There was a big man in a dirty coat arguing with him. Dogman strained to listen, trying to make sense of their Union words. 'I've five children out here,' the farmer was saying, 'and nothing to feed them with. What do you suggest I do?'

An old man got in first. 'I'm a personal friend of the Lord Governor, I demand you admit me to the—'

The lad didn't let either one finish. 'I don't give a damn who your friends are, and I don't care if you have a hundred children! The city of Ostenhorm is full. Lord Marshal Burr has decreed that only two hundred refugees be admitted each day, and we have already reached our limit for this morning. I suggest you come back tomorrow. Early.'

The two men stood there staring. 'Your limit?' growled the farmer.

'But the Lord Governor—'

'Damn you!' screamed the lad, thumping at the table in a fit. 'Only push me further! I'll let you in alright! I'll have you dragged in, and hung as traitors!'

That was enough for those two, they backed off quick. Dogman was starting to think he should do the same, but Threetrees was already making for the table. The boy scowled up at 'em as though they stank worse than a pair of fresh turds. Dogman wouldn't have been so bothered, except he'd washed specially for the occasion. Hadn't been this clean in months. 'What the hell do you want? We've no need of spies or beggars!'

'Good,' said Threetrees, clear and patient. 'We're neither. My name is Rudd Threetrees. This here is the Dogman. We're come to speak to whoever's in charge. We're come to offer our services to your King.'

'Offer your services?' The lad started to smile. Not a friendly smile at all. 'Dogman, you say? What an interesting name. I can't imagine how he came by it.' He had himself a little snigger at that piece of cleverness, and Dogman could hear chuckles from the others. A right set of arseholes, he reckoned, stitched up tight in their fancy clothes and their shiny armour. A right set of arseholes, but there was nothing to be gained by telling 'em so. It was a good thing they'd left Dow behind. He'd most likely have gutted this fool already, and got them all killed.

The lad leaned forward and spoke real slow, as if to children. 'No Northmen are allowed within the city, not without special permission.'

Seemed that Bethod crossing their borders, slaughtering their armies, making war across their lands weren't special enough. Threetrees ploughed on, but the Dogman reckoned he was ploughing in stony ground, alright. 'We're not asking much. Only food and a place to sleep. There's five of us, each one a Named Man, veterans all.'