Happy Endings Few days after they'd thrown him in there, they'd set up a gallows just outside. He could see it from the little window in his cell, if he climbed up on the pallet and pressed his face to the bars. A man might wonder why a prisoner would go to all that trouble to taunt himself, but somehow he had to. Maybe that was the point. It was a big wooden platform with a crossbeam and four neat nooses. Trapdoors in the floor so they only had to kick a lever to snap four necks at a go, easy as snapping twigs. Quite a thing. They had machines for planting crops, and machines for printing paper, and it seemed they had machines for killing folk too. Maybe that's what Morveer had meant when he spouted off about science, all those months ago.

They'd hanged a few men right after the fortress fell. Some who'd worked for Orso, given some offence someone needed vengeance for. A couple of the Thousand Swords as well, must've stepped onto some dark ground indeed, since there weren't many rules to break during a sack. But no one had swung for a long time now. Seven weeks, or eight. Maybe he should've counted the days, but what difference would counting 'em have made? It was coming, of that much he was sure.

Every morning when the first light crept into the cell and Shivers woke, he wondered if that would be the morning they'd hang him.

Sometimes he wished he hadn't turned on Monza. But only because it had come out the way it had. Not because he regretted any part of what he'd done. Probably his father wouldn't have approved of it. Probably his brother would've sneered and said he expected no better. No doubt Rudd Threetrees would've shook his head, and said justice would come for it. But Threetrees was dead, and justice with him. Shivers' brother had been a bastard with a hero's face, and his sneers meant nothing no more. And his father had gone back to the mud and left him to work out his own way of doing things. So much for the good men, and the right thing too.

From time to time he wondered whether Carlot dan Eider got away from the mess his failure must've left her in, or whether the Cripple caught up with her. He wondered whether Monza got to kill Orso, and whether it had been all she hoped for. He wondered who that bastard had been who came out of nowhere and knocked him across the hall. Didn't seem likely he'd ever find out the answers now. But that's how life is. You don't always get all the answers.

He was up at the window when he heard keys rattling down the corridor, and he almost smiled at the relief of knowing it was time. He hopped down from his pallet, right leg still stiff where Friendly had stuck his knife in it, stood up tall and faced the metal gate.

He hadn't thought she'd come herself, but he was glad she had. Glad for the chance to look her in the eye one more time, even if they had the jailer and a half-dozen guards for company. She looked well, no doubt of that, not so gaunt as she used to, nor so hard. Clean, smooth, sleek and rich. Like royalty. Hard to believe she ever had aught to do with him.

'Well, look at you,' he said. 'Grand Duchess Monzcarro. How the hell did you come out o' this mess so fine?'

'Luck.'

'There you go. Never had much myself.' The jailer unlocked the gate and pushed it squealing open. Two of the guards came in, snapped manacles shut round Shivers' wrists. He didn't see much purpose in making a fight of it. Would've been just an embarrassment all round. They marched him out into the corridor to face her.

'Quite the trip we've been on, ain't it, Monza, you and I?'

'Quite the trip,' she said. 'You lost yourself, Shivers.'

'No. I found myself. You going to hang me now?' He didn't feel much joy at the thought, but not much sorrow either. Better'n rotting in that cell, he reckoned.

She watched him for a long moment. Blue eyes, and cold. Looked at him like she did the first time they met. Like nothing he could do would surprise her. 'No.'

'Eh?' Hadn't been expecting that. Left him disappointed, almost. 'What, then?'

'You can go.'

He blinked. 'I can what?'

'Go. You're free.'

'Didn't think you still cared.'

'Who says I ever did? This is for me, not you. I've had enough vengeance.'

Shivers snorted. 'Well, who'd have fucking thought it? The Butcher of Caprile. The Snake of Talins. The good woman, all along. I thought you didn't have much use for the right thing. I thought mercy and cowardice were the same.'

'Mark me down a coward, then. That I can live with. Just don't ever come back here. My cowardice has limits.' She twisted the ring off her finger. The one with the big, blood-red ruby in it, and tossed it in the dirty straw at his feet. 'Take it.'

'Alright.' He bent down and dug it out of the muck, wiped it on his shirt. 'I ain't proud.' Monza turned and walked away, towards the stairway, towards the lamplight spilling from it. 'So that's how this ends, is it?' he called after her. 'That's the ending?'

'You think you deserve something better?' And she was gone.

He slid the ring onto his little finger and watched it sparkle. 'Something worse.'

'Move, then, bastard,' snarled one of the guards, waving a drawn sword.

Shivers grinned back. 'Oh, I'm gone, don't you worry on that score. I've had my fill of Styria.'

He smiled as he stepped out of the darkness of the tunnel and onto the bridge that led away from Fontezarmo. He scratched at his itching face, took in a long breath of cold, free air. All things considered, and well against the run of luck, he reckoned he'd come out alright. Might be he'd lost an eye down here in Styria. Might be he was leaving no richer than when he'd stepped off the boat. But he was a better man, of that he'd no doubt. A wiser man. Used to be he was his own worst enemy. Now he was everyone else's.

He was looking forward to getting back to the North, finding some work that suited him. Maybe he'd make a stop in Uffrith, pay his old friend Vossula a little visit. He set off down the mountain, away from the fortress, boots crunching in the grey dust.

Behind him, the sunrise was the colour of bad blood.

Acknowledgments.

As always, four people without whom: Bren Abercrombie, whose eyes are sore from reading it.

Nick Abercrombie, whose ears are sore from hearing about it.

Rob Abercrombie, whose fingers are sore from turning the pages.

Lou Abercrombie, whose arms are sore from holding me up.

