The last of his defeated Carls were still hobbling back, clambering over the wall to lie scattered in the crops behind, dirt and blood-smeared, broken and exhausted. Calder stopped a man with a hand on his shoulder.

'Where's Scale?'

'Dead!' he screamed, shaking him off. 'Dead! Why didn't you come, you bastards? Why didn't you help us?'

'Union men over the stream there,' Pale-as-Snow was explaining as he led him away, but Calder hardly heard. He stood at the gate, staring across the darkening fields towards the bridge.

He'd loved his brother. For being on his side when everyone else was against him. Because nothing's more important than family.

He'd hated his brother. For being too stupid. For being too strong. For being in his way. Because nothing's more important than power.

And now his brother was dead. Calder had let him die. Just by doing nothing. Was that the same as killing a man?

All he could think about was how it might make his life more difficult. All the extra tasks he'd have to do, the responsibilities he didn't feel ready for. He was the heir, now, to all his father's priceless legacy of feuds, hatred and bad blood. He felt annoyance rather than grief, and puzzled he didn't feel more. Everyone was looking at him. Watching him, to see what he'd do. To judge what kind of man he was. He was embarrassed, almost, that this was all his brother's death made him feel. Not guilty, not sad, just cold. And then angry.

And then very angry.

Strange Bedfellows The hood was pulled from her head and Finree squinted into the light. Such as it was. The room was dim and dusty with two mean windows and a low ceiling, bowing in the middle, cobwebs drifting from the rafters.

A Northman stood a couple of paces in front of her, feet planted wide and hands on hips, head tipped slightly back in the stance of a man used to being obeyed, and quickly. His short hair was peppered with grey and his face was sharp as a chisel, notched with old scars, an appraising twist to his mouth. A chain of heavy golden links gleamed faintly around his shoulders. An important man. Or one who thought himself important, at least.

An older man stood behind him, thumbs in his belt near a battered sword hilt. He had a shaggy grey growth on his jaw somewhere between beard and stubble and a fresh cut on his cheek, dark red and rimmed with pink, closed with ugly stitches. He wore an expression somewhat sad, somewhat determined, as if he did not like what was coming but could see no way to avoid it, and now was fixed on seeing it through, whatever it cost him. A lieutenant of the first man.

As Finree's eyes adjusted she saw a third figure in the shadows against the wall. A woman, she was surprised to see, and with black skin. Tall and thin, a long coat hanging open to show a body wrapped in bandages. Where she stood in this, Finree could not tell.

She did not turn her head to look, in spite of the temptation, but she knew there was another man behind her, his gravelly breath at the edge of her hearing. The one with the metal eye. She wondered if he had that little knife in his hand, and how close the point was to her back. Her skin prickled inside her dirty dress at the thought.

'This is her?' sneered the man with the chain at the black-skinned woman, and when he turned his head Finree saw there was only a fold of old scar where his ear should have been.

'Yes.'

'She don't look much like the answer to all my problems.'

The woman stared at Finree, unblinking. 'Probably she has looked better.' Her eyes were like a lizard's, black and empty.

The man with the chain took a step forwards and Finree had to stop herself cringing. There was something in the set of him that made her feel he was teetering on the edge of violence. That his every smallest movement was the prelude to a punch, or a headbutt, or worse. That his natural instinct was to throttle her and it took a constant effort to stop himself doing it, and talk instead. 'Do you know who I am?'

She lifted her chin, trying to look undaunted and almost certainly failing. Her heart was thumping so hard she was sure they must be able to hear it against her ribs. 'No,' she said in Northern.

'You understand me, then.'

'Yes.'

'I'm Black Dow.'

'Oh.' She hardly knew what to say. 'I thought you'd be taller.'

Dow raised one scar-nicked brow at the older man. The older man shrugged. 'What can I say? You're shorter'n your reputation.'

'Most of us are.' Dow looked back at Finree, eyes narrowed, judging her response. 'How 'bout your father? Taller'n me?'

They knew who she was. Who her father was. She had no idea how, but they knew. That was either a good thing or a very bad one. She looked at the older man and he gave her the faintest, apologetic smile, then winced since he must have stretched his stitches doing it. She felt the man with the metal eye shift his weight behind her, a floorboard creaking. This did not seem like a group from which she could expect good things.

'My father is about your height,' she said, her voice whispery.

Dow grinned, but there was no humour in it. 'Well, that's a damn good height to be.'

'If you mean to gain some advantage over him through me, you will be disappointed.'

'Will I?'

'Nothing will sway him from his duty.'

'Won't be sorry to lose you, eh?'

