"Nicomo Cosca?" Ganmark frowned at him. "I thought you were dead."

"There have always been false reports of my death. Wishful thinking-"

"On the part of his many enemies." Monza stood, shaking the weakness out of her limbs. "You've got a mind to kill me, you should get it done instead of talking about it."

Ganmark backed slowly away, sliding his short steel from its sheath with his left hand, pointing it towards her, the long towards Cosca, his eyes flitting back and forth between them. "Oh, there's still time."

Shivers weren't himself. Or maybe he finally was. The pain had turned him mad. Or the eye they'd left him wasn't working right. Or he was still all broken up from the husk he'd been sucking at the past few days. Whatever the reasons, he was in hell.

And he liked it.

The long hall pulsed, glowed, swam like a rippling pool. Sunlight burned through the windows, stabbing and flashing at him through a hundred hundred glittering squares of glass. The statues shone, smiled, sweated, cheered him on. He might've had one eye less than before, but he saw things clearer. The pain had swept away all his doubts, his fears, his questions, his choices. All that shit had been dead weight on him. All that shit was weakness, and lies, and a waste of effort. He'd made himself think things were complicated when they were beautifully, awfully simple. His axe had all the answers he needed.

Its blade caught the sunlight and left a great white, fizzing smear, hacked into a man's arm sending black streaks flying. Cloth flapping. Flesh torn. Bone splintered. Metal bent and twisted. A spear squealed across Shivers' shield and he could taste the roar in his mouth, sweet as he swung the axe again. It crashed into a breastplate and left a huge dent, sent a body flailing into a pitted urn, burst it apart, writhing on the floor in a mass of shattered pottery.

The world was turned inside out, like the glistening innards of the officer he'd gutted a few moments before. He used to get tired when he fought. Now he got stronger. The rage boiled up in him, leaked out of him, set his skin on fire. With every blow he struck it got worse, better, muscles burning until he had to scream it out, laugh it out, weep, sing, thrash, dance, shriek.

He smashed a sword away with his shield, tore it from a hand, was on the soldier behind it, arms around him, kissing his face, licking at him. He roared as he ran, ran, legs pounding, rammed him into one of the statues, sent it over, crashing into another, and another beyond that, tipping, smashing on the floor, breaking apart into chunks in a cloud of dust.

The guard groaned, sprawling in the ruins, tried to roll over. Shivers' axe stoved the top of his helmet in deep with a hollow clonk, drove the metal rim right down over his eyes and squashed his nose flat, blood running out from underneath.

"Fucking die!" Shivers bashed in the side of the helmet and sent his head one way. "Die!" Swung back and crumpled the other side, neck crunching like a sock full of gravel. "Die! Die!" Bonk, bonk, like pots and pans clattering in the river after mealtime. A statue looked on, disapproving.

"Look at me?" Shivers smashed its head off with his axe. Then he was on top of someone, not knowing how he got there, ramming the edge of his shield into a face until it was nothing but a shapeless mess of red. He could hear someone whispering, whispering in his ear. Mad, hissing, croaking voice.

"I am made of death. I am the Great Leveller. I am the storm in the High Places." The Bloody-Nine's voice, but it came from his own throat. The hall was strewn with fallen men and fallen statues, scattered with bits of both. "You." Shivers pointed his bloody axe at the last of them, cringing at the far end of the dusty hallway. "I see you there, fucker. No one gets away." He realised he was talking in Northern. The man couldn't understand a word he said. Hardly mattered, though.

He reckoned he got the gist.

Monza forced herself on down the arcade, wringing the last strength from her aching legs, snarling as she lunged, jabbed, cut clumsily, not letting up for a moment. Ganmark was on the retreat, dropping back through sunlight, then shadow, then sunlight again, frowning with furious concentration. His eyes flickered from side to side, parrying her blade and Cosca's as it jabbed at him from between the pillars on her right, their hard breathing, their shuffling footsteps, the quick scraping of steel echoing from the vaulted ceiling.

She cut at him, then back the other way, ignoring the burning pain in her fist as she tore the short steel from his hand and sent it clattering into the shadows. Ganmark lurched away, only just turned one of Cosca's thrusts wide with his long steel, left his unguarded side facing her. She grinned, was pulling her arm back to lunge when something crashed into the window on her left, sent splinters of glass flying into her face. She thought she heard Shivers' voice, roaring in Northern from the other side. Ganmark slipped between two pillars as Cosca slashed at him and away across the lawn, backing off into the centre of the garden.

