“I’m fucking blind.” The guard touched his eyes, forgetting all about princes and marshals now. His words came out slurred.

“You need to stay calm,” I said. “It will get better.”

At that the guard slid from his saddle with all the grace of a sack of oats. He landed on his head and shoulder with a rather nauseating crack and lay sprawled, his neck at an unnatural angle, one foot still in the stirrups.

“That might not get better,” I acknowledged. I glanced up the bridge toward the melee where Darin and his fellows were now laying about themselves having trampled half the foe with their charge. Another glance at my fallen comrade and I put the boot into his horse, hard as I could. The dead man’s eyes snapped open just before his horse lurched into motion and dragged him away toward my brother, head bouncing off every bump in the road.

A thud and the sound of a struggle returned my attention to Renprow and the ghoul. Somehow the thing had pulled him from his saddle, earning a slash in its side but now wrestling with the captain on the floor. Both had knives out, the captain’s a long clean piece of steel, the ghoul’s a curved and wicked-looking blade as darkly stained as its hide.

“Come on, Captain!” I offered moral support from Murder’s back. Despite its wiry nature the ghoul seemed possessed of remarkable strength, its knife moving inexorably toward Renprow’s neck against all the man’s best efforts to stop it. “Ah hell.” I slipped from the saddle and drew Edris Dean’s sword. A moment presented itself so I hurried forward, and swung at the back of the ghoul’s neck—not much more than dropping my arm really—with a blade that sharp and heavy I assumed anything more would risk decapitating the thing and carrying on through to the man beneath.

Actually it turns out that necks are tough as hell. My blade thudded in half an inch or so, becoming lodged in the ghoul’s bony spine. Even so, between my wrenching it free and Renprow taking advantage to stab the creature repeatedly in the liver, we managed to triumph. The captain rolled to all fours then staggered to his feet, covered in filthy blood, while I looked over the balustrade and rapidly pulled my head back.

“Go get stones from the riverbank. Big ones!”

“What?” Renprow looked up from an inspection of his gore-spattered tunic.

“Big ones! Run!”

I risked a foolish glance back over the side and a ghoul dart nearly parted my hair for me. The bridge support was black with the things. Four, five, half a dozen? It was hard to tell as they clambered over each other, dripping, near naked, yet having no problem finding their grip.

I stood mid-span, aware that ghouls could climb up either side equally well. The sounds of combat still came from the far end. I couldn’t risk a glance to see how Darin and the others were faring.

The first glimpse of the ghoul’s blowpipe looked like a black stick poking up between the stone pillars of the balustrade. I ran, dived, slid and ended up with my sword driven into the ghoul’s eye socket as he raised his head to blow his dart. The creature fell away without a sound, nearly taking my blade with it.

By the time I made it across to the other side Renprow was closing on me, showing a decent turn of pace for a man burdened with four or five goodsizedriver stones.

“Take the other side.” I dropped my sword and took the topmost of the stones with newfound respect for the small man’s strength—the thing weighed a ton.

“Marshal.” Renprow panted, letting another rock fall before lugging the rest to where I’d just killed the last ghoul.

Whatever venom the creatures coated their darts with proved remarkably water-resistant but coming from the marshes of Brettan that didn’t seem too surprising. Just depressing. Advancing on the balustrade, I had few illusions about my fate if one of those darts hit me. I would have been running away but for the fact that my best chance lay in getting them while they were climbing rather than trying to dodge their missiles whilst sprinting down the bridge.

“I don’t think so.” I made a big last stride and managed to place my foot on top of the next blowpipe to edge into view.

With a grunt of effort I hefted the stone over the edge and, without looking over, let it drop onto the ghoul whose pipe I’d pinned. With even a modicum of luck it would strip several more of the creatures from the bridge support on its way down. As quickly as I could manage I grabbed the second stone and repeated the process a few feet to the right. There were no satisfying wails of despair or shrieks of agony, but the meaty thuds and accompanying splashes sounded promising.

“Got them, Marshal!” Renprow called over.