“No,” Burek said. “I had no quarrel with the Count and have none now. It is true he did not like me, but that’s his business.”

“He likes you now,” the surgeon said. “It is not merely that he credits you with saving his life, but something else, which he has not shared with me—or anyone that I know of, though I could read it in his face and voice. It is almost as if he discovered a member of the family.”

“I am not that,” Burek said, looking away.

“I didn’t suppose you were,” the surgeon said. “But some men mellow in age, and others harden; I think now he’s mellowed. Travel does that for some.”

In another hand of days, Burek was able to come to the table for meals, where he found eating one-handed more difficult than he expected. Meddthal, the Count’s second son and fort commander, was a lean, tough-looking man in his mid-forties. He treated Burek with courtesy, often eating his meals at the same time and asking intelligent questions about mercenary service without seeming to pry.

“My father said you’d served with Golden Company as well as the Duke’s … did you like serving under a woman?

“Aesil M’dierra? It made no difference to me; by her reputation she’s as skilled a commander—and as honorable—as Phelan or Halveric.”

“I met Phelan, in Siniava’s War,” Meddthal said. “I’m not surprised he became a king, though my father was. I wonder how his successor will do with his lands.”

“Very well, I think,” Burek said. “Certainly the troops seem happy with him. And Captain Selfer—he was one of Phelan’s squires.”

“Glad to hear it,” Meddthal said, “since it seems we’re going to be seeing another miserable war. Damn these ambitious men! Why can’t they be content to rule their own lands well? There’s more than enough work for a lifetime in that, if you do it right.” He shook his head. “Though it would be hard luck on you mercenaries, then. I suppose you like the life of the sword—”

“Not at the moment,” Burek said, lifting his arm slightly in its sling. “But some of it, yes.”

“I would rather go back to minding the wine production,” Meddthal said. “But my father needs me here, so here I am.”

“I don’t want war,” Burek said. “What little I saw of Siniava’s War … no one sane wants that. But I do think wars come, want them or no—”

“Someone wants them, or they wouldn’t—”

“True enough. Alured does, I think. Some demon drives men like him and Siniava. But there will always be brigands, even without a war, and someone must protect the farmers and merchants from them.”

Chaya, Lyonya

Kieri woke with a start, as if someone had touched him with a coal. A vision of fire glittering on dark water, ships of fire … and the taig, roiled with fear.

He was out of bed before he knew it, sword in hand, feet planted firmly on the carpet. The sword steadied him, even as its jewel flared brightly in the dark room. Where? Where was the menace? It must be the Pargunese coming across the Honnorgat, but upstream or down?