He heard hoofbeats, looked round. Monza, trotting slowly down the slope, a black figure with the bright-blue sky behind her. He watched her pull her lathered horse up in the farmyard, frowning at the bodies. Her clothes were sodden wet, as if she’d been dunked in a stream. Her hair was matted with blood on one side, her pale cheek streaked with it.

“Aye aye, Chief. Good to see you.” Should’ve been true but it felt like some kind of a lie, still. He felt not much of anything either way. “Faithful dead, is he?”

“He’s dead.” She slid stiffly down. “Have any trouble getting him here?”

“Not much. He wanted to bring more friends than we’d planned for, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn ’em down. You know how it is when folk hear about a party. They looked so eager, poor bastards. Have any trouble killing him?”

She shook her head. “He drowned.”

“Oh aye? Thought you’d have stabbed him.” He picked her sword up and offered it to her.

“I stabbed him a bit.” She looked at the blade for a moment, then took it from his hand and sheathed it. “Then I let him drown.”

Shivers shrugged. “Up to you. Drowning’ll do it, I reckon.”

“Drowning did it.”

“Five of seven, then.”

“Five of seven.” Though she didn’t look like celebrating. Hardly any more than the man crying over his dead friend. It weren’t much of a joyous occasion for anyone, even on the winning side. There’s vengeance for you.

“Who’s that screaming?”

“Someone. No one.” Shivers shrugged. “Listen to the bird instead.”

“What?”

“Murcatto!” Vitari stood, arms folded, in the open doorway of the barn. “You’ll want to see this.”

It was cool and dim inside, sunlight coming in through a ragged hole in the corner, through the narrow windows, throwing bright stripes across the darkened straw. One fell over Day’s corpse, yellow hair tangled across her face, body twisted awkwardly. No blood. No marks of violence at all.

“Poison,” muttered Monza.

Vitari nodded. “Oh, the irony.”

A hellish-looking mess of copper rods, glass tubes and odd-shaped bottles was stood on the table beside the body, a couple of lamps with yellow-blue flames flickering underneath, stuff bubbling away inside, trickling, dripping. Shivers liked the look of the poisoner’s equipment even less than the look of the poisoner’s corpse. Bodies he was good and familiar with, science was all unknown.

“Fucking science,” he muttered. “Even worse’n magic.”

“Where’s Morveer?” asked Monza.

“No sign.” The three of them looked hard at each other for a moment.

“Not among the dead?”

Shivers slowly shook his head. “It’s a shame, but I didn’t see him.”

Monza took a worried step back. “Best not touch anything.”

“You think?” growled Vitari. “What happened?”

“Difference of opinion between master and apprentice, by the look of things.”

“Serious difference,” muttered Shivers.

Vitari slowly shook her spiky head. “That’s it. I’m finished.”

“You’re what?” asked Monza.

“I’m out. In this business you have to know when to quit. It’s war now, and I try not to get involved with that. Too hard to pick the outcome.” She nodded towards the yard where, out in the sunshine, they were piling up the corpses. “Visserine was a step too far for me, and this is a step further. That and I’ve no taste for being on the wrong side of Morveer. I could do without looking over my shoulder every day of my life.”