Marshal Cedlin accepted both Arvid and the boy into the grange community without demur. Whatever the Marshal-General had written, she had, Arvid suspected, left out the part about his having been a Thieves’ Guild enforcer.

“Certainly your son should spend his mornings here, at least until he’s caught up in his schooling,” Marshal Cedlin said. “He’s not too old and seems a bright lad; he should make good progress.” He turned to the boy. “Young Arvid, you’ll be working with my yeoman-marshal Geddes for the time being. The barton’s through that door; he’s teaching now. Just take him this note.”

“Yes, Marshal,” the boy said, ducking his head, then went as he was bid.

“And polite, too,” Marshal Cedlin said to Arvid. “It must have been a wrench to have him stolen away, and Gird’s own grace you found him again.”

“Indeed it was,” Arvid said.

“Well—and you a late convert and in your first year. The Marshal-General says you read and write well—and she’s hired you as a scribe, so that must be so. Then you’re ready to go beyond the Ten Fingers, I’m thinking, and should start learning the Code itself. You have your evenings free, but for drill nights; you can start on the first book, and we’ll see how you get on. Let’s trade blows, so I can assign you to a drill group.” He grinned at Arvid’s expression. “Small grange, was it, there in Ifoss? Most men aren’t Girdish there, I know. Here we’re full every night, and we have groups according to skill.”

Cedlin was indeed more skilled with staff and blade than Porfur had been, though not Arvid’s equal with the long blade. “You say you practiced with the Duke’s Company—or whatever they call it now?”

“Fox Company, Marshal,” Arvid said. “Count Arcolin’s taken the same insignia. But I did not practice with them all the time.”

“You’re strong, agile, excellent with a long blade, but you need more practice with the staff and in formation,” Cedlin said. “I think you’ll fit into Yeoman-Marshal Vallan’s group, and you can meet him tonight. Your group will drill tomorrow. You’ll hear the bell; Pia complains sometimes that it knocks a flask off the bar in the Loaf.”