Speak, Bram willed the Bludd chief as wire-tight muscle flooded his arm with acid. Speak!

The Dog Lord reached for a second piece of chewing, curd and then thought better of it. As he returned the black cube to his belt pouch, the moon rose above the clouds and shone cold light upon his face. He's old, Bram thought. And tired. Worry about his grandchildren had made his jaw muscles bulge like sparrow eggs. Yet he still made no reply.

Bram could no longer be sure his fingers were adequately gripping the sword hilt. A sickening numbness was pumping through his fingertips. A foot away the muscle of his upper arm was burning. For an instant Bram was sure he was going mad, for all he could think was If the numbness moves up quick enough it just might douse the pain. Then he heard the soft click of joints as the Bluddswoman began to rise. Suddenly he could no longer hold up the sword and the flat side of the blade fell against the mare's rump. "You have my word."

It took Bram a moment to realize that the Dog Lord had spoken, and another moment to realize what he'd actually said. The Bluddswoman knew straightaway and immediately lowered her weapon. Discreetly, she began to ease herself back into her former position between the boy and the girl. Her green-eyed gaze held Bram's for an instant, conveying no rancor or sense that Bram should count himself lucky. Instead she seemed to say to him We have an agreement of our own, you and I. She had kept her actions—and therefore Bram's vulnerability—hidden from the Dog Lord, and in return she expected him to keep his word. Bram was struck with admiration for her. She would have killed him, this woman with the sea gray hair who was old enough to be his grandmother. Robbie had taught him that such dignity was the sole preserve of Dhoonesmen. Robbie had been wrong.

Rainwater trickled from the sleeve of Bram's jacket down along his wrist to his thumb. He could see it but not feel it. Carefully, Bram rested the numb hand against the mares neck. When he looked up he saw that the Dog Lord was waiting for him to speak. "You have my word in return," Bram said.

"You fool," screamed Guy Morloch. "No Bludd scum can be trusted." It was difficult to ignore a sworn clansman, but Bram knew he must. A small nod to the Bluddswoman was all it took for her to rise, hand in hand with Vaylo Bludd's granddaughter. The girl was beautiful, dark-skinned with a perfect oval face. When her brother began to sob she turned to him and said quite clearly, "Aaron. You heard Nan. You must wait here until this warrior grants your leave."

Warrior? Bram felt shamed. He did not deserve such a title. He had not sworn a single yearman's oath to his clan. And now I never will.

The Dog Lord prodded Guy Morloch s thigh, not gently, with the butt: of his spear. "Up, laddie," he commanded. "You're free to go."

As Guy struggled to his feet he threw Bram a vicious glance, one that promised all sorts of trouble later. Sensation was slowly returning to Brum's hand, and he found himself wishing that the numbness would now travel to his head. "Jordie. Dismount and help Guy." Seeing Jordie hesitate, Bram added, "The Bludd chief will call his dogs to heel."

For a wonder the Dog Lord did just that, issuing a short whistle that brought all four dogs to his side. The fifth, the wounded bitch, pricked up her ears and made a feeble attempt to stand. Her pelvis had been crushed and when she tried to roll onto her belly, her rear legs rocked loosely, without power. The Dog Lord spoke a command to the other dogs, and they sank to the ground as he made his way toward the bitch. Bram watched as he squatted and cupped her head in his hand. Even now, damaged as she was, the creature nuzzled his palm.

Abruptly, the Dog Lord stood. He was holding Guy's spear, and Bram looked away as he raised it above the clog. Some things were between a man and his gods.

When it was over the Dog Lord pulled a fistful of dead oat grass from the mud and wiped the blade clean. One of the four remaining dogs howled softly, and the wolf dog quieted its pack member by biting softly on its ear.

"Bram Corrnac." The Dog Lord dropped the bloody grass into the mud. "Before I walk away from this place as agreed, I would speak with you in private."

Guy Morloch shouted, "Don't go. It's a trick." The Castleman was leaning against Jordie's stallion, whilst the axman knelt before him, attempting to yank off Guy's boot. "Bludd has no honor."

Bram wished it was all over. He was tired of thinking, and soaked to the bone. "Drop the spear and I'll talk," he said to the Bludd chief.

With a hard movement the Dog Lord drove the spear deep into the mud. The shaft vibrated as he walked a short distance downhill and waited for Bram to join him. Bram considered staying seated on his horse, but the same sense of respect that had made him look away while the Dog Lord killed the bitch made him dismount. The Dog Lord might be his enemy but he was first and foremost a chief.

The Dog Lord wasted no time on small talk. "On your return to the Dhoonehouse I would have you deliver a message to your brother." Bram kept himself very still. He could not trust himself to nod. The Dog Lord took his silence for agreement. "I need you to tell your brother two things. First, you must tell him old grievances should be forgotten. Whilst we fight amongst ourselves the city men circle like wolves. When they spy weakness they will strike." He paused, waiting. Bram made the smallest possible movement that could be taken for a nod. "And there's another thing. Tell him days darker than night lie ahead." The words touched Bram like a cold wind, making gooseflesh rise on his arms. Almost he knew what they meant, but when he tried to capture their meaning his sense of understanding fled. Bram studied the Dog Lord's face. This close you could see the veins in his eyes. He was the longest-reigning chief in the clanholds, a bastard who had slain his father and half-brothers, taken his sister as a wife and sired seven sons. He had seized the Dhoonehouse with the help of dark forces and lost it when his second son had deserted him. Once he had counted nearly twenty children as his grandkin. Now he was left with two. Brain knew the stories and thought he knew the man, but looking at the Dog Lord's face he realized there was more.

He made a decision. "I will not be seeing my brother for some time. Give your message to one of the other men." "How so?"

It was a question Bram had hoped would not be asked. Looking down at his numb hand he said, "I am claimed by the Milk chief."

The Dog Lord nodded slowly and with understanding. "In return for a debt run up by Robbie Dun Dhoone."

Bram was glad it was not a question. He did not wish to speak ill of his brother. Robbie had sold him to Wrayan Castlemilk along with a dozen watered-steel swords and a fantastical suit of dress armor that had been forged for Weeping Moira. In return Robbie had received temporary command of six hundred Castlemilk warriors. Elite hatchet-men and swordsmen who wore their hair plastered with lime and styled themselves "the Cream." With their numbers added to his tally, Robbie had finally commanded enough manpower to retake Dhoone.

Now that the Dhoonehouse was back in Dhoone hands the Milkmen were overdue to return to their clan, yet Robbie still held them in his sway. There were more battles to be fought: battles with Bludd to retake Withy, and Blackhail to retake Ganmiddich; battles also with the army of city men who were rumored to be invading the border clans from the south; and more battles still with the Dog Lord himself. No longer content simply with displacing Vaylo Bludd, Robbie had made it his mission to destroy him.

Even during the five chaotic days following the reoccupation, Bram had observed a subtle shift in the Milkmen's loyalties. "Robbie has need of us," they said in low voices. "Best to hold out here until his enemies have been dispatched." Such thinking wasn't in Castlemilk's best interest, but Bram knew from experience that Robbie was hard to resist He won, that was the thing. Whatever it took, he did.