Marshal Steralt nodded when Arcolin told him what he had done about Arvid. “Good. It gets him out of the city. I will give you a letter of reference to any Marshal in Foss Council.”

When the column came past the Dragon in the dim predawn light, on its way at last, Arcolin paused; Arvid and Dattur were waiting there, little encumbered by their bundles. “First wagon,” he said. “Teamster’s let the tailboard step down for you. Once you’re in, pull up the tailboard and stay under the canvas.” Spies lurked everywhere, and no company marched without rousing them, but the Dragon’s windows were shuttered tight, and the street empty. He did not wait to see if the two made it into the wagon, but rode on at the head of the column as usual.

Once through the city’s east gates, the Guild League road stretched out, ever more visible in the growing light. To either side, scouts paralleled the column of three full cohorts and the supply wagons. Two rode well ahead, and two more came behind. Arcolin and two of the five captains took the lead. The other three captains stayed with their cohorts; they would change positions at midday.

Farmers coming in with loaded carts gaped at them; children waved. By the time the sun hit them, they were well out of sight of Valdaire’s walls and the outlying buildings, and Arcolin’s eager chestnut had given up jigging, with only an occasional toss of the head to indicate a need to run. To his right Cracolnya rode the dun he favored, half-nomad bred to look at, and on the left Selfer’s new junior captain, Garralt, rode a leggy bald-faced black.

“Ah, the wonderful South,” Cracolnya said. “Hot already. Fruit almost ripe.”

“Missed it, did you?” Arcolin asked.

“This much,” Cracolnya said, his fingers a hazelnut’s width apart. “But for the profit in it. Which I hope, my lord Count, we still see. You’ve heard the rumors, I’m sure.”

“Indeed. And told you what I knew back north.”

“Well, we knew that lad was trouble when we worked with him before. What bothered me—” He glanced around and then, satisfied, went on. “What bothered me was not finding Sobanai or Vladi—or at least their agents—in Valdaire.”

“Or Sofi?” Arcolin asked.

“Or Sofi, yes, but since he’s said to be married into Fallo, not as much. But if the Blues have gone to the pirate, and Vladi’s still sheep-dogging Sofi—”

“Which we never knew for certain,” Arcolin said. “Though I grant it made sense.”

“And Sofi’s in Fallo, then they’re both in reach of the pirate. I can’t see Vladi, at least, going that way—”

“No. Nor Sofi Ganarrion either, really. Maybe Fallo got sense and hired them both … even Sobanai.”

Garralt spoke up. “My lord—there was rumor of the winter that Sobanai’s troop disbanded. A fever, I heard.”