"Could you get on and kill this bastard?" wheezed Cosca.

"Doing my best. You go left."

"Left it is." They moved apart, herding Ganmark towards the statue. He looked spent now, blowing hard, soft cheeks turned blotchy pink and shining with sweat. She smiled as she feinted at him, sensing victory, felt her smile slip as he suddenly sprang to meet her. She dodged his first thrust, slashed at his neck, but he caught it and pushed her away. He was a lot less spent than she'd thought, and she was a lot more. Her foot came down badly and she tottered sideways. Ganmark darted past and his sword left a burning cut across her thigh. She tried to turn, screeched as her leg crumpled, fell and rolled, the Calvez tumbling from her limp fingers and bouncing away.

Cosca sprang past with a hoarse cry, swinging wildly. Ganmark dropped under his cut, lunged from the ground and ran him neatly through the stomach. Cosca's sword clanged hard into The Warrior's shin and flew from his hand, stone chips spinning. The general whipped his blade free and Cosca dropped to his knees, sagged sideways with a long groan.

"And that's that." Ganmark turned towards her, Bonatine's greatest work looming up behind him. A few flakes of marble trickled from the statue's ankle, already cracked where Monza's sword had chopped into it. "You've given me some exercise, I'll grant you that. You are a woman-or have been a woman-of remarkable determination." Cosca dragged himself across the cobbles, leaving spotty smears of blood behind him. "But in keeping your eyes always ahead, you blinded yourself to everything around you. To the nature of the great war you fight in. To the natures of the people closest to you." Ganmark flicked out his handkerchief again, dabbed sweat from his forehead, carefully wiped blood from his steel. "If Duke Orso and his state of Talins are no more than a sword in the hand of Valint and Balk, then you were never more than that sword's ruthless point." He flicked the shining point of his own sword with his forefinger. "Always stabbing, always killing, but never considering why." There was a gentle creaking, and over his shoulder The Warrior's own great sword wobbled ever so slightly. "Still. It hardly matters now. For you the fight is over." Ganmark still wore his sad smile as he came to a stop a stride from her. "Any pithy last words?"

"Behind you," growled Monza through gritted teeth, as The Warrior rocked ever so gently forwards.

"You must take me for-" There was a loud bang. The statue's leg split in half and the whole vast weight of stone toppled inexorably forwards.

Ganmark was just beginning to turn as the point of Stolicus' giant sword pinned him between the shoulder blades, drove him onto his knees, burst out through his stomach and crashed into the cobbles, spraying blood and rock chips in Monza's stinging face. The statue's legs broke apart as they hit the ground, noble feet left on the pedestal, the rest cracking into muscular chunks and rolling around in a cloud of white marble dust. From the hips up, the proud image of the greatest soldier of history stayed in one magnificent piece, staring sternly down at Orso's general, impaled on his monstrous sword beneath him.

Ganmark made a sucking sound like water draining from a broken bath, and coughed blood down the front of his uniform. His head fell forwards, steel clattering from his dangling hand.

There was a moment of stillness.

"Now that," croaked Cosca, "is what I call a happy accident."

Four dead, three left. Monza saw someone creep out from one of the colonnades, grimaced as she shuffled to her sword and dragged it up for the third time, hardly sure which ruined hand to hold it in. It was Day, loaded flatbow levelled. Friendly trudged along behind her, knife and cleaver hanging from his fists.

"You got him?" asked the girl.

Monza looked at Ganmark's corpse, kneeling spitted on the great length of bronze. "Stolicus did."

Cosca had kicked his way as far as one of the cherry trees and sat with his back against the trunk. He looked just like a man relaxing on a summer's day. Apart from the bloody hand pressed to his stomach. She limped up to him, stuck the Calvez point-first into the turf and knelt down.

"Let me have a look." She fumbled with the buttons on Cosca's jacket, but before she got the second one undone he reached up, gently took her bloody hand and her twisted one in his.

"I've been waiting years for you to tear my clothes off, but I think I'll have politely to decline. I'm finished."

"You? Never."

