'Good. The horses ran. Who can blame them, right? If I had four legs I'd be halfway back to the sea by now.'

'What?'

'Why don't you catch them?'

'Who made you the leader?'

Ninefingers heavy brows drew in slightly. Jezal became aware that they were standing very close to one another, and that the Northman's hand was still on his shoulder. It was only resting there, but he could feel the strength of it through his coat, and it felt strong enough to twist his arm off. Damn his mouth, it got him in all kinds of trouble. He expected a punch in the face at the very least, if not a fatal wound in his head, but Ninefingers only pursed his lips thoughtfully and began to speak.

'We're a lot different, you and me. Different in all kind of ways. I see you don't have much respect for my kind, or for me in particular, and I don't much blame you. The dead know I got my shortcomings, and I ain't entirely ignorant of 'em. You may think you're a clever man, and I'm a stupid one, and I daresay you're right. There's sure to be a very many things that you know more about than I do. But when it comes to fighting, I'm sorry to say, there's few men with a wider experience than me. No offence, but we both know you're not one of 'em. No one made me the leader, but this is the task that needs doing.' He stepped closer still, his great paw gripping Jezal's shoulder with a fatherly firmness, halfway between reassurance and threat. 'Is that a worry?'

Jezal thought about it for a moment. He was out of his depth, and the events of the past few minutes had demonstrated beyond question just how far. He looked down at the man that Ninefingers had killed only a moment before, and the cleft in the back of his head yawned wide. Perhaps, for the moment, it would be best if he simply did as he was told.

'No worry,' he said.

'Good!' Ninefingers grinned, clapped him on the shoulder and let him go. 'Horses still need catching, and you're the man for the job, I reckon.'

Jezal nodded, and stumbled away to look for them.

One Hundred Words

One Hundred Words

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There was something peculiar afoot, that was sure. Colonel Glokta tested his limbs, but he appeared unable to move. The sun was blinding bright in his eyes.

'Did we beat the Gurkish?' he asked.

'We certainly did,' said Haddish Kahdia, leaning over into Glokta's field of view. 'With God's help we put them to the sword. Butchered them like cattle.' The old native went back to chewing on the severed hand he held. He'd already got through a couple of fingers.