So he cleared his throat and called out. 'Now no one shoot or anything!' A string went and a bolt thudded into a tree a couple of strides to his left. Logen hunched down against the wet earth. 'No one shoot, I said!'

'Who's out there?'

'It's me, Ninefingers!' Silence. 'The Northman who was on the cart!'

A long pause, and some whispering. 'Alright! But come out slow, and keep your hands where we can see them!'

'Fair enough!' He straightened up and crept out from the trees, hands held high. 'Just don't shoot me, eh? That's your end of the deal!'

He walked across the ground towards the fire, arms spread out, wincing at the thought of getting a bolt in his chest any minute. He recognised the faces of the lads from before, them and the officer who had charge of the supply column. A couple of them followed him with their bows as he stepped slowly over the makeshift parapet and down into the trench. It had been dug along in front of the fire, but not that well, and there was a big puddle in the bottom.

'Where the hell did you get to?' demanded the officer angrily.

'Tracking them that ambushed us tonight.'

'Did you catch 'em?' one of the boys asked.

'That I did.'

'And?'

'Dead.' Logen nodded at the puddle in the bottom of the hole. 'So you needn't sleep in the water tonight. Any of that stew left?'

'How many were there?' snapped the officer.

Logen poked around the embers of the fire, but the pot was empty. Just his luck, again. 'Five.'

'You, on your own, against five?'

'There were six to begin with, but I killed one at the start. He's in the trees over there somewhere.' Logen dug a heel of bread out of his pack and rubbed it round the inside of the pot, trying to get a bit of meat grease on there, at least. 'I waited until they were sleeping, so I only had to fight one of 'em, face to face. Always been lucky that way, I guess.' He didn't feel that lucky. Looking at his hand in the firelight, it was still stained with blood. Dark blood under his fingernails, dried into the lines in his palm. 'Always been lucky.'

The officer hardly looked convinced. 'How do we know that you aren't one of them? That you weren't spying on us? That they aren't waiting out there now, for you to give them a signal when we're vulnerable?'

'You've been vulnerable the whole way,' snorted Logen. 'But it's a fair question. I thought you might ask it.' He pulled the canvas bag out from his belt. 'That's why I brought you this.' The officer frowned as he reached out for it, shook it open, peered suspiciously inside. He swallowed. 'Like I said, there were five. So you got ten thumbs in there. That satisfy you?'

The officer looked more sick than satisfied, but he nodded, lips squeezed together, and held the bag back out to him at arm's length.