Arvid shrugged. “It is up to you, of course. I quite understand your reluctance and would not suggest, in any event, that I be the only guard. Merely that I am the one most likely to spot gaps in your protection large enough for one small gnome to wriggle through.”

“You have no desire for the thing yourself?” The Marshal’s gaze was keen; Arvid met it squarely, having no fear that his face would reveal anything of his thoughts.

“I had none, when I left Vérella,” he said. “I am not a poor man; what I need, I have. And yet I admit that as I came closer to Fin Panir, I felt … something. From what I have heard—and you may have as well—the crown and other regalia have some ancient magery to them, and draw or repel persons without their will. If this necklace does belong with the rest—if it is part of that—perhaps it seeks to join the others, or they seek to call it.”

“Magery!” The Marshal’s face tightened to a grimace of disgust. “Do you mean the old—the magelords’ magery?”

“Yes,” Arvid said. He had opened his pack in full sight of the Marshal, unrolling his spare clothes and laying them neatly on the shelf, along with his own cup, plate, bowl, and eating utensils. He shook the pack, demonstrating its spurious emptiness, and hung it on a peg. “Surely you heard about the coronation—that the new Duke Verrakai killed a Verrakaien who had taken disguise as a groom, and thus saved the king’s life. So he pardoned her for her use of magery in doing so.”

“We heard that, but did not credit it,” Marshal Perin said. “The Marshal-General was there; she would not countenance such a breach of the Code of Gird. Killing by magery is an offense for which the only sentence is death.”

“The king rules in Tsaia. And you can hardly blame the Tsaians for thinking a live king, new-crowned, is worth the exchange. His younger brother is but a child, and not like to become the man the king is, so I hear.”

Marshal Perin shook his head. “It is wrong, and nothing can make it right. That’s what Gird’s war was about: clear right and wrong, no excuses.”

This was exactly why the Girdish had always seemed so naive and even stupid to Arvid: their insistence that everything was simple at root. Their paladins used what amounted to magery, but no doubt they’d say it was the gods’ favor. How did they know the magelords had not had some god’s favor? But this night he had a reason to convince this Marshal that he should be allowed to guard the treasure. What approach would work?

“It would be wrong to let it be stolen,” Arvid murmured.

The Marshal turned sharply. “You seriously think the necklace is in danger—you do not trust that we have secure locks?”

“I trust that in a center of Girdish learning, surrounded by those who follow the Code of Gird, you have little experience with really skilled thieves or—since you forbid magery—with the way enchanted objects can sway minds. I know that two determined rockfolk—and rockfolk will know things about this place you do not—expect to make away with it.”