Arcolin shook his head. “My pardon, my lord, but I have reason to keep him close. An inn servant can go.” He rang the handbell on the table.

The next day, Andressat and his servants rode with Arcolin and Stammel on the road to Valdaire. A three-day march, it was but a two-day ride with a change of horses. By then, Arcolin was sure that Andressat’s sergeant could find the way to Lyonya; the man had traveled to Valdaire before and even over the mountains once on the count’s business.

“South trade road, yes, sir. I never took it, but you say it’s well-marked. But how do I find Lord Halveric’s place?”

“Ask one of the Lyonyan rangers. I can see it in my head, but I can’t think how to tell you.” Arcolin wrote a note to Aliam and another the man could show to anyone in authority in Lyonya, explaining that the king knew the Count of Andressat and this was his courier. “Go ahead of him, so they know he’s on the way and can prepare a welcome.”

When they reached Valdaire, the winter quarters compound was empty and clean; the gate guard seemed to be expecting them and made no difficulty about unlocking the gates. Arcolin invited Andressat and his men to stay with them, but the count looked at the bare, swept rooms, the plain furniture, and asked where to find a good inn.

“White Dragon, foot of the hill.” Arcolin pointed. “I’m going there shortly, if you want a guide, but I’m putting these horses up first.” Andressat shook his head and rode off down the hill.

The next morning, Arcolin visited his banker. Kavarthin seemed glad to see him, but then—Arcolin told himself—bankers usually were glad to see those who arrived with money or letters of credit. Arcolin handed over Kostin’s letter and explained the extent of what his cohort would be bringing in to sell.

“And I have news for you,” Kavarthin said. “When my son looked into your factor’s books, he found the man had been less than perfectly honest, as we suspected. Did you get the letters I sent?” Arcolin nodded. “Good—mail from the east has been dilatory this year, and I was not sure. Well, then. Your factor was cheating you, both years Phelan did not come south. My son has recovered from him a large sum, rather than drag him before the court, where the fees would cost you most of it.”

Arcolin suspected that the son’s fee for this service would be almost as large, but it saved him having to appear in court. “Thank you,” he said. “And your son—is he here?”

“Not today, no. I sent him on business—but I will give him your thanks. I assume you will need a letter of credit to take north.”

“Yes,” Arcolin said. “I must attend Autumn Court, and I need court clothes.” He grinned at Kavarthin. “They tell me I cannot become formally Lord of the North Marches without a fancy robe edged in fur and a ruffled shirt.”