Although the South Trade Road that led west to Fintha was less busy than the Guild League road or the road to Vérella, scarcely a turn of the glass passed that they did not overtake or meet someone coming. Most were single wagons, or pedestrians, or riders, not caravans. Arvid could not help comparing this trip to the previous summer, when his companion had been a stolid gnome determined to be no more than a servant. Instead, he had the boy—wide-eyed, much of the time, seeing places he’d never seen nor heard of. Eager to talk, eager to learn … Arvid did not mention the little cairn of stones that covered a thief’s body when they came to it. The boy, however, pointed it out and hopped off to place a stone on it for luck. “Maybe it’s a hero’s grave,” he said. Arvid did not correct him.

Arvid chose to stay on the South Trade Road all the way to Fin Panir. They camped by the road most nights, buying food in the towns but avoiding the inns with their fleas and bedbugs. That meant avoiding granges as well; Arvid knew he should be attending drill each fiveday, but after all, these small granges probably held drill only one night in five, and it might not be the night he camped nearby. Traffic diminished the farther they went, and at last the road turned north toward Fin Panir.

Arvid recognized the well he and Dattur had reached the year before. “The city’s not that far ahead,” he said. “You’ll see.” In fact, riding at a good pace, it was less than a sun-hand before they reached the south gates.

The Marshal-General’s letter wasn’t needed to clear the city gates; Marshal Porfur’s letter—impressed with the Marshal’s seal and stating “On Gird’s service for Marshal Porfur, Ifoss Grange”—was sufficient to gain entry to the city and then to the Fellowship’s precincts on top of the hill.

The Marshal-General was crossing the courtyard from the High Lord’s Hall when he rode in and glanced at him—then stopped short and frankly stared. “Is it you, Arvid? Did you find that necklace?”

“Marshal-General,” he said, dismounting and bowing. “I fear not: I was taken by the Thieves’ Guild in Valdaire and nearly killed. I am certain, however, that it went to Valdaire and on eastward from there. I suspect it is now held by the man claiming to be the Duke of Immer.”

“And you were then trapped in the South by snows, I suppose,” she said. She shrugged. “Well … if it’s gone, it’s gone.” When he said nothing, her eyes went from him to the boy, still on his horse, and then back to Arvid. “Do you have other business with me, Arvid? My pardon, but I have a meeting now—”