“Stupid move, mate,” Poncey Swan said smugly while Fat Donall chuckled, his pale chins wiggling. Padric knew he was pushing this situation beyond good sense, but the sight of the seax in Drefan’s boney hand was more than he could stomach. Padric looked into the old man’s face and tried to keep his voice even.

“You found that in the Wallow.”

“No,” Drefan’s tongue slid across his chapped lower lip. “I found it in some burnt out pile of sheep shit that was once the Wallow.”

“Burnt out pile,” Big Cunny repeated as Fat Donall guffawed.

“Still mine,” Padric said.

Drefan’s teeth grit together, but the grin remained. “And I’ve a mind to give it back to you.” The murder in the man’s eyes was naked.

Padric jumped to his feet, brandishing Big Cunny’s dagger and Drefan followed him up. Fat Donall seemed to think this was the most amusing turn yet and continued to laugh, jowls flushed. Big Cunny smiled gormlessly, but his eyes were confused, darting around the camp. Poncey Swan watched with his arrogant face, his weak chin. Banan had turned around to watch, but made no further move. All of this Padric saw in a glance, trying to gauge if anyone would come to Drefan’s side. Acwellen and Aglaeca were beyond Padric’s periphery and he fought down a rising panic, suspecting a blade through the back with every breath. But it never came. The men seemed content to watch, offering only crude shouts of encouragement. Drefan and Padric watched each other over the campfire as the others made sport.

“Ooooh! I think he’s angry with you, Drefan.”

“Cut his bollocks off!”

“Pull his breeches down and shag him like a girl!”

Padric ignored them.

“It belongs to me,” he told Drefan firmly. “On the pommel is a dwarven rune… the mark of the maker and the one who gave it to me.”

“Aye?” Drefan sneered. “Then why do I have it, eh? It was in the mud. Could it be because you left it behind when you ran a craven from the battle?”

That drew jeers from the others and Padric fought the urge to rush the man.

“Yes,” Padric said. “I ran from the battle. But I also ran to it. I do not recall you being there at all, old man!”

Drefan’s face darkened. “You’re about to die bloody, boy.”

Padric thought that was true. “I’ll carve you even uglier before I do.”

Drefan snarled, leaping over the fire, kicking the stew pot over to hiss in the flames. Padric darted backwards, away from the long reach of the slashing seax, but the stroke never fell.