'He'll be sorry. But he'll only fight you harder.'

'Oh, I'm getting a fine sense for the man! Loyal, and strong, and bulging with righteousness. Like iron on the outside, but ...' And he thumped at his chest with one fist and pushed out his bottom lip. 'He feels it. Feels it all, right here. And weeps at the quiet times.'

Finree looked right back. 'You have him close enough.'

Dow whipped out his grin like a killer might a knife. 'Sounds like my fucking twin.' The older man gave a snort of laughter. The woman smiled, showing a mouthful of impossibly perfect white teeth. The man with the metal eye made no sound. 'Good thing you won't be relying on your father's tender mercies, then. I got no plans to bargain with you, or ransom you, or even send your head over the river in a box. Though we'll see how the conversation goes, you might yet change my mind on that score.'

There was a long pause, while Dow watched her and she watched him. Like the accused waiting for the judge to pass sentence.

'I've a mind to let you go,' he said. 'I want you to take a message back to your father. Let him know I don't see the purpose shedding any more blood over this worthless fucking valley. Let him know I'm willing to talk.' Dow gave a loud sniff, worked his mouth as if it tasted bad. 'Talk about ... peace.'

Finree blinked. 'Talk.'

'That's right.'

'About peace.'

'That's right.'

She felt dizzy. Drunk on the sudden prospect of living to see her husband and her father again. But she had to put that to one side, think past it. She took a long breath through her nose and steadied herself. 'That will not be good enough.'

She was pleased to see Black Dow look quite surprised. 'Won't it, now?'

'No.' It was difficult to appear authoritative while bruised, beaten, dirt-spattered and surrounded by the most daunting enemies, but Finree did her very best. She would not get through this with meekness. Black Dow wished to deal with someone powerful. That would make him feel powerful. The more powerful she made herself, the safer she was. So she raised her chin and looked him full in the eye. 'You need to make a gesture of goodwill. Something to let my father know you are serious. That you are willing to negotiate. Proof you are a reasonable man.'

Black Dow snorted. 'You hear that, Craw? Goodwill. Me.'

The older man shrugged. 'Proof you're reasonable.'

'More proof than sending back his daughter without a hole in her head?' grated Dow, looking her up and down. 'Or her head in her hole, for that matter.'

She floated over it. 'After the battle yesterday, you must have prisoners.' Unless they had all been murdered. Looking into Black Dow's eyes, it did not seem unlikely.

''Course we've got prisoners.' Dow cocked his head on one side, drifting closer. 'You think I'm some kind of an animal?'

Finree did, in fact. 'I want them released.'

'Do you, now? All of 'em?'

'Yes.'

'For nothing?'

'A gesture of-'

He jerked forwards, nose almost touching hers, thick veins bulging from the side of his thick neck. 'You're in no place to negotiate, you fucking little-'

'You aren't negotiating with me!' Finree barked back at him, showing her teeth. 'You're negotiating with my father, and he is in every position! Otherwise you wouldn't be fucking asking!'

A ripple of twitches went through Dow's cheek, and for an instant she was sure he was going to beat her to a pulp. Or give the smallest signal to his metal-eyed henchman and she would be slit from her arse to the back of her head. Dow's arm jerked up, and for an instant she was sure her death was a breath away. But all he did was grin, and gently wag his finger in her face. 'Oh, you're a sharp one. You didn't tell me she was so sharp.'

'I am shocked to my very roots,' intoned the black-skinned woman, looking about as shocked as the wall behind her.

'All right.' Dow puffed out his scarred cheeks. 'I'll let some of the wounded ones go. Don't need their sobbing keeping me awake tonight anyway. Let's say five dozen men.'

'You have more?'

'A lot more, but my goodwill's a brittle little thing. Five dozen is all it'll stretch around.'

An hour ago she had not seen any way to save herself. Her knees were almost buckling at the thought of coming out of this alive and saving sixty men besides. But she had to try one more thing. 'There was another woman taken with me-'

'Can't do it.'

'You don't know what I'm going to ask-'

'Yes I do, and I can't do it. Stranger-Come-Knocking, that big bastard who took you prisoner? Man's mad as a grass helmet. He don't answer to me. Don't answer to nothing. You've no idea what it's cost me getting you. I can't afford to buy anyone else.'

'Then I won't help you.'

Dow clicked his tongue. 'Sharp is good, but you don't want to get so sharp you cut your own throat. You won't help me, you're no use to me at all. Might as well send you back to Stranger-Come-Fucking, eh? The way I see it, you got two choices. Back to your father and share in the peace, or back to your friend and share in ... whatever she's got coming. Which appeals?'

