionalsoldiers.'

'What of the nobles?'asked Marovia. 'Where istheiraid?'

'Some few have sentmen,' said Varuz grimly,

'others only their regrets.Most…noteventhat.'

'Hedging their bets.' Hoffshookhishead.'Brockhasletit be known there will beGurkish gold for those whohelphim,andGurkishmercyforthosewhostandwithus.'

'It has ever been so,'lamented Torlichorm. 'Thenobles are interested only intheirownwelfare!'

'Then we must open thearmouries,' said Bayaz, 'andwemustnotbeshywiththeircontents.Wemustarmeverycitizen who can hold aweapon. We must arm thelabourers' guilds, and thecraftsmens' guilds, and theveterans' associations. Eventhe beggars in the guttersmustbereadytofight.'

All well and good, Jezal

supposed,buthehardlycaredto trusthis life toa legionofbeggars. 'When will LordMarshalWestreturnwiththearmy?'

'If he received his ordersyesterday, itwill be amonthat the very least before he isdisembarked and ready tocometoouraid.'

'Which means we mustwithstand several weeks of

siege,'mutteredHoff,shakinghis head. He leaned close toJezal's ear and spoke softly,quite as if they wereschoolgirls trading secrets.'Your Majesty, it might beprudent for you and yourClosed Council to leave thecity. To relocate yourgovernment further north,outside the path of theGurkish advance, where the

campaign can be conductedin greater safety. ToHolsthorm,perhaps,or—'

'Absolutely not,' saidBayazsternly.

Jezal could scarcely denythat the notion held itsattractions. The island ofShabulyan at that momentseemed an ideal place torelocate his government to—but Bayaz was right. Harod

the Great would hardly haveentertainedtheideaofretreat,and neither, unfortunately,couldJezal.

'WewillfighttheGurkishhere,'hesaid.

'Merely a suggestion,'muttered Hoff, 'merelyprudence.'

Bayaz spoke over him.'How do the defences of the

citystand?''We have, in essence,

three concentric lines ofdefence.TheAgriontitselfis,ofcourse,ourlastbastion.'

'It will not come to that,though, eh?' chuckled Hoff,withfarfromtotalconviction.

Varuz decided not toanswer. 'Arnault's Wall isbeyond it, enclosing the

oldest andmost crucial partsof the city—the Agriont, theMiddleway, the main docksand the Four Corners amongthem. Casamir's Wall is ouroutermost line of defence—weaker, lower, and a greatdeal longer than Arnault's.Smaller walls run betweenthesetwo,likethespokesofawheel,dividingtheouterringofthecityintofiveboroughs,

each of which can be sealedoff, should it be captured bythe enemy. There are somebuilt-up areas beyondCasamir's Wall, but thosemust be immediatelyabandoned.'

Bayaz planted his elbowson the edge of the table, hismeaty fists clasped together.'Given the number andquality of our troops, we

would be best served byevacuating the outer quartersof the city and concentratingour efforts around the muchshorterandstrongerlengthofArnault's wall. We cancontinuetofightarear-guardaction in the outer boroughs,where our superiorknowledge of the streets andbuildingsstandsinourfavour—'

'No,'saidJezal.Bayaz fixed him with a

brooding stare. 'YourMajesty?'

But Jezal refused to beoverawed. It had beenbecomingclearforsometimethat if he allowed theMagusto rule him on every issuethen he would never escapefrom under his boot. HemighthaveseenBayazmake

a man explode with athought, but he was hardlylikely to do it to theKingofthe Union before his ownClosedCouncil.Notwith theGurkish breathing down alltheirnecks.

'Idonotintendtogiveupthegreaterpartofmycapitalto the Union's oldest enemywithoutgivingbattle.Wewilldefend Casamir's Wall, and

fight for every stride ofground.'

Varuz glanced across atHoff, and the Chamberlainraised his eyebrows by thetiniest fraction. 'Er… ofcourse, your Majesty. Everystride.' There was anuncomfortable silence, thedispleasureoftheFirstoftheMagihangingover thegroupasheavilyasthestormclouds

hungoverthecity.'DoesmyInquisitionhave

anything to contribute?'croaked Jezal, doing his besttomountadiversion.

Sult's eyes darted coldlyup to his. 'Of course, yourMajesty.TheGurkishloveofintrigue is well known. Wehave no doubt that there arealreadyspieswithinthewallsof Adua. Perhaps within the

Agriont itself.All citizens ofKantic origin are now beinginterned. My Inquisitors areworkingdayandnight in theHouse of Questions. Severalspieshavealreadyconfessed.'

Marovia snorted. 'So weare expected to suppose thatthe Gurkish love of intriguedoes not extend to the hiringofwhite-skinnedagents?'

'We are at war!' hissed

Sult,givingtheHighJusticeadeadly glare. 'The verysovereigntyofournationisatrisk!This isnotimeforyourblather about freedom,Marovia!'

'On the contrary, this ispreciselythetime!'

Thetwooldmenbickeredon, straining everyone'sfrayed nerves to breakingpoint.Bayaz,meanwhile,had

sunk back into his chair andfolded his arms, watchingJezal with an expression ofcalm consideration whichwas, if anything, even morefearsome than his frown.Jezal felt theworryweighingever heavier upon him.However you looked atthings, he was teetering onthe verge of having thebriefest and most disastrous

reigninUnionhistory.

'Iamsorry thatIhadtosendfor your Majesty,' pipedGorst, in his girlish littlevoice.

'Ofcourse,ofcourse.'Theclicking of Jezal's polishedboot-heels echoed angrilyaroundthem.

'There is only so much

thatIcando.''Ofcourse.'Jezal shoved open the

doubledoorswithbothhands.Terez sat bolt upright in themidst of the gilded chamberbeyond, glaring at him downher nose in thatmannerwithwhich he had become soinfuriatingly familiar. Asthough he were an insect inher salad. Several Styrian

ladies looked up, and thenback to their tasks. Chestsandboxesclutteredtheroom,clothes were being neatlypacked within. EveryimpressionwasgiventhattheQueen of the Union wasplanning to leave the capital,and without so much asinformingherhusband.

Jezal ground his alreadyaching teeth. He was

tormented by a disloyalClosed Council, a disloyalOpenCouncil, andadisloyalpopulace. The poisonousdisloyalty of his wife wasalmost too much to bear.'Whatthehellisthis?'

'I and my ladies canhardlyassistyou inyourwarwith the Emperor.' Terezturned her flawless headsmoothly away from him.

'WearereturningtoTalins.''Impossible!' hissed Jezal.

'A Gurkish army of manythousands is bearing downupon thecity!Mypeoplearefleeing Adua in droves andthose that remain are awhisker from sliding intooutright panic! Your leavingnow would send entirely thewrong message! I cannotallowit!'

'HerMajestyisinnowayinvolved!' snapped theCountess Shalere, glidingacross the polished floortowardshim.

As though Jezal had notenough to worry about withthe Queen herself, he wasnow obliged to bandy wordswith her companions. 'Youforgetyourself,' he snarledather.

'It is you who forgets!'She tooka step towardshim,her face twisted. 'You forgetthat you are a bastard son,andascarredoneat—'

The back of Jezal's handcracked sharply into hersneering mouth and sent herreelingbackwithanungainlygurgle. She tripped over herdress and collapsed on thefloor, one shoe flying from

her flailing foot and off intothecorneroftheroom.

'I am a King, and in myown palace. I refuse to bespokentointhismannerbyaglorified lady's maid.' Thevoicecameout,flat,cold,andfrighteningly commanding. Itscarcely sounded like hisown, but who else's could itbe?Hewas the onlyman inthe room. 'I see that I have

been far too generous withyou, and that you havemistaken my generosity forweakness.' The eleven ladiesstared at him, and at theirfallen comrade, crumpled onthe ground with one hand toher bloodymouth. 'If any ofyourwitchesshoulddesiretodepartthesetroubledshores,Iwillarrangepassageforthem,and even pull an oar myself

with a light heart. But you,your Majesty, will be goingnowhere.'

Terezhadleapedupfromherseatandwasgloweringathim, body rigid. 'Youheartless brute—' she begantohiss.

'We may bothwholeheartedly wish it wereotherwise!' he roared overher, 'butwearemarried!The

timetoraiseobjectionstomyparentage,ormyperson,ortoany other facet of oursituation, was before youbecameQueen of theUnion!Despise me all you wish,Terez, but you… go…nowhere.' And Jezal sweptthe dumbstruck ladieswith abaleful glare, turned on hispolished heel and stalkedfromtheairysalon.

Damnitbuthishandhurt.

TheCircle

«^»

Dawn was coming, a greyrumour, the faintest touch ofbrightness around the solemnoutline of the walls of

Carleon. The stars had allfadedintoastonysky,butthemoon still hung there, justabove the tree-tops, seemingalmostcloseenoughtotryanarrowat.

West had not closed hiseyesallnight,andhadpassedinto that strange realm oftwitchy, dreamlikewakefulness that comesbeyond exhaustion. Some

time in the silent darkness,after all the orders had beengiven,hehadsatbythelightof a single lamp to write aletter to his sister. To vomitup excuses. To demandforgiveness. He had sat, hecould not have said for howlong, with the pen over thepaper, but the words hadsimply not come. He hadwantedtosayall thathefelt,

butwhenitcametoit,hefeltnothing.ThewarmtavernsofAdua, cards in the sunnycourtyard. Ardee's one-sidedsmile. It all seemed athousandyearsago.

The Northmen werealready busy, clipping at thegrass in the shadow of thewalls, the clicking of theirshears a strange echo of thegardeners in the Agriont,

shaving a circle a dozenstrides across down to theroots. The ground, hesupposed, on which the duelwouldtakeplace.Thegroundwhere, in no more than anhour or two, the fate of theNorth would be decided.Very much like a fencingcircle, except that it mightsoonbesprayedwithblood.

'A barbaric custom,'

muttered Jalenhorm, histhoughts evidently taking asimilarcourse.

'Really?' growled Pike. 'Iwasjustnowthinkingwhatacivilisedoneitis.'

'Civilised? Two menbutchering each other beforeacrowd?'

'Better than a wholecrowdbutchering each other.

A problem solved with onlyonemankilled?That's awarendedwell,tomymind.'

Jalenhorm shivered andblew into his cupped hands.'Still. A lot to hang on twomen fighting one another.WhatifNinefingersloses?'

'Then I suppose thatBethod will go free,' saidWest,unhappily.

'But he invaded theUnion!He caused the deathsof thousands!He deserves tobepunished!'

'People rarely get whatthey deserve.' West thoughtof Prince Ladisla's bonesrotting out in the wasteland.Some terrible crimes gounpunished,andafew,fornoreason beyond the ficklemovements of chance, are

richly rewarded. He stoppedinhistracks.

Amanwas sitting on hisown on the long slope, hisback to the city. A manhunched over in a batteredcoat, so still and quiet in thehalf-light that West hadalmostmissedhim. 'I'll catchyouup,'hesaidasheleftthepath.Thegrass,coatedwithapale fur of frost, crunched

gently under his boots witheachstep.

'Pull up a chair.' Breathsmoked gently roundNinefingers'darkenedface.

West squatted down onthe cold earth beside him.'Areyouready?'

'Ten times before I'vedone this.Can't say I've everyet been ready. Don't know

that there is a way to getready for a thing like this.The best I've worked out isjust to sit, and let the timecrawlpast,andtrynottopissyourself.'

'I imagine a wet crotchcouldbeanembarrassmentinthecircle.'

'Aye. Better than a splithead,though,Ireckon.'

Undeniably true. Westhad heard tales of theseNorthern duels before, ofcourse. Growing up inAngland, children whisperedlurid stories of them to eachother. But he had little ideahow they were reallyconducted. 'How does thisbusinesswork?'

'They mark out a circle.Round the edge men stand

with shields, half from oneside,half fromtheother,andtheymakesurenooneleavesbefore it's settled. Two mengo into the circle. The onethat dies there is the loser.Unless someone has it inmindtobemerciful.Can'tseethathappeningtoday,though,somehow.'

Also undeniable. 'Whatdoyoufightwith?'

'Each one of us bringssomething. Could beanything. Then there's a spinof a shield, and the winnerpickstheweaponhewants.'

'So you might end upfighting with what yourenemybrought?'

'It can happen. I killedShama Heartless with hisown sword, and got stuckthrough with the spear I

brought to fight HardingGrim.' He rubbed at hisstomach, as though thememory ached there. 'Still,don't hurt any worse, gettingstuck with your own spearinsteadofsomeoneelse's.'

West laid a handthoughtfully on his own gut.'No.'Theysatinsilenceforawhilelonger.

'There's a favour I'd like

toaskyou.''Nameit.''Would you and your

friendsholdshieldsforme?''Us?' West blinked

towards the Carls in theshadow of the wall. Theirgreat round shields lookedhard enough to lift, let aloneto use well. 'Are you sure?I've never held one in my

life.''Maybe, but you know

whose side you're on. Thereain't many folk among thesethat I can trust. Most of 'emare still trying to work outwho they hate more, me orBethod. It only takes one togivemeashovewhenIneedapush, or letme fallwhen Ineedcatching.Thenwe'realldone.Meespecially.'

West puffed out hischeeks. 'We'll do what wecan.'

'Good.Good.'The cold silence dragged

out.Over the black hills, theblack trees, the moon sankandgrewdimmer.

'Tellme,Furious.Doyoureckon aman has to pay forthethingshe'sdone?'

West looked up sharply,the irrational and sicklythought flashing through hismind that Ninefingers wastalking of Ardee, or ofLadisla, or both. Certainly,the Northman's eyes seemedtoglintwithaccusationinthehalf-light—thenWest felt thesurge of fear subside.Ninefingers was talking ofhimself, of course, as

everyone always does, giventhechance.Itwasguiltinhiseyes, not accusation. Eachmanhashisownmistakes tofollowhim.

'Maybe.'West clearedhisdrythroat.'Sometimes.Idon'tknow. I suppose we've alldonethingsweregret.'

'Aye,' saidNinefingers. 'Ireckon.'

They sat together insilence,andwatchedthelightleakacrossthesky.

'Let's go, chief!' hissedDow.'Let'sfuckinggo!'

'I'll say when!' Dogmanspat back, holding the dewybranches out of the way andpeering towards the walls, ahundred strides off, maybe,

across a dampmeadow. 'Toomuch light, now. We'll waitfor thatbloodymoon todropa touch further, then we'llmakearunatit.'

'It ain't going to get anydarker!Bethodcan'thavetoomany men left after all theones we killed up in themountains, and that's a lot o'walls. They'll be spread thinascobwebsupthere.'

'Itonlytakesoneto—'And Dow was off across

that field and running, asplain on the flat grass as aturdonasnow-field.

'Shit!' hissed Dogman,helpless.

'Uh,'saidGrim.There was nothing to do

butstare,andwaitforDowtogetstuckfullofarrows.Wait

fortheshouts,andtorcheslit,and the alarm to go up, andthewholethingdumpedrightin the shit-hole. Then Dowdashedupthelastbitofslopeand was gone into theshadowsbythewall.

'He made it,' saidDogman.

'Uh,'saidGrim.Thatoughttohavebeena

good thing, but Dogmandidn't feel too much likelaughing.Hehadtomaketherun himself now, and hedidn't have Dow's luck. Helooked at Grim, and Grimshrugged. They burst outfrom the trees together, feetpounding across the softmeadow.Grimhadthelongerlegs, started pulling away.The groundwas a good deal

softerthanDogmanhad—'Gah!' His foot squelched

to the ankle and he wentflyingover,splasheddowninthemireandslidalongonhisface. He floundered up, coldand gasping, ran the rest ofthe way with his wet shirtplasteredagainsthisskin.Hestumbled up the slope to thefoot of the walls and bentover, hands to his knees,

blowinghardandspittingoutgrass.

'Looks like you took atumble there, chief.' Dow'sgrinwasawhitecurvein theshadows.

'Youmadbastard!'hissedDogman, his temper flaringuphotinhiscoldchest. 'Youcould'vebeenthedeathsofallofus!'

'Oh,there'sstilltime.''Shhhh.' Grim flailed one

hand at them to say keepquiet. Dogman pressedhimself tight to the wall,worry snuffing his anger outquick-time. He heard menmoving up above, saw theglimmerofa lamppass slowdown the walls. He waited,still, no sound but Dow'squiet breath beside him and

his own heart pounding, 'tilthemenabovemovedonandallwasquietagain.

'Tellmethatain'tgotyourblood flowing quick, chief,'whisperedDow.

'We're lucky it ain'tflowingrightoutofus.'

'Whatnow?'Dogman gritted his teeth

ashe tried to scrape themud

out of his face. 'Now wewait.'

Logen stood up, brushed thedewfromhistrousers,tookalong breath of the chill air.There could be no denyingany longer that the sun waswellandtrulyup.Itmight'vebeen hidden in the eastbehindSkarling'sHill,butthetallblacktowersuptherehad

brightgoldenedges, the thin,high clouds were pinkingunderneath, the cold skybetweenturningpaleblue.

'Better to do it,' Logenwhispered under his breath,'than livewith the fear of it.'He remembered his fathertelling him that. Saying it inthesmokyhall,lightfromthefireshiftingonhislinedface,long finger wagging. Logen

remembered telling it to hisownson,smilingbytheriver,teaching him to tickle fish,Father and son, both deadnow,earthandashes.Noonewould learn it after Logen,once he was gone. No onewouldmiss himmuch at all,he reckoned. But then whocared? There's nothingworthless than what men think ofyou after you're back in the

mud.He wrapped his fingers

roundthegripof theMaker'ssword, felt the scored linesticklingathispalm.Hesliditfrom the sheath and let ithang, worked his shouldersround in circles, jerked hishead from side to side. Onemorecoldbreath in, andout,then he started walking, upthrough the crowd that had

gatheredinawidearcaroundthe gate. A mix of theDogman's Carls andCrummock's hillmen, and afew Union soldiers givenleave to watch the crazyNortherners kill each other.Some called to him as hecame through, all knowingthere were a lot more liveshanging on this thanLogen'sown.

'It'sNinefingers!''TheBloody-Nine.''Putanendtothis!''Killthatbastard!'Theyhadtheirshields,all

the men that Logen hadpickedtoholdthem,standingin a solemn knot near thewalls. West was one, andPike, and Red Hat, andShivers too.Logenwondered

if he'd made a mistake withthe last of them, but he'dsaved the man's life in themountains and that ought tocountforsomething.Oughttowas a thin thread to hangyourlifeon,but there itwas.His life had been danglingfroma thin thread ever sincehecouldremember.

Crummock-i-Phail fellinto step beside him, big

shield looking small on onebig arm, the other handresting light on his fat belly.'You looking forward to thisthen, Bloody-Nine? I am, Icantellyouthat!'

Hands slapped at hisshoulders, voices calledencouragement, but Logensaid nothing. He didn't lookleftorrightashepushedpastintotheshavencircle.Hefelt

men close in behind him,heardthemsettheirshieldsinahalf-ring round the edgeofthe short grass, facing thegates of Carleon. Furtherback the crowd pressed intight. Whispering to eachother. Straining to see. Noway back now, that was afact.Butthenthereneverhadbeen.He'dbeenheadinghereall his days. Logen stopped,

inthecentreofthecircle,andheturnedhisfaceuptowardsthebattlements.

'It's sunrise!' he roared.'Let'sgettoit!'

There was silence, whiletheechoesdied,andthewindpushed some loose leavesaround the grass. A silencelong enough for Logen tostart hoping no one wouldanswer.Tostarthopingthey'd

all somehowslippedaway inthe night, and there'd be noduelafterall.

Then faces appeared onthe walls. One here, onethere, then a whole crowd,lining the parapet far asLogen could see in bothdirections. Hundreds of folk—fighting men, women,children even, up onshoulders. Everyone in the

city, it looked like. Metalsquealed, and wood creaked,and the tall gates ever soslowlyswungapart, theglareof the rising sun spilling outthe crack between, thenpouring bright through theopen archway. Two lines ofmencametrampingout.

Carls, all hard faces andtangled hair, heavy mailjingling, painted shields on

theirarms.Logen knew a few of

them. Some of Bethod'sclosest,who'dbeenwithhimsince the beginning. Hardmen all, who'd held theshields for Logen more thanonce, back in the old days.They formedup in theirownhalf-ring, closing the circletight. A wall of shields—animal faces, trees and

towers, flowing water,crossed axes, all of themscarred and scuffed from ahundred old fights. All ofthem turned in towardsLogen. A cage of men andwood, and the only way outwas to kill. Or to die, ofcourse.

A black shape formed inthe bright archway. Like aman,buttaller,seemingtofill

it all the way to the highkeystone. Logen heardfootsteps. Thumpingfootsteps, heavy as fallinganvils.Astrangekindoffeartugged at him. A mindlesspanic, as if he'd wokentrappedunderthesnowagain.Heforcedhimselfnottolookover his shoulder atCrummock,forcedhimselftolook ahead as Bethod's

championsteppedoutintothedawn.

'By the fucking dead,'breathedLogen.

Hethoughtatfirstitmustbesometrickofthelightthatmade him look the size hedid. Tul Duru Thunderheadhad been a big bastard, nodoubt, big enough that somehad called him a giant. Buthe'd still looked like a man.

FenristheFearedwasbuiltonsuch a scale that he seemedsomethingelse.A raceapart.A giant indeed, stepped outfrom old stories and madeflesh.Alotofflesh.

His face squirmed as hewalked, great bald headjerkingfromsidetoside.Hismouth sneered and grinned,his eyes winked and bulgedbyturns.Onehalfofhimwas

blue.No otherway to put it.A neat line down his facedivided blue skin from pale.Hishugerightarmwaswhite.His leftwasblueall the longwayfromshouldertothetipsof his great fingers. In thathand he carried a sack,swinging back and forwardwitheachstep,bulgingasifitwasstuffedwithhammers.

A couple of Bethod's

shield-carriers cringed out ofhisway,lookinglikechildrenbeside him, grimacing as ifdeath itselfwas breathing ontheir necks. The Fearedstepped through into thecircle, and Logen saw thebluemarkswerewriting, justas the spirit had told him.Twisted symbols, scrawledovereverypartofhisleftside—hand, arm, face, lips even.

The words of Glustrod,writtenintheOldTime.

TheFearedstoppedafewstrides distant, and a sicklyhorror seemed to wash outfrom him and over the silentcrowd, as if a great weightwas pressing on Logen'schest, squeezing out hiscourage. But the task wassimple enough, in itsway. Ifthe Feared's painted side

couldn't be harmed, Logenwould just have to carve therestofhim,andcarveitdeep.He'dbeatensomehardmeninthe circle.Ten of the hardestbastardsinalltheNorth.Thiswas just onemore. Or so hetriedtotellhimself.

'Where's Bethod?' He'dmeant to bellow it, alldefiance, but it came out atame,drysquawk.

'I can watch you die justas well from up here!' TheKing of the Northmen stoodon the battlements above theopen gate,well-groomed andhappy, Pale-as-Snow and afew guards stood about him.If he'd had any troublesleeping, Logenwould neverhave known it. The morningbreezestirredhishairandthethickfurroundhisshoulders,

themorningsunshoneonthegolden chain, struck sparksfrom the diamond on hisbrow. 'Gladyoucame! Iwasworriedyou'dmakearunforit!' He gave a carefree sighand it smoked on the sharpair. 'It's morning, like yousaid.Let'sgetstarted.'

Logen looked into theFeared's bulging, twitching,crazyeyes,andswallowed.

'We're gathered here towitness a challenge!' roaredCrummock. 'A challenge toput an end to this war, andsettle the blood betweenBethod,who'stakentocallinghimself King of theNorthmen, and Furious, whospeaksfor theUnion.Bethodwins, the siege is lifted, andthe Union leaves the North.Furious wins, then the gates

of Carleon are opened, andBethod stands at his mercy.DoIspeaktrue?'

'You do,' said West, hisvoice sounding small in allthatspace.

'Aye.' Up on his walls,Bethod waved a lazy hand.'Gettoit,fatman.'

'Then name yourselves,champions!' shouted

Crummock, 'and list yourpedigree!'

Logen took a stepforward.Itwasahardsteptotake, as if he was pushingagainst a great wind, but hetookitanyway,tiltedhisheadback and looked the Fearedfull in hiswrithing face. 'I'mthe Bloody-Nine, and there'sno number on the men I'vekilled.' The words came out

softanddead.Noprideinhisempty voice, but no feareither. A cold fact. Cold asthe winter. 'Ten challengesI'vegiven,andIwon 'emall.In this circle I beat ShamaHeartless, Rudd Threetrees,Harding Grim, Tul DuruThunderhead, Black Dow,and more besides. If I listedtheNamedMenI'veputbackin the mud we'd be here at

sunrisetomorrow.There'snota man in the North don'tknowmywork.'

Nothing changed in thegiant's face. Nothing morethanusual,atleast.'Mynameis Fenris the Feared. Myachievements are all in thepast.' He held up his paintedhand, and squeezed the greatfingers,andthesinewsinhishuge blue arm bulged like

knottedtreeroots.'Withthesesigns great Glustrod markedme out his chosen.With thishand I tore down the statuesof Aulcus. Now I kill littlemen, in little wars.' Logencould just make out a tinyshrug of his massiveshoulders.'Suchisthewayofthings.'

Crummock looked atLogen, and he raised his

brows. 'Alright then. Whatweapons have you carried tothefight?'

Logen lifted the heavysword, forged by Kanediasforhiswar against theMagi,andheld itup to the light.Astride of dullmetal, the edgeglittered faintly in the palesunrise. 'This blade.' Hestabbeditdownintotheearthbetween them and left it

standingthere.TheFearedthrewhissack

rattling down and it saggedopen.Insideweregreatblackplates, spiked and studded,scarred and battered. 'Thisarmour.'Logenlookedatthatvastweightofdark iron, andlickedhisteeth.IftheFearedwon the spin he could takethe sword and leave Logenwithapileofuselessarmour

way too big for him. Whatwouldhedothen?Hideunderit? He only had to hope hisluck stuckout a fewminuteslonger.

'Alright, my beauties.'Crummock set his shielddownonitsrimandtookholdoftheedge. 'Paintedorplain,Ninefingers?'

'Painted.' Crummockripped the shield round and

set it spinning. Round andround, it went—painted,plain, painted, plain. Hopeand despair swapped withevery turn. Thewood startedtoslow,towobbleonitsrim.It dropped down flat, plainsideup,thestrapsflopping.

Somuchforluck.Crummock winced. He

looked up at the giant.'You've got the choice, big

lad.'The Feared took hold of

theMaker's blade and slid itfrom the earth. It looked likea toy in hismonstrous hand.Hisbulgingeyesrolledup toLogen's, and his greatmouthtwisted into a smile. Hetossed the sword down atLogen'sfeetanditdroppedinthedirt.

'Take your knife, little

man.'

The sound of raised voicesfloated thin on the breeze.'Alright,' hissed Dow, muchtoo loud for the Dogman'snerves, 'they're gettingstarted!'

'I canhear that!'Dogmansnapped, coiling the roperound and round into easy

circles,readytothrow.'You know what you're

doing with that? I could dowithoutitdroppingonme.'

'Thatso?'Dogmanswungthegrapplebackandforwardatouch,feelingtheweight. 'Iwasjustthinkingthat,afteritsticking in that wall, itsticking inyour fatheadwasthe secondbestoutcome.'Hespunitroundinacircle,then

a wider one, letting somerope slip through his hand,then he hefted it all the wayandletitfly.Itsailedup,realneat, the rope uncoiling afterit, and over the battlements.Dogman winced as he hearditclatteronthewalkway,butno one came. He pulled ontherope.Astrideor twosliddown,andthenitcaught.Feltfirmasarock.

'Firsttime,'saidGrim.Dogman nodded, hardly

able to believe it himself.'What are the odds? Who'sfirst?'

Dow grinned at him.'Whoever's got hold o' theropenow,Ireckon.'

As the Dogman startedclimbing, he found he wasgoingoverallthewaysaman

couldgetkilledgoingupthiswall.Grappleslipped,andhefell. Rope frayed, andsnapped, and he fell.Someone had seen thegrapple,waswaiting for himto get to the top before theycut the rope. Or they werewaiting for him to get to thetopbeforetheycuthisthroat.Ortheywerejustnowcallingfor a dozen big men to take

prisonerwhateveridiotitwastrying toclimb intoacityonhisown.

His boots scuffled at therough stone, the hemp bit athishands,hisarmsburnedatthework,andallthewhilehedid his best to keep hisrasping breath quiet. Thebattlements edged closer,thencloser,thenhewasthere.He hooked his fingers onto

the stone and peered over.The walkway was empty,both ways. He slipped overthe parapet, sliding a knifeout, just in case. You cannever have toomany knives,and all that. He checked thegrapplewascaughtfirm,thenhe leaned over, saw Dow atthe bottom looking up,Grimwith the rope in his hands,onefootonthewall,readyto

climb. Dogman beckoned tohim to say come, watchedhimstartup,handoverhand,Dowholdingtothebottomofthe rope to stop it flapping.Soonenoughhewashalfway—

'Whatthefuck—'Dogman jerked his head

left. There were a pair ofThralls not far off, juststeppedoutfromadoortothe

nearest tower and onto thewall.Theystaredathim,andhe stared back, seemed likethelongesttime.

'There's a rope here!' heshouted,brandishinghisknifearound and making like hewastryingtocutitawayfromthe grapple. 'Some bastard'stryingtoclimbin!'

'By the dead!' One camerunning, gawped down at

Grim swinging around. 'He'scomingupnow!'

The other one pulled hisswordout. 'Don'tworry 'boutthat.' He lifted it, grinning,ready to chop through therope. Then he stopped. 'Here—whyyouallmuddy?'

Dogman stabbed him inthe chest, hard as he could,and again. 'Eeeeee!' wailedthe Thrall, face screwed up,

lurching back against thebattlements and dropping hisswordovertheside.Hismatecamechargingup,swingingabig mace. Dogman duckedunder it, but the Thrallbarrelled into him andbrought him down on hisback,headcrackingonstone.

The mace clattered awayandtheywrestledaround,theThrall kicking and punching

whileDogmantriedtogethishands round his throat, stophim from calling out. Theyrolled over one way, thenback the other, struggled uptostandingandtotteredaboutdown the walkway. TheThrall got his shoulder inDogman's armpit and shovedhim back up against thebattlements, trying to bundlehimover.

'Shit,'gaspedtheDogmanashisfeetlefttheground.Hecould feel his arse scrapingthe stone, but still he clungon, hands tight round theThrall's neck, stopping himgetting a good breath. Hewentupanotherinch,felthishead forced back, almostmore weight on the wrongside of the parapet than theright.

'Overyougo,youfucker!'croaked the Thrall, workinghischinawayfromDogman'shands and pushing him atouch further, 'over you—'His eyes went wide. Hestumbled back, a shaftstickingoutofhisside.'Oh,Idon't—' Another thumpedintohisneckandhelurchedastep, would've fallen off theback of the wall if the

Dogman hadn't grabbed hisarm and dragged him downonto the walkway, held himthere while he slobbered hislastbreaths.

When he was finished,Dogman rolled up and stoodbent over the corpse,breathing.Grimhurriedover,takingagood lookaround tomake sure no one else waslikelytohappenby.'Alright?'

'Just once. Just once I'dliketogetthehelpbeforeI'matthepointo'gettingkilled.'

'Better'n after.' TheDogman had to admit therewas some truth to that. Hewatched Dow pull himselfover the battlements and rolldownonto thewalkway.TheThrall Dogman had stabbedwasstillbreathing,justabout,sat near the grapple. Dow

chopped a piece out of hisskull with his axe as hewalkedpast, carelessas ifhewaschoppinglogs.

He shook his head. 'Ileavethetwoo'youalonefortenbreaths togetherand lookwhat happens. Two deadmen, eh?'Dow leaneddown,stuck two fingers in one oftheholesDogman'sknifehadmade, pulled them out and

smeared blood across oneside of his face. He grinnedup. 'What do you reckon wecandowithtwodeadmen?'

TheFearedseemedtofillthecircle,onehalfbareandblue,theothercased inblack iron,a monster torn free fromlegends. There was nowhereto hide from his great fists,nowheretohidefromthefear

of him. Shields rattled andclashed, men roared andbellowed, a sea of blurredfacestwistedwithmadfury.

Logen crept around theedgeoftheshortgrass,tryingto keep light on his feet. Hemight'vebeensmaller,buthewas quicker, cleverer. Atleasthehopedhewas.Hehadto be, or he was mud. Keepmoving,rolling,ducking,stay

out of the way and pick hismoment.Aboveall,don'tgethit. Not getting hit was thefirstthing.

Thegiantcameathimoutofnowhere,hisgreattattooedfist a blue blur. Logen threwhimself out of thewaybut itstill grazed his cheek andcaughthisshoulder,senthimstumbling. So much for notgetting hit.A shield, and not

afriendlyone,shovedhiminthe back and he lurched theother way, head whippingforward. He pitched on hisface,nearlycuthimselfonhisownsword,rolleddesperatelyto the side and saw theFeared's huge boot thud intotheground, soil flyingwherehis skull had been amomentbefore.

Logen scrabbled up in

time to see the blue handcoming at him again. Heduckedunderneath it, hackedat the Feared's tattooed fleshashereeledpast.TheMaker'ssword thudded deep into thegiant's thighlikeaspadeintoturf. The huge leg buckledandhedropped forwardontohis armoured knee. It shouldhave been a killing blow,right through the big veins,

but there was hardly moreblood than from a shaving-scratch.

Still,ifonethingfailsyoutry another. Logen roared ashe chopped at the Feared'sbaldhead.Thebladeclangedagainst the armour on thegiant's right arm, raised justin time. It scraped down thatblack steel and slid off,harmless, chopping into the

earth and leaving Logen'shandsbuzzing.

'Ooof!'TheFeared'skneesank into his gut, folded himup and sent him staggering,needing to cough but nothaving the air to do it. Thegiant had already found hisfeet again, armoured handswinging back, a lump ofblackironthesizeofaman'shead. Logen dived sideways,

rollingacross theshortgrass,feltthewindofthegreatarmripping past him. It crashedinto the shield where he'dbeen standing, broke it intosplintered pieces, flung theman holding it wailing intotheearth.

It seemed the spirit hadbeen right. The painted sidecouldn't be hurt. Logencrouched, waiting for the

clawing pain in his stomachto fade enough for him tobreathe, trying to think ofsometricktouseandcomingup with nothing. The Fearedturned his writhing facetowards Logen. Behind himon theground the felledmanwhimpered under thewreckage of his shield. TheCarls either side of himshuffled in to close the gap

withsomereluctance.Thegianttookaslowstep

forwards, and Logen took apainfulstepback.

'Still alive,' he whisperedtohimself.Buthowlongfor,itwashardtosay.

Westhadneverinhislifefeltso scared, so exhilarated, sovery much alive. Not even

when he won the Contestwith all the wide Square ofMarshals cheering for him.Not even when he stormedthe walls of Ulrioch, andburst out from the dust andchaosintothewarmsunlight.His skin tingled with hopeand horror. His hands jerkedhelplessly with Ninefingers'movements. His lipsmurmured pointless advice,

silent encouragement. Besidehim Pike and Jalenhormjostled, shoved, shoutedthemselves hoarse. Behindthem thewide crowd roared,strainingtosee.Onthewallsthey leaned out, screamingand shaking their fists in theair. The circle ofmen flexedwith the movements of thefighters, never still, bowingout and sucking in as the

champions came forward orfellback.

And almost always, sofar, the one falling backwasNinefingers.Agreat brute ofaman bymost standards, heseemedtiny,weakandbrittleinthatterrifyingcompany.Tomake matters a great dealworse, there was somethingvery strange at work here.Something West could only

have called magic. Greatwounds, deadly wounds,closed in the Feared's blueskin before his very eyes.This thingwas not aman. Itcould only be a devil, andwheneverittoweredoverhimWest felt a fearas thoughhewas standing at the veryvergeofhell.

West grimaced asNinefingers lurched

helplessly against the shieldson the far side of the circle.The Feared raised hisarmoured fist to deliver ablowthatcouldsurelycrushaskull to jelly. But it hitnothing but air. Ninefingersjerked away at the lastmomentandlet theironmisshis jaw by a hair. His heavyswordslasheddown,bouncedoff the Feared's armoured

shoulder with a resoundingclang. The giant stumbledback and Ninefingers cameafterhim,palescarsstretchedonhisrigidface.

'Yes!' hissed West, themen around him bellowingtheirapproval.

The next blow shriekeddown the giant's armouredside, leaving a long, brightscratchanddiggingupagreat

sodofearth.Thelastchoppeddeepintohispaintedribsandspat out a misty spray ofblood, knocked him flailingoff balance. West's mouthopened wide as the greatshadow fell across him. TheFeared toppled against hisshield like a falling tree anddrove him trembling to hisknees,wiltingunderthegreatweight, his stomach rolling

withhorroranddisgust.Thenhesawit.Oneofthe

buckles on the spiked andstudded armour, just belowthe giant's knee, was inchesfrom the fingers of West'sfreehand.All he could thinkof, in that moment, was thatBethodmightescape,afterallthe dead men he had left,scattered up and down thelengthofAngland.Hegritted

histeethandsnatchedholdofthe end of the leather strap,thick as a man's belt. Hedragged at it as the Fearedshovedhishugebulkup.Thebuckle came jingling open,thearmouronthemightycalfflapped loose as his footthumped down again, as hisarm lashed out and knockedNinefingersstumblingaway.

West struggled from the

dirt,alreadygreatlyregrettinghis impulsiveness. Heglanced around the circle,searching for any sign thatsomeone had seen him, butall eyes were fixed on thefighters. It seemed now atiny,petulantsortofsabotagethat could never make theslightest difference. Beyondgetting him killed, of course.It was a fact he had known

from childhood. Catch youcheating in a Northern duel,and they'll cut the bloodycross in you and pull yourgutsout.

'Gah!' Logen jerked awayfrom the armoured fist,tottered to his right as theblueonerushedpasthisface,dived to his left as the ironhandlashedathimagain,slid

and nearly fell. Any one ofthose blows had been hardenough to take his head off.He saw the painted arm goback, gritted his teeth as hedodgedaroundanotheroftheFeared's mighty punches,already swinging the swordupandover.

The blade sheared neatlythrough the blue arm, justbelow the elbow, sent it

tumbling away across thecircle along with a gout ofblood.Logen heaved air intohis burning lungs and raisedthe Maker's sword high,setting himself for one lasteffort. The Feared's eyesrolled up towards the dullgrey blade. He jerked hishead to one side and itchoppeddeepintohispaintedskull, showering out specks

ofdarkbloodandsplittinghisheaddowntotheeyebrow.

The giant's armouredelbow crunched into Logen'sribs, half-lifted him off hisfeet and flung him kickingacrossthecircle.Hebouncedfromashieldandsprawledonhisface,laytherespittingoutdirt while the blurry worldspunaroundhim.

He winced as he pushed

himself up, blinked the tearsout of his eyes, and froze.The Feared stepped forward,swordstillburieddeep inhisskull, and picked up hissevered arm. He pressed itagainst the bloodless stump,twisted it to the right, thenbacktotheleft,andlet itgo.Thegreatforearmwaswholeagain, the letters ran fromshouldertowristunbroken.

Themenaroundthecirclefell silent. The giant workedhisbluefingersforamoment,thenhereachedupandclosedhishandaroundthehiltoftheMaker's sword. He turned itone way, then the other, hisskull crunching as boneshifted.Hedraggedthebladefree, shook his head as if toclear a touch of dizziness.Then he tossed the sword

across the circle and itclattered down in front ofLogen for the second timethatday.

Logen stared at it, hischest heaving. It was gettingheavier with each exchange.Thewoundshe'dtakeninthemountains ached, the blowshe'd taken in the circlethrobbed. The air was stillcold but his shirt was sticky

withsweat.The Feared showed no

signoftiring,evenwithhalfaton of iron strapped to hisbody. There wasn't so muchas a bead of sweat on histwistingface.Notsomuchasa scratch on his tattooedscalp.

Logen felt the fearpressing hard on him again.Heknewnowhowthemouse

felt, when the cat had himbetween his paws. Heshould've run. He should'verun and never looked back,but instead he'd chosen this.Say one thing for LogenNinefingers, say that bastardnever learns. The giant'smouth crawled up into awrigglingsmile.

'More,'hesaid.

Dogmanneededtopissashewalked up to the gate ofCarleon's inner wall. Alwaysneeded to piss at times likethis.

He had one of the deadThrall's clothes on, bigenough that he'd had to pullthe belt too tight, cloakhangingoverthebloodyknifehole in the shirt. Grim waswearingtheother'sgear,bow

over one shoulder, the bigmace hanging from his freehand.Dow slumped betweenthem,wrists tied at his back,feet scraping stupidly at thecobbles,bloodyheadhanginglike they'd given him quitethebeating.

Seemedapitifulkindofaruse, if the Dogman wasbeinghonest.Therewerefiftythingshe'dcountedsincethey

climbed off the walls thatcould've given them away.But there was no time foranything cleverer. Talk well,and smile, andnoonewouldnotice the clues. That's whathehopedanyway.

A guard stood each sideofthewidearchway,apairofCarls in long mail coats andhelmets, both with spears intheirhands.

'What's this?' one asked,frowning as they walked upclose.

'Found thisbastard tryingto creep in.' Dogman gaveDow a punch in the side ofthe head, just tomake thingslookgood. 'We're takinghimdownbelow, lockhimup 'tilafter they're done.' He madetowalkonpast.

Oneoftheguardsstopped

him coldwith a hand on hischest, and the Dogmanswallowed. The Carl noddedtowards the city's gates.'How'sitgoing,downthere?'

'Alright,Iguess.'Dogmanshrugged.'It'sgoing,anyway.Bethod'll come out on top,eh? He always does, don'the?'

'I don't know.' The Carlshook his head. 'That Feared

putsthefuckingwindupme.Him and that bloody witch.Can't say I'll cry too hard iftheBloody-Ninekillsthepairof'em.'

The other one chuckled,pushed his helmet onto thebackofhisscalp,bringingupa cloth to wipe the sweatunderneath.'Yougota—'

Dow sprang forward,loose bits of rope flapping

roundhiswrists,andburiedaknifeallthewayuptothehiltin the Carl's forehead.Droppedhimlikeachairwiththe legs kicked away. Samemoment almost, Grim'sborrowed mace clonked intothe top of the other's helmetand left a great dent in it,jammed the rim right downalmost to the tip of his nose.He dribbled some, stumbling

backlikehewasdrunk.Thenblood came bubbling out ofhis ears and he fell down onhisback.

Dogman turned round,tryingtoholdhisstolencloakoutsonoonewouldseeDowand Grim dragging the twocorpses away, but the townseemed empty. Everyonewatching the fight, no doubt.He wondered for a moment

what was happening, outthere in the circle. Longenough togetanasty feelinginhisgut.

'Come on.' He turned tosee Dow grinning all acrosshis bloody face. The twobodies he'd just wedgedbehind the gates, one of 'emstaringcross-eyedattheknifeholeinhishead.

'That good enough?'

askedDogman.'What, youwant to say a

few words for the dead, doyou?'

'You know what I mean,ifsomeone—'

'No timeforclever,now.'Dowgrabbedhimbythearmand pulled him through thegate.'Let'skillusawitch.'

ThesoleoftheFeared'smetalboot thudded into Logen'schest, ripped his breath outand rammed him into theearth, the sword tumblingfrom his clawing hand, pukeburning at the back of histhroat.Beforeheknewwherehe was a great shadow fellacross him. Metal snappedshutroundhiswrist,tightasavice. His legs were kicked

awayandhewasonhisface,armtwistedbehindhimandamouthful of dirt to thinkabout. Something pressedagainst his cheek. Cold atfirst, then painful. TheFeared's great foot.Hiswristwaswrenchedround,draggedup. His head was crushedfurtherintothedampground,short grass prickling up hisnose.

The tearing pain in hisshoulder was awful. Soon itwas a lot worse. He wascaught fast and helpless,stretchedout likea rabbit forskinning. The crowd hadfallen breathlessly silent, theonly sound the battered fleshround Logen's mouthsquelching, the air squeakingin one squashed nostril. Hewould'vescreamedifhisface

hadn't been so squeezed thathe could scarcely wheeze inhalf a breath. Say one thingfor Logen Ninefingers, saythathe'sfinished.Backtothemud, and no one could'vesaid he hadn't earned it. Afitting end for the Bloody-Nine,tornapartinthecircle.

But the great arms didn'tpull any further. Out thecorner of one flickering eye,

Logen could just see Bethodleaning against thebattlements. TheKing of theNorthmen waved his hand,round and round, in a slowwheel. Logen rememberedwhatitmeant.

Take your time. Make itlast. Show them all a lessonthey'llneverforget.

The Feared's great bootslidoffhisjawandLogenfelt

himself dragged into the air,limbs flopping like a puppetwith the strings cut. Thetattooed handwent up, blackagainst the sun, and slappedLogenacross theface.Open-handed,asafathermightcuffa troublesome child. It waslike being hit with a pan.Light burst open in Logen'sskull, his mouth filled withblood.Thingsdrewintofocus

justintimeforhimtoseethepainted hand swing back theotherway.Itcamedownwitha terrible inevitability andcracked him a backhandblow, as a jealous husbandmightcrackhishelplesswife.

'Gurgh—' he heardhimself say, and he wasflying. Blue sky, blindingsun, yellow grass, staringfaces,allmeaninglesssmears.

Hecrashedintotheshieldsattheedgeofthecircle,floppedhalf-senseless to the earth.Farawaymenwereshouting,screaming, hissing, but hecouldn't hear the words, andhardly cared. All he couldthink about was the coldfeeling in his stomach. As ifhis guts were stuffed withswellingice.

He saw a pale hand,

smeared with pink blood,white tendons starting fromthe scratched skin.His hand,of course. There was thestump. But when he tried tomake the fingers open theyonly clutched tighter at thebrownearth.

'Yes,' he whispered, andblood drooled out of hisnumbmouthandtrickledintothe grass. The ice spread out

from his stomach, out to thevery tips of his fingers andturned every part of himnumb. Itwaswell that itdid.Itwashightime.

'Yes,'hesaid.Up,upontoone knee, his bloody lipscurling back from his teeth,hisbloodyrighthandsnakingthroughthegrass,seekingoutthehiltoftheMaker'ssword,closingtightaroundit.

'Yes!' he hissed, andLogen laughed, and theBloody-Nine laughed,together.

West had not expectedNinefingers to get up, notever again, but he did, andwhen he did, he waslaughing. It sounded almostlike weeping at first, aslobbering giggle, shrill and

strange, but it grew louder,sharper,colderasherose.Asif at a cruel joke that no oneelse could see. A fatal joke.Hishead fell sideways like ahanged man's, livid face allslack around a hacked-outgrin.

Blood stained his teethpink, trickled from the cutson his face, seeped from historn lips. The laughter

gurgled up louder, andlouder,rippingatWest'sears,jagged as a saw-blade.Moreagonised than any scream,more furious than any war-cry. Awfully, sickeninglywrong. Chuckling at amassacre. Slaughterhousegiggling.

Ninefingers lurchedforwardslikeadrunkenman,swaying, wild, sword

danglingfromhisbloodyfist.His dead eyes glittered, wetandstaring,pupilsswollentotwo black pits. His madlaughter cut, and grated, andhacked around the circle.West felt himself edgingback, mouth dry. All thecrowd edged back. They nolongerknewwhoscaredthemmore: Fenris the Feared, ortheBloody-Nine.

Theworldburned.

His skinwas on fire.Hisbreath was scalding steam.The sword was a brand ofmoltenmetalinhisfist.

The sun stamped white-hotpatternsintohispricklingeyes, and the cold greyshapes of men, and shields,and walls, and of a giant

made from blue words andblack iron. Fear washed outfromhiminsicklywaves,buttheBloody-Nine only smiledthewider.Fearandpainwerefuel on the fire, and theflames surged high, andhigheryet.

Theworldburned, and atits centre the Bloody-Nineburnedhottestofall.Heheldout his hand, and he curled

the three fingers, and hebeckoned.

'Iamwaiting,'hesaid.The great fists lashed at

the Bloody-Nine's face, thegreat hands snatched at hisbody.Butallthegiantcaughtwas laughter.Easier to strikethe flickering fire. Easier tocatchtherollingsmoke.

The circle was an oven.

The blades of yellow grassweretonguesofyellowflamebeneath it. The sweat, spit,blood dripped onto it likegravyfromcookingmeat.

TheBloody-Ninemade ahiss,wateroncoals.Thehissbecame a growl, ironspatteringfromtheforge.Thegrowl became a great roar,the dry forest in flames, andhelettheswordgofree.

The grey metal madesearing circles, hackedbloodless holes in blue flesh,rangonblackiron.Thegiantfadedawayand thebladebitinto the face of one of themen holding the shields. Hishead burst apart and sprayedblood across another, a holetornfromthewallaroundthecircle. The others shuffledback, shields wavering, the

circleswellingwiththeirfear.They feared him more eventhan thegiant, and theywerewiseto.Everythingthatlivedwashisenemy,andwhentheBloody-Ninehadmadepiecesof this devil-thing, he wouldsettoworkonthem.

Thecirclewasacauldron.Onthewallsabovethecrowdsurged like angry steam.Theground shifted and swelled

under the Bloody-Nine's feetlikeboilingoil.

His roar became ascalding scream, the swordflashed down and clashedfrom spiked armour like ahammer on the anvil. Thegiantpressedhisbluehandtothepalesideofhishead,facesquirming like a nest ofmaggots. The blade hadmissed his skull, but stolen

away the top half of his ear.Blood bubbled out from thewound, ran down the side ofhis great neck in two thinlines,anddidnotstop.

Thegreateyeswentwideand the giant sprang forwardwithathunderingbellow.TheBloody-Nine rolledunderhisflailing fist and slid roundbehind him, saw the blackirononhislegflapaway,the

bright buckle dangling. Thesword snaked out and slidintothegap,atedeepintothegreat pale calf inside it. Thegiant roared in pain, spun,lurched on his wounded legandfelltohisknees.

Thecirclewasacrucible.The screaming faces of themen around its edge dancedlikesmoke,swamlikemoltenmetal, their shields melting

together.Now was the time. The

morning sun blazed down,glinted bright on the heavychest-plate,marking thespot.Now was the beautifulmoment.

The world burned, andlike a leaping flame theBloody-Nine reared up,archingback,raisinghighthesword. The work of

Kanedias, theMasterMaker,no blade forged sharper. Itsbitteredgescoredalonggashin the black armour, throughtheironandintothesoftfleshbeneath, striking sparks andspatteringblood,theshriekoftortured metal mingling withthewailofpaintornfromtheFeared's twisted mouth. Thewound it left in him wasdeep.

Butnotdeepenough.Thegiant'sgreatarmsslid

round the Bloody-Nine'sback, folding him in asmothering embrace. Theedges of the black metalpierced his flesh in a dozenplaces.Closer thegiant drewhim,andcloser,andaraggedspike slid into the Bloody-Nine's face, cut through hischeekandscrapedagainsthis

teeth, bit into the side of histongue and filled his mouthwithsaltblood.

TheFeared'sgripwastheweight of mountains. Nomatter how hot the Bloody-Nine'srage,nomatterhowhesquirmed, and thrashed, andscreamedinfury,hewasheldas tightly as the cold earthholds the buried dead. Theblood tricklingfromhis face,

and from his back, and fromthegreatgash in theFeared'sarmour soaked into hisclothes and spread outblazinghotoverhisskin.

TheWorldburned.Abovethe oven, the cauldron, thecrucible,Bethodnodded, andthe giant's cold armssqueezedtighter.

Dogmanfollowedhisnose.Itrarely led him wrong, hisnose, and he hoped to hellthat it didn't fail himnow. Itwas a sickly kind of a smell—like sweet cakes left toolong in the oven. He led theothers along an emptyhallway, down a shadowystair, creeping through thedamp darkness in the knottybowels ofSkarling'sHill.He

couldhearsomethingnow,aswell as smell it, and itsoundedasbadasitsmelled.Awoman'svoice,singingsoftand low. A strange kind ofsinging, in no tongue theDogmancouldunderstand.

'That must be her,'mutteredDow.

'Don't like the sound o'that one bit,' Dogmanwhispered back. 'Sounds like

magic''Whatd'youexpect?She's

a fuckingwitch ain't she? I'llgoroundbehind.'

'No, wait on—' But Dowwas already creeping off theotherway,bootspaddingsoftandsilent.

'Shit.' Dogman followedthe smell, creeping down thepassagewaywithGrim at his

back, the chanting cominglouderandlouder.Astreakoflight slunk out from anarchway and he easedtowardsit,pressedhissidetothe wall and took a peerroundthecorner.

The room on the otherside had about as witchy alook as a room could everhave. Dark and windowless,three other black doorways

roundthewalls.Itwaslitjustby one smoky brazier up atthe far end, sizzling coalsshedding a dirty red light onit all, givingoff a sick sweetstink. There were jars andpots scattered all round,bundles of twigs, and grass,anddried-outflowershangingfrom the greasy rafters,casting strange shadows intothecorners,liketheshapesof

hangedmenswinging.There was a woman

standingoverthebrazierwithherbacktotheDogman.Herlong,whitearmswerespreadoutwide,shiningwithsweat.Gold glinted round her thinwrists, black hair straggleddownherback.TheDogmanmight not have known thewordsshewassingingbuthecouldguessitwassomedark

workshewasupto.Grim held up his bow,

oneeyebrow raised.Dogmanshookhishead, silentlydrewhis knife. Tricky to kill herright off with a shaft, andwhoknewwhatshemightdoonceshewasshot?Coldsteelin the neck left nothing tochance.

Together they crept intothe room.The airwas hot in

there, thick as swamp water.Dogman sneaked forward,tryingnottobreathe,surethereekwould throttlehim if hedid.Hesweated,or theroomdid, leastways his skin wasbeaded up with dew in notime. He picked his steps,findingapathbetweenalltherubbish strewn across thefloor—boxes, bundles,bottles.Heworked his damp

palm round the grip of hisknife, fixed his eyes on thepoint between her shoulders,thepointhe'dstabitinto—

His foot caught a jar andsent it clattering. Thewoman's head jerked round,thechantstoppeddeadonherlips.Agaunt,whiteface,paleas a drowned man's, blackpaint round her narrow eyes—blue eyes, cold as the

ocean.

The circle was silent. Themen around its edge werestill, their faces and theirshields hanging limp. Thecrowd at their backs, thepeoplepressed to theparapetabove,allheldmotionless,allquietasthedead.

For all of Ninefingers'

mad rage, for all his twistingand his struggling, the gianthad him fast. Thick musclessquirmed under blue skin asthe Feared's great armstightened and slowly crushedthe life from him. West'smouth was bitter withhelpless disappointment. Allthat he had done, all that hehad suffered, all those liveslost, for nothing. Bethod

wouldgofree.ThenNinefingersgavean

animal growl. The Fearedheld him still, but his bluearm. was trembling with theeffort.As ifhewassuddenlyweakened,andcouldsqueezeno further. Every sinew ofWest'sownbodywasrigidashe watched. The thick strapoftheshieldbitintohispalm.Hisjawwasclenchedsotight

thathis teeth ached.The twofighterswerelockedtogether,straining against each otherwith every fibre and yetentirely still, frozen in thecentreofthecircle.

TheDogmansprangforward,kniferaisedandready.

'Stop.'He froze solid in a

moment. He'd never heard avoice like it. One word andthere was no thought in hishead. He stared at the palewoman, his mouth open, hisbreath hardly moving,wishing that she'd sayanother.

'You too,' she said,glancing over at Grim, andhis face went slack, and hegrinned, halfway through

drawinghisbow.She looked Dogman up

and down, then pouted as ifshe was all disappointment.'Is thatanywayforguests tobehave?'

Dogman blinked. Whatthehellhadhebeen thinkingbarging inherewithadrawnblade? He couldn't believehe'd done such a thing. Heblushed to the roots of his

hair.'Oh…I'msorry…bythedead…'

'Gugh!' said Grim,throwing his bow into thecorner of the room as if he'dsuddenly realised he had aturd in his hand, then staringdownatthearrow,baffled.

'That'sbetter.'Shesmiled,and the Dogman found hewas grinning like an idiot.Somespitmight'vecomeout

of his mouth maybe, just abit, but he weren't thatbothered.Aslongasshekepttalkingnothingelseseemedo'too much importance. Shebeckonedtothem,longwhitefingers stroking at the thickair. 'No need to stand so farawayfromme.Comecloser.'

Him and Grim stumbledtowards her like eagerchildren, Dogman near

tripping over his feet in hishurrytoplease,Grimbarginginto a table on the way andcomingclosetofallingonhisface.

'MynameisCaurib.''Oh,' said Dogman. Most

beautifulnameever,nodoubtabout it. Amazing, that asingle word could be sobeautiful.

'Harding Grim's myname!'

'Dogman, they call me,'count of a sharp sense o'smell, and… er…' By thedead,butitwashardtothinkstraight. There'd beensomething important he wasmeanttobedoing,butforthelife of him he couldn't thinkwhat.

'Dogman… perfect.' Her

voicewassoothingasawarmbath, as a soft kiss, as milkandhoney…'Don'tsleepyet!'Dogman's head rolled,Caurib's painted face a blackandwhite blur, swimming infrontofhim.

'Sorry!' he gurgled,blushing again and trying tohide the knife behind hisback. 'Right sorry about theblade…noideawhat—'

'Don't worry. I am gladthatyoubrought it. I think itwouldbebestifyouusedittostabyourfriend.'

'Him?' Dogman squintedatGrim.

Grimgrinnedandnoddedbackathim.'Aye,definitely!'

'Right, right, good idea.'Dogman lifted up the knife,seemingtoweighaton.'Er…

anywhere you'd like himstabbed,inparticular?'

'In the heart will donicely.'

'Rightyouare.Right.Theheart it is.'Grim turned fronton togivehimabetter go atit. Dogman blinked, wipedsome sweat from hisforehead. 'Here we go, then.'Damnitbuthewasdizzy.Hesquinted at Grim's chest,

wanting tomake sure he gotit right first time, and didn'tembarrass himself again.'Herewego…'

'Now!' she hissed at him.'Justgetit—'

The axe blade made aclicking sound as it split herheadneatlydownthemiddle,allthewaytoherchin.Bloodsprayed out and spattered inDogman's gawping face, and

thewitch'sthinbodyslumpeddownonthestoneslikeitwasmadeofnothingbutrags.

Dow frowned as hetwistedthehaftofhisaxethisway and that, until the bladecame free of Caurib's ruinedskull with a faint suckingsound. 'That bitch talks toomuch,'hegrunted.

The Bloody-Nine felt thechange. Like the first greenshootofspring.Likethefirstwarmth on the wind as thesummer comes. There was amessage in the way theFeared held him. His boneswere no longer groaning,threateningtoburstapart.Thegiant's strengthwas less, andhiswasmore.

The Bloody-Nine sucked

intheairandhisrageburnedhot as ever. Slowly, slowly,he dragged his face awayfromthegiant'sshoulder,feltthe metal slide out from hismouth. He twisted, twisteduntilhisneckwas free.Untilhewasstaringintothegiant'swrithing face. The Bloody-Nine smiled, then he dartedforward, fast as a shower ofsparks, and sank his teeth

deepintothatbiglowerlip.Thegiantgrunted,shifted

his arms, tried to drag theBloody-Nine's head away,tearthebitingteethoutofhismouth. But he could moreeasily have shaken off theplague. His arms loosenedand the Bloody-Nine twistedthehandthatheldtheMaker'ssword. He twisted it, as thesnake twists in its nest, and

slowly he began to work itfree.

The giant's blue left armuncoiled from the Bloody-Nine's body, his blue handseized hold of the Bloody-Nine's wrist, but there couldbe no stopping it. When thesapling seed finds a crack inthemountain,overlongyearsits deep roots will burst thevery rock apart. So the

Bloody-Nine strained witheverymuscleandlettheslowtime pass, hissing out hishatred into the Feared'stwitching mouth. The bladecrept onwards, slowly,slowly, and its very point bitintopainted flesh, just belowthegiant'sbottomrib.

The Bloody-Nine felt thehot blood trickling down thegrip and over his bunched

fist, trickling out of theFeared's mouth and into his,running down his neck,leaking from the woundsacross his back, dripping tothe ground, just as it shouldbe. Softly, gently, the bladeslidintotheFeared's tattooedbody, sideways, upwards,onwards.

ThegreathandsclawedattheBloody-Nine'sarm,athis

back, seeking desperately forsomeholdthatmightstoptheterribleeasingforwardofthatblade. But with everymoment the giant's strengthmeltedaway,likeicebeforeafurnace. Easier to stop theWhiteflow than to stop theBloody-Nine. The movementofhishandswasthegrowingof a mighty tree, one hair'sbreadth at a time, but no

flesh, no stone, no metalcouldstopit.

The giant's painted sidecould not be harmed. GreatGlustrodhadmadeitso,longyears ago, in the Old Time,when thewordswerewrittenupon the Feared's skin. ButGlustrod wrote on one halfonly. Slowly, now, softly,gently, the point of theMaker's sword crossed the

divideandintotheunmarkedhalf of him, dug into hisinnards,spittedhimlikemeatmadereadyforthefire.

The giant made a great,high shriek, and the laststrength melted from hishands. The Bloody-Nineopened his jaws and let himfree,onearmholdingtighttohisbackwhiletheotherdrovethe sword on into him. The

Bloody-Nine hissed laughterthrough his clenched teeth,dribbled laughter through theragged hole in his face. Herammedthebladeas faras itwould go, and its point slidout between the plates ofarmour just beneath thegiant'sarmpitandglintedredinthesun.

Fenris theFeared totteredbackwards, still making his

long squeal, his mouthhanging open and a string ofredspitdanglingfromhislip,the painted half alreadyhealed over, the pale halftattered as mince-meat. Thecircle of men watched him,frozen, gaping over the topsof their shields. His feetshuffled in thedirt,onehandfumbling for the red hilt oftheMaker's sword, buried to

the cross-piece in his side,blood dripping from thepommelandleavingredspotsscattered across the ground.His squeal became a rattlinggroan, one foot tripped theother and he toppled like afelled tree and crashed overon his back, in the centre ofthecircle,greatarmsandlegsspreadwide.Thetwitchingofhis facewas finally still, and

therewasalongsilence.'By the dead.' It was

spoken softly, thoughtfully.Logen squinted into themorning sun, saw the blackshapeofamanlookingdownat him from the highgatehouse. 'By the dead, Inever thought you'd do it.'TheworldtippedfromsidetosideasLogenbegantowalk,the breath hissing cold

through the wound in hisface, scraping in his rawthroat.

Themenwho'dmade thecirclemoved out of hisway,now,theirvoicesfallensilent,their shields hanging fromtheirhands.

'Never thought you coulddo it, but when it comes tokilling,there'snomanbetter!No man worse! I've always

saidso!'Logen tottered through

the open gates, found anarchway and began to climbthe lurching steps, round andround, his boots hissingagainst the stone and leavingdark smears behind. Theblood dripped, tap, tap, tapfrom the dangling fingers ofhis left hand. Every muscleached. Bethod's voice dug at

him.'But I get the last laugh,

eh, Bloody-Nine? You'renothing but leaves on thewater! Any way the rainwashesyou!'

Logen stumbled on, ribsburning, jaws locked tighttogether, shoulder scrapingagainst the curved wall. Up,andup,andround,andround,his crackling breath echoing

after.'You'll never have

anything! You'll never beanything! You'll never makeanythingbutcorpses!'

Out onto the roof,blinking in the morningbrightness, spitting amouthful of blood over hisshoulder.Bethodstoodat thebattlements.TheNamedMenstumbledout ofLogen'sway

ashestrodetowardshim.'You're made of death,

Bloody-Nine!You'remadeof—'

Logen'sfistcrunchedintohis jaw and he took aflopping step back. Logen'sother hand smashed into hischeek and he reeled againstthe parapet, a long string ofbloody drool running fromhissplitmouth.Logencaught

the back of his head andjerked his knee up intoBethod's face, felt his nosecrunch flat against it. Logentangled his fingers inBethod'shair,grippedittight,pulled his head up high, andrammed it down into thestones.

'Die!'hehissed.Bethod jerked, gurgled,

Logen lifted his head and

drove it down again, andagain. The golden ring flewoffhisbrokenskull,bouncedacross the rooftop with amerryjingling.

'Die!'Bonecrunched,andblood

shotoutover the stone in fatdrops and thin spatters.Pale-as-SnowandhisNamedMenstared, white-faced, helplessand fearful, horrified and

delighted.'Die,youfucker!'And Logen hauled

Bethod's ruined corpse intotheairwithonelasteffortandflung it tumbling over thebattlements. He watched itfall.Hewatched it crunch tothegroundandlie,onitsside,arms and legs stuck outawkwardly, fingers curled asif they were grasping at

something, theheadnomorethanadarksmearonthehardearth. All the faces of thecrowds of men standingbelow were turned towardsthatcorpse,thenslowly,eyesand mouths wide open, theylifteduptostareatLogen.

Crummock-i-Phail,standingintheirmidst,inthecentre of the shaved circlebeside the great body of the

Feared,slowlyraisedhislongarm, the fat forefingeron theend of it pointing upwards.'The Bloody-Nine!' hescreamed. 'King o' theNorthmen!'

Logen gaped down athim, panting for breath, legswobbling, trying tounderstand. The fury wasgone and left nothing butterrible tiredness behind it.

Tirednessandpain.'King o' the Northmen!'

someone shrieked, way backinthecrowd.

'No,' croaked Logen, butnooneheardhim.Theywereall too drunkwith blood andfury, or busy thinking whatwas easiest, or too scared tosay anydifferent.The chantsbroke out all over, first atrickle of them, then a flow,

and then a flood, and allLogen could do was watch,clinging to the bloody stoneandtryingnottofall.

'The Bloody-Nine! Kingo'theNorthmen!'

Pale-as-Snow was downononekneebesidehim,spotsof Bethod's blood sprayedacross the white fur on hiscoat.Healwayshadbeenoneto lick whatever arse was

nearest, but he wasn't alone.Theywereallkneeling,uponthe walls and down on thegrass. The Dogman's CarlsandBethod's.Themenwho'dheld the shields for Logenand the ones who'd held theshieldsfortheFeared.MaybeBethod had taught them alesson. Maybe they'dforgottenhowtobetheirownmen, and now they needed

someone else to tell themwhattodo.

'No,' whispered Logen,but all that came out was adull slurp. He had no morepower to stop it than he hadto make the sky fall in.Seemedtohimthenthatmendo pay for the things they'vedone, alright. But sometimesthe payment isn't what theyexpected.

'TheBloody-Nine!'roaredCrummock again, as he sankdownonhisknees and liftedup his arms towards the sky,'Kingo'theNorthmen!'

GreaterGood

«^»

The room was another over-bright box. It had the sameoff-white walls, spotted withbrown stains. Mould, or

blood, or both. The samebattered table and chairs.Virtually instruments oftorture in themselves. Thesame burning pains inGlokta's foot, and leg, andback. Some things neverchange. The same prisoner,as far as anyone could havetold, with the same canvasbagover theirhead.Just likethe dozens who have been

through this room over thepast few days, and just likethe dozens more crammedinto the cells beyond thedoor, waiting on ourpleasure.

'Verywell.'Gloktawavedatiredhand,'letusbegin.'

Frost dragged the bagfrom the prisoner's head. Along, lean Kantic face withdeep creases around the

mouth and a neatly trimmedblack beard, streaked withgrey. A wise, dignified face,deep-set eyes even nowadjustingtotheglare.

Gloktaburstoutlaughing.Each chuckle stabbed at thebase of his stiff spine andrattled his stiff neck, but hecould not help himself.Evenafterall theseyears, fatecanstillplayjokesonme.

'Wath futhy?' gruntedFrost.

Glokta wiped his runnyeye. 'Practical Frost, we aretruly honoured. Our latestprisoner is none other thanMaster Farrad, formerly ofYashtavit inKanta,andmorerecently of a magnificentaddress at the top of theKingsway. We are in thepresence of the finest dentist

in the Circle of the World.'And one must appreciate theirony.

Farrad blinked into theglaring lamplight. 'I knowyou.'

'Yes.''Youaretheonewhowas

aprisoneroftheGurkish.''Yes.''The one they tortured. I

remember… you werebroughttome.'

'Yes.'Farrad swallowed. As

though the memory alone isenough to make him vomit.He glanced up at Frost andthepinkeyesgloweredback,unblinking.Heglancedroundthe grubby, bloodstainedroom, at the cracked tiles, atthescarredtable-top.Hiseyes

lingered on the paper ofconfession lying upon it.'Afterwhattheydidtoyou—howcanyoudothis,now?'

GloktashowedFarradhistoothless grin. 'After whatthey did to me, how could Idoanythingelse?'

'WhyamIhere?''For the same reason as

everyone else who comes

here.' Glokta watched Frostplant the heavy tips of hisfingers on the paper ofconfession and slide itdeliberately across the tabletowards the prisoner. 'Toconfess.'

'Confesstowhat?''Why, to spying for the

Gurkish.'Farrad's face creased up

with disbelief. 'I am no spy!The Gurkish took everythingfrom me! I fled my homewhen they came! I aminnocent, you must knowthis!'

Of course. As have beenallthespieswhoconfessedinthis room over the last fewdays. But they all confessed,without exception. 'Will yousignthepaper?'

'Ihavenothingtoconfessto!'

'Whyisitthatnoonecananswer the questions I ask?'Glokta stretched out hisaching back, worked hiscreaking neck from side toside, rubbed at the bridge ofhis nose with finger andthumb. Nothing helped. Butthen nothing ever does. Whymust they always make it so

very difficult, forme and forthemselves? 'Practical Frost,would you show the goodmasterourworksofar?'

The albino slid a dentedtinbucketoutfromunderthetable and dumped thecontentswithoutceremonyinfront of the prisoner. Teethclattered, and slid, and spunacrossthewood.Hundredsofthem.Teethofallshapesand

sizes,fromwhite, throughallthe shades of yellow, tobrown. Teeth with bloodyrootsandwithshredsoffleshattached. A couple tumbledfrom the far end of the tableand bounced from the grimytiles, clicked away into thecornersofthenarrowroom.

Farrad gaped down inhorror at the bloodymess ofdentistry before him. And

eventheveryPrinceofTeethcan never have seen such athing. Glokta leanedforwards. 'I daresay you'vepulled a tooth or two beforeyourself.' The prisonernodded dumbly. 'Then youcan probably imagine howtiredIamafterthislot.That'swhyI'dreallyliketobedonewith you as quickly aspossible. I don't want you

here, and you certainly don'twanttobehere.Wecanhelpeachother.'

'What must I do?'muttered Farrad, his tonguemoving nervously around hisownmouth.

'It is not complicated.First you sign yourconfession.'

'Thorry,' mumbled Frost,

leaningforwardandbrushinga couple of teeth off thedocument, one of themleaving a long, pink streakacrossthepaper.

'Then you name twoothers.'

'Twootherwhat?''Why, twoother spies for

the Gurkish, of course, fromamongyourpeople.'

'But…Iknownospies!''Then some other names

will have to serve.Youhavebeen named already, severaltimes.'

The dentist swallowed,then shook his head, andpushed the paper away. Abrave man, and a righteousone. But bravery andrighteousnessarebadvirtuesto have in this room. 'I will

sign. But I will not nameinnocent men. God havemercyonme,Iwillnot.'

'God might have mercyon you. But he doesn't holdthe pliers down here. Clamphim.'

Frost gripped Farrad'shead from behind with onegreat white hand, tendonsstandingfromthepaleskinashe forced his mouth open.

Then he shoved the clampbetween Farrad's jaws andspun the nut round nimblybetween finger and thumbuntil they were held wideopen.

'Ah!' gurgled the dentist.'Ayrh!'

'I know. And we're justgetting started.' Gloktapushed back the lid of hiscase, watched the polished

wood,thesharpenedsteel,theshining glass spreadoutwards. What the… Therewasadisconcertinggapinthetools. 'For pity's sake! Haveyouhadthepliersoutofhere,Frost?'

'Nuh,' grunted the albino,shakinghisheadangrily.

'Damn it! Can none ofthesebastardskeeptheirowninstruments? Go next door

and see if we can borrowsome,atleast.'

The Practical lumberedfrom the room, the heavydoorhangingajarbehindhim.Glokta winced as he rubbedat his leg. Farrad stared athim, spit running from onecorner of his forced-openmouth. His bulging eyesrolled sideways as a howl ofpain came muffled from the

corridoroutside.'I do apologise for this,'

said Glokta. 'We're usually agreat deal more organised,butit'sbeenbusyashellherethe last few days. Such a lottogetthrough,yousee.'

Frostpulledthedoorshutand handed Glokta a pair ofrusty pliers, handles first.There was some dry bloodand a couple of curly hairs

cakedtothejaws.'Isthisthebesttheycould

do?Thesearedirty!'Frost shrugged. 'Whath a

ifferenth?'A fair point, I suppose.

Glokta gave a long sigh,struggled up from his chairand leaned forwards to peerinto Farrad's mouth. And asweet set he has, too. A

pearly white complement. Isuppose you'd expect prize-winning teeth from a prize-winningdentist.Anythingelsewould be a pooradvertisementforhistrade.

'I applaud yourcleanliness. It's a rareprivilege to question a manwho appreciates theimportance of washing themouth out. I can't say I've

everseenabettersetofteeth.'Glokta tapped at themhappily with the pliers. 'Itseems a shame to tear themall out, just so that you canconfess in ten minutes timeinstead of now, but thereweare.' He closed the jawsaround the nearest tooth,worked his hand around thehandles.

'Gurlgh,' gurgled Farrad.

'Glaigh!'Glokta pursedhis lips, as

though considering, thenreleased the pliers. 'Let usgive the good master onefurther chance to talk.' Frostunscrewed the clamp andpulleditfromFarrad'smouthalong with a string of drool.'Is there something youwishtosay?'

'I will sign!' gasped

Farrad, a long tear runningdown one cheek. 'God helpme,Iwillsign!'

'And you will name twoaccomplices?'

'Whatever you wish…please…whateveryouwish.'

'Excellent,'saidGlokta,ashewatchedthepenscratchingagainst the paper ofconfession.'Who'snext?'

Glokta heard the lockbehindhimrattle.Hescowledas he turned his head,preparing to scream at hispresumptuousvisitor.

