'Shut your fucking hole and hold the torch up! We'll have to push it back in!' Jezal felt something pressing on his face, hard. There was a cracking sound and an unbearable lance of pain stabbed through his jaw and into his neck, like nothing he had ever felt before. He sagged back.

'I'll hold it, you move that.'

'What, this?'

'Don't pull his teeth out!'

'It fell out by itself!'

'Damn fool pink!'

'What's happening?' said Jezal. But all that came out was a kind of gurgle. His head was throbbing, pulsing, splitting with pain.

'He's waking up now!'

'You stitch then, I'll hold him.' There was a pressure round his shoulders, across his chest, folding him tight. His arm hurt. Hurt terribly. He tried to kick but his leg was agony, he couldn't move it.

'You got him?'

'Yes I've got him! Get stitching!'

Something stabbed into his face. He had not thought the pain could grow any worse. How wrong he had been.

'Get off me!' he bellowed, but all he heard was, 'thugh.'

He struggled, tried to wriggle free, but he was folded tight, and it only made his arm hurt more. The pain in his face got worse. His upper lip, his lower lip, his chin, his cheek. He screamed and screamed and screamed, but heard nothing. Only a quiet wheezing. When he thought his head would surely explode, the pain grew suddenly less.

'Done.'

The grip was released and he lay back, floppy as a rag, helpless. Something turned his head. 'That's good stitching. That's real good. Wish you'd been around when I got these. Might still have my looks.'

'What looks, pink?'

'Huh. Best get started on his arm. Then there's the leg to set an' all.'

'Where did you put that shield?'

'No,' groaned Jezal, 'please…' Nothing but a click in his throat.

He could see something now, blurry shapes in the half-light. A face loomed towards him, an ugly face. Bent and broken nose, skin torn and crossed with scars. There was a dark face, just behind it, a face with a long, livid line from eyebrow to chin. He closed his eyes. Even the light seemed painful.

'Good stitching.' A hand patted the side of his face. 'You're one of us, now, boy.'

Jezal lay there, his face a mass of agony, and the horror crept slowly through every limb.

'One of us.'

PART II

PART II

'He is not fit for battle that has
never seen his own blood flow,
who has not heard his teeth
crunch under the blow of an
opponent, or felt the full weight
of his adversary upon him.'

Roger of Howden

Heading North

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