He squeezed her hands tighter. "Right through the guts, Monza. It's over." His eyes rolled towards the gate, and she could hear the faint clattering as soldiers on the other side struggled to lever the portcullis open. "And you'll have other problems soon enough. Four of seven, though, girl." He grinned. "Never thought you'd make four of seven."

"Four of seven," muttered Friendly, behind her.

"I wish I could've made Orso one of them."

"Well." Cosca raised his brows. "It's a noble calling, but I guess you can't kill everyone."

Shivers was walking slowly over from one of the doorways. He barely even glanced at Ganmark's impaled corpse as he passed. "None left?"

"Not in here." Friendly nodded towards the gate. "Some out there, though."

"Reckon so." The Northman stopped not far away. His hanging axe, his dented shield, his pale face and the bandages across one half of it were all dashed and speckled dark red.

"You alright?" asked Monza.

"Don't rightly know what I am."

"Are you hurt, I'm asking?"

He touched one hand to the bandages. "No worse'n before we started... reckon I must be beloved o' the moon today, as the hillmen say." His eye rolled down to her bloody shoulder, her bloody hand. "You're bleeding."

"My fencing lesson turned ugly."

"You need a bandage?"

She nodded towards the gateway, the noise of the Talinese soldiers on the other side getting louder with every moment. "We'll be lucky if we get the time to bleed to death."

"What now, then?"

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. There was no use fighting, even if she'd had the strength. The palace would be swarming with Orso's soldiers. There was no use surrendering, even if she'd been the type. They'd be lucky if they made it back to Fontezarmo to be killed. Benna had always warned her she didn't think far enough ahead, and it seemed he'd had a point- "I've an idea." Day's face had broken out in an unexpected smile. Monza followed her pointing finger, up to the roofline above the garden, and squinted into the sun. A black figure crouched there against the bright sky.

"A fine afternoon to you!" She never thought she'd be glad to hear Castor Morveer's scraping whine. "I was hoping to view the Duke of Visserine's famous collection and I appear to have become entirely lost! I don't suppose any of you kind gentlefolk know where I might find it? I hear he has Bonatine's greatest work!"

Monza jerked her bloody thumb at the ruined statue. "Not all it's cracked up to be!"

Vitari had appeared beside the poisoner now, was smoothly lowering a rope. "We're rescued," grunted Friendly, in just the same tone as he might have said, "We're dead."

Monza hardly had the energy even to feel pleased. She hardly knew if she was pleased. "Day, Shivers, get up there."

"No doubt." Day tossed her bow away and ran for it. The Northman frowned at Monza for a moment, then followed.

Friendly was looking down at Cosca. "What about him?" The old mercenary seemed to have dozed off for a moment, eyelids flickering.

"We'll have to pull him up. Get a hold."

The convict slid one arm around his back and started to lift him. Cosca woke with a jolt, grimaced. "Dah! No, no, no, no, no." Friendly let him carefully back down and Cosca shook his scabby head, breathing ragged. "I'm not screaming my way up a rope just so I can die on a roof. Here's as good a place as any, and this as good a time. I've been promising to do it for years. Might as well keep my word this once."

She squatted down beside him. "I'd rather call you a liar one more time, and keep you watching my back."

"I only stayed there... because I like looking at your arse." He bared his teeth, winced, gave a long growl. The clanging at the gate was getting louder.

Friendly offered Cosca's sword to him. "They'll be coming. You want this?"

"Why would I? It was messing with those things got me into this fix in the first place." He tried to shift, winced and sagged back, his skin already carrying that waxy sheen that corpses have.

Vitari and Morveer had bundled Shivers over the gutter and onto the roof. Monza jerked her head at Friendly. "Your turn."

He crouched there for a moment, not moving, then looked to Cosca. "Do you want me to stay?"

The old mercenary took Friendly's big hand and smiled as he gave it a squeeze. "I am touched beyond words to hear you make the offer. But no, my friend. This I had better handle alone. Give your dice a roll for me."

"I will." Friendly stood and strode off towards the rope without a backward glance. Monza watched him go. Her hands, her shoulder, her leg burned, her battered body ached. Her eyes slunk over the bodies scattered across the garden. Sweet victory. Sweet vengeance. Men turned into meat.

"Do me one favour." Cosca had a sad smile, almost as if he guessed her thoughts.

"You came back for me, didn't you? I can stretch to one."

"Forgive me."

She made a sound-half-snort, half-retch. "I thought I was the one betrayed you?"