'Your Eminence,' hewhispered, with barelyconcealed dismay, grimacingashestruggledtogetupfromhischair.

'Noneed to rise, Idonothave all day.' Glokta found

himself frozen in the mostpainfulpossibleposition,bentsomewhere between sittingand standing, and had to sagback intohis chairwith littlegrace as Sult swept into theroom, three of his hugePracticals looming silently inthe doorway behind him.'You may ask your freak ofnaturetoleaveus.'

Frost's eyes narrowed,

flickered over the otherPracticals, then back to Sult.'Very good, Practical Frost,'saidGloktahastily.'Youmayremoveourprisoner.'

The albino unlockedFarrad's manacles anddragged the dentist from hischair with one white fist,hauled him gasping by hiscollar to thedoorat thebackof the room and ripped back

the bolt with his free hand.He gave one pink glare overhis shoulder and Sult glaredback. Then he slammed thedoorbehindhim.

His Eminence slid intothechairoppositeGlokta.Nodoubt still warm from thesweating arse of the braveandrighteousMasterFarrad.Hebrushedsomeoftheteethfromthetable-topbeforehim

with the side of one glovedhand and sent them clickingonto the floor.And he couldnot have seemed to care lesshad they been breadcrumbs.'There is adeadlyconspiracyafoot within the Agriont.Have we made progress inunmaskingit?'

'I have interviewed mostof the Kantic prisoners,extracted a suitable number

of confessions, there shouldnotbe—'

Sult gave an angry waveofhishand.'Notthat,halfwit.IrefertothatbastardMaroviaand his pawns, the so-calledFirstof theMagiandourso-calledKing.'

Even now, with theGurkish knocking at thegates?'YourEminence,Ihadassumed the war would take

precedence—''You have not the wit to

assume,' sneered Sult. 'Whatevidence have you collectedagainstBayaz?'

I stumbled uponsomethingIshouldn'thaveatthe University, then wasalmost drowned in my bath.'Sofar…nothing.'

'Whatof theparentageof

KingJezaltheFirst?''That avenue too

appears…adeadend.'Oranavenuewithmyowndeathatthe end, if my owners atValintandBalkwere tohearof it. And they hear ofeverything.

The Arch Lector's lipstwisted. 'Then what the hellhaveyoubeendoinglately?'

For the last three days Ihave been busy tearingmeaninglessconfessionsfromthe mouths of innocent men,so that we could appeareffective. When was Isupposedtofindtimetobringdown the state, precisely? 'Ihave been occupied withseekingGurkishspies—'

'Why do I never getanything from you but

excuses? I have begun towonder, since youreffectiveness has so sharplydeclined, how youwere ableto keep Dagoska out ofGurkish hands so long. Youmust have needed atremendoussumofmoney tostrengthen the city'sdefences.'

IttookallofGlokta'sself-control to prevent his eye

fromtwitchingstraightoutofhis head. Still, now, youtwitching jelly, or we aredone. 'The Guild of Spicerswere persuaded to contributewhen their own livelihoodswereontheline.'

'How uncharacteristicallygenerousofthem.NowthatIthink of it, I find the wholebusiness of Dagoska has astrangeflavour.Ithasalways

struck me as odd that youchose to dispose ofMagisterEidersoprivately,ratherthansendingherbacktome.'

From very bad to anawful lot worse. 'Amiscalculation on my part,yourEminence.IthoughtthatIwouldspareyouthetroubleof—'

'Disposingoftraitorsisnotrouble for me. You know

that.' Angry creases spreadout around Sult's hard blueeyes.'Coulditbe,afterallwehave been through together,youmighttakemeforafool?'

Glokta's voice raspeduncomfortably in his drythroat. 'Absolutely not, ArchLector.' Merely a lethalmegalomaniac.Heknows.Heknows that I am not entirelythe dutiful slave. But how

much does he know? Andfromwhomdidhelearnit?

'Igaveyouan impossibletask, and so I have allowedyou the benefit of the doubt.Butyourbenefitwillonlylastas long as your successes. Igrowtiredofputtingthespurto you. If you do not solvemy problems with our newKinginthenexttwoweeks,IwillhaveSuperiorGoyledig

out the answers to myquestions about Dagoska. Iwill havehimdig them fromyour twisted flesh, if I must.DoImakemyselfclear?'

As Visserine glass. Twoweeks to find the answers,or…fragmentsofabutcheredcorpse found floating by thedocks. But if I even ask thequestions, Valint and Balkwill inform his Eminence of

our arrangement and…bloatedbyseawater,horriblymutilated, far beyondrecognition. Alas for poorSuperior Glokta. A comelyand a well-loved man, butsuchbad luck.Whereverwillheturn?

'I understand, ArchLector.'

'Then why ever are youstillsittinghere?'

It was Ardee West herselfwhoopened thedoor, ahalf-full wine glass in one hand.'Ah! SuperiorGlokta,what adelightful surprise. Do comein!'

'You sound almostpleased to see me.' A rareresponse indeed to myarrival.

'Whywouldn't I be?' Shestepped graciously aside toallow him past. 'How manygirlsareluckyenoughtohavea torturer for a chaperone?There's nothing like it forencouragingthesuitors.'

He hobbled over thethreshold. 'Where is yourmaid?'

'She got herself allworked up about some

Gurkish army or other, so Ilethergo.WenttohermotherinMartenhorm.'

'And you are yourselfready to leave, I hope?' Hefollowed her into the warmliving room, shutters andcurtains closed, illuminatedbytheshiftingglowfromthecoalsonthefire.

'Infact,Ihavedecidedtostayinthecity.'

'Really? The tragicprincess,pining inheremptycastle? Abandoned by herfaithless servants, wringingher helpless hands while herenemies surround the moat?'Gloktasnorted. 'Areyousureyoufittherole?'

'Betterthanyoufitthatofthe knight on the whitecharger, come to rescue thedamselwithbladea-flashing.'

Shelookedhimscornfullyupand down. 'I'd hoped for ahero with at least half histeeth.'

'Ithoughtyou'dbeusedtogetting less than you hopedforbynow.'IknowthatIam.

'What can I say? I'm aromantic. Have you comehere only to puncture mydreams?'

'No. I do that withouttrying. I had inmind a drinkandaconversationwhichdidnotincludethesubtextofmymutilatedcorpse.'

'It is hard to say at thisstage what direction ourconversation might take, butthedrink I canpromiseyou.'She poured him a glass andhetosseditbackinfourlongswallows. He held it out

again, sucking his sweetgums.

'In all seriousness, theGurkish are no more than aweekfromtakingAduaundersiege. You should leave assoonaspossible.'

Shefilledhisglassagain,and then her own. 'Haven'tyounoticed thathalf the cityhas had the same idea?Suchflea-bitten nags not

requisitionedbythearmyarechanging hands at fivehundred marks a piece.Nervous citizens are pouringout to every corner ofMidderland. Columns ofdefenceless refugees,wandering throughamassofmud at a mile a day as theweather turns cold, ladendown with everything ofvalue theypossess,easyprey

for every brigand within ahundredmiles.'

'True,' Glokta had toadmit as he wriggled hispainfulway into a chairnearthefire.

'AndwherewouldIgotoanyway?IswearIhavenotasingle friend or relativeanywhere in Midderland.Would you have me hide inthe woods, lighting fires by

rubbing sticks together andhunting down squirrels withmybarehands?Howthehellwould I stay drunk in thosecircumstances? No, thankyou, Iwillbesaferhere,andconsiderably morecomfortable. I have coal forthefireandthecellarisfulltocapacity. I can hold out formonths.' Shewaved a floppyhand towards the wall. 'The

Gurkisharecoming from thewest, and we are on theeastern side of town. I couldnot be safer in the palaceitself,Idaresay.'

Perhaps she is right.Here, at least, I can keepsomekindofwatchoverher.'Very well, I bow to yourreasoning.Or Iwould, ifmybackallowedit.'

She settled herself

opposite. 'And how is life inthecorridorsofpower?'

'Chilly.Ascorridorsoftenare.' Glokta stroked his lipswithafinger.'Ifindmyselfinadifficultsituation.'

'I have some experiencewiththose.'

'This one is…complicated.'

'Wellthen,intermsadull

wench like me mightunderstand.'

Where'stheharm?Istaredeath in the facealready. 'Inthe terms of a dull wench,then, imagine this…desperately needing certainfavours, you have promisedyourhandinmarriagetotwoveryrichandpowerfulmen.'

'Huh.Onewouldbeafinething.'

'None would be a finething, in this particular case.They are both old and ofsurpassingugliness.'

Sheshrugged.'Uglinessiseasilyforgivenintherichandpowerful.'

'Butboththesesuitorsareprone to violent displays ofjealousy.Dangerousdisplays,if your wanton faithlessnesswere to become common

knowledge.Youhadhopedtoextricate yourself from onepromise or the other at somestage,butnowthedateoftheweddings draws near, andyou find that you are… stillconsiderably entangled withboth. More so than ever, infact.Yourresponse?'

She pursed her lips andtook a long breath,considering it, then tossed a

strand of hair theatricallyover her shoulder. 'I woulddrivethembothnearmadnesswith my matchless wit andsmouldering beauty, thenengineer a duel between thetwo. Whichever won wouldberewardedwiththeultimateprizeofmyhandinmarriage,never suspecting I was oncepromised also to his rival.Since he is old, I would

earnestly hope for hisimminentdeath,leavingmeawealthy and respectedwidow.' She grinned at himdownhernose.'Whatsayyoutothat,sir?'

Gloktablinked. 'Ifearthemetaphor has lost itsrelevance.'

'Or…' Ardee squinted atthe ceiling, then snapped herfingers. 'I might use my

subtle feminine wiles…'thrusting back her shouldersand hitching up her bust, 'toentrapathirdman,stillmorepowerful and wealthy.Young, and handsome, andsmooth of limb as well, Isuppose, since this is ametaphor.Iwouldmarryhimand with his help destroythoseothertwo,andabandonthem penniless and

disappointed.Ha!Whatthinkyou?'

Glokta felt his eyelidtwitching,andhepressedonehandagainstit.Interesting.'Athird suitor,' he murmured.'The idea had never evenoccurred.'

SkarlingsChair

«^»

Far below, the water frothedandsurged.Ithadrainedhard

inthenight,andnowtheriverran high with it, an angryflood chewing mindlessly atthe base of the cliff. Coldblack water and cold whitespray against the cold blackrock. Tiny shapes—goldenyellow,burningorange,vividpurple,allthecoloursoffire,whisked and wandered withthe mad currents, whateverwaytherainwashedthem.

Leaves on thewater, justlikehim.

And now it looked as ifthe rain would wash himsouth. To fight some more.To kill men who'd neverheard of him. The idea of itmade him want to be sick.Buthe'dgivenhisword, anda man who doesn't keep hisword isn't much of aman atall.That'swhatLogen'sfather

usedtotellhim.He'd spent a lot of long

yearsnotkeepingtomuchofanything. His word, and thewordsofhisfather,andothermen's lives, all meaning lessthan nothing. All thepromises he'd made to hiswife and to his children he'dlet rot.He'dbrokenhiswordtohispeople,andhisfriends,andhimself,more times than

he could count. TheBloody-Nine.Themostfearedmaninthe North. A man who'dwalkedallhisdaysinacircleof blood.Amanwho'd donenothinginallhislifebutevil.Andallthewhilehe'dlookedat the sky and shrugged hisshoulders. Blamed whoeverwasnearest, and toldhimselfhe'dhadnochoices.

Bethod was gone. Logen

hadvengeance,atlast,buttheworld wasn't suddenly abetter place. The world wasthe same, and sowas he.Hespread out the fingers of hisleft hand on the damp stone,bentandwonkyfromadozenold breaks, knucklesscratched and scabbing, nailscracked and wedged underwith dirt. He stared down atthe familiar stump for a

moment.'Stillalive,'hewhispered,

hardlyabletobelieveit.He winced at the pain in

his battered ribs, groaned ashe turned away from thewindow and back into thegreat hall. Bethod's throneroom, and now his. Thethought tugged a meagrebelch of laughter out of hisgut, but even that stabbed at

the mass of stitches throughhis cheek and up the side ofhisface.Helimpedoutacrossthewide floor, every step anordeal. The sound of hisscraping boots echoed in thehigh rafters, over thewhisperingof the riverdownbelow.Shaftsofblurredlight,heavy with floating dust,shone down and made criss-cross patterns across the

boards. Near to Logen, on araised-up dais, stoodSkarling'sChair.

Thehall,andthecity,andthe land around it had allchanged far beyondrecognition, but Logenreckoned the chair itself wasmuchthesameasithadbeenwhenSkarlinglived.SkarlingHoodless,greatestherooftheNorth.Themanwho'dunited

the clans to fight against theUnion, long ago. The manwho'd drawn the Northtogether with words andgestures, for a few briefyears,atleast.

Asimpleseatforasimpleman—big, honest chunks ofoldwood,fadedpaintaroundtheedges,polishedsmoothbySkarling's sons, andgrandsons,andthemenwho'd

led his clan since. Until theBloody-Nine came knockingat thegatesofCarleon.UntilBethod took the chair forhisown, and pretended that hewas all that Skarling hadbeen, while he forced theNorth togetherwith fire, andfear,andsteel.

'Well then?'Logen jerkedhis head round, saw BlackDow leaning in thedoorway,

arms folded across his chest.'Ain'tyougoingtositinit?'

Logen shook his head,even though his legs wereachingsobadhecouldhardlybear to stand a momentlonger. 'Mud always did formetositon.I'mnohero,andSkarlingwasnoking.'

'Turneddownacrown,asIheardittold.'

'Crowns.'Logenspatontothestraw, spit stillpink fromthecuts inhismouth. 'Kings.The whole notion's shit, andme the worst choice therecouldbe.'

'You ain't saying no,though,eh?'

Logenfrownedupathim.'So some other bastard evenworse'nBethodcansitinthatchair, make the North bleed

somemore?Maybe I can dosomegoodwithit.'

'Maybe.' Dow lookedstraight back. 'But somemenaren'tmadefordoinggood.'

'You talking 'bout meagain?' chuckled Crummock,striding in through thedoorway, Dogman and Grimathisshoulder.

'Not all talk's about you,

Crummock,' said Dogman.'Yousleepalright,Logen?'

'Aye,' he lied. 'Like thedead.'

'Whatnow?'Logenstaredatthatchair.

'South,Ireckon.''South,' grunted Grim,

giving no clue whether hethoughtitwasagoodideaorabad.

Logen licked at theraggedfleshatthesideofhismouth,checkingagain,fornoreason that made any sense,justhowmuchithurt.'Calderand Scale are still out there,somewhere.NodoubtBethodsent 'em to find some help.From out past theCrinna, orup in the high valleys, orwherever.'

Crummock chuckled

softly. 'Ah, the good work'sneverdone.'

'They'll be causingmischiefsoonerorlater,'saidDogman,'smalldoubto'that.'

'Someone needs to stayback here and keep a watchon things. Hunt those twobastardsoutiftheycan.'

'I'll do it,' said BlackDow.

'Yousure?'Dow shrugged. 'I don't

likeboatsandIdon't liketheUnion.Don'tneed to takenovoyagetoworkthatout.AndI've got scores enough tosettle with Calder and Scale.I'llpickmesomeCarlsouto'what's left, and I'll pay 'emavisit.' He flashed his nastygrin,andclappedDogmanonthearm.'Goodlucktotherest

o' you down there with theSoutherners, eh? Try not toget yourselves killed.' Henarrowed his eyes at Logen.'You especially, eh, Bloody-Nine?Wouldn't want to loseus another King o' theNorthmen, now, would we?'And he sauntered out, armsfolded.

'How many men we gotleftover?'

'Might be three hundred,now,ifDowtakesafew.'

Logen gave a long sigh.'Best get 'em ready to leavethen. Wouldn't want Furioustogowithoutus.'

'Who'llwanttogo?'askedDogman. 'After what theybeen through these pastmonths? Who'll want morekillingnow?'

'Men who don't knowhowtodomuchelse,Iguess.'Logen shrugged. 'Bethodhadgolddownthere,didn'the?'

'Aye,some.''Then share it out. Plenty

for eachman comeswith us.Some now, some when weget back. Reckon a goodfew'lltaketheoffer.'

'Maybe. Men'll talk hard

forgold.Notsurethey'llfighthard for it, when the timecomes.'

'Ireckonwe'llsee.'Dogmanstaredathimfor

a long moment. Stared himrightintheeye.'Why?'

'BecauseIgavemyword.''And?Neverbotheredyou

before,didit?''Can't say it did, and

there's the problem.' Logenswallowed, and his mouthtastedbad.'Whatelsecanyoudo,buttryanddobetter?'

Dogman nodded, slow,his eyes not leaving Logen'sface. 'Right you are then,chief.Southitis.'

'Uh,' said Grim, and thetwo of them walked out thedoorway, leaving justCrummockbehind.

'Off to theUnion foryouisit,yourMajesty?Southandkill you some brownmen inthesun?'

'South.' Logen workedone sore shoulder beside hissoreneck,andthentheother.'Youcoming?'

Crummock pushedhimself away from the walland walked forward, fingerbonesclickingroundhisthick

neck.'No,no,no,notme.I'verelishedour time together,soIhave,buteverything'sgotanend, don't it. I've been awayfrom my mountains for fartoo long, andmywives'll bemissingme.'Thechiefof thehillmen held his arms outwide, took a step forward,and hugged Logen tight. Alittle too tight for comfort, ifhewasbeinghonest.

'They can have a king ifthey want one,' whisperedCrummock in his ear, 'but Ican't say I do.Especially notthe man who killed my son,eh?' Logen felt himself gocold, from the roots of hishair to the tipsofhisfingers.'What did you think? That Iwouldn't know?'The hillmanleanedbacktolookLogenintheeye.'Youslaughteredhim

beforethewholeworld,now,didn't you? You butcheredlittle Rond like a sheep forthe pot, and him just ashelplessasone.'

They were alone in thatwide hall, just the two ofthem, and the shadows, andSkarling's chair. Logenwinced as Crummock's armssqueezed tighter, round thebruises and the wounds the

Feared's arms had left him.Logenhadn't thestrengthleftnow to fight a cat, and theyboth knew it. The hillmancould'vecrushedhimflat,andfinished the job the Fearedhad started. But he onlysmiled.

'Don't you worry, now,Bloody-Nine. I've gotwhat Iwanted, haven't I? Bethod'sdead and gone, and his

Feared,andhiswitch,andhiswholebastardnotionofclansunited, all back to the mudwhere theybelong.Withyouin charge, I daresay it'll be ahundred years before folk inthe North stop killing eachother. Meantime maybe weupinthehillscanhavesomepeace,eh?'

'Courseyoucan,' croakedLogen, through his gritted

teeth, grimacing asCrummock pressed him eventighter.

'Youkilledmyson, that'strue,butI'vegotplentymore.You have to weed the weakones out, don't you know?The weak and the unlucky.Youdon'tputawolfamongstyoursheepthencrywhenyoufindoneeaten,doyou?'

Logen could only stare.

'Youreallyaremad.''Maybe I am, but there's

worse thanmeout there.'Heleanedcloseagain,softbreathin Logen's ear. 'I'm not theonekilledtheboy,amI?'HeletLogenfree,andheslappedhimontheshoulder.Thewaya friendmight, but therewasnofriendshipinit.'Don'tevercome up in the High Placesagain, Ninefingers, that's my

advice.Imightnotbeabletogive you another friendlyreception.' He turned andwalkedaway,slowly,wavingone fat finger over hisshoulder. 'Don't come up inthe High Places again,Bloody-Nine!You'rebelovedo' the moon just a little toomuchformytaste!'

Leadership

«^»

Jezal clattered through thecobbled streets astride amagnificent grey, Bayaz andMarshal Varuz just behind

him,ascoreofKnightsoftheBody, led by Bremer danGorst, following in full wargear. It was strangelyunsettling to see the city,usually so brimful withhumanity, close to deserted.Only a scattering ofthreadbare urchins, ofnervous city watchmen, ofsuspicious commonersremained to hurry out of the

wayoftheroyalpartyastheypassed.MostofthosecitizenswhohadstayedinAduawerewell barricaded in theirbedrooms,Jezalimagined.Hewould have been tempted todo the same, had QueenTereznotbeatenhimtoit.

'When did they arrive?'Bayaz was demanding overtheclatterofhooves.

'The vanguard appeared

before dawn,' Jezal heardVaruzshoutback. 'AndmoreGurkish troops have beenpouring in down the Kelnroadallmorning.Therewerea few skirmishes in thedistricts beyond Casamir'sWall, but nothing to slowthem significantly. They arealready halfway to encirclingthecity.'

Jezal jerked his head

round.'Already?''TheGurkishalwaysliked

to come prepared, yourMajesty.' The old soldierurged his horse up besidehim. 'They have started toconstruct a palisade aroundAdua,andhavebroughtthreegreat catapults with them.Thesameonesthatprovedsoeffective in their siege ofDagoska.Bynoonwewillbe

entirely surrounded.' Jezalswallowed. There wassomething about the word'surrounded' that caused anuncomfortable tightening inhisthroat.

The column slowed to astately walk as theyapproached the city'swesternmost gate. It was, inan irony thatgaveJezal littlepleasure, the very same gate

throughwhichhehadenteredthe city in triumphbefore hewas crowned High King ofthe Union. A crowd hadgathered in the shadow ofCasamir's Wall, larger eventhan theone thathadgreetedhim after his strange victoryover the peasants. Today,however, there was hardly amoodof celebration.Smilinggirls had been replaced by

frowning men, fresh flowerswith old weapons. Polearmsstuckupabovethepressatallangles in an unruly forest,points and edges glinting.Pikes and pitch forks, billhooks and boat hooks,brooms with the twigsremovedandknivesnailedintheirplaces.

TherewasasmatteringofKing's Own padded out by

some squinting members ofthe citywatch, a fewpuffed-up tradesmen with leatherjerkins and polished swords,some slouching labourerswith antique flatbows andtough expressions. Thesewere the very best of whatwas on offer. They wereaccompanied by a randomassortmentofcitizensofbothsexes and all ages, equipped

with a bewildering range ofmismatched armour andweapons.Ornothingatall.Itwas difficult to tellwhowassupposed to be a soldier andwho a citizen, if, indeed,there was still a difference.Every one of them waslookingatJezalashesmartlydismounted, his golden spursjingling. Looking to him, herealised, ashebegan towalk

out among them, his well-armouredbodyguardclankingbehind.

'These are the defendersof this borough?' murmuredJezal toLordMarshalVaruz,followingathisshoulder.

'Some of them, yourMajesty. Accompanied bysome enthusiastic townsfolk.Atouchingspectacle.'

Jezalwould happily havetraded a touching crowd foran effective one, but hesupposedaleaderhadalwaysto appear indomitable beforehis followers.Bayazhad toldhim so often. How doubly,how triply true of a kingbefore his subjects?Especially a kingwhose gripon his recently won crownmight be thought of as

slipperyatbest.So he stood tall, pointed

hisscarredchinashighashedared, flicked out his gilt-edged cloak with onegauntleted hand. He strodethrough the crowd with theconfident swagger he hadalways used to have, onehand resting on the jewelledpommelofhissword,hopingwith every step that no one

caught an inkling of thecauldron of fear and doubtbehind his eyes. The crowdmuttered as he swept past,Varuz and Bayaz hurryingbehind. Some made attemptsat bows, others did notbother.

'Theking!''Ithoughthe'dbetaller…''Jezal the Bastard.' Jezal

snapped his head round, butthere was no way of tellingwhospoke.

'That'sLuthar!''A cheer for 'is Majesty!'

Followed by a half-heartedmurmur.

'This way,' said a pale-looking officer before thegate, indicating a staircasewith one apologetic hand.

Jezal climbed manfully, twostone steps at a time, spursjingling. He came out ontotheroofof thegatehouseandfroze, his lip curling withdistaste. Who should bestanding there but his oldfriend Superior Glokta, bentover on his cane, hisrepulsive toothless smile onhisface?

'YourMajesty,'he leered,

voiceheavywithirony.'Whatan almost overwhelminghonour.'He liftedhiscane topoint towardsthefarparapet.'TheGurkisharethatway.'

Jezal was attempting toframe a suitably acidic replyashiseyes followedGlokta'sstick.Heblinked,themusclesof his face going slack. Hestepped past the cripplewithout saying a word. His

scarred jaw crept graduallyopen,andstayedthere.

'The enemy,' growledVaruz. Jezal tried to imaginewhat Logen Ninefingerswould have said faced withthesightbelowhimnow.

'Shit.'Inthepatchworkofdamp

fields, over the roads andthrough the hedgerows,

between the farms andvillagesandthefewcoppicesof old trees beyond the citywalls, Gurkish troopsswarmed in their thousands.ThewidepavedroadtowardsKeln, curving awaysouthwards through the flatfarmland, was a singlecrawling, glittering, heavingriver of marching men.Gurkish soldiers, in column,

flooding up and flowingsmoothly out to encircle thecity in a giant ring of men,wood, and steel. Tallstandardsstoodoutabovetheboiling throng, goldensymbols flashing in thewatery autumn sunlight. Thestandards of the Emperor'slegions. Jezal counted ten athisfirstglance.

'A considerable body of

men,' said Bayaz, withawesomeunderstatement.

Glokta grinned. 'TheGurkishhatetotravelalone.'

The fence that MarshalVaruz had referred to earlierwasalreadyrising,adarklinewinding through the muddyfields a few hundred stridesfrom the walls, a shallowditchinfrontofit.Morethanadequate to prevent supplies

or reinforcements reachingthecityfromoutside.Furtheraway several camps weretaking shape: vast bodies ofwhite tents erected in neatlyordered squares, severalwithtall columns of dark smokealready floating up into thewhiteskyfromcook-firesandforges. There was a deeplyworrying feeling ofpermanence about the whole

arrangement.Aduamightstillhave been in Union hands,but even the most patrioticliar could not have deniedthat the city's hinterlandalready belonged firmly totheEmperorofGurkhul.

'Youhave toadmire theirorganisation,' said Varuzgrimly.

'Yes… theirorganisation…' Jezal's voice

was suddenly creaky as oldfloorboards. Putting a bravefaceonthisseemedmorelikeinsanitythancourage.

A dozen horsemen haddetachedthemselvesfromtheGurkish lines and now rodeforwardatasteadytrot.Twolong flags streamed abovetheir heads, red and yellowsilk, worked with Kanticcharacters in golden thread.

Therewasawhiteflagtoo,sosmall as to be barelynoticeable.

'Parleys,' growled theFirst of the Magi, slowlyshakinghishead.

'What are they but anexcuseforoldfoolswholoveto hear their own voices toprattle about fair treatmentbefore they start on thebutchery?'

'I suppose on the subjectofoldfoolswholovetoheartheirownvoices,youare theabsolute expert.' That waswhat Jezal thought but hekept it to himself, watchingtheGurkishpartyapproachinbrooding silence. A tall mancame at their head, goldshiningonhissharplypointedhelmet and his polishedarmour, riding with that

uprightarrogancethatshouts,evenfromadistance,ofhighcommand.

Marshal Varuz frowned.'GeneralMalzagurt.'

'Youknowhim?''He commanded the

Emperor's forces, during thelast war. We grappled witheach other for months. Weparleyed more than once. A

mostcunningopponent.''Yougotthebetterofhim

though,eh?''Intheend,yourMajesty.'

Varuzlookedfarfromhappy.'ButIhadanarmythen.'

The Gurkish commanderclattereduptheroad,throughthe jumble of desertedbuildings scattered beyondCasamir's wall. He reined in

his horse before the gate,staring proudly upwards, onehand resting casually on hiship.

'I amGeneralMalzagurt,'he called in a sharp Kanticaccent, 'the chosenrepresentative of hismagnificence, Uthman-ul-Dosht,EmperorofGurkhul.'

'IamKingJezaltheFirst.'

'Ofcourse.Thebastard.'Itwaspointlesstodenyit.

'That's right. The bastard.Why don't you come in,General? Thenwe can speakface to face, like civilisedmen.'

Malzagurt'seyesflickeredacrosstoGlokta.'Forgiveme,but the response of yourgovernment to unarmedemissariesoftheEmperorhas

notalwaysbeen…civilised.IthinkIwillremainoutsidethewalls.Fornow.'

'As you wish. I believeyou are already acquaintedwithLordMarshalVaruz?'

'Of course. It seems anage since we tussled in thedry wastelands. I would saythat Ihavemissedyou…butIhavenot.Howareyou,myoldfriend,myoldenemy?'

'Well enough,' gruntedVaruz.

Malzagurt gesturedtowards the vast array ofmanpower deploying behindhim. 'Under thecircumstances, eh? I do notknowyourother—'

'He isBayaz. First of theMagi.'Asmooth,evenvoice.It came from one ofMalzagurt's companions. A

man dressed all in simplewhite, somewhat in themanner of a priest. Heseemed hardly older thanJezal, and very handsome,with a dark face, perfectlysmooth.Hewore no armour,carriednoweapon.Therewasno adornment on his clothesorhissimplesaddle.Andyetthe others in the party, evenMalzagurthimself,seemedto

look at him with greatrespect.Withfear,almost.

'Ah.' The General peeredup, stroking thoughtfully athis short grey beard. 'So thisisBayaz.'

The young man nodded.'Thisishe.Ithasbeenalongtime.'

'Not long enough,Mamun, you damned snake!'

Bayaz clung to the parapet,teeth bared. The old Maguswas so good at playing thekindly uncle that Jezal hadforgotten how terrifying hissudden fury could be. Hetook a shocked step away,half raising a hand to shieldhis face. The Gurkish aidesandflag-carrierscringed,onegoing so far as to be noisilysick. Even Malzagurt lost a

sizeable chunk of his heroicbearing.

ButMamungazedupjustas levelly as before. 'Someamong my brothers thoughtthat you would run, but Iknew better. Khalul alwayssaid your pridewould be theend of you, and here is theproof.Itseemsstrangetome,now, that I once thoughtyoua great man. You look old,

Bayaz.Youhavedwindled.''Things seem smaller

whentheyarefaraboveyou!'growledtheFirstoftheMagi.Hegroundthetoeofhisstaffintothestonesunderhisfeet,his voice carrying now aterrible menace. 'Comecloser, Eater, and you canjudgemyweaknesswhileyouburn!'

'The time was you could

havecrushedmewithaword,I do not doubt it. But nowyour words are only emptyair. Your power has leakedaway with the slow years,while mine has never beengreater. I have a hundredbrothers and sisters behindme. What allies have you,Bayaz?' He swept thebattlements with a mockingsmile. 'Only such as you

deserve.''I may yet find allies to

surpriseyou.''I doubt it. Long ago,

Khalul told me what yourfinal, desperate hope wouldbe.Timeprovedhimright,asitalwayshas.Soyouwenttothe very edge of the World,chasing shadows. Darkshadows indeed, foronewhocalls himself righteous. I

know that you failed.' Thepriest showed two rows ofperfectwhiteteeth.'TheSeedpassed out of history, longago. Interred, dark leaguesbeneath the earth. Sunk, farbelow the bottomless ocean.Your hopes are sunkwith it.Youhaveonlyonechoiceleftto you. Will you come withus willingly, and be judgedby Khalul for your betrayal?

Ormustwecomeinandtakeyou?'

'Youdare to speak tomeof betrayal? You whobetrayed the highestprincipals of our order, andbroke thesacred lawofEuz?How many have youmurdered, so that you couldbepowerful?'

Mamun only shrugged.'Verymany. I am not proud.

You left us a choice of darkpaths, Bayaz, and we madethe sacrifices we had to.There is no purpose in ourarguing over the past. Aftertheselongcenturies,standingon opposite sides of a greatdivide, I think neither one ofus will convince the other.The victors can decide whowasright,justastheyalwayshave, since long before the

Old Time. I know youranswer already, but theProphet would have me askthe question. Will you cometo Sarkant, and answer foryour great crimes? Will youbejudgedbyKhalul?'

'Judged?' snarled Bayaz.'He will judge me, theswollen-headed oldmurderer?' He barked harshlaughterdownfromthewalls.

'Come and take me if youdare, Mamun, I will bewaiting!'

'Then we will come,'murmured Khalul's firstapprentice, frowningupfromunder his fine black brows.'Wehavebeenpreparinglongyearstodoit.'

Thetwomenfelltosullenglaring, and Jezal frownedwith them. He resented the

suddenfeelingthatthewholebusiness was somehow anargumentbetweenBayazandthis priest and that he,although a king, was like achild eavesdropping on hisparents' conversation, andwith just as little say in theoutcome.

'Speak your terms,General!'hebelloweddown.

Malzagurt cleared his

throat. 'Firstly, if yousurrender thecityofAdua tothe Emperor, he is preparedto allow you to retain yourthrone, as his subject, ofcourse, paying regulartribute.'

'How generous of him.What of the traitor, LordBrock? We understood thatyou have promised him thecrownoftheUnion.'

'We are not altogethercommittedtoLordBrock.Hedoes not hold the city, afterall.Youdo.'

'And we have scantrespectforthosewhoturnontheir own masters,' addedMamun,with a dark look upatBayaz.

'Secondly, the citizens oftheUnionwillbepermittedtocontinue to live according to

their own laws and customs.Theywill continue to live infreedom.Or as close to it astheyhaveeverreallybeen,atleast.'

'Your generosity isastonishing.' Jezal hadmeantto sneer it, but in the end itescapedwithoutmuchirony.

'Thirdly,' shouted theGeneral, with a nervousglance sideways towards

Mamun, 'the man known asBayaz, theFirst of theMagi,be delivered over to us,bound and in chains, that hemay be conveyed to theTemple of Sarkant, forjudgement by the ProphetKhalul. Those are our terms.Refuse them, and theEmperor has decreed thatMidderlandshallbetreatedasany other conquered

province. Many will bekilled, andmanymoremadeslaves, Gurkish governorswillbeinstalled,yourAgriontwill be made a temple, andyour current rulers…conveyedtocellsbeneaththeEmperor'spalace.'

Jezal half opened hismouth to refuse on aninstinct. Then he paused.Harod the Great, no doubt,

would have spat his defianceat any odds, and probablypissed on the emissary toboot. The slightest notion ofnegotiating with the Gurkishwas against every long-heldbeliefhepossessed.

But,thinkingaboutit,thetermswerefarmoregenerousthan he had ever expected.Jezal would probably haveenjoyed more authority as a

subject of Uthman-ul-Doshtthan he did with Bayazstaring over his shoulderevery moment of every day.Hecouldsavelivesbysayinga word. Real lives, of realpeople. He reached up andrubbed gently at his scarredlips with a fingertip. He hadexperiencedenoughsufferingon the endless plains of theOldEmpiretothinklongand

hard about risking so muchpain to somany,andhimselfin particular. The notion ofcells beneath the Emperor'spalace caused him somepause.

Itwasbizarre that suchavital decision should fall tohim. A man who, no morethan a year ago, had proudlyconfessedtoknowingnothingabout anything, and caring

still less. But then Jezal wasbeginning to doubt thatanyone in a position of highauthority ever really knewwhat they were doing. Thebest one could hope for wastomaintainsomeshredofanillusion that one might. Andoccasionally, perhaps, try togive the mindless flood ofevents the slightest push inone direction or another,

hoping desperately that itwouldturnouttobetherightone.

But what was the rightone?

'Give me your answer!'shouted Malzagurt. 'I havepreparationstomake!'

Jezal frowned. He wassick of being dictated to byBayaz, but at least the old

bastardhadplayedsomeroleinhisascensiontothethrone.HewassickofbeingslightedbyTerez,butatleastshewashis wife. Quite aside fromany other consideration, hispatience was stretched verythin.Hesimplyrefusedtobeordered around at sword-point by some posturingGurkish General and hisdamnfoolpriest.

'I reject your terms!' hecalled airily down from thewalls. 'I reject them utterlyand completely. I am not inthe habit of surrendering myadvisers, ormy cities, ormysovereignty simply whenasked. Particularly not to apack of Gurkish curs withsmall manners and evensmaller wits. You are not inGurkhul now, General, and

hereyour arrogancebecomesyouevenlessthanthatabsurdhelmet.Isuspectthatyouwilllearn a harsh lesson beforeyouleavetheseshores.MightI add, before you scuttle off,thatIencourageyouandyourpriest to fuck each other?Who knows? Perhaps youcould persuade the greatUthman-ul-Dosht—and theall-knowing Prophet Khalul

too for that matter—to joinyou!'

General Malzagurtfrowned. He conferredquickly with an aide,evidently having not entirelyunderstoodthefinerpointsofthat last utterance. Once hehad finally taken them in hegave an angry slash of hisdark hand and barked anorder in Kantic. Jezal saw

men moving among thebuildings scattered outsidethe walls, torches in theirhands. The Gurkish Generaltook one last look up at thegatehouse. 'Damn pinks!' hesnarled. 'Animals!' And hetore at the reins of his horseandsprangaway,hisofficersclatteringafterhim.

The priest Mamun satthere a moment longer, a

sadness on his perfect face.'Sobe it.Wewillputonourarmour. May God forgiveyou,Bayaz.'

'You need forgivenessmorethanI,Mamun!Prayforyourself!'

'SoIdo.Everyday.ButIhave seen no sign in all mylong life that God is theforgiving kind.' Mamunturned his horse away from

the gates and rode slowlyback towards the Gurkishlines, through the abandonedbuildings, flames alreadylickinghungrilyattheirwalls.

Jezal took a long, raggedbreath as his eyes flicked upto the mass of men movingthrough the fields. Damn hismouth,itgothiminallkindsof trouble.But itwas a littlelatenowforsecondthoughts.

He feltBayaz' fatherly touchon his shoulder, that steeringtouch that had become soveryannoyingtohimoverthepast few weeks. He had togrit his teeth to keep fromshakingfree.

'You should address yourpeople,'saidtheMagus.

'What?''The right words could

make all the difference.Harod the Great could speakat a moment's notice. Did Itellyouofthetimehe—'

'Very well!' snappedJezal,'Iamgoing.'

He walked towards theopposite parapet with all theenthusiasm of a condemnedman to his scaffold. Thecrowd was spread out belowin all its disturbing variety.

Jezal had to stop himselffussing with his belt-buckle.He kept worrying for somereasonthathistrouserswouldfalldowninfrontofallthosepeople. A ridiculous notion.He cleared his throat.Someonesawhim,pointed.

'Theking!''KingJezal!''Thekingspeaks!'

The crowd shifted andstretched, drawn towards thegatehouse, a sea of hopeful,fearful, needy faces. Thenoise in the square slowlydied and a breathless silencefell.

'My friends… mycountrymen… my subjects!'His voice rang out withpleasing authority. A goodbeginning, very… rhetorical.

'Ourenemiesmaybemany…verymany…' Jezal cursed tohimself. That was hardly anadmission to give courage tothemasses.'ButIurgeyoutotake heart! Our defences arestrong!' He slapped at thefirm stones under his hand.'Our courage is indomitable!'He thumped at his polishedbreastplate. 'We will holdfirm!'Thiswasbetter!Hehad

discoveredanaturaltalentforspeaking. The crowd waswarming to him now, hecould feel it. 'We need nothold out forever! LordMarshal West is even nowbringing his army to ourassistance—'

'When?' someonescreamed out. There was awaveofangrymuttering.

'Er…' Jezal, wrong-

footed, glanced nervouslyacrossatBayaz,'er…'

'When will they come?When?'TheFirstoftheMagihissed at Glokta, and thecripplemade a sharp gesturetosomeonebelow.

'Soon! You may dependupon it!' Curse Bayaz, thishad been an awful notion.Jezal did not have the ghostofanideaofhowtoputheart

intoarabble.'Whataboutourchildren?

What about our homes?Willyour house burn?Will it?'Aswell of unhappy calls wentup.

'Do not fear! I beg ofyou…please…'Damnit!Hehad no business pleading, hewas a king. 'The army is onits way!' Jezal noticed blackfigures forcing through the

press. Practicals of theInquisition. They converged,somewhattohisrelief,onthepointwhere theheckleswerecoming from. 'They are evennow leaving the North! Anydaytheywillcometoouraid,andteachtheseGurkishdogsa—'

'When? When will—'Black sticks rose and fell inthe midst of the crowd and

the questionwas cut off in ahigh-pitchedshriek.

Jezaldidhisbesttoshoutoverit.'Inthemeantime,willwe let these Gurkish scumride free over our fields?Over the fields of ourfathers?'

'No!' someone roared, toJezal'sgreatrelief.

'No!We will show these

Kantic slaves how a freeUnion citizen can fight!' Avolley of lukewarmagreements. 'Wewill fightasbravely as lions! As fiercelyastigers!'Hewaswarmingtohis work, now, the wordswere spilling out as if hereallymeantthem.Perhapshedid. 'Wewill fight aswedidin the days of Harod! OfArnault! Of Casamir!' A

rousing cheer went up. 'Wewill not rest until theseGurkish devils are drivenback across the Circle Sea!Therewillbenonegotiation!'

'Nonegotiation!'someonecalled.

'DamntheGurkish!''Wewillneversurrender!'

Jezal bellowed, striking theparapetwithhisfist.'Wewill

fight for every street! Forevery house! For everyroom!'

'For every house!'someone squealedwith rabidexcitement, and the citizensof Adua bellowed theirapproval.

Feeling themomentuponhim,Jezalslidhisswordfromits sheath with a suitablywarlike ringing and held it

high above his head. 'And Iwill be proud to draw mysword beside you! We willfight for eachother!Wewillfight for the Union! Everyman… every woman… ahero!'

There was a deafeningcheer. Jezalwavedhis swordand a glittering wave surgedoutamong the spearsas theywere shaken in the air,

thumped against armouredchests, hammered downagainstthestone.Jezalsmiledwide. The people loved him,andweremorethanwillingtofight for him. Together theywouldbevictorious,hefeltit.He had made the rightdecision.

'Nicely done,' murmuredBayazinhisear.'Nicely—'

Jezal'spatiencewasworn

out. He rounded on theMaguswithhisteethbared.'Iknowhowitwasdone!Ihavenoneedofyourconstant—'

'Your Majesty.' It wasGorst'spipingvoice.

'How dare you interruptme?Whatthehellis—'

Jezal's tirade was cut offbyaruddyglareatthecornerof his eye, followed a

moment later by a roaringdetonation. He jerked hishead round to see flamesspringing up above thejumbleofroofssomedistanceaway on his right. Below inthe square there was acollective gasp, a wave ofnervous movement throughthecrowd.

'The Gurkishbombardment has begun,'

saidVaruz.A streak of fire shot up

into the white sky above theGurkish lines. Jezal watchedit open-mouthed as itplummeteddowntowardsthecity. It crashed into thebuildings,thistimeonJezal'sleft, bright fire shootinghighinto the air. The terrifyingboom assaulted his ears aninstantafterward.

Shouts came frombelow.Orders, perhaps, or screamsofpanic.Thecrowdbegantomove in every direction atonce. People rushed for thewalls, or for their homes, ornowhere in particular, achaotic tangle of pressingbodiesandwavingpolearms.

'Water!'someoneshouted.'Fire!'

'YourMajesty.'Gorstwasalready leading Jezal backtowards the stairway. 'Youshould return to the Agriontatonce.'

Jezal started at anotherthunderous explosion, thisone even closer. Smoke wasalreadyrisinginoilysmudgesover the city. 'Yes,' hemuttered,allowinghimselftobe led to safety. He realised

that he still had his sworddrawn, and sheathed itsomewhat guiltily. 'Yes ofcourse.'

Fearlessness, as LogenNinefingers had onceobserved,isafool'sboast.

ARockandaHardPlace

«^»

Glokta shook with laughter,wheezing gurgles slobbering

through his empty gums, thehardchaircreakingunderhisbonyarse.Hiscoughsandhiswhimpers echoed dully fromthe bare walls of his dimliving room. In a way, itsounded very much likeweeping. And perhaps it is,justalittle.

Everyshakeofhistwistedshouldersdrovenails intohisneck. Every jerk of his rib-

cage sent flashes of paindowntotheverytipsofsuchtoes as he had left. Helaughed, and the laughterhurt, and the pain made himlaugh all the more. Oh, theirony! I titter withhopelessness. I chuckle withdespair.

Bubblesofspitblewfromhis lips as he gave one lastlong whine. Like a sheep's

death rattle, but lessdignified.Thenheswallowed,andwipedhisrunningeyes.Ihave not laughed so hard inyears. Since before theEmperor's torturers did theirwork,Ishouldn'twonder.Andyetitisnotsoverydifficulttostop. After all, nothing isreally very funny here, is it?He. lifted the letter, and readitagain.

SuperiorGlokta,

My employers at thebankinghouseofValintandBalkaremore thandisappointed with yourprogress.Itissometimenow since I asked you,in person, to inform usof Arch Lector Sult'splans. Inparticular, thereasons for his

continuing interest inthe University. Sincethen we have receivedno communication fromyou.It may be that youbelieve the suddenarrival of the Gurkishbeyond the city wallshas altered theexpectations of myemployers.

It has not, in any waywhatsoever. Nothingwill.You will report to uswithin the week, or hisEminence will beinformedofyourdividedloyalties.Ineedhardlyaddthatitwouldbewiseforyoutodestroythisletter.

Mauthis.

Gloktastaredatthepaperfora long while by the light ofthe single candle, his ruinedmouth hanging open. Forthis,Ilivedthroughmonthsofagony in the darkness of theEmperor's prisons? Torturedmy savage way through theGuild of Mercers?Slaughtered my bloody path

through thecityofDagoska?Toendmydays in ignominy,trapped between a bitter oldbureaucratanda tank fulloftreacherous swindlers? Allmy twisting, my lying mybargains, and my pain. Allthose corpses left beside theroad…forthis?

A new wave of laughterrockedhis body, twistedhimupandmadehisachingback

rattle. His Eminence andthese bankers deserve eachother! Even with the cityburning down around them,their games cannot stop foraninstant.Gameswhichmayverywell prove fatal to poorSuperior Glokta, who onlytried to do his crippled best.He had to wipe a little snotfrom under his nose helaughed so hard at that last

thought.It almost seems a shame

to burn such a horriblyhilarious document. PerhapsI should take it to the ArchLectorinstead?Wouldheseethe funny side, I wonder?Would we chuckle over ittogether?Hereachedoutandheldthecornerofthelettertothe twisting candle flame,watched fire flicker up the

side, creep out through thewriting, white paper curlingupintoblackashes.

Burn, as my hopes, andmy dreams, and my gloriousfuture burned beneath theEmperor's palace! Burn, asDagoskadidandAduasurelywill before the Emperor'sfury!Burn,asIwouldlovetoburnKing Jezal theBastard,andtheFirstoftheMagi,and

Arch Lector Sult, and Valintand Balk, and the wholedamned—

'Gah!' Glokta flailed hissinged fingertips in the airthen stuck them in histoothless mouth, his laughterquickly cut off. Strange.However much pain weexperience,weneverbecomeused to it. We alwaysscramble to escape it. We

never become resigned tomore.Thecorneroftheletterwas still smouldering on thefloor. He frowned, andground it out with a savagepokeofhiscane.

The air was heavy with thesharp tang of wood smoke.Like a hundred thousandburnt dinners. Even here inthe Agriont, there was the

slightest grey haze of it, amessy blending together ofthe buildings at the end ofeach street. Fires had beenraging in the outer districtsforseveraldaysnow,andtheGurkish bombardment hadnotletupahair,nightorday.Even as Glokta walked, thebreath wheezing through thegaps in his teeth with theeffort of putting one foot in

frontoftheother,therecamethe muffled boom of anincendiary landingsomewhere in the city, thetiniest murmur of vibrationthroughthesolesofhisboots.

The people in the lanefroze, staring up in alarm.Those few unlucky folk whofound themselves withoutexcuses to flee the city whenthe Gurkish came. Those

unlucky folk who were tooimportant, or not importantenough.Anoptimistichandfulwho thought the Gurkishsiege would be anotherpassing fad—like a rainstorm or short trousers. Toolatetheydiscovertheirgraveerror.

Glokta kept hobbling,headlowered.Hehadnotlosta wink of sleep for the

explosionsrockingthecityinthedarkness thepastweek. Iwas toobusy losingsleep formymind spinning round andround like a cat in a sack,tryingtofindsomewayclearof this trap. I became well-used toexplosionsduringmyholiday in charmingDagoska. For him, the painlancing through his arse anduphisspinewasconsiderably

moreworrisome.Oh, arrogance! Who

would ever have daredsuggest that Gurkish bootswouldonedaytrampleacrossthe fertile fields ofMidderland? That the prettyfarms and sleepy villages ofthe Union would dance withGurkishfire?Whocouldeverhave expected that beautiful,thriving Adua would turn

from a little piece of heaveninto a little piece of hell?Glokta felt himself smiling.Welcome, everyone!Welcome! I've been here allalong. How nice of you tojoinme.

He heard armoured bootstramping down the roadbehind him, shuffled too lateout of theway of a hurryingcolumn of soldiers and was

barged roughly onto thegrassyverge, left footslidinginthemudandsendingastabof agony up his leg. Thecolumn clattered past,heedless, and Gloktagrimaced after them. Peopleno longer have the properlevel of fear for theInquisition. They are all agreat deal too afraid of theGurkish for that. He stepped

away from the wall with awince and a curse, stretchedhis neck out and carried onlimping.

High Justice Marovia wasframedinthelargestwindowof his echoing office, handsclasped behind his back. Hiswindows faced west. ThedirectionofthemainGurkishassault.Abovetherooftopsin

thedistance,columnsofdarksmokeroseintothepalesky,blendingtogetherintoagrittypall thatrenderedtheautumnhalf-light still more funereal.Marovia turned when heheard Glokta's toeless footcreaking on the dark boards,hislinedoldfacealivewithawelcomingsmile.

'Ah, Superior Glokta!You cannot imagine my

delight to hear youannounced! I have missedyousinceyourlastvisit.Idoso enjoy your… forthrightstyle. I do so admire your…commitment to your work.'He flapped one lazy handtowards the window. 'Thelaw,Imustadmit,tendstobesleepy in times of war. Butevenwith the Gurkish at thegates the noble business of

his Majesty's Inquisitioncontinues, eh? I assume youhave come once again onbehalfofhisEminence?'

Glokta paused. But onlyout of habit. I must turn mytwisted back on theInquisition. What would Sultcallme?Atraitor?Nodoubt,andworsebesides.Buteveryman's first loyaltymustbe tohimself. I have made my

sacrifices.'No,yourWorship.I have come on behalf ofSand danGlokta.'He limpedup to a chair, slid it out anddumped himself into itwithoutbeingasked.Iamfarpast the niceties, now.'Frankly, I need your help.'Frankly, you are my lasthope.

'Myhelp?Surelyyou arenot without powerful friends

ofyourown?''It is my regrettable

experiencethatpowerfulmencanaffordnofriends.'

'All too unfortunatelytrue. You do not reach myposition, or even yours,without understanding thateachmanstandsalone,intheend.' Marovia gazed downbeneficentlyashesettledintohis own tall chair. Though I

am far from put at ease.HissmilesareeverybitasdeadlyasSult's frowns, I think. 'Ourfriendsmustbethosethatcanmakethemselvesusefultous.With that inmind,whathelpcan I offer you? And moreimportantly, what can youoffermeinreturn?'

'That may take someexplaining.'Gloktawincedatacrampinhislegandforced

itoutstraightunderthetable.'MayIspeakentirelyhonestlywithyou,yourWorship?'

Marovia strokedthoughtfullyathisbeard.'Thetruth is a very rare andvaluable commodity. I amastonishedthatamanofyourexperiencewouldsimplygiveit away. Especially tosomeoneon theother sideofthefence,sotospeak.'

'I was once told that aman lost in the desert musttake such water as he isoffered, regardless of thesource.'

'Lost, are you? Speakhonestly, then, Superior, andwe will see if I can sparesomethingfrommycanteen.'

Hardly a promise ofsuccour, but the best Imighthavehopedforfromamanso

recently a bitter enemy. Andso… my confession. Gloktaturned over the memories ofthelastcoupleofyearsinhismind. And a filthy, ashameful, an ugly set theyare. Where to begin? 'It issome time ago, now, that Ibegan to examineirregularities in the businessof the Honourable Guild ofMercers.'

'I well remember theunfortunateaffair.'

'Duringmy investigationsIdiscovered that theMercerswere financed by a bank. Avery wealthy and powerfulbank.ValintandBalk.'

Glokta watched carefullyfor a reaction, but Marovia'seyes did not so much asflicker. 'I am aware of theexistence of such an

institution.''Isuspectedthattheywere

implicated in the Mercers'crimes. Magister Kault toldme as much before hisunfortunate demise. But hisEminencedidnotwishmetoinvestigatefurther.Toomanycomplications at acomplicated time.' Glokta'slefteyetwitchedandhefeltitbeginning to run. 'My

apologies,' hemuttered as hewiped it with a finger.'Shortly afterwards I wasdispatched to Dagoska, totakechargeof thedefenceofthecity.'

'Your particular diligenceinthatmatterwasasourceofsome discomfort to me.'Marovia worked his mouthsourly. 'My congratulations.Youdidanextraordinaryjob.'

'I cannotentirely take thecredit. The task the ArchLector had given me wasimpossible. Dagoska wasriddled with treason andsurroundedbytheGurkish.'

Marovia snorted. 'Onesympathises.'

'If only anyone hadsympathised then, but theywere busy here, trying to getthe better of each other, as

they always are. Dagoska'sdefences were in a stateentirely inadequate for thetask. I could not strengthenthemwithoutmoney—'

'His Eminence was notforthcoming.'

'His Eminence would notpart with a single mark. Butan unlikely benefactorstepped forward in my timeofneed.'

'A rich uncle? What ahappychance.'

'Not entirely.' Gloktalicked at the salty spacewherehisfrontteethhadoncebeen.Andthesecretsbegintospill like turds from adraining latrine-pit. 'My richunclewasnoneotherthanthebanking house of Valint andBalk.'

Marovia frowned. 'They

advancedyoumoney?''It was thanks to their

generosity that I was able tokeep theGurkishout as longasIdid.'

'Bearing in mind thatpowerful people have nofriends, what did Valint andBalkgetinreturn?'

'In essence?' Glokta gavethe High Justice an even

stare. 'Whatevertheywanted.Shortly after returning fromDagoska I was investigatingthe death of Crown PrinceRaynault.'

'Aterriblecrime.''Of which the Gurkish

ambassador who hung for itwasinnocent.'

Marovia registered thetiniest hint of surprise. 'You

sayso?''Undoubtedly. But the

deathoftheheirtothethronecreated other problems,problems relating to votes inthe Open Council, and hisEminencewashappywiththeeasyanswer.Itriedtopursuethematter,butwasprevented.ByValintandBalk.'

'You suspect that thesebankerswere involved in the

death of the Crown Prince,then?'

'I suspect them of allmannerofthings,butproofisin short supply.' Always toomany suspicions, and notenoughproof.

'Banks,' gruntedMarovia.'They are made of air. Theyspin money out of guesses,and lies, and promises.Secrets are their currency,

evenmorethangold.''SoIhavediscovered.But

menlostinthedesert—''Yes, yes! Please

continue.'Glokta found, to his

surprise, that he was greatlyenjoying himself. He wasalmost tripping over his owntongue in his eagerness toblurt it all out.Now I begin

throwing away the secrets Ihave hoarded for so long, IfindIcannotstop.Ifeellikeamiser on a spending spree.Horrified, yet liberated.Agonised, yet delighted.Something like cutting yourown throat, I imagine—aglorious release,butoneyoucanenjoyonlyonce.Andlikecuttingmyownthroat, itwillvery likely end in my ugly

death. Ah well. It has beencomingsometime,hasitnot?Andnot even I could claim Idon't deserve it ten timesover.

Glokta leaned forwards.Even here, even now, Isomehow need to speak itsoftly.'ArchLectorSultisnothappy with our new king.Most particularly, he is nothappywith the influence that

Bayaz exerts over him. Sultfinds his powers muchcurtailed.Hebelieves,infact,thatyouaresomehowbehindthewholebusiness.'

Marovia frowned. 'Doeshenow?'

He does, and I am notentirely sure that I discountthepossibility. 'He has askedme to find some means ofremovingBayaz…'Hisvoice

dropped almost to awhisper.'Or removing the king. Isuspect, should I fail, thathehas other plans. Plans whichsomehow involve theUniversity.'

'You would seem to beaccusing his Eminence theArch Lector of high treasonagainst the state.' Marovia'seyeswere bright and hard asa pair of new nails.

Suspicious, and yet terriblyeager. 'Have you uncoveredanything to use against theking?'

'Before I could evenconsiderdoingso,ValintandBalkquite forciblydissuadedme.'

'Theyknewsoquickly?''I am forced to concede

thatsomeoneclosetomemay

not be as reliable as I havealways hoped. The bankersnot only demanded that Idisobey his Eminence, theyalsoinsistedthatIinvestigatehim. They want to know hisplans.Ihaveonlyafewdaysto satisfy them, and Sult nolonger trusts me enough toshare the contents of hislatrinewithme, let alone thecontentsofhismind.'

'Oh dear, dear.' Maroviaslowly shook his head. 'Ohdear,dear.'

'To add to my woes, Ibelieve that the Arch Lectoris considerably less ignorantofwhat occurred inDagoskathan he at first appeared. Ifsomebody is talking, it maywell be that they are talkingto both sides.' If you canbetray aman once, after all,

itisnotsoverydifficulttodoit twice. Glokta gave a longsigh. And there we are. Thesecrets are all spilled. Theturd-pitisemptied.Mythroatis slashed from ear to ear.'Thatisthewholestory,yourWorship.'

'Well, Superior, youcertainly find yourself inquite a pickle.'Quite a fatalone, in fact. Marovia got up

and wandered slowly aroundtheroom.'Letussuppose,forthe moment, that you trulyhave come for my help, andnot to lead me into somemanner of embarrassment.Arch Lector Sult has themeanstocauseamostseriousproblem. And the toweringself-obsession necessary totryitatatimelikethis.'You'llget no argument from me

there. 'If you could obtaincompelling evidence, Iwould, of course, be willingtopresentittotheking.ButIcannot move against amember of the ClosedCouncil,and theArchLectorin particular, without firmproof. A signed confessionwouldbebest.'

'Sult'ssignedconfession?'murmuredGlokta.

'Such a document wouldseemtosolvesomeproblemsforbothofus.Sultwouldbegone, and the bankerswouldhavelosttheirholdoveryou.The Gurkish would still becamped outside our walls ofcourse, but one can't haveeverything.'

'TheArchLector'ssignedconfession.'AndshallIpluckthe moon from the sky while

I'maboutit?'Orabigenoughstone to

start the landslide—perhapsthe confession of someonesuitably close to him. Iunderstand that you areexpertatobtainingthem.'TheHighJusticepeeredatGloktafrom under his heavy brows.'WasImisinformed?'

'Icannotconjureevidencefromthinair,yourWorship.'

'Those lost in the desertmust take the chances theyare offered, however slender.Findevidence,andbringittome. Then I can act, and notone moment before. Youunderstand that I cannot takeany risks for you. It isdifficult to trust a man whochose his master, and nowchoosesanother.'

'Chose?' Glokta felt his

eyelidtwitchingagain.'Ifyoubelieve that I chose any partofthepitifulshadowofalifeyou see before you, you areverymuchmistaken. I choseglory and success. The boxdid not contain what waswrittenonthelid.'

'Theworldisfulloftragictales.'Maroviawalked to thewindow,turninghisbackandstaring out at the darkening

sky.'Especiallynow.Youcanhardly expect them to makeanydifferencetoamanofmyexperience. I wish you goodday.'

Further comment seemspointless. Glokta rockedforwards, pushed himselfpainfully up to standingwiththe aid of his cane, andlimped for the door. But thetiniest glimmer of hope has

come creeping into the dankcellarofmydespair…Ineedonly obtain a confession toHigh Treason from the headofhisMajesty'sInquisition—

'And Superior!'Why canno one ever finish talkingbeforeIgetup?Gloktaturnedback into the room,his spineburning. 'If someone close toyou is talking, you need toshut them up. Now. Only a

fool would consideruprooting treason from theClosedCouncilbeforehehadcut the weeds from his ownlawn.'

'Oh, you need not worryabout my garden, yourWorship.' Glokta treated theHigh Justice to his mostrepulsive grin. 'I am evennowsharpeningmyshears.'

Charity

«^»

Aduaburned.The two westernmost

districts—theThreeFarms,atthe south-western corner of

the city, and the Arches,further north—were hackedwith black wounds. Smokewas still pouring up fromsomeof them,great columnslit in faint orange near thebase.Theyspreadout inoilysmears, dragged away to thewestbyastiffwind,drawinga muddy curtain across thesettingsun.

Jezal watched in solemn

silence, his hands bunchedintonumbfistsontheparapetof the Tower of Chains.There was no sound up herebut for the wind fumbling athis ears and, justoccasionally, the slightesthint of distant battle. A warcry, or the screams of thewounded. Or perhaps only asea-bird calling, high on thebreeze. Jezal wished for a

maudlinmomentthathewerea bird, and could simply flyfrom the tower and off overthe Gurkish pickets, awayfrom this nightmare. Butescapewouldnotbesoeasy.

'Casamir's Wall was firstbreached three days ago,'Marshal Varuz wasexplaining in a monotonousdrone. 'We drove back thefirst two assaults, and held

the Three Farms that night,but the next day there wasanother breach, and another.This damn fire-powder haschanged all the bloody rules.Awallthatwouldhavestooda week they can bring downinanhour.'

'Khalul always loved totinker with his dust and hisbottles,' muttered Bayaz,unhelpfully.

'They were in the ThreeFarmsinforcethatnight,andcarried the gates into theArchessoonafterwards.Eversince, thewholewesternpartof the city has been onerunning battle.' The tavernwhere Jezal had celebratedhis victory over Filio in theContest was in that district.The tavern where he had satwith West and Jalenhorm,

Kaspa andBrint, before theywent away to theNorth, andhe to the Old Empire. Wasthat building now burning?Was it already a blackenedshell?

'We'refightingthemhandto hand in the streets bydaylight. We're mountingraids in the darkness, everynight.Not a stride of groundis given up without it being

soaked with Gurkish blood.'Perhaps Varuz hoped to beinspiring, but he was onlysucceeding in making Jezalfeel sick. The streets of hiscapital soaked in blood,whoever'sblooditmighthavebeen,washardlyhisfirstaimas king of the Union.'Arnault's Wall still standsfirm, though there are firesburninginthecentreoftown.

The flames almost reachedthe Four Corners last night,but the rain doused themdown,atleastfornow.We'refighting for every street,everyhouse,everyroom.Justas you said we should, yourMajesty.'

'Good,' Jezal managed tocroak, but he almost chokedontheword.

When he so blithely

turned down GeneralMalzagurt'sterms,hewasnotsure what he had beenexpecting. He had dimlyimaginedthatsomeonewouldsooncometotherescue.Thatsomething heroic wouldoccur. Only now the bloodybusinesswaswell underway,and there was no sign ofinstant deliverance. Probablythere was heroism going on

down there in the smoke.Soldiers hauling injuredcomrades to safety throughthe sooty darkness. Nursesstitching wounds byscreaming candlelight.Townsfolk plunging intoburningbuildings todragoutcoughing children. Heroismof an everyday andunglamorous kind. A kindthatmadenodifferencetothe

overalloutcome.'Arethoseourshipsinthe

bay?' he asked quietly,alreadyafraidoftheanswer.

'I wish they were, yourMajesty. I never thought I'dsay it, but theyhave thebestof us by sea.You never sawsomanydamnships.Even ifmost of our navy weren'tferrying the army back fromAngland, I'm not sure what

they could do. As it is, themen will have to be landedoutsidethecity.It'sadamnedinconvenience, and it couldget to be a great deal morethan that. The docks are aweak spot. Sooner or laterthey may try to land menthere.'

Jezal looked nervouslytowards thewater.ArmiesofGurkish, pouring from their

shipsandintotheheartofthecity. The Middleway cutstraight through thecentreofAdua from the bay to theAgriont. A road invitinglywide enough to march anentireGurkish legion straightdownina twinkling.Heshuthis eyes and tried to breatheevenly.

Before the arrival of theGurkish he had hardly been

able to have a moment'ssilencefortheopinionsofhiscouncillors. Now that heactually needed advice, thetorrenthad suddenly rundry.Sult rarely appeared in theClosed Council, and thenonlytoglareatMarovia.TheHighJusticehimselfhadlittleto offer beyond bemoaningthefixtheywereall in.EvenBayaz' stock of historical

examples seemed finally tobe exhausted. Jezal was leftto carry the responsibilityalone, and he was finding itquite a weight. He supposedit was a good deal moreunpleasantforthosethatwereactually wounded, orhomeless, or killed, but thatwasslenderconsolation.

'How many are deadalready?' he found himself

asking,likeachildpickingata scab. 'How many have welost?'

'The righting alongCasamir's Wall was fierce.The fighting throughout theoccupied districts has beenfierceryet.Casualtiesonbothsides are heavy. I wouldguess at a thousand dead atleastonourside.'

Jezalswallowedsourspit.

He thought about themismatcheddefendershehadseennearthewesterngate,ina square now presumablyoverrun by Gurkish legions.Ordinary people, who hadlooked tohimwithhope andpride.Thenhetriedtopicturewhat a thousand corpsesmightlooklike.Heimagineda hundred of them, side byside, ina row.Then tensuch

rows,oneabove theother.Athousand. He gnawed at histhumbnail, already down tothepainfulquick.

'And many morewounded, of course,' addedVaruz, in a sudden twist ofthe knife. 'We are very shortof space for them, in fact.Two districts are at leastpartly occupied by theGurkish and the enemy are

landingincendiariesalmostinthe heart of the city.' Jezal'stongue sought out the stillsore gap in his teeth. Heremembered his own pain,outontheendlessplainunderthe merciless sky, the stabsthrough his face as thecartwheels squeaked andjolted.

'Open the Agriont to thewounded, to the homeless.

With the army away there isroom to spare. Barracks forthousands, and ampleprovisions.'

Bayaz was shaking hisbald head. 'A risk. We haveno way of knowing who wewould be letting in. Gurkishagents. Spies of Khalul. Notall of them are what theyappear.'

Jezal ground his teeth. 'I

am prepared to take the risk.AmIkinghere,ornot?'

'Youare,'growledBayaz,'and you would be welladvised to act like it. This isno time for sentiment. Theenemy are closing onArnault'sWall.Inplacestheymightbewithin twomilesofwherewestand.'

'Two miles?' murmuredJezal, his eyes flickering

nervously towards the westagain. Arnault's Wall was afine grey line through thebuildings, looking a terriblyfrailsortofabarrierfromuphere,andworryinglyclose.Asuddenfeargrippedhim.Notthe guilty concern he felt forthe theoretical people downthereinthesmoke,butarealandverypersonalfearforhisownlife.Liketheonehehad

felt among the stones, whenthetwowarriorsadvancedonhim with murder in mind.Perhaps he had made amistake not leaving the citywhen he had the chance.Perhapsitwasnot toolate to—

'I will stand or fallalongside the people of theUnion!' he shouted, as angryat his own cowardice as he

wasattheMagus.'Iftheyarewilling to die for me, then Iam willing to die for them!'He turned his shouldertowards Bayaz and quicklylooked away. 'Open theAgriont,MarshalVaruz.Youcan fill the palace withwoundedtoo,ifyouhaveto.'

Varuz glanced nervouslysidewaysatBayaz, thengaveastiffbow.'Hospitalswillbe

set up in the Agriont, then,your Majesty. The barrackswillbeopened to thepeople.The palace we had probablybetter leave sealed, at leastuntilthingsgetworse.'

Jezalcouldhardlybeartoimagine what worse mightlooklike. 'Good,good.Seeitdone.' He had to wipe a tearfrom under his eye as heturned away from the

smouldering city and madeforthelongstair.Thesmoke,of course. Nothing but thesmoke.

Queen Terez sat alone,framedinthewindowoftheirvastbedchamber.

TheCountessShalerewasstilllurkingaroundthepalacesomewhere,butitseemedshe

hadlearnedtokeepherscornwell out of Jezal's way. Therest of Terez' ladies she hadsentbacktoStyriabeforetheGurkish blockaded theharbour. Jezal rather wishedthat he could have returnedthe queen herself along withthe rest but that,unfortunately, was not anoption.

Terezdidnot somuchas

glance in his direction asJezalshutthedoor.Hehadtostifle a heavy sigh as hetrudged across the room, hisboots muddy from thespitting rain, his skin greasyfrom the soot in the airoutside.

'Youaretreadingdirtwithyou,' said Terez, withoutlooking round, her voice asicyasever.

'War is a dirty business,my love.'He saw the sideofher face twitch with disgustwhen he said the last twowords, and hardly knewwhether he wanted to laughorcryatit.Hedroppeddownheavily in the chair oppositeher without touching hisboots, knowing all the whilethat it would infuriate her.There was nothing he could

dothatwouldnot.'Must you come tome in

thismanner?'shesnapped.'Oh, but I could not stay

away!Youaremywife,afterall.'

'Notbychoice.''It was not my choice

either, but I am willing tomake the best of things!Believe it or not I would

rather havemarried someonewho did not hate me!' Jezalshoved one hand through hishair and pressed his angerdown with some difficulty.'But letusnotfight,please.Ihave enough fighting to doout there. More than I canstand!Canwenot, at least…beciviltooneanother?'

She looked at him for along moment, a thoughtful

frown on her face. 'How canyou?'

'HowcanIwhat?''Keeptrying.'Jezalventureda fragment

of a grin. 'I had hoped thatyoumightcometoadmiremypersistence, if nothing else.'She did not smile, but hesensed, perhaps, the slightestsoftening of the hard line of

her mouth. He hardly daredsuppose that she might havefinallybegun to thaw,buthewas willing to seize on theslightestshredofhope.Hopewas in short supply, thesedays.He leaned towards her,staring earnestly into hereyes.'Youhavemadeitclearthat you think very little ofme, and I suppose that Ihardly blame you. I do not

thinksoverymuchofmyself,believeme.ButIamtrying…Iamtryingveryhard…tobeabetterman.'

The corner of Terez'mouth twitched up in a sadkind of smile, but a kind ofsmile nonetheless. To hisgreat surprise she reachedout, and placed one handtenderly on his face. Hisbreath caught in his throat,

skin tingling where herfingertipsrested.

'Why can you notunderstand that I despiseyou?' she asked. He felthimself go very cold. 'Idespise the look of you, thefeelofyou,thesoundofyourvoice.Idespisethisplaceandits people. The sooner theGurkish burn it all to theground the happier I'll be.'

She took her hand away andturnedbacktothewindow,aglimmeringoflightdownherperfectprofile.

Jezal slowly stood up. 'IthinkIwillfindanotherroomtosleepintonight.Thisoneisaltogethertoocold.'

'Atlast.'It can be a terrible curse

foramantogeteverythinghe

ever dreamed of. If theshining prizes turn outsomehow to be emptybaubles, he is left withouteven his dreams for comfort.All the things that Jezal hadthought he wanted—power,fame, the beautiful trappingsof greatness—they werenothing but dust. All hewantednowwasforthingstobeastheyhadbeen,beforehe

got them. But there was nowayback.Notever.

He really had nothingfurther to say. He turnedstiffly and trudged for thedoor.

BetterLeftBuried

«^»

Whenthefightingisoveryoudig, if you're still alive. You

dig graves for your deadcomrades. A last mark ofrespect, however little youmighthavehadforthem.Youdig as deep as you can bebothered, youdump them in,you cover them up, they rotawayandareforgotten.That'sthewayit'salwaysbeen.

There would be a lot ofdigging when this fight wasdone. A lot of digging for

bothsides.Twelve days, now, since

the fire started falling. Sincethe wrath of God began torain on these arrogant pinks,and lay blackened waste totheirproudcity.Twelvedayssince the killing started—atthe walls, and in the streets,and through the houses. Fortwelve days in the coldsunlight, in the spitting rain,

inthechokingsmoke,andfortwelve nights by the light offlickering fires, Ferro hadbeeninthethickofit.

Herbootsslappedagainstthe polished tiles, leavingblack marks down theimmaculate hallway behindher. Ash. The two districtswherethefightingwasragingwere covered in it, now. Ithadmingledwiththethinrain

to make a sticky paste, likeblackglue.Thebuildingsthatstill stood, the charredskeletonsof theonesthatdidnot, the people who killedand the people who died, allcoated in it. The scowlingguards and the cringingservants frowned at her andthe marks she left, but shehad never cared a shit fortheir opinions, and was not

about to start. They wouldhave more ash than theyknew what to do with soon.The whole place would beash, if the Gurkish got theirway.

And it looked verymuchas if they might. Each dayand each night, for all theefforts of the rag-tagdefenders, for all the deadtheyleftamongtheruins,the

Emperor's troops workedtheirwayfurtherintothecity.

TowardstheAgriont.Yulweiwas sitting in the

wide chamber when she gotthere,shrunkenintoachairinone corner, the bangleshanging from his limp arms.The calmness which hadalways seemed to swaddlehim like an old blanket wasstripped away. He looked

worried,worn,eyessunkenindark sockets.Aman lookingdefeatintheface.AlookthatFerro was getting used toseeingoverthepastfewdays.

'FerroMaljinn,backfromthe front. I always said thatyou would kill the wholeworld if you could, and nowyou have your chance. Howdoyoulikewar,Ferro?'

'Well enough.'She tossed

her bow rattling onto apolished table, dragged hersword out of her belt,shrugged off her quiver. Shehad only a few shafts left.Most of them she had leftstuck through Gurkishsoldiers, out there in theblackenedruinsattheedgeofthecity.

ButFerrocouldnotbringherselftosmile.

Killing Gurkish was likeeatinghoney.Alittleonlyleftyoucravingmore.Toomuchcould become sickening.Corpses had always been apoor reward for all the effortit took to make them. Buttherewasnostoppingnow.

'Youarehurt?'Ferro squeezed at the

filthybandageroundherarm,and watched the blood seep

outintothegreycloth.Therewasnopain.'No,'shesaid.

'It is not too late, Ferro.Youdonotneedtodiehere.Ibrought you. I can still takeyou away. I go where Iplease, and I take who Iplease with me. If you stopkilling now, who knows?Perhaps God will still find aplaceinheavenforyou.'

Ferrowas becoming very

tired of Yulwei's preaching.She and Bayaz might nothave trusted each other afinger's breadth, but theyunderstood each other.Yulweiunderstoodnothing.

