They weren't alone, the three children. Some huge bastard was coming up behind. He had a ragged fur round his great wide shoulders, and some big necklace hanging down on his great fat belly. A load of bones. Fingerbones, the Dogman saw as he got closer. Men's fingers, mixed up with flat bits of wood, strange signs cut into them. He had a great yellow grin hacked out from his grey-brown beard, but that didn't put the Dogman any more at ease.

'Oh shit,' groaned Dow, 'let's go back. Back south and enough o' this.'

'Why? You know him?'

Dow turned his head and spat. 'Crummock-i-Phail, ain't it.'

Dogman almost wished it had turned out to be an ambush, now, rather than a chat. It was a fact that every child knew. Crummock-i-Phail, chief of the hillmen, was about the maddest bastard in the whole damn North.

He pushed the spears and the arrows gently out of his way as he came. 'No need for that now, is there, my beauties? We're all friends, or got the same enemies, at least, which is far better, d'you see? We all have a lot of enemies up in them hills, don't we, though? The moon knows I love a good fight, but coming at them great big rocks, with Bethod and all his arse-lickers stuck in tight on top? That's a bit too much fight for anyone, eh? Even your new Southern friends.'

He stopped just in front of them, fingerbones swinging and rattling. The three children stopped behind him, fidgeting with their great huge weapons and frowning up at Dow and the Dogman.

'I'm Crummock-i-Phail,' he said. 'Chief of all the hillmen. Or all the ones as are worth a shit.' He grinned as though he'd just turned up to a wedding. 'And who might be in charge o' this merry outing?'

Dogman felt that hollow feeling again, but there was nothing for it. 'That'd be me.'

Crummock raised his brows at him. 'Would it now? You're a little fellow to be telling all these big fellows just what to be about, are you not? You must have quite some name on your shoulders, I'm thinking.'

'I'm the Dogman. This is Black Dow.'

'Some strange sort of a crew you got here,' said Dow, frowning at the children.

'Oh it is! It is! And a brave one at that! The lad with my spear, that's my son Scofen. The one with my axe is my son Rond.' Crummock frowned at the girl with the hammer. 'This lad's name I can't remember.'

'I'm your daughter!' shouted the girl.

'What, did I run out of sons?'

'Scenn got too old and you give him 'is own sword, and Sceft's too small to carry nothing yet.'

Crummock shook his head. 'Don't hardly seem right, a bloody woman taking the hammer.'