West stared at his glass for a long moment. 'It was bad. The Northmen set a trap for Ladisla and he fell right into it, squandered his cavalry. Then a mist came up, all of a sudden, and you couldn't see the hand before your face. Their horse were on us before we knew what was happening. I took a knock on the head, I think. Next I remember I was in the mud on my back and there was a Northman bearing down on me. With this.' He slid the heavy sword out of his belt and laid it down on the table.

The three officers stared at it, spellbound. 'Bloody hell,' muttered Kaspa.

Brint's eyes were wide. 'How did you get the better of him?'

'I didn't. This girl I was telling you about…'

'Yes?'

'She smashed his brains out with a hammer. Saved my life.'

'Bloody hell,' muttered Kaspa.

'Phew,' Brint sat back heavily in his chair. 'Sounds like quite a woman!'

West was frowning, staring down at the glass in his hand. 'You could say that.' He remembered the feeling of Cathil sleeping beside him, her breath against his cheek. Quite a woman. 'You really could say that.' He drained his glass and stood up, stuck the Northman's sword back through his belt.

'You're going?' asked Brint.

'There's something I need to take care of.'

Jalenhorm stood up with him. 'I should thank you, Colonel. For sending me off with the letter. It sounds like you were right. There was nothing I could have done.'

'No.' West took a deep breath, and blew it out. 'There was nothing anyone could have done.'

The night was still, and crisp, and cold, and West's boots slipped and squelched in the half-frozen mud. Fires burned here and there and men clustered round them in the darkness, swaddled in all the clothes they possessed, breath smoking, pinched faces lit in flickering yellow. One fire burned brighter than the others, up on a slope above the camp, and West made for that now, feet weaving from the drink. He saw two dark figures sitting near it, taking shape as he came closer.

Black Dow was having a pipe, chagga smoke curling out from his fierce grin, an open bottle wedged between his crossed legs, several empty ones scattered in the snow nearby. Somewhere away to the right, off in the darkness, West could hear someone singing in Northern. A huge, deep voice, and singing very badly. 'He cut him to the boooones. No. To the boooones. To the… wait on.'

'You alright?' asked West, holding his gloved hands out to the crackling flames.