“And I was just gettin’ to know that redhead at the Dragon,” said the man.

“The redhead!” That was another soldier, who punched the speaker in the shoulder. “It’s not hard to get to know her—but that sergeant of Golden Company, Tamis Hardhand, would have somethin’ to say about it.”

Andressat realized that the banter was rehearsed when he saw one of the soldiers stare fixedly at another, who startled and then spoke up. “Captain, how far from the road must we go?”

“That’s up to your field commanders—that’ll be Sergeant Devlin and Corporal Arñe. I’ll expect a rough map of your route, with hazards, trails, watercourses—”

“But sir … we aren’t good—”

“You’ll get better by doing. Arcolin wants more of you able to map. And a journal about each day’s journey. I’ll review those on the way back to Valdaire from Foss.”

“You won’t be with us?”

“I’ll begin with the south group, but then I must go to Andressat. Selfer brought word: Tsaia’s king wants a message taken.”

“You’ll want an escort—” This rather hopefully, from one of the oldest veterans.

“Yes, of course. Especially if the count refuses to see me, I must have someone who can hand over the message. It’s probably just a formal announcement that he’s been crowned, but—kings are kings.”

Andressat squirmed; that had to be a dig at him. Yet he could see how it implied that he was there, in Cortes Andres, and not here, if anyone were listening. In that copse to one side of the camp, for instance.

“I should be at Foss in plenty of time to meet you,” Burek said. “All I have to do is ride there and back. Now as to escort—” His eye roamed over the troop. He named four, and Andressat—presently under the name of Kerin—was of course one of them.

They started next morning as soon as it was light enough, a chill wet dawn. Winter in the south was never as sharp as in the north, but in this season what fell as snow in the Dwarfmounts fell as cold rain on the lands below.

“Takes somebody really interested to go stand in the rain this time of day,” one of the others muttered when they were across the road and onto the fallow ground beyond.

“Maybe they thought we’d like breakfast with them,” another said. A low chuckle ran through the troop. Andressat soon heard all about Cam’s gambling, Selis’s prodigious capacity for strong drink, Dort’s intention to stay in the south when he retired. He felt isolated: he did not want to talk to Burek even if, in his present guise, he could have done so. He had never listened to soldiers’ banter; he had no way to join in. Besides, if any ears were listening, his accent would give him away as Andressat-born.

When Burek led his small group away from the others, it was still raining. If there were spies in the folds of land, behind rocks, in the trees or bushes, Andressat could not see them—he hoped any such were cold and miserable. The ground lifted away from the river, and soon they were riding inside the rain clouds themselves, hardly able to see a horse-length away, hearing only the clop and suck of hooves in mud, the creak of leather. Andressat tensed. Easy to get lost on these slopes; easy to stumble into a rough ravine; easy to be ambushed—five horses made enough noise for anyone to notice.