Once he was gone, and no blood spilled, Tul blew out hard like they'd got away with murder. 'Right then. North, was it? Someone better get the lads ready to move.'

'Uh,' said Grim, sliding the last arrow into his quiver and following him off through the trees.

Logen stood there for a moment, watching 'em walk. When they'd got away out of sight he turned round, and he squatted down by the fire, hunched over with his arms resting on his knees and his hands dangling. 'Thank the dead for that. I nearly shit myself.'

Dogman realised he'd been holding onto his breath the whole while, and he let it rush out in a gasp. 'I think I might've, just a bit. Did you have to do that?'

'You know I did. Let a man like Dow take liberties and he won't ever stop. Then all the rest of these lads will get the idea that the Bloody-Nine ain't anything like so frightening as they heard, and it'll be a matter of time before someone with a grudge decides to take a blade to me.'

Dogman shook his head. 'That's a hard way of thinking about things.'

'That's the way they are. They haven't changed any. They never do.'

True, maybe, but they weren't ever going to change if no one gave 'em half a chance. 'Still. You sure all that's needful?'

'Not for you maybe. You got that knack that folk like you.' Logen scratched at his jaw, looking sadly off into the woods. 'Reckon I missed my chance at that about fifteen years ago. And I ain't getting another.'

The woods were warm and familiar. Birds twittered in the branches, not caring a damn for Bethod, or the Union, or any o' the doings of men. Nowhere had ever seemed more peaceful, and Dogman didn't like that one bit. He sniffed at the air, sifting it through his nose, over his tongue. He was double careful these days, since that shaft came over and killed Cathil in the battle. Might have been he could've saved her, if he'd trusted his own nose a mite more. He wished he had saved her. But wishing don't help any.

Dow squatted down in the brush, staring off into the still forest. 'What is it, Dogman? What d'you smell?'

'Men, I reckon, but kind of sour, somehow.' He sniffed again. 'Smells like—'

An arrow flitted up out of the trees, clicked into the tree trunk just beside Dogman and stuck there, quivering.