Finree thought of Aliz' scared breath, in the darkness. Her whimper as Finree's hand slipped out of hers. She thought of that scarred giant, smashing his own man's head apart against the wall. She wished she was brave enough to have tried to call the bluff, at least. But who would be?

'My father,' she whispered, and it was the most she could do to stop herself crying with relief.

'Don't feel bad about it.' Black Dow drew his murderer's grin one more time. 'That's the choice I'd have made. Happy fucking journey.'

The bag came down over her head.

Craw waited until Shivers had bundled the hooded girl through the door before leaning forward, one finger up, and gently asking his question. 'Er ... what's going on, Chief?'

Dow frowned at him. 'You're supposed to be my Second, old man. You should be the last one questioning me.'

Craw held up his palms. 'And I will be. I'm all for peace, believe me, just might help if I understood why you want it of a sudden.'

'Want?' barked Dow, jerking towards him like a hound got the scent. 'Want?' Closer still, making Craw back up against the wall. 'I got what I want I'd hang the whole fucking Union and choke this valley with the smoke o' their cooking meat and sink Angland, Midderland and all their bloody other land in the bottom o' the Circle Sea, how's that for peace?'

'Right.' Craw cleared his throat, rightly wishing he hadn't asked the question. 'Right y'are.'

'But that's being Chief, ain't it?' snarled Dow in his face. 'A dancing fucking procession o' things you don't want to do! If I'd known what it meant when I took the chain I'd have tossed it in the river along with the Bloody-Nine. Threetrees warned me, but I didn't listen. There's no curse like getting what you want.'

Craw winced. 'So ... why, then?'

'Because the dead know I'm no peacemaker but I'm no idiot either. Your little friend Calder may be a pissing coward but he's got a point. It's a damn fool risks his life for what he can get just by the asking. Not everyone's got my appetite for the fight. Men are getting tired, the Union are too many to beat and in case you hadn't noticed we're trousers down in a pit full of bloody snakes. Ironhead? Golden? Stranger-Come-Bragging? I don't trust those bastards further'n I can piss with no hands. Better finish this up now while we can call it a win.'

'Fair point,' croaked Craw.

'Got what I want there'd be no bloody talk at all.' Dow's face twitched, and he looked over at Ishri, leaning in the shadows against the wall, face a blank, black mask. He ran his tongue around the inside of his sneering mouth and spat. 'But calmer heads have prevailed. We'll try peace on, see whether it chafes. Now get that bitch back to her father 'fore I change my mind and cut the bloody cross in her for the fucking exercise.'

Craw edged for the door sideways, like a crab. 'On my way, Chief.'

Hearts and Minds 'How long should we spend out here, Corporal?'

'As short a time as is possible without disgrace, Yolk.'

'How long's that?'

'Until it's too dark for me to see your gurning visage would be a start.'

'And we patrol, do we?'

'No, Yolk, we'll just walk a few dozen strides and sit down for a while.'

'Where will we find to sit that isn't wet as an otter's-'

'Shh,' hissed Tunny, waving at Yolk to get down. There were men in the trees on the other side of the rise. Three men, and two of them in Union uniforms. 'Huh.' One was Lance Corporal Hedges. A squinty, mean-spirited rat of a man who'd been with the First for about three years and thought himself quite the rogue but was no better than a nasty idiot. The kind of bad soldier who gives proper bad soldiers a bad name. His gangly sidekick was unfamiliar, probably a new recruit. Hedges' version of Yolk, which was truly a concept too horrifying to entertain.

They both had swords drawn and pointed at a Northman, but Tunny could tell right off he was no fighter. Dressed in a dirty coat with a belt around it, a bow over one shoulder and some arrows in a quiver, no other weapon visible. A hunter, maybe, or a trapper, he looked somewhat baffled and somewhat scared. Hedges had a black fur in one hand. Didn't take a great mind to work it all out.

'Why, Lance Corporal Hedges!' Tunny grinned wide as he stood and strolled down the bank, his hand loose on the hilt of his sword, just to make sure everyone realised he had one.

Hedges squinted guiltily over at him. 'Keep out o' this, Tunny. We found him, he's ours.'

'Yours? Where in the rule book does it say prisoners are yours to abuse because you found them?'

'What do you care about the rules? What're you doing here, I'd like to know.'

'As it happens, First Sergeant Forest sent me and Trooper Yolk on patrol to make sure none of our men were out beyond the picket causing mischief. And what should I find but you, out beyond the picket and in the process of robbing this civilian. I call that mischievous. Do you call that mischievous, Yolk?'

'Well, er ...'