The next time the grange met for drill, Marshal Porfur announced that Count Andressat’s youngest son was missing. “You all know there have been brigands in our area,” he said. “We are fortunate to be in a well-managed region like Foss Council that hired an additional force to protect us. And now we know the Count of Andressat’s son is missing, believed taken, and a reward has been offered for information about him. I tell you this to make it clear that even a rich man with his own army is not perfectly safe. Even here in Ifoss, with Fox Company patrolling the roads, you know that a few villages have lost livestock and some have been injured. So every yeoman must be alert and ready to respond if there is danger. Some of you are old enough to remember Siniava’s War—and other wars before—and we must pray to be spared another. Yet we must prepare. When winter comes, Fox Company will be gone; we must defend ourselves if trouble comes.”

“Who’s the enemy this time?” someone asked. “Is it Vonja?”

“Why do you think Vonja?” Marshal Porfur asked. “They’re in the Guild League, same as Foss Council.”

“Doesn’t mean they can’t be up to something,” the man said, standing forward. “My da said, in one of the battles in Siniava’s War, they ran like rabbits.”

“That’s as may be,” Porfur said. “But running away isn’t the same thing as stealing someone’s son. What I want you to do is tell the yeomen who aren’t here—who’ve been skipping drill night—that this is no time to slack off. I think there’s trouble coming.”

Arvid could feel the reluctance of these hardworking men to believe that skipping a drill night could put them at real risk. He said nothing, nor did any of the Fox Company soldiers attending that night. Drill went well, though the night was overwarm and even the walk back through the city did not dry all the sweat from working out.

“They don’t know a thing,” one of the soldiers said.

“You didn’t tell them anything,” Arvid said.

“Not my place to go telling what the Company knows to the locals,” the soldier said. “You should know that much.”

“I do, but … well, maybe they’ve heard Alured’s name in the taverns. Or that new name … Vaskronin. I wonder where he got that. It doesn’t sound like anything I’ve heard before.”

“Made it up, like as not,” the soldier said.

When they arrived back in camp, Arcolin called Arvid to his tent. “I need your expertise,” he said.

“My expertise?”

“You’re surely aware that soldiers are offered stolen goods from time to time. We warn them, but they see something gaudy and think of a brother or sister back home—”

“You want me to stop them buying from thieves?”