Then, my heartfelt thanks: To all the lovely and talented folks at my UK Publisher, Gollancz, and their parent Orion, particularly Simon Spanton, Jo Fletcher, Jon Weir, Mark Stay and Jon Wood. Then, of course, all those who've helped make, publish, publicise, translate and above all sell my books wherever they may be around the world.

To the artists responsible for somehow making me look classy: Didier Graffet, Dave Senior and Laura Brett.

To editors across the Pond: Devi Pillai and Lou Anders.

To other hard-bitten professionals who've provided various mysterious services: Robert Kirby, Darren Turpin, Matthew Amos, Lionel Bolton.

To all the writers whose paths have crossed mine either electronically or in the actual flesh, and who've provided help, laughs and a few ideas worth stealing, including but by no means limited to: James Barclay, Alex Bell, David Devereux, Roger Levy, Tom Lloyd, Joe Mallozzi, John Meaney, Richard Morgan, Adam Roberts, Pat Rothfuss, Marcus Sakey, Wim Stolk and Chris Wooding.

And lastly, yet firstly: For unstinting support, advice, food, drink and, you know, editing above and beyond the call of duty, my editor, Gillian Redfearn. Long may it continue. I mean, I'm not going to write these damn things on my own . . .

For Eve One day you will read this And say, 'Dad, why all the swords?'

Contents Order of Battle BEFORE THE BATTLE.

The Times The Peacemaker The Best of Us Black Dow What War?

Old Hands New Hands Reachey The Right Thing DAY ONE.

Silence Ambition Give and Take The Very Model Scale Ours Not to Reason Why Cry Havoc and ...

Devoutly to be Wished Casualties The Better Part of Valour Paths of Glory The Day's Work The Defeated Fair Treatment Tactics Rest and Recreation DAY TWO.

Dawn Opening Remarks The Infernal Contraptions Reasoned Debate Chains of Command Closing Arguments Straight Edge Escape The Bridge Strange Bedfellows Hearts and Minds Good Deeds One Day More Bones The King's Last Hero My Land DAY THREE.

The Standard Issue Shadows Under the Wing Names Still Yesterday For What We Are About to Receive ...

The Riddle of the Ground Onwards and Upwards More Tricks The Tyranny of Distance Blood Pointed Metal Peace in Our Time The Moment of Truth Spoils Desperate Measures Stuff Happens AFTER THE BATTLE.

End of the Road By the Sword The Currents of History Terms Family New Hands Old Hands Everyone Serves Just Deserts Black Calder Retired Acknowledgements Order of Battle THE UNION.

High Command Lord Marshal Kroy commander-in-chief of his Majesty's armies in the North.

Colonel Felnigg his chief of staff, a remarkably chinless man.

Colonel Bremer dan Gorst royal observer of the Northern War and disgraced master swordsman, formerly the king's First Guard.

Rurgen and Younger his faithful servants, one old, one ... younger.

Bayaz, the First of the Magi a bald wizard supposedly hundreds of years old and an influential representative of the Closed Council, the king's closest advisors.

Yoru Sulfur his butler, bodyguard and chief bookkeeper.

Denka and Saurizin two old Adepti of the University of Adua, academics conducting an experiment for Bayaz.

Jalenhorm's Division General Jalenhorm an old friend of the king, fantastically young for his position, described as brave yet prone to blunders.

Retter his thirteen-year-old bugler.

Colonel Vallimir ambitious commanding officer of the King's Own First Regiment.

First Sergeant Forest chief non-commissioned officer with the staff of the First.

Corporal Tunny long-serving profiteer, and standard-bearer of the First.

Troopers Yolk, Klige, Worth, and Lederlingen clueless recruits attached to Tunny as messengers.

Colonel Wetterlant punctilious commanding officer of the Sixth Regiment.

Major Culfer his panicky second in command.

Sergeant Gaunt, Private Rose soldiers with the Sixth.

Major Popol commanding the first battalion of the Rostod Regiment.

Captain Lasmark a poor captain with the Rostod Regiment.

Colonel Vinkler courageous commanding officer of the Thirteenth Regiment.

Mitterick's Division General Mitterick a professional soldier with much chin and little loyalty, described as sharp but reckless.

Colonel Opker his chief of staff.

Lieutenant Dimbik an unconfident young officer on Mitterick's staff.

Meed's Division Lord Governor Meed an amateur soldier with a neck like a turtle, in peacetime the governor of Angland, described as hating Northmen like a pig hates butchers.

Colonel Harod dan Brock an honest and hard-working member of Meed's staff, the son of a notorious traitor.

Finree dan Brock Colonel Brock's venomously ambitious wife, the daughter of Lord Marshal Kroy.

Colonel Brint senior on Meed's staff, an old friend of the king.

Aliz dan Brint Colonel Brint's naive young wife.

Captain Hardrick an officer on Meed's staff, affecting tight trousers.

The Dogman's Loyalists The Dogman Chief of those Northmen fighting with the Union. An old companion of the Bloody-Nine, once a close friend of Black Dow, now his bitter enemy.

Red-Hat the Dogman's Second, who wears a red hood.

Hardbread a Named Man of long experience, leading a dozen for the Dogman.

Redcrow one of Hardbread's Carls.

THE NORTH.

In and Around Skarling's Chair Black Dow the Protector of the North, or stealer of it, depending on who you ask.

Splitfoot his Second, meaning chief bodyguard and arse-licker.

Ishri his advisor, a sorceress from the desert South, and sworn enemy of Bayaz.

Caul Shivers a scarred Named Man with a metal eye, who some call Black Dow's dog.

Curnden Craw a Named Man thought of as a straight edge, once Second to Rudd Threetrees, then close to Bethod, now leading a dozen for Black Dow.