“Sobanai was always careful of his camps,” Arcolin said. “Did you hear where?”

“They’d been at Lûn, downriver, and never made it back to Valdaire in the fall. Others said they’d decided it was too far to come.”

“I think we can take it that the pirate’s planning to take Lûn,” Cracolnya said.

Up ahead, Arcolin saw the forward scouts signal: caravan coming. He glanced back. The cohorts had spread a little as the morning warmed. Now he waved twice, and the command passed down; the files closed up, and supply wagons moved to the edge of the road.

One of the forward scouts rode back to report. The caravan was out of Sorellin, traveling under its pennant and bound for Tsaia. The caravan master wanted to speak with “the commander” and would halt his caravan when they were closer.

“Tell him yes,” Arcolin said; the scout wheeled his mount and rode away. He turned to Cracolnya. “The man might have news out of Immer. Lead them on; I’ll catch up.”

“Yes, my lord.” Then Cracolnya grinned. “And I would suggest—your helmet.”

Arcolin laughed, shaking his head. “Old joke, Captain. If you had eyes, you’d know it was on my head.”

He turned aside when they met the other caravan, greeting the caravan master. They both backed their horses almost to the ditch, watching as Fox Company marched by.

“There’s trouble ahead,” the caravan master said. He wore a broad sash in Sorellin’s colors. “You’ve heard of this new Duke of Immer?”

“Yes. We knew him as Alured the Black in Siniava’s War.”

“You remember Rotengre, then: brigands’ city it was then, preying on trade and causing trouble all around. Full of evil magicks.” The caravan master chewed his lip a moment. “It’s gone bad again. We’ve had refugees coming in from there, starting last autumn, and the tales they tell—well, it’s clear to us it’s Immer. We hired Clart this year.”

Arcolin nodded. “I met Nasimir in Valdaire; he told me.”

“We’d have hired Sobanai as well, if we could have got them—sent word downriver to Lûn last summer we wanted to talk contract. Word came back they were interested, but in autumn we had a courier from Koury not to let anyone from Lûn into the city for fear of the black fever. Koury shut the gates to anyone from downriver. Never heard more from Sobanai until early spring, this time from Cilwan, saying half the city had died, and Sobanai Company lost its commander and more than half the soldiers.”

“Bad business,” Arcolin said.