The air stank of black powder, mud and the fear of men. Euron glanced up the line, toward the reassuring presence of their lightly armoured pikemen. Their long blades glinted as they turned, even in the wan sunlight that managed to penetrate the morning fog.
Euron felt an elbow in his ribs and turned. ‘Got tobacco?’ leered an ugly face, a vicious purple scar slicing through its beard.
‘Don’t be a fucking idiot, Var,’ replied. ‘You’ll blow your bloody hand off.’
Var leered at him again. ‘You can chew the shit, you know,’ he said, conversationally.