'"Heaven"?' she sneeredassheturnedawayfromhim.'Perhaps hell suits me better,didyouthinkofthat?'

She hunched up hershouldersasfootstepsechoed

down the hallway outside.She felt Bayaz' anger evenbefore the door was flungopen and the old bald pinkstormedintotheroom.

'That little bastard! AfterallthatIhavegivenhim,howdoeshe repayme?'Quai andSulfur slunk through thedoorway behind him like apair of dogs creeping aftertheir master. 'He defies me

before the Closed Council!He tells me to mind mybusiness! Me! How wouldthat cringing dunce knowwhatismybusinessandwhatisnot?'

'TroublewithKingLutharthe Magnificent?' gruntedFerro.

The Magus narrowed hiseyesather. 'Ayearagotherewas no emptier head in the

whole Circle of the World.Stick a crown on him andhave a crowd of old liarstongue his arse for a fewweeks and the little shitthinkshe'sStolicus!'

Ferro shrugged. Lutharhad never lacked a highopinion of himself, king ornot. 'You should be morecarefulwhoyoustickcrownson.'

'That's the trouble withcrowns, they have to go onsomeone. All you can do isdrop them in a crowd andhope for the best.' Bayazscowled over at Yulwei.'What of you brother? Haveyoubeenwalkingoutsidethewalls?'

'Ihave.''And what have you

seen?'

'Death.Muchofthat.TheEmperor's soldiers flood intothewesterndistrictsofAdua,his ships choke the bay.Every daymore troops comeup the road from the south,and tighten the Gurkish griponthecity.'

'That much I can learnfrom those halfwits on theClosed Council. What ofMamun and his Hundred

Words?''Mamun, the thrice

blessed and thrice cursed?Wondrous first apprentice ofgreat Khalul, God's righthand?He iswaiting.He andhis brothers, and his sisters,theyhaveagreattentoutsidethe bounds of the city. Theyprayforvictory,theylistentosweet music, they bathe inscented water, they laze

nakedandenjoythepleasuresoftheflesh.TheywaitfortheGurkish soldiers to carry thewalls of the city, and theyeat.' He looked up at Bayaz.'They eat night and day, inopen defiance of the SecondLaw. In brazen mockery ofthe solemn word of Euz.Makingreadyforthemomentwhen theywill come to seekyou out. The moment for

which Khalul made them.Theythinkitwillnotbelong,now. They polish theirarmour.'

'Do they indeed?' hissedBayaz.'Damnthemthen.'

'They have damnedthemselves already. But thatisnohelptous.'

'Then we must visit theHouse of theMaker.' Ferro's

head jerked up. There wassomething about that great,stark tower that hadfascinated her ever since shefirst arrived in Adua. Shefoundhereyesalwaysdrawntowardsitsmountainousbulk,rising untouchable, highabovethesmokeandthefury.

'Why?'askedYulwei.'Doyou plan to seal yourselfinside? Just asKanedias did,

all thoseyears ago,whenwecameseekingourvengeance?Will you cower in thedarkness, Bayaz? And thistime, will you be the onethrown down, to break uponthebridgebelow?'

The First of the Magisnorted.'Youknowmebetterthan that. When they comeformeIwillfacethemintheopen. But there are still

weapons in the darkness. Asurprise or two from theMaker's forge for our cursedfriendsbeyondthewalls.'

Yulweilookedevenmoreworried than before. 'TheDivider?'

'One edge here,'whispered Quai from thecorner. 'One on the OtherSide.'

Bayaz, as usual, ignoredhim. 'It can cut throughanything,evenanEater.'

'Will it cut through ahundred?'askedYulwei.

'I will settle for Mamunalone.'

Yulwei slowly unfoldedhimself from the chair, stoodwithasigh.

'Verywell,leadon.Iwill

entertheMaker'sHousewithyou,onelasttime.'

Ferro licked her teeth.The ideaofgoing insidewasirresistible. 'I will comewithyou.'

Bayaz glared back. 'No,you will not. You can stayhere and sulk. That hasalwaysbeenyourspecialgift,has it not? I would hate todeny you the opportunity to

makeuseofit.Youwillcomewithus,' he snappedatQuai.'You have your business, eh,Yoru?'

'Ido,MasterBayaz.''Good.' The First of the

Magi strode from the roomwith Yulwei at his shoulder,hisapprentice trudgingat therear. Sulfur did not move.Ferrofrownedathim,andhegrinnedback,hisheadtipped

against thepanelledwall, hischin pointed towards themouldedceiling.

'Are these HundredWordsnotyourenemiestoo?'Ferrodemanded.

'My deepest and mostbitterenemies.'

'Why do you not fight,then?'

'Oh, there are otherways

tofightthanstrugglinginthedirt out there.' There wassomething in those eyes, onedark, one bright, that Ferrodidnotlikethelookof.Therewas something hard andhungry behind his smiles.'Though Iwould love to stayand chat, Imust go and givethewheels another push.' Heturned a finger round andround in the air. 'Thewheels

must keep turning, eh,Maljinn?'

'Go then,' she snapped. 'Iwillnotstopyou.'

'You could not if youwanted to. Iwouldbidyouagood day. But I'd wageryou'veneverhadone.'Andhesauntered out, the doorclickingtobehindhim.

Ferro was already across

the room, shooting back thebolt on thewindow.She haddone as Bayaz told her oncebefore,andithadbroughthernothing but a wasted year.She would make her ownchoices now. She jerked thehangings aside and slippedoutontothebalcony.Curled-up leaves blew on the wind,whipping around the lawnsbelowalongwith thespitting

rain. A quick glance up anddownthedamppathsshowedonly one guard, and he waslooking the wrong way,huddledinhiscloak.

Sometimes it is best toseizethemoment.

Ferroswungherlegsovertherail,gatheredherself,thensprang out into the air. Shecaughtaslipperytreebranch,swungtothetrunk,sliddown

ittothedampearthandcreptbehind a neatly clippedhedge,lowtotheground.

She heard footsteps, thenvoices. Bayaz' voice, andYulwei's, speaking soft intothe hissing wind. Damn, buttheseoldfoolsofMagilovedtoflaptheirlips.

'Sulfur?' came Yulwei'svoice.'Heisstillwithyou?'

'Whywouldhenotbe?''His studies ran in…

dangerous directions. I toldyouthis,brother.'

'And? Khalul is not sopickywithhisservants…'

They passed out ofearshotandFerrohadtorushalong behind the hedge tokeep pace, staying bentdouble.

'… I do not like thishabit,'Yulweiwassaying, 'oftaking forms, of changingskin. A cursed discipline.You know what Juvens'feelingswereonit—'

'I have no time to worryon the feelings of a mancenturies in his grave. ThereisnoThirdLaw,Yulwei.'

'Perhaps there should be.Stealing another's face… the

tricks of Glustrod and hisdevil-bloods. Arts borrowedfromtheOtherSide—'

'We must use suchweapons as we can find. IhavenoloveforMamun,buthe is right. They are calledthe Hundred Words becausethey are a hundred. We aretwo, and time has not beenkindtous.'

'Thenwhydotheywait?'

'You know Khalul,brother. Ever careful,watchful, deliberate. He willnot risk his children until hemust…'

Throughthechinksinthebare twigsFerrowatched thethree men pass between theguardsandoutof thegate inthe high palace wall. Shegave them a few moments,thenshestartedupandstrode

after, shoulders back, asthough she was aboutimportant business. She feltthe hard stares of thearmoured men flanking thegate, but they were used toher coming and going now.For once they kept theirsilence.

Between the greatbuildings, around the statues,through the dull gardens she

followed the two Magi andtheir apprentice across theAgriont. She kept herdistance, loitering indoorways, under trees,walking close behind thosefewpeoplehurryingdownthewindy streets. Sometimes,above the buildings in asquare,orattheendofalane,the top of the great mass oftheMaker'sHouserearedup.

Hazygreythroughthedrizzleto begin with, but growingmore black, vast and distinctwitheachstrideshetook.

Thethreemenledhertoaramshackle building withcrumbling turrets stickingfrom its sagging roof. Ferroknelt and watched frombehind a corner while Bayazbeaton the ricketydoorwiththeendofhisstaff.

'I am glad you did notfind the Seed, brother,' saidYulwei, while they waited.'That thing is better leftburied.'

'Iwonder if youwill stillthink so when the HundredWords swarm through thestreets of the Agriont,howlingforourblood?'

'God will forgive me, Ithink.Thereareworse things

thanKhalul'sEaters.'Ferro's nails dug into her

palms. There was a figurestanding at one of the grimywindows, peering out atYulwei and Bayaz. A long,leanfigurewithablackmaskand short hair. The womanwho had chased her andNinefingers, long before.Ferro's hand strayed on aninstinct towards her sword,

thenshe realisedshehad leftit in the palace, and cursedher foolishness. Ninefingershad been right. You couldneverhavetoomanyknives.

The door wobbled open,some words were muttered,the two old men wentthrough, Quai at their back,head bowed. The maskedwoman watched for a whilelonger, then stepped back

from the window into thedarkness.Ferrosprangoverahedge as the door wobbledclosed,wedgedherfootinthegap and slid throughsideways, stealing into thedeep shadows on the otherside. The door clattered shutonitscreakinghinges.

Down a long hallway,dusty paintings on one wall,dusty windows in the other.

All the way the back ofFerro'sneckprickled,waitingfor the blackmasks to comeboiling out of the shadows.Butnothingcamebesidestheechoing footsteps up ahead,the mindless droning of theoldmen'svoices.

'This place has changed,'Yulwei was saying. 'SincethatdaywefoughtKanedias.ThedaytheOldTimeended.

Itrained,then.''Irememberit.''I lay wounded on the

bridge,intherain.Isawthemfall, the Maker and hisdaughter.Fromonhigh, theytumbled down. Hard tobelieve,thatIsmiledtoseeit,then.Vengeance is a fleetingthrill.Thedoubts,wecarrytoour graves.' Ferro sneered atthat. If she could have the

vengeance she would livewiththedoubts.

'Timehasbroughtusbothregrets,'mutteredBayaz.

'Moreof themwitheverypassingyear.Astrangething,though. I could have sworn,as I lay there, that it wasKanedias who fell first, andTolomeisecond.'

'Memory can tell lies,

especially to men who havelived as long as we. TheMaker threw down hisdaughter, then I him.And sotheOldTimeended.'

'So it did,' murmuredYulwei. 'So much lost. Andnowwearecometothis…'

Quai's head snappedround and Ferro plasteredherself against the wallbehind a leaning cabinet. He

stood there, for a longmoment, frowning towardsher. Then he followed theothers. Ferro waited, holdingher breath, until the three ofthem turned a corner andpassedoutofsight.

She caught them up in acrumbling courtyard, chokedwithdeadweeds,litteredwithbroken slates fallen from theroofs above. A man in a

stained shirt led them up alongstairway,towardsadarkarchhigh in thehighwall oftheAgriont.He had a bunchofjinglingkeysinhisgnarledhands, was mutteringsomething about eggs. Oncethey had passed into thetunnel Ferro padded acrossthe open space and up thesteps,pausingnearthetop.

'We will come back

shortly,' she heard Bayazgrowling. 'Leave the doorajar.'

'It'salwayskeptlocked,'avoice answered. 'That's therule. It'sbeenkept lockedallmylife,andIdon'tplanto—'

'Then wait here until wecomeback!Butgonowhere!I have many better things todo than sit waiting on thewrong side of your locked

doors!' Keys turned. Oldhinges squealed. Ferro'sfingers slid round a looselump of stone and gripped ittightly.

Themaninthedirtyshirtwas pulling the gates shut asshe crept to the top of thesteps.Hemutteredangrilyashe fumbled with his keys,metal clinking. There was adull thump as the stone

clubbed him across his baldspot. He gasped, lurchedforward, Ferro caught hislimpbodyunderthearmsandlowered him carefully to theground.

Then she set the rockdownandrelievedhimofhiskeyswithahookedfinger.

As Ferro lifted her handto push the doors open, astrange sensation washed

over her. Like a cool breezeon a hot day, surprising, atfirst, then delightful. Ashiver, not at all unpleasant,worked its way up her spineand made her breath catch.She pressed her hand to theweathered wood, the grainbrushing warm andwelcoming against her palm.She eased the door open justwideenoughtopeerthrough.

A narrow bridge sprangout from the wall of theAgriont,nomorethanastrideacross, without rail orparapet.At thefarenditmetthesideoftheMaker'sHouse—asoaringcliffofbarerock,shining black with the rain.Bayaz, Yulwei and Quaistoodbeforeagateattheendof that strip of stone.A gateof darkmetal,marked in the

centre with bright circles.RingsoflettersthatFerrodidnot understand. She watchedBayaz pull something outfrom the collar of his shirt.Shewatchedthecirclesbegintomove, to turn, to spin,herheart pounding in her ears.The doors moved silentlyapart. Slowly, reluctantly,almost, the threemen passedinto that squareofblackness,

andweregone.The House of the Maker

stoodopen.Grey water slapped at

hard stone below as Ferrofollowed them across thebridge. The rain kissed andthe wind nipped at her skin.In the distance, smudges ofsmoke rose from thesmoulderingcityandintothemuddysky,buthereyeswere

fixed on the yawning portalstraight ahead. She loiteredon the threshold for amoment, her hands clenchedintofists.

Thenshesteppedintothedarkness.

It was neither cold norwarmontheothersideofthegate.Theairwassostill,andflat, and silent that it seemedto weigh heavily on Ferro's

shoulders,topressatherears.A fewmuffled steps and thelighthadallfaded.Wind,andrain, and the open sky weredimly remembered dreams.Shefeltshewalkedahundredmilesbeneath thedeadearth.Time itself seemed to havestopped. Ferro crept up to awide archway and peeredthrough.

The hall beyondwas like

a temple, but it would haveswallowed whole even thegreattempleinShaffa,wherethousandscalledhourlyouttoGod. It dwarfed the loftydomewhereJezaldanLutharhad been given a crown. Itwas an expanse that madeeven the vastness of ruinedAulcus seem petty. A placecrowded with solemnshadows,peopledwithsullen

echoes, bounded by angry,unyieldingstone.Thetomboflong-deadgiants.

The grave of forgottengods.

Yulwei and Bayaz stoodat its centre. Tiny, insectfigures in an ocean ofgleaming darkness. Ferropressed herself to the coldrock, striving to pick theirwords out from the sea of

echoes.'Go to the armoury and

find some of the Maker'sblades. I will go up, andbring…thatotherthing.'

Bayaz turned away, butYulwei caught him by thearm. 'First answer me onequestion,brother.'

'Whatquestion?''The same one I always

ask.''Again? Even now? Very

well,ifyoumust.Ask.'The two old men stood

still for the longest time.Until the last echoes hadfaded and left only a silenceas heavy as lead. Ferro heldherbreath.

'Did you kill Juvens?'Yulwei's whisper hissed

through the darkness. 'Didyoukillourmaster?'

Bayaz did not flinch. 'Imade mistakes, long ago.Many mistakes, I know.Someout in the ruinedwest.Somehere, in thisplace.Theday does not passwhen I donotregretthem.IfoughtwithKhalul.Iignoredmymaster'swisdom. I trespassed in theHouseof theMaker. I fell in

lovewithhisdaughter. Iwasproud,andvain,andrash,allthis is true.But IdidnotkillJuvens.'

'Whathappenedthatday?'The First of the Magi

spoke the words as thoughthey were lines longrehearsed. 'Kanedias came totake me. For seducing hisdaughter. For stealing hissecrets. Juvens would not

give me up. They fought, Ifled. The fury of their battlelittheskies.WhenIreturned,theMakerwasgone,andourmasterwasdead.IdidnotkillJuvens.'

Againa longsilence, andFerro watched, frozen. 'Verywell.'Yulweiletfallhishandfrom Bayaz' arm. 'Mamunlied, then. Khalul lied. Wewill fight against them

together.''Good, my old friend,

good.IknewthatIcouldtrustyou, as you can trust me.'Ferro curledher lip.Trust. Itwas a word that only liarsused.Awordthetruthfulhadno need of. The First of theMagi's footsteps rang out ashe strode towards one of themanyarchwaysandvanishedintothegloom.

Yulwei watched him go.Then he gave a sharp sigh,and padded off in the otherdirection,hisbanglesjinglingonhis thin arms.The echoesof his passing slowly faded,andFerrowasleftalonewiththe shadows, wrapped insilence.

Slowly, carefully, shecrept forwards into thatimmense emptiness. The

floor glittered—snaking linesof bright metal, set into theblack rock. The ceiling, iftherewas one,was shroudedin darkness. A high balconyran around the walls a goodtwentystridesup,another farabove that, then another, andanother, vague in the half-light. Above all, a beautifuldevice hung. Rings of darkmetal, great and small,

gleaming discs and shiningcircles, marked with strangewritings. All moving. Allrevolving, one ring about theother, and at their centre ablack ball, the one point ofperfectstillness.

She turned round, andround, or perhaps she stoodstill and the room turnedabout her. She felt dizzy,drunken,breathless.Thebare

rock soared away into theblack, rough stones withoutmortar, no two alike. Ferrotried to imagine how manystonesthetowerwasmadeof.

Thousands.Millions.What hadBayaz said, on

the island at the edge of theWorld?Where does thewiseman hide a stone? Among athousand. Among a million.The rings high above shifted

gently. They pulled at her,and the black ball in thecentre pulled at her most ofall. Like a beckoning hand.Like a voice calling out hername.

She dug her fingers intothe dry spaces between thestones and began to climb,handoverhand,upandup.Itwas easily done. As thoughthe wall was meant to be

climbed.Soonsheswungherlegsoverthemetalrailofthefirst balcony. On again,withoutpausingforbreath,upand up. She reached thesecond balcony, sticky withsweat in the dead air. Shereached the third, breathrasping. She gripped the railof the fourth, and pulledherself over. She stood,staringdown.

Far below, at the bottomof a black abyss, the wholeCircleoftheWorldlayontheround floor of the hall. Amap,thecoastlinespickedoutin shining metal. Level withFerro, filling almost all thespace within the gentlycurvinggallery,suspendedonwiresnothickerthanthreads,the great mechanism slowlyrevolved.

She frowned at the blackball in its centre, her palmstingling. It seemed to hoverthere, without support. Sheshould have wondered howthat could be, but all shecould think about was howmuch shewanted to touch it.Needed to. She had nochoice. One of the metalcircles drifted close to her,gleamingdully.

Sometimes it is best toseizethemoment.

She sprang up onto therail, crouched there for aninstant,gatheringherself.Shedidnotthink.Thinkingwouldhavebeenmadness.Sheleaptinto empty space, limbsflailing. The whole machinewobbled and swayed as shecaught hold of its outermostring. She swung underneath,

hanging breathless. Slowly,delicately,hertonguepressedinto the roof of her mouth,she pulled herself up by herarms, hooked her legs overthemetalanddraggedherselfalong it. Soon it brought herclose to a wide disc, scoredwith grooves, and sheclambered from one to theother, body trembling witheffort. The cool metal

quivered under her weight,twisting and flexing,wobbling with her everymovement, threatening toshrug her off into the emptyvoid. Ferro might have hadnofearinher.

Butplungesofahundredstrides onto the hardest ofhard rock still demanded herdeeprespect.

Sosheslitheredout,from

one ring to another, hardlydaring even to breathe. Shetold herself there was nodrop. Shewas only climbingtrees, sliding between theirbranches, the way she hadwhenshewasachild,beforetheGurkishcame.Finallyshecaught hold of the innermostring. She clung to it, furioustight, waiting until its ownmovement brought her close

tothecentre.Shehungdown,legs crossed around the frailmetal, one hand gripping it,the other reaching outtowards that gleaming blackball.

She could see her rigidface reflected in its perfectsurface, her clawing hand,swollen and distorted. Shestrained forward with everynerve, teeth gritted. Closer,

and closer yet. All thatmatteredwastotouchit.Thevery tip of hermiddle fingerbrushed against it and, like abubble bursting, it vanishedintoemptymist.

Something dropped free,falling, slowly, as if it sankthroughwater.Ferrowatchedit tumble away from her, adarker spot in the inkydarkness,down,anddown.It

struck the floorwith a boomthatseemedtoshaketheveryfoundations of the Maker'sHouse, filled the hall withcrashingechoes.TheringthatFerro clung to trembled andforagiddyinstantshenearlylost her grip. When shemanagedtohaulherselfbackshe realised that it hadstoppedmoving.

The whole device was

still.It seemed to take her an

age to clamber back acrossthe motionless rings to thetopmost gallery, tomake thelong descent down thetowering walls. When shefinallydroppedtothefloorofthe cavernous chamber herclotheswere torn, her hands,elbows, knees grazed andbloody, but she scarcely

noticed. She ran across thewide floor, her footstepsringingout.Towardstheverycentre of the hall, where thething that had fallen fromabovestilllay.

It looked like nothingmore than an uneven chunkofdarkstonethesizeofabigfist. But this was no stone,and Ferro knew it. She feltsomething leaking from it,

pouring from it, flooding outinthrillingwaves.Somethingthat could not be seen, ortouched, and yet filled thewhole space to its darkestreaches. Invisible, yetirresistible, it flowed tinglingaround her and dragged herforwards.

Ferro's heart thumped atherribsasherfootstepsdrewclose. Her mouth flooded

withhungry spit as shekneltbeside it. Her breath clawedin her throat as she reachedout, palm itching. Her handclosedaround itspockedandpitted surface. Very heavy,andverycold,as if itwereachunk of frozen lead. Shelifted it slowly up, turning itin her hand, watching itglitter in the darkness,fascinated.

'TheSeed.'Bayazstoodinoneofthe

archways, face tremblingwith an ugly mixture ofhorror and delight. 'Leave,Ferro, now! Take it to thepalace.' He flinched, raisedone arm, as if to shield hiseyes from a blinding glare.'The box is inmy chambers.Putitinside,andsealittight,doyouhearme?Sealittight!'

Ferro turned away,scowling,notsurenowwhichofthearchwaysledoutoftheMaker'sHouse.

'Wait!' Quaiwas paddingacross the floor towards her,his gleaming eyes fixed onher hand. 'Stay!' He showedno trace of fear as he camecloser.Onlyanawfulkindofhunger, strange enough thatFerro took a step away. 'It

washere.Here,allalong.'Hisfacelookedpale,slack,fullofshadows. 'The Seed.' Hiswhite hand crept through thedarknesstowardsher.'Atlast.Giveitto—'

He crumpled up likediscarded paper, was rippedfromhis feetand flungawaythe whole width of the vastroominthetimeittookFerrotodraginonestunnedbreath.

Hehitthewalljustbelowthelowest balcony with anechoingcrunch.Shewatchedopen-mouthed as hisshattered body bounced offand tumbled to the ground,brokenlimbsflopping.

Bayaz stepped forward,his staff clenched tightly inhis fist. The air around hisshoulders was stillshimmering ever so slightly.

Ferro had killed many men,of course, and shed no tears.Butthespeedofthisshockedevenher.

'What did you do?' shehissed, the echoes of Quai'sfatal impactwith thefarwallstillthuddingaboutthem.

'WhatIhadto.Gettothepalace. Now.' Bayaz stabbedatoneofthearchwayswithaheavy finger, and Ferro saw

the faintest glimmer of lightinside it. 'Put that thing intothebox!Youcannot imaginehowdangerousitis!'

Few people liked takingorders less, but Ferro had nowishtostayinthisplace.Shestuffed the lump of rockdown inside her shirt. It feltright there, pressed againsther stomach. Cool andcomforting, for all Bayaz

called it dangerous.She tookone step, and as her bootslapped down a gratingchuckle floated up from thefarsideofthehall.

FromwhereQuai'sruinedcorpsehadfallen.

Bayaz did not seemsurprised. 'So!' he shouted.'You show yourself at last! Ihavesuspectedforsometimethat you were not who you

appeared tobe!Where ismyapprentice,andwhendidyoureplacehim?'

'Months ago.' Quai wasstill chuckling as he pushedhimself slowly up from thepolished floor. 'Before youleft on your fool's errand tothe Old Empire.' There wasnobloodonhissmilingface.Notsomuchasagraze.'Isatbeside you, at the fire. I

watched you while you layhelpless in that cart. I waswith you all the way, to theedge of theWorld and back.Yourapprenticestayedhere.Ileft his half-eaten corpse inthe bushes for the flies, nottwenty strides from whereyou and the Northmansoundlyslept.'

'Huh.' Bayaz tossed hisstaff from one hand to the

other. 'I thought I noted asharp improvement in yourskills.Youshouldhavekilledme then, when you had thechance.'

'Oh, there is time now.'FerroshiveredasshewatchedQuai stand. The hall seemedtohavegrownsuddenlyverycold.

'A hundred words?Perhaps. One word?' Bayaz'

lipcurled.'Ithinknot.WhichofKhalul'screaturesareyou?TheEastWind?Oneofthosedamnedtwins?'

'I am not one ofKhalul'screatures.'

The faintest flicker ofdoubt passed over Bayaz'face.'Who,then?'

'Wekneweachotherwell,intimeslongpast.'

The First of the Magifrowned. 'Who are you?Speak!'

'Taking forms.' Awoman'svoice, soft and low.Something was happening toQuai's face as he pacedslowlyforward.Hispaleskindrooped, twisted. 'A dreadandinsidioustrick.'Hisnose,his eyes, his lips began tomelt, running off his skull

likewax down a candle. 'Doyou not remember me,Bayaz?'Anotherfaceshoweditself beneath, a hard face,white as pale marble. 'Yousaid that youwould lovemeforever.'Theairwasicychill.Ferro's breath was smokingbefore her mouth. 'Youpromised me that we wouldnever be parted. When Iopened my father's gate to

you…''No!' Bayaz took a

falteringstepback.'You look surprised. Not

as surprised as I was, wheninstead of takingme in yourarms you threw me downfrom the roof, eh, my love?Andwhy?So that you couldkeep your secrets? So thatyou could seem noble?'Quai's long hair had turned

whiteaschalk.Itfloatednowaboutawoman'sface,terriblypale, eyes two bright, blackpoints.Tolomei.TheMaker'sdaughter. A ghost, steppedoutofthefadedpast.Aghostthat had walked beside themformonths, wearing a stolenshape.Ferrocouldalmostfeelher icy breath, cold as deathontheair.Hereyesflickeredfrom that pale face to the

archway, far away across thefloor, caught betweenwanting to run, and needingtoknowmore.

'Isawyouinyourgrave!'whisperedBayaz. 'I piled theearthoveryoumyself.'

'So you did, and weptwhenyoudid,as thoughyouhadnotbeentheonetothrowme down.' Her black eyesswivelled to Ferro, to where

the Seed lay tingling againsther belly. 'But I had touchedthe Other Side. In these twohandsIhadheldit,whilemyfatherworked,andithadleftmealtered.ThereIlay,intheearth's cold embrace.Betweenlifeanddeath.UntilIheardthevoices.ThevoicesthatGlustrodheard,longago.They offered me a bargain.Myfreedomfortheirs.'

'YoubroketheFirstLaw!''Lawsmeannothingtothe

buried!WhenIfinallyclawedmy way from the graspingearth the human part of mewasgone.But theotherpart,the part that belongs to theworld below—that cannotdie.Itstandsbeforeyou.NowIwillcomplete thework thatGlustrod began. I will throwopen the doors that my

grandfather sealed. Thisworld and the Other Sideshall be one. As they werebeforetheOldTime.Astheywerealwaysmeanttobe.'Sheheldoutheropenhand,andabitterchillflowedfromitandsent shivers across Ferro'sbacktothetipsofherfingers.'Give me the Seed, child. ImadeapromisetotheTellersof Secrets, and I keep the

promisesImake.''Weshallsee!'snarledthe

First of the Magi. Ferro feltthe tugging in her stomach,saw the air around Bayazbegin to blur. Tolomei stoodten strides away from him.The next instant she struckhim with a sound like athunderclap. His staff burstapart, splinteredwoodflying.Hegaveashockedsplutteras

heflewthroughthedarkness,rolled over and over acrossthe cold stone to lie facedown in a crumpled heap.Ferro stared as a wave offreezingairwashedoverher.She felt a sick and terriblefear, all the worse for beingunfamiliar.Shestoodfrozen.

'Theyearshavemadeyouweak.' TheMaker's daughtermoved slowly now, silently

towards Bayaz' senselessbody, her white hair flowingoutbehindherliketherippleson a frosty pool. 'Your Artcannot harm me.' She stoodover him, her dry white lipsspreading into an icy smile.'For all you took from me.Formyfather.'Sheraisedherfoot aboveBayaz' bald head.'Formyself—'

She burst into brilliant

flames. Harsh light flickeredto the furthest corners of thecavernous chamber,brightness stabbed into thevery cracks between thestones. Ferro stumbled back,holding one hand over hereyes.Betweenherfingersshesaw Tolomei reel madlyacrossthefloor,thrashinganddancing, white flameswreathingherbody,herhaira

coilingtongueoffire.She flopped to the

ground, the darkness closingbackin,smokepouringupina reeking cloud. Yulweipadded out from one of thearchways, his dark skinshiningwithsweat.Heheldabundle of swords under onescrawny arm. Swords of dullmetal, like the one thatNinefingershadcarried,each

marked with a single silverletter. 'Are you alright,Ferro?'

'I…'Thefirehadbroughtno warmth with it. Ferro'steeth were rattling, the hallhadgrownsocold.'I…'

'Go.' Yulwei frowned atTolomei's body as the lastflames died. Ferro finallyfound the strength to move,began tobackaway.She felt

a bitter sinking in her gut asshe watched the Maker'sdaughterclimbup,theashofQuai's clothes sliding fromher body.She stood, tall anddeathly lean, naked and asbald as Bayaz, her hair allseared away to grey dust.There was not so much as amarkonhercorpse-paleskin,gleamingflawlesswhite.

'Always there is

something more.' She glaredatYulweiwithher flat blackeyes. 'No fire can burn me,conjuror. You cannot stopme.'

'But I must try.' TheMagus flung his swords intothe air. They turned, spun,edges glittering, spreadingapart inthedarkness,driftingimpossibly sideways. Theybegan to fly around Yulwei

andFerroinawhirlingcircle.Faster and faster until theywere a blur of deadly metal.Close enough that if Ferrohad reached out, her handwouldhavebeensnatchedoffatthewrist.

'Standstill,'saidYulwei.That hardly needed

saying. Ferro felt a surge ofanger,hotand familiar. 'FirstIshouldrun, thenstandstill?

First the Seed is at the Edgeof the World, and now it ishereatthecentre?Firstsheisdead and now she has stolenanother's face? You oldbastards need to get yourstoriesstraight.'

'They are liars!' snarledTolomei, and Ferro felt thecold of her freezing breathwashoverhercheekandchillher to the bone. 'Users! You

cannottrustthem!''But I can trust you?'

Ferro snorted her contempt.'Fuckyourself!'

Tolomei nodded slowly.'Thendie,alongwiththerest.'She padded sideways,balancedonhertoes,ringsofwhite frost spreading outwherever her bare feettouched the ground. 'Youcannot keep juggling your

knivesforever,oldman.'Over her white shoulder,

Ferro saw Bayaz get slowlyto his feet, holding one armwith the other, rigid facescratched and bloody.Something dangled from hislimp fist—a long mass ofmetal tubes with a hook onthe end, dull metal gleamingin the darkness. His eyesrolled to the far-off ceiling,

veins bulging from his neckwitheffortastheairbegantotwist around him. Ferro feltthat sucking in her gut andher eyes were drawnupwards. Up to the greatmachine that hung abovetheir heads. It began totremble.

'Shit,' she muttered,startingtobackaway.

If Tolomei noticed, she

showednosign.Shebentherknees and sprang high intotheair,awhitestreakoverthespinning swords. She hungabove for an instant, thenplummeted down towardsYulwei. She crashed into thefloor, knees first, the impactmaking the ground shake. Asplinter of stone grazedFerro's cheek and she felt ablast of icy wind against her

face,lurchedastepback.The Maker's daughter

frowned up. 'You do not dieeasily, old man,' she snarledastheechoesfaded.

Ferro could not tell howYulwei had avoided her, butnow he danced away, hishandsmovinginslowcircles,bangles jingling, swords stilltumbling through the airbehind him. 'I have been

workingatitallmylife.Youdonotdieeasilyeither.'

The Maker's daughterstoodandfacedhim.'Idonotdie.'

High above the hugedevice lurched, cablespinging as they snapped,whipping in the darkness.With an almost dreamlikeslowness, it began to fall.Glittering metal twisted,

flexed,shriekedasittumbleddown. Ferro turned and ran.Five breathless strides andshe flung herself down,slidingflatonherfaceacrossthepolishedrock.ShefelttheSeed digging into herstomach, the wind of thespinningswordsrippingclosetoherbackasshepassedjustbeneaththem.

Thegreatmachinehit the

floorbehindherwithanoiselike the music of hell. Eachring made a vast cymbal, agiant's gong. Each struck itsown mad note, a screaming,clanging,boomingoftorturedmetal, loud enough to makeevery one of Ferro's bonesbuzz. She looked up to seeone great disc reel past her,clatteringonitsedge,strikingbright sparks from the floor.

Another flew into the air,spinningcrazilylikeaflippedcoin.Shegaspedassherolledout of its way, scrambledback as it crashed into thegroundbesideher.

Where Yulwei andTolomeihadfacedeachotherthere was a hill of twistedmetal, of broken rings andleaning discs, bent rods andtangled cables. Ferro

struggleddizzilytoherfeet,afury of discordant echoesripping about the hall.Splintersdroppedaroundher,pinging from the polishedfloor. Fragments werescattered the width of thehall, glinting in the shadowslikestarsinthenightsky.

Shehadnoideawhowasdeadandwhoalive.

'Out!' Bayaz growled at

herthroughgrittedteeth,facea twistedmaskofpain. 'Out!Go!'

'Yulwei,' shemuttered, 'ishe—'

'I will come back forhim!' Bayaz flailed at herwithhisgoodarm.'Go!'

There are times to fight,and there are times to run,and Ferro knew well the

difference. The Gurkish hadtaught it to her, deep in theBadlands. The archwayjerked and wobbled as shesprinted towards it. Her ownbreathroaredinherears.Sheleapedoveragleamingwheelofmetal,bootsslappingatthesmoothstone.Shewasalmostat the archway. She felt abitterchill ather side,a rushof sick terror. She flung

herselfforwards.Tolomei's white hand

missed Ferro by a whisker,tore a great chunk of stonefrom the wall and filled theairwithdust.

'Yougonowhere!'Time to run,perhaps,but

Ferro'spatiencewasallworndown. As she sprang up herfist already swinging, all the

fury of her wasted months,herwasted years, herwastedlife behind it. Her knuckleshitTolomei'sjawwithasharpcrunch.Itwaslikepunchingablock of ice. There was nopain as her hand broke, butshe felt herwrist buckle, herarm go numb. Too late toworryonit.Herotherfistwasonitsway.

Tolomeisnatchedherarm

fromtheairbeforeittouchedher, dragged Ferro close,twistingherhelplessontoherknees with awful, irresistiblestrength. 'The Seed!' Thehissing words froze acrossFerro's face, snatching herbreathoutinasickgroan,herskin burning where Tolomeiheld her. She felt her bonestwist, then snap, her forearmclicking sideways like a

broken stick. A white handcrept through the shadowstowards the lump in Ferro'sshirt.

Therewasasuddenlight,a brilliant curve of it that litthe whole chamber for ablindinginstant.Ferroheardapiercing shriek and she wasfree, sprawling on her back.Tolomei'shandwasslicedoffcleanly just above the wrist,

leaving a bloodless stump.Agreat wound was scoreddown the smooth wall anddeep into the floor, moltenstone running from it,bubblingandsizzling.Smokecurled from the strangeweapon inBayaz'handashelurchedfromtheshadows,thehook at its end still glowingorange. Tolomei gave an icyscream, one hand clawing at

him.Bayaz roared mindlessly

back at her, his eyesnarrowed, his bloody mouthwide open. Ferro felt atwisting at her stomach, sosavage she was bent over,almost dragged to her knees.The Maker's daughter wassnatched up and blastedaway, onewhite heel tearinga long scar through the map

onthefloor,gougingthroughrockandrippingupmetal.

The wreck of the granddevice was blown apartbehind her, its ruined piecesscattered glittering in thedarkness like leaves on thewind.Tolomeiwas a flailingshape in a storm of flyingmetal.Shehitthedistantwallwith an earth-shaking boom,flingingoutchunksofbroken

stone. A hail of twistedfragments rattled, rang,clanged against the rockaround her. Rings, pins,slivers like dagger bladeswedgedintothewall,makingthewholegreatcurveofstoneagiantbedofnails.

Bayaz' eyes bulged, hisgaunt face wet with sweat.'Die,devil!'hebellowed.

Dust filtered down, rock

began to shift. Cold laughterechoed out across the hall.Ferro scrambled back, heelskicking at the smooth stone,andsheran.Herbrokenhandshuddered over the wall ofthe tunnel, her broken armdangled. A square of lightcamejoltingtowardsher.ThedooroftheMaker'sHouse.

She tottered out into theair, stinging bright after the

shadows, the thin rain warmafter Tolomei's freezingtouch.TheSeedstillweighedheavy inher shirt, roughandcomfortingagainstherskin.

'Run!' came Bayaz' voicefrom the darkness. 'To thepalace!' Ferro tottered acrossthe bridge, clumsy feetslipping on wet stone, coldwaterlurchingfarbelow.'Putitinthebox,andsealittight!'

She heard an echoing boombehind her, metal clashingagainstmetal,butshedidnotlookback.

She shouldered her waythroughtheopendoorsinthewall of the Agriont, nearlytripping over the doorman,sittingagainst thewallwhereshe had left him with onehandclaspedtohishead.Shesprangoverhimashecringed

away, flew down the stepsthree at a time, across thecrumbling courtyard, downthe dusty corridors, sparingnothoughtformaskedfiguresor for anyone else. Theyseemed a pitiful, everydaysortofthreat,now.Shecouldstillfeeltheicybreathonherneck.

Nothing mattered but toputitfarbehindher.

She slid up to the door,fumbled at the bolt with theheelofherbrokenhand,burstout into the drizzle andpoundeddownthewetstreetsthe way she had come. Thepeople in the lanes andsquaresstumbledbackoutofherway,shockedat thesightofher,desperateandbloody.Angryvoicesechoedafterherbut she ignored them, turned

a corner onto a wide streetbetween grey buildings andnearly slid right over on thewetstones.

A great crowd ofdishevelled people werechoking the road. Women,children, old men, dirty andshambling.

'Out of my way!' shescreamed,andstartedtoforcea path through. 'Move!' The

story Bayaz had told on theendless plain nagged at theback of her mind. How thesoldiershadfoundtheSeedintheruinsofAulcus.Howtheyhad withered and died. Shepushed and kicked andshouldered her way throughthe press. 'Move!' She torefreeof themand sprintedoffdown the empty street, herbroken arm held against her

body,against thethinginsidehershirt.

She ran across the park,leaves fluttering down fromthe trees with each chillygust. The high wall of thepalace rose up where thelawns ended and Ferromadefor the gate. The two guardsstill flanked it just as theyalways did, and she knewtheywerewatchingher.They

might have let her out, butthey were not so keen onletting her in, especiallyfilthy,bloody,coveredindirtand sweat, and running as ifshehadadevilatherheels.

'Wait,you!'Ferromadetoduck past them but onegrabbedholdofher.

'Let me go you fuckingpink fools!' she hissed. 'Youdon'tunderstand!'Shetriedto

twist away, and a gildedhalberd fell to the ground asoneoftheguardswrappedhisarmsaroundher.

'Explainit,then!'snappedout from behind the visor ofthe other. 'Why the hurry?'His gauntleted fist reachedout towards the bulge in hershirt.'Whathaveyougot—'

'No!' Ferro hissed andsquirmed, stumbled against

the wall bearing one guardclanking back into thearchway. The halberd of theother swung down smoothly,its glittering point levelled atFerro'schest.

'Hold still!' he growled,'beforeI—'

'Let her in! Now!' Sulfurstoodontheothersideofthegates,andforoncehewasnotsmiling. The guard's head

turned doubtfully towardshim. 'Now!'heroared, 'in thenameofLordBayaz!'

They let her free andFerrotoreaway,cursing.Sheran through the gardens, intothe palace, boots echoing inthe hallways, servants andguards moving suspiciouslyoutofherway.Shefoundthedoor of Bayaz' rooms andfumbled it open, stumbled

through.Theboxsatopenona table near the window, anunremarkable block of darkmetal.Shestrodeacrosstoit,unbuttoned her shirt andpulledoutthethinginside.

A dark, heavy stone, thesize of a fist. Its dull surfacewasstillcold,nowarmerthanwhen she had first picked itup. Her hand tingledpleasantly, as if at the touch

of an old friend. Itmade herangry, somehow, to eventhinkoflettinggo.

So this, at last, was theSeed. The Other Side, madeflesh. The very stuff ofmagic. She remembered theblightedruinsofAulcus.Thedead expanse of the landaroundit,forahundredmilesin every direction. Powerenough to send theEmperor,

and the Prophet, and hiscursed Eaters, and thewholenationofGurkhultohell,andmore besides. Power soterrible that it should havebelonged to God alone, heldnow, in her frail fist. Shestared down at it for a longtime. Then, slowly, Ferrobegantosmile.

Now she would havevengeance.

The sound of heavyfootsteps in the corridoroutside brought her suddenlyto her senses. She droppedtheSeedintoitsrestingplace,jerkedherhandawaywithaneffort and snapped the lid oftheboxclosed.Asifacandleflame had been suddenlyblown out in a darkenedroom, the world seemeddimmer, weaker, robbed of

excitement. It was only thenthatsherealisedherhandwaswhole. She frowned down atit, working her fingers. Theymoved as easily as ever, notthe slightest swelling aroundknuckles she had been surewereshattered.Herotherarmtoo, the forearm straight andsmooth, no sign of a markwhere Tolomei's freezingfingers had crushed it. Ferro

looked towards the box. Shehad always healed quickly.But bones set, within anhour?

Thatwasnotright.Bayaz dragged himself

grimacing through thedoorway. There was dryblood caked to his beard, asheenofsweatacrosshisbaldhead.Hewasbreathinghard,skin pale and twitching, one

arm pressed to his side. Helooked like a man who hadspenttheafternoonfightingadevil, and had only justsurvived.

'WhereisYulwei?'The First of the Magi

staredbackather.'Youknowwhereheis.'

Ferro remembered theechoingbangassheranfrom

thetower.Likethesoundofadoor being shut. A door thatno blade, no fire, no magiccould open.Bayaz alone hadthekey.'Youdidnotgoback.You sealed the gates withtheminside.'

'Sacrificesmust bemade,Ferro, you know this. I havemade a great sacrifice today.Myownbrother.'TheFirstofthe Magi hobbled across the

room towards her. 'Tolomeibroke the First Law. Shestruckadealwith theTellersof Secrets. Shemeant to usetheSeed toopen thegates tothe world below. She couldbemoredangerousthanallofKhalul'sEaters.TheHouseofthe Maker must remainsealed.Until theendof time,if need be. An outcome notwithout irony.Shebeganher

life imprisoned in that tower.Now she has returned.Historymoves incircles, justasJuvensalwayssaid.'

Ferrofrowned.'Fuckyourcircles,pink.Youliedtome.About Tolomei. About theMaker.Abouteverything.'

'And?'Shefrownedevenharder.

'Yulweiwasagoodman.He

helped me in the desert. Hesavedmylife.'

'And mine, more thanonce.Butgoodmenwillonlygo so far along dark paths.'Bayaz' bright eyes slid downto rest on the cube of darkmetal under Ferro's hand.'Othersmustwalk the rest oftheway.'

Sulfur stepped throughthe doorway, and Bayaz

pulled the weapon he hadbrought from the House ofthe Maker from under hiscoat, grey metal glinting inthe soft light from thewindows. A relic of the OldTime. A weapon that Ferrohadseencutstoneasifitwasbutter. Sulfur took it fromhim with a nervous respect,wrappeditcarefullyinanoldoilskin.Thenhenippedopen

his satchel and slid out theoldblackbookthatFerrohadseen once before. 'Now?' hemuttered.

'Now.'Bayaztookitfromhim, placed his hand gentlyon the scarred cover, closedhis eyes and took a longbreath.Whenheopenedthemhe was looking straight atFerro. 'The paths we mustwalknow,youandI,aredark

indeed.Youhaveseenit.'She had no answer.

Yulweihadbeenagoodman,but the gate of the Maker'sHousewassealed,andhewasgone to heaven, or to hell.Ferro had buried many men,inmanyways.Onemorepileof dirt in the desert wasnothing to remark upon. Shewas sick of stealing herrevenge one grain at a time.

Darkpathsdidnot scareher.She had been walking themall her life.Even through themetalofthebox,shethoughtthat sheheard thebarest hintof a whisper, calling to her.'AllIwantisvengeance.'

'And you shall have it,justasIpromised.'

She stood face to facewith Bayaz, and sheshrugged. 'Thenwhat does it

matternow,whokilledwhoathousandyearsago?'

The First of the Magismiled a sickly smile, hiseyes bright in his pale andbloody face. 'You speak myverythoughts.'

Tomorrow'sHero

«^»

The hooves of Jezal's greychargercloppedobedientlyin

the black mud. It was amagnificent beast, the verykind he had always dreamedof riding. Several thousandmarks-worth of horse flesh,hedidnotdoubt.Asteedthatcould give any man who saton it, howeverworthless, theair of royalty. His shiningarmour was of the bestStyrian steel, chased withgold. His cloak was of the

finest Suljuk silk, trimmedwith ermine. The hilt of hissword was crusted withdiamonds, twinkling as thecloudsflowedoverheadtoletthesunpeepthrough.Hehadforegone the crown today infavour of a simple goldencirclet, its weightconsiderably less wearisomeon the sore spots he haddevelopedroundhistemples.

All the trappings ofmajesty.Ever sincehewas achild, Jezal had dreamed ofbeing exalted, worshipped,obeyed. Now the wholebusinessmadehimwanttobesick. Although that mightonly have been because hehad scarcely slept last night,and scarcely eaten thatmorning.

LordMarshalVaruz rode

on Jezal's right, lookingas ifage had suddenly caught upwith him. He seemedshrunken in his uniform,stooped and slump-shouldered. His movementshadlosttheirsteelyprecision,his eyes their icy focus. Hehaddeveloped,somehow,thevery slightest hint of notknowingwhattodo.

'Fightingstillcontinuesin

theArches,yourMajesty,'hewas explaining, 'butwe haveonly toe-holds there. TheGurkish have the ThreeFarms under firm control.They moved their catapultsforwardtothecanal,andlastnight they threw incendiariesfarintothecentraldistrict.Asfar as the Middleway andbeyond. Fires were burninguntil dawn. Still are burning,

in some parts. The damagehasbeen…extensive.'

A crashingunderstatement. Wholesections of the city had beendevastated by fire. Wholerows of buildings, that Jezalrememberedasgrandhouses,busy taverns, clatteringworkshops, reduced toblackenedwreckage.Lookingat themwas as horrifying as

seeinganoldloveropentheirmouth to reveal two rows ofshattered teeth. The reek ofsmoke, and burning, anddeath clawed constantly atJezal'sthroatandhadreducedhisvoicetoagravelycroak.

Aman streaked with ashand dirt looked up frompickingthroughthewreckageof a still-smoking house. HestaredatJezalandhisguards

astheytrottedpast.'Where is my son?' he

shrieked suddenly. 'Where ismyson?'

Jezal carefully lookedaway and gave his horse theslightestsuggestionofaspur.He did not need to offer hisconscience any furtherweaponswithwhichtostabathim. It was alreadyexceedinglywellarmed.

'Arnault'sWallstillholds,though,yourMajesty.'Varuzspoke considerably louderthanwasnecessaryinafutileeffort to smother theheartbrokenwailsstillringingthrough the ruins behindthem. 'Not a single Gurkishsoldierhasyetset foot in thecentraldistrictofthecity.Notone.'

Jezal wondered how

much longer they would beabletomakethatboast.'Havewe received any news fromLord Marshal West?' hedemandedforthesecondtimethat hour, the tenth time thatday.

Varuz gave Jezal thesame answer he would nodoubt receive ten timesmorebeforedescendingintoafitfulsleep that night. 'I regret that

wearealmostutterlycutoff,your Majesty. News arrivesbut rarely through theGurkish cordon. But therehave been storms offAngland. We must face thepossibility that the armywillbedelayed.'

'Black luck,' murmuredBremer dan Gorst from theother side, his narrow eyesflickering endlessly over the

ruins for the slightest signofany threat. Jezal chewedworriedlyatthesaltyremnantof his thumbnail. He couldscarcely remember the lastshred of good news. Storms.Delays. Even the elementswere ranged against them, itseemed.

Varuz had nothing to liftthe mood. 'And now illnesshasbrokenoutintheAgriont.

Aswiftandmercilessplague.Alargegroupoftheciviliansto whom you opened thegates have succumbed, all atonce. It has extended to thepalace itself.TwoKnightsofthe Body have already diedfrom it. One day they werestandingguardat thegate,asalways. The next night theywere in their coffins. Theirbodies withered, their teeth

rotted, theirhairfellout.Thecorpses are burned, butmorecases appear. The physicianshave never seen the likebefore, have no notion of acure. Some are saying it is aGurkishcurse.'

Jezal swallowed. Themagnificentcity, theworkofso many pairs of hands overlong centuries, it had takenonlyafewshortweeksofhis

tender care to transform intocharred wreckage. Its proudpeople were mostly reducedto stinking beggars, toshrieking wounded, towailingmourners.Thosewhohad not been reduced tocorpses. He was the mostpatheticexcuseforakingtheUnion could ever havespawned.He could not bringhappiness to his own bitter

shamofamarriage, letalonea nation. His reputation wasall based on lies that he hadnot the courage to deny. Hewas a powerless, spineless,helplesscipher.

'Whereabouts are wenow?' he mumbled as theyrode out into a great,windsweptspace.

'Why, this is the FourCorners,yourMajesty.'

'This? This cannot…' Hetrailed off, recognitioncomingassharplyasaslapintheface.

Only two walls of thebuilding that had once beenthe Mercers' guildhall stillstood, windows anddoorways gaping like thestricken features of corpses,frozenatthemomentoftheirdeaths. The paving where

hundreds of merry stalls hadoncebeensetoutwascrackedand caked with sticky soot.The gardens were leaflesspatches of mud and burnedbriar. The air should havebeenringingwiththecallsoftraders, the prattle ofservants, the laughter ofchildren. Instead it wasdeadly silent but for a coldwind hissing through the

wreckage,sweepingwavesofblackgritthroughtheheartofthecity.

Jezal pulled on his reins,andhisescortofsometwentyKnights of the Body, fiveKnights Herald, a dozen ofVaruz' staff and a nervouspageortwoclatteredtoahaltaround him. Gorst frownedup towards the sky. 'YourMajesty,weshouldmoveon.

Itisnotsafehere.Wedonotknow when the Gurkish willbegin their bombardmentagain.'

Jezal ignoredhim, swungdown from his saddle andwalkedoutintothewreckage.Itwasdifficulttobelievethatit was the same place wherehe had once bought wine,shopped for trinkets, beenmeasured for a newuniform.

Not one hundred stridesaway, on the other side of arow of smoking ruins, stoodthestatueofHarod theGreatwhere he had met Ardee inthe darkness, it seemed ahundredyearsago.

A sorry group wereclustered near there now,round theedgeofa trampledgarden.Womenandchildren,mostly, and a few old men.

Dirty and despairing, severalwith crutches or bloodybandages, clutching salvagedoddments. Those renderedhomeless in last night's fires,last night's fighting. Jezal'sbreath caught in his throat.Ardee was one of them,sitting on a stone in a thindress,shiveringandstaringatthe ground, her dark hairfallenacrosshalfofherface.

He started towards her, thefirst time he had smiled inwhatfeltlikeweeks.

'Ardee.' She turned, eyeswideopen,andJezalfroze.Adifferent girl, younger andconsiderably less attractive.She blinked up at him,rocking slowly back andforward. His hands twitchedineffectually, he mumbledsomething incoherent. They

were all watching him. Hecould hardly just walk off.'Please,takethis.'Hefumbledwith the gilded clasps on hiscrimsoncloakandhelditouttoher.

She said nothing as shetookitfromhim,onlystared.A ridiculous, worthlessgesture, almost offensive initsburninghypocrisy.Buttherestof thehomelesscivilians

didnotseemtothinkso.'A cheer for King Jezal!'

someone shouted, and arousingclamourwentup.

A young lad on a crutchgazedathimwithmoon-eyeddesperation. A soldier had abloodybandageoveroneeye,the other rimmedwith proudmoisture. A mother clutcheda baby wrapped in whatlooked horribly like a shred

of cloth from a fallen Unionflag. It was as if the wholescene had been carefullyposed for the greatestemotional impact. A set ofpainter's models for a luridand ham-fisted piece on thehorrorsofwar.

'King Jezal!' came theshout again, accompanied byaweak,'Hurrah!'

Their adulation was like

poison to him. It only madethe great weight ofresponsibility press down allthe heavier.He turned away,unabletomaintainhistwistedmockery of a smile oneinstantlonger.

'What have I done?' hewhispered, his hands tuggingceaselessly at each other.'What have I done?' Heclambered back up into the

saddle, guilt picking at hisguts. 'Take me closer toArnault'sWall.'

'Your Majesty, I hardlythinkthat—'

'Youheardme!Closer tothefighting.Iwanttoseeit.'

Varuz frowned. 'Verywell.'Heturnedhishorse,ledJezalandhisbodyguardoffinthe direction of the Arches,

down routes that were sofamiliar, and yet so horriblychanged.Afterafewnervousminutes the Lord Marshalpulleduphismount,pointingdown a deserted lane to thewest. He spoke softly, asthough worried the enemymighthearthem.

'Arnault'sWallisnomorethan three hundred stridesthatway,andtheGurkishare

crawling on the other side.Wereallyshouldturn—'

Jezalfeltafaintvibrationthrough his saddle, his horsestarted,dust filtered from theroofs of the houses on onesideofthestreet.

He was just opening hismouth to ask what hadhappened when the air wasripped open by a thunderousnoise. A crushing, terrifying

wallofsound that leftJezal'sears humming. Men gaspedandgaped.Thehorsesmilledandkicked, their eyes rollingwith fear. Varuz' mountreared up, dumping the oldsoldierunceremoniouslyfromhissaddle.

Jezal paid him no mind,he was too busy urging hisown horse keenly in thedirection of the blast, seized

by an awful curiosity. Smallstones had started rainingdown,pingingfromtheroofsand clattering into the roadlikehailstones.Agreatcloudof brown dust was rising upintotheskytothewest.

'Your Majesty!' cameGorst's plaintive cry. 'Weshould turn back!' But Jezaltooknonotice.

He rode out into a wide

square, a great quantity ofrubble scattered across thebroken paving, some of it inchunks big as sheds. As thechokingdustslowlysettledinaneeriesilence,Jezalrealisedthatheknewtheplace.Knewitwell.Therewasatavernhehadusedtovisitonthenorthside, but something waschanged—it was more openthan it had been… his jaw

fell. A long stretch ofArnault's Wall had formedthe western boundary of thesquare. Now there wasnothingbutayawningcrater.

The Gurkish must havedug amine and filled itwiththeir damned blastingpowder. The sun chose thatmoment tobreak through thecloudsaboveandJezalcouldsee all the way across the

gaping fissure and into theruinedArchesdistrict.There,crowding at the far edge,clambering down the rubblestrewn slope with armourglinting and spears waving,was a sizeable body ofGurkishsoldiers.

The first of them werealreadyclimbingupoutofthecraterandintotheremainsofthe shattered square. A few

semi-conscious defenderswere crawling through thedust, choking and spitting.Others were not moving atall.Therewasnoone to turnthe Gurkish back, that Jezalcould see. No one but him.HewonderedwhatHarodtheGreatwouldhavedoneinthisspot.

The answer was not soveryhardtofind.

Courage can come frommanyplaces,andbemadeofmany things, and yesterday'scoward can becometomorrow'shero inan instantifthetimeisright.Thegiddyflood of bravery which Jezalexperienced at that momentconsisted largelyofguilt andfear, and shame at his fear,swollen by a peevishfrustration at nothing having

turned out the way he hadhoped, and a sudden vagueawareness that being killedmightsolveagreatnumberofirritating problems to whichhesawnosolution.Notnobleingredients,tobesure.Butnooneeveraskswhat thebakerput in his pie as long as ittasteswell.

He drew his sword andheld it up to the sunlight.

'Knights of the Body!' heroared.'Withme!'

Gorst made a despairinggrab at his reins. 'YourMajesty! You cannot putyourselfin—'

Jezal gave his mount thespurs. It sprang forwardwithunexpected vigour, and hishead snapped painfully backalmostcausinghimtolosehisgriponthereins.Herolledin

the saddle, hooveshammering, the dirty pavingflying by beneath him. Hewasdimlyawareofhisescortfollowing, some distancebehind, but his attentionwasrather drawn to the ever-increasing body of Gurkishsoldiersdirectlyahead.

His horse carried himforwards with gut-churningspeed,directlyatamanatthe

very front of the crowd, astandard-bearer with a tallstaff,goldensymbolsshiningon it. His bad luck, Jezalsupposed, tohavebeengivensuch a prominent task. Theman's eyes went wide as hesaw an enormous weight ofhorse bearing down on him.He flung away his standardand tried to throw himselfaside. The edge of Jezal's

steel bit deep into hisshoulderwiththefullforceofthe charge, ripped him openand flung himonto his back.More men went downscreaming under the hoovesofhismountasitcrashedintotheirmidst,hecouldnothavesaidhowmany.

Then all was chaos. Hesat above a mass of snarlingdark faces, glinting armour,

jabbing spears. Woodcracked, metal clanged, menshouted words he did notunderstand. He hackedaroundhim,ononesidethenthe other, yelling mindlesscurses. A spear tip shriekedalong his armoured leg. Hechoppedatahandasitseizedhis reins and a couple offingersflewoffit.Somethingcrunched into his side and

nearly threw him from thesaddle.His sword caved in ahelmet with a hollow bonkandknockedthemanunderitdownintothepressofbodies.

Jezal's horse gave ashriek,rearedup,twisting.Hefelta terrible lurchof fearashe came away from thesaddle, the world turningover.Hecruncheddown,dustinhiseyes,dustinhismouth,

coughing and struggling. Herolled up to his knees.Hooves crashed against thebrokenground.Bootsslidandstomped. He fumbled in hishairforhiscirclet,butitmusthave come off somewhere.Howwould anyone know hewasking?Washe still king?His head was all sticky. Ahelmet would have been adamn good thing to have

broughtwithhim,butitwasalittle late now. He pluckedweakly at the rubble, turnedover a flat stone. He hadforgotten what he waslooking for.He stumbledup,somethingcaughthisfootandsnatched it painfully away,dumping him on his faceagain.Hewaited to have theback of his head broken, butit was only his stirrup, still

strapped to his horse'smagnificent corpse. Hedraggedhisbootfree,gaspingfor air, reeled a couple ofdrunken steps under theweight of his armour, hissword dangling from onelimphand.

Someone lifted a curvedblade and Jezal stabbed himthroughthechest.Hevomitedblood inJezal's face, felland

twisted the steel from hishand. Something thumpedintoJezal'sbreastplatewithadull clang and knocked himsideways,rightintoaGurkishsoldier with a spear. Hedroppeditandtheyclawedateach other, totteringpointlessly around. Jezalwasgetting terribly, terribly tired.His head hurt a lot. Justdragging the breath in was a

tremendouseffort.Thewholeheroiccharge ideaseemedasif it had been a bad one. Hewantedtoliedown.

The Gurkish soldier toreonearmfreeand raised ituphigh, a knife clutched in hisfist.Itflewoffat thewrist,along gout of blood spurtingafter it.Hestarted to slide tothe ground, staring at thestump and wailing. 'The

king!' piped Gorst's boyishlittlevoice.'Theking!'

Hislongsteeldescribedawide arc and whipped thescreaming soldier's headaway. Another leapedforward, a curved swordraised.Beforehegot a strideGorst's heavy blade split hisskull wide open. An axeclanged into his armouredshoulder and he shrugged it

away as if it was a fly,chopped the man who hadswungitdowninashowerofgore. A fourth got the shortsteel through his neck,staggered forward, eyesbulging, one bloody handclutchedtohisthroat.

Jezal, swaying numblybackandforward,almostfeltsorry for the Gurkish. Theirnumbers might have been

impressive from a distance,but close up thesemenwereevidently auxiliaries, thrownforward into the crater as aforlorn hope. They werescrawny, dirty, helplesslydisorganised, lightly armedand barely armoured. Manyof them, he realised, lookedextremely scared. Gorsthacked his way impassivelythrough them like a bull

through a flock of sheep,growling as his scythingsteels opened gapingwoundswithsickeningfleshysounds.Other armoured figurescrowdedinafterhim,shovingwith shields, chopping withtheirbrightswords,clearingabloody space in the Gurkishcrowd.

Gorst's hand slid underJezal's armpit and dragged

him backwards, his heelskickingattherubble.Hewasvaguely aware that he haddropped his swordsomewhere, but it seemedfoolish to go looking for itnow. Some beggarwould nodoubt receive a pricelesswindfall while he huntedamongthebodies,later.Jezalsaw a Knight Herald stillmounted, an outline with a

wingedhelmetinthechokingdust, his long axe choppingaroundhim.

Hewashalf-carriedback,outof thepress.Someof thecity's regular defenders hadregrouped,orwerecominginfromotherpartsof thewalls.Menwithsteelcapsstartedtokneel at the lip of the crater,shooting flatbows down intothe heavingmass of Gurkish

in the bottom, all tangled upwith themudand the rubble.Othersdraggedupacartandtippeditontoitssidetoforma temporary rampart. AGurkish soldier sobbed as hewas cut open, tumbled overthe ragged edge of the craterandbackdownintothemud.More Union flatbowsappeared at the edge of thesquare, more spears. Barrels,

masonry, broken spars camewiththemuntilanimprovisedbarricade was built up allacross the wide gap inArnault's wall, bristling withmenandweapons.

Peppered with bolts andchunksoffallenmasonry,theGurkish faltered, then fellback, scrambling through thedebris to their side of thecrater and up towards safety,

leaving the bottom strewnwithcorpses.

'To the Agriont, yourMajesty,' said Gorst. 'Atonce.'

Jezal made no effort toresist.Hehaddonemorethanenoughfightingfortoday.

Something strange washappening in the Square of

Marshals. Labourers wereworking at the paving stoneswithpick and chisel, diggingup shallow trenches,apparentlyat random.Smithssweated at temporary forges,pouring iron into moulds, litby theglowofmoltenmetal.Thedinofclanginghammersand crashing stone wasenough to make Jezal's teethhurt, yet somehow the voice

of the First of the Magimanagedtobelouderstill.

'No!Acircle,dunce,fromheretothere!'

'ImustreturntotheHallsMartial, your Majesty,' saidVaruz. 'Arnault's Wall isbreached. It will not be longuntil theGurkish try to pushthrough once again. Theywould already be at theMiddleway if it hadn't been

for that charge of yours,though, eh? I see now howyou won your reputation inthewest!AsnobleabusinessasIeversaw!'

'Uh.' Jezal watched thedead being dragged away.Three Knights of the Body,one of Varuz' staff and apage-boy no older thantwelve, thelastwithhisheadhanging off by a flap of

gristle.Threemenandachildhe had led to their deaths.And that was without evenconsidering the wounds therest of his faithful entouragehadgatheredonhisbehalf.Anoblebusinessindeed.

'Waithere,'hesnappedatGorst, then he threaded hisway through the sweatingworkmentowardstheFirstofthe Magi. Ferro sat cross-

legged nearby on a row ofbarrels, her hands danglingloose, the same uttercontempt she had alwaysshownhimwrittenplainlyonher dark face. It was almostcomforting to see that somethings never changed. Bayazwasglaringgrimlydownintothe pages of a large blackbook, evidently of great age,itsleathercoverscrackedand

torn. He looked gaunt andpale, old and withered. Oneside of his face was coveredinscabbed-overscratches.

'What happened to you?'askedJezal.

Bayaz frowned, amuscletrembling under one dark-ringed eye. 'I could ask youthesamequestion.'

Jezal noted that the

Magushadnotevenbotheredwith a 'your Majesty'. Hetouchedahand to thebloodybandage round his skull. 'Iwasinvolvedinacharge.'

'Inawhat?''The Gurkish brought

down a section of Arnault'sWall while I was surveyingthecity.Therewasnoonetoturn them back, and so… Ididitmyself.'Hewasalmost

surprised to hear himselfsayingthewords.Hewasfarfrom proud of the fact,certainly. He had done littlemore than ride, fall, and hithis head. Bremer dan Gorstand his own dead horse haddone the majority of thefighting, and against meagreopposition to boot. But hesupposed he had done theright thing, for once, if there

wasanysuchathing.Bayaz did not agree.

'Have what little brains fatesavedforyouturnedtoshit?'

'Have they…' Jezalblinked as the meaning ofBayaz' words soaked slowlyinto his consciousness. 'Howdare you, you meddling oldturd? You are talking to aking!' That was what hewanted to say, but his head

waspounding,andsomethingin the Magus' twitching,wasted face prevented him.Instead he found himselfmumbling in a tone almostapologetic. 'But… I don'tunderstand. I thought… isn'tthat what Harod the Greatwouldhavedone?'

'Harod?'BayazsneeredinJezal's face. 'Harod was anutter coward, and an utter

fathead to boot! That idiotcould scarcely dress himselfwithoutmyhelp!'

'But—''It is easy to findmen to

lead charges.' The Maguspronounced each word withexaggerated care, as thoughaddressing a simpleton.'Finding men to lead nationsisconsiderablymoredifficult.Idonot intendthat theeffort

Ihaveputintoyoushouldbewasted. Next time youexperience a yearning to riskyour life, perhaps you mightlock yourself in the latrineinstead.Peoplerespectamanwith a fighter's reputation,and that you have beenfortunate enough to havebeen gifted. People do notrespect a corpse. Not there!'roared Bayaz, limping past

Jezal and waving one armangrily at one of the smiths.The poor man started like afrightened rabbit, glowingembers spattering from hiscrucible. 'I told you, fool!You must follow the chartsprecisely! Exactly as I havedrawn it! One mistake couldbeworsethanfatal!'

Jezal stared after him,outrage, guilt, and simple

exhaustion fighting forcontrol of his body.Exhaustion won. He trudgedover to the barrels andslumpeddownnexttoFerro.

'Your fucking Majesty,'shesaid.

He rubbed at his eyeswith finger and thumb. 'Youdome toomuchhonourwithyourkindattentions.'

'Bayaznothappy,eh?''Itseemsnot.''Well. When is that old

bastardhappywithanything?'Jezal gave a grunt of

agreement. He realised thathe had not spoken to Ferrosincehewascrowned.Itwasnot as though they had beenfastfriendsbefore,ofcourse,but he had to admit that he

was finding her utter lack ofdeference to him anunexpected tonic. It wasalmost like being, for a briefmoment, the vain, idle,worthless,happymanheusedto be. He frowned over atBayaz, stabbing his finger atsomething in his old book.'What ever is he up to,anyway?'

'Savingtheworld,hetells

me.''Ah. That. He's left it a

littlelate,don'tyouthink?She shrugged. 'I'm not in

chargeofthetiming.''How does he plan to do

it?Withpicksandforges?'Ferro watched him. He

still found thosedevil-yelloweyes as off-putting as ever.'Amongotherthings.'

Jezal planted his elbowson his knees, his chindrooping down onto hispalms, and gave vent to along sigh. He was so very,very tired. 'I seem to havedone the wrong thing,' hemuttered.

'Huh.' Ferro's eyes slidaway.'You'vegotaknackforit.'

Nightfall

«^»

General Poulder squirmed inhis field chair, moustachesquivering,asthoughhecouldonly just control his body so

overpowering was his fury.His ruddy complexion andsnorting breath seemed toimply that he might springfrom the tent at anymomentand charge the Gurkishpositionsalone.GeneralKroysat rigidly erect on theopposite side of the table,clenched jaw-musclesbulging from the side of hisclose-cropped skull. His

murderous frown clearlydemonstratedthathisangeratthe invader, while no lessthan anyone else's, was keptunder iron command, and ifany chargingwas to be doneit would be managed withfastidiousattentiontodetail.

In their first briefingsWest had found himselfoutnumbered twenty to oneby the two Generals'

monstrous staffs. He hadreduced them,bya relentlessprocess of attrition, to ameagre two officers a piece.The meetings had lost thecharged atmosphere of atavern brawl and insteadtaken on the character of asmall and bad-temperedfamily event—perhaps thereading of a disputed will.Westwastheexecutor,trying

tofindanacceptablesolutionfor two squabblingbeneficiaries to whomnothing was acceptable.Jalenhorm and Brint, sittingtoeithersideofhim,werehisdumbstruck assistants. Whatrole the Dogman played inthe metaphor it was hard tojudge, but he was adding tothe already feverish pitch ofworry in the tent by picking

at his fingernails with adagger.

'Thiswill be a battle likeno other!' Poulder wasfrothing, pointlessly. 'NeversinceHarodforgedtheUnionhas an invader set foot uponthesoilofMidderland!'

Kroy growled hisagreement.

'The Gurkish mean to

overturn our laws, smotherour culture, make slaves ofour people! The very futureofournationhangsinthe—'

The tent flap snappedback and Pike duckedthrough, his melted faceexpressionless. A tall manshuffledbehind,stoopedoverand wobbly with fatigue, aheavyblanketwrappedroundhis shoulders, his face

smearedwithdirt.'This is Fedor dan

Hayden,'saidPike.'AKnightHerald.Hewasable to swimfromthedocksinAduaundercover of night, and sliparoundtheGurkishlines.'

'Anactionofconspicuousbravery,' said West, togrumbles of grudgingagreement from Poulder andKroy. 'You have all of our

thanks. How do things standinsidethecity?'

'Frankly, my LordMarshal, they are dire.'Hayden's voice was scratchywith weariness. 'The westerndistricts—theArches and theThree Farms—belong to theEmperor. The Gurkishbreached Arnault's Wall twodays ago, and the defencesare stretched to breaking

point. At any moment theycould burst through, andthreaten the Agriont itself.His Majesty asks that youmarch on Adua with allpossible speed. Every hourcouldbevital.'

'Does he have anyparticular strategy in mind?'askedWest.JezaldanLutharnever used to have anythinginmindbeyondgettingdrunk

andbeddinghissister,buthehoped that time might havewroughtchanges.

'TheGurkishhavethecitysurrounded, but they arespread thin. On the easternside, particularly. LordMarshal Varuz believes youcould break through with asharpattack.'

'Though the westerndistricts of the city will still

be crawling with Gurkishswine,'growledKroy.

'Bastards,' whisperedPoulder, his jowls twitching.'Bastards.'

'WehavenochoicebuttomarchonAduaimmediately,'saidWest.'Wewillmakeuseofevery roadandmovewithallpossiblespeedtotakeupaposition east of the city,marching by torchlight if

necessary. We must assaultthe Gurkish encirclement atdawnandbreaktheirholdonthe walls. Admiral Reutzerwillmeanwhile lead the fleetin an attack against theGurkish ships in theharbour.General Kroy, order somecavalry forward to scout theway and screen our advance.Iwantnosurprises.'

For once, there was no

signofreluctance.'Ofcourse,myLordMarshal.'

'Your division willapproach Adua from thenorth-east, break through theGurkish lines and enter thecity in force, pushingwestward towards theAgriont. If the enemy havereachedthecentreofthecity,youwillengage them.Ifnot,youwill bolster the defences

atArnault'sWallandpreparetoflushthemfromtheArchesdistrict.'

Kroy nodded grimly, asingle vein bulging on hisforehead, his officers likestatues of military precisionbehind him. 'By this timetomorrow, not one Kanticsoldier will be left alive inAdua.'

'Dogman, I would like

you and your Northmen tosupport General Kroy'sdivision in their attack. Ifyour…' West wrestled withthe word, '… king has noobjections.'

The Dogman licked hissharp teeth. 'Reckon he'll gowhichever way the windblows.That'salwaysbeenhisstyle.'

'The wind blows towards

Aduatonight.''Aye.' The Northman

nodded. 'Towards Adua,then.'

'General Poulder, yourdivision will approach thecity from the south-east,participateinthebattleforthewalls, then enter the city inforceandmoveonthedocks.Iftheenemyhasmadeitthatfar,youwillclearthemaway,

then turn northwards andfollow theMiddleway to theAgriont.'

Poulder hammered thetablewithhisfist,hisofficersgrowling like prize-fighters.'Yes,damnit!We'llpaintthestreetswithGurkishblood!'

West gave Poulder, andthenKroy,eachahardfrown.'I hardly need to emphasisethe importance of victory

tomorrow.'The two Generals rose

without a word and movedfor the tent flap together.Theyfacedeachotherbeforeit. For a moment Westwondered if, even now, theywould fall back into theirfamiliarbickering.

Then Kroy held out hishand. 'The best of luck,GeneralPoulder.'

Poulderseizedthehandinboth of his. 'And to you,General Kroy. The very bestof luck toallofus.'The twoof them stepped smartly outinto the dusk, their officersfollowing, Jalenhorm andBrintclosebehind.

Hayden coughed. 'LordMarshal…fourotherKnightsHerald were sent with me.Wesplitup,inthehopesthat

oneofusatleastwouldmakeit through the Gurkish lines.Have any of the othersarrived?'

'No… not yet. Perhapslater…'West did not think itterriblylikely,andneitherdidHayden,hecouldseeitinhiseyes.

'Ofcourse.Perhapslater.''Sergeant Pike will find

yousomewineandahorse.Iimagine you would verymuchliketoseeusattacktheGurkishinthemorning.'

'Iwould.''Verygood.'Thetwomen

left the way they had come,andWestfrownedafterthem.A shame about the man'scomrades,buttherewouldbemany more deaths to mournbeforetomorrowwasdone.If

there was anyone left to dothe mourning. He pushedasidethetentflapandsteppedoutintothechillair.

The ships of the fleetwere anchored in the narrowharbourdownbelow,rockingslowly on the waves, tallmastswaving back and forthagainst the darkening clouds—hard blue, and cold grey,and angry orange. West

fancied he could see a fewboats crawling closer to theblackbeach,still ferrying thelastofthearmytotheshore.

