He ticked off in his mind all he had accomplished—he had already written it down back at the stronghold, but it made a goodly recital. He hoped he would not be delayed long in Vérella, though he was eager to find out what had happened with Beclan Mahieran. Somewhat to his surprise, Count Halar met him at the border of their domains with two of his men-at-arms and a pack mule.

“I’m on my way to Vérella,” Halar said. “I wanted to ride with you if I might.”

“Of course,” Arcolin said.

“I told your Captain Valichi you might recruit on my land.”

“Valichi wrote to me; I thank you for that,” Arcolin said, hoping the man hadn’t changed his mind.

“Wanted to be sure you understood I wasn’t just shipping off troublemakers,” Halar said.

“I didn’t think you would,” Arcolin said, though it was common enough for local lords to encourage their wilder youth to enlist in someone else’s militia.

Halar cleared his throat. “In fact, I have a son—he’s too young this year, but he asked me to ask you—would you consider taking on a squire?”

Arcolin frowned. “You do realize it’s not like squiring here in the north. There’s real danger. Kieri lost squires to war.”

“I know. My father hated him for it, though it wasn’t one of his own.”

So that was the cause of the former count’s enmity. Arcolin wondered if that was all of it.

“Friend of his,” Halar said.

“But you would risk your son?”

“Kaim’s going to run off and sign on somewhere under a false name if I don’t find him some place,” Halar said. “He says the training at the grange isn’t enough. I’m hoping a year in a real military unit will cure him of his ideas—or make him a good leader if this war the king worries about comes to the north.”

“It could,” Arcolin said. “And we’ll need as much training as we can put into our people.” He thought for a long moment. “Would you consider sending him as a junior squire to my recruit captain up at the stronghold? He’d learn how soldiers are trained, but he wouldn’t be at as great a risk. Then, if he still wanted to go and you were willing, perhaps next year or the year after…”

“I thought Valichi was your recruit captain.”

“He was; he’s retiring later this spring. Arneson’s a veteran from the south, blind in one eye but a good man. Look at this troop—” Arcolin pointed to the cohort first in line.

“I saw. Fairly young, aren’t they? How long have they served?”