Logen would've liked to deny it, but it would just have been more lies. Bethod truly knew him. Bethod truly understood him. Better than anyone. His worst enemy, and still his best friend. 'Then why not kill me, when you had the chance?'

The King of the Northmen frowned, as though he couldn't understand something. Then he started to laugh again. He shrieked with it. 'You don't know why? You stood right beside him and you don't know? You learned nothing from me, Ninefingers! After all these years, you still let the rain wash you any way it pleases!'

'What're you saying?' snarled Logen.

'Bayaz!'

'Bayaz? What of him?'

'I was ready to put the bloody cross in you, sink your carcass in a bog with all the rest of your misfit idiots and was happy to do it, until that old liar came calling!'

'And?'

'I owed him, and he wanted you let go. It was that meddling old fuck that saved your worthless hide, and nothing else!'

'Why?' growled Logen, not knowing what to make of it, but not liking that he was learning about it so long after everyone else.

But Bethod only chuckled. 'Maybe I didn't grovel low enough for his taste. You're the one he saved, you ask him the whys, if you live long enough. But I don't think you will. I take your challenge! Here. Tomorrow. At sunrise.' He rubbed his palms together. 'Man against man, with the future of the North hanging bloody on the outcome! Just as it used to be, eh, Logen? In the old days? In the sunny valleys of the past? Roll the dice together one more time, shall we?' The King of the Northmen stepped slowly back, away from the battlements. 'Some things have changed, though. I've a new champion now! If I was you, I'd say your goodbyes tonight, and get ready for the mud! After all… what was it you used to tell me… ?' His laughter faded slowly into the dusk. 'You have to be realistic!'

'Good piece o' meat,' said Grim.

A warm fire and a good piece of meat were two things to be thankful for, and there'd been times enough when Dogman had a lot less, but watching the blood drip from that chunk of mutton was making him feel sick. Reminded him of the blood that came out of Shama Heartless when Logen split him open. Years ago, maybe, but the Dogman could see it fresh as yesterday. He could hear the roars from the men, the shields crashing together. He could smell the sour sweat and the fresh blood on the snow.

'By the dead,' grunted Dogman, mouth watering like he was about to puke. 'How can you think about eating now?'

Dow gave a toothy grin. 'Us going hungry ain't going to help Ninefingers any. Nothing is. That's the point of a duel, ain't it? All about one man.' He poked at the meat with his knife and made the blood run sizzling into the fire. Then he sat back, thoughtful. 'You reckon he can do it? Really? You remember that thing?' Dogman felt a ghost of the sick fear he'd had in the mist, and he shuddered to his boots. He weren't likely ever to forget the sight of that giant coming through the murk, the sight of his painted fist rising, the sound of it crunching into Threetrees' ribs and crushing the life out of him.