Thesunwasdroppingfasttowards the horizon, a finalmuddyflareabovethehillsinthe west. Somewhere underthere, just out of sight,Aduawas burning. West workedhisshouldersroundincircles,trying to force the knotted

muscles to relax. He hadheard no word since beforethey left Angland. As far ashewasawareArdeewasstillinsideitswalls.Buttherewasnothinghecoulddo.Nothingbeyond ordering animmediateattackandhoping,against the general run ofluck, for the best.He rubbedunhappilyathis stomach.Hehad been suffering with

indigestioneversincetheseajourney. The pressures ofcommand, no doubt. A fewmore weeks of it wouldprobably see him vomitingbloodoverhismaps,justlikehis predecessor. He took along, raggedbreathandblewitout.

'I know how you feel.' ItwastheDogman,sittingonarickety bench beside the tent

flap, elbows on his knees,staringdowntowardsthesea.

Westsaggeddownbesidehim. Briefings with Poulderand Kroy were always aterribledrain.Playthemanofstonefortoolongandyouareleft a man of straw. 'I'msorry,' he found himselfsaying.

Dogman looked up athim.'Youare?Forwhat?'

'For all of it. ForThreetrees, for Tul… forCathil.'West had to swallowan unexpected lump in histhroat.'Forallofit.I'msorry.'

'Ah, we're all sorry. Idon't blame you. I don'tblame no one, not evenBethod. What good doesblamedo?Wealldowhatwehaveto.Igaveuplookingforreasonsalongtimeago.'

West thought about thatfor a moment. Then henodded. 'Alright.' They satand watched the torchesbeing lit around the baybelow, like glittering dustspreadingoutacross thedarkcountry.

Night time, and a grim one.Grim for the cold, and thedrip,dripofthinrain,andall

the hard miles that neededslogging over before dawn.Grim most of all for whatwaitedat the endof it,whenthesuncameup.Marchingtoa battle only got harder eachtime.WhenLogenhadbeenayoung man, before he lost afinger and gained a blackreputation, there'd at leastbeen some trace ofexcitement to it, some

shadowofathrill.Nowtherewasonlythesickfear.Fearofthefight,andworsestill,fearoftheresults.

Beingkingwasnokindofhelp. It was no help toanything,farashecouldsee.It was just like being chief,but worse. Made him thinkthere was something heshould be doing that hewasn't.Madethegapbetween

himandeveryoneelsethatbitwider. That bit moreunbridgeable.

Boots squelched andsucked,weaponsandharnessclattered and jingled, mengrunted and cursed in thedarkness.A fewof themhadspitting torches now, to lightthe muddy way, streaks ofrainflittingdownintheglowaroundthem.Therainfellon

Logen too, a feathery kiss athis scalp, and his face, theodd pit and patter on theshouldersofhisoldcoat.

The Union army wasspread out down five roads,all heading east, all pointingtowards Adua and whatsoundedlikeahardreckoningwith theGurkish. Logen andhis crew were on thenorthernmost one. Off to the

southhecouldseeafaintlineof flickering lights, floatingdisembodied in the blackcountry, stretching away outof sight. Another column.Another few thousand men,cursing through the mudtowardsabloodydawn.

Logen frowned. He sawthesideofShivers'leanface,up ahead, by the flickeringlight of a torch, a scowl full

of hard shadows, one eyeglinting. They watched eachother for a moment, thenShivers turned his back,huncheduphisshouldersandcarriedonwalking.

'He still don't like memuch, that one, and neverwill.'

'Careless slaughter ain'tnecessarily the high road topopularity,' said Dogman.

'Especiallyinaking.''But that one there might

have the bones to dosomething about it.' Shivershadagrudge.Onethatwasn'tgoing away with time, orkindness,orevenlivessaved.There aren't many woundsthateverhealalltheway,andtherearesomethathurtmorewitheverydaythatpasses.

The Dogman seemed to

guess at Logen's thoughts.'Don't worry about Shivers.He'salright.We'vegotplentyto worry about with theseGurkish,orwhatever.'

'Uh,'saidGrim.Logen wasn't so sure

aboutthat.Theworstenemiesare the ones that live nextdoor, his father always usedto tell him. Back in the olddayshe'd justhavemurdered

the bastard where he stoodand problem solved. But hewastryingtobeabettermannow.Hewastryinghard.

'By the dead, though,'Dogman was saying.'Fighting against brownmen,now,fortheUnion?Howthebloody hell did that allhappen? We shouldn't bedownhere.'

Logentookalongbreath,

andheletShiverswalkaway.'Furious stuck around for us.Wasn't for him we'd neverhavebeendonewithBethod.Weowehim.It'sjustthisonelastfight.'

'You ever noticed howone fight has a habit ofleadingontoanother?Seemslike there's always one fightmore.'

'Uh,'saidGrim.

'Not this time.This is thelast,thenwe'redone.'

'That so? And whathappensthen?'

'Back to the North, Iguess.' Logen shrugged hisshoulders.'Peace,isn'tit?'

'Peace?' grunted theDogman. 'Just what is that,anyway? What do you dowithit?'

'I reckon… well… we'llmake things grow, orsomething.'

'Makethingsgrow?Byallthe fucking dead! What doyou, or I, or any one of usknow about making thingsgrow? What else have wedone,allourlives,butkill?'

Logen wriggled hisshoulders, uncomfortable.'Got to keep some hope. A

mancanlearn,can'the?''Can he? The more you

kill, the better you get at it.And the better you get atkilling, the less use you arefor anything else. Seems tome we've lived this long'cause when it comes tokilling we're the very bestthereis.'

'You're in a black mood,Dogman.'

'I been in a black moodforyears.Whatworriesmeisthat you ain't. Hope don'tmuch suit the likes of us,Logen.Answerme this.Youever touched a thing thatwasn't hurt by it?What haveyoueverhad, thatdidn't turntodirt?'

Logenthoughtaboutthat.Hiswifeandhischildren,hisfatherandhispeople,allback

to the mud. Forley,Threetrees andTul.All goodfolk, and all dead, some ofthem by Logen's own hand,someof thembyhisneglect,and his pride, and hisfoolishness. He could seetheir faces, now, in histhoughts,andtheydidn'tlookhappy. The dead don't often.Andthatwaswithoutlookingto the dark and sullen crew

lurking behind. A crowd ofghosts.Ahacked andbloodyarmy.Allthefolkhe'dchosento kill. Shama Heartless, hisguts hanging out of his splitstomach. Blacktoe, with hiscrushed legs and his burnedhands. That Finnius bastard,onefootcutoffandhischestslashed open. Bethod, even,right at the front with hisskull pounded to mush, his

frowning face twistedsideways, Crummock's deadboy peering from around hiselbow. A sea of murder.Logensqueezedhiseyesshutthen prised them wide open,but the faces still lingered atthe edge of his mind. Therewasnothinghecouldsay.

'Thought so.' Dogmanturned away from him, wethair dripping round his face.

'Youhavetoberealistic,ain'tyou always told me? Youhavetobethat.'Hestrodeoffup the road, under the coldstars. Grim lingered next toLogenforamoment, thenheshrugged his damp shouldersand followed the Dogman,takinghistorchwithhim.

'A man can change,'whispered Logen, not surewhetherhewastalkingtothe

Dogman, or to himself, or tothose corpse-pale faceswaiting in thedarkness.Menclattered down the track allround him, and yet he stoodalone.'Amancanchange.'

Questions

«^»

A trace of autumn fog hadslunk off the restless sea asthe sun went down overcrippled Adua, turning the

chillnightghostly.Ahundredstrides distant the houseswere indistinct.Twohundredand they were spectral, thefew lights in the windowsfloatingwraiths,hazythroughthegloom.Goodweather forbadwork,andwehavemuchofthataheadofus.

Nodistantexplosionshadrattled the still darkness sofar. The Gurkish catapults

had fallen silent.At least forthe moment, and why not?The city almost belongs tothem,andwhyburnyourowncity?Here,ontheeasternsideof Adua, far from thefighting, all seemedtimelessly calm.Almost as iftheGurkish had never come.So when a vague clatteringfilteredthroughthegloom,asof the boots of a body of

well-armed men, Gloktacould not help a pang ofnervousness, and pressedhimself into the deepershadowsagainstthehedgebytheroad.Faint,bobbinglightsfiltered through the murk.Then the outline of a man,one hand resting casually onthe pommel of a sword,walking with a loose,strutting slouch that bespoke

extreme over-confidence.Something tall appeared tostick from his head, wavingwithhismovements.

Glokta peered into themurk.'Cosca?'

'The very same!' laughedtheStyrian.Hewasaffectinga fine leather cap with aludicrouslytallplume,andheflicked at it with a finger. 'Iboughtanewhat.OrshouldI

say you bought me one, eh,Superior?'

'SoIsee.'Gloktaglaredatthe long feather, theflamboyant goldenbasketwork on the hilt ofCosca's sword. 'I thought wesaidinconspicuous.'

'In… con… spicuous?'The Styrian frowned, thenshrugged his shoulders. 'Ah,so that was the word. I

remember something wassaid,and I remember Ididn'tunderstand it.' He winced,and scratched at his crotchwith one hand. 'I think Ipicked up some passengersfrom one of those women atthe tavern. Little bastardsdon'thalfgiveamananitch.'Huh.Thewomenare paid togo there. One might havethought the lice would have

bettertaste.A shadowy crowd began

to form out of the darknessbehindCosca,a fewcarryinghooded lanterns. A dozenshaggyoutlines,thenadozenmore, menace floatingsilently from each one ofthem like the stink floatingfrom a turd. 'Are these yourmen?'

The nearest sported

perhapstheworstfacialboilsthat Glokta had ever seen.Themanbesidehimhadonlyone hand, the other havingbeen replacedwith a savage-looking hook. A huge fatfellow came next, his paleneckbluewithaconfusionofbadly drawn tattoos. A manalmost dwarfish, with a facelike a rat and only one eyeaccompaniedhim.Hehadnot

botheredwithapatch,andthesocketyawnedopenunderhisgreasy hair. The list ofvillainywenton.Twodozen,perhaps, all told, of themostsavage-looking criminalsGloktahadeverlaideyeson.AndI'velaideyesonafewinmy time. Strangers tobathwater, certainly. Not aone of them looks like hewouldn't sell his sister for a

mark.'Theyappearsomewhatunreliable,'hemurmured.

'Unreliable? Nonsense,Superior! Out of luck is all,and we both know how thatgoes, no?Why, there's not aman of them Iwouldn't trustmymotherto.'

'Areyousure?''She's been dead these

twenty years. What harm

could they do her now?'Cosca flung his arm roundGlokta's twisted shouldersanddrewhimclose,causingapainful twinge to jab at hiships. 'I'mafraid thatpickingsare slim.' His warm breathsmelled strongly of spiritsand corruption. 'Every mannotdesperatefledthecitythemoment the Gurkish arrived.But who cares, eh? I hired

them for their guts and theirsinews, not their looks.Desperatemenare thekind Ilike! We can understandthem, no, you and I? Somejobs call for desperate menonly,eh,Superior?'

Glokta frowned brieflyover that collection of gaunt,of bloated, of scarred andruined faces. How could itpossibly be that promising

Colonel Glokta, dashingcommander of the King'sOwn first regiment, came tobe in charge of such arabble?Hegavea long sigh.Butitisalittlelatenowtobefinding fine-lookingmercenaries, and I supposethesewill fillapitaswellasbetter.'Verywell.Waithere.'

Glokta looked up at thedark house as he swung the

gate openwith his free handandhobbledthrough.Achinkof light peeped out frombetween the heavy hangingsin the front window. Herapped at the door with thehandle of his cane. A pause,then the sound of reluctantfootsteps shuffling up thehall.

'Whoisit?''Me.Glokta.'

Boltsdrewbackandlightspilled out into the chill.Ardee's face appeared, lean-looking, grey round the eyesandpinkroundthenose.Likeadyingcat.

'Superior!'Shegrinnedasshe took him by the elbowand half-dragged him overthethreshold.'Whatadelight!Some conversation at last!I'm so toweringly bored.'

Several empty bottles weregathered in the corner of theliving room, made to glintangrilybysmokycandlesanda smouldering log in thegrate.Thetablewasclutteredwith dirty plates and glasses.The place smelled of sweatand wine, old food and newdesperation. Can there be amore miserable occupationthan getting drunk on one's

own?Winecankeepahappyman happy, on occasion. Asad one it always makesworse.

'I've been trying to getthrough this damn bookagain.' Ardee slapped at aheavy volume lying open,facedown,onachair.

'The Fall of the MasterMaker,' muttered Glokta.'That rubbish?Allmagicand

valour, no? I couldn't getthroughthefirstone.'

'Isympathise.I'montothethird and it doesn't get anyeasier. Too many damnwizards.Igetthemmixedupone with another. It's allbattles and endless bloodyjourneys, here to there andback again. If I so much asglimpse anothermap I swearI'llkillmyself.'

'Someonemightsaveyouthetrouble.'

'Eh?''I'm afraid you are no

longer safe here.You shouldcomewithme.'

'Rescue?Thankthefates!'Shewavedadismissivehand.'We've been over this. TheGurkishareawayontheotherside of the city. You're in

moredanger in theAgriont Ishouldn't—'

'The Gurkish are not thethreat.Mysuitorsare.'

'Your gentleman-friendsareathreattome?'

'You underestimate theextentoftheirjealousy.Ifearthey will soon become athreat to everyone I haveknown, friend or enemy, my

whole sorry life.' Gloktajerkedahoodedcloakfromapeg on the wall and held itouttoher.

'Wherearewegoing?''A charming little house

downnear thedocks.A littlepast its best, but plenty ofcharacter.Likethetwoofus,youcouldsay.'

There were heavy

footsteps in the hallway andCoscastuckhisheadintotheroom. 'Superior, we shouldleave ifwewant to reach thedocks by—' He stopped,staring at Ardee. There wasanuncomfortablesilence.

'Who is this?' shemurmured.

Cosca pushedflamboyantly into the room,swept off his hat, displaying

his scabrous bald patch, andbowed low, low, low. Anylower and his nose wouldscrape the floorboards.'Forgive me, my lady.NicomoCosca,famedsoldierof fortune, at your service.Abject, in fact, at your feet.'His throwing knife droppedout of his coat and rattledagainsttheboards.

They all stared at it for a

moment, then Cosca grinnedup. 'You see that fly, againstthewall?'

Gloktanarrowedhiseyes.'Perhapsnotthebestmomentfor—'

Thebladespunacrosstheroom,missed the target by astride,hitthewallhandle-firstand gouged out a lump ofplaster, bounced back andclatteredacrossthefloor.

'Shit,' said Cosca. 'Imean…damn.'

Ardee frowned down attheknife.'I'dsayshit.'

Coscapasseditoffwitharotten smile. 'I must bedazzled. When the SuperiordescribedtomeyourbeautyIthought hemust have…howdo you say… exaggerated?NowIseethathecameshortofthemark.'Heretrievedhis

knife and jammed his hatback on, slightly askew.'Please allow me to declaremyselfinlove.'

'What did you tell him?'askedArdee.

'Nothing.' Glokta suckedsourly at his gums. 'MasterCosca has a habit ofoverstatingthecase.'

'Especiallywhen in love,'

threw in the mercenary.'Especially then.When I fallin love, I fall hard, and, as arule, I do it no more thanonceaday.'

Ardee stared at him. 'Idon't know whether to feelflatteredorscared.'

'Why not be both?' saidGlokta. 'Butyouwillhave todo it on the way.' We areshort of time, and I have a

rankgardentoweed.

The gate came open with anagonised shrieking of rustedmetal. Glokta lurched overthe decaying threshold, hisleg, his hip, his back allstabbingathimfromthelonglimptothedocks.Theruinedmansion loomed out of thegloom at the far end of theshattered courtyard. Like a

mightymausoleum.Asuitabletomb for all my dead hopes.Severard and Frostwaited inthe shadows on the brokensteps,dressedallinblackandmasked, as usual.But not atall alike. A burlyman and aslender,onewhitehairedandone dark, one standing, armsfolded, the other sitting,cross-legged. One is loyal,theother…weshallfindout.

Severard unravelledhimself and got up with theusual grin around his eyes.'Alright, chief, so what's allthe—'

Coscasteppedthroughthegate and wandered lazilyacross the broken paving,tapping a few lumps ofmasonryawaywiththetoeofone shabbyboot.He stoppedbeside a ruined fountain and

scraped somemuck out of itwith a finger. 'Nice place.Nice and…' He waved thefinger around, and the muckwith it. 'Crumbly.' Hismercenaries were alreadyspreading out slowly aroundthe rubble-strewn courtyard.Patched coats and tatteredcloaks twitched back todisplayweaponsofeverysizeand shape. Edges, points,

spikes and flanges glinted inthe shifting light from theirlanterns,theirsteelassmoothandclean as their faceswereroughanddirty.

'Who the hell are these?'askedSeverard.

'Friends.''They don't look too

friendly.'Glokta showed his

Practical theyawninghole inhis front teeth. 'Well. Isuppose that all dependswhosesideyou'reon.'

The last traces ofSeverard's smile hadvanished. His eyes flickerednervously around the yard.The eyes of the guilty. Howwell we know them. We seethem on our prisoners. Wesee them in themirror,when

we dare to look. One mighthavehoped forbetter fromaman of his experience, butholding the blade is a poorpreparation for being cut byit. I should know. Severarddashed towards the house,quickasarabbit,butheonlygot a step before a heavywhite hand chopped into theside of his neck and flunghim senseless on the broken

paving.'Take him downstairs,

Frost.Youknowtheway.''Downthairth. Unh.' The

hulking albino draggedSeverard'slimpbodyoverhisshoulder and set off towardsthefrontdoor.

'Ihavetosay,'saidCosca,flicking the scum carelesslyoffhisfinger,'thatIlikeyour

waywithyourmen,Superior.Discipline, I've alwaysadmiredit.'

'Fineadvicefromtheleastdisciplinedman in theCircleoftheWorld.'

'Ihavelearnedallkindsofthings from my manymistakes.'Coscastretchedhischin up and scratched at hisscabbyneck.'TheonethingInever learn is tostopmaking

them.''Huh,' grunted Glokta as

he laboured up the steps. Acurse we all have to bear.Round and round in circleswego,clutchingatsuccessesthatwenevergrasp,endlesslytripping over the same oldfailures. Truly, life is themisery we endure betweendisappointments.

They stepped through the

empty doorway and into thedeeper darkness of theentrance hall. Cosca held hislamphigh,staringuptowardsthe ragged roof, his bootssquelching heedless in thebird droppings spattering thefloor. 'A palace!' His voiceechoed back from theshattered staircases, theempty doorways, the nakedraftershighabove.

'Please make yourselvescomfortable,' said Glokta.'Butoutofsight,perhaps.Wecanexpectvisitorssometimetonight.'

'Excellent. We lovecompany,don'twelads?'

OneofCosca'smengavea wet-lunged chuckle,displaying two rows of shit-coloured teeth. A set soincrediblyrottenIamalmost

glad to havemy own. 'Thesevisitors will come from hisEminence the Arch Lector.Perhapsyoucouldtakeafirmhand with them, while I'mdownstairs?'

Cosca glanced roundapprovingly at the crumblinghall.'Aniceplaceforawarmwelcome. I'll let you knowwhenourguestshavebeen.Idoubtthey'llstaylong.'

Ardee had found a placenear the wall, her hood up,her eyes on the floor.Tryingto fade into the plaster, andwhocouldblameher?Hardlythe most pleasant companyfor a young woman, or themost reassuring setting. Butbetter than a slit throat, Isuppose.Gloktaheldhishandouttoher.'Itwouldbebestifyouweretocomewithme.'

She hesitated. As thoughnot entirely sure that itwould, in fact, be best tocome with me. But a briefglance at someof the ugliestmen in one of the world'sugliest professions evidentlypersuaded her.Cosca handedherhislamp,makingsurehisfingerslingeredonhersforanuncomfortablylongmoment.

'Thank you,' she said,

jerkingherhandaway.'Myparticularpleasure.'Sheets of hanging paper,

broken laths, lumps of fallenplaster cast strange shadowsas they left Cosca and histhugsbehindandpickedtheirwayintothegutsof thedeadbuilding. Doorways passedby, squares of blackness,yawninglikegraves.

'Your friends seem acharming crowd,' murmuredArdee.

'Oh indeed, the brighteststars in the social firmament.Sometasksdemanddesperatemen,apparently.'

'You must have sometrulydesperateworkinmind,then.'

'Whendon'tI?'

Their lamp barely lit therotting drawing room,panelling sagging from thecheapbrickwork,thebestpartof thefloorasingle festeringpuddle. The hidden doorstoodopeninthefarwallandGlokta shuffled round theedge of the room towards it,his hips burning with theeffort.

'Whatdidyourmando?'

'Severard? He let medown.'Andwewillsoon findouthowbadly.

'I hope I never let youdown,then.'

'You, I am sure, havebettersense.Ishouldgofirst,then if I fall at least I fallalone.' He winced his waydown the steps while shefollowedwiththelight.

'Ugh.What'sthatsmell?''The sewers. There's an

entrance to them down here,somewhere.' Glokta steppedpast the heavy door and intotheconvertedwinecellar,thebrightsteelgrillesonthecellsto either side glimmering asthey passed, the whole placereekingofdampandfear.

'Superior!' came a voicefrom the darkness. Brother

Longfoot's desperate faceappeared, pressed up againstonesetofbars.

'Brother Longfoot, myapologies! I have been soverybusy.TheGurkishhavelaidsiegetothecity.'

'Gurkish?' squeaked theman, his eyes bulging.'Please,ifyoureleaseme—'

'Silence!'hissedGloktain

a voice that brooked nodallying. 'You should stayhere.'

Ardee glanced nervouslytowards the Navigator's cell.'Here?'

'He isn't dangerous. Ithink you'll be morecomfortable than you wouldbe…'andhenoddedhisheadtowards the open doorway attheendofthevaultedhall,'in

there.'Sheswallowed.'Alright.''Superior, please!' One

despairing arm stuck fromLongfoot'scell, 'please,whenwill you release me?Superior,please!'Gloktashutthedooronhisbeggingwithagentleclick.Wehaveotherbusinesstoday,anditwillnotwait.

Frost already hadSeverard manacled to thechair beside the table, stillunconscious,andwaslightingthe lamps one by onewith aflaming taper. The domedchamber gradually grewbright,thecolourleakingintothe mural across the roundwalls. Kanedias frowneddown, arms outstretched, thefire burning behind him.Ah,

our old friend the MasterMaker, always disapproving.Opposite him his brotherJuvensstillbledhis luridlastacross the wall. And not theonlybloodthatwillbespilledinheretonight,Isuspect.

'Urr,' groaned Severard,hislankhairswaying.Gloktalowered himself slowly intohischair,theleathercreakingunder him. Severard grunted

again,hisheaddroppedback,eyelids flickering. Frostlumbered over, reached outand undid the buckles onSeverard'smask,pulled itoffand tossed it away into thecorner of the room. From afearsome Practical of theInquisition to… nothingmuch. He stirred, wrinkledhisnose,twitchinglikeaboyasleep.

Young. Weak. Helpless.One could almost feel sorryfor him, if one had a heart.But now is not the time forsentiment and soft feelings,for friendship andforgiveness. The ghost ofhappyandpromisingColonelSand dan Glokta has beenclinging to me for far toolong.Farewell,myoldfriend.You cannot help us today.

Now is the time for theruthless Superior Glokta todo what he does best. To dothe only thing that he doeswell.Nowisthetimeforhardheads, hard hearts and evenharderedges.

Timetocutthetruthout.Frost jabbed Severard in

the stomachwith two fingersand his eyes snapped open.He jerked in his chair, the

manacles rattling. He sawGlokta. He saw Frost. Hiseyeswentwideastheydartedround the room. They wentwider still when he realisedwhere hewas.He snorted inair, the quick, hard breath ofabject terror, the greasystrandsofhairacrosshisfaceblowing this way and thatwith theforceof it.Andhowwillwebegin?

'I know…' he croaked. 'IknowI told thatwomanwhoyou were… I know… but Ihad no choice.' Ah, thewheedling. Every man, moreorless,behavesthesamewaywhenhe'schainedtoachair.'What could I do? Shewould'vefuckingkilledme!Ihadnochoice!Please—'

'Iknowwhatyoutoldher,and I know you had no

choice.''Then…thenwhy—''Don't give me that,

Severard. You know whyyou're here.' Frost steppedforward,asimpassiveasever,and lifted the lid onGlokta'swonderful case. The traysinside opened up like anexotic flower, proffering outthe polished handles, thegleamingneedles,theshining

bladesofhisinstruments.Glokta puffed out his

cheeks. 'I had a good day,today. I woke up clean, andmade it to the bath on myown.Not toomuchpain.'Hewrapped his fingers aroundthe grip of the cleaver.'Something to celebrate, agoodday.Igetsoveryfewofthem.' He slid it from itssheath, the heavy blade

flashing in the harshlamplight. Severard's eyesfollowed it all the way,bulging with fear andfascination, beads of sweatglittering on his paleforehead.

'No,' he whispered. Yes.Frost unlocked the cuffaround Severard's left wrist,lifted his arm in both meatyhands. He took the fingers

and spread them out one byone until they were flattenedon thewood in front of him,wrapping his other armaround Severard's shouldersinatightembrace.

'I think we can dispensewith the preamble.' Gloktarocked forward, got up andlimped slowly around thetable,hiscaneclickingonthetiles, his left leg dragging

behind it, the corner of thecleaver's blade scrapinggentlyacrossthewoodofthetable-top. 'I need not explainhow this will work to you.You,whohaveassistedmesovery ably, on so very manyoccasions. Who could knowbetterhowwewillproceed?'

'No,' whimperedSeverard, trying half adesperate smile, but with a

tear leaking from the cornerof his eye nonetheless. 'No,youwouldn't!Nottome!Youwouldn't!'

'Not toyou?'Gloktagavea sad smile of his own. 'Oh,Practical Severard, please…'Heletthegrinslowlyfadeashe lifted the cleaver. 'Youknowmesomuchbetterthanthat.'

Bang! The heavy blade

flasheddownandhackedintothe table-top, paring theslightest sliver of skin fromthe end of Severard's middlefinger.

'No!' he squawked. 'No!'You don't admire myprecisionanylonger,then?

'Oh, yes, yes.' Gloktatugged at the smooth handleand dragged the blade free.'How did you think this

would end? You've beentalking. You've been sayingthings you shouldn't, topeople you had no businesssaying anything to. Youwilltellmewhat.Youwilltellmewho.' The cleaver glimmeredasheraiseditagain.'Andyouhadbettertellmesoon.'

'No!' Severard thrashedandwriggled in thechairbutFrost had him as tightly as a

flyinhoney.Yes.The blade sliced cleanly

throughtheendofSeverard'smiddle finger and took it offat the first joint. The end ofhis index finger spun acrossthewood.The tipofhis ringfinger stayed where it was,wedged into a joint in thetable top. With Frost's handstill clamped tight as a viceroundhiswristthebloodonly

dribbledgentlyfromthethreewounds and spread out inslowrivuletsdownthegrain.

There was a breathlesspause. One, two, three…Severard screamed. Hewailed, and jerked, andtrembled, his face quivering.Painful, eh? Welcome to myworld.

Gloktaworkedhisachingfootaroundinhisboot. 'Who

wouldeverhave thought thatour charming association, soenjoyableandprofitabletousboth, could possibly end likethis? Not my choice. Notmine.Tellmewhoyouspoketo. Tell me what you said.Then thisunpleasantnesswillallbeover.Otherwise…'

Bang!Theendofhislittlefinger, now, and three morepiecesoftherest.Hismiddle

finger was down to theknuckle, almost. Severardstared, his eyes wide withhorror, his breath coming inshort, fast gasps. Shock,amazement, stunned terror.Glokta leaned down to hisear. 'I hope you weren'tplanningtotakeuptheviolin,Severard. You'll be lucky ifyou can play a fucking gongby the timewe'redonehere.'

Hewinced at a spasm in hisneck as he lifted the cleaveragain.

'Wait!' sobbed Severard.'Wait! Valint and Balk! Thebankers! I told them…I toldthem…'

I knew it. 'What did youtellthem?'

'That you were stilllooking for Raynault's

murderer when we'd alreadyhung the Emperor'semissary!'Gloktamet Frost'seyes, and the albino staredback, emotionless. Andanother secret is draggedkicking into the mercilesslight. How disappointinglyrightIwas.Italwaysamazesme,howswiftlyproblemscanbe solved, once you startcutting things off people.

'And…and…Itoldthemthatyou wanted to know aboutour bastard king, and aboutBayaz, and I told them youweren't checking up on Sultlike they asked, and I toldthem…Itoldthem…'

Severard stuttered to ahalt,staringattheremainsofhis fingers, scattered outacrossthetableinaspreadingslick of blood. That mixture

of unbearable pain, evenmore unbearable loss, andtotal disbelief. Am Idreaming? Or have I reallylosthalfmyfingers,forever?

Glokta nudged Severardwith the end of the cleaver.'Whatelse?'

'I told them anything Icould. I told them…everything I knew…' Thewords came spitting and

droolingfromhis lips,curledback with agony. 'I had nochoice. I had debts, and…theyoffered topay. Ihadnochoice!'

Valint and Balk. Debts,and blackmail, and betrayal.How horribly banal it all is.That's the trouble withanswers. They're never asexciting as the questions,somehow. Glokta's lips

twitchedintoasadsmile.'Nochoice. I know exactly howyoufeel.'Heliftedthecleaveragain.

'But—'Bang! The heavy blade

scraped against the table-topas Glokta swept four moreneat slices of flesh carefullyout of the way. Severardscreamed, and gasped, andscreamed some more.

Desperate, slobberingscreams, his face screweduptight. Just like the prunes Isometimeshaveforbreakfast.He still had half his littlefinger, but the other threewere nothing more thanoozingstumps.Butwecannotstop now, not after we havecome so far.We cannot stopfor anything, can we? Wemustknowitall.

'What about the ArchLector?' asked Glokta,stretchinghisnecktothesideand working his stiffshoulder. 'How did he knowwhat went on in Dagoska?Whatdidyoutellhim?'

'How did he… what… Itold him nothing! I told him—'

Bang! Severard's thumbflew off, spinning across the

table, leaving behind aspiralling trail of bloodyspots.Gloktaworkedhishipsback and forth, trying towriggleoutoftheachesdownhis legs, the aches up hisback.Butthereisnoescapingthem.Everypossibleposition,a little worse than the onebefore. 'What did you tellSult?'

'I… I…' Severard stared

up,hismouthhangingopen,along string of drool danglingfromhisbottomlip.'I…'

Glokta frowned. That isnot an answer. 'Tie it off atthe wrist and get the otherhand ready. We've nothinglefttoworkwithhere.'

'No! No! Please… Ididn't…please…'How I tireof the pleading. The words'no' and 'please' lose all

meaningafterhalfanhourofthis.Theybegintosoundlikea sheep bleating.We are alllambstotheslaughter,intheend.Hestaredatthepiecesoffinger scattered across thebloody table. Meat for thebutcher. Glokta's head hurt,the roomwas too bright. Heput the cleaver down andrubbed at his sore eyes. Adraining business, mutilating

your closest friends. Herealised he had smearedblood across his eyelids.Damnit.

Frost had alreadytightened a tourniquet roundSeverard's wrist andmanacled thebloody remainsof his left hand back to thechair.Heunfastenedhisrightarmandguideditcarefullytothetable.Gloktawatchedhim

do it.All neat, and business-like, and ruthlessly efficient.Does his conscience nag athim, I wonder, when the sungoesdown? Idoubt it. Igivetheordersafterall.AndIacton orders from Sult, onadvice fromMarovia, on thedemands of Valint and Balk.What choice do any of ushave, in the end? Why, theexcuses almost make

themselves.Frost's white face was

dusted with bloody redspecks as he spreadSeverard's right hand out onthe table, just where the leftone had been. He did noteven struggle this time. Youlose thewill, after awhile. Iremember. 'Please…' hewhispered.

Itwouldbesoveryniceto

stop.Most likely theGurkishwill burn the whole city andkill usall, and thenwhowillcare who told who what? Ifby somemiracle they fail,nodoubt Sult will finish me, orValint and Balk will collecttheir debt inmyblood.Whatwill it matter when I amfloating face-down in thedocks whether certainquestions were ever

answered?Thenwhydo Idothis?Why?

The blood reached theedgeof thewoodandstarteddripping to the floor with asteady tap, tap, tap.Nootheranswer. Glokta felt a_ flurryoftwitchesrunupthesideofhis face.He tookholdof thecleaveragain.

'Lookatthis.'Hegesturedat the pieces of bloody flesh

scattered across the table.'Look what you've lost here,already. All because youwon't tell mewhat I need toknow.Doyounotvalueyourown fingers? They're no usetoyounow,arethey?They'reno use to me, I can tell youthat. They're no use toanyone,besidesahungrydogor two,maybe.'Gloktabaredtheyawninghole inhis front

teeth,andgroundthepointofthe cleaver into the woodbetweenSeverard's outspreadfingers. 'One more time.' Hepronounced the words withicy precision. 'What… didyoutell…hisEminence?'

'I… told him… nothing!'ThetearsrandownSeverard'shollow cheeks, his chestshuddered with sobs. 'I toldhimnothing!ValintandBalk,

I had no choice! I've neverspoken toSult inmyfuckinglife!Notaword!Never!'

Glokta looked into hisPractical'seyes,hisprisoner'seyes, for a long moment,trying to see the truth. Allwas silent except forSeverard's gurgling, agonisedbreath.ThenGloktawrinkledhis lipand tossed thecleaverdown rattling on the table.

Whygiveupyourotherhand,when you have confessedalready?Hegavealongsigh,reachedoutandgentlywipedthetearsfromSeverard'spaleface.'Alright.Ibelieveyou.'

But what then? We areleftwithmorequestions thanbefore, and nowhere to lookfor the answers. He archedhisback,wincingattheachesinhistwistedspine,downhis

twisted leg, through histoeless foot. Sult must havegained his informationelsewhere.WhoelsesurvivedDagoska, who else sawenough? Eider? She wouldnever dare reveal herself.Vitari? If shewanted to spillhergutsshecouldhavedoneit at the time. Cosca? HisEminence would never workwith a man that

unpredictable. Ionlyusehimmyself because I have nootherchoice.Thenwho?

Glokta's eyesmet Frost's.Pink eyes, unblinking. Theystaredathim,brightandhardas pink gemstones. And thewheelsclickedintoplace.

Isee.Neither one of them

spoke. Frost reached out,

withoutmuch haste, his eyesnever leaving Glokta's, andwrapped both his thick armsaround Severard's neck. Theex-Practical could only stare,helpless.

'What're—'Frost frownedslightly. There was a sharpcrunching sound as hewrenched Severard's headsideways. As simple andcareless as killing a chicken.

Severard's skull floppedbackwards as Frost let himgo, and far past backwards,unnatural knobbly shapesstickingfromthepaleskinofhistwistedneck.

The albino stood up,betweenGloktaandthedoor,hanging ajar. No way out.Gloktawincedashestumbledbackwards,thetipofhiscanescraping against the floor.

'Why?'Frostcameon,slowlyand surely, his white fistsclenched tight,hiswhite faceexpressionless behind hismask. Glokta held up onehand.'Justtellmewhy,damnit!'

The albino shrugged. Isuppose some questions havenoanswers,afterall.Glokta'stwisted back hit the curvedwall.And my time is up. Ah

well. He took a long breath.The odds were alwaysstacked against me. I do notminddying,soverymuch.

Frostraisedhiswhitefist,then grunted. The cleaversank deep into his heavyshoulder with a dull smack.Bloodbegantoleakoutfromit into his shirt. Frost turned.Ardeestoodbehindhim.Thethree of them stared at each

other for a moment. ThenFrostpunchedherintheface.She reeled away and crashedintothesideofthetable,slidlimp to the floor, dragging itoveronitsside,Glokta'scaseclattering down beside her,instruments tumbling, bloodand bits of flesh scattering.Froststartedtoturnback,thecleaver still wedged in hisflesh, his left arm hanging

limp.Glokta's lips curled away

from his empty gums. I donot mind dying. But I refusetobebeaten.

He set his feet as best hecould, ignoring the pain thatstabbed through his toelessfoot and up his front leg.Hebrought up his cane andjammed his thumb into itshidden catch. It had been

made to his preciseinstructionsby thesamemanwho had made the case forhis instruments. And is aneven finer piece ofcraftsmanship.

There was a gentle clickas the wood sprang open onsecret hinges and droppedaway revealing a two-footneedleofmirror-brightmetal.Heletgoapiercingshriek.

Jab,jab,Glokta.Jab,jab.Thesteelwasablur.The

first thrust ran Frost neatlythrough the left side of hischest. The second dartedsilentlythroughtherightsideof his neck. The thirdpunctured his mask andscrapedagainsthis jawbone,the glinting point showingitself justunderhiswhiteearfor an instant before it

whippedbackout.Frost stood, motionless,

hiswhite eyebrows going upwith mild surprise. Thenblood welled from the tinywound on his throat and randownintohisshirtinablackline.Hereachedoutwithonebigwhite hand.Hewobbled,blood bubbling from underhismask.

'Futh,'hebreathed.

He crumpled to thegroundasthoughhislegshadbeen snatched suddenly fromunderhim.Heputoutanarmto push himself up, but therewas no strength in it. Hisbreaths gurgled noisily, thenquietly,andhewasstill.Andthatisall.

Ardeewassittingupnearthe table, blood running outofhernoseanddownhertop

lip.'He'sdead.''I used to fence,'

murmured Glokta. 'It seemsthetrickneverentirelyleavesyou.' He stared from onecorpse to the other. Frost layin a slowly widening darkpool, one pink eye staringahead, still unblinking, evenindeath.Severard'sheadwashanging back over the chair,mouthyawningwideopen in

a silent scream,hismutilatedhandstillmanacled,theotherhanging limp. My boys. Myeyes.My hands. All finished.He frowned at the bloodylength of metal in his fist.Well. We must fumbleonwards as best we canwithoutthem.

He winced as he reacheddownandpickedupthefallenpieceofhiscanebetweentwo

fingers, snapped it shutaround the bloody steel. 'Ifyou wouldn't mind closingthat case for me.' Ardeestared wide-eyed at theinstruments, at Severard'syawningcorpse,attheblood-stained table on its side andthe fragments of fleshscatteredacrossthefloor.Shecoughed, and pressed theback of her hand to her

mouth.Oneforgetsthatsomepeople are not used todealing with these matters.Butweneedsuchhelpaswecanget, and it is a little latefor easing anyone into thisgently.Ifshecanchopintoaman with a cleaver, she cancarry a blade or two for mewithoutswooning. 'The case,'he snapped. 'I will still needmyinstruments.'

Ardee blinked, collectedthe few scattered tools withtremblinghandsandputthemback in their places. Shewedged the box under herarm and stood up, somewhatunsteadily, wiping the bloodfrom her nose on her whitesleeve. Glokta noticed thatshe had a piece of one ofSeverard's fingers caught inherhair.

'You have something…'he pointed at his head, 'justhere.'

'What?Gah!'Shetorethedeadthingoutandflungitonthe ground, gave a shiver ofdisgust. 'You should findanotherwaytomakealiving.'

'Ihavebeen thinking thatfor some time. But there arestill a few more questions Imusthaveanswered.'

The door creaked andGlokta felt a sudden stab ofpanic.Coscastepped throughinto the room. He whistledsoftly as he surveyed thecarnage,pushedhiscapbackon his head, its feathercasting a spray of longshadows across the muralbehind him. 'You've madequiteamess,Superior,quiteamess.'

Glokta fingered his cane.His legwasonfire,hisheartwas thumping dully at histemples, he was damp withcoldsweatunderhisscratchyclothes.'Unavoidable.'

'I thought you'd want toknow that we had ourvisitors. Six Practicals of theInquisition. I rather suspecttheymayhavebeensentheretokillyou.'Undoubtedly.On

the Arch Lector's orders,acting on information fromthelatePracticalFrost.

'And?' asked Glokta.After the events of the pasthourhewasalmostexpectingCoscatocomeathim,swordswinging.

But if the last hour hastaught us anything, it is thatthe least trustedhenchman isnot always the least reliable.

'And we cut them to pieces,of course.' The Styriangrinned. 'I'm insulted youmightthinkotherwise.'

'Good. Good.' At leastsomething has gone to plan.Glokta wanted nothing morethan to slide to the floor andliethere,screaming.Butthereis work to do. He winced ashe limped for the door. 'Weneed to head for the Agriont

immediately.'The first traces of dawn

were leaking into the cold,clear sky as Glokta hobbledout onto the Middleway,Ardee at his shoulder. Therewasstillmistontheair,butitwas fading, now. A fine dayinprospect, itwouldappear.A fine day for bloodshed,treachery,and—

Shapes were moving in

the mist, away south downthe wide cobbled road,towards the sea. There werenoises too. Rattling, jingling.It sounded very much like abodyofarmouredmenonthemove. Further off, someonewasshouting.Abellbegantoclang, sullen and muffled. Awarningbell.

Cosca frowned into thethinningmist.'Whatisthat?'

The shapes grew moredistinct. Armoured men,carrying spears, and innumbers. Their tall helmetswere plainly not of Uniondesign.

Ardee touched Glokta onthearm.'Arethey—'

'Gurkish.' Their armourglinted in the thin, grey lightas the fog drifted aside. Avast body of them,marching

northuptheMiddleway.Theymustfinallyhavelandedmenat the docks, broken throughinto the centre of the city.What astonishingly poortiming. 'Back!' Glokta turnedtowardsthealley,slippedandnearly fell, grimacing asArdee caught him by theelbow and dragged him upstraight.

'Back to the mansion!'

And hope we weren't seenalready. 'And keep thoselamps with you, we'll needthem.' He hurried to thestinking alley as best hecould, barged and jostled byCosca'smercenaries.

'Damn these Gurkish,'hissed the Styrian. 'I don'tknowforthelifeofmewhatIdidtoupsetthemso.'

'You havemy sympathy.'

Thegate squealedshutandacouple of the mercenariesstarted dragging a brokenfountain behind it. I'm notsure how long that will keepout one of the Emperor'slegions.

'MightIaskwhattheplanis now, exactly, Superior?Charmingthoughyourpalaceis,sittinghereandwaitingforrelief would hardly seem to

beanoption.''No.' Glokta struggled up

the steps and through theopen frontdoor. 'Weneed togettotheAgriont.'

'Something tells me ourGurkishfriendswillhavehadthesameidea.Wewillnotbegettingthereoverground,thatiscertain.'

'Then we must go

underground.' Glokta limpedinto the guts of the buildingassmartlyashecould,Ardeeand the mercenariesfollowingbehindinaworriedcrowd. 'There is an entranceto the sewers here. One cangetallthewaytotheAgriont,ifoneknowstheroute.'

'Sewers?' Cosca grinned.'I like nothing more thanwadingthroughlife'sfilth,as

you well know, but sewerscanbequite…confusing.Doyouknowtheroute?'

'Actually,no.'But I knowamanwhosayshecanfindawaythroughanything,evenariver of shit. 'BrotherLongfoot!'hecalledoutashehobbled towards the steps. 'Ihaveapropositionforyou!'

TheDayofJudgement

«^»

Lord Marshal West stood inthe shadow of an abandoned

barn, up on a rise above thefertile plains of Midderland,his eye-glass clutched tightlyin one gloved hand. Therewas still a trace of morningmist clinging to the flatautumn fields—patchworksof brown, green, yellow,stabbed with trees, slashedwith bare hedgerows. In thedistance West could see theoutermost walls of Adua, a

stern grey line pimpled withtowers. Behind, in a lightergrey, the vague shapes ofbuildings jutted skywards.Above them loomed thetowering ghost of the Houseof the Maker, stark andunrepentant.All inall, itwasagrimhomecoming.

Therewasnotsomuchasabreathofwind.Thecrispairwas strangely still. Just as if

there was no war, no rivalarmiesdrawingup,nobloodybattles scheduled to begin.West swept his eye-glassback and forth, but he couldscarcely see any hint of theGurkish.Perhapsheimagineda tiny fence, down therebefore thewalls, perhaps theoutlines of pin-prick spears,but at this distance, in thislight, he could be sure of

nothing.'They must be expecting

us.Theymustbe.''Maybe they're sleeping

late,'saidJalenhorm,evertheoptimist.

Pike was more direct.'Whatdifferenceiftheyare?'

'Not much,' Westadmitted. King Jezal's ordershad been specific. The city

was infested with Gurkishtroopsand thedefenceswereclose to complete collapse.Therewasno time forcleverstratagems, for carefulapproaches, for probing theenemyforweakspots.PrinceLadisla, ironically, wouldprobablyhavebeenasgoodacommanderforthisparticularsituation as anyone else. Foronce, circumstances called

for a magnificent charge,followed closely by death orglory. The only thing underWest'scontrolwasthetiming.

Brint pulled up his horsenearby, sending a shower ofgrit into the cold air. Heswungdown from the saddleand gave a smart salute.'General Kroy's cavalry is inposition on the right wing,Lord Marshal, and ready to

chargeatyourorder.''Thank you, Captain. His

foot?''Perhaps halfway to

deploying. Some companiesare still spread out down theroads.'

'Still?''Muddy-going,sir.''Huh.' Armies left mud

behindthemlikeasluglefta

trail.'WhataboutPoulder?''A similar position, as far

as I can tell,' said Brint. 'Nomessages?'

Jalenhorm shook hishead. 'General Poulder hasnot been forthcoming thismorning.'

West stared towards thecity, that distant grey linebeyond the fields. 'Soon.' He

chewedathislip,alreadyrawfrom his constant worrying.'Very soon. Mustn't let flyhalf-drawn. When a littlemoreofthefootcomesup…'

Brintwasfrowningoff tothesouth.'Sir,isthat…'Westfollowed his pointing finger.Overon the leftwing,wherePoulder had been gatheringhisdivision, thecavalrywerealready moving smartly

forward.West stared as the riders

gatheredpace.'Whatthe…'Two full regiments of

heavy horse broke into amajesticgallop.Thousandsofthem, streaming forwardsacross the open farmland,surging round the trees andthe scattered farmhouses,throwingup awake of dustyearth. West could hear the

hammering of their hoovesnow, like distant thunder,could almost feel thevibration of it through hisboots. The sun glinted onraised sword and lance, onshield and full armour.Banners streamed andsnapped in the wind. It wasquite the display of martialgrandeur. A scene from alurid storybook with a

muscular hero in whichmeaningless words likehonour and righteousnesswereoftenrepeated.

'Shit,' growled Westthrough gritted teeth, feelingthe familiar pulsing comingup behind his eyes. GeneralPoulder had been itching tomount one of his fabledcavalrychargesallacrosstheNorth and back. There the

harsh terrain, or the harshweather, or the harshcircumstances had allprevented it. Now, with theperfect conditions, it seemedhe had been unable to resisttheopportunity.

Jalenhorm slowly shookhishead.'BloodyPoulder.'

West gave a snarl offrustration, raiseduphiseye-glasstodashitontheground.

He managed to stop himselfat the lastmoment, forced ina heavy breath, and slappedthe thing angrily closed. Hecould not afford to indulgehimself today. 'Well, that's itthen, isn't it? Order thecharge,allacrosstheline!'

'Soundthecharge!'roaredPike.'Thecharge!'

Thesharpbuglecall rangout, blaringly loud on the

chill morning air, doingnothing to ease West'sthrobbingheadache.Hestuckonemuddybootinhisstirrupand dragged himselfreluctantlyupintohissaddle,already sore from riding allnight. 'I suppose we mustfollow General Poulder toglory. At a less honourabledistance, though, perhaps.Someone still needs to co-

ordinate this shambles.' Thesounds of answering buglesfurther down the line floatedup to them, and on the rightKroy'shorsemenbegantotrotforwards.

'Major Jalenhorm, orderthefootforwardinsupportassoon as they come up.'Westworkedhismouth.'Piecemealifneedbe.'

'Ofcourse,LordMarshal.'

The big man was alreadyturning his horse to give theorders.

'War,' muttered West. 'Anoblebusiness.'

'Sir?'askedPike.'Nothing.'

Jezal took the last few stepstwo at a time, Gorst and adozen of his Knights

clattering after him, stickingto his heels as tightly as hisshadow. He sweptimperiously past the guardand into the bright morninglight at the top of theTowerof Chains, high above thestricken city. Lord MarshalVaruz was already at theparapet, surrounded by agaggleofhisstaff,allglaringout across Adua. The old

soldierstoodstiffly,hishandsclasped behind him, just theway he had always done atfencing practice, long ago.Jezal had never noticed hishands shake in the old days,however. They shook now,and badly. High JusticeMarovia stood beside him,black robes stirred by thegentlebreeze.

'The news?' demanded

Jezal.The Lord Marshal's

tongue darted nervously overhis lips. 'The Gurkishmounted an assault beforedawn. The defenders ofArnault's wall wereoverwhelmed. Not longafterwards they managed toland men at the docks. Agreat number of men. Wehave been fighting a

rearguard action with thegreatest courage, but…well…'

Therewas really no needto saymore.As Jezalmovedcloser to the parapet, andwounded Adua came intoview,hecouldplainlyseetheGurkish flooding down theMiddleway, the tiny goldenstandards of the Emperor'slegions bobbing above the

mass of humanity likeflotsam on a glittering tide.Like seeing one ant on thecarpet, then graduallybecoming aware of hundredsall across his living room,Jezal began to noticemovement elsewhere, theneverywhere. The very centreof the city was infestedwithGurkishsoldiers.

'Fighting a rearguard

actionwith…mixedsuccess,'finishedVaruzlamely.

Down below, a few menburst out from the buildingsnear the western gate of theAgriont, ran across thecobbled square before themoat,headingforthebridge.

'Gurkish?' someonesquealed.

'No,' muttered the Lord

Marshal. 'Those are ours.'Men doing their very best toescape the slaughter thatwasno doubt taking place downin the ruined city. Jezal hadfaced death often enough toguessathowtheyfelt.

'Have those men broughtto safety,' he said, voicecrackingslightly.

'I am afraid… the gateshave been sealed, your

Majesty.''Thenunsealthem!'Varuz' dewy eyes

wandered nervously toMarovia. 'That would… notbewise.'

A dozen or more hadmade it to the bridge now,were shouting and wavingtheir arms.Theirwordswerelostoverthedistance,butthe

toneofhelpless, abject terrorwasimpossibletomiss.

'Weshoulddosomething.'Jezal's handsgripped tight tothe parapet. 'We must dosomething! There will beothersoutthere,manymore!'

Varuz cleared his throat.'YourMajesty—'

'No! Have my horsesaddled. Gather the Knights

oftheBody.Irefuseto—'HighJusticeMaroviahad

moved to block the door tothe stairs, and now lookedcalmly, sadly into Jezal'sface. 'Ifyouweretoopenthegates now, you would beputting everyone in theAgriont at risk. Manythousands of citizens, alllookingtoyouforprotection.Herewecankeep themsafe,

at least for now. We mustkeepthemsafe.'Hiseyesslidsideways to the streets.Different-colouredeyes,Jezalnoticed, one blue, one green.'We must weigh the greatergood.'

'The greater good.' Jezallookedtheotherway,intotheAgriont. Brave defenderswererangedaroundthewalls,heknew,readytofighttothe

death for king and country,however undeserving. Hepictured civilians too,scurrying for safety throughthe narrow lanes. Men,women,children, theoldandthe young, driven from theirruined homes. People towhom he had promisedsafety. His eyes flickeredacross the high whitebuildings around the green

park, the wide Square ofMarshals, the longKingswaywith its tall statues. Theywerefilled,heknew,withthehelplessandtheneedy.Thoseunlucky enough to have noonebetter to relyon than thegutless fraud, Jezal danLuthar.

It stuck in his throat, buthe knew the old bureaucratwas right.Therewasnothing

he could do. He had beenshockingly lucky to survivehis last magnificent charge,and it was far too late foranother.Outside theAgriont,Gurkish soldiers werebeginning to boil into thesquarebeforethegate.Afewof themknelt, bows in hand,and sent a flight of arrowsarcingacrossontothebridge.Tinyfigurestumbledandfell,

splashed into the moat. Tinyscreams wafted gently up tothe top of the Tower ofChains.

An answering volleyrattled from the walls,peppered the Gurkish withflatbow bolts. Men dropped,others faltered and fell back,leavingafewbodiesscatteredacross the cobbles. Theyscurried for cover in the

buildings around the edge ofthe square, men dartingthrough the shadows fromhouse to house. A Unionsoldier jumped from thebridge and splashed along inthe moat for a few strokesbefore disappearing. He didnot resurface. Behind him alast handful of the strandeddefenderswerestillcrawling,desperately holding up their

arms. The notion of thegreatergoodwas likely tobescantconsolationfor themastheychokedtheirlastbreaths.Jezal squeezed his eyes shutandlookedaway.

'There!Totheeast!'Varuzandafewmembers

of his staff had clusteredaroundthefarparapet,gazingout past the House of theMaker and towards the

distantfieldsoutsidethecity.Jezal strode over to them,shielded his eyes against therising sun. Beyond the greatwall of the Agriont, beyondtheshiningriverandthewidecurve of the city, he thoughthe caught some trace ofmovement. A wide crescentof movement, crawlingslowlytowardsAdua.

One of the officers

lowered an eye-glass.'Cavalry!UnionCavalry!'

'Areyousure?''TheArmy!''Late to the party,'

muttered Varuz, 'but no lesswelcomeforthat.'

'Hurrah for MarshalWest!'

'Wearedelivered!'Jezal was in no mood to

whoop for joy. Hope was afinething,ofcourse,andhadlongbeeninshortsupply,butcelebrations were decidedlypremature. He crossed backto theothersideof the towerandfrowneddown.

More Gurkish weresurging into the squareoutside the citadel, andmorestill, and they were comingwell prepared. Theywheeled

greatslopingwoodenscreensforward,eachonebigenoughforascoreofmenormoretohidebehind.The foremostofthem already bristled withflatbow bolts, but theycontinued to creep towardsthe bridge. Arrows flitted upanddown.Thewoundedfell,didtheirbesttocrawlfortherear. One of the buildings atthe side of the square had

already caught fire, flameslicking hungrily round theeavesofitsroof.

'The army!' someonewhooped from the oppositebattlement.'MarshalWest!'

'Indeed.'Maroviafrowneddown at the carnage below,the sounds of battle growingsteadilymore frantic. 'Let ushope he has not come toolate.'

Thenoiseoffightingcreptupthroughthecoolair.Clashingand clicking, echoing calls.Logen glanced left and rightat the men around him,jogging forward over theopen fields, quick breathhissing,gearrattling,allbluntfrownsandsharpweapons.

Hardlyahearteningthing,tobepartofallthisagain.

The sad fact was thatLogen had felt more warmthandmoretrustwithFerroandJezal,BayazandQuaithanhedid with his own kind now.They'dbeenadifficult set ofbastards, each in their ownway.Itwasn'tthathe'dreallyunderstood them, or evenliked themmuch. But Logenhad liked himself when hewas with them. Out there in

the deserted west of theWorld, he'd been a man youcould rely on, like his fatherhad been. A man with nobloody history breathing onhisshoulder,nonameblackerthan hell, no need to watchhis back every moment. Aman with hopes forsomethingbetter.

The thought of seeingthose folk again, the chance

at being that man again, putthe spur tohim,madeLogenwanttorunatthegreywallofAduaallthefaster.Itseemed,inthatmomentanyway,as ifhemightbeable to leave theBloody-Nineoutsideit.

But the rest of theNorthmen didn't share hiseagerness. It was closer to astroll than a charge. Theyambleduptoastandoftrees,

a couple of birds wentflapping into the white sky,and they stopped altogether.No one said anything. Onelad even sat down, with hisback to a tree, and startedsuppingwaterfromaflask.

Logen stared at him. 'Bythedead,Idon'treckonIeversaw such a piss-weak chargeas this. Did you leave yourbonesbackintheNorth?'

There was a bit ofmumbling,afewshiftylooks.Red Hat glanced sideways,his tongue wedged into hisbottom lip. 'Maybe we did.Don'tgetmewrong,chief,oryour Royal Highness, orwhatever it is now.' Hebowed his head to show hemeant no disrespect by it.'I've fought before and hardenough,hadmylifebalanced

on a sword's edge, and all o'that. Just, well… why fightnow, is what I'm saying.What we're all thinking, Ireckon. Ain't none of ourbusiness,isit?Ain'tourfight,this.'

Dogman shook his head.'TheUnion are going to takeus for a right crowd o'cowards.'

'Who cares what they

think?'someonesaid.RedHatsteppedupclose.

'Look, chief, I don't caremuchofa shitwhether somefoolIdon'tknowthinksI'macoward. I've spilled enoughbloodforthat.Weallhave.'

'Huh,' gruntedLogen. 'Soyourvote'stostayhere,then,isit?'

Red Hat shrugged. 'Well,

I guess—' He squawked asLogen's forehead crunchedinto his face, smashing hisnose like a nut on an anvil.Hedroppedhardonhisbackin themud, splutteringblooddownhischin.

Logen turned round, andhe let his face hang on oneside,thewayheusedto.TheBloody-Nine's face—coldand dead, caring for nothing.

It was easy to do it. Felt asnaturalonhimas a favouritepairofboots.Hishandfoundthe cold grip of the Maker'ssword, and all around himmen eased back, shuffledaway, muttered andwhispered.

'Any other one o' youcuntswantavote?'

The laddroppedhis flaskin the grass and jumped up

fromwherehe'dbeen sitting.Logengaveafewofthemhiseye, one by one, whoeverlooked hardest, and one byone they looked at theground, at the trees, atanything but him. Until helooked at Shivers. Thatlonghaired bastard staredstraight back at him. Logennarrowed his eyes. 'Howaboutyou?'

Shivers shook his head,hair swaying across his face.'Ohno.Notnow.'

'Whenyou're ready, then.When any one o' you areready. Until then, I'll havesome work out o' you.Weapons,'hegrowled.

Swords and axes, spearsand shields were all madereadyquick-time.Menfussedabout, finding their places,

competing all of a sudden tobethefirsttocharge.RedHatwas just getting up, wincingwith one hand to his bloodyface. Logen looked down athim. 'If you're feeling harddoneby, thinkon this. In theold days you'd be trying toholdyourgutsinaboutnow.'

'Aye,' he grunted, wipinghis mouth. 'Right y'are.'Logenwatched himwalk off

back to his boys, spittingblood. Say one thing forLogen Ninefingers, say he'sgot a talent for turning afriendintoanenemy.

'Did you have to?' askedtheDogman.

Logen shrugged. Hehadn't wanted it, but he wasleader now. Always adisaster,but thereitwas,anda man in charge can't have

men putting questions. Justcan'thaveit.Theycomewithquestions first, then theycome with knives. 'Couldn'tsee another way. That's howit'salwaysbeen,ain'tit?'

'I was hoping timeschanged.'

'Timesneverchange.Youhavetoberealistic,Dogman.'

'Aye.Shame,though.'

A lot of things were ashame. Logen had given uptryingtoputthemrightalongtime ago. He slid out theMaker'sswordandhelditup.'Let'sgo, then!And this timelikewecareashit!'Hestartedoff through the trees,hearingtherestoftheladsfollowing.Outintotheopenair,andthewalls of Adua loomed up, asheergreycliffatthetopofa

grassy rise, studded withround towers. There werequite a number of corpseslyingaround.Enough togiveeven a battle-hardened Carlsome cold feelings. Gurkishcorpses mostly, from thecolouroftheirskin,sprawledamong all kinds of brokengear, squashed into muddyearth, trampled with hoof-prints.

'Steady!' shouted Logenas he jogged on throughthem. 'Steady!' He caughtsight of something up ahead,a fence of sharpened stakes,the body of a horse hangingdead from one of them.Behind the stakes, menmoved.Menwithbows.

'Cover up!'A fewarrowscame zipping down. OnethuddedintoShivers'shield,a

couple more into the groundround Logen's feet. A Carlnotastridefromhimgotoneinthechestandtumbledover.

Logen ran. The fencecamewobbling towards him,a good bit slower than he'dhave liked. Someone stoodbetween two of the stakes,dark-faced, with a shiningbreastplate, a red plume onhis pointed helmet. He was

shoutingtoacrowdofothersgathered behind him,wavinga curved sword. A Gurkishofficer, maybe. As good athing to charge at as any.Logen's boots squelched atthe churned-up ground. Acouplemorearrowsspunpasthim, hastily aimed. Theofficer's eyes went wide. Hetook a nervous step back,raisedhissword.

Logen jerked to his leftandthecurvedbladethuddedinto the turf at his feet. Hegrowled as he swung theMaker's sword roundand theheavylengthofmetalclangeddeep into the officer's brightbreastplate,leftagreatdentinit.Hescreeched,thentotteredforwards, all doubled up andhardly able to gasp in abreath.Hisswordspunoutof

his hand and Logen hit himon the back of his head,crushed his helmet and senthimsprawlinginthemud.

He looked to the others,but not one of them hadmoved.Theywereatattered-looking set, like a dark-skinned version of theweakest kind of Thralls.Hardly the ruthless bastardshe'd expected from the way

that Ferro had always talkedabout the Gurkish. Theyhuddled together, spearsstickingoutthiswayandthat.Acoupleevenhadbowswitharrows nocked, probablycould have stuck him like ahedgehog, but they didn't.Still, charging right at themmightwellhavebeentheverythingtowakethemup.Logenhad takenanarrowor two in

his time and he didn't fancyanother.

So instead of comingforward,hestooduptall,andhe gave a roar. A fightingroar, like the one he'd givenwhen he charged down thehillatCarleon,allthoseyearsago,whenhestillhadallhisfingers and all his hopesintact. He felt the Dogmancome up beside him, and lift

his sword,andgivea screamofhisown.ThenShiverswasupwith them, bellowing likeabullandsmashing theheadof his axe against his shield.Then Red Hat, with hisbloody face, and Grim, andall the rest, yelling their warcries.

Theystoodinalongline,shaking their weapons,beating them crashing

together, roaring andscreaming and whooping atthe tops of their voices,making a sound as if hellitself had opened up and acrowd of devils was singingwelcome. The brown menwatched them, staring andtrembling, their mouths andtheir eyes wide open. Logendidn'treckonthey'deverseenanythinglikethisbefore.

One of them dropped hisspear.Didn'tmeanto,maybe,just so struck with the noiseand the sight of all thesecrazy hairy bastards hisfingers came open. It fellanyway,whether hemeant itor not, and that was it, theyallstarteddroppingtheirgear.Fastastheycould,itclattereddown in the grass. Seemedstupid to keep shouting, and

thewarcriesdiedout,leftthetwogroupsofmen staring ateach other in silence acrossthat stretch of mud, plantedwith bent stakes and twistedcorpses.

'Strange kind o' battle,that,'mutteredShivers.

The Dogman leanedtowards Logen. 'What dowedo with 'em now we've got'em?'

'We can't just sit hearminding'em.'

'Uh,'saidGrim.Logen chewed at his lip,

spun his sword round andround in his hand, trying tothink of some clever way tocome at this.He couldn't seeone. 'Might as well just let'em go.' He jerked his headaway north. None of themmoved, so he tried it again,

and pointed with his sword.Theycringedandmutteredtoeach other when he lifted it,one of them falling over inthe mud. 'Just piss off thatway,' he said, 'andwe've gotno argument. Just piss…off… that way!' He stabbedwiththeswordagain.

Oneof themgot the ideanow, took a cautious stepaway from the group. When

no one struck him dead, hestartedrunning.Soonenoughthe others followed him.Dogman watched the last ofthem shamble off. Then heshruggedhisshoulders.'Goodluckto'em,then,Iguess.'

'Aye,' muttered Logen.'Good luck.' Then, so quietthat no one could hear, 'Stillalive,stillalive,stillalive…'

Glokta limped through thereeking gloom, down a fetidwalkwayhalf a stride across,his tonguesquirming intohisemptygumswiththeeffortofstaying upright, wincing allthewayasthepaininhisleggrewworseandworse,doinghis best not to breathethrough his nose. I thoughtwhen I lay crippled in bedafter I came back from

Gurkhul I could sink nolower. When I presided overthe brutality of a stinkingprison in Angland I thoughtthesameagain.WhenIhadaclerk slaughtered in anabattoir I imagined I hadreached the bottom. HowwrongIwas.

Cosca and hismercenaries formed a singlefile with Glokta in their

midst, their cursing,grumbling, slapping footfallsechoing up and down thevaulted tunnel, the light fromtheir swinging lamps castingswaying shadows over theglisteningstone.Rottenblackwater dripped from above,trickled down the mossywalls, gurgled in slimygutters, rushed and churneddown the reeking channel

beside him. Ardee shuffledalong behind with hisinstruments clasped underone arm. She had abandonedany attempt to hold up thehem of her dress and thefabric was well stained withblackslurry.Shelookedupathim, damp hair hangingacross her face, and made aweak effort at a smile. 'Youcertainlydo takeagirl to the

verybestplaces.''Oh,indeed.Myknackfor

finding romantic settings nodoubtexplainsmycontinuingpopularitywiththefairersex.'Glokta winced at a painfultwinge. 'Despite being acrippled monstrosity. Whichwayareweheading,now?'

Longfoot hobbled alonginfront,tetheredbyaropetoone of the mercenaries.

'North! Due north, give ortake. We are just beside theMiddleway.'

'Huh.' Above us, not tenstrides distant, are some ofthe most fashionableaddresses in the city. Theshimmering palaces and ariver of shit, so much closertogether than most wouldever like to believe.Everything beautiful has a

dark side, and some of usmust dwell there, so thatotherscan laugh in the light.Hissnortoflaughterturnedtoa squeak of panic as histoelessfootslidonthestickywalkway. He flailed at thewall with his free hand,fumbled his cane and itclattered to the slimy stones.Ardee caught his elbowbeforehefellandpulledhim

upright. He could not stop agirlish whimper of painhissing out from the gaps inhisteeth.

'You're really notenjoyingyourself,areyou?'

'I've had better days.' Hesmackedthebackofhisheadagainst the stone as Ardeeleaned down to retrieve hiscane. 'To be betrayed byboth,' he found himself

muttering. 'That hurts. Evenme. One I expected. One Icould have taken. But both?Why?'

'Becauseyou'rearuthless,plotting, bitter, twisted, self-pityingvillain?'Gloktastaredather,andsheshrugged.'Youasked.' They set off onceagain through the nauseatingdarkness.

'The question was meant

toberhetorical.''Rhetoric?Inasewer?''Wait up, there!' Cosca

held up his hand and thegrumbling processionshuffled to a halt again. Asound filtered down fromabove, softly at first, thenlouder—the rhythmic boomof tramping feet, seeming tocome, disconcertingly, fromeverywhere at once. Cosca

pressed himself to the stickywall, stripes of daylightfallingacrosshis facefromagrate above, the long featheron his cap drooping withslime.Voices settled throughthe murk. Kantic voices.Cosca grinned, and jabbedone finger up towards theroof. 'Our old friends theGurkish.Thosebastardsdon'tgiveup,eh?'

'They've moved quickly,'gruntedGlokta as he tried tocatchhisbreath.

'No onemuch fighting inthe streets any more, Iimagine. All pulled back totheAgriont,orsurrendered.'

Surrendering to theGurkish.Gloktawincedashestretchedouthisleg.Rarelyagoodidea,andnotoneamanI would ever consider twice.

'We must hurry, then. Movealong there, BrotherLongfoot!'

The Navigator hobbledon.'Notmuchfurther,now!Ihave not led you wrong, ohno, not I! That would nothave been my way. We areclose now, to themoat, veryclose.Ifthereisawayinsidethe walls, I will find it, onthat you may depend. I will

haveyouinsidethewallsina—'

'Shut yourmouth andgetonwithit,'growledGlokta.

One of the workmen shookthelastof thewoodshavingsfromhisbarrel,anotherrakedthe heap of pale powdersmooth, and theywere done.The whole Square of

Marshals, from the toweringwhite walls of the HallsMartialonFerro'srighttothegilded gates of the Lords'Round on her left, wasentirelycoveredinsawdust.Itwas as if snow had comesuddenly,onlyhere,andleftathin blanket across thesmoothflags.Acrossthedarkstone, and across the brightmetal.

'Good.' Bayaz noddedwith rare satisfaction. 'Verygood!'

'Is that all, my Lord?'calledtheirforemanfromthemidstoftheircringinggroup.

'Unlessanyofyouwishtostay, and witness thedestruction of theindestructible HundredWords?'

The foreman squintedsidewaysatoneofhisfellowswith some confusion. 'No.No, I think we'll just… youknow…' He and the rest ofthe workmen began to backoff,takingtheiremptybarrelswith them. Soon they wereaway between the whitepalaces. Ferro and Bayazwereleftaloneinall thatflatexpanseofdust.

Just the twoof them,andthe Maker's box, and thethingthatitcontained.

'So. The trap is set. Weneed merely wait for ourquarry.' Bayaz tried hisknowing grin, but Ferro wasnot fooled. She saw hisgnarled hands fussing witheach other, the musclesclenchingandunclenchingonthe sideofhisbaldhead.He

was not sure if his planswould work. However wisehe was, however subtle,however cunning, he couldnot be sure. The thing in thebox,thecoldandheavythingthat Ferro longed to touch,was an unknown. The onlyprecedent for its use was faraway, intheemptywastesoftheOldEmpire.ThevastruinofblightedAulcus.

Ferro frowned, andloosened her sword in itsscabbard.

'Iftheycome,thatwillnotsaveyou.'

'You can never have toomany knives,' she growledback.'Howdoyouknowtheywillevencomethisway?'

'What else can they do?Theymustcometowherever

I am. That is their purpose.'Bayaz pulled in a raggedbreath through his nose, andblewitout.'AndIamhere.'

Sacrifices

«^»

Dogman squeezed throughthegate alongwitha rushofothers, some Northmen andan awful lot of Union boys,

all pouring into the city afterthat excuse for a battleoutside. There were a fewfolk scattered on the wallsover the archway, cheeringandwhooping like theywereatawedding.Afatman inaleatherapronwasstandingonthe other side of the tunnel,clapping folk on the back asthey came past. 'Thank you,friend! Thank you!' He

shoved something intoDogman'shand,grinninglikeamadmanalltheway.Aloafofbread.

'Bread.' Dogman sniffedat it, but it smelled alright.'What the hell's all thatabout?'Themanhadawholeheap of loaves on a cart. Hewashanding themout toanysoldier thatcamepast,Unionor Northman. 'Who's he,

anyway?'Grimshrugged.'Abaker?'There weren't much time

to think on it. Theywere allgettingshovedtogetherintoabig space full of menpushing, and grumbling, andmaking mess. All kind ofsoldiers and some old menand women round the edge,starting to get tired ofcheering. A well-clipped lad

in a black uniform wasstanding on top of a cart inthemidstofthismadnessandscreechinglikealostgoat.

'Eighth regiment, towardsthe Four Corners! NinthtowardstheAgriont!Ifyou'rewith the tenth you camethrough the wrong damngate!'

'Thought we were to thedocks,Major!'

'Poulder's division aredealingwiththedocks!We'refor thenorthpartof thecity!Eighth regiment towards theFourCorners!'

'I'mwiththeFourth!''Fourth? Where's your

horse?''Dead!''What about us?' roared

Logen.'Northmen!'

The lad stared at them,wide-eyed, then he threw uphishands.'Justgetinthere!Ifyou see any Gurkish, killthem!' He turned backtowards the gate, jerking histhumb over his shoulder intothe city. 'Ninth regimenttowardstheAgriont!'

Logenscowled.'We'llgetno sense here.' He pointeddown a wide street, full of

walking soldiers. Some greattalltowerpokedupabovethebuildings. Huge thing,must've been built on a hill.'We get split up. we'll justaim at that.' He struck offdownthatstreetandDogmancameafter,GrimbehindwithShiversandhisboys,RedHatand his crew further back.Wasn't long before thecrowds thinned out and they

were marching down emptystreets,quietexcept forsomebirds calling, happy as ever,not caring a thing for therehavingbeenabattlejustnow,andcaringevenlessthattherewasanotheronecoming.

Dogmanwasn'tgivingitalotofthoughteither,forallhehad his bow loose in onehand.Hewastoobusystaringatthehousesdowneitherside

oftheroad.Housesthelikeofwhich he'd never seen in hislife.Madeoflittlesquare,redstones,andblackwoodfilledin with white render. Eachone of 'em was big enoughfor a chieftain to be happywith, most with glasswindowsinaswell.

'Bloodypalaces,eh?'Logensnorted.'Youthink

this is something? You

should see thisAgriontwe'reaimingat.Thebuildingstheygotthere.Youneverdreamedo' the like.Carleon'sapigstybesidethisplace.'

Dogman had alwaysfoundCarleonagoodbit toobuilt-up. Thiswas downrightridiculous.Hedroppedbackaway, found he was walkingnext to Shivers. He lore theloafandheldonehalfout.

'Thanks.' Shivers took abite out of the end, thenanother.'Notbad.'

'Ain'tnothingquitelikeit,is there? That taste o' newbread?Tastes like…peace, Iguess.'

'If you say so.' Theychewed together for a while,sayingnothing.

Dogmanlookedsideways.

'I think you need to put thisfeudo'yoursbehindyou.'

'Whatfeud'sthat?''Howmanyyougot?The

one with our new king upthere.Ninefingers.'

'Can't say I haven't tried.'Shivers frowned up the roadat Logen's back. 'ButwheneverIturnaround,thereitisbesideme.'

'Shivers, you're a goodman. I like you. We all do.You got bones, lad, andbrains too, andmen'll followyou.Youcouldgoalongwayif you don't get yourselfkilled, and there's theproblem. I don't want to seeyou start up something youcan'tputagoodendto.'

'You needn't worry then.AnythingIstartI'llmakesure

Ifinish.'Dogman shook his head.

'No, no, that ain't my point,lad, not at all. Maybe youcome out on top,maybe youdon't. My point is neitherone's a victory.Bloodmakesblood, and nothing else. Mypoint is it ain't too late foryou.Itain'ttoolateforyoutobebetter'nthat.'

Shivers frowned at him.

Then he tossed the heel ofbread away, turned his bigshoulder and headed offwithout another word.Dogmansighed.Somethingscan't be put right just withtalk.Somethingscan'tbeputrightatall.

