'Trust him?' Logen snorted. 'Shit, no. But his feud with Bethod's deeper even than ours is. He's right about that witch, I seen her, and I seen some other things this past year… if he says she'll see us, I reckon I believe him. If she doesn't, and Bethod don't come, well, nothing lost is there?'

Dogman had that empty feeling, worse'n ever. He looked over at Crummock, sitting on a rock with his children round him, and the madman smiled back a mouthful of yellow teeth. Hardly the man you'd want to hang all your hopes on, but Dogman could feel the wind changing. 'We'd be taking one bastard of a risk,' he muttered. 'What if Bethod caught up to us and got his way?'

'We move fast, then, don't we!' growled Dow. 'It's a war. Taking risks is what you do if you reckon on winning!'

'Uh,' grunted Grim.

Tul nodded his big head. 'We've got to do something. I didn't come here to watch Bethod sit on a hill. He needs to be got down.'

'Got down where we can set to work on him!' hissed Dow.

'But it's your choice.' Logen clapped his hand down on the Dogman's shoulder. 'You're the chief.'

He was the chief. He remembered them deciding on it, gathered round Threetrees' grave. Dogman had to admit, he'd much rather have told Crummock to fuck himself, then turned round and headed back, and told West they never found a thing except woods. But once you've got a task, you get it done. That's what Threetrees would've said.

Dogman gave a long sigh, that feeling in his gut bubbling up so high he was right on the point of puking. 'Alright. But this plan ain't going to get us anything but dead unless the Union are ready to do their part, and in good time too. We'll take it to Furious, and let their chief Burr know what we're about.'

'Furious?' asked Logen.

Tul grinned. 'Long story.'

Flowers and Plaudits

« ^ »

Jezal still did not have the slightest idea why it was necessary for him to wear his best uniform. The damn thing was stiff as a board and creaking with braid. It had been designed for standing to attention in rather than riding, and, as a result, dug painfully into his stomach with every movement of his horse. But Bayaz had insisted, and it was surprisingly difficult to say no to the old fool, whether Jezal was supposed to be in command of this expedition or not. It had seemed easier, in the end, just to do as he was told. So he rode at the head of the long column in some discomfort, constantly tugging at his tunic and sweating profusely in the bright sun. The one consolation was that he got to breathe fresh air. Everyone else had to eat his dust.