He was still busy trying to rub the blood off his face. 'Aye, I think so.' Bit shaky still, but that would settle. 'Cuts and scrapes, I reckon. Nothing I'll die of.'

'Good, 'cause I can't spare you. Why don't you take a creep up through them trees and have a look-see, while we clear up this mess here? Find who these bastards were scouting for.'

'Right enough,' said the Dogman, sucking in a big breath and blowing it out. 'Right enough.'

'Stupid bloody job, eh, Dow?' whispered Threetrees. 'Work fit for boys and we're lucky to get it? What do you say now?'

'Could be I made a mistake.'

'A big one,' said the Dogman.

There were a hundred fires burning down there on the dark slopes, a hundred fires and more. There were men down there too, it hardly needed saying. Thralls mostly, lightly armed, but plenty of Carls as well. Dogman could see the last light of the day glinting on their spear tips, and their shield-rims, and their mail coats, polished up and ready for a fight, clustered round close to the flapping standards of each clan's chieftain. Lots of standards. Twenty of 'em, or thirty even, at a quick count. The Dogman had never seen more than ten together before.

'Biggest army there's ever been out of the North,' he muttered.

'Aye,' said Threetrees. 'All fighting for Bethod, and not five days' ride from the Southerners.' He pointed down at one of the banners. 'That Littlebone's standard down there?'

'Aye,' growled Dow, and spat into the brush. 'That's his mark alright. I got scores with that bastard.'

'There's a world o' scores down there,' said Threetrees. 'That's Pale-as-Snow's banner, and Whitesides, and Crendel Goring's over by them rocks. That's some bloody company. Them as went over to Bethod near the beginning. All grown fat on it now, I reckon.'

'What about them ones?' asked the Dogman, pointing out at some that he didn't recognise—evil-looking signs, all leather and bones. Looked like hillmen's marks to him, maybe. 'That ain't Crummock-i-Phail's standard, is it?'

'Nah! He'd never have kneeled to Bethod or anyone else. That mad bastard'll still be up there in the mountains somewhere, calling to the moon and all the rest.'

'Less Bethod done for him,' grunted Dow.

Threetrees shook his head. 'Doubt it. Canny bastard, that Crummock. Been holding Bethod off for years, up in the High Places. He knows all the ways, they say.'

'Whose signs are they then?' asked Dogman.

'Don't know, could be some boys from out east, past the Crinna. There's some strange folk out that way. You know any o' them banners, Grim?'

'Aye,' said Grim, but that was all he said.