“That’s not the way the Code’s wrote,” Sofan said. “Magery’s wrong, against the Code, and them as use magery must leave or die.” He leaned back in the chair and flexed his hands.

“And you gave the lad a choice, did you? A lad of—what? Five winters?” Arianya glanced at the report in front of her; the knights had interviewed some of the yeomen.

“Four,” Rort said with a tone of satisfaction. “Best rid us of ’em young. Older is more dangerous. Look what he did to me.” He held up his heart-hand, showing a few blisters on it. He glanced at his Marshal as if for approval. Sofan nodded.

“Not more dangerous than a mob you stirred up to kill a four-winters child,” Arianya said. “And beat his mother and drive her away.” The knights had not found her, but at least they had not found her body. Nor had they found the father; he’d run off, they were told. Sofan and Rort stared at her, smirking. “Gird’s cudgel, can you not see that? Gird did not kill children! You know the story of Aris and Seri—”

“They ’uz traitors,” Sofan said. “They chose that Luap and went away, didn’t they? That’s your proof, Marshal-General, and if you wasn’t soft as custard, you’d see that.” He smacked his hand on her desk, contempt in every line of his body.

“Show respect!” One of the knights at the door took a step toward him. Sofan ignored him, and Arianya waved the knight back.

“You got no right to drag us in here to scold like an old granna,” Sofan went on. “I’m a Marshal; you gave me the touch yourself. If you think I done wrong, I want trial of arms. It’s my right.” He leaned back again, folding his arms across his chest.

“Child killers have no right,” Arianya said over the rage fizzing in her ears. “You’ll face a tribunal of Marshals.”

Sofan laughed. “Tribunal of Marshals—Marshals you handpicked, I don’t doubt. I’ll tell you what it is—” He leaned forward a little and tapped her desk with his forefinger. “You’re afraid to give me my rights. Afraid to fight, old woman as you are.” He looked at the knights and then at his yeoman-marshal, nodding as if they’d all just agreed with him. “A woman’s not fit to be Marshal-General, anyway. It’s a man’s job, ruling men. Wasn’t a woman led us against the magelords. Gird was a man. This magery’s come because the Fellowship’s gone all to weakness: evil attacks weakness.”

Arianya felt her control slipping but tried once more for reason. “And you attacked a four-winters boy. Evil attacks weakness: you said it yourself.”