“No. But I think I can lead them away from here—from Regar and his family, from you and this grange.”

“Sit down, lad.” The Marshal settled into a chair at one of the tables and waved to the man at the bar. “You’ve not completed your year.”

“I know,” Arvid said. He leaned forward. “But I’m a danger to you, Marshal, and to the people here, the grange. The longer I’m away from here before they come again to find me, the better for you.”

“You still don’t understand,” the Marshal said. “Gird did not create this Fellowship to seek safety, but to provide protection to one another in danger. You say you’re bringing trouble, but your captain says it’s coming from the east, with that new Duke of Immer. There’s always trouble somewhere.” To the man who approached the table, he said, “Ale, bread, and honey.”

“I am not impugning your courage,” Arvid said, when the man had left. “I just don’t want—”

“To make trouble. I understand that, Arvid, and I respect it. You’ve come a long way from what I judge you were. Tell me: did you call on Gird in this fight?”

Arvid nodded.

“Good enough. And thanked him after. I heard. That was well done. But you should not leave without a plan, and I must know that plan.”

If the Marshal knew, he could be made to tell it. Arvid hoped that did not show on his face. Ale arrived, and a platter of warm bread and a bowl of honey. He poured ale for both of them and buried his face in his mug.

“The thing is,” the Marshal said after a long swallow of ale, “you’re a grown man and an expert in your own way. So it is not easy for you to take direction, and you have worked hard to learn to work with other yeomen. But what you cannot see, that is clear to me or any Marshal, is how thin a layer of Girdishness is laid over what you were.”

“Gird seems deep enough in my head for me,” Arvid said, around a mouthful of bread dipped in honey.

“Gird needs to be here—” The Marshal pointed at his midsection. “Not just here.” He tapped his head.

True.

Arvid shivered. Not here; not now.

“You are in more danger than I am,” the Marshal went on. “In danger of more than a knife in the ribs from your former friends. Gird has chosen you for something; we do not yet know what. But when Gird or a god has chosen you for a task, then you must do it. Such tasks are not given lightly, for the gods’ amusement, you know.”