"What does it matter now? Treachery is commonplace. Forgiveness is rare. I'd rather go without any debts. Except all the money I owe in Ospria. And Adua. And Dagoska." He weakly waved one bloody hand. "Let's say no debts to you, anyway, and leave it at that."

"That I can do. We're even."

"Good. I lived like shit. Glad to see at least I got the dying right. Get on."

Part of her wanted to stay with him, to be with him when Orso's men broke through the gate, make sure there really were no debts. But not that big a part. She'd never been prone to sentiment. Orso had to die, and if she was killed here, who'd get it done? She pulled the Calvez from the ground, slid it back into its sheath and turned without another word. Words are poor tools at a time like that. She limped to the rope, tied it off under her hips the best she could, twisted it around her wrist.

"Let's go!"

From the roof Monza could see right across the city. The wide curve of the Visser and its graceful bridges. The many towers poking at the sky, dwarfed by pillars of smoke still rising from the scattered fires. Day had already got a pear from somebody and was biting happily into it, yellow curls blowing on the breeze, juice gleaming on her chin.

Morveer raised one eyebrow at the carnage down in the garden. "I am relieved to observe that, in my absence, you succeeded in keeping the slaughter under tight control."

"Some things never change," she snapped at him.

"Cosca?" asked Vitari.

"Not coming."

Morveer gave a sickening little grin. "He failed to save his own skin this time? So a drunkard can change after all."

Rescue or not, Monza would have stabbed him at that moment if she'd had a good hand to do it with. From the way Vitari scowled at the poisoner, she was feeling much the same. She jerked her spiky head towards the river instead. "We should have the tearful reunion down in the boat. The city's full of Orso's troops. High time we were floating out to sea."

Monza took one last look back. All was still down in the garden. Salier had slid from the fallen statue's pedestal and rolled onto his back, arms outstretched as if welcoming a dear old friend. Ganmark knelt in a wide slick of blood, impaled on The Warrior's great bronze blade, head dangling. Cosca's eyes were closed, hands resting in his lap, a slight smile still on his tipped-back face. Cherry blossom wafted down and settled across his stolen uniform.

"Cosca, Cosca," she murmured. "What will I do without you?"

V.

PURANTI.

"For mercenaries are disunited, thirsty for power, undisciplined, and disloyal; they are brave among their friends and cowards before the enemy; they have no fear of God, they do not keep faith with their fellow men; they avoid defeat just as long as they avoid battle; in peacetime you are despoiled by them and in wartime by the enemy"

Niccol Machiavelli F or two years, half the Thousand Swords pretended to fight the other half. Cosca, when he was sober enough to speak, boasted that never before in history had men made so much for doing so little. They sucked the coffers of Nicante and Affoia bone dry, then turned north when their hopes were dashed by the sudden outbreak of peace, seeking new wars to profit from, or ambitious employers to begin them.

No employer was more ambitious than Orso, the new Grand Duke of Talins, kicked to power after his elder brother was kicked by his favourite horse. He was all too eager to sign a Paper of Engagement with the well-known mercenary Monzcarro Murcatto. Especially since his enemies in Etrea had but lately hired the infamous Nicomo Cosca to lead their troops.

It proved difficult to bring the two to battle, however. Like two cowards circling before a brawl, they spent a whole season in ruinously expensive manoeuvrings, doing much harm to the farmers of the region but little to each other. They were finally urged together in ripe wheat-fields near the village of Afieri, where a battle seemed sure to follow. Or something that looked very like one.

But that evening Monza had an unexpected visitor to her tent. None other than Duke Orso himself.

"Your Excellency, I had not expected-"

"No need for pleasantries. I know what Nicomo Cosca has planned for tomorrow."

Monza frowned. "I imagine he plans to fight, and so do I."

"He plans no such thing, and neither do you. The pair of you have been making fools of your employers for the past two years. I do not care to be made a fool of. I can see fake battles in the theatre at a fraction of the cost. That is why I will pay you twice to fight him in earnest."

Monza had not been expecting this. "I..."

"You have loyalty to him, I know. I respect that. Everyone must stick at something in their lives. But Cosca is the past, and I have decided that you are the future. Your brother agrees with me."

Monza had certainly not been expecting that. She stared at Benna, and he grinned back. "It's better like this. You deserve to lead."

"I can't... the other captains will never-"