They came out from themazeofbuildingsandontoariver.Itmust'vebeenaswideas the Whiteflow, only the

banks on each side weremade of stone. The biggestbridge the Dogman had everseenspannedit,railingsmadeofcurlyiron,wideenoughtodrivetwocartsacrosssidebyside. Another wall stood atthe far end, even bigger thanthe one they came throughfirst. Dogman took a fewgawping steps forward, andhe looked up and down the

gleaming water, and he sawthat thereweremorebridges.A lot more, and some evenbigger, standing out from agreat forest of walls, andtowers, and soaring highbuildings.

A lot of the others werestaring too, eyes wide openlike they'd stepped out ontothe moon. Even Grim had atwisttohisfacethatmight've

beensurprise.'Bloody hell,' said

Shivers. 'You ever see thelikeo'this?'

Dogman's neck wasaching from staring round atit all. 'They've got so muchhere.Whydotheyevenwantbloody Angland? Place is ashit-hole.'

Logenshrugged.'Couldn't

say. Some men always wantmore,Iguess.'

'Some men always wantmore, eh, Brother Longfoot?'Glokta gave a disapprovingshake of his head. 'I sparedyourotherfoot.Isparedyourlife.Nowyouwant freedom,too?'

'Superior,' he wheedled.

'If I may, you did undertaketoreleaseme…Ihaveupheldmy side of the bargain. Thatdoor should open onto asquarenotfarfromtheHouseofQuestions—'

'Weshallsee.'One last splintering blow

of the axe and the doorshuddered back on its rustyhinges, daylight spilling intothe narrow cellar. The

mercenary with the tattooedneck stood aside and Gloktalimpedupandpeeredout.Ah,fresh air. A gift we so oftentake for granted. A short setof steps led up to a cobbledyard, hemmed in by thegrubby backs of greybuildings. Glokta knew it.fustroundthecornerfromtheHouse of Questions, aspromised.

'Superior?' murmuredLongfoot.

Glokta curledhis lip.Butwhere's the harm? Thechances are none of us willlive out the day in any case,and dead men can afford tobemerciful.Theonly kindofmen that can, in fact. 'Verywell. Let him go.' The one-eyed mercenary slid out alongknifeandsawedthrough

the rope round Longfoot'swrists. 'It would be best if Ididn'teverseeyouagain.'

The Navigator had theghost of a grin on his face.'Don'tworry,Superior. Iwasonlythismomentthinkingtheverysamething.'Hehobbledbackthewaytheyhadcome,down the dank stairwaytowardsthesewers,roundedacornerandwasgone.

'Tell me you brought thethings,'saidGlokta.

'I'm untrustworthy,Superior. Not incompetent.'Cosca flicked a hand at themercenaries. 'Time, myfriends.Let'sblackup.'

As a unit they pulled outblack masks and buckledthem on, pulled off theirragged coats, their tornclothes. Every man wore

clean black underneath, fromhead to toe, with weaponscarefully stowed. In a fewmomentsacrowdofcriminalvillainswas transformed intoa well-ordered unit ofPracticals of his Majesty'sInquisition. Not that there'stoomuch of a leap fromonetotheother.

Cosca himself whiskedhiscoatoff,pulled itquickly

insideoutanddraggeditbackon. The lining was black asnight.'Alwayswisetowearachoice of colours,' heexplained.'Incaseoneshouldbe called upon to changesides in a pinch.' The verydefinition of a turncoat. Hetookoffhishat,flickedatthefilthyfeather.'CanIkeepit?'

'No.''You're a hard man,

Superior.' He grinned as hetossed the cap away into theshadows. 'AndI loveyouforit.' He pulled his own maskon, then frowned at Ardee,standing, confused andexhausted in a corner of thestore-room.'Whatabouther?'

'Her? A prisoner,Practical Cosca! A spy inleaguewith theGurkish.HisEminence expressed his

desire to question herpersonally.' Ardee blinked athim. 'It's easy. Just lookscared.'

She swallowed. 'Thatshouldn'tbeaproblem.'

Wandering through theHouse of Questions with theaim of arresting the ArchLector? I should say not.Glokta snapped his fingers.'Weneedtomove.'

'Weneedtomove,'saidWest.'Have we cleared the docks?WherethehellisPoulder?'

'Nobody seems to know,sir.' Brint tried to push hishorse further, but they weresquashed in by a grumblingthrong. Spears waved, theirpoints flailing dangerouslyclose. Soldiers cursed.Sergeants bellowed. Officers

clucked like frustratedchickens. It was hard toimaginemoredifficultterrainthanthenarrowstreetsbehindthe docks through which tomanoeuvre an army ofthousands. To make mattersworse there was now anominous flow of wounded,limping or being carried, intheoppositedirection.

'Make some room for the

Lord Marshal!' roared Pike.'TheLordMarshal!'Heliftedhis sword as though he wasmorethanwillingtolayabouthim with the flat, and menrapidly cleared out of theway, a valley formingthrough therattlingspears.Arider came clattering up outof their midst. Jalenhorm, abloody cut across hisforehead.

'Areyoualright?'Thebigmangrinned. 'It's

nothing, sir.Caughtmyheadonadamntimber.'

'Progress?''We're forcing them back

towards the western side ofthecity.Kroy'scavalrymadeit to theFourCorners, as faras I can tell, but theGurkishstill have the Agriont well

surrounded, and now they'reregrouping, counterattackingfromthewest.AlotofKroy'sfoot are still all caught up inthestreetsontheothersideofthe river. If we don't getreinforcementtheresoon—'

'I need to speak toGeneral Poulder,' snappedWest. 'Where the hell isbloodyPoulder?Brint?'

'Sir?'

'Take a couple of thesefellows and bring Poulderhere, rightaway!'Hestabbedat the air with a finger. 'Inperson!'

'Yes, sir!' Brint did hisbesttoturnhishorsearound.

'What about at sea? IsReutzerup?'

'As far as I'm aware he'sengagedtheGurkishfleet,but

I'venoideahow…'Thesmellof rotting salt and burningwood intensified as theyemerged from the buildingsandontotheharbour.'Bloodyhell.'

Westcouldonlyagree.The graceful curve of

Adua's docks had beentransformedintoacrescentofcarnage. Near to them thequay was blackened, wasted,

scattered with broken gearand broken bodies. Furtheroff, crowds of men werestruggling in ill-formedgroups, polearms sticking upin all directions likehedgehog's spines, the airheavywiththeirnoise.Unionbattle-flags and Gurkishstandards flailed likescarecrowsinthebreeze.Theepic conflict covered almost

the entire long sweep of theshoreline.Severalwarehouseswere in flames, sending up ashimmering heat-haze,lending a ghostly air to thehundreds of men locked inbattle beyond them. Longsmears of choking smoke,black, grey, white, rolledfrom the burning buildingsandoutintothebay.There,inthe churning harbour, a host

ofshipswasengagedintheirowndesperatestruggle.

Vessels ploughed thisway and that under full sail,turning, tacking, jockeyingfor position, flingingglittering spray high into theair. Catapults hurled flamingmissiles,archersonthedecksloosed flaming volleys,sailors crawled high in thecobwebs of rigging. Other

shipswerelockedtogetherinungainly pairs by rope andgrapple, like fighting dogssnapping at one another,glinting sunlight showingmeninsavagemeléeontheirdecks. Stricken vesselslimped vainly, torn sailclothhanging, slashed riggingdangling. Several wereburning, sending up browncolumns of smoke, turning

the low sun into an uglysmudge.

Wreckage floatedeverywhere on the frothingwater—barrels, boxes,shivered timbers and deadsailors.

West knew the familiarshapes of the Union ships,yellowsunsstitchedintotheirsails, he could guess whichweretheGurkishvessels.But

therewereothers there too—long, lean, black-hulledpredators, each one of theirwhite sails marked with ablackcross.Oneinparticulartowered far over every othervesselintheharbour,andwaseven now being secured atone of the few wharves stillintact.

'NothinggoodevercomesfromTalins,'mutteredPike.

'What thehellareStyrianshipsdoinghere?'

Theex-convictpointed toone in the very act oframming a Gurkish ship inthe side. 'Fighting theGurkish,bythelookofit.'

'Sir,' somebody asked.'Whatshallwedo?'

The eternal question.West opened his mouth, but

nothingcameout.Howcouldone man hope to exert anymeasure of control over thecolossal chaos spread outbefore him? He rememberedVaruz, in the desert, stridingaround with his huge staffcrowding after him. Heremembered Burr, thumpingat hismaps andwagging histhick ringer. The greatestresponsibility of a

commander was not tocommand,buttolooklikeheknew how to. He swung hissore leg over the saddle bowand slid down to the stickycobbles.

'We will set up ourheadquarters here, for thetime being. MajorJalenhorm?'

'Sir?'

'Find General Kroy andtell him to keep pressingnorth and west, towards theAgriont.'

'Yes,sir.''Somebodygetsomemen

together and start clearingthis rubbish from the docks.We need to get our peoplethroughquicker.'

'Yes,sir.'

'And somebody find meGeneral Poulder, damn it!Eachmanhastodohispart!'

'What'sthisnow?'gruntedPike.

A strange processionwassweeping down the blastedquay towards them, almostdreamily out of placeamongst the wreckage. Adozen watchful guards inblackarmourflankedasingle

man. He had black hairstreakedwith grey, sported apointed beard, immaculatelytrimmed. He wore blackboots, a fluted breastplate ofblack steel, a cloak of blackvelvet flowing majesticallyfrom one shoulder. He wasdressed, in fact, like theworld's richest undertaker,but walked with the kind ofsteely self-importance

reserved for the highestroyalty. He plotted a directcoursetowardsWest,lookingneither left nor right, thedumbfounded guards andstaff forced effortlessly asideby his air of command likeiron filings parted bymagneticrepulsion.

He held out his black-gauntletedhand. 'I amGrandDukeOrso,ofTalins.'

The idea, perhaps, wasthat West should kneel andkiss it. Instead he seized itwith his own and gave it afirmshake.'YourExcellency,anhonour.'Hehadnoideaifthatwaseventheproperformof address. He had scarcelybeen expecting to encounteroneofthemostpowerfulmenintheworldinthemidstofabloodybattleonthedocksof

Adua. 'I am Lord MarshalWest, commander of hisMajesty's Army. Not toappearungrateful,butyouarefarfromhome—'

'My daughter is yourQueen. On her behalf, thepeopleofTalinsarepreparedto make any sacrifice. Assoon as I heard of the…'Hearched one black eyebrow atthe burning harbour.

'Troubles,here,Ipreparedanexpedition. The ships of myfleet, aswell as ten thousandof my best troops, stand atyourdisposal.'

Westhardlyknewhowtorespond.'Theydo?'

'Ihavetakenthelibertyofdisembarking them.Theyareengaged in clearing theGurkish from the south-western quarter of the city.

The Three Farms, is itcalled?'

'Er…yes.'Duke Orso gave the

thinnest of smiles. 'Apicturesque name for anurban area. You need nolonger trouble yourself withyour western flank. I wishyouthebestofluckwithyourendeavours,LordMarshal. Iffate is willing, we will meet

each other afterward.Victorious.' He bowed hismagnificent head and sweptaway.

Weststaredafterhim.Heknew that he really shouldhave been grateful for thesudden appearance of tenthousand helpful Styriantroops, but he could notescape the nagging feelingthat he would have been

happier if Grand Duke Orsohad never arrived. For thetime being, however, he hadmorepressingworries.

'Lord Marshal!' It wasBrint, hurrying down thequayatthefrontofagroupofofficers.One sideofhis facewas covered in a long smearof ash. 'Lord Marshal,GeneralPoulder—'

'At long bloody last!'

snappedWest. 'Now perhapswe'll have some answers.Where the hell is thatbastard?'HeshoulderedBrintaside, and froze. Poulder layon a stretcher held by fourmuddyandmiserable-lookingmembersofhis staff.Hehadthe expression of a man inpeaceful sleep, to the degreethat West kept expecting tohear him snore. A huge,

ragged wound in his chestrather spoiled the effect,however.

'General Poulder led thecharge from the front,' saidone of the officers,swallowinghistears.'Anoblesacrifice…'

West stared down. Howoftenhadhewishedthatmandead? He jerked one handover his face at a sudden

waveofnausea.'Damnit,'hewhispered.

'Damnit!'hissedGloktaashetwisted his trembling ankleon the topmost step andnearly pitched onto his face.AbonyInquisitorcomingtheother way gave him a longlook. 'Is thereaproblem?'hesnarled back. The manloweredhisheadandhurried

pastwithoutspeaking.Click, tap, pain. The dim

hallway slid by withagonising slowness. Everystepwas an ordeal, now, buthe forced himself on, legsburning, foot throbbing,neckaching, sweat running downhis twisted back under hisclothes, a rictus of toothlessnonchalanceclampedontohisface.Ateverygaspandgrunt

through the building he hadexpected a challenge. Witheach twinge and spasm hehad been waiting for thePracticals to flood from thedoorways and butcher himand his thinly disguisedhirelingslikehogs.

But those few nervouspeople they had passed hadscarcely lookedup.Fear hasmadethemsloppy.Theworld

teeters at a precipice. Allscared to take a step in casetheyputafootintoemptyair.The instinct of self-preservation.Itcandestroyaman'sefficiency.

He lurched through theopendoorsandintotheante-room outside the ArchLector's office. Thesecretary's head jerkedangrily up. 'Superior Glokta!

You cannot simply…' Hestumbledonthewordsas themercenaries began to trampinto the narrow room behindhim. 'I mean to say… youcannot…'

'Silence! I am acting ontheexpressordersofthekinghimself.'Well, everyone lies.The difference between aheroandavillain iswhetheranyone believes him. 'Step

aside!' he hissed at the twoPracticals flanking the door,'orbeprepared to answer forit.' They glanced at eachother, then, as more ofCosca'smenappeared, raisedtheir hands together andallowed themselves to bedisarmed.Theinstinctofself-preservation. A decideddisadvantage.

Glokta paused before the

doorway. Where I havecringed so often at thepleasureofhisEminence.Hisfingers tingled against thewood.Canitpossiblybe thiseasy? To simply walk up inbroaddaylightandarrestthemost powerful man in theUnion?Hehad to suppress asmirk.IfonlyIhadthoughtofit sooner. He wrenched thedoorknob round and lurched

overthethreshold.Sult'sofficewasmuchas

ithadalwaysbeen.Thegreatwindows, with their view ofthe University, the hugeround table with its jewelledmapof theUnion, theornatechairs and the broodingportraits. It was not Sultsitting in the tall chair,however. It was none otherthan his favourite lapdog,

Superior Goyle. Trying thebigseatout forsize,arewe?Far too big for you, I'mafraid.

Goyle's first reactionwasoutrage. How dare anyonebarge in here like this? Hissecond was confusion. Whowould dare to barge in herelikethis?Histhirdwasshock.The cripple? But how? Hisfourth, as he saw Cosca and

fourofhismenfollowGloktathroughthedoor,washorror.Now we're getting so mewhere.

'You!' he hissed. 'Butyou're—'

'Slaughtered? Change ofplans, I'm afraid. Where'sSult?'

Goyle's eyes flickeredaround the room, over the

dwarfish mercenary, the onewith a hook for a hand, theone with the hideous boils,and came to rest on Cosca,swaggeringroundtheedgeofthe chamberwith one fist onhissword-hilt.

'I'll pay you! Whateverhe'spayingyou,I'lldoubleit!'

Cosca held out his openpalm.'Iprefercashinhand.'

'Now? I don't have… Idon'thaveitwithme!'

'A shame, but I work onthe same principle as awhore.You'llbuynofunwithpromises, my friend. No funatall.'

'Wait!'Goylestumbledupand took a step back, histrembling hands held up infront of him. But there'snowhere to go but out the

window. That's the troublewith ambition. It's easy toforget, when you're alwayslooking upwards, that theonlywaydownfromthedizzyheightsisalongdrop.

'Sit down, Goyle,'growledGlokta.

Cosca grabbed his wrist,twistedhisrightarmsavagelybehind him and made himsqueal, forced him back into

the chair, clamped one handround the back of his headandsmashedhisfaceintothebeautiful map of the Union.There was a sharp crunch ashis nose broke, spatteringbloodacross thewesternpartofMidderland.

Hardly subtle, but thenthetimeforsubtletyisbehindus. The Arch Lector'sconfession, or someone close

to him… Sult would havebeen better, but ifwe cannothavethebrains,Isupposewemust make do with thearsehole. 'Where is that girlwith my instruments?' Ardeecrept cautiously into theroom, came slowly across tothe table and put the casedown.

Glokta snapped hisfingers, pointed. The fat

mercenary ambled up andtook a firm grip on Goyle'sfree arm, dragged it sharplyoutacross the table. 'Iexpectyouthinkyouknowanawfullot about torture, eh, Goyle?Believeme,though,youdon'treallyunderstandathinguntilyou've spent some time onbothsidesofthetable.'

'You mad bastard!' TheSuperior squirmed, smearing

blood across the Union withhis face. 'You've crossed theline!'

'Line?' Glokta splutteredwith laughter. 'I spent thenightcuttingthefingersfromoneofmyfriendsandkillinganother, and you dare to talktomeaboutlines?'Hepushedopen the lid of the case andhis instruments offeredthemselvesup. 'Theonlyline

that matters is the one thatseparates the strong from theweak.Themanwhoasks thequestions from the man whoanswers them. There are nootherlines.'

He leaned forward andground the tip of his fingerintothesideofGoyle'sskull.'That's all in your head! Themanacles,ifyouplease.'

'Eh?'Cosca looked to the

fat mercenary, and the manshrugged, the blurred tattoosonhisthicknecksquirming.

'Pffft,' said the dwarf.Boil-facewassilent.Theone-handedmercenaryhadpulleddownhismaskandwasbusypicking his nose with hishook.

Glokta arched his backandgaveaheavysigh.Therereally is no replacement for

experienced help. 'Then Isuppose we must improvise.'He scooped up a dozen longnails and scattered themjingling across the table-top.He slid out the hammer, itspolishedheadshining.'Ithinkyou can see where we'regoingwiththis.'

'No. No! We can worksomething out, we can—'Glokta pressed the point of

one nail into Goyle's wrist.'Ah!Wait!Wait—'

'Would you be goodenough to hold this? I haveonlyonehandtospare.'

Cosca took the nailgingerly between finger andthumb. 'Mindwhereyou aimwith the hammer, though,eh?'

'Don't worry. I am quite

precise.' An awful lot ofpractice.

'Wait!'screechedGoyle.The hammer made three

metallic clicks, almostdisappointingly quiet, as itdrove the nail cleanlybetweenthebonesofGoyle'sforearm and into the tablebeneath.Heroaredwithpain,sprayingbloodyspitover thetable.

'Oh, comenow,Superior,compared towhatyoudid toyour prisoners in Anglandthis is really quite infantile.Try to pace yourself. If youscream like that now, you'llhave nowhere to go later.'The fat mercenary seizedGoyle's other wrist in hispudgy hands and dragged itout across the map of theUnion.

'Nail?' asked Cosca,raisinganeyebrow.

'You're getting the hangofit.'

'Wait!Ah!Wait!''Why? This is the closest

I'vecome toenjoyingmyselfin six years. Don't begrudgememylittlemoment.Igetsovery few of them.' Gloktaraisedthehammer.

'Wait!'Click. Goyle roared with

painagain.Click.Andagain.Click. The nail was through,and the one-time scourge ofAngland'spenalcolonieswaspinned flat by both arms. Isuppose that's whereambitiongetsyouwithoutthetalent. Humility is easier toteach than one would think.All it takes to puncture our

arrogance isanailor two intherightplace.Goyle'sbreathhissed through his bloodyteeth, pinioned fingersclawing at the wood. Gloktadisapprovingly shook hishead.'Iwouldstopstrugglingif Iwasyou.You'llonly teartheflesh.'

'You'll pay for this, youcrippled bastard! Don't thinkyouwon't!'

'Oh, I've paid already.'Glokta turned his neckaroundinaslowcircle,tryingto make the grumblingmuscles in his shouldersunclench just a fraction. 'Iwas kept, I am not sure forhow long, but Iwould guessatseveralmonths,inacellnobigger than a chest ofdrawers. Far too small tostand, or even to sit up

straight in. Every possibleposition twisted, bent,agonising. Hundreds ofinterminable hours in thepitch darkness, the stiflingheat. Kneeling in a stinkingslurry of my own shit,wriggling,andsquirming,andgasping for air. Begging forwater which my jailers letdrip down through a grateabove.Sometimestheywould

piss through it, and I wouldbe grateful. I have neverstood up straight since. Ireally have no idea how Iremained sane.' Gloktathought about it for amoment, then shrugged.'PerhapsIdidn't.Inanycase,these are the kind ofsacrifices I havemade.Whatsacrificeswillyoumake, justtokeepSult'ssecrets?'

No answer but the bloodrunning out from underGoyle's forearms, poolingaround the glittering stonethat marked the House ofQuestionsinthecityofKeln.

'Huh.' Glokta gripped hiscanehardandleaneddowntowhisper in Goyle's ear.'There's a little bit of flesh,between your fruits and yourarsehole.Youneverreallysee

it, unless you're acontortionist, or unnaturallyfond of mirrors. You knowthe one I'm talking about.Men spend hours thinkingabout the area in front of it,and almost as long on thearea behind, but that littlepatch of flesh? Unfairlyignored.' He scooped up afew nails and jingled themgently in Goyle's face. 'I

mean to set that right, today.I'm going to start there, andwork outwards, and believeme, once I'm done, you'll bethinking about that patch offleshfor therestofyour life.Or you'll be thinking aboutwhere it used to be, at least.Practical Cosca, would yoube kind enough to help theSuperioroutofhistrousers?'

'The University!'

bellowed Goyle. He had asheen of sweat all over hisbalding head. 'Sult! He's intheUniversity!'

So soon? Almostdisappointing. But then fewbullies take a beating well.'What's he doing there, at atimelikethis?'

'I…Idon't—''Not good enough.

Trousers,please.''Silber!He'swithSilber!'Glokta frowned. 'The

UniversityAdministrator?'Goyle's eyes darted from

Glokta, to Cosca, and backagain. He squeezed themshut.'TheAdeptusDemonic!'

There was a long pause.'Thewhat?'

'Silber,hedoesn'tjustrun

the University! Heconducts…experiments.'

'Experiments of whatnature?' Glokta jabbedsharply at Goyle's bloodyface with the head of thehammer. 'Before I nail yourtonguetothetable.'

'Occult experiments! Sulthas been giving him money,for a long time! Since theFirst of the Magi came

calling!Before,maybe!'Occult experiments?

Funding from the ArchLector?IthardlyseemsSult'sstyle, but it explains whythose damn Adepti wereexpecting money from mewhen I first visited theplace.AndwhyVitariandhercircushave set up shop there now.'Whatexperiments?'

'Silber… he can make

contact… with the OtherSide!'

'What?''It's true! I have seen it!

He can learn things, secrets,there is no other way ofknowing,andnow…'

'Yes?''He says he has found a

waytobringthemthrough!''Them?'

'TheTellersofSecrets,hecallsthem!'

Glokta licked at his drylips. 'Demons?' I thought hisEminence had no patiencewith superstition, when allthis time… The nerve of theman!

'Hecansendthemagainsthisenemies,hesays.Againstthe Arch Lector's enemies!Theyarereadytodoit!'

Glokta felt his left eyetwitching, andhepressed thebackofhishandagainstit.Ayear ago I would havelaughed to my boots andnailedhimtotheceiling.Butthingsaredifferent,now.Wepassed inside the House ofthe Maker. We saw Shickelsmile as she burned. If thereare Eaters? If there areMagi?Why should there not

bedemons?Howcould therenotbe?'Whatenemies?'

'The High Justice! TheFirst of the Magi!' Goylesqueezedhiseyesshutagain.'Theking,'hewhimpered.

Ahhhh. The. King. Thosetwo little words are my kindof magic. Glokta turned toArdee, and showed her theyawning gap in his frontteeth. 'Wouldyoube sokind

as to prepare a Paper ofConfession?'

'Would I…' She stared athimforamoment,eyeswideinherpale face, thenhurriedto the Arch Lector's desk,snatched up a sheet of paperandapen,dippeditrattlingina bottle of ink. She paused,her hand trembling. 'WhatshouldIwrite?'

'Oh, something like, "I,

Superior Goyle, confess tobeing an accomplice in atreasonous plot of hisEminence Arch Lector Sult,to…"'How to phrase it? Heraised his brows. How elsebutcallitwhatitis?'"Tousediabolical arts against hisMajesty the king andmembers of his ClosedCouncil."'

The nib scratched

clumsily over the paper,scattering specks of ink.Ardeehelditcracklingouttohim.'Goodenough?'

He remembered thebeautiful documents thatPractical Frost used toprepare.Theelegant, flowingscript, the immaculatewording. Each Paper ofConfession, a work of art.Glokta stared sadly down at

the ink-spotted daub in hishand.

'But a brief step fromunreadable, but itwill serve.'He slid the paper underGoyle's trembling hand, thentook thepen fromArdeeandwedged it between hisfingers.'Sign.'

Goyle sobbed, sniffed,scrawled his name at thebottomofthepageasbesthe

could with his arm naileddown.Iwin,andforoncethetasteisalmostsweet.

'Excellent,' said Glokta.'Pull those nails, and findsome sort of bandage. Itwould be a shame if he bledto death before he had thechance to testify. Gag him,though,I'veheardenoughfornow.We'll take him with ustotheHighJustice.'

'Wait! Wait! Wurghh—!'Goyle'scriesweresharplycutoffasthemercenarywiththeboils wedged a wad of dirtyclothinhismouth.Thedwarfslid the pliers from the case.Sofar,andwearestillalive.What ever are the odds ofthat? Glokta limped to thewindowandstood,stretchinghis aching legs. There was amuffledshriekasthefirstnail

wasrippedfromGoyle'sarm,but Glokta's thoughts wereelsewhere. He stared outtowards the University, itsspiresloomingupthroughthesmoky murk like clawingfingers. Occult experiments?Summonings and sendings?Helickedsourlyathisemptygums. What is going on inthere?

'What is going on out there?'Jezalstrodeupanddowntheroof of the Tower of Chainsin amanner which he hopedwas reminiscent of a cagedtiger,butprobablywascloserto a criminal on themorningofhisownhanging.

Smokehaddrawnasootyveilacross thecityandmadeitimpossibletotellwhatwashappening any further than a

halfmiledistant.MembersofVaruz' staff, scatteredaroundthe parapets, wouldoccasionally call out uselessand wildly contradictorynews. There was fighting inthe Four Corners, up theMiddleway, throughout thecentralpartofthecity.Therewas fighting on land and onsea. By turns all hope waslost and they were on the

vergeofdeliverance.Butonethingwasinnodoubt.Below,beyond the moat of theAgriont, the Gurkish effortscontinued ominouslyunabated.

A rain of flatbow boltscontinued to pepper thesquare outside the gates, butfor every corpse the Gurkishleft, for every wounded mandragged away, five more

would vomit out from theburning buildings like beesfrom a broken hive. Soldiersswarmed down there inteeming hundreds, enclosingthe whole circuit of theAgriont in an ever-strengtheningringofmenandsteel. They squatted behindtheir wooden screens, theyshot arrows up towards thebattlements.Thepoundingof

drums had drawn steadilycloser and now echoed outaround the city. Peeringthrough his eye-glass, withevery muscle tensed to tryand hold it steady, Jezal hadbegun to notice strangefiguresscatteredbelow.

Tall and graceful figures,conspicuous in pearly whitearmour edged with glintinggold, theymoved among the

Gurkish soldiers, pointing,ordering, directing. Often,now, they were pointingtowardsthebridgethatledtothewest gate of theAgriont.Dark thoughts niggled at thebackofJezal'smind.Khalul'sHundred Words? Risen upfrom the shadowy corners ofhistory to bring the First oftheMagitojustice?

'If I didn't know better, I

would have said that theywerepreparingforanassault.'

'There is no cause foralarm,' croaked Varuz, 'ourdefences are impregnable.'His voice quavered, thencracked entirely at the finalword, doing little to giveanyone the slightestreassurance.Onlyafewshortweeks ago, nobody wouldhavedaredtosuggestthatthe

Agriont could ever fall. Butnobody would ever havedreamed that it would besurrounded by legions ofGurkishsoldiers,either.Veryplainly, the rules hadchanged. A deep blast ofhornsrangout.

'Down there,' mutteredoneofhisstaff.

Jezal peered through hisborrowed eye-glass. Some

form of great cart had beendrawnup through the streets,like a wooden house onwheels, covered by plates ofbeaten metal. Even now,Gurkishsoldierswereloadingbarrels into it under thedirectionoftwomeninwhitearmour.

'Explosive powder,'someonesaid,unhelpfully.

Jezal felt Marovia's hand

onhis arm. 'YourMajesty, itmight be best if youwere toretire.'

'And if I am not safehere?Where,precisely,willIbe out of danger, do yousuppose?'

'Marshal West will soondeliver us, I am sure. But inthe meantime the palace ismuch the safest place. I willaccompany you.' He gave an

apologeticsmile. 'Atmyage,I fear I will be little use onthewalls.'

Gorst held out onegauntleted hand towards thestairs.'Thisway.'

'This way,' growled Glokta,limpingupthehallasswiftlyashisruinedfeetwouldcarryhim, Cosca ambling after.

Click,tap,pain.Only one secretary

remainedoutsidetheofficeofthe High Justice, peeringdisapprovingly over histwinkling eye-glasses. Nodoubt the rest have donnedill-fitting armour and aremanning thewalls. Or,morelikely,havelockedthemselvesincellars.IfonlyIwerewiththem.

'IamafraidhisWorshipisbusy.'

'Oh,hewillseeme,don'tworry about that.' Gloktahobbled past withoutstopping, placed his hand onthe brass doorknob ofMarovia's office, and almostjerkeditbackinsurprise.Themetal was icy cold. Cold ashell. He turned it with hisfingertips and opened the

door a crack. A breath ofwhite vapour curled out intothehall,likethefreezingmistthat would hang over thesnowy valleys in Angland inthemidstofwinter.

Itwasdeathlycold in theroom beyond. The heavywoodenfurniture,theoldoakpanelling,thegrubbywindowpanes,allglitteredwithwhitehoar-frost.Theheapsoflegal

papers were furry with it. Abottle of wine on a table bythe door had shattered,leaving behind a bottle-shapedblockofpink ice anda scattering of sparklingsplinters.

'What in hell…' Glokta'sbreath smoked before hissmarting lips. Mysteriousarticleswerescatteredwidelyabout the wintry room. A

long, snaking lengthofblacktubing was frozen to thepanelling, like a string ofsausages left in the snow.There were patches of blackiceonthebooks,onthedesk,on the crunching carpet.There were pink fragmentsfrozen to the ceiling, longwhite splinters frozen to thefloor…

Humanremains?

A large chunk of icyflesh, partly coated in rime,layinthemiddleofthedesk.Glokta turned his headsideways to better take it in.Therewasamouth,stillwithsome teeth attached, an ear,an eye. Some strands of along beard. Enough, in theend, for Glokta to recognisewhosepartswerescatteredsowidely around the freezing

room.Who else but my lasthope, my third suitor, HighjusticeMarovia?

Cosca cleared his throat.'Itseemsthereissomethingtoyour friend Silber's claimsafterall.'

An understatement ofdevilish proportions. Gloktafeltthemusclesroundhislefteye twitching with a painfulintensity. The secretary

fussed up to the door behindthem,peeredthrough,gasped,and reeled away. Gloktaheard him being noisily sickoutside. 'I doubt the HighJustice will be lending usmuchassistance.'

'True.Butisn'titgettingalittle late in the day for yourpapersand so forthanyway?'Cosca gestured towards thewindows,fleckedandspotted

with frozen blood. 'TheGurkish are coming,remember?Ifyou'vescorestosettle, get them settled now,beforeourKanticfriendstearup all the bills. When plansfail, swift action must serve,eh, Superior?' He reachedbehind his head, unbuckledhis mask, and let it drop tothe floor. 'Time to laugh inyourenemy'sface!Toriskall

on one final throw!You canpick up the pieces afterward.Iftheydon'tgobacktogether,well, what's the difference?Tomorrow we might all belivinginadifferentworld.'

Or dying in one. Not thewaywewantedit,maybe,butheisright.Perhapswemightborrow one final shred ofColonelGlokta's dash beforethe game is over? 'I hope I

canstillcountonyourhelp?'Coscaclappedhimonthe

shoulder and sent a painfulshudder through his twistedback. 'A noble last effort,against all the odds? Ofcourse! Though I shouldmention that Iusuallychargedouble once the diabolicalartsareinvolved.'

'How does triple sound?'After all, Valint and Balk

havedeeppockets.Cosca's grin grew wider.

'Itsoundswell.''Andyourmen?Are they

reliable?''Theyare stillwaiting for

four fifths of their pay.Untilthey receive it I would trustanyoneofthemwithmylife.'

'Good. Then we areprepared.' Glokta worked his

aching foot around in hisboot.Justalittlefurthernow,my toelessbeauty.Justa fewshuddering steps more, andoneway or another,we bothcan rest. He opened hisfingers and let Goyle'sconfession float down to thefrosty floor. 'To theUniversity, then! HisEminence has never liked tobekeptwaiting.'

OpentheBox

«^»

Logencouldfeelthedoubtinthe men around him, couldsee the worry on their faces,in the way they held their

weapons,andhedidn'tblamethem.Aman can be fearlesson his own doorstep, againstenemies he understands, buttake him longmiles over thesalty sea to strangeplaceshenever dreamed of, he'll takefright at every emptydoorway. And there were anawfullotofthose,now.

The city ofwhite towers,where Logen had hurried

after the First of the Magi,amazed at the scale of thebuildings, the strangeness ofthepeople, thesheerquantityof both, had become a mazeof blackened ruins. Theycrept down empty streets,lined with the outsizeskeletons of burned-outhouses, charred raftersstabbing at the sky. Theycrept across empty squares,

scattered with rubble anddusted with ash. Always thesounds of battle echoed,ghostly—near, far,allaroundthem.

It was as if they creptthroughhell.

'Howd'you fight in this?'whisperedtheDogman.

Logen wished he had ananswer.Fightinginforests,in

mountains, in valleys, they'ddone it all a hundred times,and knew the rules, but this?His eyes flickered nervouslyoverthegapingwindowsanddoorways, the piles of fallenstones.Somanyplacesforanenemytohide.

All Logen could do wasaim at the House of theMaker andhope for thebest.What would happen when

theygotthere,hewasn'tsure,but it seemed a safe betthere'd be blood involved.Nothing that would doanyone the slightest good,most likely, but the fact washe'd said go, and the onething a leader can't do ischangehismind.

The clamour of fightingwas getting louder, now, andlouder. The stink of smoke

and angerwas picking at hisnose,scratchingathis throat.The scored metal of theMaker's sword was slipperyin his sweaty palm.He creptlow to the ground, over aheap of rubble and alongbeside a shattered wall, hishand held flat behind him tosaygocareful.Heeaseduptothe edge, and peered aroundit.

The Agriont rose up justahead,greatwallsandtowersblackagainstthewhitesky,asecond set reflected in themoat below. A lot of menweregatherednearthewater,crowded up and down thecobbledspaceasfarasLogencould see. It didn't take asharp mind to realise theywere Gurkish. Arrows flittedup towards the battlements,

bolts flitted back down,spinning from the cobbles,sticking wobbling intowoodenscreens.

Not thirty strides awaythey'ddrawnupaline,facinginto the city. A good, cleanline,bristlingwithspears,setout on either side of a tallstandard, golden letterstwinkling on it. A tough-looking line of hard men,

well armed and wellarmoured, nothing like therubbish they'd faced outsidethewalls.Logendidn'treckonshoutingwasgoingtogetthislotmovinganywhere.Exceptstraightathim,maybe.

'Whoa,' muttered theDogman as he crept up. AfewmoreNorthmenfollowedhim, spreading out in themouth of the street, staring

stupidlyaround.Logen waved an arm at

them. 'Might be best if westayoutofsightforthe—'

AnofficerinthemidstoftheGurkishlinebarkedinhisharshtongue,pointedtowardsthem with his curved sword.Armourrattledasthemensettheirspears.

'Ah, shit,' hissed Logen.

They came forward, fast, butorganised. A mass of them,and bristling with bright,sharp,deadlymetal.

There are only threechoices when you getcharged.Runaway, stand,orcharge yourself. Runningaway isn't usually a badoption,butgiventhewaytherestof theboyswerefeeling,iftheyrantheywouldn'tstop

running until they fell in thesea. If they stood, all in apuzzled mess from comingthrough the city, the chanceswere good that they'd break,and that would leave somedead and do nothing for therest. Which left one choice,andthat'snochoiceatall.

Two charges in one day.Shitty luck, that, but therewas no use crying about it.

Youhavetoberealisticaboutthesethings.

Logen started running.Notthewayhewantedto,butforward, out from thebuildings and across thecobblestowardsthemoat.Hedidn't give toomuch thoughtto whether anyone wasfollowing. He was too busyscreaming and waving hissword around. The first into

thekilling,justlikeintheolddays. A fitting end for theBloody-Nine. Be a goodsong,maybe,ifanyonecouldbebotheredfindingatuneforit. He gritted his teeth,waiting for the terribleimpact.

Then a crowd of Unionsoldiers came pouring fromthe buildings on the left,shouting like madmen

themselves. The Gurkishcharge faltered, their linebegan to break up, spearsswinging wildly as menturned to face the suddenthreat.An unexpected bonus,andnomistake.

The Union crashed intothe end of the line. Menscreeched and bellowed,metal shrieked on metal,weapons flashed, bodies

dropped, and Logen fell intothemidstofit.Heslidpastawobbling spear, slashed at aGurkish soldier. He missedand hit another, sent himscreaming, blood bubblingdownchain-mail.Herammedintoa thirdwithhis shoulderand flung him on his back,stomped on the side of hisjaw and felt it crunch underhisboot.

TheGurkishofficerwho'dled the charge was only astrideaway,hisswordready.Logen heard a bow stringbehindandanarrowtooktheofficer near the collar bone.He dragged in a shudderingbreath to scream, halfspinning round. Logenchoppedadeepgash throughhisback-plate,spotsofbloodjumping. Men crunched into

theremainsofthelinearoundhim. A spear shaft bent upand shattered sendingsplinters flying in Logen'sface. Someone roared rightnext tohimandmadehisearbuzz. He jerked his headaway to see a Carl throw adesperate hand up, a curvedswordslicedintoitandsentathumb spinning. Logenhacked the Gurkish soldier

who'd swung it in the face,the heavy blade of theMaker's sword catching himacrossthecheekandsplittinghisskullwide.

A spear flashed at him.Logen tried to turnsideways,gasped as the point slidthrough his shirt and downhis right side, leaving a coldline under his ribs. The manwho held it stumbled on

towards him, moving tooquick to stop. Logen stabbedhim right through, just underhis breastplate, ended upblinkinginhisface.AUnionsoldier with a patchy gingerbeardonhischeeks.

The man frowned,puzzled at seeing anotherwhite face. 'Wha…' hecroaked, clutching at him.Logen tore away, one hand

pressedtohisside.Itwaswetthere. He wondered if thespear had nicked him or runhim right through. Hewonderedif ithadkilledhimalready,andhehadjustalastfewbloodymomentsleft.

Then something hit himon the back of his head andhewasreeling,bellowing,notknowing what washappening. His limbs were

made of mud. The worldwobbled about, full of flyingdirt and flying edges. Hehacked at something, kickedat something else. Hegrappled with someone,snarling, tore his hand freeand fumbled out a knife,stabbedataneck,blackbloodflowing.Thesoundsofbattleroared and hummed in hisears. A man staggered past

withpart ofhis facehangingoff. Logen could see rightinside his mangled mouthfrom the side, bits of teethfallingout.

The cut down his sideburned, and burned, andsucked his breath out. Theknock on his head made thepulse pound in his skull,made the blurry world slidefrom side to side.Hismouth

wasfullofthesaltmetaltasteof blood. He felt a touch onhis shoulder and lurchedaround, teeth bared, fingerstight round the grip of theMaker'sblade.

Dogmanletgoofhimandhelduphishands.'It'sme!It'sme!'

Logen saw who it was.But it wasn't his hand thatheld the sword,now,and the

Bloody-Nine saw only workthatneededdoing.

What a curious flock thiscrippled shepherd hasacquired. Two dozen fakePracticals followed Gloktathrough the deserted lanes ofthe Agriont, Nicomo Cosca,infamous soldier of fortune,swaggering at their head.Myhopes all entrusted to the

world's least trustworthyman. One of them draggedthe bound and gaggedSuperior Goyle stumblingalong by a rope. Like anunwillingdogbeingtakenforawalk. ArdeeWest shuffledintheirmidst,herwhitedressstained with the filth of thesewers and the blood ofseveralmen, her face stainedwith darkening bruises and a

haunted slackness. No doubtthe result of the severalhorrors she has alreadywitnessedtoday.Allcaperingthrough theAgriont after theInquisition's only crippledSuperior. A merry dance tohell, accompanied by thesoundsofdistantbattle.

He lurched to a suddenhalt. An archway beside himledthroughintotheSquareof

Marshals and, for somereason beyond hiscomprehension, the wholewidespacehadbeencoveredwith sawdust. In the middleofthatyellow-whiteexpanse,perfectly recognisable evenoverthisdistance,theFirstofthe Magi stood, waiting.Beside him was the dark-skinned woman who hadnearlydrownedGlokta inhis

bath.Mytwofavouritepeopleinalltheworld,Idodeclare.

'Bayaz,'hissedGlokta.'No time for that.' Cosca

caughthimby theelbowandpulled him away, and theFirst of the Magi and hissullen companion passed outof view. Glokta limped on,downthenarrowlane,wincedas he turned a corner, andfoundhimselfstaringdirectly

into the face of his oldacquaintance Jezal danLuthar.Or, should I say, theHighKingoftheUnion.Iampainfullyhonoured.

'Your Majesty,' he said,lowering his head andcausing a particularlyunpleasant stabbing throughhis neck. Cosca, justappearing beside him, gaveanextravagantbow,reaching

for his cap to sweep it fromhis head. It was gone. Heshrugged his shouldersapologetically, and tugged athisgreasyforelock.

Luthar frowned at him,and at each member of hisstrange group as theyappeared. Someone seemedto be lurking at the back oftheroyalentourage.Arobeofblackandgoldinamongstall

thatpolishedsteel.Couldthatbe…our old friend theHighJustice? But surely he is infrozen pieces—Then Ardeeshuffledaroundthecorner.

Luthar's eyes went wide.'Ardee…'

'Jezal…'Shelookedeverybit as amazed as he did. 'Imean—'

And the air was ripped

apartbyacolossalexplosion.

TheMiddlewaywasnotwhatitusedtobe.

West and his staff rodenorthwards in stunnedsilence. Their horses' hoovestappedatthecrackedroad.Asorry bird cheeped from thebare rafters of a burned-outhouse. Someone in a side

streetsquealedforhelp.Fromthewest thevaguesoundsoffighting still echoed, like thenoise of a distant sportingevent, but one with nowinners. Fire had sweptthroughthecentreofthecity,turning whole swathes ofbuildingstoblackenedshells,the trees to grey claws, thegardens to patches ofwitheredslime.Corpseswere

the only addition.Corpses ofeverysizeanddescription.

The Four Corners was aslaughter-yard,scatteredwithall the ugly garbage of war,bounded by the ruinedremains of some of Adua'sfinestbuildings.Nearathand,thewoundedwerelaidout inlong rows on the dustyground, coughing, groaning,calling for water, bloody

surgeons moving helplesslyamongthem.

Afewgrimsoldierswerealready piling the Gurkishdead into formless heaps,massesof tangledarms, legs,faces. They were watchedover by a tall man with hishands clenched behind hisback. General Kroy, alwaysquick to put things in order.His black uniform was

smudged with grey ash, onetorn sleeve flapping aroundhis wrist. The fighting musthave been savage indeed tomake a mark on his perfectpresentation, but his salutewas unaffected. It could nothavebeenmoreimpeccableifthey stood on a paradeground.

'Progress,General?''Bitter fighting through

the central district, LordMarshal! Our cavalry brokethrough thismorning andwetook them by surprise. Thenthey counterattacked whilewewerewaitingfor thefoot.I swear, this weary patch ofground has changed hands adozentimes.ButwehavetheFour Corners, now! They'refightinghardforeverystride,but we're driving them back

towardsArnault'swall. Lookatthat,now!'Hepointedtoapair of Gurkish standardsleaning against a length ofcrumbling masonry, theirgolden symbols gleaming inthe midst of that drabdestruction. 'They'll make afine centrepiece to anyone'slivingroom,eh,sir?'

West could not stop hiseyes wandering down to a

group of groaning woundedlollingagainstthewallbelow.'Iwishyou joyof them.TheAgriont?'

'The news is less goodthere, I'm afraid. We'repushing them hard, but theGurkish are up in numbers.They still have the citadelentirelysurrounded.'

'Pushharder,General!'

Kroysnappedoutanothersalute. 'Yes, sir, we'll breakthem,don'tyouworry.MightIaskhowGeneralPoulder isdoingwiththedocks?'

'Thedocksarebackinourhands,butGeneralPoulder…isdead.'

There was a pause.'Dead?' Kroy's face hadturneddeathlypale. 'Buthowdidhe—'

There was a rumble, likethunder in the distance, andthehorsesshied,pawedattheground. West's face, andKroy's, and the facesof theirofficers, all turned as one tothenorth.There,overthetopsof the blackened ruins at theedge of the square, a greatmass of dustwas rising highabovetheAgriont.

The bright world spun andthrobbed,fullofthebeautifulsong of battle, thewonderfultaste of blood, the fine andfruitful stink of death. In themidst of it, no further thanarms length away, a smallmanstood,watchinghim.

To come so close to theBloody-Nine? To ask fordeathassurelyastostepintothe searing fire. To beg for

death.Todemandit.Something about his

pointed teeth seemedfamiliar. A faint memory,from long ago. But theBloody-Ninepushed it away,shook it off, sunk it in thebottomless sea. It meantnothing to him who menwere,orwhat theyhaddone.He was the Great Leveller,andallmenwereequalbefore

him.Hisonlycarewastoturnthelivingintothedead,anditwas past time for the goodwork to begin.He raised thesword.

Theearthshook.He stumbled, and a great

noise washed over him, torebetweenthedeadmenandtheliving,splittheworldinhalf.He felt it knock somethingloose inside his skull. He

snarledasherightedhimself,liftedthebladehigh…

Exceptthearmwouldnotmove.

'Bastard…' snarled theBloody-Nine, but the flameswere all burned out. It wasLogen who turned towardsthenoise.

A vast cloud of greysmokewasrisingupfromthe

wall of the Agriont a fewhundred strides away.Spinningspecksflewuphigh,highabove it leavingarchingtrails of brown dust in thesky,likethetentaclesofsomevast sea-monster. Oneseemed to reach its peak justabovethem.Logenwatcheditfall. It had looked like apebble at first.As it tumbledslowly down he realised it

was a chunk of masonry thesizeofacart.

'Shit,' said Grim. Therewas nothing else to say. Itcrashed through the sideofabuilding right in themidstofthe fight. The whole houseburst apart, flinging brokenbodies in every direction. Abroken timber whirred pastthe Dogman and splashedinto themoat. Specks of grit

nippedatthebackofLogen'shead as he flung himself totheground.

Chokingdirtbillowedoutacross the road. He retched,one hand over his face. Hewobbled up to standing, thedusty world lurching aroundhim, using his sword as acrutch,earsstill ringingfromthe noise, not sure who hewas,letalonewhere.

Theboneshadgonerightoutof thebattlebythemoat.Men coughed, stared,wanderedinthegloom.Therewere a lot of bodies,Northmen, Gurkish, Union,allmixedup together.Logensaw a dark-skinned manstaringathim,blood runningdown his dusty face from acutaboveoneeye.

Logen lifted his sword,

gave a throaty roar, tried tocharge and ended upstaggering sideways andnearly falling over. TheGurkish soldier dropped hisspear and ran off into themurk.

Therewasaseconddeafeningdetonation, this one evencloser, off to the west. Asuddenblastofwindrippedat

Jezal's hair, nipped at hiseyes. Swords rang fromsheaths.Menstaredup,facesslackwithshock.

'We must go,' pipedGorst, taking a firm grip onJezal'selbow.

Glokta and his henchmenwere already making offdown a cobbled lane, asquicklyastheSuperiorcouldlimp. Ardee gave one brief

look over her shoulder, eyeswide.

'Wait…' Seeing her likethathadgivenJezalasuddenand painful rush of longing.Theideaofherinthethrallofthat disgusting cripple wasalmost toomuchtobear.ButGorstwashavingnoneofit.

'The palace, yourMajesty.' He ushered Jezalaway towards the park

without a backward glance,the rest of the royalbodyguard clattering after.Fragments of stone began toclick off the roofs aroundthem, to bounce from theroad,topingfromthearmouroftheKnightsoftheBody.

'They are coming,'muttered Marovia, staringgrimlyofftowardstheSquareofMarshals.

Ferro squatted, hands heldover her head, themonstrousechoesstillboomingfromthehighwhitewalls.Astonethesize of aman's head fell outof the skyandburst apartonthe ground a few stridesaway, black gravel scatteringacross the pale sawdust. Aboulder ten times as bigcrashed through theroofofa

building, sent glass tinklingfromshatteredwindows.Dustbillowed out from the streetsand into the square in greyclouds. Gradually the noisefaded. The man-madehailstorm rattled to a stop,and there was a pregnantsilence.

'What now?' she growledatBayaz.

'Now they will come.'

Therewasacrashsomewherein the streets, the sound ofmen shouting, then a longscream suddenly cut off. Heturned towards her, his jawworkingnervously. 'Oncewebegin, do notmove from thespot. Not a hair. The circleshavebeencarefully—'

'Keep yourmind on yourownpart,Magus.'

'Then I will. Open the

box,Ferro.'She stood, frowning, her

fingertips rubbing at herthumbs.Once itwas opened,there would be no goingback,shefeltit.

'Now!' snapped Bayaz.'Now, if you want yourvengeance!'

'Sssss.' But the time forgoing back was far behind

her. She squatted down,laying her hand on the coolmetal of the lid.A dark pathwas the only choice, andalways had been. She foundthe hidden catch and pressedit in.The box swung silentlyopen, and that strange thrillseeped, then flowed, thenpouredoutoverherandmadetheaircatchinherthroat.

The Seed lay inside,

nestling on its metal coils, adull, grey, unremarkablelump. She closed her fingersroundit.Lead-heavyandice-cold, she lifted it from thebox.

'Good.' But Bayaz waswincing as he watched her,face twisted with fear anddisgust. She held it outtowards him and he flinchedback. There were beads of

sweat across his forehead.'Comenocloser!'

Ferro slammed the boxshut.TwoUnionguards,cladin full armour, were backingintothesquare,heavyswordsintheirfists.Therewasafearin theway theymoved, as ifthey were retreating from anarmy. But only one manroundedthecorner.Amaninwhite armour, worked with

designsof shiningmetal.Hisdark face was young, andsmooth,andbeautiful,buthiseyes seemed old. Ferro hadseensuchafacebefore,inthewastelandsnearDagoska.

AnEater.The two guards came at

him together, one shouting ashrill battle-cry. The Eatershrugged effortlessly aroundtheirswords,cameforwardin

a sudden blur, caught one oftheUnionmenwithacarelessflickofhisopenhand.Therewas a hollow clang as itcaved in his shield andbreastplate both, lifted himflailing into the air. Hecrunched down some twentystrides from where he hadbeenstanding,rolledoverandover leaving dark marks inthepale sawdust.He flopped

to rest not far from Ferro,coughedouta longspatterofbloodandwasstill.

The other guard backedaway. The Eater looked athim, a sadnessonhisperfectface. The air around himshimmered,briefly,theman'ssword clattered down, hegave a long squeal andclutched at his head. It burstapart,showeringfragmentsof

skull and flesh across thewalls of the white buildingbeside him. The headlesscorpseslumpedtotheground.Therewasapause.

'WelcometotheAgriont!'shoutedBayaz.

Ferro's eyes were drawnup by a flash of movement.Highabove,afigureinwhitearmour dashed across a roof.They made an impossible

leap across the wide gap tothe next building andvanished from sight. In thestreetbelowawomanflowedout of the shadows and intothe square, dressed inglittering chain-mail. Herhipsswayedasshesaunteredforwards, a happy smile onherflawlessface,alongspearcarried loose in one hand.Ferro swallowed, shifted her

fistaroundtheSeed,grippingittight.

Part of a wall collapsedbehind her, blocks of stonetumbling out across thesquare. A huge man steppedthrough the ragged gap, agreat length of wood in hishands, studded with blackiron,hisarmourandhis longbeard coated in dust. Twoothers followed,amananda

woman, all with the samesmooth skin, the sameyoungfacesandthesameold,blackeyes. Ferro scowled round atthem as she slid her swordout, the cold metal glinting.Useless, maybe, but holdingitwassomekindofcomfort.

'Welcome to you all!'called Bayaz. 'I have beenwaitingforyou,Mamun!'

The first of the Eaters

frowned as he steppedcarefully over the headlesscorpse. 'And we for you.'Whiteshapesflittedfromtheroofs of the buildings,thumped down into thesquareincrouches,andstoodtall.Fourofthem,onetoeachcorner. 'Where is thatcreepingshadow,Yulwei?'

'Hecouldnotbewithus.''Zacharus?'

'Miredintheruinedwest,tryingtohealacorpsewithabandage.'

'Cawneil?''Too much in love with

whatsheusedtobetospareathoughtforwhatcomes.'

'You are left all alone,then, in the end, apart fromthis.' Mamun turned hisemptygazeonFerro.'Sheisa

strangeone.''She is, and exceptionally

difficult, but not withoutresources.'Ferroscowled,andsaid nothing. If anythingneededsaying,shecouldtalkwith her sword. 'Ah, well.'Bayaz shrugged. 'I havealwaysfoundmyselfmyownbestcouncil.'

'What choice have you?You destroyed your own

order with your pride, andyour arrogance, and yourhunger for power.' Morefigures stepped fromdoorways round the square,strolled unhurried from thestreets. Some strutted likelords. Some held hands likelovers. 'Power isallyouevercared for, and you are leftwithout even that. The FirstoftheMagi,andthelast.'

'So it would seem. Doesthatnotpleaseyou?'

'Itakenopleasureinthis,Bayaz. This is whatmust bedone.'

'Ah.Arighteousbattle?Aholy duty? A crusade,perhaps? Will God smile onyourmethods,doyouthink?'

Mamun shrugged. 'Godsmiles on results.' More

figures in white armourspilled into the square andspread out around its edge.They moved with carelessgrace, with effortlessstrength, with bottomlessarrogance. Ferro frownedaround at them, the Seedclutched tight at one hip, herswordattheother.

'If you have a plan,' shehissed. 'Now might be the

time.'But theFirst of theMagi

only watched as they weresurrounded, the musclestwitching on the side of hisface,hishandsclenchingandunclenching by his sides. 'Ashame that Khalul himselfcouldnotpayavisit,butyouhave brought some friendswithyou,Isee.'

'One hundred, as I

promised. Some few haveother tasks about the city.They send their regrets. Butmost of us are here for you.More than enough.' TheEaters were still. They stoodfacing inwards, spreadout ina great ringwith the First oftheMagiattheircentre.FerroMaljinn felt no fear, ofcourse.

Butthesewerepoorodds.

'Answer me one thing,'calledMamun, 'since we arecometotheend.WhydidyoukillJuvens?'

'Juvens? Ha! He thoughtto make the world a betterplace with smiles and goodintentions. Good intentionsget you nothing, and theworld does not improvewithouta fight. I say Ikilledno one.' Bayaz looked

sideways at Ferro. His eyeswerefeverishbright,now,hisscalp glistened with sweat.'Butwhatdoes itmatterwhokilled who a thousand yearsago? What matters is whodiestoday.'

'True. Now, at last, youwill be judged.' Slowly, veryslowly, the circle of Eatersbegan to contract, steppinggently forward as one,

drawingsoftlyinwards.The First of the Magi

gaveagrimsmile. 'Oh, therewill be a judgement here,Mamun, on that you candepend. The magic hasdrained from the world. MyArt is a shadow of what itwas. But you forgot, whileyou were gorging yourselveson human meat, thatknowledge is the root of

power. High Art I learnedfrom Juvens. Making I tookfromKanedias.'

'Youwillneedmore thanthattodefeatus.'

'Ofcourse.ForthatIneedsomedarkermedicine.'

The air around Bayaz'shoulders shimmered. TheEaters paused, some of themraised their arms in front of

their faces. Ferro narrowedher eyes, but there was onlythegentlestbreathofwind.Asubtlebreeze,thatwashedoutfrom theFirstof theMagi ina wave, that lifted thesawdust from the stones andcarrieditoutinawhitecloudtotheveryedgeoftheSquareofMarshals.

Mamunlookeddown,andfrowned. Set into the stone

beneathhis feet,metal shonedully in the thin sunlight.Circles, and lines, andsymbols, and circles withincircles, covering the entirewide space in a single vastdesign.

'Elevenwards,andelevenwards reversed,' said Bayaz.'Iron.Quenchedinsaltwater.An improvement suggestedby Kanedias' researches.

Glustrod used raw salt. Thatwashismistake.'

Mamunlookedup,theicycalmness vanished from hisface. 'You cannot mean…'His black eyes flickered toFerro,thendowntoherhand,clenched tight around theSeed.'No!TheFirstLaw—'

'The First Law?' TheMagus showed his teeth.'Rulesareforchildren.Thisis

war, and in war the onlycrimeis to lose.ThewordofEuz?'Bayaz'lipcurled.'Hah!Let him come forth and stopme!'

'Enough!' One of theEaters leaped forward,flashing across the metalcircles towards their centre.Ferro gasped as the stone inher hand turned suddenly,terribly cold. The air about

Bayaz twisted, danced, asthough he was reflected in aripplingpool.

The Eater sprang up,mouth open, the bright bladeofhisswordshining.Thenhewasgone.Soweretwoothersbehind him. A long spray ofbloodwassmearedacrosstheground where one of themhad been standing. Ferro'seyes followed it, growing

wider and wider. Her mouthfellopen.

The building that hadstood behind them had agiant,gapingholetornoutofit fromground to dizzy roof.A great canyon lined withbroken stone and hangingplaster, with splintered sparsand dangling glass. Dustshowered from the shatterededges and into the yawning

hole below. A flock of tornpapersfluttereddownthroughtheemptyair.Fromoutofthecarnage a thin and agonisedscreaming came. A sobbing.A screech of pain. Manyvoices. The voices of thosewho had been using thatbuildingasarefuge.

Poorluckforthem.Bayaz' mouth slowly

curled up into a smile. 'It

works,'hebreathed.

DarkPaths

«^»

Jezal hurried through the tallarchwayandintothegardensof the palace, his Knightsaround him. It was

remarkable that High JusticeMarovia had been able tokeeppacewith themon theirdashthroughtheAgriont,butthe oldman scarcely seemedoutofbreath.'Sealthegates!'hebellowed.'Thegates!'

The huge doors wereheaved shut, two beams thethickness of ships' mastsswung into position behindthem. Jezal allowed himself

to breathe a little easier.There was a reassuringfeelingtotheweightofthosegates, to the height andthickness of the walls of thepalace compound, to thesizeable host of well trainedandarmouredmendefendingit.

Marovia laid his handgently on Jezal's shoulder,began to steer him down the

cobbled path towards thenearest door into the palace.'We should find the safestplace possible, your Majesty—'

Jezal shook him off.'Would you lock me in mybedroom?OrshouldIhideinthecellar?Iwillremainhere,and co-ordinate the defenceof—'

A long, blood-chilling

scream came from the otherside of the wall and echoedaround the bare gardens. Itwas as if that shriek made aholeinhimthroughwhichallconfidence quickly leakedaway. The gates rattledslightly against the mightybeams, and the notion ofhiding in the cellar gainedappeal with astonishingspeed.

'A line!' barked Gorst'sshrill voice. 'To theKing!'Awall of heavily-armouredmen clustered instantlyaround Jezal, swords drawn,shieldsraised.Otherskneeledin front, pulling bolts fromquivers, turningthecranksoftheirheavyflatbows.Alleyeswere fixed on the mightydouble doors. They rattledgently again, wobbled

slightly.'Down there!' someone

called from the walls above.'Down—' There was ascreechandanarmouredmanplummeted from thebattlementsandcrunchedintothe turf. His body trembled,thenfelllimp.

'How…' someonemuttered.

Awhitefiguredivedfromthe walls, gracefully turnedover in the air and thuddedonto the pathway in front ofthem. It stood up. A dark-skinned man, arrayed inarmourofwhiteandgold,hisface smooth as a boy's. Heheld a spear of dark woodwith a long, curved blade inonehand.Jezalstaredathim,and he looked back,

expressionless. There wassomething in those blackeyes, or rather there wassomething missing fromthem. Jezal knew that thiswas not a man. It was anEater. A breaker of theSecondLaw.OneofKhalul'sHundred Words, come tosettle ancient scoreswith theFirst of theMagi. It seemed,rather unfairly, that their

score had somehow come toinclude Jezal. The Eaterraised one hand, as if inblessing.

'MayGod admit us all toheaven.'

'Loose!' squealed Gorst.Flatbows rattled and popped.Acoupleofboltsglancedoffthe Eater's armour, a couplemore thudded into flesh, oneunderthebreastplate,another

in the shoulder. One boltcaught it right through theface, the flights sticking outjust below the eye.Anymanshould have dropped deadbefore them. The Eatersprang forwards withshockingspeed.

OneoftheKnightsraisedhis flatbow in a feebleattempt to defend himself.The spear split it in two and

sliced him cleanly in half atthe belly, chopped intoanothermanwithanechoingclang and sent him tumblingthroughtheairintoatreetenstrides away. Fragments ofdented armour and splinteredwood flew. The first Knightmade a strange whistlingsoundashistophalftumbledto the path, showering hisdumbstruck comrades with

gore.Jezal was jostled back,

could see nothing more thanflashesofmovementbetweenhis bodyguards. He heardscreams and groans, clashingmetal, saw swords glinting,gouts of blood flying. Anarmoured body flew into theair, flopping like a rag-doll,crunched into a wall on theothersideofthegardens.

The bodies swayed apart.The Eater was surrounded,swingingitsspearinblindingcircles. One ripped into aman's shoulder and knockedhim shrieking to the ground,the shaft splintering with theforce of the blow and theblade spinning away edge-first into the turf. A Knightcharged in from behind andspitted the Eater through the

back, the glittering point ofhis halberd sliding bloodlessthrough the white armour onits chest. Another Knightstruckitsarmoffwithanaxeand dust showered from thestump. The Eater screeched,hit him across the chestwitha backhanded blow thatcrushed his breastplate anddrove him sighing into thedirt.

A sword-cut squealedthrough the white armour,sending dust flying up as iffrom a beaten carpet. Jezalstared dumbly as the Eaterreeled towards him. Gorstshoved him out of the way,growling as he brought hislongsteelroundtohackdeepinto the Eater's neck with ameatythud.Itflailed,silently,itsheadhangingoffbyaflap

ofgristle,browndustpouringfrom its yawning wounds. Itclutched at Gorst with itsremaining hand and hestaggered, face twisted withpain, sank to his knees as itwrenchedhisarmaround.

'Here's heaven, bastard!'Jezal's sword choppedthrough the last bit of neckand theEaters' head droppedonto the grass. It let go of

Gorst and he clutched at hismangled forearm, the shapeof the Eater's hand dentedinto his heavy armour. Theheadlessbodyslowlytoppledover. 'Cursed thing!' Jezaltook one step and kicked itshead across the garden,watched it bounce and rollinto a flower bed leaving atrailofdustthroughthegrass.Three men stood over the

body, their heavy breathechoing from inside theirhelmets,theirswordsflashingin the sun as they hacked itinto pieces. Its fingers werestilltwitching.

'They're made of dust,'someonewhispered.

Marovia frowned at theremains. 'Some are. Somebleed. Each one is different.We should get inside the

palace!' he shouted as hehurried across the gardens.'Therewillbemoreofthem!'

'More?' Twelve Knightsof the Body lay dead. Jezalswallowedashecountedtheirbroken and bloody, dentedandbatteredcorpses.Thebestmen the Union had to offer,scattered around the palacegardens like heaps of scrapmetal among the brown

leaves. 'More? But how dowe—?' The gates shuddered.Jezal's head snapped towardsthem,theblindcourageofthefight fading quickly and sickpanicrushinginbehindit.

'This way!' roaredMarovia,holdingopenadoorandbeckoningdesperately. Itwasnotas thoughtherewereother choices. Jezal rushedtowards him, caught one

gilded boot with the otherthree steps in, and wentsprawling painfully on hisface.Therewasacracking,atearing, a squealing of woodandmetalbehind.Heclawedhisway onto his back to seethegatestornapartinacloudof flying timber. Brokenplanks spun through the air,bent nails pinged from thepathways, splinters settled

gentlyacrossthelawns.A woman sauntered

throughtheopengateway,theair still shimmering gentlyaround her tall, thin body.Apale woman with long,golden hair. Another walkedbeside her, just the sameexcept that her left side wasspattered from head to toewith redblood.Twowomen,happy smiles on their

beautiful, perfect, identicalfaces.Oneof themslappedaKnight Herald across thehead as he charged up,tearing his winged helmetfrom his shattered skull andsending it spinning high intothe air. The other turned herblack, empty eyes on Jezal.He struggled up and ran,wheezing with fear, slidthrough the door beside

Marovia and into theshadowy hallway, lined withancientarmsandarmour.

Gorst and a few Knightsof theBody tumbled throughafter him. Over theirshoulderstheone-sidedbattlein the gardens continued. Aman raised a flatbowonly toexplodeinashowerofblood.An armoured corpse crashedintoaKnightjustasheturned

to run, sent him hurtlingsideways through a window,sword spinning from hishand. Another ran towardsthem,armspumping,tumbleddown a few strides away,thrashing on the ground,flames spurting from thejointsinhisarmour.

'Help me!' someonewailed. 'Help me! Help—'Gorst slammed the heavy

doors shutwithhisonegoodarm, one of his fellowsdroppedthethickbarintothebrackets. They tore oldpolearms from thewalls,onewith a tattered battle-flagattached,andstartedwedgingtheminthedoorway.

Jezalwasalreadybackingaway, cold sweat tickling athis skin under his armour,grippingtighttothehiltofhis

sword more for reassurancethan defence. His drasticallydenuded entourage stumbledback with him—Gorst,Marovia, andbut fiveothers,theirgasping,horrifiedbreathechoing in the dim corridor,allstaringtowardsthedoor.

'Thelastgatedidnotholdthem,' Jezalwhispered. 'Whyshouldthisone?'

Nooneanswered.

'Keep your wits about you,gentlemen,' saidGlokta. 'Thedoor, please.' The fatmercenarytookhisaxetothefront gate of the University.Splinters flew. It wobbled atthe first blow, shuddered atthe second, tore open at thethird. The one-eyed dwarfslithered through, a knife ineither hand, closely followed

by Cosca, sword drawn.'Clear,' came his Styriandrawlfrominside,'iffusty.'

'Excellent.'Glokta lookedatArdee. 'Itmight be best ifyoustayedtowardstheback.'

She gave an exhaustednod. 'I was thinking thesame.' He limped painfullyoverthethreshold,black-cladmercenaries pouring throughthe doorway behind him, the

last of them dragging Goylereluctantly by his bandagedwrists. And along the verypaths I took the first time Ivisited this heap of dust, somanymonthsago.Before thevote. Before Dagoska, even.Howlovelytobeback…

Down the dark hallway,past the dirty paintings offorgotten Adepti, torturedfloorboards groaning under

the boots of themercenaries.Glokta lurched out into thewidedininghall.

The freak-show ofPracticalswasscatteredaboutthedimchamberjustasithadbeen when he last visited.The two identical men fromSuljuk, with their curvedswords.Thetall,thinone,thedarkmenwiththeiraxes, thevast Northman with the

ruined face. And so on. Agood score of them in all.Have they been sitting hereall this time, I wonder, justbeing menacing to eachother?

Vitari was already upfrom her chair. 'I thought Itold you to keep away fromhere,cripple.'

'Itried,indeedIdid,butIcouldnotbanish thememory

ofyoursmile.''Ho, ho, Shylo!' Cosca

strolledoutfromthehallway,twiddling at the waxed endsof his moustache with onehand, sword drawn in theother.

'Cosca! Don't you everdie?'Vitariletacross-shapedknifetumblefromherhandtoclatter across the boards onthe end of a long chain.

'SeemsadayformenIhopedI'd seen the last of.' HerPracticals spread out aroundher, swords sliding fromsheaths, axes, maces, spearsscraping off the table. Themercenariesclomped into thehall,theirownweaponsattheready. Glokta cleared histhroat. 'I think it would bebetter forallconcerned ifwecould discuss this like

civilised—''You see anyone

civilised?'snarledVitari.Afairpoint.OnePractical

spranguponthetablemakingthe cutlery jump. The one-handedmercenarywaved hishook in the air. The twoheavily-armed groups edgedtowardseachother. It lookedverymuchasifCoscaandhishiredhandswouldbeearning

their pay.AmerrybloodbathI daresay it will be, and theoutcome of a bloodbath isnotoriously hard to predict.All in all, Iwould rather nottakethegamble.

'A shame about yourchildren! A shame for them,that there's no one civilisedaround!'

Vitari's orange eyebrowsdrew furiously inwards.

'They'refaraway!''Oh, I'm afraid not. Two

girls and a boy? Beautiful,flaming red hair, just liketheir mother's?' Which gatewould they go through? TheGurkish came from thewest,so… 'They were stopped atthe east gate, and taken intocustody.'Gloktastuckouthisbottom lip. 'Protectivecustody.Thesearedangerous

times for children to bewandering the streets, youknow.'

Even with her mask onGlokta could see her horror.'When?'shehissed.

When would a lovingmother send her children tosafety?'Why,theverydaytheGurkish arrived, of course,you know that.' Theway hereyeswidenedtoldhimthathe

had guessed right. Now totwist the blade. 'Don't worrythough, they're tucked upsafe. Practical Severard isactingasnurse.But ifIdon'tcomeback…'

'Youwouldn'thurtthem.''What is itwith everyone

today? Lines I won't cross?People I won't hurt?' Gloktashowed his most revoltingleer. 'Children? Hope, and

prospects, and all that happylife aheadof them? Idespisethe little bastards!' Heshrugged his twistedshoulders. 'But perhaps youknow me better. If you'rekeen to play dice with yourchildren's lives,Isupposewecan find out. Or we couldreachanunderstanding,aswedidinDagoska.'

'Shitonthis,'growledone

of the Practicals, hefting hisaxeandtakingastepforward.And the atmosphere ofviolence lurches anotherdizzy step towards thebrink…

Vitari shoved out heropenhand.'Don'tmove.'

'You've got children, sowhat?Means nothing to me.It'll mean nothing to Sulteeeeeee—'Therewas a flash

of metal, the jingling of achain, and the Practicalstaggered forward, bloodpouring from his openedthroat.

Vitari's cross-shapedknife slapped back into herpalm and her eyes flickedback to Glokta. 'Anunderstanding?'

'Exactly. You stay here.We go past. You didn't see

nothing, as they say in theolder parts of town. Youknow well enough that youcan'ttrustSult.Heleftyoutothe dogs in Dagoska, didn'the? And he's all done,anyway. The Gurkish areknocking at the door. Timewetriedsomethingnew,don'tyouthink?'

Vitari's mask shifted asshe worked her mouth.

Thinking, thinking. The eyesof her killers sparkled, theblades of their weaponsglinted. Don't call the bluff,bitch,don'tyoudare…

'Alright!' She gesturedwith her arm and thePracticals edged unhappilyback, still glaring at themercenaries across the room.Vitarinoddedher spikyheadtowardsadoorwayattheend

of the chamber. 'Down thathall, down the stairs at theend, and there's a door. Adoorwithblackironrivets.'

'Excellent.' A few wordscan be more effective than alot of blades, even in suchtimes as these. Glokta beganto hobble away, Cosca andhismenfollowing.

Vitarifrownedafterthem,her eyes deadly slits. 'If you

somuchastouchmy—''Yes, yes.' Glokta waved

his hand. 'My terror isboundless.'

There was a moment ofstillness,astheremainsofthegutted building settled acrossone side of the Square ofMarshals. The Eaters stood,as shocked as Ferro, a circle

of amazement. Bayazappeared to be the only onenot horrified by the scale ofthe destruction. His harshchuckling echoed out andbouncedbackfromthewalls.'Itworks!'heshouted.

'No!' screamed Mamun,andtheHundredWordscamerushingforward.

Closer they came, thepolished blades of their

beautiful weapons flashing,their hungrymouths hangingopen, their white teethgleaming. Closer yet,streaming inwards withterriblespeed,shriekingoutachorusofhatethatmadeevenFerro'sbloodturncold.

But Bayaz only laughed.'Letthejudgementbegin!'

Ferro growled throughclenched teeth as the Seed

burned cold at her palm. Amighty blast of wind sweptoutacrossthesquarefromitscentre, sent Eaters tumblinglike skittles, rolling andflailing. It shattered everywindow, ripped open everydoor, stripped the roofs ofeverybuildingbare.

The great inlaid gates ofthe Lords' Round weresucked open, then torn from

their hinges, careering acrossthe square. Tons of wood,spinning over and over likesheets of paper in a gale.They carved a crazy swathethrough the helpless Eaters.They ripped white-armouredbodiesapart,sendingpartsoflimbs flying, blood and dustgoing up in sprays andspatters.

Ferro's hand was

shimmering, and half herforearm. She gasped quickbreaths as the cold spreadthrough her veins, out toevery part of her, burning ather insides.TheSeedblurredandtrembledasifshelookedat it through fast flowingwater. The wind whipped athereyesaswhitefigureswereflung through the air liketoys, writhing in a storm of

shattered glass, shreddedwood, splintered stone. Nomore than a dozen of themkept their feet, reeling,clutching at the ground,shining hair streaming fromtheir heads, strainingdesperatelyagainsttheblast.

One of them reached forFerro,snarling into thewind.A woman, her glitteringchain-mail thrashing, her

hands clawing at thescreaming air. She edgedcloser, andcloser.Asmooth,proud face, stamped withcontempt.

