'A father, two brothers. I don't know how much they like me.'

'Shit on them, then. You got children?'

'No.'

'Wife?'

'No.' Jezal grimaced. He had done nothing with his life but play cards and make enemies. No one would miss him.

'A lover then? Don't tell me there ain't a girl waiting.'

'Well, maybe…' But he did not doubt that Ardee would already have found someone else. She had never seemed overly sentimental. Perhaps he should have offered to marry her when he had the chance. At least then someone might have wept for him. 'What about you?' he mumbled.

'What? A family?' Ninefingers frowned, rubbing grimly at the stump of his middle finger. 'I did have one. And now I've got another. You don't pick your family, you take what you're given and you make the best of it.' He pointed at Ferro, then at Quai. 'You see her, and him, and you?' He slapped his hand down on Jezal's shoulder. 'That's my family now, and I don't plan on losing a brother today, you understand?'

Jezal nodded slowly. You don't pick your family. You make the best of it. Ugly, stupid, stinking, strange, it hardly seemed to matter now. Ninefingers held out his hand, and Jezal gripped it in his own, as hard as he could.

The Northman grinned. 'Luck then, Jezal.'

'And to you.'

Ferro knelt beside one of the pitted stones, her bow in one hand, an arrow nocked and ready. The wind made patterns in the tall grass on the plain below, whipped at the shorter grass on the slope of the hill, plucked at the flights of the seven arrows stuck into the earth in front of her in a row. Seven arrows was all she had left.

Nothing like enough.

She watched them ride up to the base of the hill. She watched them climb from their horses, staring upwards. She watched them tighten the buckles on their scuffed leather armour, ready their weapons. Spears, swords, shields, a bow or two. She counted them. Thirteen. She had been right.

But that wasn't much of a comfort.

She recognised Finnius, laughing and pointing up at the stones. Bastard. She would shoot him first, if she got the chance, but there was no point risking a shot at this range. They would be coming soon. Crossing the open ground, struggling uphill.

She could shoot them then.

They began to spread out, peering up at the stones over the tops of their shields, their boots rustling in the long grass below. They had not seen her yet. There was one at the front without a shield, pounding up the slope with a fierce grin on his face, a bright sword in each hand.