“It may not be a virtue, but it’s nothing to be discounted, either,” she replied. Thank you for once again pulling an egg out of your ear, cousin. Or rather, Kra‘heera’s ear. “So what do they look like? Do you know?”

Istren spoke up as they turned the comer of the barracks and came into view of the guest house. “I had heard they were all in dark blue and silver, sober, like a kind of Kal‘enedral. That there are two with much silver who speak with authority, two with a little who speak only to the first, and four with none who speak not at all.”

Dark blue and silver. That would be the Royal Army. What in the gods’ names are Royal Valdemaran Guards doing down here?

“Just on that alone, I’d say you were safe to sell to them,” she said, as in the distance, the noise of the fair carried over the walls. “But I think we ought to check them out, anyway. If there’s something going on up north that sends them down here, we had all better know about it.”

Kra‘heera nodded. “It is said that war respects no one’s boundaries that are not guarded, and I can think of nothing that would bring those secret folk to us except war. ”

Pot calling kettle black—a Shin‘a’in calling someone else secretive! She hid her amusement, as they reached the door of the guest house, and the sentry (posted there any time there were guests) saluted her and opened it for them.

The guest house included a small common room, and there they found the first four of their visitors, seated at the table there. Somehow they had managed the seating so that no one had his back to the door. All four were sitting with military stiffness that they couldn’t seem to drop, even over four flagons of chilled ale.

They rose slowly to their feet, looking from her to the Shin‘a’in and back with uncertainty; obviously, since she had no uniform or insignia they’d recognize, they had no idea who or what she was nor how to treat her. And the Shin‘a’in, in their brightly embroidered vests and trappings of barbaric splendor had them severely puzzled. She ended their suspense, though not after a struggle with temptation. “I’m Captain Kerowyn,” she said in their own tongue, and accepted their belated attention and salutes with a nod. “These are my Shin‘a’in cousins; I am the agent for their horses. What can we do for you?”

She watched them work that through—a mercenary Captain, who knew their language, related to the purportedly unfriendly Shin‘a’in, who was also acting as a merchant-agent for those same unfriendly Shin‘a’in, who were standing beside her with undisguised curiosity eating them alive. That was at least two outright contradictions and three real surprises.