Like the faces of theEaterswhohadcome forhernearDagoska.Like the facesoftheslaverswhohadstolenher life from her. Like theface of Uthman-ul-Dosht,who had smiled at her anger

andherhelplessness.Ferro's shriek of fury

mergedwith the shrieking ofthewind.Shehadnotknownthatshecouldswingaswordso hard. The look of shockonlyjusthadtimetoformontheEater'sperfectfacebeforethe curved blade slicedthrough her outstretched armand took her head from hershoulders. The corpse was

plucked flopping away, dustflying from its gapingwounds.

The air was full offlashing shapes. Ferro stoodfrozen as debriswhirred pasther.Abeamcrashed throughastrugglingEater'schestandcarried it screaming away,highintotheair,spittedlikealocust on a skewer. Anotherburst suddenly apart in a

cloudof blood and flesh, theremains sucked spiralling upintothetremblingsky.

The great Eater with thebeard struggled forward,liftinghishugeclubabovehishead,bellowingwordsnoonecould hear. Through thepulsing, twisting air FerrosawBayazraiseoneeyebrowathim,sawhislipsmakeoneword.

'Burn.'For a single moment he

blazed as brightly as a star,the image of him stampedwhite intoFerro's eyes.Thenhis blackened bones weresnatchedawayintothestorm.

Only Mamun remained.He strained forwards,dragging his feet across thestone,acrosstheiron,inchbydesperate inch towards

Bayaz.Onearmouredgreavetore

from his leg and flew backspinning through themaddened air, then a platefromhisshoulderfollowedit.Torn cloth flapped. The skinonhis snarling facebegan torippleandstretch.

'No!' One clutching,clawing arm stretcheddesperately out towards the

First of the Magi, fingertipsstraining.

'Yes,' said Bayaz, the airaround his smiling facetrembling like the air abovethedesert.ThenailstorefromMamun's fingers, hisoutstretched arm bent back,snapped,wasrippedfromhisshoulder. Flawless skinpeeled from bone, flappinglike sailcloth in a squall,

brown dust flying out of historn body like a sandstormoverthedunes.

He was dashed suddenlyaway,crashed throughawallnearthetopofoneofthetallbuildings. Blocks weresucked from theedgesof theragged hole he left andtumbled outwards, upwards.They joined the whippingpaper, thrashing rock,

spinning planks, flailingcorpses that reeled throughtheairaroundtheedgeofthesquare, faster and faster, acircle of destruction thatfollowed the iron circles ontheground.Itreachednowashighasthetallbuildings,andnowhigheryet. It flayedandscoured at everything itpassed, tearing up morestone, glass, wood, metal,

flesh, growing darker, faster,louder and more powerfulwitheverymoment.

Over the mindless angerof the wind Ferro could justhearBayaz'voice.

'Godsmilesonresults.'

Dogman got up, and shookhissorehead,dirtflyingfromhis hair. There was blood

runningdownhisarm,redonwhite.Seemedasiftheworldhadn'tendedafterall.

Looked like it had comeclose,though.

Bridge and gatehouseboth had disappeared.Wherethey'd stood there wasnothing but a great heap ofbroken stone and a yawningchasm carved out of thewalls.Thatandawholelotof

dust. There were still somefolk killing, but therewere alot more rolling about,choking and groaning,staggering through therubbish,thefightallgoneoutof 'em. Dogman knew howtheyfelt.

Someonewas clamberingup onto that mass of junkwhere the moat used to be,heading towards the breach.

Someonewithatangledmessof hair and a long sword inonehand.

Who else but LogenNinefingers?

'Ah,shit,'cursedDogman.He'd got some damn foolideas all of a sudden, hadLogen, but that wasn'thalfwaytheworstofit.Therewas someone following himacross that bridge of rubble.

Shivers, axe in hand, shieldon arm, and a frown on hisdirty face like a man withsomedarkworkinmind.

'Ah,shit!'Grim shrugged his dusty

shoulders.'Bestgetafter'em.''Aye.' Dogman jerked his

thumbatRedHat,justgettingup from the ground andshaking a pile of grit off his

coat. 'Getsomeladstogether,eh?' He pointed off towardsthe breach with the blade ofhis sword. 'We're going thatway.'

Damnitbutheneeded topiss,justlikealways.

Jezal backed away down theshadowy hall, hardly daringeven to breathe, feeling the

sweatprickleathispalms,athis neck, at the small of hisback.

'What are they waitingfor?'someonemuttered.

There was a gentlecreaking sound above. Jezallooked up towards the blackrafters.'Didyouhear—'

Ashapeburstthroughtheceilingandhurtleddowninto

the hallway in a white blur,flattening one of theKnightsof theBody, her feet leavingtwo great dents in hisbreastplate, blood sprayingfromhisvisor.

She smiled up at Jezal.'Greetings from the ProphetKhalul.'

'The Union!' roaredanother Knight, chargingforward. One moment his

sword whistled towards her.Thenextshewasontheotherside of the corridor. Thebladeclangedharmlesslyintothe stone floor and the mantottered forward. She seizedhim under the armpit, benther knees slightly, and flunghim shrieking through theceiling.Brokenplasterraineddownas shegrabbedanotherKnight round the neck and

smashed his head into thewall with such force that hewas left embedded in theshattered stonework,armoured legs dangling.Antiqueswordstumbledfromtheir brackets and clattereddownintothehallwayaroundhislimpcorpse.

'This way!' The HighJustice dragged Jezal, numband helpless, towards a pair

ofgildeddoubledoors.Gorstlifted up one heavy boot,gave them a shivering kickand sent them flying open.They burst through into theChamber of Mirrors, clearedof the many tables that hadstood there on Jezal'sweddingnight,anemptyacreofpolishedtiles.

He ran for the far door,his slapping footfalls and his

heaving, wheezing, horrifiedbreathechoingoutaroundthehuge room. He saw himselfrunning, distorted, in themirrors far aheadofhim, themirrors to each side. Aludicrous sight. A clown-king, fleeing though his ownpalace, crown askew, hisscarred face beaded withsweat, slack with terror andexhaustion. He skidded to a

halt, almost fell overbackwards in his haste tostop, Gorst nearly ploughingintohisback.

One of the twins wassittingonthefloorbesidethefar doorway, leaning backagainst the mirrored wall,reflected in it, as though shewere leaning against hersister. She lifted up onelanguorous hand, daubed

crimson with blood, and shewaved.

Jezal spun towards thewindows. Before he couldeven think of running one ofthemburstintotheroom.Theother twin came tumblingthrough in a shower ofglittering glass, rolled overand over across the polishedfloor,unfoldedtoherfeetandslidtoastop.

She ran one long handthrough her golden hair,yawned, and smacked herlips. 'Have you ever had thefeeling that someone else ishavingallthefun?'sheasked.

Reckonings

«^»

Red Hat had been right.There was no reason foranyone to die here. No onebuttheBloody-Nine,atleast.

Itwas high time that bastardtookhisshareoftheblame.

'Still alive,' Logenwhispered, 'still alive.' Hecrept around the corner of awhite building and into thepark.

Herememberedthisplacefull of people. Laughing,eating, talking.Therewasnolaughter here now. He sawbodiesscatteredonthelawns.

Some armoured, some not.Hecouldhearadistantroar—far-offbattle,maybe.Nothingnearer except the hissing ofthe wind through the barebranchesandthecrunchingofhis own footsteps in thegravel. His skin prickled ashecrepttowardsthehighwallofthepalace.

The heavy doors weregone,only the twistedhinges

left hanging in the archway.Thegardensontheothersidewere full of corpses.Armoured men, all dentedand bloody. There was acrowd of them on the pathbefore the gate, crushed andbrokenas though they'dbeensmashed with a gianthammer. One was slicedclean in half, the two pieceslyinginaslickofdarkblood.

Amanstood in themidstof all this. He had whitearmour on, speckled anddustedwith red.Awind hadblownup in thegardens,andhis black hair flicked aroundhis face, dark skin smoothand flawless as a baby's. Hewasfrowningdownatabodynearhisfeet,buthelookedupatLogenashecame throughthe gate. Without hatred or

fear, without happiness orsadness. Without anythingmuch.

'Youarealongwayfromhome,'hesaid,inNorthern.

'You too.' Logen lookedinto thatemptyface. 'YouanEater?'

'To that crime I mustconfess.'

'We're all guilty o'

something.' Logen hefted hissword inonehand. 'Shallwegettoit,then?'

'IcameheretokillBayaz.Nooneelse.'

Logen glanced round atthe ruined corpses scatteredacross the gardens. 'How'sthatworkingoutforyou?'

'Once you set your mindonkilling,itishardtochoose

thenumberofthedead.''Thatisafact.Bloodgets

you nothing butmore blood,myfatherusedtotellme.'

'Awiseman.''IfonlyI'dlistened.''It is hard, sometimes, to

know what is… the truth.'TheEaterlifteduphisbloodyright hand and frowned at it.'It is fitting that a righteous

manshouldhave…doubts.''You tell me. Can't say I

know too many righteousmen.'

'IoncethoughtIdid.NowIamnotsure.Wemustfight?'

Logentookalongbreath.'Looksthatway.'

'Sobeit.'Hecamesofasttherewas

hardlytimetoliftasword,let

alone swing it. Logen threwhimself out of the way butstill got caught in the ribswith something—elbow,knee,shoulder.Itcanbehardto tell when you're floppingover and over on the grass,everything tumbling aroundyou.Hetriedtogetup,foundthat he couldn't. Raising hisheadaninchwasalmostmorethanhecouldmanage.Every

breath was painful. Hedropped back, staring up atthe white sky. Maybe heshould've stayed outside thewalls. Maybe he should'vejust let the lads rest in thetrees, until after it was allsettled.

ThetallshapeoftheEaterswam into his blurry vision,blackagainsttheclouds.'Iamsorry for this. Iwill pray for

you. Iwill pray for us both.'He lifted up his armouredfoot.

An axe chopped into hisfaceandsenthimstaggering.Logen shook the light out ofhishead,draggedsomeairin.He forced himself up ontoone elbow, clutching at hisside. He saw a white-armouredfistflashdownandcrash onto Shivers' shield. It

ripped a chunk out of theedge and knocked Shiversonto his knees. An arrowpinged off the Eater'sshoulder-plate and he turned,one side of his head hangingbloodilyopen.Asecondshaftstuck him neatly through theneck. Grim and the Dogmanstood in the archway, theirbowsraised.

The Eaterwent pounding

towards them with hugestrides, the wind of hispassingtearingatthegrass.

'Huh,' said Grim. TheEater rammed into him withan armoured elbow. Hecrashedintoa treetenstridesawayand floppeddownontothegrass.TheEaterraiseditsotherarmtochopatDogmanand a Carl stabbed a spearinto him, carried him

thrashing backwards. MoreNorthmen charged throughthe gate, crowding round,screaming and shouting,hacking with axes andswords.

Logen rolled over,crawled across the lawn andseized hold of his sword,tearingawethandfulofgrassup with it. A Carl tumbledpast him, broken head

covered in blood. Logensqueezed his jaws togetherandcharged,liftinghisswordinbothhands.

It bit into the Eater'sshoulder,sheared throughhisarmour and split him opendown as far as his chest,showering blood in theDogman's face. Same time,almost, one of the Carlscaught him full in the side

with a maul, smashed hisotherarmandleftagreatdentinhisbreastplate.

The Eater stumbled andRedHathackedagashinoneofhis legs.He lurched tohisknees,bloodspillingfromhiswoundsandrunningdownhisdentedwhitearmour,poolingon the path underneath him.He was smiling, so far asLogencouldtellwithhalfhis

face hanging off. 'Free,' hewhispered.

Logen raised theMaker'sblade and hacked his headfromhisshoulders.

A wind had blown upsuddenly, swirling throughthestainedstreets,hissingoutof the burned-out buildings,whipping ash and dust in

West's face as he rodetowards the Agriont. He hadto shout over it. 'Howdowefare?'

'The fight's gone out of'em!'bellowedBrint,hishairdragged sideways by anothergust. 'They're in full retreat!Seems as if they were tookeen to get the Agriontsurrounded and they weren'tready for us! Now they're

fallingovereachother togetaway to the west. Still somefighting around Arnault'sWall, but Orso has them ontherunintheThreeFarms!'

West saw the familiarshapeoftheTowerofChainsoverthetopofaruin,andheurged his horse towards it.'Good! If we can just clearthem away from the Agriontwe'llhavethebestofit!Then

we can…' He trailed off asthey rounded the corner andcould see all the way to thewest gate of the citadel. Or,more accurately, where thewestgatehadoncebeen.

It took him a moment tomake sense of it. TheTowerof Chains loomed up to oneside of amonumental breachin the wall of the Agriont.The entire gatehouse had

somehowbeenbroughtdown,along with large sections ofthe wall to either side, theremains choking the moatbelow or distributed widelyaround the ruined streets infront.

The Gurkish were insidetheAgriont.TheveryheartoftheUnionlayexposed.

Not far ahead, now, aformless battle was still

raging before the citadel.West urged his horse closer,throughthestragglersandthewounded, into the veryshadowof thewalls.He sawa line of kneeling flatbow-men deliver a witheringvolley into a crowd ofGurkish, bodies toppling.Beside him a man screamedintothewindasanothertriedto secure a tourniquet on the

bloodystumpofhisleg.Pike's face was grimmer

even than usual. 'We shouldbefurtherback,sir.Thisisn'tsafe.'

West ignored him. Eachman had to do his part,withoutexception.

'Weneedalineformeduphere! Where is GeneralKroy?' The Sergeant was no

longerlistening.Hiseyeshaddrifted upwards, his mouthdroppingstupidlyopen.Westturnedaroundinhissaddle.

A black column wasrising above the western endof the citadel. It seemed atfirst to be made of swirlingsmoke, but as West gainedsome sense of scale herealised it was spinningmatter. Masses of it.

Countlesstonsofit.Hiseyesfollowed it upwards, higherand higher. The cloudsthemselves were moving,whipped round in a spiral atthe centre, shifting in a slowcircle above them. Thefighting sputtered, as UnionandGurkishalikegapedupatthe writhing pillar above theAgriont,theTowerofChainsa black finger in front of it,

the House of the Maker aninsignificant pin-prickbehind.

Thingsbegantorainfromthe sky.Small things, at first— splinters, dust, leaves,fragments of paper. Then achunk of wood the size of achair leg plummeted downand bounced spinning fromthe paving. A soldiersquealed as a stone big as a

fist smashed into hisshoulder.Thosewhowerenotfighting were backing away,crouching to the ground,holding shields above theirheads.Thewindwasgrowingmore savage, clotheswhipping in the storm, menstumbling against it, leaninginto it, teeth gritted and eyesnarrowed.Thespinningpillarwas growing wider, darker,

faster, higher, touching thevery sky. West could seespecks around its edgedancing against the whitecloudslikeswarmsofmidgesonasummer'sday.

Except that these weretumbling blocks of stone,wood, earth, metal, by somefreak of nature sucked intotheheavensandsetflying.Hedid not know what was

happening, or how. All hecoulddowasstare.

'Sir!'bellowedPikeinhisear. 'Sir, we must go!' Heseized hold ofWest's bridle.A great chunk of masonrycrashed into the paving notfar from them. West's horserearedup,screaminginpanic.Theworldlurched,spun,wasblack, he was not sure howlongfor.

He was on his face,mouth full of grit. He raisedhis head, wobbled drunkenlyup to his hands and knees,wind roaring in his ears,flyinggritstingingathisface.It was dark as dusk. The airwas fullof tumbling rubbish.Itrippedattheground,atthebuildings, at the men,huddled now like sheep, allthoughts of battle long

forgotten,thelivingsprawledon their faces with the dead.The Tower of Chains wasscoured by debris, the slatesflying from its rafters, thenthe rafters tornaway into thestorm. A giant beamplummeteddownandcrashedinto the cobbles, spun endoverend,flingingcorpsesoutofitspathtoslicethroughthewall of a house and send its

roofslidinginwards.West trembled, tears

snatched away from hisstingingeyes,utterlyhelpless.Was this how the endwouldcome? Not covered in bloodand glory at the head of afool's charge like GeneralPoulder. Not passing quietlyin the night like MarshalBurr.Notevenhoodedonthescaffold for the murder of

CrownPrinceLadisla.Crushed at random by a

giant piece of rubbish fallingfromthesky.

'Forgive me,' hewhisperedintothetempest.

He saw the black outlineof the Tower of Chainsshifting. He saw it leanoutwards. Chunks of stonerained down, splashed into

thechurningmoat.Thewholevast edifice lurched, bulged,and toppled outwards, withludicrous slowness, throughtheflailingstormandintothecity.

It broke into monstroussections as it fell, crashingdown upon the houses,crushing cowering men likeants, throwing deadlymissilesineverydirection.

Andthatwasall.

There were no buildings,now, around the space thathad once been the Square ofMarshals. The gushingfountains, the stately statuesin theKingsway, the palacesfullofsoftpinks.

Allsnatchedaway.The gilded dome had

liftedfromtheLords'Round,cracked, split, and beenripped into chaff. The highwallof theHallsMartialwasaravagedruin.Therestoftheproudbuildingswerenothingmore than shattered stumps,torn down to their veryfoundations. They had allmelted away before Ferro'swateringeyes.Dissolvedintotheformlessmassoffurythat

whirled shrieking around theFirst of the Magi, endlesslyhungryfromthegroundtotheveryheavens.

'Yes!' She could hear hisdelighted laughter, over thenoise of the storm. 'I amgreater than Juvens! I amgreaterthanEuzhimself!'

Was this vengeance?Then how much of it wouldmake her whole? Ferro

wondered dumbly howmanypeople had been cowering inthosevanishedbuildings.Theshimmering around the Seedwas swelling, up to hershoulder, then to her neck,anditengulfedher.

Theworldgrewquiet.Far away the destruction

continued, but it was blurrednow,thesoundsofitcametoher muffled, as if through

water. Her handwas beyondcold. She was numb to theshoulder. She saw Bayaz,smiling, his arms raised. Thewind ripped about them, awallofendlessmovement.

But there were shapeswithinit.

They grew sharper evenas the restof theworldgrewless distinct. They gatheredaround the outside of the

outermost circle. Shadows.Ghosts. A hungry crowd ofthem.

'Ferro…' came theirwhisperingvoices.

Astormhadblownupsuddenin the gardens, more suddeneven than the storms in theHigh Places. The light hadfaded, then stuff had started

tumblingdownfromthedarksky. Dogman didn't knowwhere it was coming fromand he didn't much care. Hehad other things morepressingtoworryon.

They dragged thewounded in through a highdoorway, groaning, cursing,or worst of all, sayingnothing. A couple they leftoutside, back to the mud

already. No point wastingbreathon themwhowere farpasthelping.

LogenhadGrimunderhisarmpits,theDogmanhadhimby the boots. His face waswhiteaschalkbutfortheredblood on his lips.You couldseeitplainonhisfacethatitwas bad, but he didn'tcomplain any, not HardingGrim.Dogmanwouldn'thave

believeditifhehad.Theysethimdownonthe

floor, in the gloom on theother side of the door.Dogman could hear thingsrattling against the windows,thumping against the turfoutside, clattering on theroofs above.Moremenwerecarried in—broken arms andbroken legs and worsebesides. Shivers came after,

bloody axe in one hand andhis shield-arm danglinguseless.

Dogmanhadneverseenahallwaylikeit.Thefloorwasmade of green stone andwhite stone, polished upsmooth and shiningbright asglass. The walls were hungwith great paintings. Theceiling was crusted withflowersandleaves,carvedso

fine they looked almost real,except that they were madefrom gold, glittering in thedimlight leaking through thewindows.

Men bent down, tendingto fellows injured, givingthemwaterandsoftwords,asplint or two being fixed.LogenandShivers just stoodthere, giving each other alook.Nothatred,exactly,and

not respect. It was hard forthe Dogman to say what itwas,andhedidn'tmuchcareaboutthateither.

'Whatwereyouthinking?'he snapped. 'Pissing off onyour own like that? Thoughtyou were supposed to bechief, now! That's a pooreffort,ain'tit?'

Logen only stared back,eyes gleaming in the gloom.

'Got to help Ferro,' hemuttered, half to himself.'Jezaltoo.'

Dogman stared at him.'Gottohelpwho?There'srealfolkhereinneedo'help.'

'I ain't much with thewounded.'

'Onlywith themaking of'em! Go on then, Bloody-Nine,ifyoumust.Gettoit.'

DogmansawLogen'sfaceflinch when he heard thatname. He backed away, onehandclamped tohissideandhis sword gripped bloody intheother.Thenheturnedandlimpedoffdowntheglitteringhallway.

'Hurts,' said Grim, asDogman squatted down nexttohim.

'Where?'

He gave a bloody smile.'Everywhere.'

'Right, well…' Dogmanpulled his shirt up. One sideof his chest was caved in, agreatblue-blackbruisespreadout all across it like a tar-stain.Hecouldhardlybelieveamancouldstillbebreathingwithawoundlikethat.'Ah…'he muttered, not having acluewheretostarteven.

'Ithink…I'mdone.''What, this?' Dogman

triedtogrinbutdidn'thaveitinhim.'Nomore'nascratch.'

'Scratch, eh?' Grim triedto lift his head, winced andfell back, breathing shallow.Hestaredup,eyeswideopen.'That's a fucking beautifulceiling.'

The Dogman swallowed.

'Aye.Ireckon.''Should've died fighting

Ninefingers, long time ago.The rest was all a gift.Grateful for it, though,Dogman.I'vealwaysloved…ourtalks.'

Heclosedhiseyes,andhestoppedbreathing.He'dneversaid much, Harding Grim.Famousfor it.Nowhe'dstaysilentforever.Apointlesssort

of a death, a long way fromhome. Not for anything he'dbelievedin,orunderstood,orstood to gain from. Nothingmore'n a waste. But thenDogman had seen a lot ofmengobacktothemud,andtherewasneveranythingfineabout it. He took a longbreath,andstareddownatthefloor.

A single lamp cast creepingshadows across themouldering hallway, overrough stone and flakingplaster. It made sinisteroutlines of the mercenaries,turned Cosca's face andArdee's into unfamiliarmasks. The darkness seemedto gather inside the heavystoneworkofthearchwayandaround the door within—

ancient-looking, knotted andgrained, studded with blackironrivets.

'Something amusing,Superior?'

'I stood here,' murmuredGlokta. 'In this exact spot.With Silber.' He reached outand brushed the iron handlewith his fingertips. 'My handwas on the latch… and Imovedon.'Ah,theirony.The

answersweseek so longandfar for—so often at ourfingertipsallalong.

Glokta feltashiverdownhistwistedspineasheleanedclose to the door. He couldhearsomethingfrombeyond,a muffled droning in alanguage he did notrecognise. The AdeptusDemonic calls upon thedenizens of the abyss? He

licked his lips, the image ofHighJusticeMarovia'sfrozenremains fresh in hismind. Itwould be rash to plungestraight through, howeverkeen we are to put ourquestionstorest.Veryrash…

'Superior Goyle, sinceyouhaveledushere,perhapsyouwouldcaretogofirst?'

'Geegh?' squeaked Goylethrough his gag, his already

bulging eyes going evenwider. Cosca took theSuperior of Adua by hiscollar, seized the iron handlewith his other hand, thrust itswiftly open and applied hisboot to the seat of Goyle'strousers. He stumbledthrough, bellowingmeaninglessnonsenseintohisgag. Themetallic sound of aflatbow being discharged

issued from the other side ofthe door, along with thechanting, louder and harshernowbyfar.

What would ColonelGlokta have said? Onwardsto victory, lads! Gloktalurchedthroughthedoorway,almost tripping over his ownaching foot on the threshold,and gazed about him insurprise.Alarge,circularhall

with a domed ceiling, itsshadowywallspaintedwithavast, exquisitely detailedmural. And one that seemsuncomfortably familiar.Kanedias, theMasterMaker,loomed up over the chamberwith arms outspread, fivetimes life-size or more, fireblazing from behind him invividcrimson,orange,white.On the opposite wall lay his

brother Juvens, stretched outon the grass beneathflowering trees, bloodrunning from his manywounds. In between the twomen, the Magi marched totaketheirrevenge,sixononeside, five on the other, baldBayazinthelead.Blood,fire,death, vengeance. Howwonderfully appropriate,giventhecircumstances.

An intricate design hadbeen laid out with obsessivecare, covering wide floor.Circleswithincircles,shapes,symbols, figures offrightening complexity, alldescribed in neat lines ofwhite powder. Salt, unless Iammuchmistaken.Goylelayon his chest a stride or twofrom thedoor,at theedgeoftheoutermost ring, his hands

still tied behind him. Darkblood spread out from underhim, the point of a flatbowbolt sticking out of his back.Just where his heart shouldbe. Iwouldneverhave takenthatforhisweakspot.

Four of the University'sAdeptistoodinvariousstagesofamazement.Threeofthem:Chayle, Denka, andKandelau, held candles in

both hands, their sputteringwicks giving off a chokingcorpse-stink. Saurizin, theAdeptus Chemical, clutchedan empty flatbow. The facesof the oldmen, lit in biliousyellow from beneath, werepantomimemasksoffear.

At the far side of theroom Silber stood behind alectern, a great book openbeforehim,staringdownwith

intense concentration by thelight of a single lamp. Hisfingerhissedacrossthepage,his thin lips movingceaselessly. Even at thisdistance, and despite the facttheroomwasicycold,Gloktacould see fat beads of sweatrunning down his thin face.Besidehim,painfullyuprightin his pure white coat andglaring blue daggers across

the width of the chamber,stoodArchLectorSult.

'Glokta, you crippledbastard!'hesnarled,'whatthehellareyoudoinghere?'

'I could well ask you thesame question, yourEminence.' He waved hiscaneatthescene. 'Exceptthecandles, the ancient books,thechantingandthecirclesofsalt rather give the game

away, no?' And a ratherinfantile game it seems,suddenly.All that time,whileI was torturing my waythrough theMercers, while Iwas risking my life inDagoska, while I wasblackmailing votes in yourname,youwereupto…this?

But Sult seemed to betaking it seriously enough.'Getout,youfool!Thisisour

lastchance!''This? Seriously?' Cosca

wasalreadythroughthedoor,masked mercenariesfollowing. Silber's eyes werestill fixed on the book, lipsstill moving, more sweat onhis face than ever. Gloktafrowned. 'Someone shut himup.'

'No!' shouted Chayle, alook of utter horror on his

tiny face. 'You mustn't stopthe incantations! It is aprofoundly dangerousoperation! The consequencescouldbe…couldbe—'

'Disastrous!' shriekedKandelau. One of themercenaries took a steptowards the middle of theroomnonetheless.

'Don't treadnear thesalt!'screeched Denka, wax

dripping from his wobblingcandle.'Whateveryoudo!'

'Wait!' snapped Glokta,and the man paused at theedge of the circle, peering athimoverhismask.Theroomwas growing colder even astheyspoke.Unnaturallycold.Something was happening inthe centre of the circles. Theairwastrembling,liketheairabove a bonfire, more and

more as Silber's harsh voicedroned on. Glokta stoodfrozen, his eyes flickingbetweentheoldAdepti.Whattodo?Stophim,ordon'tstophim?Stophim,or—

'Allow me!' Coscastepped forwards, delvinginto his black coat with hissparelefthand.Butyoucan'tbe—Hewhippedhisarmoutwith a careless flourish and

histhrowingknifecamewithit. The blade flashed in thecandlelight, spun directlythroughtheshimmeringairinthe centre of the room, andimbedded itself to the hilt inSilber's forehead with agentlethud.

'Ha!'CoscaseizedGloktaby the shoulder. 'What did Itellyou?Haveyoueverseenaknifethrownbetter?'

Blood ran down the sideof Silber's face in a redtrickle. His eyes rolledupwards, flickered, then hesagged sideways, draggingover his lectern, and crashedto the floor. His booktumbleddownontopofhim,agedpagesflapping,thelampspilled over and sprayedstreaks of burning oil acrossthefloor.

'No!'shriekedSult.Chaylegasped,hismouth

falling open.Kandelau threwhis candle aside and sankgrovellingtothefloor.Denkagave a terrified squeak, onehandoverhisface,staringoutpop-eyed from between hisfingers. There was a longpause while everyone exceptCosca stared, horrified,towards the corpse of the

Adeptus Demonic. Gloktawaited, his few teeth bared,his eyes almost squeezedshut. Like that horrible,beautiful moment betweenstubbingyourtoeandfeelingthehurt.Hereitcomes.Hereitcomes.

Herecomesthepain…But nothing came. No

demonic laughter echoedthrough the chamber. The

floordidnotfallintoexposea gate to hell. Theshimmering faded, the roombegan to grow warmer.Glokta raised his brows,almostdisappointed.'Itwouldseem the diabolical arts aredecidedlyoverrated.'

'No!'snarledSultagain.'I am afraid so, your

Eminence. And to think Iused to respect you.' Glokta

grinned at the AdeptusChemical, still clingingweakly tohisempty flatbow.He waved a hand at Goyle'sbody. 'A good shot. Icongratulate you. One lessmess for me to tidy up.' Hewaved a finger at the crowdof mercenaries behind him.'Nowseizethatman.'

'No!' bellowed Saurizin,throwing his flatbow to the

floor. 'None of it was myidea! Ihadnochoice! Itwashim!' He stabbed a thickfinger at Silber's lifelessbody. 'And… and him!' Hepointed to Sult with atremblingarm.

'You'vegottherightidea,but it can wait for theinterrogation. Would you bekind enough to take hisEminenceintocustody?'

'Happily.' Cosca strolledacross the floor of the wideroom, his boots sending uppuffs of white powder,leaving a trail of ruinationthroughtheintricatepatterns.

'Glokta, you blunderingidiot!' shrieked Sult. 'Youhave no idea of the dangerBayazposes!ThisFirstoftheMagi and his bastard king!Glokta! You have no right!

Gah!' He yelped as Coscadragged his arms behind hisback and forced him to hisknees, his white hair indisarray. 'You have no idea—'

'If the Gurkish don't killthelotofus,you'llgetampletime to explain it to me. Ofthat I assure you.' Gloktaleered his toothless smile asCosca drew the rope tight

around Sult's wrists. If youonly knew how long I havedreamed of saying thesewords. 'Arch Lector Sult. Iarrest you for high treasonagainsthisMajestytheKing.'

Jezal could only stand andstare. One of the twins, theone spattered in blood, liftedherlongarmsslowlyoverherhead and gave a long,

satisfied stretch. The otherraisedaneyebrow.

'How would you like todie?'sheasked.

'YourMajesty,getbehindme.' Gorst hefted his longsteelinhisonegoodhand.

'No. Not this time.' Jezalpulled the crown from hishead, the crown that Bayazhad been so particular in

designing, and tossed itclatteringaway.Hewasdonewith being a king. If he wasto die, he would die a man,like any other. He had beengivensomanyadvantages,herealised now. Far more thanmost men could ever dreamof. So many chances to dogood, and he had donenothing besides whine andthink of himself.Now itwas

too late. 'I've lived my lifeleaning on others. Hidingbehind them. Climbing ontheirshoulders.Notthistime.'

One of the twins raisedher hands and started slowlyto clap, the regular tap, tap,echoingfromthemirrors.Theothergiggled.Gorstraisedhissword. Jezal did the same,one last act of pointlessdefiance.

Then High JusticeMarovia flashed betweenthem. The old man movedwith impossible speed, hisdark robe snapping aroundhim.Hehadsomethinginhishand. A long rod of darkmetalwithahookontheend.

'What—'mutteredJezal.The hook blazed

suddenly, searingly white,bright as the sun on a

summer's day. A hundredhooks burned like stars,reflected back from themirrors round the walls, andback, and back, into the fardistance. Jezal gasped,squeezed his eyes shut,holding one hand over hisface,thelongtrailleftbythatbrilliant point burned fizzingintohisvision.

He blinked, gaped,

lowered his arm. The twinsstood,theHighJusticebesidethem, just where they hadbefore, still as statues.Tendrils of white steamhissed up from vents in theend of the strange weaponand curled around Marovia'sarm. For a moment, nothingmoved.

Thenadozenofthegreatmirrors at the far end of the

hall fell in half across themiddle, as though they weresheets of paper slashedsuddenly by the world'ssharpest knife. A couple ofthebottomhalvesandoneofthe top toppled slowlyforwards into the room andshattered, scattering brightfragments of glass across thetiledfloor.

'Urgggh,' breathed the

twinontheleft.Jezalrealisedthat blood was spurting outfrom under her armour. Shelifted one hand towards himand itdroppedoff theendofher arm and thudded to thetiles,bloodsquirtingfromthesmoothly severed stump.Shetoppled to the left. Or herbody did, at least. Her legsfelltheotherway.Thebiggerpart of her crashed to the

ground, and her head cameoffandrolledacross the tilesinawideningpool.Herhair,trimmed off cleanly at theneck, fluttered down into thebloody mess in a goldencloud.

Armour, flesh, bone, alldivided into neat sections asperfectly as cheese by acheesewire.The twinon theright frowned, took a

wobbling step towardsMarovia.Her kneesgaveoutand she fell in half at thewaist. The legs slumpeddown and lay still, dustsliding out in a brown heap.The top half dragged itselfforwardbythenails,lifteditshead,hissing.

The air around the HighJustice shimmered and theEater's severed body burst

into flames. It thrashed, forawhile, making a longsquealing sound.Then itwasstill,amassofsmokingblackash.

Marovia lifted up thestrange weapon, whistlingsoftly as he smiled at thehook on the end, a last fewtraces of vapour still driftingfrom it. 'Kanedias. Hecertainlyknewhowtomakea

weapon. The Master Makerindeed,eh,yourMajesty?'

'What?' muttered Jezal,utterlydumbfounded.

Marovia's face meltedslowlyawayashecrossedthefloor towards them. Anotherbegan to show itselfbeneath.Only his eyes remained thesame. Different-colouredeyes, happy lines around thecorners,grinningatJezallike

anoldfriend.Yoru Sulfur bowed.

'Never any peace, eh, yourMajesty? Never the slightestpeace.'

Therewas a crash asoneofthedoorsburstopen.Jezalraised his sword, heart in hismouth.Sulfurwhippedround,the Maker's weapon helddown by his side. A manstumbledintotheroom.Abig

man, his grimacing facecovered in scars, his chestheaving, a heavy swordhanging from one hand, theotherclutchedtohisribs.

Jezalblinked,hardlyableto believe it. 'LogenNinefingers.Howthehelldidyougethere?'

The Northman stared fora moment. Then he leanedback against a mirror by the

door,lethissworddroptothetiles. He slid down, slowly,until he hit the floor, and satthere with his head leaningback against the glass. 'Longstory,'hesaid.

'Listentous…'

The wind was full ofshapes, now. Hundreds ofthem. They crowded in

around the outermost circle,the bright iron turned misty,gleamingwithcoldwet.

'…wehave things to tellyou,Ferro…'

'Secrets…''Whatcanwegiveyou?''Weknow…everything.''You need only let us

in…'So many voices. She

heard Aruf among them, herold teacher. She heardSusmantheslaver.Sheheardher mother and her father.SheheardYulwei,andPrinceUthman.Ahundredvoices.Athousand. Voices she knewand had forgotten. Voices ofthe dead and of the living.Shouts, mutters, screams.Whispers, in her ear. Closerstill. Closer than her own

thoughts.'Youwantvengeance?''We can give you

vengeance.''Like nothing you have

dreamedof.''All you want. All you

need.''Onlyletusin…''That empty space in

you?'

'Wearewhatismissing!'The metal rings had

turnedwhitewithfrost.Ferrokneeled at one end of adizzying tunnel, its wallsmade from rushing, roaring,furious matter, full ofshadows, its end far beyondthedarksky.The laughterofthe First of theMagi echoedfaintly in her ears. The airhummedwithpower,twisted,

shimmered,blurred.'Youneeddonothing.''Bayaz.''Hewilldoit.''Fool!''Liar!''Letusin…''Hecannotunderstand.''Heusesyou!''Helaughs.'

'Butnotforlong.''Thegatesstrain.''Letusin…'IfBayazheard thevoices

he gave no sign. Cracks ranthroughthequiveringpaving,branching out from his feet,splinters floating up aroundhim in whirling spirals. Theiron rings began to shift, tobuckle. With a grinding of

tortured metal they twistedout from the crumblingstones,brightedgesshining.

'Thesealsbreak.''Elevenwards.''And eleven wards

reversed.''Thedoorsopen.''Yes,' came the voices,

speakingtogether.The shadows crowded in

closer. Ferro's breath cameshort and fast, her teethrattled, her limbs trembled,the cold was on her veryheart.Shekneltataprecipice,bottomless, limitless, full ofshadows,fullofvoices.

'Soon we will be withyou.'

'Verysoon.''Thetimeisuponus.'

'Both sides of the divide,joined.'

'As they were meant tobe.'

'Before Euz spoke hisFirstLaw.'

'Letusin…'She needed only to cling

totheSeedamomentlonger.Then the voices would giveher vengeance. Bayaz was a

liar, she had known it fromthe start. She owed himnothing. Her eyelidsflickered, closed, her mouthhung open. The noise of thewind grew fainter yet, untilshe could hear only thevoices.

Whispering, soothing,righteous.

'We will take the worldandmakeitright.'

'Together.''Letusin…''Youwillhelpus.''Youwillfreeus.''Youcantrustus.''Trustus…'Trust?A word that only liars

used. Ferro remembered thewreckage of Aulcus. Thehollow ruins, the blasted

mud. The creatures of theOther Side are made of lies.Bettertohaveanemptyspaceinher,thantofillitwiththis.She wedged her tonguebetween her teeth and bitdownhard,felthermouthfillup with salty blood. Shesucked in breath, forced hereyesopen.

'Trustus…''Letusin!'

ShesawtheMaker'sbox,a shifting, swimmingoutline.She bent down over it,digging at it with her numbfingertipswhiletheairlashedather.Shewouldbenoone'sslave.Not forBayaz, not forthe Tellers of Secrets. Shewould find her own path. Adark one, perhaps, but herown.

Thelidswungopen.

'No.' The voices hissedtogetherinherear.

'No!'Ferro ground her bloody

teeth, growled with fury asshe forced her fingers tounclench. The world was amelting, screaming, formlessmass of darkness. Gradually,gradually, her dead handcame open. Here was herrevenge.Againsttheliars,the

users, the thieves. The earthshook,crumbled,tore,asthinandfragileasasheetofglass,and with an empty voidbeneath it. She turned hertrembling hand and the Seeddroppedfromherpalm.

All as one, the voicesscreamed their harshcommand.'No!'

Sheblindlyseizedholdofthelid.'Fuckyourselves!'she

hissed.Andwithherlastgrainof

strength she forced the boxclosed.

AftertheRains

«^»

Logen leanedon theparapet,highuponatoweratoneside

of the palace, and frownedinto the wind. He'd done thesame, it felt anageagonow,from the topof theTowerofChains. He'd stared outdumbstruck at the endlesscity, wondering if he couldeverhavedreamedofaman-made thing so proud, andbeautiful, and indestructibleastheAgriont.

By the dead, how times

change.The green space of the

parkwasscatteredwithfallenrubbish, trees broken, grassgouged, half the lake leakedawayandsunkentoamuddybog. At its western edge asweepoffinewhitebuildingsstill stood, even if thewindows gaped empty.Furtherwest,andtheyhadnoroofs, bare rafters hanging.

Further still their walls weretorn and scoured, emptyshells,chokedwithrubble.

Beyond that, there wasnothing. The great hall withthe golden dome, gone. Thesquare where Logen hadwatched the sword-game,gone. The Tower of Chains,themightywallunder it, andall the grand buildings overwhich Logen had fled with

Ferro.Allgone.A colossal circle of

destruction was carved fromthe western end of theAgriont, and only acres offormless wreckage remained.The city beyond was tornwith black scars, smoke stillrising from a few last fires,from smouldering hulks stilldriftinginthebay.TheHouseoftheMakerloomedoverthe

scene, a sharp black massunder the brooding clouds,uncaringanduntouched.

Logen stood there,scratching at the scarred sideofhisface,overandover.Hiswounds ached. So many ofthem.Every part of himwasbattered and bruised, slashedandtorn.Fromthefightwiththe Eater, from the battlebeyond the moat, from the

duel with the Feared, fromsevendaysofslaughterintheHighPlaces.Fromahundredfights, and skirmishes, andold campaigns. Toomany toremember.Sotired,andsore,andsick.

He frowned down at hishandson theparapet in frontofhim.Thebarestonelookedbackwherehismiddle fingerused to be. He was

Ninefingersstill.TheBloody-Nine. Amanmade of death,justasBethodhadsaid.He'dnearly killed the Dogmanyesterday, he knew it. Hisoldestfriend.Hisonlyfriend.He'd raised the sword, and ifitwasn'tforatrickoffate,hewouldhavedoneit.

He remembered standinghigh up, on the side of theGreat Northern library,

looking out over the emptyvalley, the still lake like agreat mirror beneath it. Heremembered feeling thewindon his fresh-shaved jaw, andwondering whether a mancouldchange.

Nowheknewtheanswer.'MasterNinefingers!'Logen turned quickly,

hissedthroughhisteethasthe

stitchesdownhissideburned.TheFirstoftheMagisteppedthrough thedoorway andoutinto the open air. He waschanged, somehow. Helooked young.Younger eventhan when Logen first methim.Therewasasharpnesstohis movements, a gleam inhis eye. It even seemed thattherewereafewdarkhairsinthe grey beard round his

friendly grin. The first smileLogen had seen in a goodwhile.

'Youarehurt?'heasked.Logen sucked sourly at

his teeth. 'Hardly the firsttime.'

'Andyetitgetsnoeasier.'Bayaz placed his meaty fistson the stone next to Logen'sand stared out happily at the

view.Justas if itwasa fieldofflowersinsteadofasweepof epic ruin. 'I hardlyexpected to see you again sosoon.Andtoseeyousoveryfar advanced. I understandthat your feud is over. Youdefeated Bethod. Threw himfromhisownwalls,thewayIheard it. A nice touch.Always thinking of the songtheywill sing, eh? And then

you took his place. TheBloody-Nine, King of theNorthmen!Imaginethat.'

Logen frowned. 'Thatwasn'thowithappened.'

'Details. The result is thesame, is it not? Peace in theNorth, at last? Either way, Icongratulateyou.'

'Bethod had a few thingstosay.'

'Did he?' asked Bayaz,carelessly.'Ialwaysfoundhisconversation rather drab. Allabout himself, his plans, hisachievements. It is so verytiresome when men thinknever of others. Poormanners.'

'Hesaidyou'rethereasonwhy he didn't kill me. Thatyoubargainedformylife.'

'True, Imust confess.He

owed me, and you were theprice I demanded. I like tokeep one eye on the future.Even then, I knew I mighthave need of a man whocould speak to the spirits. Itwasanunexpectedbonusthatyou turned out to be such awinning travellingcompanion.'

Logen found he wastalking through gritted teeth.

'Would have been nice toknowisall.'

'You never asked,MasterNinefingers. You did notwant to knowmy plans, as Irecall, and I did not want tomake you feel indebted. "Isaved your life once" wouldhavebeenapoor start toourfriendship.'

All reasonable enough,like everything Bayaz ever

said, but it left a sour tastestill, tohavebeen traded likeahog.'Where'sQuai?I'dliketo—'

'Dead.'Bayazpronouncedthe word smartly, sharp as aknifethrust. 'Wefeelhis lossmostkeenly.'

'Back to the mud, eh?'Logen remembered theefforthe'dmade to save thatman'slife. The miles he'd slogged

through the rain, trying todothe right thing. All wasted.Perhaps he should've feltmore.Butitwashardwithsomuch death spread out infront of him. Logen wasnumb,now.Eitherthat,orhereallydidn'tcareashit.Itwashardtosaywhich.

'Back to the mud,' hemuttered again. 'You carryon,though,don'tyou.'

'Ofcourse.''That'sthetaskthatcomes

with surviving. Youremember them, you saysome words, then you carryon,andhopeforbetter.'

'Indeed.''You have to be realistic

aboutthesethings.''True.'Logenworkedathis sore

sidewith one hand, trying tomakehimselffeelsomething.But a scrap of extra painhelpednoone. 'Ilostafriendyesterday.'

'Itwas abloodyday.Butavictoriousone.'

'Oh aye? For who?' Hecould see people movingamong the ruins, insectspicking at the rubble,searching for survivors and

finding thedead.Hedoubtedmany of them were feelingtheflushofvictoryrightnow.Heknewhewasn't. 'I shouldbe with my own kind,' hemuttered, but withoutmoving. 'Helping with theburying. Helping with thewounded.'

'And yet you are here,looking down.' Bayaz' greeneyes were hard as stones.

ThathardnessthatLogenhadnoticed from the very start,and had somehow forgotten.Somehowgrowntooverlook.'I entirely understand yourfeelings. Healing is for theyoung.Asonegetsolder,onefinds one has less and lesspatience with the wounded.'Heraisedhiseyebrowsasheturned back towards thehorribleview.'Iamveryold.'

He lifted his fist to knock,then paused, fingers rubbingnervouslyagainsthispalm.

He remembered the sour-sweet smell of her, thestrength of her hands, theshape of her frown in thefirelight.He remembered thewarmth of her, pressed upclose tohim in thenight.Heknew there had been

something good betweenthem, even if all the wordsthey had said had been hard.Some people don't have softwords in them, howevermuchtheytry.Hedidn'tholdmuchhope,ofcourse.Amanlike him was better offwithout it. But you getnothingoutifyouputnothingin.

SoLogengrittedhisteeth

and knocked. No reply. Hechewed at his lip, andknocked again. Nothing. Hefrowned, twitchy andsuddenly out of patience,wrenchedtheknobroundandshovedthedooropen.

Ferro spun about. Herclothes were rumpled anddirty, even more than usual.Her eyes were wide, wildeven, her fists clenched. But

herfacequicklyfellwhenshesawitwashim,andhisheartsankwithit.

'It'sme,Logen.''Uh,' she grunted. She

jerked her head sideways,frowning at thewindow.Shetook a couple of stepstowards it, eyes narrowed.Then she snapped roundsuddenly the other way.'There!'

'What?' muttered Logen,baffled.

'Doyounothearthem?''Hearwhat?''Them, idiot!' She crept

over to onewall and pressedherselfupagainstit.

Logen hadn't been surehow it would go. You couldnever be sure of anythingwithher,heknewthat.Buthe

hadn't been expecting this.Just plough ahead, hereckoned.Whatelsecouldhedo?

'I'm a king, now.' Hesnorted. 'King of theNorthmen,wouldyoubelieveit?' He was thinking she'dlaughinhisface,butshejuststood, listening to the wall.'Me andLuthar, both.Apairof kings. Can you think of

two more worthless bastardsto put crowns on, eh?' Noanswer.

Logen lickedhis lips.Nochoicebuttogetstraighttoit,maybe. 'Ferro. The waythings turned out. The waywe… left it.' He took a steptowards her, and another. 'Iwish I hadn't… I don'tknow…'Heputonehandonher shoulder. 'Ferro, I'm

tryingtotellyou—'She turned, quickly,

plastered her hand over hismouth.'Shhhhh.'Shegrabbedhis shirt and pulled himdown, down onto his knees.She pressed her ear againstthe tiles, eyes moving backand forward as if she waslistening for something. 'Doyou hear that?' She let go ofhim and pushed herself into

the corner. 'There! Do youhearthem?'

He reached out, slowly,and touched the back of herneck,ranhisroughfingertipsoverherskin.Sheshookhimoff with a jerk of hershoulders,andhefelthisfacetwist.Perhapsthatgoodthingbetween them had been onlyin his mind, and never inhers. Perhaps he had wanted

it so badly that he had lethimselfimagineit.

He stood up, cleared hisdry throat. 'Never mind. I'llcomeback later,maybe.'Shewas still on her knees, herhead against the floor. Shedidnotevenwatchhimleave.

Logen Ninefingers was nostranger to death. He'd

walkedamongitallhisdays.He'd watched the bodiesburned by the score after thebattle at Carleon, long ago.He'dseenthemburiedbythehundred up in the namelessvalley in the High Places.He'd walked on a hill ofmen's bones under ruinedAulcus.

But even the Bloody-Nine, even the most feared

man in the North, had neverlookedonanythinglikethis.

Bodies were stackedbeside the wide avenue inheaps, chest-high. Saggingmounds of corpses, on andon.Hundredsuponhundreds.Toomanyforhimtoguessatthe numbers. Someone hadmade an effort at coveringthem, but not that great aneffort. The dead give no

thanksforit,afterall.Raggedsheets flapped in the breeze,weighted down with brokenwood, limp hands and feethangingoutfromunderneath.

At this end of the road afew statues still stood.Once-proud kings and theiradvisers, stone faces andbodies scarred and pitted,stared sadly down at thebloody waste heaped round

theirfeet.EnoughofthemforLogen to recognise that thistruly was the Kingsway, andthat he hadn't somehowstumbled into the landof thedead.

A hundred strides furtherand there were only emptyplinths, onewithbroken legsstillattached.Astrangegroupwere clustered around them.Withered-looking.

Somewhere between deadand alive. A man sat on ablock of stone, staringnumblyashepulledhandfulsof hair out of his head.Anotherwas coughing into abloody rag. A woman and aman lay side by side,gawping at nothing, facesshrivelled to little more thanskulls. Her breath camecrackling short and fast. His

didnotcomeatall.Another hundred strides

anditwasasifLogenwalkedthrough some ruined hell.There was no sign thatstatues,buildings,oranythingelse had ever stood there. Intheirplacewereonly tangledhills of strange rubbish.Broken stone, splinteredwood, twisted metal, paper,glass,allcrushedtogetherand

bound up with tons of dustand mud. Things stuck fromthewreckage,strangelyintact—adoor, a chair, a carpet, apaintedplate,thesmilingfaceofastatue.

Men and womenstruggled everywhere amongthischaos,streakedwithdirt,picking at the rubbish,throwingitdowntotheroad,trying to clear paths through

it. Rescuers, workmen,thieves, who knew? Logenpassedbyacracklingbonfirehighasaman,feltthekissofits heat on his cheek. A bigsoldierinarmourstainedwithblack soot stood beside it.'You find anything in whitemetal?' hewas roaring at thesearchers, 'anything at all? Itgoes in the fire! Flesh inwhitemetal? Burn it!Orders

oftheClosedCouncil!'A few strides further on,

someonewasontopofoneofthehighestmounds,strainingatagreatlengthofwood.Heturned round to get a bettergrip. None other than JezaldanLuthar.His clothesweretornandgrubby,hisfacewassmudgedwithmud.Hebarelylooked any more like a kingthanLogendid.

A thickset man stoodstaringup,onearminasling.'Your Majesty, this is notsafe!' he piped in an oddlygirlish voice. 'We reallyshouldbe—'

'No! This is where I'mneeded!'Jezalbentbackoverthebeam,strainingatit,veinsbulging fromhisneck.Therewas noway hewas going toget it shiftedonhisown,but

still he tried. Logen stoodwatchinghim.'Howlong'shebeenlikethis?'

'All night, and all day,'saidthethicksetman,'andnosign of stopping. Those fewwe've found alive, nearly allof them have this sickness.'He waved his good armtowards the pitiful groupbeside the statues. 'Theirhairfalls out. Their nails. Their

teeth. They wither. Somehavediedalready.Othersarewell on the way.' He slowlyshook his head. 'What crimedidwecommittodeservethispunishment?'

'Punishment doesn'talwayscometotheguilty.'

'Ninefingers!' Jezal waslookingdown,thewaterysunbehind him. 'There's a strongback! Grab the end of that

beamthere!'It was hard to see what

good shifting a beam mightdo, in all of this. But greatjourneys start with smallsteps, Logen's father hadalways told him. So heclamberedup,woodcrackingandstonesslidingunderneathhis boots, hauled himself tothe top and stood there,staring.

'Bythedead.'Fromwherehe was standing, the hills ofwreckage seemed to go onforever. People crawled overthem, dragging frantically atthe rubble, sorting carefullythroughit,orsimplystandinglikehim,stunnedbythescaleofit.Acircleofutterwaste,amileacrossormore.

'Helpme,Logen!''Aye. Right.' He bent

down and dug his handsunder one end of the greatlength of scarredwood.Twokings, dragging at a beam.Thekingsofmud.

'Pull, then!' Logenheaved, his stitches burning.Gradually he felt the woodshift. 'Yes!' grunted Jezalthrough gritted teeth.Togethertheyliftedit,hauledit to one side. Jezal reached

downanddraggedawayadrytree-branch, tore back aripped sheet. A woman laybeneath, staring sideways.Onebrokenarmwaswrappedaround a child, curly hairdarkwithblood.

'Alright.' Jezal wipedslowly at hismouthwith theback of one dirty hand.'Alright.Well.We'llputthemwith therestof thedead.'He

clambered further over thewreckage. 'You! Bring thatcrowbar up here! Up here,and a pick, we need to clearthis stone! Stack it there.We'll need it, later. Torebuild!'

Logen put a hand on hisshoulder. 'Jezal, wait. Wait.Youknowme.'

'Ofcourse. I like to thinkso.'

'Alright. Tell mesomething, then.Am I…'Hestruggled to find the rightwords.'AmI…anevilman?'

'You?'Jezalstaredathim,confused. 'You're the bestmanIknow.'

They were gathered under abroken tree in the park, ashadowy crowd of them.

Black outlines of men,standing calm and still, redcloudsandgoldenspreadoutabove,aroundthesettingsun.Logen could hear their slowvoices as he walked up.Words for the dead, soft andsad.He could see the gravesattheirfeet.Twodozenpilesof fresh turned earth, set outin a circle so each man wasequal. The Great Leveller,

just as the hillmen say.Menput in the mud, and mensaying words. Could've beena sceneoutof theoldNorth,long ago in the time ofSkarlingHoodless.

'…HardingGrim.Ineversawabettermanwithabow.Not ever. Can't count thenumbero' timeshesavedmylife, and never expectedthanks for it. Except maybe

that I'd do the same for him.Guess I couldn't, this time.Guessnoneofuscould…'

The Dogman's voicetrailed off. A few headsturnedtolookatLogenashisfootsteps crunched in thegravel. 'If it ain't theKing o'theNorthmen,'someonesaid.

'The Bloody-Nine hisself.'

'Weshouldbow,shouldn'twe?'

They were all looking athim now. He could see theireyes gleaming in the dusk.Nothing more than shaggyoutlines,hardtotellonemanfrom another. A crowd ofshadows.A crowdof ghosts,andjustasunfriendly.

'You got something youwant to say, Bloody-Nine?'

came a voice from near theback.

'I don't reckon,' he said.'You'redoingalright.'

'Was no reason for us tobe here.' A few mumbles ofagreement.

'Notourbloodyfight.''Noneedforthemtohave

died.'Moremutters.'Should be you we're

burying.''Aye, maybe.' Logen

would have liked to weep atthat. But instead he felthimselfsmiling.TheBloody-Nine's smile. That grin thatskulls have, with nothinginsidebutdeath. 'Maybe.Butyou don't get to pick whodies. Not unless you've gotthe bones to put your ownhand to it. Have you? Have

any of you?' Silence. 'Well,then.GoodforHardingGrim.Goodfortheresto' thedead,they'll all be missed.' Logenspat onto the grass. 'Shit onthe rest of you.' And heturned and walked back thewayhecame.

Intothedarkness.

Answers

«^»

Somuchtodo.The House of Questions

still stood, and someone hadto take the reins. Who else

willdoit?SuperiorGoyle?Aflatbowboltthroughtheheartprevents him, alas. Someonehad to look to the internmentand questioning of the manyhundreds of Gurkishprisoners, more capturedevery day as the army drovethe invaders back to Keln.And who else will do it?Practical Vitari? Left theUnion forever with her

childrenintow.Someonehadto examine the treason ofLord Brock. To dig him up,androotouthisaccomplices.To make arrests, and obtainconfessions.And who else isthere,now?ArchLectorSult?Oh,dearme,no.

Gloktawheezedup tohisdoor, his few teeth bared atthe endless pains in his legs.Afortunatedecision,atleast,

tomovetotheeasternsideofthe Agriont. One should begrateful for the small thingsin life, like a place to restone's crippled husk. My oldlodgings are no doubtlanguishingunderathousandtons of rubble, just like therestof-—

His door was not quiteshut. He gave it the gentlestof pushes and it creaked

open, soft lamplight spillingout into the corridor, aglowingstripeover thedustyfloorboards, over the foot ofGlokta's cane and themuddytoeofoneboot.Ileftnodoorunlocked, and certainly nolamps burning. His tongueslithered nervously over hisempty gums. A visitor, then.Anuninvitedone.DoIgoin,and welcome them to my

rooms? His eyes slidsidewaysintotheshadowsofthe corridor.Or do Imake arun for it? He was almostsmiling as he shuffled overthe threshold, cane first, thenthe right foot, then the left,dragging painfully behindhim.

Glokta's guest sat by thewindow in the light of asingle lamp, brightness

splashed across the hardplanes of his face, colddarknessgatheredinthedeephollows. The squares boardwas set before him, just asGlokta left it, the piecescasting long shadows acrossthechequeredwood.

'Why, Superior Glokta. Ihavebeenwaitingforyou.'

And I for you. Gloktalimped over to the table, his

canescrapingagainstthebareboards. As reluctantly as aman limping to the gallows.Ah, well. No one tricks thehangman forever. Perhapswe'll have some answers, atleast,beforetheend.Ialwaysdreamed of dying well-informed. Slowly, ever soslowly, he lowered himselfgruntingintothefreechair.

'DoIhavethepleasureof

addressing Master Valint, orMasterBalk?'

Bayaz smiled. 'Both, ofcourse.'

Glokta wrapped histongue round one of his fewremaining teeth and draggedit away with a faint suckingsound.'AndtowhatdoIowetheoverpoweringhonour?'

'I said,didInot, thatday

wevisitedtheMaker'sHouse,thatwe shouldhavea talk atsome point? A talk aboutwhat Iwant, and aboutwhatyou want? That point hascome.'

'Ohjoyousday.'The First of the Magi

watched him, the same lookin his bright eyes that amanmighthavewhilewatchinganinteresting beetle. 'I must

admit that you fascinate me,Superior. Your life wouldseem to be entirelyunbearable.Andyetyoufightso very, very hard to stayalive.Witheveryweaponandstratagem.Yousimplyrefusetodie.'

'Iamreadytodie.'Gloktareturned his gaze, like forlike.'ButIrefusetolose.'

'Whatever the cost, eh?

We are two of a kind, youandI,andwearea rarekindindeed. We understand whatmustbedone,andwedonotflinch from doing it,regardless of sentiment. Youremember Lord ChancellorFeekt,ofcourse.'

If I cast my mind a longway back… 'The GoldenChancellor? They say he ranthe Closed Council for forty

years. They say he ran theUnion.'Sultsaidso.Sultsaidhis death left a hole, intowhich he and Marovia wereboth keen to step. That iswhere thisuglydancebegan,forme.With a visit from theArch Lector, with theconfession of my old friendSalem Rews, with the arrestofSeppdanTeufel,MasteroftheMints…

Bayaz let one thickfingertip trail across thepieces on the squares board,as though considering hisnext move. 'We had anagreement, Feekt and I. Imade him powerful. Heservedme,utterly.'

Feekt…thefoundationonwhich the nation rested…served you? I expecteddelusions of grandeur, but

this will take some beating.'YouwouldhavemesupposethatyoucontrolledtheUnionallthattime?'

Bayazsnorted.'EversinceI forced the damn thingtogether inthetimeofHarodthe Great, so-called. It hassometimesbeennecessaryforme to takeahandmyself, asinthismostrecentcrisis.Butmostly I have stood at a

distance, behind the curtain,asitwere.'

'A littlestuffyback there,oneimagines.'

'An uncomfortablenecessity.' The lamplightgleamedontheMagus'whitegrin.'Peopleliketowatchthepretty puppets, Superior.Even a glimpse of thepuppeteer can be mostupsettingforthem.Why,they

might even suddenly noticethe strings around their ownwrists. Sult caught a glimpseof something, behind thecurtain, and only look at thetrouble he caused foreveryone.' Bayaz flicked oneof the pieces over and itclatteredontoitsside,rockedgentlybackandforth.

'Let us suppose you areindeedthegreatarchitect,and

you have given us…' Gloktawaved his hand towards thewindow. Acres of charmingdevastation. 'All this. Whysuchgenerosity?'

'Not entirely selfless, Imust confess.Khalul had theGurkish to fight for him. Ineeded soldiers of my own.Even the greatest of generalsneeds little men to hold theline.'Heabsentlynudgedone

of the smallest piecesforward.'Eventhegreatestofwarriorsneedshisarmour.'

Glokta stuck out hisbottom lip. 'But then Feektdied, and you were leftnaked.'

'Naked as a babe, at myage.'Bayazgavea longsigh.'And in poor weather too,withKhalulmakingreadyforwar.Ishouldhavearrangeda

suitable successor morequickly, but my thoughtswere elsewhere, deep in mybooks.Theolderyouget,themore swiftly the years pass.It'seasytoforgethowquicklypeopledie.'

And how easily. 'Thedeath of the GoldenChancellor left a vacuum,'muttered Glokta, thinking itthrough. 'Sult and Marovia

saw a chance to take powerfor themselves, and advancetheirownnotionsofwhatthenationshouldbe.'

'Exceptionally cock-eyednotions, as it happens. Sultwanted to return to animaginary past whereeveryonekepttheirplaceandalwaysdidas theyweretold,and Marovia? Hah! Maroviawantedtopisspowerawayto

thepeople.Votes?Elections?The voice of the commonman?'

'He aired some suchnotion.'

'I hope you aired thesuitable level of contempt.Power for the people?'sneered Bayaz. 'They don'twant it. They don'tunderstand it. What the hellwould theydowith it if they

had it? The people are likechildren. They are children.They need someone to tellthemwhattodo.'

'Someone like you, Isuppose?'

'Who better suited?Maroviathoughttousemeinhispettyschemes,andallthewhile I made good use ofhim. While he tussled withSultoverscrapsthegamewas

already won. A move I hadpreparedsometimebefore.'

Glokta slowly nodded.'Jezal dan Luthar.' Our littlebastard.

'Yourfriendandmine.'But a bastard is no use

unless… 'Crown PrinceRaynaultstoodintheway.'

The Magus flicked apiece over and it rolled

slowly from the board andrattled to the table. 'We talkofgreatevents.There is suretobesomewastage.'

'YoumadeitseemthathewaskilledbyanEater.'

'Oh, he was.' Bayazwatched smugly from theshadows. 'Not all who breaktheSecondLawserveKhalul.My apprentice, Yoru Sulfur,haslongbeenpartialtoabite

or two.' And he snapped histworowsofsmoothandeventeethtogether.

'Isee.''This is war, Superior. In

war one must make use ofevery weapon. Restraint isfolly. Worse. Restraint iscowardice.ButonlylookwhoI am lecturing. You need nolessonsinruthlessness.'

'No.' They cut them intome in the Emperors prisons,and I have been practisingthemeversince.

Bayaz nudged one of thepieces gently forward. 'Auseful man, Sulfur. A manwho long ago accepted thedemands of necessity, andmastered the discipline oftaking forms.' He was theguard, weeping outside

Prince Raynault's door. Theguardwhovanishedintothinairthenextday…

'A shred of cloth takenfrom the Emissary's bed-chamber,' murmured Glokta.'Blood daubed on his robe.'Andsoaninnocentmanwentto the gallows, and the warbetween Gurkhul and theUnion blossomed. Twoobstacles swept neatly away

with one sharp flick of thebroom.

'Peace with the Gurkishdid not suit my purposes. ItwassloppyofSulfurtoleavesuch blatant clues. But thenheneverexpectedyoutocareabout the truth when therewasaconvenientexplanationtohand.'

Gloktanodded,slowly,asthe shape of things unfolded

inhismind. 'Heheardofmyinvestigations from Severard,and I received a charmingvisit from your walkingcorpse,Mauthis,tellingmetohaltordie.'

'Exactly so. On otheroccasions Yoru took anotherface, and called himself theTanner, and incited a fewpeasants to some ratherunbecoming behaviour.'

Bayaz examined hisfingernails. 'All in a goodcause,though,Superior.'

'To lend glamour to yourlatestpuppet.Tomakehimafavouritewith thepeople.Tomake him familiar to thenobles,totheClosedCouncil.You were the source of therumours.'

'Heroic acts in the ruinedwest? Jezal dan Luthar?'

Bayaz snorted. 'He did littlemore than whine about therain.'

'Amazing the rubbishidiots will believe if youshout it loudly enough. AndyouriggedtheContesttoo.'

'Younoticedthat?'Bayaz'smile grew wider. 'I amimpressed, Superior, I ammost impressed. You havefumbled so very close to the

truththiswholetime.'Andyetso very far away. 'I wouldn'tfeel badly about it. I havemanyadvantages.Sultgropedtowards the answers, in theend, but far too late. Isuspected from the firstwhathisplansmightbe.'

'Which iswhy you askedmetoinvestigate?'

'The fact thatyoudidnotoblige me until the very last

moment was the source ofsomeannoyance.'

'Askingnicelymighthavehelped.' It would have beenrefreshing, at least. 'I regretthat I found myself in adifficult position. A case oftoomanymasters.'

'No longer, though, eh? Iwas almost disappointedwhenIfoundouthowlimitedSult's studies were. Salt, and

candles, and incantations?How pathetically adolescent.Enoughtoputatimelyendtothat would-be democratMarovia,perhaps,butnothingtopose the slightest threat tome.'

Glokta frowned down atthe squares board. Sult andMarovia. For all theircleverness, for all theirpower, their ugly little

struggle was an irrelevance.Theyweresmallpiecesinthisgame. So small they nevereven guessed how vast theboard truly was. Whichmakes me what? A speck ofdust between the squares, atbest.

'What of the mysteriousvisitor to your chambers thedayIfirstmetyou?'Avisitortomychamberstoo,perhaps?

Awoman,andcold…Angry lines cut across

Bayaz' forehead. 'A mistakemade inmy youth. Youwillspeaknomoreofit.'

'Oh, as you command.And the Great ProphetKhalul?'

'The war will continue.Ondifferentbattlefields,withdifferent soldiers. But this

will be the last battle foughtwiththeweaponsofthepast.The magic leaks from theworld.ThelessonsoftheOldTime fade into the darknessofhistory.Anewagedawns.'

The Magus made acareless movement with onehandandsomethingflickeredinto the air, clattered to thecentre of the board and spunround and round until it lay

flat, with the unmistakablesound of falling money. Agolden fifty-mark piece,glintingwarmandwelcomingin the lamplight. Gloktaalmost laughed. Ah, evennow, even here, it alwayscomes down to this.Everythinghasaprice.

'ItwasmoneythatboughtvictoryinKingGuslav'shalf-baked Gurkish war,' said

Bayaz. 'It was money thatunited the Open Councilbehind their bastard king. ItwasmoneythatbroughtDukeOrso rushing to the defenceofhisdaughterandtippedthebalanceinourfavour.Allmymoney.'

'It was money thatenabled me to hold DagoskaaslongasIdid.'

'And you know whose.'

Who would have thought?More first of themoneylenders than First oftheMagi. Open Council andClosed, commoners andkings, merchants andtorturers, all caught up in agolden web. A web of debts,and lies, and secrets, eachstrand plucked in its properplace,playedlikeaharpbyamaster. And what of poor

Superior Glokta, fumblingbuffoon? Is there a place forhis sour note in this sweetmusic? Or is the loan of mylifeabouttobecalledin?

'I suppose I shouldcongratulate you on a handwellplayed,'mutteredGloktabitterly.

'Bah.' Bayaz dismissed itwithawave.'Forcingaclutchof primitives together under

thatcretinHarodandmakingthem act like civilised men.Keeping the Union in onepiece through the civil warandbringingthatfoolArnaultto the throne. Guiding thatcoward Casamir to theconquest of Angland. Thosewerehandswellplayed.Thiswas nothing. I hold all thecards and always will do. Ihave—'

I tire of this. 'And blah,blah, fucking blah. Thestench of self-satisfaction isbecoming quite suffocating.If youmean to killme, blastme to a cinder now and let'sbe done, but, for pity's sake,subjectmetonomoreofyourboasting.'

They sat still for a longmoment,gazingateachotherinsilenceacrossthedarkened

table. Long enough forGlokta's leg to starttrembling,forhiseyetostartblinking, for his toothlessmouth to turn dry as thedesert. Sweet anticipation.Will it be now? Will it benow? Will it be—'Kill you?'askedBayazmildly.'Androbmyselfofyourwinningsenseofhumour?'

Not now. 'Then… why

revealyourgametome?''Because I will soon be

leaving Adua.' The Magusleanedforwards,hishardfaceslidingintothelight.'Becauseit is necessary that youunderstand where the powerlies,andalwayswill lie. It isnecessary that you, unlikeSult, unlike Marovia, have aproper perspective. It isnecessary… if you are to

serveme.''To serve you?' I would

soonerspendtwoyearsinthestinking darkness. I wouldsooner have my leg choppedtomincemeat.Iwouldsoonerhavemyteethpulledfrommyhead. But since I have doneallthosethingsalready…

'You will take the taskthatFeektoncehad.Thetaskthatascoreofgreatmenbore

before him. You will be myrepresentative, here in theUnion. You will manage theClosed Council, the OpenCouncil, and our mutualfriend the king. You willensure him heirs. You willmaintain stability. In short,you will watch the board,whileIamgone.'

'ButtherestoftheClosedCouncilwillnever—'

'Those that survive havebeenspokento.Theyallwillbowtoyourauthority.Undermine,ofcourse.'

'HowwillI—''I will be in touch.

Frequently. Through mypeople at the bank. Throughmy apprentice, Sulfur.Through other means. Youwillknowthem.'

'I don't suppose I haveanychoiceinthematter?'

'NotunlessyoucanrepaythemillionmarksIleantyou.Plusinterest.'

Glokta patted at the frontof his shirt. 'Damn it. I leftmypurseatwork.'

'Then I fear you have nochoice. But why would yourefuse me? I offer you the

chance to help me forge anew age.' To bury my handsto the elbow in your dirtywork.'Tobeagreatman.Thevery greatest of men.' Tobestride the Closed Councillike a crippled colossus. 'Toleave your likeness set instone on the Kingsway.'Where its hideousness canmake the children cry. Oncethey clear away the rubble

and the corpses, of course.'To shape the course of anation.'

'Underyourdirection.''Naturally. Nothing is

free, you know that.' Againthe Magus flicked his handand something clatteredspinning across the squaresboard.ItcametorestinfrontofGlokta, gold glinting. TheArch Lector's ring. So many

times I bent to kiss this veryjewel. Who could havedreamedthatImightonedaywear it? He picked it up,turned it thoughtfully roundand round. And so I finallyshakeoffadarkmaster,onlyto findmy leash in the fistofanother, darker and morepowerful by far. But whatchoice do I have? Whatchoices do any of us truly

have? He slid the ring ontohis finger. The great stoneshoneinthelamplight,fullofpurple sparks. From a deadman to the greatest in therealm,andallinoneevening.

'Itfits,'murmuredGlokta.'Of course, your

Eminence. I always knew itwould.'

TheWounded

«^»

West woke with a start andtriedtojerkuptositting.Painshot up one leg, across hischest, through his right arm,

and stayed there, throbbing.Hedroppedbackwithagroanand stared at the ceiling. Avaultedstoneceiling,coveredinthickshadows.

Sounds crept at him nowfrom all around. Grunts andwhimpers, coughs and sobs,quickgasping,slowgrowling.The occasional outrightshriek of pain. Soundsbetweenmen and animals.A

voice whispered throatilyfrom somewhere to his left,droningendlesslyawaylikearat scratching at the walls. 'Ican'tsee.Bloodywind.Ican'tsee.WhereamI?Somebody.Ican'tsee.'

West swallowed, feelingthe pain growing worse. InthehospitalsinGurkhultherehad been sounds like that,when he had come to visit

wounded soldiers from hiscompany.Herememberedthestink and noise of thosehorrible tents, the misery ofthe men in them, and abovealltheoverpoweringdesiretoleave and be among thehealthy. But it was alreadyawfully clear that leavingwould not be so easy thistime.

He was one of the

wounded. A different,contemptible and disgustingspecies. Horror crept slowlythroughhisbodyandmingledwiththepain.Howbadlywashe injured? Did he have allhis limbs, still? He tried tomovehis fingers,wrigglehistoes,clenchedhisteethastheaching in his arm and leggrew worse. He brought hislefthandtremblingupbefore

his face, turned itover in thedimness. It seemed intact, atleast,butitwastheonlylimbthathecouldmove,andeventhat was a crushing effort.Panic slithered up his throatandclutchedathim.

'Where am I? Bloodywind. Ican't see.Help.Help.WhereamI?'

'Fucking shut up!' Westshouted,butthewordsdiedin

his dry throat. All that cameup was a hollow cough thatsethisribsonfireagain.

'Shhhh.' A soft touch onhischest.'Justbestill.'

A blurry face swam intoview. A woman's face, hethought,with fair hair, but itwashard to focus.Heclosedhiseyesandstoppedtrying.Ithardly seemed to matter thatmuch. He felt something

againsthislips,theneckofabottle.Hedrank too thirstily,splutteredandfeltcoldwaterrunningdownhisneck.

'What happened?' hecroaked.

'Youwerewounded.''Iknow that. Imean…in

thecity.Thewind.''Idon'tknow.Idon'tthink

anyoneknows.'

'Didwewin?''I suppose that… the

Gurkishweredrivenout,yes.But there are a lot ofwounded.Alotofdead.'

Another swallow ofwater.This timehemanagedit without gagging. 'Who areyou?'

'My name is Ariss. DanKaspa.'

'Ariss…' West fumbledwith the name. 'I knew yourcousin. Knew him well… agoodman.Healwaysusedtotalk about… how beautifulyou were. And rich,' hemuttered, vaguely aware heshouldnotbesayingthis,butunabletostophismouthfromworking. 'Veryrich.Hedied.Inthemountains.'

'Iknow.'

'What are you doinghere?'

'Trying to help with thewounded.Itwouldbebestforyoutosleepnow,ifyou—'

'AmIwhole?'Apause.'Yes.Sleepnow,

ifyoucan.'Her dark face grew

blurry, andWest let his eyesclose. The noises of agony

slowly fadedaroundhim.Hewas whole. All would bewell.

Someone was sitting next tohisbed.Ardee.Hissister.Heblinked, worked his sourmouth, unsure where he wasforamoment.

