‘Shit on that. Just tell me you’ll do it. I need someone I can count on, Craw, and you do things the old way. You’re a straight edge, and there ain’t many left. Just tell me you’ll do it.’ He had a strange look to him, suddenly. An odd, weak twist to his mouth. If Craw hadn’t known better, he’d have called it fear, and suddenly he saw it.

Dow had no one he could turn his back to. No friends but those he’d scared into serving him and a mountain of enemies. No choice but to trust to a man he hardly knew ’cause he reminded him of an old comrade long gone back to the mud. The cost of a great big name. The harvest of a lifetime in the black business.

‘’Course I’ll do it.’ And like that it was said. Maybe he felt for Dow in that moment, however mad it sounded. Maybe he understood the loneliness of being Chief. Or maybe the embers of his own ambitions, that he’d thought burned out beside his brothers’ graves long ago, flared up one last time when Dow raked ’em over. Either way it was said, and there was no unsaying it. Without wondering if it was the right thing to do. For him, or for his dozen, or for anyone, and straight away Craw had a terrible feeling like he’d made a bastard of a mistake. ‘Just while the battle’s on, though,’ he added, rowing back from the waterfall fast as he could. ‘I’ll hold the gap ’til you find someone better.’

‘Good man.’ Dow held out his hand, and they shook, and when Craw looked up again it was into that wolf grin, not a trace of weakness or fear or anything even close. ‘You done the right thing, Craw.’

Craw watched Dow walk back up the hillside towards the stones, wondering whether he’d really let his hard mask slip or if he’d just slipped a soft one on. The right thing? Had Craw just signed up as right hand to one of the most hated men in the world? A man with more enemies than any other in a land where everyone had too many? A man he didn’t even particularly like, promised to guard with his life? He gave a groan.

What would his dozen have to say about this? Yon shaking his head with a face like thunder. Drofd looking all hurt and confused. Brack rubbing at his temples with his— Brack was back to the mud, he realised with a jolt. Wonderful? By the dead, what would she have to—

‘Craw.’ And there she was, right at his elbow.

‘Ah!’ he said, taking a step away.

‘How’s the face?’

‘Er … all right … I guess. Everyone else all right?’

‘Yon got a splinter in his hand and it’s made him pissier’n ever, but he’ll live.’

‘Good. That’s … good. That everyone’s all right, that is, not … not the splinter.’

Her brows drew in, guessing something was wrong, which wasn’t too difficult since he was making a pitiful effort at hiding it. ‘What did our noble Protector want?’