The fates of the men down in the valley had been set long ago. When Ladisla chose to cross the river. When Burr set upon his plan. When the Closed Council decided to send the Crown Prince to win a reputation in the North. When the great noblemen of the Union sent beggars instead of soldiers to fight for their King. A hundred different chances, from days, and weeks, and months before, all coming together here, on this worthless stretch of mud. Chances which neither Burr, nor Ladisla, nor West himself could have predicted or done anything to prevent.

He could make no difference now, no one could. The day was lost.

'Protect the Prince,' he muttered.

'What?'

West began to cast around on the ground, rooting through the scattered junk, rolling over bodies with his dirty hands. A messenger stared up at him, the side of his face split open, bloody pulp hanging out. West retched, covered his mouth, crawled on his hands and knees to the next corpse. One of the Prince's staff, still with a look of faint surprise on his features. There was a ragged sword cut through the heavy gold braid of his uniform, reaching all the way down to his belly.

'What the hell are you doing?' Pike's gruff voice. 'There's no time for this!' The convict had got an axe from somewhere. A heavy northern axe, with blood on the edge. Not a good idea, most likely, for a criminal to have a weapon like that, but West had other worries.

'We must find Prince Ladisla!'

'Shit on him!' hissed Cathil, 'let's go!'

West shook off her hand, stumbled to a heap of broken boxes, wiping more blood out of his eye. Somewhere here. Somewhere near here, Ladisla had been standing—

'No, I beg of you, no!' squealed a voice. The heir to the throne of the Union was lying on his back in a hollow in the dirt, half-obscured by the twisted corpse of one of his guards. His eyes were squeezed shut, arms crossed in front of his face, white uniform spotted with red blood, caked with black mud. 'There will be a ransom!' he whimpered, 'a ransom! More than you can imagine.'

One eye peered out from between his fingers. He grabbed at West's hand. 'Colonel West! Is it you? You're alive!'

There was no time for pleasantries. 'Your Highness, we have to go!'

'Go?' mumbled Ladisla, his face streaked with tear tracks. 'But surely… you can't mean… have we won?'