'Am I dreaming?' Shereached forward and dug her

nailsintohisarm.'Ah!''Painfuldream,eh?''No,' he was forced to

admit.'Thisisreal.'She looked well. Far

better than the last time hehad seen her, that was sure.Nobloodonherfaceforonething. No look of nakedhatred, for another. Only athoughtful frown.He tried to

bring himself up to sitting,failed, and slumped backdown. She did not offer tohelp. He had not reallyexpected her to. 'How bad isit?'heasked.

'Nothing too serious,apparently. A broken arm, afew broken ribs, and a legbadly bruised, they tell me.Some cuts on your face thatmay leave a scar or two, but

thenIgotall thelooksinthefamilyanyway.'

He gave a snort oflaughter and winced at thepain across his chest. 'Trueenough.Thebrainstoo.'

'Don't feelbadlyabout it.I've used them to make thetowering success of my lifethat you see before you. Thekindofachievementthatyou,as a Lord Marshal of the

Union,canonlydreamof.''Don't,' he hissed,

clamping his good handacrosshisribs.'Ithurts.'

'No less than youdeserve.'

His laughter quicklystuttered out, and they weresilent for a moment, lookingateachother.Eventhatmuchwas difficult. 'Ardee…' His

voicecaughtinhissoreneck.'Canyou…forgiveme?'

'I already did. The firsttime I heard youwere dead.'She was trying to smile, hecould tell. But she still hadthat twist of anger to hermouth. Probably she wouldhave liked to dig her nailsinto his face rather than hisarm. He was almost gladthen, for a moment, that he

was wounded. She had nochoice but to be soft withhim.'It'sgoodthatyou'renot.Dead, that is…' She frownedoverher shoulder.Therewassome manner of commotionatoneendof the longcellar.Raised voices, the clatter ofarmouredfootsteps.

'The king!' Whoever itwasnearlysquealeditintheirexcitement.'Thekingiscome

again!'In the beds all around

men turned their heads,propped themselves up. Anervous excitement spreadfrom cot to cot. 'The king?'theywhispered,facesanxiousandexpectant,asthoughtheywere privileged to witness adivinevisitation.

Several figures movedthroughtheshadowsatthefar

endofthehall.Weststrainedto look, but could see littlemore thanmetal gleaming inthe darkness. The foremostshape stopped beside awounded man a few bedsdown.

'They are treating youwell?' A voice strangelyfamiliar,strangelydifferent.

'Yes,sir.'

'Is there anything youneed?'

'A kiss from a goodwoman?'

'I would love to obligeyou, but I fear I'm only aking.We'reagreatdealmorecommon than good women.'Men laughed, even though itwas not funny. Westsupposed that peoplelaughing at your poor jokes

wasoneadvantageofbeingamonarch.'Anythingelse?'

'Maybe… maybe anotherblanket, sir. Getting colddownhere,atnight.'

'Of course.' The figurejerked his thumb at a manbehind. Lord Hoff, Westrealised now, dragging alongat a respectful distance.'Another blanket for everymanhere.'

The Lord Chamberlain,that fearsome scourge of theaudience chamber, humblynodded his head like ameekchild. The king stood, andmovedintothelight.

Jezal dan Luthar, ofcourse,andyetitwashardtobelieve that it was the sameman,andnotonlybecauseofthe rich fur mantle and thegolden circlet on his

forehead. He seemed taller.Handsome, still, but nolongerboyish.Adeepscaronhis bearded jaw had givenhim an air of strength. Thesneer of arrogance hadbecomeafrownofcommand.The carefree swagger hadbecome a purposeful stride.Heworkedhiswayonslowlydown the aisle between thecots, speaking to each man,

pressing their hands, givingthem thanks, promising themhelp.Noonewasoverlooked.

'A cheer for the king!'someone gurgled throughgrittedteeth.

'No! No. The cheeringshould be for you,my bravefriends!Youwhohavemadesacrifices inmyname. I oweyou everything. It was onlywith your help that the

Gurkish were defeated. OnlywithyourhelpthattheUnionwas saved. I do not forget adebt,thatIpromiseyou!'

Weststared.Whoeverthisstrange apparition was wholooked so like Jezal danLuthar, he spoke like amonarch. West almost felt apreposterous desire to draghimself from his bed andkneel. One casualty was

trying to do just that as theking passed his bed. Jezalrestrained him with a gentlehandonhischest,smiledandpattedhisshoulderas thoughhehadbeenoffering succourtothewoundedhisentirelife,instead of getting drunk inshit-holeswiththerestof theofficers, and whining aboutsuchmeagre tasks as hewasgiven.

He drew close and sawWest,lyingthere.Hisfacelitup, though therewas a toothmissing from his smile.'Collem West!' he said,hastening over. 'I canhonestlysaythatIhaveneverinmy lifebeensopleased toseeyourface.'

'Er…' West moved hismouth around a bit, buthardlyknewwhattosay.

Jezal turned to his sister.'Ardee…Ihopeyouarewell.'

'Yes.' She said nothingelse. They stared at eachother,foralongandintenselyawkward moment, notspeaking.

LordHoff frownedat theking, then at West, then atArdee.He insinuatedhimselfsomewhatbetweenthetwoofthem. 'Your Majesty, we

should—'Jezal silenced him

effortlessly with one raisedhand. 'I trust that you willsoon join me in the ClosedCouncil,West. I am in someneedof a friendly face there,intruth.Nottomentiongoodadvice. You always were amineofgoodadvice. I neverdid thank you for it. Well, Icanthankyounow.'

'Jezal… I mean, yourMajesty—'

'No, no. Always Jezal toyou, Ihope.Youwillhavearoominthepalace,ofcourse.You will have the royalsurgeon.Everythingpossible.Seetothat,please,Hoff.'

The Lord Chamberlainbowed. 'Of course.Everythingwillbearranged.'

'Good. Good. I am gladyou are well,West. I cannotafford to lose you.' The kingnodded, to him, and to hissister. Then he turned andmoved on, pressing hands,speaking soft words. A poolof hope seemed to surroundhim as he passed. Despaircrowded in behind it. Smilesfaded as he moved away.Mendroppedbackonto their

beads, faces clouding overwithpain.

'Responsibility seems tohaveimprovedhim,'mutteredWest. 'Almost beyondrecognition.'

'How longwill it last, doyouthink?'

'I'd like to think that itcould stick, but then I'vealwaysbeenanoptimist.'

'That's good.' Ardeewatched themagnificentnewking of the Union stridingaway,woundedmenstrainingfrom their cots for theslightest touch of his cloak.'Thatoneofuscanbe.'

'MarshalWest!'

'Jalenhorm. Good to seeyou.' West pulled back the

blanketswith his good hand,eased his legs over the edgeof the bed and winced hisway up to sitting. The bigmanreachedoutandgavehishand a squeeze, clapped himontheshoulder.

'You'relookingwell!'West smiled weakly.

'Better ever day, Major.How'smyarmy?'

'Fumbling on withoutyou. Kroy's holding thingstogether.Notsuchabadsort,the General, once you getusedtohim.'

'Ifyousayso.Howmanydidwelose?'

'Still hard to say. Thingsaresomewhatchaotic.Wholecompanies missing.Impromptuunits still chasingGurkishstragglersacrosshalf

the countryside. I don't thinkwe'll have numbers for awhile. I don't know if we'llever get them. No one didwell, but the ninth regimentwere the ones fighting at thewestern end of the Agriont.Theytooktheworstof…'Hefumbledforthewords.'It.'

West grimaced. Heremembered that blackcolumn of whirling matter

reaching from the torturedearth to the circling clouds.Thedebrislashingathisskin,thescreamingof thewindallaroundhim.'Whatwas…it?'

'I'm damned if I know.'Jalenhorm shook his head.'Damned if anyonedoes.Butthe rumour is that thisBayazwasinvolved,somehow.Halfthe Agriont's in ruins, andthey'vebarelystartedshifting

the rubble. You never sawanything like it, that Ipromiseyou.A lot ofpeopledead in all that. Bodiesstacked up in the open…'Jalenhormtookalongbreath.'And there are more dyingevery day. A lot of peoplegetting ill.' He shuddered.'This…sickness.'

'Disease.Alwaysapartofwar.'

'Notlikethis.Hundredsofcases, now. Some die in aday,almostbeforeyoureyes.Some take longer. Theywithertoskinandbone.Theyhavewholehallsfullofthem.Stinking,hopelessplaces.Butyoudon'tneedtoworryaboutthat.' He shook himself. 'Ihavetogo.'

'Already?''Flying visit, sir. I'm

helping to arrange Poulder'sfuneral, would you believe?He'sbeingburiedinstate,byorderof theking… that is tosay Jezal. Jezal dan Luthar.'He blew out his cheeks.'Strangebusiness.'

'Thestrangest.''All that time. A king's

sonsittinginthemidstofus.I knew there had to be areasonwhyhewassobloody

good at cards.' He slappedWest on the back again.'Good to see you looking sowell,sir.Knewtheywouldn'tbeabletokeepyoudownforlong!'

'Keep out of trouble!'West called after him as hemadeforthedoor.

'Always!' The big mangrinnedashepulleditshut.

West took his stick fromthesideofthebed,grittedhisteethashepushedhimselfupto standing. He hobbledacross the expanse ofchequered tiles to thewindow,onepainstakingstepat a time, and finally stoodblinking into the morningsunlight.

Looking down on thepalacegardens itwashard to

believe that there had beenanywar, that therewere anyacres of ruins, any heaps ofdead. The lawns were neatlytrimmed, the gravel well-raked. The last few brownleaves had fallen from thetrees, leaving the smoothwoodblackandbare.

IthadbeenautumnwhenhesetoutforAngland.Coulditreallyhavebeenonlyayear

ago? He had lived throughfourgreat battles, a siege, anambush, a bloody melée. Hehad witnessed a duel to thedeath. He had stood at thecentreofgreatevents.Hehadsurvived a slog of hundredsof miles through the bleakAngland winter. He hadfound new comrades inunlikely places, and he hadseen friends dead before his

eyes. Burr, Kaspa, Cathil,Threetrees, all back to themud, as the Northmen said.He had faced death, and hehad delivered it. He shiftedhisachingarmuncomfortablyinthesling.Hehadmurderedthe heir to the throne of theUnion with his own hands.He had risen, by a stroke ofchance that verged on theimpossible, to one of the

highestpostsinthenation.Busyyear.And now it was over.

Peace,ofakind.Thecitywasin ruins, and every man hadto do his part, but he owedhimself a rest. Surely no onewould begrudge him that.Perhaps he could insist onAriss danKaspa to tend himtohealth.Arichandbeautifulnurse seemed like just the

thingheneeded…'You shouldn't be up.'

Ardeestoodinthedoorway.He grinned. It was good

to see her. For the last fewdays they had been close.Almost as it had been longago,whentheywerechildren.'Don'tworry.Gettingstrongereveryday.'

She walked across to the

window. 'Oh yes, in a fewweekstimeyou'llbestrongasalittlegirl.Backtobed.'Sheslid one arm under his andtook the cane from his hand,started to guide him backacross the room. West madeno effort to resist. If he wasbeinghonest, hewas startingto feel tired anyway. 'We'retaking no chances,' she wassaying.'You'reallIhave,I'm

sorry to say. Unless youcount that other invalid, mygoodfriendSanddanGlokta.'

West almost snortedwithlaughter.'Thatworkedout?'

'The man is utterlyloathsome, of course, in away.Terrifyingandpitiful atonce. And yet… having hadno one else to talk to, I findthat I've strangelywarmed tohim.'

'Huh. He used to beloathsome in an entirelydifferentway.I'veneverbeensure quite why I warmed tohim then. And yet I did. Isupposethere'sno—'

He felt a suddenwaveofsickness cramp up his guts,stumbled and almost fell,sank onto the bed, stiff legstretchedout in frontofhim.His vision was blurry, his

head spun. He pressed hisface into his palms, teethgritted,asspitrushedintohismouth. He felt Ardee's handonhisshoulder.

'Areyoualright?''Ah, yes, it's just… I've

beenhavingthesesickspells.'The feeling was alreadypassing.Herubbedathissoretemples, then the back of hisskull.He liftedhishead, and

smiled up at her again. 'I'msureit'snothing.'

'Collem…'There was hair wedged

between his fingers.A lot ofhair.His own, by the colour.He blinked at it, mystified,then coughed withdisbelieving laughter. A wet,saltycoughfromdownunderhis ribs. 'I know it's beenthinning for years,' he

croaked,'butreally,thisistoomuch.'

Ardee did not laugh. Shewasstaringathishands,eyeswidewithhorror.

PatrioticDuties

«^»

Gloktawincedashecarefullylowered himself into his

chair.Therewasnofanfaretomark the moment when hisaching arse touched the hardwood.No roundofapplause.Only a sharp clicking in hisburningknee.And yet it is amoment of the greatestsignificance,andnotonlyforme.

The designers of theWhite Chamber's furniturehadventuredbeyondausterity

and into the realm ofprofound discomfort. Onewouldhave thought that theycouldhave stretched to someupholstery for the mostpowerful men in the realm.Perhaps the intention was toremind the occupants thatoneshouldneverbecome toocomfortableatthepinnacleofpower.He glanced sideways,andsawBayazwatchinghim.

Well, uncomfortable is aboutasgoodasIeverget.HaveInotoftensaidso?Hewincedas he tried to worm his wayforwards,thelegsofhischairsquealing noisily against thefloor.

Long ago, when I washandsome, young, andpromising, I dreamed of oneday sitting at this table as anoble Lord Marshal, or a

respected High Justice, oreven an honourable LordChamberlain.Whocouldeverhave suspected, even in theirdarkest moments, thatbeautiful Sand dan Gloktawould one day sit on theClosedCouncilasthefeared,the abhorred, the all-powerful Arch Lector of theInquisition? He couldscarcely keep the smile from

his toothless mouth as heslumped back against theunyieldingwood.

Not everyone appearedamused by his suddenelevation, however. KingJezalinparticulargloweredatGlokta with the mostprofounddislike.'Remarkablethat you are confirmedalready in your position,' hesnapped.

Bayaz interposed. 'Suchthings can happen quicklywhen there is the will, yourMajesty.'

'After all,' observedHoff,stealing a raremoment awayfrom his goblet to sweep thetable with a melancholyglance,'ournumbersaremostsadlyreduced.'

All too true. Severalchairs loomed significantly

empty. Marshal Varuz wasmissing, presumed dead.Certainlydead,given thathewas conducting the defencefrom the Tower of Chains, astructure now scatteredwidelyover the streetsof thecity.Farewell,myoldfencingmaster,farewell.HighJusticeMaroviahadalsoleftavacantseat.No doubt they are stilltrying to scrape the frozen

meat from the walls of hisoffice. Adieu to my thirdsuitor, I fear. Lord Valdis,Commander of the KnightsHerald, was not inattendance.Keepingwatchonthe southern gate, Iunderstand,whentheGurkishdetonated their explosivepowder. Body never found,noreverwillbe,onesuspects.Lord Admiral Reutzer too,

was absent.Wounded at seaby a cutlass to the guts. Notexpectedtosurvive,alas.

Truly, the pinnacle ofpowerislesscrowdedthanitusedtobe.

'Marshal West could notbe with us?' asked LordChancellorHalleck.

'He regrets that hecannot.'GeneralKroyseemed

to pinch off each word withhisteeth.'Hehasaskedmetotake his place, and speak forthearmy.'

'AndhowistheMarshal?''Wounded.''And further afflicted by

the wasting illness that hasrecently swept the Agriont,'added the king, frowninggrimly down the table at the

FirstoftheMagi.'Regrettable.' Bayaz' face

showednot the slightest signofregretoranythingelse.

'A terrible business,'lamented Hoff. 'Thephysiciansareutterlybaffled.'

'Few survive.' Luthar'sglare had become positivelydeadly.

'Let us ardently hope,'

gushed Torlichorm, 'thatMarshal West is one of thelucky ones.' Let us hope soindeed. Although hopechangesnothing.

'To business, then?'Winegurgled from the pitcher asHoff filled his goblet for thesecond time since enteringthe room. 'How fares thecampaign,GeneralKroy?'

'The Gurkish army is

utterly routed. We havepursued them towards Keln,where some fewmanaged toflee on the remnant of theirfleet.DukeOrso's ships soonput an end to that, however.TheGurkishinvasionisover.Victory is ours.' And yet hefrowns as though he isadmittingdefeat.

'Excellent.''Thenationowesadebtof

thankstoitsbravesoldiers.''Our congratulations,

General.'Kroy stared down at the

table-top. 'Thecongratulations belong toMarshalWest, who gave theorders, and to GeneralPoulder and the others whogavetheirlivescarryingthemout. I was no more than anobserver.'

'Butyouplayedyourpart,and admirably.' Hoff raisedhis goblet. 'Given theunfortunate absence ofMarshal Varuz, I feelconfident his Majesty willsoon wish to confer apromotion upon you.' Heglancedtowardstheking,andLuthar grunted hisunenthusiasticassent.

'Iamhonouredtoservein

whatever capacity hisMajesty should decide, ofcourse. The prisoners are amoreurgentmatter,however.We have many thousands ofthem,andnofoodwithwhichto—'

'Wehavenotenoughfoodforourownsoldiers,ourowncitizens, our own wounded,'saidHoff,dabbingathiswetlips.

'Ransom any men ofqualitybacktotheEmperor?'suggestedTorlichorm.

'There were precious fewmen of quality among theirentiredamnarmy.'

Bayaz frowned down thetable. 'If theyareofnovalueto the Emperor they arecertainly of no value to us.Letthemstarve.'

A few men shifteduncomfortably. 'We aretalkingof thousandsof lives,here—'beganKroy.

The gaze of the First oftheMagifelluponhimlikeagreat stone and squashed hisobjections flat. 'I know whatwe are talking of, General.Enemies.Invaders.'

'Surely we can find away?' threw in the king.

'CouldwenotshipthembacktoKanticshores?Itwouldbea shameful epilogue to ourvictoryif—'

'Each prisoner fed is onecitizen that must go hungry.Suchistheterriblearithmeticof power. A difficultdecision, your Majesty, butthose are the only kind wehave in this room. Whatwouldyour opinionbe,Arch

Lector?'Theeyesof theking,and

the old men in the highchairs, all turned towardsGlokta. Ah, we know whatmustbedone,andwedonotflinch, and so forth. Let themonster pronounce thesentence, so the rest can feellikedecentmen.'Ihaveneverbeen a great admirer of theGurkish.'Gloktashruggedhis

aching shoulders. 'Let themstarve.'

King Jezal settled furtherinto his throne with an evengrimmer frown. Could it bethat our monarch is a touchless house-broken than theFirst of the Magi would liketo believe? Lord ChancellorHalleck cleared his throat.'Nowthatvictoryisours,ourfirst concern, without

question,istheclearingoftheruins, and the rebuilding ofthe damage caused by…' hiseyes shifted nervouslysidewaystoBayaz,andback.'Gurkishaggression.'

'Hear,hear.''Rebuilding. We are all

agreed.''The costs,' and Halleck

wincedas if thewordcaused

him pain, 'even of clearingthe wreckage in the Agriontalone,may run tomany tensof thousands of marks. Theprice of rebuilding, manymillions. When we considerthe extensive damage to thecity of Adua besides… thecosts…' Halleck scowledagain and rubbed at his ill-shaved jaw with one hand.'Difficulteventoguessat.'

'Wecanonlydoourbest.'Hoff sadly shook his head.'Andfindonemarkatatime.'

'I, for one, suggest welook to the nobles,' saidGlokta. There were severalgrumblesofagreement.

'His Eminence makes afinepoint.'

'A sharp curtailment ofthe powers of the Open

Council,'saidHalleck.'Harshtaxesonthosewho

did not provide materialsupportintherecentwar.'

'Excellent! Trim thenobles'sails.Damnparasites.'

'Sweepingreforms.Landsreturnedtothecrown.Leviesoninheritance.'

'On inheritance! Aninspirednotion!'

'The Lord Governors toomustbebroughtintothefold.'

'Skald and Meed. Yes.They have long enjoyed toomuchindependence.'

'Meed can hardly beblamed, his province is awreck—'

'This is not a question ofblame,' said Bayaz. Noindeed, we all know where

thatlies.'Thisisaquestionofcontrol.Victoryhas givenustheopportunityforreform.'

'Weneedtocentralise!''Westport as well. Too

long they have played us offagainsttheGurkish.'

'Theyneedusnow.''Perhapsweshouldextend

the Inquisition to their city?'suggestedGlokta.

'AfootholdinStyria!''We must rebuild!' The

First of theMagi thumpedatthetablewithonemeatyfist.'Better and more gloriouseven thanbefore.Thestatuesin the Kingsway may havefallen, but they have leftspacefornewones.'

'Aneweraofprosperity,'saidHalleck,eyesshining.

'Aneweraofpower,'saidHoff,raisinghisgoblet.

'A golden age?' BayazlookedupthetableatGlokta.

'An age of unity andopportunity for all!' said theking.

His offering fellsomewhat flat. Eyesswivelled uncomfortablytoward the king's end of the

table. Quite as if he noisilyfarted, rather than spoke.'Er…yes,yourMajesty,'saidHoff. 'Opportunities.' ForanyoneluckyenoughtositontheClosedCouncil,thatis.

'Perhaps heavier taxes onthe merchant guilds?'profferedHalleck.'AsourlastArchLectorhadinmind.Thebanks also. Such a movecould produce vast incomes

—''No,' saidBayaz, offhand.

'Nottheguilds,notthebanks.The free operation of thosenoble institutions provideswealth and security to all.The future of the nation liesincommerce.'

Halleck humbly inclinedhis head. With more than ahint of fear, do I detect? 'Ofcourse, Lord Bayaz, you are

right. I freely admit mymistake.'

The Magus movedsmoothly on. 'Perhaps thebanks would be willing toextend a loan to the crown,however.'

'An excellent idea,' saidGlokta without hesitation.'ThebankinghouseofValintand Balk are a trustworthyand long-founded institution.

TheywereofprofoundvalueduringmyattemptstodefendDagoska.Iamsurewecouldcount on their help again.'Bayaz' smile was almostimperceptible. 'In themeantime the lands, assets,and titles of the traitor LordBrock have beenrequisitioned by the crown.Their sale will raise aconsiderablesum.'

'And what of the manhimself,ArchLector?'

'It would appear he fledthenationalongwith the lastof the Gurkish. We assumethatheisstilltheir…guest.'

'Their puppet, youmean.'Bayaz sucked at his teeth.'Unfortunate. He maycontinue to be a focus fordiscontent.'

'Two of his children areunder lock and key in theHouse of Questions. Hisdaughterandoneofthesons.An exchange might bepossible—'

'Brock?Ha!'barkedHoff.'He wouldn't swap his ownlife for the whole world andeverythinginit.'

Glokta raised hiseyebrows. 'Then perhaps a

demonstration of intent? Aclear message that treasonwill not and will never betolerated?'

'Never a bad message tosend,' growled Bayaz toaffirmative mutterings fromtheoldmen.

'A public declaration ofBrock's guilt, then, and hisresponsibility for the ruin ofthe city of Adua.

Accompanied by a pair ofhangings.'A shame for them,tohavebeenborntosuchanambitious father, buteveryone loves a publickilling. 'Does anyone have apreferenceforacertaindayor—'

'There will be nohangings.' The king wasfrowninglevellyatBayaz.

Hoff blinked. 'But your

Majesty,youcannotallow—''There has been enough

bloodshed. Far more thanenough.ReleaseLordBrock'schildren.' There were severalsharp intakes of breatharoundthetable.'Allowthemtojointheirfather,orremainin the Union as privatecitizens, as they desire.'Bayaz glared balefully fromthe far end of the room, but

the king did not appearintimidated. 'Thewarisover.We won.' The war neverends, and victory istemporary.'Iwouldrathertryto heal wounds than deepenthem.' A wounded enemy isthe best kind, they are theeasiest to kill. 'Sometimesmercy buys you more thanruthlessness.'

Glokta cleared his throat.

'Sometimes.'Though Imyselfhave yet to see thecircumstance.

'Good,' said the king in avoice that brooked noargument.'Thenitisdecided.Have we other pressingbusiness? I need to make atourofthehospitals,andthenonce more to clearing thewreckage.'

'Ofcourse,yourMajesty.'

Hoffgaveasycophanticbow.'Your care for you subjectsdoesyoumuchcredit.'

Jezal stared at him for amoment, then snorted, andgot up. He had already leftthe room before most of theoldmenhadstruggledtotheirfeet.And I take even longer.When Glokta had finallywrestled his chair out of theway and grimaced to

standing, he found Hoff wasbeside him, a frown on hisruddyface. 'Wehaveasmallproblem,'hemuttered.

'Indeed? Something wecannot raise with the rest oftheCouncil?'

'I fear so. Somethingwhich, inparticular, itwouldbebetternottodiscussbeforehis Majesty.' Hoff lookedquickly over his shoulder,

waited for the last of the oldmen to pull the heavy doorshutbehindhimandleavethetwo of them unobserved.Secrets, then? Howtremendously exciting. 'OurabsentLordMarshal'ssister.'

Gloktafrowned.Ohdear.'ArdeeWest?Whatofher?'

'I have it on goodauthority, that she findsherself in… a delicate

condition.'The familiar flurry of

twitches ran up the left sideof Glokta's face. 'Is that so?'What a shame. 'You areremarkably well informedabout that lady's personalbusiness.'

'It is my duty to be so.'HoffleanedcloseandblastedGlokta with wine-stinkingbreath as he whispered.

'When you consider who thefathermightverywellbe.'

'And that is?' Though Ithink we both already guesstheanswer.

'Who else but the king?'hissedHoff under his breath,a note of panic in his voice.'Youmustbewellawarethatthey were involved in… aliaison, to put it delicately,prior to his coronation. It is

scarcely a secret. Now this?A bastard child! When theking'sownclaimtothethroneisnotofthepurest?Whenhehas somanyenemies still onthe Open Council? Such achild could be used againstus, if it became known of,and it will, of course!' Heleaned closer yet. 'Such athing would constitute athreattothestate.'

'Indeed,'saidGloktaicily.All too unfortunately true.What a terrible, terribleshame.

Hoff's fat fingers fussednervously with each other. 'Irealise that you have someassociationwith the ladyandher family. I understandentirely if this is oneresponsibility that youwouldrather be free of. I canmake

thearrangementswithno—'Gloktaflashedhiscraziest

grin.'AreyouimplyingthatIlack sufficient ruthlessnessfor themurder of a pregnantmother, Lord Chamberlain?'Hisvoicebounced loudfromthe hard white walls,mercilessasaknife-thrust.

Hoff winced, his eyesdartingnervouslytowardsthedoor. 'I am sure you would

not flinch from any patrioticduty—'

'Good.Youmayresteasy,then. Our mutual friend didnot select me for this rolebecause of my soft heart.'Anythingbut.'Iwilldealwiththematter.'

The same small, brick-builthouse in the same

unremarkable street thatGlokta had visited so oftenbefore. The same housewhere I spent so manyenjoyable afternoons. Asclose as I have come tocomfort since I was draggeddrooling from the Emperor'sprisons.Heslidhisrighthandinto his pocket, felt the coldmetal brush against hisfingertips.Why do I do this?

Why? So that drunkenarsehole Hoff can mop hisbrow at a calamity averted?So thatJezaldanLutharcansitahairmoresecureonhispuppetthrone?Hetwistedhiships one way and then theother until he felt his backclick. She deserves so muchbetter.Butsuchistheterriblearithmeticofpower.

He pushed back the gate,

hobbledup to the frontdoor,andgave it a smartknock. Itwas a moment before thecringing maid answered.Perhaps the onewho alertedourcourtdrunkardLordHoffto the unfortunate situation?Sheshowedhimthroughintothe over-furnished sittingroom with little more than amumble and left him there,staring at a small fire in the

small grate. He caught aglimpse of himself in themirror above the fireplace,andfrowned.

Who is that man? Thatruined shell?That shamblingcorpse?Can you even call ita face? So twisted and solined, so etched with pain.What is this loathsome,pitiable species?Oh, if thereisaGod,protectmefromthis

thing!He tried to smile.Savage

grooves cut through hiscorpse-pale skin, the hideousgap inhis teethyawned.Thecornerofhismouthtrembled,his left eye twitched,narrower than the other,rimmed with angry red. Thesmile seems to promisehorrors more surely eventhanthefrown.

Hasanymanever lookedmore of a villain? Has anyman ever been more of amonster? Could any vestigeof humanity possibly remainbehindsuchamask?Howdidbeautiful Sand dan Gloktabecome…this?Mirrors.Evenworse than stairs. His lipcurled with disgust as heturnedaway.

Ardee stood in the

doorway, watching him insilence. She looked well, tohismind,oncehegotovertheawkward surprise of beingobserved. Very well, withperhapstheslightestswellingabout her stomach already?Three months along now?Four perhaps? Soon therewillbenodisguisingit.

'Your Eminence.' Shegave him an appraising

glanceasshesteppedintotheroom.'Whitesuitsyou.'

'Truly?Youdonotfeel itmakes the skull-like ringsabout my feverish eyes lookallthedarker?'

'Why, not at all. Itperfectly matches yourghoulishpallor.'

Glokta leered histoothless grin. 'The very

effectIwashopingfor.''Have you come to take

meonanothertourofsewers,deathandtorture?'

'A repeat of thatperformance will probablynever be possible, alas. Iseem tohaveusedup allmyfriends and most of myenemiesinthatonethrow.'

'And regrettably the

Gurkish army can no longerbewithus.'

'Busy elsewhere, Iunderstand.' He watched hercrosstothetable,lookoutofthe window towards thestreet, the daylight glowingthrough her dark air, downtheedgeofhercheek.

'I trust thatyouarewell?'sheasked.

'Busier even than theGurkish. A great deal to do.How is your brother? I havebeen meaning to visit him,but…' But I doubt even Icould stand the stink of myownhypocrisyifIdid.Icausepain. The easing of it is aforeigntonguetome.

Ardee looked at her feet.'Heisalwayssicknow.EverytimeIvisitheisthinner.One

of his teeth fell out while Iwaswith him.' She shruggedher shoulders. 'It just cameoutwhilehewastryingtoeat.He nearly choked on it. Butwhat can I do? What cananyone?'

'I am truly sorry to hearit.'But it changes nothing. 'Iam sure that you are a greathelp to him.' I am sure thattherecanbenohelpforhim.

'Andhowareyou?''Better than most, I

suppose.' She gave a longsigh, shook herself and triedtosmile. 'Willyoutakesomewine?'

'No,butdon't letmestopyou.'Iknowyouneverhave.

But she only held thebottle for amoment, then setit down again. 'I have been

tryingtodrinkless,lately.''I have always felt that

you should.' He took a slowstep towards her. 'You feelsick,then,inthemornings?'

She looked sharplysideways, then swallowed,the thinmusclesstandingoutfromherneck.'Youknow?'

'IamtheArchLector,'hesaidashecamecloser. 'I am

supposed to knoweverything.'

Hershoulderssagged,herhead dropped, she leanedforwards, both hands on theedge of the table. Gloktacould see her eyelidsfluttering, from the side.Blinking back the tears. Forall of her anger, and hercleverness, she just as muchin need of saving as anyone

couldbe.But there isnooneto come to the rescue. Thereisonlyme.

'I suppose Imade quite amess of things, just as mybrother said I would. Just asyou said I would. You mustbedisappointed.'

Glokta felt his facetwisting. Something like asmile,perhaps.Butnotmuchjoy in it. 'I've spent most of

mylifedisappointed.Butnotin you. It's a hardworld.Noone gets what they deserve.'How long must we drag thisout before we find thecourage? It will not get anyeasier to do it. It must benow.

'Ardee…' his voicesounded rough in his ownears.Hetookanotherlimpingstep, his palm sweaty on the

handle of his cane. Shelooked up at him, wet eyesgleaming, one hand on herstomach. Shemoved as if totake a step back. A trace offear, perhaps? And who canblameher?Canitbethatsheguessesatwhatiscoming?

'You know that I havealwayshadagreatlikingandrespect for your brother.'Hismouth was dry, his tongue

slurped awkwardly againsthis empty gums.Now is thetime. 'Over thepastmonths Ihavedevelopedagreatlikingandrespectforyou.'Aflurryoftwitchesranupthesideofhisfaceandmadea tear leakfromhisflickeringeye.Now,now. 'Or… as close to suchfeelingsasamanlikemyselfcan come, at least.' Gloktaslid his hand into his pocket,

carefully, so she would notnotice.Hefeltthecoldmetal,the hard, merciless edgesbrushing against his skin. Itmust be now. His heart waspounding, his throat so tightthat he could barely speak.'This is difficult. I am…sorry.'

'For what?' she said,frowningathim.

Now.

He lurched towards her,snatching his hand from hispocket. She stumbled backagainstthetable,eyeswide…andtheybothfroze.

Theringglitteredbetweenthem. A colossal, flashingdiamondso large itmade thethick golden band lookflimsy. So large it looks ajoke. A fake. An absurdimpossibility. The biggest

stone that Valint and Balkhadtooffer.

'I have to ask you tomarry me,' he croaked. Thehand that held the ring wastrembling likeadry leaf.Putacleaver in itand it'ssteadyasarock,butaskmetoholda ring and I nearly wetmyself. Courage, Sand,courage.

She stared down at the

glittering stone, her mouthhanging stupidly open. Withshock? With horror? Marrythis… thing? I would ratherdie!'Uh…'shemuttered.'I…'

'I know! I know, I'm asdisgusted as you are, but…let me speak. Please.' Hestared down at the floor, hismouthtwistingashesaidthewords. 'I am not stupidenough to pretend that you

might ever come to love…aman likeme, or think ofmewith anything warmer thanpity. This is a question ofnecessity. You should notflinch from it because… ofwhat I am. They know youarecarryingtheking'schild.'

'They?'shemuttered.'Yes.They.Thechildisa

threat to them. You are athreattothem.ThiswayIcan

protect you. I can give yourchild legitimacy. It must beour child, now and forever.'Still she stared at the ring insilence. Like a prisonerstaring horrified upon theinstruments, and decidingwhether to confess. Twoawful choices, but which istheworse?

'There are many thingsthat I can give you. Safety.

Security. Respect. You willhavethebestofeverything.Ahigh place in society, forwhat such things are worth.Noonewilldreamoflayingafingeruponyou.Noonewilldare to talk down to you.People will whisper behindyourback,ofcourse.Buttheywill whisper of your beauty,yourwit,andyoursurpassingvirtue.' Glokta narrowed his

eyes.'Iwillseetoit.'Shelookedupathim,and

swallowed. And now comesthe refusal. My thanks, but Iwouldratherdie. 'Ishouldbehonestwithyou.WhenIwasyounger…Ididsomefoolishthings.' Her mouth twisted.'This isn't even the firstbastardI'vecarried.MyfatherthrewmedownthestairsandIlostit.Henearlykilledme.I

didn't think that it couldhappenagain.'

'We have all done thingswe are not proud of.' Youshould hear my confessions,some time.Or rather no oneever should. 'That changesnothing. I promised that Iwouldlooktoyourwelfare.Iseenootherway.'

'Then yes.' She took thering from him without any

ceremonyandsliditontoherfinger. 'There is nothing tothink about, is there?'Scarcely the gushingacceptance, the tearfulacquiescence, the joyfulsurrenderthatonereadsofinthe story books. A reluctantbusiness arrangement. Anoccasionforsadreflectiononall thatmight have been, butisnot.

'Who would havethought,' she murmured,staring at the jewel on herfinger, 'when I watched youfence with my brother, allthoseyears ago, that Iwouldonedaywearyourring?Youalways were the man of mydreams.'

And now of yournightmares. 'Life takesstrange turns. The

circumstances are not quitewhat anyone would havepredicted.'And so I save twolives.Howmuchevilcanthatpossibly outweigh? Yet it issomethingontherightsideofthe scales, at least. Everyman needs something on therightsideofthescales.

Herdarkeyesrolleduptohis. 'Could you not haveaffordedabiggerstone?'

'Only by raiding thetreasury,' he croaked. A kisswould be traditional, butunderthecircumstances—

Shestepped towardshim,lifting one arm. He lurchedback, winced at a twinge inhis hip. 'Sorry. Somewhat…outofpractice.'

'IfIamtodothis,Imeantodoitproperly.'

'Tomakethebestofit,doyoumean?'

'Tomakesomethingofit,anyway.' She drew closerstill.He had to force himselfto stay where he was. Shelooked into his eyes. Shereached up, slowly, andtouchedhischeek,andsethiseyelidflickering.

Foolishness. How manywomen have touched me

before? And yet that wasanotherlife.Another—

Her hand slid round hisface, her fingertips pressingtight into his jaw. His neckclicked as she pulled himclose. He felt her breathwarm on his chin. Her lipsbrushed against his, gently,and back the other way. Heheardhermakeasoftgruntinher throat, and it made his

own breath catch. Pretence,of course. How could anywoman want to touch thisruinedbody?Kissthisruinedface? Even I am repulsed atthe thought of it. Pretence,and yet I must applaud herfortheeffort.

His left leg trembled andhe had to cling tight to hiscane. The breath hissed fastthrough his nose. Her face

was sidewayson tohis, theirmouths locked together,suckingwetly.The tipofhertongue licked at his emptygums. Pretence, of course,what else could it be ? Andyet she does it so very, verywell…

TheFirstLaw

«^»

Ferro sat, and she stared ather hand. The hand that hadheld the Seed. It looked thesame as ever, yet it felt

different. Cold, still. Verycold. She had wrapped it inblankets.Shehadbatheditinwarmwater. She had held itnear thefire,sonear thatshehadburnedherself.

Nothinghelped.'Ferro…' Whispered so

quiet it could almost havebeen the wind around thewindow-frame.

She jerked to her feet,knifeclutchedinherfist.Shestared into the cornersofherroom. All empty. She bentdown to look under the bed,under the tall cupboard. Shetore the hangings out of theway with her free hand. Noone. She had known therewouldbenoone.

Yetshestillheardthem.A thumping at the door

andshewhippedroundagain,breath hissing through herteeth. Another dream?Another ghost? More heavyknocks.

'Comein?'shegrowled.The door opened. Bayaz.

Heraisedoneeyebrowatherknife. 'Youarealtogether toofond of blades, Ferro. Youhavenoenemieshere.'

She glared at the Magusthrough narrowed eyes. Shewas not so sure. 'Whathappened,inthewind?'

'What happened?' Bayazshrugged.'Wewon.'

'Whatwere thoseshapes?Thoseshadows.'

'Isawnothing,asidefromMamun and his HundredWords receiving the

punishmenttheydeserved.''Didyounothearvoices?''Over the thunder of our

victory?Iheardnothing.''I did.' Ferro lowered the

knifeandslidit intoherbelt.Sheworkedthefingersofherhand, the same, and yetchanged.'Istillhearthem.'

'And what do they tellyou,Ferro?'

'Theyspeakof locks, andgates, and doors, and theopeningofthem.Alwaystheytalk of opening them. Theyaskabout theSeed.Where isit?'

'Safe.' Bayaz gazedblanklyather. 'Remember, ifyoutrulyhearthecreaturesofthe Other Side, that they aremadeoflies.'

'They are not alone in

that.TheyaskmetobreaktheFirstLaw.Justasyoudid.'

'Open to interpretation.'Bayaz had a proud twist tothecornerofhismouth.Asifhe had achieved somethingwonderful. 'I temperedGlustrod'sdisciplineswiththetechniques of the MasterMaker, and used the Seed asthe engine for my Art. Theresults were…' He took a

long, satisfied breath. 'Well,youwerethere.Itwas,aboveall,atriumphofwill.'

'You tampered with theseals. You put the world atrisk.TheTellersofSecrets…'

'The First Law is aparadox. Whenever youchange a thing you borrowfrom the world below, andthere are always risks. If Ihavecrossedalineitisaline

of scale only. The world issafe, is it not? I make noapologies for theambitionofmyvision.'

'They are burying men,and women, and children, inpits for a hundred. Just asthey did in Aulcus. Thissickness… it is because ofwhatwedid.Isthatambition,then?Thesizeofthegraves?'

Bayaz gave a dismissive

toss of his head. 'Anunexpected side-effect. Thepriceofvictory, I fear, is thesamenowasitwasintheOldTime,andalwayswillbe.'Hefixed her with his eye, andthere was a threat in it. Achallenge. 'But if I broke theFirstLaw,whatthen?Inwhatcourt will you have mejudged? By what jury? WillyoureleaseTolomeifromthe

darkness to give evidence?WillyouseekoutZacharustoread the charge? Will youdrag Cawneil from the edgeof the World to deliver theverdict?WillyoubringgreatJuvens from the land of thedead to pronounce thesentence? I think not. I amFirst of the Magi. I am thelast authority and I say… Iamrighteous.'

'You?No.''Yes,Ferro.Powermakes

all things right. That is myfirstlaw,andmylast.Thatisthe only law that Iacknowledge.'

'Zacharuswarnedme,'shemurmured, thinking of theendless plain, the wild-eyedold man with his circlingbirds.'Hetoldmetorun,andnever stop running. I should

havelistenedtohim.''Tothatbloatedbladderof

self-righteousness?' Bayazsnorted. 'Perhaps you shouldhave,butthatshiphassailed.You waved it away happilyfrom the shore, and choseinstead to feed your fury.Gladly you fed it. Let us notpretend that I deceived you.You knew we were to walkdarkpaths.'

'I did not expect…' sheworkedher icy fingers intoatremblingfist.'This.'

'What did you expect,then?ImustconfessIthoughtyoumadeofharderstuff.Letusleavethephilosophisingtothose with more time andfewer scores to settle. Guilt,and regret, andrighteousness? It is liketalking with the great King

Jezal. And who has thepatience for that?' He turnedtowardsthedoor.'Youshouldstay near me. Perhaps, intime, Khalul will send otheragents.ThenIwillhaveneedofyourtalentsonceagain.'

She snorted. 'And untilthen? Sit here with theshadowsforcompany?'

'Until then, smile, Ferro,if you can remember how.'

Bayaz flashed his white grinat her. 'You have yourvengeance.'

The wind tore around her,rushed around her, full ofshadows.Shekneltatoneendof a screaming tunnel,touching the very sky. Theworldwasthinandbrittleasasheetofglass,readytocrack.Beyond it a bottomless void,

filledwithvoices.'Letusin…''No!' She thrashed her

way free and struggled up,stood panting on the floorbesideher bed, everymusclerigid.Buttherewasnoonetofight.Anotherdream,only.

Her own fault, for lettingherselfsleep.

Alongstripofmoonlight

reached towards her acrossthe tiles. The window at itsend stood ajar, a cold nightbreeze washed through andchilled her sweat-beadedskin. She walked to it,frowning, pushed it shut andslid the bolt. She turnedaround.

Afigurestoodinthethickshadows beside the door. Aone-armed figure, swathed in

rags. The few pieces ofarmour still strapped to himwerescuffedandgouged.Hisface was a dusty ruin, tornskin hanging in scraps fromwhite bone, but even so,Ferroknewhim.

Mamun.'We meet again, devil-

blood.' His dry voice rustledlikeoldpaper.

'I am dreaming,' shehissed.

'You will wish that youwere.' He was across theroom in a breathless instant.His one hand closed roundher throat like a locksnapping shut. 'Digging mywayoutof that ruinationonehandful of dirt at a time hasgiven me a hunger.' His drybreath tickled at her face. 'I

willmakemyself a new armfromyourflesh,andwithitIwill strike down Bayaz andtake vengeance for greatJuvens.TheProphethasseenit, and I will turn his visioninto truth.' He lifted her,effortlessly,crushedherbackagainst the wall, her heelskickingagainstthepanelling.

The hand squeezed. Herchest heaved, but no air

moved inside her neck. Shestruggled with the fingers,rippedatthemwithhernails,but they were made of iron,made of stone, tight as ahanged man's collar. Shefoughtandtwistedbuthedidnotshiftahair'sbreadth.Shefiddled withMamun's ruinedface,herfingersworkedtheirway into his ripped cheek,tore at the dusty flesh inside

but his eyes did not evenblink. It had grown cold intheroom.

'Say your prayers, child,'he whispered, broken teethgrinding, 'and hope that Godismerciful.'

She was growing weakernow. Her lungs werebursting.Shetoreathimstill,but each effort was less.Weaker and weaker. Her

arms drooped, her legsdangled, her eyelids wereheavy,heavy.Allwasterriblecold.

'Now,' he whispered,breath smoking. He broughtherdown,openinghismouth,histornlipsslidingbackfromhissplinteredteeth.'Now.'

Her finger stabbed intohis neck. Through his skinand into his dry flesh, up to

theknuckle.Itdrovehisheadaway. Her other handwormed round his, prised itfrom her throat, bent hisfingers backwards. She feltthe bones in them snap,crunch, splinter as shedropped to the floor. Whitefrost crept out across theblack window-panes besideher, squeaked under her barefeet as she twisted Mamun

round and rammed himagainst the wall, crushed hisbody into the splinteringpanels, the cracking plaster.Dust showered down fromtheforceofit.

She drove her fingerfurther into his throat,upwards,inwards.Itwaseasytodoit.Therewasnoendtoherstrength.Itcamefromtheother side of the divide. The

Seed had changed her, as ithad changed Tolomei, andtherecouldbenogoingback.

Ferrosmiled.'Take my flesh, would

you?Youhavehadyour lastmeal,Mamun.'

The tip of her finger slidoutbetweenhisteeth,metherthumbandhookedhimlikeafish.Witha jerkofherwrist

sherippedthejaw-bonefromhis head and tossed itclattering away. His tonguelolledinsidearaggedmassofdustyflesh.

'Say your prayers, Eater,'she hissed, 'and hope thatGodismerciful.'Sheclampedher palms around either sideof his head. A long squeakcame from his nose. Hisshattered hand pawed at her,

uselessly.Hisskullbent,thenflattened, then burst apart,splinters of bone flying. Shelet the body fall, dust slidingout across the floor, curlingroundherfeet.

'Yes…'She did not startle. She

didnotstare.Sheknewwherethe voice came from.Everywhereandnowhere.

She stepped to thewindow and pulled it open.Shejumpedthrough,droppeda dozen strides down to theturf,andstood.Thenightwasfull of sounds, but she wassilent. She padded across themoonlit grass, crunchingfrozen where her bare feetfell,creptupa longstairandonto the walls. The voicesfollowedher.

'Wait.''TheSeed!''Ferro.''Letusin…'She ignored them. An

armouredmanstaredoutintothe night, out towards theHouse of the Maker, ablacker outline against theblack sky. A wedge ofdarkness over the Agriont

within which there were nostars, no moonlit clouds, nolightatall.FerrowonderedifTolomei was lurking in theshadows inside, scratching atits gates. Scratching,scratching, forever. She hadwasted her chance atvengeance.

Ferro would not do thesame.

She slid down the

battlements, around theguard,hugginghiscloaktightabout his shoulders as shepassed. Up onto the parapetand she leaped, the windrushing against her skin. Sheclearedthemoat,creakingicespreading out across thewater beneath her. Thecobbled ground beyondrushed up. Her feet thumpedinto it and she rolled over,

over,awayintothebuildings.Her clothes were torn fromthefallbuttherewasnomarkonherskin.Notsomuchasabeadofblood.

'No,Ferro.''Back,andfindtheSeed!''Itisnearhim.''Bayazhasit.'Bayaz. Perhapswhen she

was done in the South, she

would return. When she hadburied the great Uthman-ul-Doshtintheruinsofhisownpalace. When she had sentKhalul, and his Eaters, andhis priests to hell. Perhapsthen she would come back,and teach the First of theMagi the lesson that hedeserved. The lesson thatTolomeimeant to teach him.But then, liar or not, he had

kept his word to her, in theend. He had given her themeansofvengeance.

Nowshewouldtakeit.Ferro stole through the

silent ruins of the city, quietand quick as a night breeze.South,towardsthedocks.Shewould find a way. South,acrosstheseatoGurkhul,andthen…

The voices whispered toher.Athousandvoices.Theyspoke of the gates that Euzclosed, and of the seals thatEuz put upon them. Theybegged her to open them.They told her to break them.They told her how, and theycommandedhertodoit.

But Ferro only smiled.Letthemspeak.

Shehadnomasters.

TeaandThreats

«^»

Logenfrowned.He frowned at the wide

hall,anditsglitteringmirrors,and the many powerfulpeople in it. He scowled atthe great Lords of theUnionfacing him. Two hundred ofthem or more, sitting in amuttering crowd around theopposite side of the room.Their false talk, and theirfalse smiles, and their falsefaces cloyed at him like toomuch honey. But he felt no

better about the folk on hisside of the hall, sharing thehigh platform with him andthegreatKingJezal.

There was the sneeringcripple who'd asked all thequestions that day in thetower, dressed now all inwhite. There was a fat manwith a face full of brokenveins, looked as if he startedeachdaywithabottle.There

was a tall, lean bastard in ablack breastplate covered infancy gold,with a soft smileandhardlittleeyes.Asshiftya pack of liars as Logen hadever laid eyes on, but therewas one worse than all theresttogether.

Bayaz sat with an easygrin on his face, as ifeverythinghadturnedoutjustthewayhe'dplanned.Maybe

it had. Damn wizard. Logenshould have known betterthan to trust a man with nohair. The spirits had warnedhimthatMagihavetheirownpurposes, but he'd taken nonotice, plunged on blindly,hoping for the best, just likealways. Say one thing forLogen Ninefingers, say henever listens. One faultamongmany.

His eyes swivelled theotherway, towards Jezal.Helookedcomfortableenoughinhis kingly robes, goldencrown gleaming on his head,goldenchairevenbiggerthantheonethatLogenwassittingin. His wife sat beside him.She had a frosty pride abouther,maybe,butnoworse forthat. Beautiful as a wintermorning. And she had this

look on her face, when shelookedatJezal.Afiercekindoflook,asifshecouldhardlystop herself tearing into himwith her teeth. That luckybastard always seemed tocome out alright. Shecould've had a little bite outofLogenifshe'dwanted,butwhat woman in her rightminddid?

Hefrownedmostofallat

himself in the mirrorsopposite, raised up on thehigh platform beside Jezaland his queen. He looked asullen and brooding, scarredand fearsomemonster besidethat beautiful pair. A manmade of murder, thenswaddled in rich colouredcloth and rarewhite furs, setwith polished rivets andbright buckles, all toppedoff

with a great golden chainaround his shoulders. Thatsame chain that Bethod hadworn. His hands stuck fromthe ends of his fur-trimmedsleeves, marked and brutal,one finger missing, graspingat the arms of his gildedchair. King's clothes, maybe,but killer's hands. He lookedlike the villain in some oldchildren's story. The ruthless

warrior, clawed his way topower with fire and steel.Climbed to a throne up amountain of corpses. Maybehewasthatman.

Hesquirmedaround,newcloth scratching at hisclammy skin. He'd come along way, since he draggedhimselfoutofariverwithouteven a pair of boots to hisname. Dragged himself

across the High Places withnothing but a pot forcompany. He'd come a longway, but he wasn't sure hehadn't liked himself betterbefore. He'd laughed whenhe'd heard that Bethod wascalling himself a king. Nowherehewas,doing the same,and evenworse suited to thejob.Sayone thing forLogenNinefingers, say he's a cunt.

Simpleasthat.Andthat'snotsomething any man likes toadmitabouthimself.

The drunkard, Hoff, wasdoing most of the talking.'The Lords' Round lies inruins, alas. For the timebeing,therefore,untilavenueof grandeur suitable for thisnoble institution has beenbuilt—a new Lords' Round,richer and greater than the

last—ithasbeendecidedthatthe Open Council will standinrecess.'

There was a pause. 'Inrecess?'someonemuttered.

'Howwillwebeheard?''Where will the nobles

havetheirvoice?''The nobles will speak

through the Closed Council.'Hoffhadthattoneamanuses

talking down to a child. 'Ormay apply to theUndersecretaryforAudiencesto obtain a hearing with theking.'

'But any peasant may doso!'

Hoff raisedhiseyebrows.'True.'

A ripple of anger spreadoutthroughtheLordsinfront

of them. Logen might nothave understood too muchabout politics, but he couldrecognise one set of mengetting stood on by another.Never anice thing tobepartof,butat leasthewason theside doing the standing, foronce.

'The king and the nationareoneandthesame!'Bayaz'harsh voice cut over the

chatter. 'You only borrowyour lands from him. Heregrets that he requires someportion of them back, butsuchisthespurofnecessity.'

'A quarter.' The cripplelickedathisemptygumswitha faint sucking sound. 'Fromeachoneofyou.'

'This will not stand!'shouted an angry oldman inthefrontrow.

'You think not, LordIsher?' Bayaz only smiled athim.'Thosewhodonotthinkso may join Lord Brock industy exile, and surrender alltheir lands to the crowninsteadofjustaportion.'

'This is an outrage!'shouted another man.'Always, the king has beenfirst among equals, thegreatest of nobles, not above

them.Ourvotes brought himto the throne, and we refuse—'

'Youdanceclosetoaline,Lord Heugen.' The cripple'sface twitched with uglyspasms as he frowned acrosstheroom.'Youmightwishtoremain on that side of it,where it is safe, and warm,andloyal.Theothersidewillnot suityou sowell, I think.'

A long tear ran from hisflickering left eye and downhis hollow cheek. 'TheSurveyor General will beassessing your estates overthe comingmonths. Itwouldbe wise for you all to lendhimyourfullestassistance.'

A lot of men were ontheir feet now, scowling,shaking fists. 'This isoutrageous!'

'Unprecedented!''Unacceptable!''We refuse to be

intimidated!'Jezal sprang from his

throne, raising his jewelledswordhigh,andstruckat theplatformagainandagainwiththe end of the scabbard,filling the room withbooming echoes. 'I am the

king!' he bellowed at thesuddenly silent chamber. 'Iamnotofferingachoice,Iamissuing a royal decree! Aduawill be rebuilt, and moregloriousthanever!Thisistheprice! You have grown tooused to a weak crown, myLords!BelievemewhenIsaythat those days are nowbehindus!'

Bayaz leanedsideways to

mutter in Logen's ear.'Surprisingly good at this,isn'the?'

The Lords grumbled, butthey sat back down as Jezalspoke on, voice washingaround the room with easyconfidence, sheathed swordstill held firmly in one fist.'Those who lent me theirwholehearted support in therecent crisis will be exempt.

Butthatlist,toyourshame,isall too brief. Why, it wasfriends from outside theborders of the Union whosustained us in our time ofneed!'

The man in black sweptfrom his chair. 'I, Orso ofTalins, stand always at theside of my royal son anddaughter!' He seized Jezal'sface and kissed both his

cheeks.Thenhedidthesamewiththequeen. 'Theirfriendsare my friends.' He said itwithasmile,butthemeaningwas hard to miss. 'Theirenemies? Ah! You all areclever men. You can guesstherest.'

'I thankyou foryourpartinourdeliverance,'saidJezal.'You have our gratitude. Thewar between the Union and

the North is at an end. Thetyrant Bethod is dead, andthere is a new order. I amproud to call the man whothrew him down my friend.Logen Ninefingers! King ofthe Northmen!' He beamed,holding out his hand. 'It isfitting that we should strideinto this bold new future asbrothers.'

'Aye,' said Logen,

pushing himself painfully upfrom his chair. 'Right.' HefoldedJezalinahug,slappedhimonthebackwithathumpthat echoed round the greatchamber. 'Reckon we'll bestaying our side of theWhiteflow from now on.Unlessmybrotherhastroubledown here, of course.' Heswept the sullen old men inthe front row with a

graveyardscowl.'Don'tmakeme fucking come back here.'He sat down in the big chairand frowned out. TheBloody-Nine might not haveknown too much aboutpolitics, but he knew how tomakeathreatalright.

'We won the war!' Jezalrattled the golden hilt of hissword, then slid it smoothlybackthroughtheclasponhis

belt. 'Now we must win thepeace!'

'Well said, your Majesty,well said!' The red-faceddrunkard stood, not givinganyone the chance to get awordin.'Thenonlyoneorderof business remains beforethe Open Council stands inrecess.' He turned with anoilysmileandahand-rubbingbow. 'Letusofferour thanks

toLordBayaz,theFirstoftheMagi,who,bythewisdomofhis council and the power ofhisArt,droveouttheinvaderand saved the Union!' Hebegan to clap. The crippleGloktajoinedhim,thenDukeOrso.

A burly lord in the frontrowsprangup. 'LordBayaz!'he roared, smashing his fathands together. Soon the

whole hall was resoundingwithreluctantapplause.EvenHeugenjoinedin.EvenIsher,althoughhehadalookonhisface as if hewas clapping athis ownburial.Logen let hishands stay where they were.If he was honest, he felt atouch sick even being there.Sick and angry. He slumpedbackinhischair,andkeptonfrowning.

Jezal watched the greatworthies of the Union fileunhappilyoutoftheChamberofMirrors.Greatmen. Isher,Barezin, Heugen, and all therest. Men that he had oncegaped at the sight of. Allhumbled. He could hardlykeep the smile from his faceas they grumbled theirhelpless discontent. It felt

almostlikebeingaking,untilhecaughtsightofhisqueen.

Terez and her father, theGrand Duke Orso, wereengaged in what appeared tobe a heartfelt argument,carried out in expressiveStyrian, accentuated on bothsides by violent handmovements.Jezalmighthavebeenrelievedthathewasnotthe only family member she

appeared to despise, had henotsuspectedthathewasthesubjectof theirargument.Heheard a soft scraping behindhim, and was mildlydisgusted to see the twistedfaceofhisnewArchLector.

'Your Majesty.' Gloktaspokesoftly,asifheplannedto discuss secrets, frowningtowardsTerezandherfather.'Might I ask… is all well

between you and the queen?'His voice dropped evenlower. 'I understand that yourarely sleep in the sameroom.'

Jezalwas on the point ofgiving the cripple abackhanded blow across thefaceforhis impudence.Thenhe caught Terez looking athim, out of the corner of hiseye. That look of utter

contempt that was his usualtreatment as a husband. Hefelt his shoulders sag. 'Shecanscarcelystandtobeinthesamecountryasme,letalonethe same bed. The woman'san utter bitch!' he snarled,thenhunghisheadandstareddownatthefloor.'WhatamItodo?'

Gloktaworkedhisnecktoone side, then the other, and

Jezalsuppressedashudderasheheardaloudclick.'Letmespeak to the queen, yourMajesty. I can be quitepersuasive when I have themind. I understand yourdifficulties. I am myself butrecentlymarried.'

Jezal dreaded to thinkwhat manner of monstermight have accepted thismonster as a husband.

'Truly?' he asked, feigninginterest.'Whoisthelady?'

'I believe that the two ofyou are distantly acquainted.Ardeeishername.ArdeedanGlokta.'Andthecripple'slipsslid back to display thesickening hole in his frontteeth.

'Butnot—''My old friend Collem

West's sister, yes.' Jezalstared, speechless. Gloktagave a stiff bow. 'I acceptyour congratulations.' Heturned away, limped to theedge of the platform, andbegan to lurch down thesteps, leaning heavily on hiscane.

Jezalcouldhardlycontainhis cold shock, his crushingdisappointment, his utter

horror.Hecouldnotconceiveof what blackmail thatshambling monstrosity mighthave employed to trap her.Perhaps she had simply beendesperate when Jezalabandonedher.Perhaps,withher brother ill, she had beenleftwithnowhereelsetoturn.Only the other morning, inthe hospital, the sight of herhad tugged at something in

him, just the way it used to.He had been thinking tohimselfthatperhaps,oneday,withtime…

Now even suchpleasurable fancies werebrought crashing to theground. Ardee was married,and to a man that Jezaldespised. Aman who sat onhis own Closed Council. Tomake matters even worse, a

man to whom he had, in amomentofmadness,justnowconfessed the total emptinessof his ownmarriage.He hadmade himself appear weak,vulnerable,absurd.Hecursedbitterlyunderhisbreath.

Itseemednowthathehadloved Ardee with anunbearablepassion.Thattheyhad shared something hewouldnever findagain.How

could he not have realised itat the time? How could hehave allowed it all to fallapart, for this? The sad factwas, he supposed, that loveon its own was nothing likeenough.

Logen felt a lurch ofdisappointment as he openedthe door, and close behind itan ugly wave of anger. The

room was empty, neat andclean, as though no one hadever slept there. Ferro wasgone.

Nothing had worked outthe way he'd hoped. Heshould'veexpecteditbynow,maybe.Afterall,thingsneverhad before. And yet he kepton pissing into the wind. Hewas like amanwhose door'stoo low, but instead of

working out how to duck,keeps on smacking his headintothelinteleverydayofhismiserable life. He wanted tofeel sorry for himself, but heknew he deserved no better.Amancan'tdothethingshe'ddone, and hope for happyendings.

He strode out into thecorridor and down thehallway,hisjawclenched.He

shouldered open the nextdoor without knocking. Thetall windows stood open,sunlightpouring into theairyroom,hangingsstirringinthebreeze.Bayazsat inacarvedchairinfrontofoneofthem,a teacup in his hand. Afawning servant in a velvetjacket was pouring into itfrom a silver pot, a tray andcups balanced on his

outspreadfingertips.'Ah, the King of the

Northmen!' called Bayaz.'Howare—'

'WhereisFerro?''Gone.Sheleftsomething

ofamessbehind, infact,butIhavetidiedup,asIsooftenfindmyself—'

'Where?'The Magus shrugged.

'South, I would imagine.Vengeance,orsomesuch,ifIwas forced to guess. Shealwayssaidaverygreatdealabout vengeance.Amost ill-temperedwoman.'

'Sheischanged.''Great events, my friend.

None of us are quite thesame. Now, will you taketea?'

The servant prancedforward, silver tray bobbing.Logen seized him by hisvelvet jacket and flung himacrosstheroom.Hesquealedas he crashed into the walland sprawled on the carpet,cupsclatteringaroundhim.

Bayazraisedaneyebrow.'A simple "no" would havesufficed.'

'Shit on that, you old

bastard.'The First of the Magi

frowned. 'Why, MasterNinefingers, you seem inbullish mood this morning.Youareakingnow,anditillbecomesyoutoletyourbaserpassions rule you in thismanner. Kings of that sortneverlast.Youhaveenemiesstill in theNorth.Calder andScale, up in the hills causing

trouble, I am sure. Mannersshould be repaid by likemanners, I have alwaysthought. You have beenhelpful to me, and I can behelpfulinreturn.'

'AsyouweretoBethod?''Justso.''Muchgooditdidhim.''Whenhehadmyhelp,he

prospered. Then he became

proud, and unruly, anddemanded things all his ownway. Without my help…well,youknowtherest.'

'Stay out ofmy business,wizard.' Logen let his handfall onto the hilt of theMaker'sblade.Ifswordshavevoices, as the Magus hadonce told him, he made itgiveagrimthreatnow.

But Bayaz' face showed

only the slightest trace ofannoyance. 'A lesser manmightfindhimselfupset.DidI not buy your life fromBethod? Did I not give youpurpose when you hadnothing?DidInottakeyoutothe very edge of the World,show you wonders few menhave seen? These are poormanners. Why, the verysword with which you

threaten me was my gift toyou. I had hoped we mightcometoa—'

'No.''Isee.Noteven—''Wearedone.Looksasif

I'llneverbeabetterman,butIcan trynot tobeaworse. Icantrythatmuch,atleast.'

Bayaznarrowedhis eyes.'Well, Master Ninefingers,

you surpriseme to the last. Ithoughtyouacourageousyetrestrained man, a calculatingyet compassionate one. Ithought you, above all, arealistic man. But theNorthmen have ever beenprone to petulance. I observein you now an obstinatestreak and a destructivetemper.IseetheBloody-Nineatlast.'

'I'm happy to disappointyou. Seems we misjudgedeachotherentirely.Itookyouforagreatman.NowIrealisemy mistake.' Logen slowlyshook his head. 'What haveyoudonehere?'

'What have I done?'Bayaz snorted withdisbelieving laughter. 'Icombined three puredisciplines of magic, and I

forged a new one! It seemsyou do not understand theachievement, MasterNinefingers, but I forgiveyou. I realise that book-learning has never been yourstrongest suit. Such a thinghas not been contemplatedsince before the Old Time,when Euz split his giftsamong his sons.' Bayazsighed. 'Nonewill appreciate

my greatest achievement, itseems. None except Khalul,perhaps, and it is unlikelyhewill ever proffer hiscongratulations. Why, suchpower has not been releasedwithintheCircleoftheWorldsince…since…'

'Glustrod destroyedhimself and Aulcus withhim?'

The Magus raised his

eyebrows.'Sinceyoumentionit.'

'Andtheresultsareprettymuch the same, it seems tome, except you wrought atouch less careless slaughter,andruinedasmallerpartofasmaller city, in a smaller,meaner time. Otherwisewhat's the difference,betweenyouandhim?'

'Iwouldhavethoughtthat

was entirely obvious.' Bayazlifted his teacup, gazingmildlyovertherim.'Glustrodlost.'

Logen stood there for along while, thinking on that.Then he turned and stalkedfrom the room, the servantcringing out of hisway. Intothe corridor, footstepsclapping from the gildedceiling,Bethod'sheavychain

jingling round his shoulderslikelaughterinhisear.

He probably should'vekept the ruthless old bastardon his side. Chances werethat Logen would need hishelp,thewaythingswereliketo be in the North, once hegot back. He probablyshould've sucked up thatstinkingpisshecalledteaandsmiledasifitwashoney.He

probably should've laughed,and called Bayaz old friend,sohecouldcomecrawlingtothe Great Northern Librarywhenthingsturnedsour.Thatwould have been the cleverthing todo.Thatwouldhavebeentherealisticthing.ButitwasjustthewaythatLogen'sfatherhadalwayssaid…

He'd never been thatrealistic.

BehindtheThrone

«^»

A soon as he heard the dooropen, Jezal knew who his

visitor must be. He did noteven have to look up. Whoelsewould have the temerityto barge into a king's ownchamberswithoutsomuchasknocking? He cursed,silently, but with greatbitterness.

It could only be Bayaz.His jailer. His chieftormentor. His ever-presentshadow. The man who had

destroyed half the Agriont,andmade a ruin of beautifulAdua, and now smiled andrevelled in the applause asthoughhewerethesaviourofthe nation. It was enough tomakeamansicktothepitofhis guts. Jezal ground histeeth, staring out of thewindow towards the ruins,refusingtoturnround.

More demands. More

compromises. More talk ofwhat had to be done. Beingtheheadofstate,atleastwiththe First of the Magi at hisshoulder, was an endlesslyfrustrating anddisempowering experience.Gettinghisownwayoneventhetiniestofissues,analmostimpossible struggle.Whereverhelookedhefoundhimself staring directly into

the Magus' disapprovingfrown. He felt like nothingmore than a figurehead. Afine-looking, a gilded, amagnificent yet utterlyuseless chunk of wood.Except a figurehead at leastgets to go at the front of theship.

'Your Majesty,' came theold man's voice, the usualthin veneer of respect

scarcely concealing the hardbodyofdisdainbeneath.

'What now?' Jezal finallyturned to face him. He wassurprised to see that theMagus had shed his robes ofstate in favour of his oldtravel-stainedcoat, theheavyboots he had worn on theirill-fated journey into theruined west. 'Goingsomewhere?' asked Jezal,

hardlydaringeventohope.'I am leaving Adua.

Today.''Today?' It was the most

Jezalcoulddotostophimselfleaping in the air andscreamingforjoy.Hefeltlikea prisoner stepping from hisstinkingdungeonandintothebright sunlight of freedom.Now he could rebuild theAgriont as he saw fit. He

could reorganise the ClosedCouncil, pick his ownadvisers. Perhaps even ridhimself of that witch of awife Bayaz had saddled himwith.Hewouldbefree todothe right thing,whatever thatwas.Hewouldbe free to tryand find out what the rightthingmight be, at least.Washe not the High King of theUnion, after all?Whowould

refusehim?'Wewillbesorrytoloseyou,ofcourse.'

'I can imagine. There aresome arrangements that wemustmakefirst,however.'

'By all means.' Anythingif itmeant hewas rid of theoldbastard.

'I have spoken with yournewArchLector,Glokta.'

Thenamealoneproduced

a shiver of revulsion. 'Haveyouindeed?'

'A sharp man. He hasgreatly impressedme. I haveasked him to speak in mysteadwhile Iamabsent fromtheClosedCouncil.'

'Truly?' asked Jezal,wonderingwhethertotossthecripple fromhispostdirectlyafter theMagusleft thegatesortoleaveitaday.

'Iwouldrecommend,'saidin very much the tone of anorder, 'that you listen closelytohisopinions.'

'Oh Iwill,ofcourse.Thebest of luck on your journeybackto…'

'Iwould likeyou, in fact,todoashesays.'

A cold knot of angerpressedatJezal'sthroat. 'You

would have me, in effect…obeyhim?'

Bayaz' eyes did notdeviate from his own. 'Ineffect…yes.'

Jezal was leftmomentarily speechless. FortheMagustosupposethathecould come and go as hepleased, leaving his maimedlackey in charge? Above aking, in his own kingdom?

The overwhelming arroganceoftheman!'Youhavetakenahigh hand of late in myaffairs!' he snapped. 'I am inno mind to trade oneoverbearing adviser foranother.'

'That man will be veryuseful to you. To us.Decisions will have to bemade that you would finddifficult.Actionswillhaveto

be taken which you wouldrather not take yourself.People who would live insparklingpalacesneedotherswilling to carry away theirordure, lest it pile up in thepolished corridors and oneday bury them. All this issimple, and obvious. Youhavenotattendedtome.'

'No!Youaretheonewhohasfailedtoattend!Sanddan

Glokta? That crippledbastard…' he realised hisunfortunate choice of words,but had to forge onregardless, growing angrierthan ever, 'sitting beside meat the Closed Council?Leering over my shoulderevery day of my life? Andnow you would have himdictate to me? Unacceptable.Insufferable. Impossible! We

are no longer in the time ofHarod the Great! I have nonotionofwhat causesyou tosupposethatyoucouldspeaktomeinsuchamanner.Iamking here, and I refuse to besteered!'

Bayaz closed his eyes,anddrewaslowbreaththrewhis nose. Quite as though hewere trying to find thepatience for the education of

a moron. 'You cannotunderstand what it is to liveaslongasIhave.Toknowallthat I know. You people aredead in the blink of an eye,and have to be taught thesame old lessons all overagain. The same lessons thatJuvens taught Stolicus athousand years ago. Itbecomesextremelytiresome.'

Jezal's fury was steadily

building.'IapologiseifIboreyou!'

'Iacceptyourapology.''Iwasjoking!''Ah. Your wit is so very

sharp I hardly noticed I wascut.'

'Youmockme!''It is easily done. Every

man seems a child to me.Whenyou reachmyageyou

see that history moves incircles.SomanytimesIhaveguided this nation back fromthe brink of destruction, andontoevergreaterglory.Andwhat do I ask in return? Afew little sacrifices? If youonlyunderstoodthesacrificesthatIhavemadeonbehalfofyoucattle!'

Jezal stabbed one fingerfuriously towards the

window. 'And what of allthosedead?Whatofallthosewho have lost everything?Those cattle, as you put it!Are they happy with theirsacrifices, do you suppose?What of all those who havesuffered from this illness?That still suffer? My ownclose friend among them! Icannot but notice it seemssimilar to that illness you

described to us in ruinedAulcus. I cannot helpthinking that your magicmightbethecause!'

The Magus made noefforttodenyit.'Idealinthemomentous.Icannotconcernmyselfwith the fateofeverypeasant. Neither can you. Ihave tried to teach you this,but it seems you have failedtolearnthelesson.'

'You are mistaken! Irefuse to learn it!' Now washis chance. Now, while hewas angry enough, for Jezalto step forever from theshadow of the First of theMagi and stand a free man.Bayazwaspoison,andhehadtobecutout.'Youhelpedmeto my throne, and for that Ithank you. But I do not carefor your brand of

government, it smacks oftyranny!'

Bayaznarrowedhis eyes.'Governmentistyranny.Atitsbest it is dressed in prettycolours.'

'Your callous disregardforthelivesofmysubjects!Iwill not stand for it! I havemoved beyond you. You areno longer wanted here. Nolongerneeded.Iwillfindmy

own way from now on.' HewavedBayazawaywithwhathehopedwasa regalgestureofdismissal.'Youmayleave.'

'May… I… indeed?' TheFirst of the Magi stood insilence for a long time, hisfrown growing darker anddarker. Long enough forJezal's rage to begin to wilt,for his mouth to go dry, forhis knees to feel weak. 'I

perceive that I have been fartoosoftwithyou,'saidBayaz,each word sharp as a razor-cut. 'Ihavecoddledyou, likea favourite grandchild, andyou have grown wilful. Amistake that I shallnotmakeagain.Aresponsibleguardianshouldneverbe shywith thewhip.'

'I am a son of kings!'snarledJezal,'Iwillnot—'

Hewasdoubledoverbyaspear of pain through hisguts, stunningly sudden. Hetottered a step or two,scaldingvomitsprayingfromhis mouth. He crashed ontohisface,scarcelyableeventobreathe, his crown bouncingoff and rolling away into thecorner of the room. He hadnever known agony like it.Notafractionofit.

'I have no notion… ofwhatcausesyoutosuppose…thatyoucouldspeaktomeinsuch a manner. To me, theFirstoftheMagi!'JezalheardBayaz' footsteps thumpingslowly towards him, voicepicking at his ears as hesquirmed helplessly in hisownsick.

'Son of kings? I amdisappointed,afterallthatwe

have been through together,that you would so readilybelieve the lies Ihavespreadonyourbehalf.Thatnonsensewas meant for the idiots inthe streets, but it seems thatidiotsinpalacesarelulledbysweet slop just as easily. Ibought you from a whore.You cost me six marks. Shewanted twenty, but I drive ahardbargain.'

The words were painful,of course. But far, far worsewas the unbearable stabbingthat cut up Jezal's spine, thattore at his eyes, burned hisskin, seared thevery rootsofhishairandmadehimthrashlikeafroginboilingwater.

'I had others waiting, ofcourse. I knowbetter than totrust all to one throw of thedice. Other sons of

mysterious parentage, readyto step into the role. TherewasafamilycalledBrint,asIrecall, and plenty morebesides. But you floated tothe top, Jezal, like a turd inthebath.WhenIcrossedthatbridge into the Agriont andsaw you grown, I knew youwere the one. You simplylooked right, and you can'tteach that. You have even

come to speak like a king,which is a bonus I neverexpected.'

