"Why is there winter? Why does water flow downhill only?" Ambros sounded even more like a Marshal. "The High Lord lets men deal with men, as often as not. As for you, perhaps Gird knew your mule could not outrun their horses—or perhaps he was seeking an entrance into your hard head, and tried knocking first."

"Peace, Ambros," said Sir Felis from the doorway. "You can convert the man later, but for now I'd like to know what happened." Behind him a surgeon carried a cloth bag of gear; Master Zinthys, in still another robe, followed him, and smiled at Paks.

When the man had told his tale again, and the surgeon had settled him in one of the inn's rooms, Sir Felis, Zinthys, Ambros, and Paks conferred in a small room opening off the kitchen.

"Hundreds of brigands I simply do not believe," said Sir Felis. "They haven't stolen enough food and forage for anything like that number. In this case they killed twenty, and captured several—we aren't sure how many. But out of ambush, that wouldn't take more than a score of well-armed, disciplined troops. Perhaps fewer. Certainly I don't think they can have more than—" he paused, looked up at the lamp, and thought a moment. "Thirty, I'd say. And fewer horses than that. Most of the caravans they've hit have been carrying dry goods, weapons, that sort of thing—not food."

"Yes, but now what?" asked Ambros. "You know Marshal Cedfer said I couldn't go—what do we do now?"

Sir Felis looked at Paks. "It's your choice, since you accepted the task—but if you want advice—"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I would say let me take a troop out there, as everyone expects, and pick up the bodies. Contrive some reason for riding that way yourself tomorrow—not just riding, something else—and see if you can find a trace of the wagons' movement. I won't even look; it'll be dark by the time I get out there with my men. If you find it, don't be in too much hurry to follow it up. They'll be watching the road pretty closely for a day or so, I expect. Give them time to relax. Then—if it's where we think—go after them."

Paks shook her head. "By your leave, sir, I have another thought. An assault on a keep—even a ruined keep—is no easy matter. We tried that once in Aarenis. Why not try to frighten them out—catch them at their bolthole?"

"The game trail you're thinking of?"

"Yes, but close by the keep. If a show of frontal assault—"

"With what?" asked Sir Felis. "I can't give you a troop."

"No, but Master Zinthys might have some magical means." She glanced at him. "Macenion—the part-elf I was traveling with—had some illusions. I thought perhaps—"