“That bastard Alured’s after it, whatever it is. Can’t see him so interested in just a necklace. It’s a crown he wants, clear enough. And if he gets control of the Guild League, he can afford whatever crown he wants.”

“Think he’d really move on the north?” Arcolin asked. Clart raised his brows but said nothing. “I’m a peer of Tsaia now; I owe my king fealty. He’s worried.”

“He should be,” Clart said after a cautious glance around. “The man’s mad, I think. Surely Immer’s a big enough prize for anyone … but he wants it all. You know; you were here last year and ran into more than you expected over in Vonja, isn’t that right?”

“Indeed,” Arcolin said.

“He’s stirring up trouble between the cities; I’m sure he’s behind the counterfeiting. There’ve been disappearances—even murders—over the winter, more than usual. Guildmasters, traders and city-bound both. Lot of suspicion all around. Your contract’s with Foss, I hear—”

“Yes.”

“We’re with Sorellin, mobile patrols. We expect trouble. If he can wear us all out with one little war after another—”

“Yes,” Arcolin said, cutting him off with a flick of one finger. He had seen another mercenary captain approaching.

Clart looked up and scowled. “Blues,” he said under his breath. The commander of Blue Company gave them both a bleak glance and walked past without a word. Clart watched him; Arcolin didn’t turn around. “He’s gone into the back,” he said. “He’s still angry with you. More about your hiring his former captain than about winter quarters, I hear.”

“Arneson’s a good man,” Arcolin said. “He’s taken over as recruit captain up north.”

“It was a bad business,” Clart said. “I’m glad you took him on.” He sipped from his mug of sib, then said, “I hear the Blues have contracted east this year.”

“How far east?”

“East of Cilwan. One of his soldiers told one of mine they’re not coming back to Valdaire next winter, either. Nothing definite, but I’d guess hiring to the pirate lord.”

Arcolin thought back to Siniava’s War and the long pursuit … the marches, the battles, the ambushes. “Alured tried to bully Andressat, you know.”

Clart snorted. “Andressat? Nobody bullies him. He might as well be a king, for his pride.” He stretched and pushed back from the table. “You’ll pardon me, Arcolin, but we’ve got a long exercise today and new mounts to train. I must go.”

“Of course,” Arcolin said. He laid his hand on the meal-tag an instant before Clart touched it. “Mine, this time,” he said. “For your kindness.”

“Least I could do,” Clart said. He paused. “If I learn anything that doesn’t breach contract—I’ll send word.”