Logen got up. 'Maybe I have, but I didn't like it any.'

'Course you did!' Crummock roared after him. 'Don't give me that, Bloody-Nine!'

Logen didn't look back. There were torches set on the wall, every ten paces or so, bright flames in the darkness, white specks of insects floating around them. Men stood in their light, leaning on their spears, bows clenched in their hands, swords drawn, watching the night for surprises. Bethod had always loved surprises, and Logen reckoned they'd have some before they were through, one way or another.

He came up to the parapet and set his hands on the clammy stone, frowned down at the fires burning in the blackness of the valley. Bethod's fires, far away in the dark, and their own ones, bonfires built up and lit just below the wall to try and catch any clever bastards trying to sneak up. They cast flickering circles across the shadowy rocks, with here or there the twisted corpse of a Flathead, hacked and flung from the wall or stuck with arrows.

Logen felt someone move behind him and his back prickled, eyes sliding to the corners. Shivers, maybe, come to settle their score and shove him off the wall. Shivers, or one of a hundred others with some grudge that Logen had forgotten but they never would. He made sure his hand was close to a blade, and he bared his teeth, and he made ready to spin and strike.

'We did good today, though, eh?' said the Dogman. 'Lost less than twenty.'

Logen breathed easy again, and he let his hand drop. 'We did alright. But Bethod's just getting started. He's prodding, to see where we're weakest, see if he can wear us down. He knows that time's the thing. Most valuable thing there is, in war. A day or two's worth more to him than a load of Flatheads. If he can crush us quick he'll take the losses, I reckon.'

'Best thing might be to hold out, then, eh?'

Off in the darkness, far away and echoing, Logen could just hear the clang and clatter of smithing and carpentry. 'They're building down there. All the stuff they'll need to climb our wall, fill in our ditch. Lots of ladders, and all the rest. He'll take us quick if he can, Bethod, but he'll take us slow if he has to.'

Dogman nodded. 'Well, like I said. Best thing to do would be to hold out. If all goes to plan, the Union'll be here soon.'

'They'd better be. Plans have a way of coming apart when you lean on 'em.'

Such Sweet Sorrow

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'His Resplendence, the Grand Duke of Ospria, desires only the best of relations…'

Jezal could do little but sit and smile, as he had been sitting and smiling all the whole interminable day. His face, and his rump, were aching from it. The burbling of the ambassador continued unabated, accompanied by flamboyant hand gestures. Occasionally he would dam the river of blather for a moment, so that his translator could render his platitudes into the common tongue. He need scarcely have bothered.