Marcus nodded soberly. “Aye. If the Ambassador is any indication, that last one is just so much dandelion fluff.”

“Anything else?”

Marcus pursed his lips and debated with himself. Valiar Marcus couldn’t be expected to know much of the Marat or their customs. On the other hand, a well-connected, respected northern soldier knew a lot of folk. Some of them would travel. Some of them would return with stories. And...

And, Marcus realized, he wanted to help the captain.

“I served with a fellow who became the chief of armsmen for a fairly large merchant family,” he said finally. “He told me something about a contest.”

The captain frowned and leaned forward intently. “Contest?”

Marcus grunted in the affirmative. “Apparently a Marat woman has the right to demand a trial by contest of her prospective groom. Or maybe it was a trial by combat. He wasn’t real clear on the point.”

Octavian arched a raven black eyebrow. “You’re kidding.”

The First Spear shrugged. “All I know.” That much was true. Even the Cursors had known little apart from the barbarians’ military capabilities. Information on Marat society was fairly scanty. The two peoples had, for the most part, practiced avoiding one another. It had been sufficient to know the threat that they represented, so that the Legions could counter them effectively.

Certainly, no one had ever ordered a Cursor to find out how to propose to a Marat woman.

“Trial by combat,” Octavian muttered darkly under his breath. Marcus thought he might have said, “Perfect.”

Marcus kept a straight face. “Love is a wonderful thing, sir.”

Octavian gave him a sour look. “Did you get the reports from Vanorius?”

Marcus opened up a leather case on his belt and passed a roll of papers to the captain. “Thanks to Magnus, yes, sir.”

The captain took the papers, leaned his hip against a sand table, and started reading. “You’ve read them?”

“Aye.”

“Your thoughts?”

Marcus pursed his lips. “The vord exist in overwhelming numbers, but they don’t appear to be all that bright without a queen to guide them. There’s always some fighting at the city sieges, but the besieged High Lords’ problems and solutions more closely resemble being trapped in a heavy blizzard than waging war.”

Octavian flipped a page, his green eyes rapidly scanning the next. “Go on.”

“The enemy has a large force on the move, toward Riva. They should have gotten there already, but Aquitaine burned all the ground between Riva and the old capital right down to the bloody dirt. It appears to have slowed them down.”

The captain grimaced and shook his head. “How long before they engage Aquitaine?”