'Aye,' he grunted, wiping his mouth. 'Right y'are.' Logen watched him walk off back to his boys, spitting blood. Say one thing for Logen Ninefingers, say he's got a talent for turning a friend into an enemy.

'Did you have to?' asked the Dogman.

Logen shrugged. He hadn't wanted it, but he was leader now. Always a disaster, but there it was, and a man in charge can't have men putting questions. Just can't have it. They come with questions first, then they come with knives. 'Couldn't see another way. That's how it's always been, ain't it?'

'I was hoping times changed.'

'Times never change. You have to be realistic, Dogman.'

'Aye. Shame, though.'

A lot of things were a shame. Logen had given up trying to put them right a long time ago. He slid out the Maker's sword and held it up. 'Let's go, then! And this time like we care a shit!' He started off through the trees, hearing the rest of the lads following. Out into the open air, and the walls of Adua loomed up, a sheer grey cliff at the top of a grassy rise, studded with round towers. There were quite a number of corpses lying around. Enough to give even a battle-hardened Carl some cold feelings. Gurkish corpses mostly, from the colour of their skin, sprawled among all kinds of broken gear, squashed into muddy earth, trampled with hoof-prints.

'Steady!' shouted Logen as he jogged on through them. 'Steady!' He caught sight of something up ahead, a fence of sharpened stakes, the body of a horse hanging dead from one of them. Behind the stakes, men moved. Men with bows.

'Cover up!' A few arrows came zipping down. One thudded into Shivers' shield, a couple more into the ground round Logen's feet. A Carl not a stride from him got one in the chest and tumbled over.

Logen ran. The fence came wobbling towards him, a good bit slower than he'd have liked. Someone stood between two of the stakes, dark-faced, with a shining breastplate, a red plume on his pointed helmet. He was shouting to a crowd of others gathered behind him, waving a curved sword. A Gurkish officer, maybe. As good a thing to charge at as any. Logen's boots squelched at the churned-up ground. A couple more arrows spun past him, hastily aimed. The officer's eyes went wide. He took a nervous step back, raised his sword.