The Feared took hold of the Maker's blade and slid it from the earth. It looked like a toy in his monstrous hand. His bulging eyes rolled up to Logen's, and his great mouth twisted into a smile. He tossed the sword down at Logen's feet and it dropped in the dirt.

'Take your knife, little man.'

The sound of raised voices floated thin on the breeze. 'Alright,' hissed Dow, much too loud for the Dogman's nerves, 'they're getting started!'

'I can hear that!' Dogman snapped, coiling the rope round and round into easy circles, ready to throw.

'You know what you're doing with that? I could do without it dropping on me.'

'That so?' Dogman swung the grapple back and forward a touch, feeling the weight. 'I was just thinking that, after it sticking in that wall, it sticking in your fat head was the second best outcome.' He spun it round in a circle, then a wider one, letting some rope slip through his hand, then he hefted it all the way and let it fly. It sailed up, real neat, the rope uncoiling after it, and over the battlements. Dogman winced as he heard it clatter on the walkway, but no one came. He pulled on the rope. A stride or two slid down, and then it caught. Felt firm as a rock.

'First time,' said Grim.

Dogman nodded, hardly able to believe it himself. 'What are the odds? Who's first?'

Dow grinned at him. 'Whoever's got hold o' the rope now, I reckon.'

As the Dogman started climbing, he found he was going over all the ways a man could get killed going up this wall. Grapple slipped, and he fell. Rope frayed, and snapped, and he fell. Someone had seen the grapple, was waiting for him to get to the top before they cut the rope. Or they were waiting for him to get to the top before they cut his throat. Or they were just now calling for a dozen big men to take prisoner whatever idiot it was trying to climb into a city on his own.