Maybe the years hadn’t dulled Clover’s instinct as much as he’d always thought, because somehow he felt it coming. He threw himself sideways, the wind of the axe kissing his scalp. He rolled clumsily, scrambled back fast enough that Downside’s second swing thudded into the turf right between his legs. He stumbled to his feet, nearly fell again as he tottered backwards up the hill, then dodged behind the big stone at the top, breathing hard.

Not very dignified, but then Clover long ago decided he’d rather have his life than his dignity. The dead help him, he drew his sword. Always the first lesson whenever he taught sword-work—never draw the bastard thing. But he drew it now, and he weighed it, and he saw the gleam run down the polished metal.

“What the fuck are you doing, Downside?” he shouted over the noise of battle.

“Killing you. Ain’t that obvious?”

“’Cause Calder paid you to?”

Downside looked confused. “’Course.”

“But he’s done!” Clover waved with his free hand towards the battle, which was hard not to wave at, since it was all around ’em, pressing in closer on Calder’s guards with every breath they took. “Anyone can see he’s fucking done! He’s saying he’s done himself!”

“I’ll tell you the truth, Clover.” Downside stepped towards him, probing for an opening, his heavy boot working its way into the turf. “I’m not clever enough to keep track of all the twisting and turning. Makes my head hurt. All that cunning, just to end up where you started? No. I say a thing, I follow through.”

And he sprang forward. He was fast for such a big man. Best Clover could do was dodge back, stumble and near trip over his own feet before he found his balance again. They circled each other, that flat stone between them. At least the rest of Calder’s guards weren’t posing any danger. They were too busy fighting for their own lives, enemies pressing in tighter with every breath.

Seemed most unfair, after he gave Downside a place when no one wanted the mad bastard. But Clover supposed a man who’d let down as many people as he had couldn’t get too upset at being let down himself.

He’d lost count o’ those he’d failed. Those he’d turned on. Cairm Ironhead, and Glama Golden, and Stour Nightfall. Magweer with the flatbow bolt in his throat. Wonderful, too, pointing that beautiful raised eyebrow. An accusing crowd of disappointed friends, comrades, leaders, shaking their heads at him from the land of the dead. Clover shook the thought off. Hardly the kind you want weighing on you in a fight. He felt heavy enough already as he backed away, glancing about for anything that might help him and not finding it.

Downside looked big when he was on your side. He looked a lot bigger on the other, with his scarred shield up, heavy mail from neck to knees and a steel cap on. A hard bastard to put down with a sword. Faster than Clover was, and stronger, and better armed. But it’s a man’s wits that set him apart from the beasts. Or so he told himself. Downside stepped forwards again and Clover slipped sideways, trying to keep the flat rock between them and hoping some opportunity might present itself. The fighting crouch he used to use didn’t feel too comfortable. Stiffer joints and a lot more belly than the last time he tried it, maybe.