Arvid held the staff and stepped up on the platform. As a new yeoman, trading blows was a regular part of his drill night attendance, and the Marshal had begun to assign others to the ceremony with him. Tonight, the Marshal called on Regar. Though the exchange of blows was supposed to be only a test of willingness, Arvid suspected Regar had something else in mind.

As the Marshal gave the starting signal, Regar lunged forward, aiming a swing at Arvid’s head that would have knocked him flat if he’d been in its way. Arvid sidestepped and rammed the end of his staff into Regar’s gut. Regar turned an unlovely color and collapsed, gasping.

“You … thief…” he managed.

“A fair blow,” the Marshal said. “You moved first, Regar.”

“He’s a thief!” Regar said.

“He’s a yeoman of Gird now, and that’s that,” the Marshal said. He looked at Arvid next; Arvid was careful not to smirk. “You don’t have to like each other, but you will not start trouble, either of you. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Marshal,” Arvid said. Regar was a beat behind him; Arvid figured he had a sore belly.

After drill, the Marshal called them both to stay behind. Regar glared at Arvid; Arvid looked past him. This could end very badly, he realized, and he hoped the Marshal understood that. Regar was a bully, but a popular bully, and local. Arvid was the stranger—the handsome stranger. Always before he’d used that to his advantage, and this time, trying to be honest …

“I fault you both,” the Marshal said, looking from one to the other. “Regar, you’re local, and everyone knows you. Knows the quality of wall you build and the strength of your arm. You’ve taken advantage of that, gathering that little gang around you. As a local leader, welcoming visitors is part of your job—”

“You didn’t appoint me yeoman-marshal,” Regar said.

“No, and if you want to know why, come ask me and I’ll tell you. But your way with strangers is part of it, I’ll say that. A yeoman-marshal’s job includes recruiting new yeomen.”

“I could’ve gotten you a dozen—”

“If I’d asked and promised something in return. That’s not how it goes.”

“You’ll take a stranger, a thief born and bred—”

“I’ll take any man who learns and follows the Code, recites the Ten Fingers, and shows respect to every other yeoman in the grange. People change. Gird changed; that’s the heart of the story. He was a farmer who became something else.”

“A farmer, yes. But a thief? Gird was never a thief!”

“Regar, your head’s harder than granite—”

“Excuse me,” Arvid said. “Marshal—Regar’s right. Not that I’m a thief now, but that I was one—as you know—and that he cannot trust a former thief. We all have something impossible to us.”