“Here—” A meaty hand reached down, and Arvid took it, pulling himself up. He’d seen the man who helped him up in the grange but had never talked to him. He looked around. Regar and his wife were both unbound, alive, though bruised and scraped; Regar had a broken nose and a black eye. The bound workmen, freed, were only bruised. Regar’s oldest daughter had run out the back with the two youngest; they were safe. Of the other three, the middle girl had a knife gash on the side of her neck, but she would live—the Marshal was already healing her.

All the thieves were dead. Their disappearance would hamper the Guildhouse at Valdaire, Arvid knew. With help—but the account would be laid to him—he had reft the Valdaire house of almost two hands now: the Guildmaster, the two who had taken him and Dattur away, and now these six. The Guild would want revenge, and they would take it where they could. Gird, guard my son!

“Thanks to Gird,” Marshal Porfur said, and the other men echoed. Arvid joined in, as he must; only a few of the men looked sideways at him as he retrieved the bloody throwing disk and tucked it away.

Regar, his broken nose healed by Gird’s grace and the Marshal’s skill, came to give him a brother’s hug. “I thought we was all dead, and the children, too. Thanks to you—”

“To Gird,” Arvid said. It came more easily from his mouth now.

“Yes, but you were the cudgel in Gird’s hand this time,” Regar said. “And if you’d not been a thief before, you’d not have known how to fight ’em. What can I do—?”

“Be wary,” Arvid said. “I’ve brought trouble on you, and more might come, though not for a while. They’ll need to hire from other houses. I’ll talk to the Marshal, get his consent to leave. If I’m not here, you’ll be safer.”

“But Arvid, man—”

“I’ll talk to the Marshal,” he said, and with a last squeeze set Regar aside, bowed to Lia, and went to the Marshal, now organizing the men to carry the bodies away.

“Six,” the Marshal said, puffing out his lips. “They sent six after you?”

“They knew my abilities,” Arvid said.

“Evidently not. They should have sent twice six.”

“They didn’t have twice six. Not like these.” He felt cold suddenly and shaky as the battle fever left him.

“You should eat and drink,” the Marshal said. “Come with me.” He gave a few more orders, putting one of the yeomen in charge, and led Arvid down the street to the first tavern.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

I need to leave,” Arvid said, as they crossed the threshold.

“You think you can outrun them?” the Marshal said.