Jezal moaned andslobbered, unable even toscream. He felt Bayaz' bootslideunderhimandkickhimover onto his back. TheMagus'scowlingfaceloomeddowntowardshim,blurredbytears.

'Butifyouinsistonbeing

difficult… if you insist ongoing your ownway…well,there are other options. Evenkingsdieunexplaineddeaths.Thrown by a horse. Chokedon an olive-pit.Long falls tothe hard, hard cobble-stones.Or simply found dead in themorning.Lifeisalwaysshortforyou insects.But itcanbevery short for those who arenotuseful.Imadeyououtof

nothing. Out of air. With aword I can unmake you.'Bayaz snapped his fingers,and the sound was like asword through Jezal'sstomach. 'Like that you canbereplaced.'

The First of the Magileaned down further. 'Now,dolt,bastard,sonofawhore,consider carefully youranswers to these questions.

You will do as your ArchLectoradvises,yes?'

The cramps relaxed amerciful fraction.EnoughforJezaltowhisper,yes.

'You will be guided byhiminallthings?'

'Yes.''You will abide by his

orders, in public and inprivate?'

'Yes,'hegasped,'yes.''Good,' said the Magus,

straightening up, toweringover Jezal as his statue hadoncetoweredoverthepeopleontheKingsway.'Iknewthatyou would say so, becausealthough Iknow thatyouarearrogant, ignorant, andungrateful,Iknowthisalso…youareacoward.Rememberthat. I trust that this is one

lesson you will not ignore.'The agony ebbed suddenlyaway.EnoughforJezaltolifthis spinning head from thetiles.

'I hate you,' he managedtocroak.

Bayaz spluttered withlaughter. 'Hate me? Thearroganceofyou!Tosupposethat I might care. I, Bayaz,first apprentice of great

Juvens! I, who threw downthe Master Maker, whoforged the Union, whodestroyed the HundredWords!' The Magus slowlylifted his foot and planted iton the side of Jezal's jaw. 'Idon't care whether you likeme, fool.' He ground Jezal'sface into the vomit-spatteredfloorwithhisboot.'Icarethatyou obey. And you will.

Yes?''Yes,' Jezal slobbered

throughhissquashedmouth.'Then, your Majesty, I

takemy leave. Pray that younever give me cause toreturn.'ThecrushingpressureonhisfacereleasedandJezalheard the Magus' footstepstapawaytothefarsideoftheroom.Thedoorcreakedopen,andthenclickedfirmlyshut.

He lay on his back,staring at the ceiling, hisbreathheavingquicklyinandout.Afterawhilehedrewupthe courage to roll over,draggedhimselfdizzilyuptohis hands and knees. Therewas an unpleasant stink, andnot just from the vomitsmeared across his face. Herealisedwithameagreflickerof shame that he had soiled

himself.Hecrawledacrosstothe window, still limp as awrung-out rag, drew himselfgasping up to his knees, andlooked down into the chillygardens.

ItonlytookamomentforBayaz to come into view,stridingdownthegravelpathbetween the neat lawns, thebackofhisbaldpateshining.Yoru Sulfur walked behind

him,staff inonehand,aboxof darkmetal held under theotherarm.Thesameboxthathad followed Jezal, andLogen, and Ferro in a cartacross half the Circle of theWorld. What happy daysthoseseemednow.

Bayaz stopped, suddenly,turned, raised his head. Helooked up, straight towardsthewindow.

Jezalpressedhimself intothehangingswithawhimperof terror, his whole bodytrembling, the after-image ofthat unbearable pain stillstamped,coldas ice, intohisguts. The First of the Magistood there for a momentlonger, the faintest hint of asmile on his face. Then heturned away smartly, strodebetween the bowing Knights

oftheBodyflankingthegate,andwasgone.

Jezalknelt there,clingingto thecurtains likea child tohismother.He thoughtabouthowhappyhehadoncebeen,andhowlittlehehadrealisedit. Playing cards, surroundedby friends, a bright futureaheadofhim.Hedraggedinaheavybreath, thetightnessoftears creeping up his throat,

spreading out around hiseyes.Neverinhislifehadhefelt so alone. Son of Kings?He had no one and nothing.Hesplutteredandsniffed.Hisvisiongrewblurry.Heshookwith hopeless sobs, hisscarred lip trembling, thetears dripping down andspatteringonthetiles.

He wept with pain andfear, with shame and anger,

with disappointment andhelplessness. But Bayaz hadbeenright.Hewasacoward.So most of all he wept withrelief.

GoodMen,EvilMen

«^»

Greymorningtime,outinthecold, wet gardens, and the

Dogmanwasjuststoodthere,thinking about how thingsusedtobebetter.Stoodthere,inthemiddleofthatcircleofbrown graves, staring at theturned earth over HardingGrim. Strange, how a manwhosaidsolittlecouldleavesuchahole.

ItwasalongjourneythatDogman had taken, the lastfewyears,andastrangeone.

From nowhere to nowhere,and he'd lost a lot of friendsalong the way. Heremembered all those mengone back to the mud.Harding Grim. Tul DuruThunderhead. RuddThreetrees. Forley theWeakest.Andwhatfor?Whowas better off because of it?Allthatwaste.Itwasenoughto make a man sick to the

soles of his boots. Even onewhowasfamousforhavingaflattemper.Allgone,andleftDogman lonely. The worldwasanarrowerplacewithout'em.

He heard footstepsthroughthewetgrass.Logen,walkingupthroughthemistyrain, breath smoking roundhis scarred face. Dogmanremembered how happy he'd

been, thatnight,whenLogenhadsteppedintothefirelight,still alive. It had seemed likea new beginning, then. Agood moment, promisingbetter times. Hadn't quiteworkedoutthatway.Strange,how the Dogman didn't feelso happy at the sight ofLogenNinefingersnomore.

'The King o' theNorthmen,' hemuttered. 'The

Bloody-Nine.How'stheday?''Wet is how it is.Getting

lateintheyear.''Aye. Another winter

coming.' Dogman picked atthe hard skin on his palm.'They come quicker andquicker.'

'Reckon it's high time Igot back to the North, eh?Calder and Scale still loose,

making mischief, and thedead know what type o'troubleDow'scookedup.'

'Aye,Idaresay.Hightimeweleft.'

'Iwantyoutostay.'Dogmanlookedup.'Eh?''Someoneneedstotalkto

theSoutherners,makeadeal.You've always been the bestmanIknewfortalking.Other

thanBethod,maybe,but…heain'tanoptionnow,ishe?'

'Whatsortofadeal?''Mightbewe'llneed their

help. There'll be all kind o'folkintheNorthnottookeenabout the way things havegone.Folkdon'twantaking,or don't want this one,leastways. TheUnion on ourside'll be a help. Wouldn'thurt if you brought some

weapons back with you too,whenyoucome.'

Dogman winced.'Weapons,isit?'

'Better to have 'em andnot want 'em, than to need'embut—'

'I know the rest. Whathappened to one more fight,then we're done? Whathappened to making things

grow?''Theymighthavetogrow

without us, for now. Listen,Dogman,Ineverlookedforafight,youknowthat,butyouhavetobe—'

'Don't.Even.Bother.''I'm trying to be a better

man,here,Dogman.''That so? I don't see you

trying that hard.Didyoukill

Tul?'Logen's eyes went

narrow. 'Dow been talking,hashe?'

'Never mind who saidwhat. Did you kill theThunderheadordidyounot?Ain't a hard one to come at.It'sjustayesorano.'

Logen made a kind ofsnort, like he was about to

start laughing, or about tostart crying, but didn't doeitherone.'Idon'tknowwhatIdid.'

'Don'tknow?Whatuse isdon't know? Is that whatyou'llsayafteryou'vestabbedme through the back, whileI'm trying to save yourworthlesslife?'

Logen winced down atthe wet grass. 'Maybe it will

be. I don't know.' His eyesslidbackuptotheDogman's,and stuck there, hard. 'Butthat's the price, ain't it? Youknow what I am. You couldhave picked a different mantofollow.'

Dogmanwatchedhimgo,notknowingwhat tosay,notknowingwhat to think even.Just standing there, in themidst of the graves, getting

wetter.Hefeltsomeonecomeup beside him. Red Hat,looking off into the rain,watching after Logen's blackshape growing fainter andfainter. He shook his head,mouthpurseduptight.

'I never believed thestories they told about him.About the Bloody-Nine. Allbluster, I thought. But Ibelieve 'em now. I heard he

killed Crummock's boy, inthat fight in the mountains.Carvedhimcarelessasyou'dcrush a beetle, no reason.That's a man there cares fornothing. No man worse, Ireckon,ever,inalltheNorth.Not even Bethod. That's anevilbastard,ifevertherewasone.'

'That so?' Dogman foundhewas right up inRedHat's

face,andshouting. 'Wellpisson you, arsehole!Whomadeyouthefuckingjudge?'

'Just saying, is all.' RedHatstaredathim.'Imean…Ithought we had the samethinginmind.'

'Well,wedon't!Youneedamindbigger'napeatoholdsomething in it and you'relacking the equipment, idiot!You wouldn't know a good

manfromanevilifhepissedonyou!'

Red Hat blinked. 'Righty'are. I see I got the wrongnotion.' He backed off astride, then walked awaythrough the drizzle, shakinghishead.

Dogmanwatchedhimgo,teethgritted,thinkinghowhewanted to hit someone, butnot sure who. There was no

one here but him, now,anyway. Him and the dead.But maybe that's whathappens once the fightingstops, to a man who knowsnothing but fighting. Hefightshimself.

He took a long breath ofthe cold, wet air, and hefrowned down at the earthover Grim's grave. Hewonderedifhe'dknowagood

man from an evil, anymore.He wondered what thedifferencewas.

Greymorningtime,outinthecold,wetgardens,andtheDogmanwasjuststoodthere,thinking about how thingsusedtobebetter.

NotWhatYouWanted

«^»

Gloktawoketoashaftofsoftsunlight spilling through the

hangings and across hiswrinkled bed-clothes, full ofdancing dust-motes. He triedtoturnover,wincedataclickin his neck. Ah, the firstspasmoftheday.Thesecondwas not long coming. Itflashedthroughhislefthipashewrestled hisway onto hisback and snatched his breathaway. The pain crept downhis spine, settled in his leg,

andstayedthere.'Ah,'hegrunted.Hetried,

ever so gently, to turn hisankle round, to work hisknee.Thepaininstantlygrewfar worse. 'Barnam!' Hedragged thesheet toonesideand the familiar stink ofordureroseuptohisnostrils.Nothing like the stench ofyour own dung to usher in aproductivemorning.

'Ah! Barnam!' Hewhimpered, and slobbered,and clutched at his witheredthigh, but nothing helped.The pain grew worse, andworse.Thefibresstartedfromhis wasted flesh like metalcables, toeless foot floppinggrotesquely on the end,entirelybeyondhiscontrol.

'Barnam!' he screamed.'Barnam, you fucker! The

door!' Spit dribbled from histoothless mouth, tears randown his twitching face, hishands clawed, clutching upFistfuls of brown-stainedsheet.

He heard hurriedfootsteps in the corridor, thelock scraping. 'Locked youfool!'hesquealedthroughhisgums,thrashingwithpainandanger. The knob turned and

thedooropened,muchtohissurprise.Whatthe…

Ardeehurriedover to thebed. 'Get out!' he hissed,holding one arm pointlesslyoverhisface,clutchingathisbedclothes with the other.'Getout!'

'No.' She tore the sheetaway and Glokta grimaced,waiting for her face to gopale, waiting for her to

staggerback,onehandacrossher mouth, eyes wide withshock and disgust. I ammarried…tothisshit-daubedmonstrosity? She onlyfrowneddown,foramoment,then took hold of his ruinedthighandpressedherthumbsintoit.

Hegaspedandflailedandtried to twist away but hergrip was merciless, two

pointsofagonystabbingrightintothemidstofhiscrampingsinews. 'Ah! You fucking…you…' The wasted musclewent suddenly soft, and hewent soft with it, droppingback against the mattress.And now being splatteredwith my own shit begins toseem just the slightest bitembarrassing.

He lay there for a

moment, helpless. 'I didn'twant you to see me… likethis.'

'Too late. You marriedme, remember. We're onebody,now.'

'I think I got the betterpartofthatdeal.'

'Igotmylife,didn'tI?''Hardly the kind of life

that most young women

hanker for.' He watched her,the strip of sunlightwandering back and forthacross her darkened face asshe moved. 'I know that I'mnot what you wanted… in ahusband.'

'I always dreamed of amanIcoulddancewith.'Shelooked up and held his eye.'ButIthink,perhaps,thatyousuitmebetter.Dreamsarefor

children. We both aregrownups.'

'Still. You see now thatnot dancing is the least of it.Youshouldnothave todo…this.'

'Iwant todo it.'She tooka firm grip on his face andtwisted it, somewhatpainfully, so he was lookingstraight into hers. 'I want todo something. I want to be

useful. I want someone toneedme.Canyouunderstandthat?'

Glokta swallowed. 'Yes.'Few better. 'Where'sBarnam?'

'I told himhe could havethe mornings off. I told himI'dbedoingthisfromnowon.I'vetoldhimtomovemybedinhere,aswell.'

'But—''AreyoutellingmeIcan't

sleepinthesameroomasmyhusband?' Her hands slidslowly over his witheredflesh, gentle, but firm,rubbing at the scarred skin,pressing at the ruinedmuscles. How long ago?Since awoman looked atmewith anything but horror?Since a woman touched me

with anything but violence?He lay back, his eyes closedand his mouth open, tearsrunning from his eye andtricklingdownthesidesofhishead into the pillow. Almostcomfortable.Almost…

'I don't deserve this,' hebreathed.

'No one gets what theydeserve.'

Queen Terez looked downher nose at Glokta as helurched intoher sunny salon,without the slightest attemptto hide her utter disgust andcontempt.As though she sawa cockroach crawling intoher regal presence. But wewill see. We know well thepath, after all. We havefollowed itourselves,andwe

havedraggedsomanyothersafter.Pridecomesfirst.Thenpain. Humility follows hardupon it. Obedience lies justbeyond.

'MynameisGlokta.Iamthe new Arch Lector of hisMajesty'sInquisition.'

'Ah, the cripple,' shesneered. With refreshingdirectness. And why do youdisrupt my afternoon? You

will find no criminals here.'OnlyStyrianwitches.

Glokta's eyes flickered tothe other woman, standingbolt upright near one of thewindows. 'It is a matter wehadbetterdiscussalone.'

'TheCountessShalerehasbeen my friend since birth.There isnothingyoucansayto me that she cannot hear.'The Countess glared at

Glokta with a disdain littlelesspiercingthanthequeen's.

'Very well.' No delicateway to say it. I doubt thatdelicacywillserveushereinanycase. 'It has come tomyattention, your Majesty, thatyouhavenotbeenperformingyourdutiesasawife.'

Terez' long, thin neckseemed to stretch withindignation. 'How dare you?

Thatisnoneofyourconcern!''I am afraid that it is.

Heirs for the king, you see.Thefutureofthestate,andsoforth.'

'This is insufferable!'Thequeen's face was white withfury. The Jewel of Talinsflashesfireindeed.'Imusteatyour repulsive food, I musttolerate your dreadfulweather, I must smile at the

rambling mutterings of youridiot king! Now I mustanswer to his grotesqueunderlings? I am keptprisonerhere!'

Glokta looked round atthe beautiful room. Theopulent hangings, the giltfurnishings, the finepaintings. The two beautifulwomen in their beautifulclothes. He dug one tooth

sourly into the underside ofhis tongue. 'Believeme.Thisis not what a prison lookslike.'

'There aremany kinds ofprison!'

'I have learned to livewith worse, and so haveothers.'You should see whatmywifehastoputupwith.

'To share my bed with

some disgusting bastard,some scarred son of whoknows what, to have somestinking,hairymanpawingatme in the night!' The queengaveashiverofrevulsion. 'Itisnottobeborne!'

Tears shone in her eyes.Her lady-in-waiting rushedforward, dress rustling, andknelt beside her, putting acomforting hand on her

shoulder. Terez reached up,pressedherownhandon topof it.Thequeen's companionstared at Glokta with nakedhatred. 'Getout!Out,cripple,and never come back! YouhaveupsetherMajesty!'

'I have a gift for it,'mutteredGlokta. 'One reasonwhy I amsowidelyhated…'He trailed off, frowning. Hestared at their two hands on

Terez' shoulder. There wassomething in that touch.Comforting, soothing,protective. The touch of thecommitted friend, the trustedconfidante, the sisterlycompanion.Butthereismorethan that. Too familiar. Toowarm. Almost like the touchof…Ah.

'Youdon'thavemuchuseformen,doyou?'

The two women lookedup at him together, thenShalere snatched her handaway from the queen'sshoulder. 'I will have yourmeaning!' barked Terez, buther voice was shrill, almostpanicked.

'I think you know mymeaning well enough.' Andmy task ismadeagreatdealeasier.'Somehelphere!'Two

hulking Practicals bargedthrough the doors. And asquickly as that, everything ischanged. Amazing, the spicethattwobigmencanaddtoaconversation. Some kinds ofpower are only tricks of themind. I learned that well, inthe Emperor's prisons, andmy new master has onlyreinforcedthelesson.

'You would not dare!'

shriekedTerez, staring at themasked arrivals with wideeyes. 'Youwouldnotdare totouchme!'

'As luckwould have it, Idoubtitwillbenecessary,butwewillsee.'HepointedattheCountess.'Seizethatwoman.'

The two black-maskedmentrampedacrossthethickcarpet.Onemovedachairoutof his way with exaggerated

care.'No!' The queen sprang

up,grabbingShalere'shandinhers.'No!'

'Yes,'saidGlokta.The two women backed

away, clinging to each other,Terez in front, shielding theCountesswithherbody,teethbared in a warning snarl asthe two great shadows

approached. One mightalmost be touched by theirevidentcare foroneanother,if one was capable of beingtouchedatall. 'Takeher.Butnomarksonthequeen,ifyouplease.'

'No!' screamedTerez. 'I'llhaveyourheadsfor this!Myfather…myfatheris—'

'On his way back toTalins, and I doubt he'll be

starting a war over yourfriendsincebirth,inanycase.Youareboughtandpaid for,and Duke Orso does notstrike me as the type torenegeonadeal.'

Thetwomenandthetwowomenlurchedaroundthefarend of the room in anungainly dance. One of thePracticalsseizedtheCountessby one wrist, dragged her

away from the queen'sclutchinghandandforcedherdownontoherknees,twistingherarmsbehindher,snappingheavy irons shut on herwrists. Terez shrieked,punched, kicked, clawed atthe other, but she might aswell haveventedher furyona tree. The huge man barelymoved, his eyes every bit asemotionless as the mask

belowthem.Glokta found that hewas

almostsmilingashewatchedthe ugly scene. I may becrippled,andhideous,andinconstant pain, but thehumiliation of beautifulwomen is one pleasure I canstill enjoy. I do it now withthreats and violence, insteadof with soft words andentreaties,butstill.Almostas

muchfunasiteverwas.One of the Practicals

forced a canvas bag overShalere's head, turning hercries to muffled sobs, thenmarchedherhelplesslyacrossthe room. The other stayedwhere hewas for amoment,keepingthequeenherdedintothe corner. Then he backedoff towards the door. On hiswayhepickedupthechairhe

hadmoved and carefully putit back exactly as he hadfoundit.

'Curse you!' Terezscreeched, her clenched fiststremblingas thedoorclickedshutand left the twoof themalone.'Curseyou,youtwistedbastard!Ifyouharmher—'

'It will not come to that.Because you have themeansofherdeliverancewellwithin

yourgrasp.'The queen swallowed,

chest heaving. 'What must Ido?'

'Fuck.' The wordsomehow sounded twice asugly in the beautifulsurroundings. 'And bearchildren. I will give theCountess seven days in thedarkness, unmolested. If, attheendof that time, Idonot

hear that you have set theking's cock on fire everynight, I will introduce her tomy Practicals. Poor fellows.They get so little exercise.Ten minutes each should dothe trick,but thereareplentyof them, in the House ofQuestions. I daresay we cankeep your childhood friendquitebusynightandday.'

Aspasmofhorrorpassed

over Terez' face. And whynot? This is a low chaptereven for me. 'If I do as youask?'

'Then the Countess willbekeptquitesafeandsound.Once you are verifiablywithchild,Iwillreturnhertoyou.Things can be as they arenow, during the period ofyourconfinement.Twoboys,as heirs, two girls, to marry

off,andwecanbedonewithone another. The king canfind his entertainmentelsewhere.'

'But,thatwilltakeyears!''You could get it done in

three or four, if you reallyridehimhard.Andyoumightfinditmakeseveryone'sliveseasier if you at least pretendtoenjoyit.'

'Pretend?'shebreathed.'The more you seem to

like it, the quicker it will beover. The cheapestwhore onthe docks can squeal for hercopperswhenthesailorsstickher. Are you telling me youcannot squeal for thekingofthe Union? You offend mypatrioticsensibilities!Uh!'hegasped, rolling his eyes in aparody of ecstasy. 'Ah! Yes!

Just there! Don't stop!' Hecurledhislipather.'Yousee?Even I can do it! A liar ofyour experience should havenodifficulty.'

Her teary eyes dartedround the room, as thoughshe were looking for someway out. But there is none.The noble Arch LectorGlokta, protector of theUnion, great heart of the

Closed Council, paragon ofthe gentlemanly virtues,displays his flair for politicsanddiplomacy. He felt sometinystirringwithinhimashewatched her wretcheddesperation, some negligibleflutter in his guts. Guilt,perhaps? Or indigestion? Ithardlymatters which, I havelearnedmylesson.Pityneverworksforme.

He took one more slowstepforward.'YourMajesty,Ihopeyoufullyunderstandthealternative.'

She nodded, and wipedher eyes. Then she proudlyraised up her chin. 'Iwill doas you ask. Please, I beg ofyou, do not hurt her…please…'

Please, please, please.Many congratulations, your

Eminence. 'You have myword.IwillseetheCountesshas only the best oftreatment.'Helickedgentlyatthe sour gaps in his teeth.'And you will do the samewithyourhusband.'

Jezal sat in the darkness. Hewatched the firedance in thegreat hearth, and he thoughtaboutwhatmight have been.

He thought about it withsomebitterness.Allthepathshislifecouldhavetaken,andhehadendeduphere.Alone.

Heheardhingescreaking.The small door thatconnected to the queen'sbedchamber crept slowlyopen.He had never botheredto lock it, from his side. Hehad not foreseen anycircumstanceunderwhichshe

would ever want to use it.Some error of etiquette thathe had made, no doubt, forwhich she could not waiteven until morning toadmonishhim.

He stood up, quickly,stupidlynervous.

Terezsteppedthroughtheshadowy doorway. Shelooked so different that atfirsthehardlyrecognisedher.

Herhairwas loose, sheworeonly her shift. She lookedhumbly towards the ground,herfaceindarkness.Herbarefeetpaddedacrosstheboards,across the thick carpettowards the fire. She seemedveryyoung,suddenly.Youngand small, weak and alone.He watched her, mostlyconfused, somewhat scared,but also, as she came closer

and the firelight caught theshape of her body, ever soslightlyaroused.

'Terez,my…' he fumbledfortheword.Darlingscarcelyseemed to cover it. Nor didlove. Worst enemy mighthave, but it hardly wouldhavehelpedmatters.'CanI—'

She cut him off, as ever,butnotwiththetiradehewasexpecting. 'I'm sorry for the

way that I have treated you.For the things that I havesaid…youmustthinkme…'

There were tears in hereyes.Actual tears.Hewouldhardly have believed untilthat moment that she couldcry.Hetookahurriedsteportwo towards her, one handout,noideaofwhattodo.Hehad never dared to hope foranapology,andcertainlynot

onesoearnestlyandhonestlydelivered.

'I know,' he stuttered, 'Iknow… I'm not what youwanted in a husband. I'msorry for that. But I'm asmuchaprisonerinthisasyouare. I only hope… thatperhapswecanmakethebestofit.Perhapswemightfindaway… to care for oneanother? We have no one

else, either of us. Please, tellmewhatIhavetodo—'

'Shhhh.' She touched onefingertohislips,lookingintohiseyes,onehalfofher faceglowingorangefromthefire,the other half black withshadow. Her fingers workedthroughhishairanddrewhimtowards her. She kissed him,gently, awkwardly, almost,their lips brushing, then

pressing clumsily together.He slid one hand roundbehind her neck, under herear,histhumbstrokingathersmooth cheek. Their mouthsworked mechanically,accompanied by the softsqueak of breath in his nose,the gentle squelch of spitmoving. Hardly the mostpassionate kiss he had everenjoyed, but it was a great

deal more than he had everexpected to get from her.Therewasapleasanttinglingbuilding in his crotch as hepushed his tongue into hermouth.

He ran his other palmdown her back, feeling thebumpsofherspineunderhisfingers. He grunted softly asheslidhishandoverherarse,down the side of her thigh

thenupbetweenherlegs,thehem of her shift gatheringround his wrist. He felt hershudder, felt her flinch, andbite her lip in shock, itseemed, or even in disgust.Hejerkedhishandback,andtheybrokeapart,bothlookingat the floor. 'I'm sorry,' hemuttered, inwardly cursinghiseagerness.'I—'

'No. It's my fault. I'm

not… experienced… withmen…' Jezal blinked for amoment, then almost smiledatasurgeofrelief.Ofcourse.Now everything was clear.Shewassoassured,sosharp,ithadneverevenoccurredtohim that she might be avirgin.Itwassimplefearthatmadeher tremble so.Fearofdisappointing him. He felt arushofsympathy.

'Don't worry,' hemurmured it softly, steppingforwardand takingher inhisarms. He felt her stiffen, nodoubt with nervousness, andhe gently stroked her hair. 'Ican wait… we don't haveto…notyet.'

'No.' She said it with atouching determination,looking him fearlessly in theeye.'No.Wedo.'

She dragged her shift upandoverherhead, let itdropto the floor. She came closetohim,tookholdofhiswrist,guided it back to her thigh,thenupwards.

'Ah,' she whispered,urgent and throaty, her lipsbrushinghischeek,herbreathhot in his ear. 'Yes… justthere… don't stop.' She ledhimbreathlesstothebed.

'If that is all?' Glokta lookedaround the table, but the oldmen were silent. All waitingfor my word. The king wasabsent again, so he madethem wait an unnecessarilylong time. Just to stab hometo any doubters who is incharge. Why not, after all?The purpose of power is notto be gracious. Then this

meeting of the ClosedCouncilisover.'

They rose, quickly,quietly, and in good order.Torlichorm, Halleck, Kroyand all the rest filed slowlyfrom the room. Gloktahimself struggled up, his legstill achingwith thememoryofthemorning'scramps,onlyto find that the LordChamberlainhad,onceagain,

remained behind. And helooksfarfromamused.

Hoffwaiteduntilthedoorshut before he spoke.'Imagine my surprise,' hesnapped, 'to hear of yourrecentmarriage.'

'A swift and understatedceremony.' Glokta showedthe Lord Chamberlain thewreckage of his front teeth.'Young love,youunderstand,

brooksnodelays. Iapologiseif the lack of an invitationoffendedyou.'

'An invitation?' growledHoff, frowning mightily.'Hardly! This is notwhatwediscussed!'

'Discussed? I believe wehaveamisunderstanding.Ourmutualfriend,'andGloktalethiseyesmovesignificantlytothe empty thirteenth chair at

the far end of the table, 'leftme in charge.Me. No other.He deems it necessary thatthe Closed Council speakwithonevoice.Fromnowon,that voice will soundremarkablylikemine.'

Hoff's ruddy face hadpaledslightly. 'Ofcourse,but—'

'Youareaware,Isuppose,thatIlivedthroughtwoyears

oftorture?Twoyearsinhell,so I can stand before younow. Or lean before you,twistedasanoldtreeroot.Acrippled, shambling,wretchedmockery of aman,eh, Lord Hoff? Let us behonest with one another.Sometimes I lose control ofmy own leg. My own eyes.Myownface.'Hesnorted. 'Ifyou can call it a face. My

bowels too, are rebellious. Ioftenwake up daubed inmyown shit. I find myself inconstant pain, and thememoriesofeverythingthatIhave lost nag at me,endlessly.'Hefelthislefteyetwitching. Let it twitch. 'Soyoucan seehow,despitemyconstant efforts to be a manofsunnytemper,IfindthatIdespise the world, and

everything in it, and myselfmost of all. A regrettablestate of affairs, for whichthereisnoremedy.'

The Lord Chamberlainlicked his lips uncertainly.'Youhavemysympathy,butIfailtoseetherelevance.'

Glokta came suddenlyvery close, ignoring a spasmuphisleg,pressingHoffbackagainst the table. 'Your

sympathy is less thanworthless, and the relevanceis this. Knowing what I am,what I have endured, what Istill endure… can yousuppose there is anything inthis world I fear? Any act Iwill shrink from? The mostunbearablepainofothersisatthe worst… an irritation tome.' Glokta jerked evencloser, letting his lips work

back from his ruined teeth,letting his face tremble, andhis eye weep. 'Knowing allthat…canyoupossiblythinkit wise… for aman to standwhere you stand now… andmakethreats?Threatsagainstmywife?Againstmyunbornchild?'

'No threat was intended,ofcourse,Iwouldnever—'

'That simply would not

do, Lord Hoff! That simplywould not do. At the veryslightest breath of violenceagainst them…why, Iwouldnotwishyoueventoimaginethe inhuman horror of myresponse.'

Closer yet, so close thathis spit made a soft mistacrossHoff'stremblingjowls.'I cannot permit any furtherdiscussionofthisissue.Ever.

I cannot permit even therumourthattheremightbeanissue. Ever. It simply…would… not… do, LordHoff, for an eyeless,tongueless, faceless,fingerless, cockless bag ofmeat to be occupying yourchair on theClosedCouncil.'He stepped away, grinninghismostrevoltinggrin.'Why,myLordChamberlain…who

woulddrinkallthewine?'

Itwasabeautifulautumndayin Adua, and the sun shonepleasantly through thebranches of the fragrant fruittrees,castingadappledshadeonto the grass beneath. Apleasing breeze flutteredthrough the orchard, stirringthe crimson mantle of theking as he strode regally

around his lawn, and thewhitecoatofhisArchLectorashehobbleddoggedlyalongat a respectful distance,stooped over his cane. Birdstwittered from the trees, andhisMajesty's highly polishedboots crunched in the graveland made faint, agreeableechoes against the whitebuildingsofthepalace.

Fromtheothersideofthe

high walls came the faintsound of distant work. Theclanking of picks andhammers, the scraping ofearth and the clattering ofstone. The faint calls of thecarpenters and the masons.Thesewerethemostpleasantsounds of all, to Jezal's ear.Thesoundsofrebuilding.

'It will take time, ofcourse,'hewassaying.

'Ofcourse.''Years,perhaps.Butmuch

of the rubble is alreadycleared.Therepairofsomeofthe more lightly damagedbuildings has already begun.The Agriont will be moregloriousthaneverbeforeyouknow it. I have made it myhighestpriority.'

Glokta bowed his headeven lower. 'And therefore

mine,andthatofyourClosedCouncil. Might I enquire…'hemurmured,'afterthehealthofyourwife,thequeen?'

Jezal worked his mouth.Hehardlylikeddiscussinghispersonal business with thisman, of all people, but itcould not be denied thatwhateverthecripplehadsaid,there had been a mostdramaticimprovement.

'Amaterial change.' Jezalshook his head. 'I find nowthat she is a woman ofalmost…insatiableappetites.'

'I am delighted that myentreatieshavehadaneffect.'

'Oh,theyhave,theyhave,only there is still acertain…'Jezal waved his hand in theair, searching out the rightword. 'Sadness in her.Sometimes… I hear her

crying, in the night. Shestands at the open window,andsheweeps,forhoursatatime.'

'Crying, your Majesty?Perhaps she is merelyhomesick.Ialwayssuspectedshewasamuchgentlerspiritthansheappearstobe.'

'She is! She is. A gentlespirit.' Jezal thought about itforamoment.'Doyouknow,

I think you may be right.Homesick.' A plan began totake shape in his mind.'Perhaps we should have thegardens of the palaceredesigned, to give a flavourofTalins?Wecouldhavethestreamaltered,inthelikenessofcanals,andsoforth!'

Glokta leered histoothless grin. 'A sublimeidea. I shall speak to the

Royal Gardener. Perhapsanother brief word with herMajesty as well, to see if Icanstaunchhertears.'

'I would appreciatewhateveryoucando.Howisyour own wife?' he tossedover his shoulder, hoping tochange the subject, thenrealising he had strayed ontooneevenmoredifficult.

But Glokta only showed

hisemptysmileagain.'Sheisa tremendous comfort tome,your Majesty. I really don'tknow how I ever managedwithouther.'

They moved on inawkward silence for amoment, then Jezal clearedhisthroat.'I'vebeenthinking,Glokta, about that scheme ofmine.Youknow,abouta taxonthebanks?Perhapstopay

for a new hospital near thedocks. For thosewho cannotafford a surgeon. Thecommonfolkhavebeengoodtous.Theyhavehelpedustopower, and suffered in ourname. A government shouldoffer something to all itspeople, should it not? Themore mean, the more base,themore they need our help.Akingisonlytrulyasrichas

his poorest subject, do younot think? Would you havethe High Justice drawsomethingup?Smalltobeginwith, thenwecango further.Free housing, perhaps, forthose who find themselveswithout a home. We shouldconsider—'

'Your Majesty, I havespoken to our mutual friendofthis.'

Jezalstoppeddead,acoldfeelingcreepinguphisspine.'Youhave?'

'I fear that I am obligedto.' The cripple's tone wasthat of a servant, but hissunken eyes did not strayfrom Jezal's for a moment.'Our friend is… notenthusiastic'

'Does he rule the Union,ordo I?'But theybothknew

the answer to that questionwellenough.

'Youareking,ofcourse.''Ofcourse.''But our mutual friend…

we would not wish todisappointhim.'Glokta camea limpingstepcloser,his lefteyegivingarepulsiveflutter.'Neitheroneofus,Iamsure,would want to encourage a

visittoAdua…onhispart.'Jezal'skneesfeltsuddenly

veryweak.Thefaintmemoryofthatawful,unbearablepainnagged at his stomach. 'No,'he croaked, 'no, of coursenot.'

The cripple's voice wasonly just above a whisper.'Perhaps,intime,fundscouldbe found for some smallproject.Ourfriendcannotsee

everything,afterall,andwhathe does not see will do noharm. I am sure between thetwoofus,quietly…wecoulddo some little good. But notyet.'

'No. You are right,Glokta.Youhaveafinesensefor these things. Do nothingthat would cause the leastoffence. Please inform ourfriend that his opinions will

always be valued above allothers. Please tell our goodfriendthathecanrelyonme.Will you tell him that,please?'

'I will, your Majesty. Hewillbedelightedtohearit.'

'Good,' murmured Jezal.'Good.' A chilly breeze hadblownup,andheturnedbacktowards the palace, pullinghis cloak around him. It was

not, in the end, quite sopleasant a day as he hadhopeditmightbe.

LooseEnds

«^»

Agrubbywhiteboxwithtwodoors facing each other. Theceiling was too low forcomfort, the room too

brightly lit byblazing lamps.Damp was creeping out ofonecornerandtheplasterhaderupted with flaking blisters,speckled with black mould.Someonehadtriedtoscrubalongbloodstainfromthewall,but hadn't tried nearly hardenough.

TwohugePracticalsstoodagainst the wall, their armsfolded. One of the chairs at

the bolted-down table wasempty.CarlotdanEidersatinthe other. History moves incircles, so they say. Howthingshavechanged.Andyet,how they have stayed thesame.Herfacewaspalewithworry, there were dark ringsof sleeplessness around hereyes, but she still seemedbeautiful.More than ever, ina way. The beauty of the

candle-flame that has almostburnedout.Again.

Glokta could hear herscaredbreathingashesettledhimself in the remainingchair, leanedhiscaneagainstthe scarred table-top, andfrowned into her face. 'I amstill wondering whether, inthe next few days, I willreceive that letter you spokeof. You know the one. The

one you meant for Sult toread.Theonethatlaysoutthehistory of my self-indulgentlittle mercy to you. The onethat you made sure will besent to the Arch Lector… intheeventofyourdeath. 'Willit find itswayontomydesk,now,doyousuppose?Afinalirony.'

There was a pause. 'Irealise that I made a grave

mistake, when I came back.'Andanevenworseonewhenyou didn't leave fast enough.'I hope you will accept myapology. I only wanted towarn you about the Gurkish.Ifyoucanfinditinyourhearttobemerciful—'

'Didyouexpectme tobemercifulonce?'

'No,'shewhispered.

'Then what, do yousuppose, are the chances ofmymaking thesamemistaketwice? Never come back, Isaid. Not ever.' He wavedwithhis hand andoneof themonstrous Practicals steppedforward and lifted the lid ofhiscase.

'No… no.' Her eyesdarted over his instruments,and back. 'You won. You

won,ofcourse.Ishouldhavebeen grateful, the first time.Please.' She leaned forward,looking him in the eyes.Hervoice dropped, grew husky,'Please. Surely there mustbe… something that I cando… to make up for myfoolishness…'

A peculiar mixture offeigned desire and genuinedisgust. Fake longing and

genuine loathing. Andrenderedstillmoredistastefulby the edge of mountingterror. It makes me wonderwhyIwasmercifulinthefirstplace.

Gloktasnorted. 'Mustthisbe embarrassing as well aspainful?'

The effort at seductionleaked quickly away. But Inote that the fear is going

nowhere. It was joined nowby a rising note ofdesperation. 'I know that Imade a mistake… I wastrying to help… please, Imeant you no real harm… Icaused you no harm, youknow it!' He reached outslowly towards the case,watched her horrified eyesfollowhiswhite-glovedhand,hervoicerisingtoasquealof

panic. 'Only tell me what Ican do! Please! I can helpyou!Icanbeuseful!TellmewhatIcando!'

Glokta's hand paused onitsremorselessjourneyacrossthe table. He tapped onefinger against thewood. Thefinger on which the ArchLector's ring glittered in thelamplight. 'Perhaps there is away.'

'Anything,' she gurgled,teary eyes gleaming.'Anything,onlynameit!'

'You have contacts inTalins?'

She swallowed. 'InTalins?Of…ofcourse.'

'Good. I, and somecolleagues of mine on theClosed Council, areconcernedabout the role that

Grand Duke Orso means toplay in Union politics. Ourfeeling—our very strongfeeling—is that he shouldsticktobullyingStyrians,andkeep his nose out of ourbusiness.' He gave asignificantpause.

'HowdoI—''You will go to Talins.

You will be my eyes in thecity.Atraitor,fleeingforher

life, friendless and alone,seeking only a place for anew beginning. A beautifulyet wretched traitor, indesperate need of a strongarm to protect her. You gettheidea.'

'I suppose… I supposethatIcoulddothat.'

Glokta snorted. 'You hadbetter.'

'Iwillneedmoney—''Your assets have been

seizedbytheInquisition.''Everything?''You may have noticed

that there is a great deal ofrebuilding to do. The kingneeds everymark he can layhis hands on, and confessedtraitors can hardly expect tokeep their chattels in such

times as these. I havearranged passage for you.When you arrive, makecontact with the bankinghouse of Valint and Balk.They will arrange a loan togetyoustarted.'

'Valint and Balk?' Eiderlookedevenmorescaredthanbefore,ifthatwaspossible.'Iwould rather be in debt toanyonebutthem.'

'I know the feeling. Butit'sthatornothing.'

'HowwillI—''A woman of your

resourcefulness? I am surethatyouwill findaway.'Hewinced as he pushed himselfup from his chair. 'I want tobesnowed inbyyour letters.What happens in the city.WhatOrso is about.Who hemakes war with, who he

makes peace with. Who arehis allies and his enemies.You leave on the next tide.'Heturnedback,briefly,atthedoor.'I'llbewatching.'

She nodded dumbly,wiping away the tears ofrelief with the back of onetrembling hand. First it isdone to us, then we do it toothers,thenweorderitdone.Suchisthewayofthings.

'Areyoualwaysdrunkbythistimeinthemorning?'

'Your Eminence, youwound me.' Nicomo Coscagrinned. 'UsuallyIhavebeendrunkforhoursbynow.'

Huh. We each find ourways of getting through theday. 'I should thank you forallyourhelp.'

The Styrian gave aflamboyant wave of onehand.Ahand,Gloktanoticed,flashing with a fistful ofheavy rings. 'To hell withyour thanks, I have yourmoney.'

'And I think every pennywell spent. I hope that youwill remain in the city, andenjoyUnion hospitality for awhilelonger.'

'Doyouknow?IbelieveIwill.' The mercenaryscratched thoughtfully at therash on his neck leaving redfingernail marks through theflaky skin. 'At least until thegoldrunsout.'

'How quickly can youpossibly spend what I havepaidyou?'

'Oh, you would beamazed. I have wasted ten

fortunesinmytimeandmorebesides. I look forward towasting another.' Coscaslapped his hands down onhisthighs,pushedhimselfup,strolled, somewhatunsteadily, to the door, andturnedwith a flourish. 'Makesureyoucallonmewhenyounext have a desperate laststandorganised.'

'My first letter will bear

yourname.''Then I bid you…

farewell!'Coscasweptoffhisenormoushatandbowedlow.Then,withaknowinggrin,hesteppedthroughthedoorway,andwasgone.

Glokta had moved theArchLector'sofficetoalargehallonthegroundflooroftheHouseofQuestions.Closertothe real business of the

Inquisition—the prisoners.Closer to the questions, andthe answers. Closer to thetruth.And,ofcourse,therealclincher…nostairs.

There were well-tendedgardens outside the largewindows. The faint sound ofa fountain splashing beyondtheglass.Butinsidetheroomthere was none of the uglyparaphernalia of power. The

walls were plastered andpainted simple white. Thefurniture was hard andfunctional. The whetstone ofdiscomforthaskeptmesharpthislong.Noreasontolettheedge grow dull, simplybecause I have run out ofenemies. New enemies willpresent themselves, beforetoolong.

There were some heavy

bookcases of dark wood.Several leather-covereddesks, already stacked highwith documents requiring hisattention. Aside from thegreatroundtablewithitsmapof the Union and its pair ofbloody nail-marks, therewasonly one item of Sult'sfurniture that Glokta hadbroughtdownstairswithhim.Thedarkpaintingofbaldold

Zoller glowered down fromabove the simple fireplace.Bearing an uncannyresemblance to a certainMagus I once knew. It isfitting after all, that wemaintain the properperspective. Every mananswerstosomebody.

There was a knocking atthe door, and the head ofGlokta'ssecretaryappearedat

the gap. 'The Lord Marshalshavearrived,ArchLector.'

'Showthemin.'Sometimes, when old

friends meet, things areinstantly as they were, allthose years before. Thefriendship resumes,untouched, as though therehad been no interruption.Sometimes, but not now.Collem West was scarcely

recognisable. His hair hadfallenoutinuglypatches.Hisface was shrunken, had ayellow tinge about it. Hisuniform hung slack from hisbony shoulders, stainedaroundthecollar.Heshuffledintotheroom,bentoverinanold man's stoop, leaningheavilyonastick.Helookedlike nothing so much as awalkingcorpse.

Glokta had expectedsomething of the kind, ofcourse, fromwhatArdeehadtold him. But the sick shockof disappointment and horrorhefeltatthesightstillcaughthim by surprise. Likereturning to the happy hauntof one's youth, and finding itall in ruins. Deaths. Theyhappeneveryday.Howmanyliveshave Iwreckedwithmy

ownhands?Whatmakes thisonesohardtotake?Andyetit was. He found himselflurching up from his chair,startingpainfully forwards asiftolendsomehelp.

'Your Eminence.' West'svoice was fragile and jaggedas broken glass. He made aweak effort at a smile. 'Or Isuppose… I should call youbrother.'

'West… Collem… it isgood to see you.'Good, andawfulbothatonce.

A cluster of officersfollowedWestintotheroom.The wonderfully competentLieutenant Jalenhorm Iremember, of course, but aMajor now. And Brint too,madeaCaptainbyhisfriendsswift advancement. MarshalKroyweknowand love from

the Closed Council.Congratulations, all, on youradvancement. Another manbrought up the rear of theparty.Aleanmanwithafacehorriblyburned.Butwe,ofallpeople, should hardly hold arepulsive disfigurementagainst him. Each one ofthem frowned nervouslytowards West, as thoughreadytopounceforwardifhe

should slump to the floor.Instead he shuffled to theround table and saggedtrembling into the nearestchair.

'I should have come toyou,' said Glokta. I shouldhavecometoyoufarsooner.

Westmade another effortat a smile, evenmorebiliousthan the last. Several of histeeth were missing.

'Nonsense. I know how busyyou are, now. And I amfeelingmuchbettertoday.'

'Good, good. That is…good. Is thereanything that Ican get you?' What couldpossibly help? 'Anything atall.'

Westshookhishead.'Idonotthinkso.Thesegentlemenyou know, of course. Apartfrom Sergeant Pike.' The

burnedmannoddedtohim.'A pleasure.' To meet

someone even more maimedthanmyself,always.

'I hear… happy news,frommysister.'

Glokta winced, almostunabletomeethisoldfriend'seye. 'I should have soughtyour permission, of course. Isurelywould have, had there

beentime.''I understand.' West's

brighteyeswerefixedonhis.'Shehasexplained itall. It issome kind of comfort toknowthatshe'llbewelltakencareof.'

'Onthatyoucandepend.Iwill see to it. Shewill neverbehurtagain.'

West'sgauntfacetwisted.

'Good. Good.' He rubbedgentlyat thesideofhis face.His fingernails were black,edged with dried blood, asthough they were peelingfrom the flesh beneath.'There's always a price to bepaid,eh,Sand?Forthethingswedo?'

Glokta felt his eyetwitching.'Itwouldseemso.'

'I have lost some of my

teeth.''I see that, and can

sympathise. Soup, I find…' Ifindutterlydisgusting.

'I am… scarcely able towalk.'

'I sympathise with thatalso.Your canewill be yourbestfriend.'Asitwillsoonbemine,Ithink.

'I am a pitiable shell of

whatIwas.''I truly feel your pain.'

Truly. Almost more keenlythanmyown.

West slowly shook hiswitheredhead. 'Howcanyoustandit?'

'One step at a time, myold friend. Steer clear ofstairs where possible, andmirrors,always.'

'Wise advice.' Westcoughed. An echoing cough,from right down beneath hisribs.Heswallowednoisily. 'Ithinkmytimeisrunningout.'

'Surelynot!'Glokta'shandreachedoutforamoment,asif to rest onWest's shrunkenshoulder, as if to offercomfort. He jerked it back,awkwardly.It isnotsuitedtothetask.

West licked at his emptygums.'Thisishowmostofusgo, isn't it? No final charge.No moment of glory. Wejust…fallslowlyapart.'

Glokta would have likedto say something optimistic.But that rubbish comes fromother mouths than mine.Younger, prettier mouths,with all their teeth, perhaps.'Those who die on the

battlefield are in some waystheluckyfew.Foreveryoung.Foreverglorious.'

West nodded, slowly.'Here's to the lucky few,then…'His eyes rolled back,he swayed, then slumpedsideways. Jalenhormwas thefirst forward, catching himbefore he hit the ground. Hefloppedinthebigman'sarms,a long string of thin vomit

splatteringagainstthefloor.'Back to the palace!'

snappedKroy.'Atonce!'Brinthurriedtoswingthe

doors open while JalenhormandKroysteeredWestoutofthe room, draped betweenthemwithhisarmsovertheirshoulders. His limp shoesscraped against the floor, hispiebald head lolling. Gloktawatched them go, standing

helpless, his toothless mouthhalfopen,asiftospeak.Asiftowish his friend good luck,or good health, or a merryafternoon.Noneofthemseemquite to fit the circumstance,however.

The doors clattered shutandGloktawasleftstaringatthem.Hiseyelidflickered,hefelt wet on his cheek. Nottears of compassion, of

course. Not tears of grief. Ifeel nothing, fear nothing,care for nothing. They cutaway the parts of me thatcould weep in the Emperor'sprisons.Thiscanonlybesaltwater, and nothing more.Merely a broken reflex in amutilated face. Farewell,brother. Farewell, my onlyfriend. And farewell to theghost of beautiful Sand dan

Glokta, too. Nothing of himremains. All for the best, ofcourse.Amaninmypositioncanaffordnoindulgences.

He took a sharp breath,and wiped his face with theback of his hand. He limpedto his desk, sat, composedhimself for a moment,assisted by a sudden twingeinhis toeless foot.He turnedhis attention to his

documents. Papers ofconfession,tasksoutstanding,all the tedious business ofgovernment—

He looked up. A figurehad detached itself from theshadows behind one of thehigh book-cases and nowstepped out into the room,arms folded. The man withthe burned face who hadcome inwith the officers. In

theexcitementoftheirexit,itseemed thathehad remainedbehind.

'Sergeant Pike, was it?'murmuredGlokta,frowning.

'That's the name I'vetaken.'

'Taken?'The scarred face twisted

into a mockery of a smile.One even more hideous than

my own, if that's possible.'Not surprising, that youshouldn't recognise me. Myfirst week, there was anaccidentinaforge.Accidentsoften happen, in Angland.'Angland? That voice…somethingabout thatvoice…'Still nothing? Perhaps if Icomecloser?'

He sprang across theroom without warning.

Gloktawasstillstrugglingupfrom his seat as the mandived across the desk. Theytumbled to the floor togetherin a cloud of flying paper,Glokta underneath, the backof his skull cracking againstthestone,hisbreathalldrivenout in a long, agonisedwheeze.

He felt the brush of steelagainst his neck. Pike's face

was no more than a fewinches from his, the mottledmass of burns picked out inparticularlyrevoltingdetail.

'How about now?' hehissed. 'Anything seemfamiliar?'

Glokta felt his left eyeflickering as recognitionwashedoverhimlikeawaveof freezing water. Changed,of course. Changed utterly

and completely. And yet Iknowhim.

'Rews,'hebreathed.'Noneother.'Rewsbitoff

the words with grimsatisfaction.

'You survived.' Gloktawhispered it, first withamazement, then withmounting amusement. 'Yousurvived!You're a far harder

man than I gave you creditfor! Far, far harder.' Hestarted to chuckle, tearsrunning down the side of hischeekagain.

'Somethingfunny?''Everything! You have to

appreciate the irony. I haveovercome so many powerfulenemies,andit'sSalemRewswiththeknifeatmyneck!It'salways the blade you don't

see coming that cuts youdeepest,eh?'

'You'llgetnodeepercutsthanthisone.'

'Then cut away,myman,Iamready.'Gloktatippedhisheadback,stretchedhisneckout,pressingitupagainstthecold metal. 'I've been readyforalongtime.'

Rews' fistworkedaround

the grip of his knife. Hisburned face trembled, eyesnarrowing to bright slits intheirpinksockets.Now.

Hismottledlipsslidbackfromhis teeth.Thesinewsinhisneckstoodoutashemadeready towield the blade.Doit.

Glokta's breath hissedquickly in andout, his throattingling with anticipation.

Now,atlast...now…But Rews' arm did not

move.'And yet you hesitate,'

whisperedGloktathroughhisempty gums. 'Not out ofmercy, of course, not out ofweakness.Theyfrozeall thatout of you, eh? In Angland?You pause because yourealise, in all that timedreaming of killing me, you

never thought ofwhatwouldbe next.What will you trulyhave gained, with all yourendurance? With all yourcunningandyoureffort?Willyou be hunted? Will you besentback?Icanofferyousomuchmore.'

Rews'meltedfrowngrewevenharder. 'Whatcouldyougiveme?Afterthis?'

'Oh, this is nothing. I

suffer twice the pain and tentimes the humiliation gettingupinthemorning.Amanlikeyou could be very useful tome.Aman…ashardasyouhaveprovedyourselftobe.Amanwhohaslosteverything,including all his scruples, allhis mercy, all his fear. Webothhavelosteverything.Weboth have survived. Iunderstand you, Rews, as no

oneelseevercan.''Pikeismyname,now.''Of course it is. Let me

up,Pike.'Slowly the knife slid

away from his throat. Theman who had been SalemRews stood over him,frowning down. Who couldever anticipate the turns thatfatecantake?'Up,then.'

'Easier said than done.'Gloktadraggedinafewsharpbreaths, thengrowlingwithagreat and painful effort herolled over onto all fours. Aheroic achievement indeed.He slowly tested his limbs,wincing as his twisted jointsclicked. Nothing broken. Nomore broken than usual,anyway. He reached out andtook the handle of his fallen

cane between two fingers,dragged it towards himthrough the scattered papers.Hefelt thepointof thebladepressingintohisback.

'Don't takeme for a fool,Glokta.Ifyoutryanything—'

Heclutchedattheedgeofthedeskanddraggedhimselfup. 'You'll cut my liver outandalltherest.Don'tworry.Iam far too crippled to try

anything worse than shitmyself. I have something toshowyou,though.Somethingthat I feel sure you willappreciate. If I'm wrong,well…youcanslitmythroatalittlelater.'

Glokta lurched out of theheavydoorofhisoffice,Pikesticking as close to hisshoulder as a shadow, theknife kept carefully out of

sight.'Stay,' he snapped at the

two Practicals in the ante-room, hobbling on past thefrowning secretary at thehugedesk.Out into thewidehallway running through theheart of the House ofQuestions andGlokta limpedfaster, cane clicking againstthe tiles. It hurt him todo it,but he held his head back,

gaveacoldwrinkletohislip.Outofthecornersofhiseyeshe saw the Clerks, thePracticals, the Inquisitors,bowing, sliding backwards,clearingaway.Howthey fearme. More than any man inAdua, andwithgood reason.How things have changed.Andyet,howtheyhavestayedthe same. His leg, his neck,his gums. These things were

astheyhadalwaysbeen.Andalways will be. Unless I amtorturedagain,ofcourse.

'You look well,' Gloktatossed over his shoulder.'Aside from your hideousfacial burns, of course. Youlostweight.'

'Starvingcandothat.''Indeed, indeed. I lost a

great deal of weight in

Gurkhul. And not just fromthepiecestheycutoutofme.Thisway.'

They turned through aheavy door flanked byfrowning Practicals, past anopengateof ironbars.Intoalong and windowlesscorridor, sloping steadilydownwards, lit by too fewlanterns and filled with slowshadows. The walls were

rendered and whitewashed,though none too recently.Therewasaseedyfeeltotheplace, and a smell of damp.Just as there always is. TheclickingofGlokta's cane, thehissing of his breath, therustling of hiswhite coat, allfelldeadonthechill,wetair.

'Killingmewillbringyouscantsatisfaction,youknow.'

'Weshallsee.'

'I doubt it. I was hardlythe one responsible for yourlittletripnorthwards.Ididtheworkperhaps,butothersgavetheorders.'

'They were not myfriends.'

Glokta snorted. 'Please.Friends are people onepretends to like in order tomake life bearable.Men likeus have no need of such

indulgences.Itisourenemiesby which we are measured.'And here are mine. Sixteensteps confronted him. Thatold, familiar flight. Cut fromsmooth stone, a little worntowardsthecentre.

'Steps.Bastardthings.IfIcouldtortureoneman,doyouknow who it would be?'Pike's face was a single,expressionless scar. 'Well,

nevermind.'Gloktastruggledto the bottom withoutincident, limped on a fewmore painful strides to aheavy wooden door, boundwithiron.

'Wearehere.'Glokta slida bunch of keys from thepocket of his white coat,flicked through themuntilhefoundtherightone,unlockedthedoor,andwentin.

ArchLector Sultwas notthe man he used to be. Butthennoneofusare,quite.Hismagnificent shock of whitehairwasplasteredgreasily tohis gaunt skull, dry bloodmatted in a yellow-brownmass on one side. Hispiercing blue eyes had losttheir commanding sparkle,sunken as they were in deepsockets and rimmed with

angry pink. He had beenrelieved of his clothes, andhis sinewy old man's body,somewhat hairy around theshoulders, was smeared withthe grime of the cells. Helooked, in fact, like nothingsomuchasamadoldbeggar.Canthistrulyoncehavebeenoneofthemostpowerfulmenin the wide Circle of theWorld? You would never

guess.Asalutarylessontousall.Thehigheryouclimb,thefurtherthereistofall.

'Glokta!' he snarled,thrashing helplessly, chainedtohischair.'Youtreacherous,twistedbastard!'

Gloktahelduphiswhite-glovedhand,thepurplestoneon his ring of office glintingin the harsh lamplight. 'Ibelieveyour Eminence is the

propertermofaddress.''You?' Sult barked sharp

laughter. 'Arch Lector? Awithered, pitiable husk of aman?Youdisgustme!'

'Don't give me that.'Glokta lowered himself,wincing, into the other chair.'Disgustisfortheinnocent.'

Sult glared up at Pike,loomingmenacinglyover the

table, his shadow fallingacross the polished casecontaining Glokta'sinstruments. 'What is thisthing?'

'This is an old friend ofours, Master Sult, butrecently returned from thewars in the North, andseekingnewopportunities.'

'My congratulations! Ineverbelievedthatyoucould

find an assistant even morehideousthanyourself!'

'You are unkind, butthankfully we are not easilyoffended. Let us call himequally hideous.'And just asruthless,too,Ihope.

'Whenwillbemytrial?''Trial?Whyeverwould I

want one of those? You arepresumed dead and I have

madenoefforttodenyit.''I demand the right to

address the Open Council!'Sult struggled pointlesslywith his chains. 'I demand…curse you! I demand ahearing!'

Glokta snorted. 'Demandaway, but look around you.No one is interested inlistening,notevenme.Weallare far too busy. The Open

Council stands in indefiniterecess.TheClosedCouncilisall changed, and you areforgotten. I run things now.More completely than youcould ever have dreamed ofdoing.'

'OntheleashofthatdevilBayaz!'

'Correct. Maybe in timeI'llwork some looseness intohismuzzle, just as I did into

yours. Enough to get thingsmyownway,whoknows?'

'Never! You'll never befreeofhim!'

'We'll see.' Gloktashrugged. 'But there areworse fates than being thefirstamongslaves.Farworse.Ihaveseenthem.'Ihavelivedthem.

'Youfool!Wecouldhave

beenfree!''No. We couldn't. And

freedom is far overrated inany case. We all have ourresponsibilities. We all owesomething to someone. Onlythe entirely worthless areentirely free. The worthlessandthedead.'

'What does it matternow?'Sultgrimaceddownatthetable.'Whatdoesanyofit

matter?Askyourquestions.''Oh, we're not here for

that. Not this time. Not forquestions, not for truth, notfor confessions. I have myanswers already.' Then whydo I do this? Why? Gloktaleanedslowlyforwardsacrossthetable.'Wearehereforouramusement.'

Sult stared at him for amoment, then he shrieked

with wild laughter.'Amusement? You'll neverhave your teeth back! You'llnever have your leg back!You'll never have your lifeback!'

'Of course not, but I cantake yours.' Glokta turned,stiffly, slowly, painfully, andhe gave a toothless grin.'PracticalPike,wouldyoubeso good as to show our

prisonertheinstruments?'Pike frowned down at

Glokta. He frowned down atSult.Hestoodthereforalongmoment,motionless.

Thenhe stepped forward,andliftedthelidofthecase.

'Doesthedevilknowheisadevil?'

ElizabethMadoxRoberts

TheBeginning

«^

The sides of the valley werecoated in white snow. Theblackroadranthroughit likean old scar, down to the

bridge, over the river, up tothe gates of Carleon. Blacksprouts of sedge, tufts ofblack grass, black stonespoked up through the cleanwhite blanket. The blackbranches of the trees wereeach picked out on top withtheir own line of white. Thecity was a huddle of whiteroofs and black walls,crowded in around the hill,

pressed into the fork in theblackriverunderastonygreysky.

Logen wondered if thiswas how Ferro Maljinn sawthe world. Black and white,andnothingelse.Nocolours.Hewondered where she wasnow, what she was doing. Ifshethoughtabouthim.

Mostlikelynot.

'Backagain.''Aye,'saidShivers.'Back.'

Hehadn'thadmuchtosaythewholelongridefromUffrith.They might have saved eachother'slives,butconversationwas another matter. Logenreckoned he still wasn'tShivers' favourite man.Doubted that he ever wouldbe.

They rode down in

silence, a long file of hardriders beside the blackstream, no more than an icytrickle. Horses and mensnorted out smoke, harnessjingled sharp on the cold air.They rode over the bridge,hooves thumping on thehollow wood, on to the gatewhere Logen had spoken toBethod.Thegatehe'dthrownhim down from. The grass

hadgrownback,nodoubt,inthe circle where he'd killedtheFeared,thenthesnowhadfallen down and covered it.So itwaswithall theactsofmen,intheend.Coveredoverandforgotten.

There was no one out tocheerforhim,butthatwasnosurprise. The Bloody-Ninearrivingwasneveranycauseforcelebration,especiallynot

inCarleon.Hadn't turnedouttoo well for anyone the firsttime he visited. Nor any ofthe times after.Folkwerenodoubt barred into theirhouses, scared that they'd bethefirsttogetburnedalive.

Heswungdown fromhishorse, left Red Hat and therest of the boys to see tothemselves. He strode upthroughthecobbledstreet,up

the steep slope towards thegateway of the inner wall,Shivers at his shoulder. Acouple of Carlswatched himcome. A couple of Dow'sboys, rough-lookingbastards.Oneof themgavehimagrinwith half the teeth missing.'The king!' he shouted,wavinghisswordintheair.

'The Bloody-Nine!'shouted theother, rattlinghis

shield. 'King o' theNorthmen!'

He crunched across thequiet courtyard, snow piledup into the corners, over tothe high doors of Bethod'sgreathall.Heraisedhishandsand pushed them creakingopen. Itwasn'tmuchwarmerinside than out in the snow.Thehighwindowswereopenatthefarend,thenoiseofthe

cold, cold river roaring fromfar below. Skarling's Chairstood on its raised-upplatform, at the top of thesteps, casting a long shadowacross the rough floorboardstowardshim.

Someonewassittinginit,Logen realised, as his eyesgot used to the dark. BlackDow.His axe and his swordleaned up against the side of

the chair, the glint ofsharpened metal in thedarkness. Just like him, that.Always kept his weaponsclosetohand.

Logen grinned at him.'Gettingcomfortable,Dow?'

'Bit hard on the arse,being honest, but it's better'ndirtforsittingin.'

'Did you find Calder and

Scale?''Aye.Ifound'em.''Dead,then,arethey?''Not yet. Thought I'd try

somethingdifferent.Webeentalking.'

'Talking is it? To thosetwobastards?'

'I can think o' worse.Where'stheDogmanat?'

'Still back there, trading

wordswiththeUnion,sortingoutanunderstanding.'

'Grim?'Logen shook his head.

'Backtothemud.''Huh. Well, there it is.

Makes this easier, anyway.'Dow's eyes flickeredsideways.

'Makes what easier?'Logen looked round. Shivers

was standing right at hisshoulder, scowling as if hehad someone's murder inmind.Noneed toaskwhose.Steel gleamed beside him intheshadows.Ablade,outandready. He could've stabbedLogen in the back with timeto spare.But he hadn't done,andhedidn't now. It seemedas if they all stayed still forquite a while, frozen as the

cold valley out beyond thewindows.

'Shit on this.' Shiverstossed the knife awayclattering across the floor.'I'm better'n you, Bloody-Nine. I'mbetter than thepairo'you.Youcangetyourownwork done, Black Dow. I'mdonewithit.'Heturnedroundand strode out, shoving hisway past the two Carls from

thegate,justnowcomingtheother way. One of themhefted his shield as hefrowned at Logen. The otherone pulled the doors shut,swung the bar down with afinal-soundingclunk.

Logen slid the Maker'ssword out of its sheath,turned his head and spat ontheboards.'Likethat,isit?'

'Course it is,' said Dow,

stillsatinSkarling'schair. 'Ifyou'd ever looked a stridefurther than the end o' yournoseyou'dknowit.'

'Whatabouttheoldways,eh?Whataboutyourword?'

'The old ways are gone.You killed 'em. You andBethod. Men's words ain'tworthmuch thesedays.Wellthen?' he called over hisshoulder.'Now'syourchance,

ain'tit?'Logenfeltthemoment.A

luckychoice,maybe,buthe'dalways had plenty of luck,good and bad. He divedsideways, heard the rattle ofthe flatbow at the samemoment, rolled across thefloorandcameupinacrouchas the bolt clattered againstthewall behind him.He sawa figure in the dark now,

kneeling up at the far end ofthehall.Calder.Logenheardhis curse, fishing for anotherbolt.

'Bloody-Nine,youbrokendog!' Scale came poundingout of the shadows, bootsbattering the floorboards, anaxe in his great fists with ablade big as a cart-wheel.'Here'syourdeath!'

Logen stayed where he

was, crouching loose andready, and he felt himselfsmile.Theoddswereagainsthim, maybe, but that wasnothingnew. Itwas almost arelief, not to have to think.Finewordsandpolitics,noneof that meant anything tohim. But this? This heunderstood.

Thebladecrashedintotheboards, sent splinters flying.

Logen had already rolled outof the way. Now he backedoff,watching,moving,lettingScale cleave the air aroundhim. The air healed quick,after all. The next blowflashed sideways and Logendodged back, let it chop agreatlumpofplasterfromthewall.He stepped in closer asScale snarled again, hisfurious little eyes bulging,

ready to swinghisaxe roundinablowtosplittheworld.

The pommel of theMaker's sword crunched intohis mouth before he got thechance, jerked his head up,spots of black blood and achunk of white tooth flying.HestaggeredbackandLogenfollowed him. Scale's eyesrolled down, axe going uphigh, opening his bloody

mouth to make anotherbellow.Logen'sbootrammedhard into the side of his leg.Hiskneebentbackthewrongwaywitha sharppopandhedropped to the boards, axeflying from his hands, hisroar turning to a shriek ofpain.

'Myknee!Ah!Fuck!Myknee!' He thrashed on thefloor,bloodrunningdownhis

chin, trying to kick his waybackwithonlyonegoodleg.

Logen laughed at him.'You bloated pig. I warnedyou,didn'tI?'

'By the fucking dead!'barked Dow. He sprang upout of Skarling's chair, axeand sword in his hands. 'Ifyou want a thing donefucking right, you'd best getreadytosetyourownhandto

it!'Logen would've liked to

stab Scale right through hisfat head, but there were toomany other men neededwatching.ThetwoCarlswerestill standing by the door.Calder was loading up hisnext bolt. Logen sidled intospace, trying to keep his eyeon all of them at once, andDow most of all. 'Aye, you

faithlessbastard!'heshouted.'Let'shaveyou!'

'Faithless, me?' Dowsnorted as he came on slowdownthesteps,oneatatime.'I'm a dark bastard, aye, Iknow what I am. But I'mnothing to you. I know myfriends from my enemies. Ineverkilledmyown.Bethodwas right about one thing,Bloody-Nine.You'remadeof

death. If I can put an end toyou, d'you know what?That'll be the best thing I'vedoneinmylife.'

'Thatall?'Dow showed his teeth.

'That, and I'm just plain sicko'takingyourfuckingsay-so.'

He came on fast as asnake, axe swinging over,sword flashing across waist

high. Logen dodged the axe,met the blade with his own,metalclangingonmetal.Dowcaught him in his sore ribswith his knee and sent himgasping back towards thewall,thencameathimagain,bladesleavingbrighttracesinthe darkness. Logen sprangout of the way, rolled andcameup,struttingoutintothemiddle of the hall again,

swordhangingloosefromhishand.

'That it?' he asked,smiling through the pain inhisside.

'Just getting the bloodflowing.'

Dow leaped forward,made to go right and cameleft instead, sword and axesweeping down together.

Logen saw them coming,weaved away from the axe,turned the swordoffhisownand stepped in, growling.Dow jerked back as theMaker'sbladehissed throughthe air right in front of hisface,stumbledawayasteportwo. His eye twitched, somered leaking down his cheekfrom a nick just under it.Logengrinned, spun thegrip

of his sword round in hishand. 'Blood's flowing now,eh?'

'Aye.'Dowgaveagrinofhisown.'Justlikeoldtimes.'

'I should've killed youthen.'

'Damn right youshould've.'Dowcircledroundhim, always moving,weaponsgleaminginthecold

light from the tall windows.'Butyoulovetoplaythegoodman,don'tyou?Doyouknowwhat'sworsethanavillain?Avillainwhothinkshe'sahero.A man like that, there'snothinghewon'tdo,andhe'llalways find himself anexcuse. We've had oneruthlessbastardmakehimselfKingo' theNorth,and I'llbedamnedbeforeIseeaworse.'

He feinted forward andLogenjerkedback.

He heard the click ofCalder's flatbow again andsaw the bolt flash rightbetween them. Dow scowledover at him. 'You trying tokill me? You loose anotherbolt and you're spitted, youhear?'

'Stop pissing around andkill him, then!' snapped

Calder, cranking away at hisflatbow.

'Kill him!' bellowedScale,fromsomewhereintheshadows.

'I'm working at it, pig.'Dow jerked his head at thetwo Carls by the door. 'Youtwo going to pitch in orwhat?' They looked at eachother, none too keen. Thenthey came forward into the

hall, their round shields up,their eyes on Logen, herdinghimtowardsonecorner.

Logen bared his teeth ashe backed off. 'That's howyou'llgetitdone,isit?'

'I'd rather kill you fair.But kill you crooked?' Dowshrugged his shoulders. 'Justasgood.Iain'tinthebusinesso' giving chances. Go onthen!Athim!'

The two of them closedin,cautious,Dowmovingoffto the side. Logen scrambledback, trying to look scaredandwaitingforsomekindofchance. It wasn't longcoming. One of the Carlssteppeda touch tooclose, lethisshielddroplow.Hechoseabadmomenttoraisehisaxeandabadwaytodoit.Therewas a click as the Maker's

sword took his forearm off,leftithangingfromhiselbowby a scrap of chain-mail. Hestumbled forward, draggingin a great wheezing breath,making ready to scream,blood spurting out of thestump of his arm andsplattering on the boards.Logen chopped a great gashout of his helmet and hedroppeddownonhisknees.

'Gwarghh…'hemuttered,blood pouring down the sideofhisface.Hiseyesrolledupto the ceiling and he floppedon his side. The other Carljumpedoverhisbody,roaringatthetopofhislungs.Logencaughthissword,theirbladesscraping together, then hebarged into the man's shieldwith his shoulder, sent himsprawling on his arse. He

gave a wail, the Carl, oneboot sticking up. Logenswung the Maker's sworddown and split that foot inhalfuptohisankle.

Quick footsteps came upundertheCarl'sshriek.Logenspun, saw Black Dowchargingathim,facecrushedupintoakillinggrin.

'Die!' he hissed. Logenlurched away, the blade just

missing himon one side, theaxe on the other.He tried toswing theMaker's sword butDow was too quick and tooclever, shoved Logen backwith his boot and sent himstaggering.

'Die, Bloody-Nine!'Logen dodged, parried,stumbled as Dow came onagain, no pauses and nomercy. Steel glinted in the

darkness, blades lashing,killingblows,everyone.

'Die, you evil fucker!'Dow's sword chopped downand Logen only just broughthis own round in time toblockit.Theaxecameoutofnowhere,upfromunderneath,clattered into the crosspieceand tore Logen's bladespinningfromhisnumbhand.Hewobbledbackacoupleof

strides and stood, heaving inair,sweatticklingathisneck.

It was quite a scrape hewas in. He'd been in somebadonesalright,andlivedtosingthesongs,butitwashardto see how this could getmuch worse. Logen noddedtowards the Maker's sword,lying on the boards just nexttoDow'sboot.'Don'tsupposeyoufancygivingamanafair

chance, and letting me havethatblade,eh?'

Dow grinned wider thanever. 'What's my name?WhiteDow?'

Logen had a knife tohand, of course. He alwaysdid, and more than one. Hiseyes flickered from thenotched blade of Dow'ssword to theglintingedgeofhisaxeandback.Noamount

of knivesweregoing to be amatchfor those,not inBlackDow'shands.ThentherewasCalder's flatbow still rattlingaway as he tried to load thebastard thing again. Hewouldn't miss forever. TheCarl with the split foot wasdragging himself squealingtowards thedoor,onhiswayto let somemoremen in andfinishthejob.IfLogenstood

and fought he was a deadman,Bloody-Nineornot.Soit came to a choice betweendyinganda chance at living,andthat'snochoiceatall.

Onceyouknowwhathastobedone,it'sbettertodoit,thantolivewiththefearofit.That's what Logen's fatherwouldhavesaid.Soheturnedtowardsthetallwindows.Thetall, open windows with the

brightwhite sunlight and thecold wind pouring through,andheranatthem.

He heard men shoutingbehind, but he paid them nomind.Hekeptrunning,breathhissing, long strips of lightwobbling closer. He was upthe steps in a couple ofbounds, flashed pastSkarling's Chair, faster andfaster.Hisrightfootclomped

down on the hollowfloorboards. His left footslapped down on the stonewindow sill. He sprang outintoemptyspacewithall thestrengthhehadleft,andforamomenthewasfree.

Then he began to fall.Fast. The rough walls, thenthe steep cliff face flashedpast—grey rock, greenmoss,patches of white snow, all

tumblingaroundhim.Logen turnedoverslowly

in the air, limbs flailingpointlessly, too scared toscream. The rushing windwhippedathiseyes,tuggedathis clothes, plucked thebreathoutofhismouth.He'dchosen this?Didn't seemlikesuch a clever choice, rightthen, as he plunged downtowards the river. But then

say one thing for LogenNinefingers,saythat—

The water came up tomeet him. It hit him in theside like a charging bull,punched the air out of hislungs, knocked the sense outof his head, sucked him inand down into the colddarkness…

Acknowledgments

Fourpeoplewithoutwhom:BrenAbercrombie,whoseeyesaresorefromreadingitNickAbercrombie,whoseearsaresorefromhearing

aboutitRobAbercrombie,whose

fingersaresorefromturningthepages

LouAbercrombie,whosearmsaresorefromholding

meupThen,attheHouseof

Questions,allthosewhoassistedinthistesting

interrogation,butparticularly:SuperiorSpanton,Practical

Weir,and,ofcourse,InquisitorRedfearn.Youcanputawaytheinstruments.Iconfess…

v1.0html