“Surely, Marshal—” Arcolin began.

Marshal Porfur shook his head. “I’m a competent Marshal for the grange of a small city that’s not more than one-quarter Girdish,” he said. “Arvid’s been good for me—good for the grange—but I’m not what he needs now. I know that. We’re taught, we Marshals, to recognize someone who needs special training and send them to get it. That’s what I’m doing, same as you’d send a promising squire to take training for knighthood.”

“But I don’t know if I—” Arvid began. He stopped as both the others stared at him.

“If you’re not a madman,” Arcolin said, “then you really hear Gird’s voice. And if you really hear Gird’s voice, then there’s a reason. And the reason is that Gird needs you to do Gird’s work somewhere.”

“But I’m not…” Arvid felt tears stinging his eyes again and blinked them back. He would not cry, not again. What good did the tears do? “I was a thief,” he said, his voice hoarse with the unshed tears. “I was an enforcer for the Guild. I—I threatened people, scared people, hurt people. Killed people. I was … bad. Why would Gird want me?”

“I don’t know,” Marshal Porfur said. “But the word sent from Valdaire was that Gird’s relic lighted the moment you came into the grange there … lighted in your hand without burning you. You hear his voice. I cannot answer your question, but I can send you to those who will help you answer it.”

“You have been of service to me,” Arcolin said. “I have found you to be sensible, honest, and hardworking—and a good dinner companion those times we’ve shared a meal. But for all you make a reasonable minor merchant, I don’t think that’s why Gird is talking to you. There are plenty of Girdish merchants already. Possibly only one former Guild enforcer.”

“I knew I had to change,” Arvid said in a more normal voice as his throat relaxed. “But not to know where the change ends—”

“Nobody knows where change ends,” Arcolin said. Arvid looked at him, remembering the look on Arcolin’s face when Dattur prostrated himself and called Arcolin “prince.”

“Indeed,” Marshal Porfur said. “Count, can you do anything to get Arvid safely through Valdaire?”

“Possibly. I send my people to Valdaire on errands; he could go with them. Beyond—I am not sure; I would have to ask.”

“If you say I must go that way,” Arvid said, “then if I can buy a couple of good horses in Valdaire, I will be fine on the road—”

“Or not,” Arcolin said. “I will be sending a letter to the king in a few days—I am still compiling the information he should have—and beyond Valdaire you could ride with the courier.”