Logen winced. 'Nothing but more blood. My family's long dead and rotted, and those friends I didn't turn on and kill myself, I got killed with my pride and my stupidity. So much for my achievements. But you've still got time, eh, Jezal? A good chance at a nice, peaceful life. What will you do?'

'Well… I've been thinking…' he cleared his throat, suddenly nervous, as though giving voice to his plans made them far closer to reality. 'There's a girl back home… well, a woman, I suppose. My friend's sister, in fact… her name is Ardee. I think that, perhaps, I love her…' It was strange, that he was discussing his innermost feelings with this man he had thought a savage. With this man who could understand nothing of the delicate rules of life in the Union, of the sacrifice that Jezal was considering. But somehow it was easy to say. 'I've been thinking… well… if she'll have me, perhaps… we might marry.'

'That sounds like a good plan.' Logen grinned and nodded. 'Marry her, and sow some seeds.'

Jezal raised his eyebrows. 'I don't know much about farming.'

The Northman spluttered with laughter. 'Not those kind of seeds, boy!' He clapped him on the arm. 'One piece of advice, though, if you'll take one from the likes of me, find something to do with your life that don't involve killing.' He bent and swung up his pack, shoved his arms through the straps. 'Leave the fighting to those with less sense.' And he turned and struggled up the track.

Jezal nodded slowly to himself. He touched one hand to the scar on his chin, his tongue finding the hole in his teeth. Logen was right. Fighting was not the life for him. He already had one scar too many.

It was a bright day. The first time Ferro had been warm in a long while and the sun felt good, hot and angry on her face, on her bare forearms, on the backs of her hands. The shadows of rock and branch were laid out sharp on the stony ground, the spray from the falling water that flowed beside the old track flashed as it fell through the air.

The others had fallen behind. Longfoot, taking his time, smiling up at anything and everything, blathering on about the majesty of the views. Quai hunched up and dogged under the weight of his pack. Bayaz wincing and sweating, puffing as though he might fall dead at any minute. Luthar moaning about his blisters to anyone who would listen, which was no one. So it was only her and Ninefingers, striding up ahead in stony silence.

Just the way she liked it.