Hands reached to sword hilts, and Arvid prepared himself—but at that moment the door opened, and the Marshal-General, sword and buckler in hand, mail coif on her head, appeared a sword’s length inside. Behind her was another, to Arvid’s relief. A Knight of Gird, also armed for combat.

Arvid let his smile widen to a frank grin. “I believe, gentlemen, you are surrounded.”

They broke, three rushing one way, four the other. Arvid tripped one who came near enough and thrust at another, wounding him but not stopping the man’s flight.

“Hold, Arvid,” the Marshal-General said. “I know their names and purposes. I am unhurt. But you?”

“Unhurt,” Arvid said. He put away the knife but did not put away his sword. “I do have a message from Marshal Cedlin.” He pulled the tube from his pocket and handed it to her.

She unrolled the message, read it, nodded, and gestured to the knight. “Sir Piter, come with me—and you, Arvid, as well.” She started for the stairs; Piter moved quickly ahead of her; Arvid took the rear. Over her shoulder she said, “I see you are wearing another very useful cloak, if somewhat stained.”

“Yes,” Arvid said. “I had intended to remove that which makes it interesting, but tonight—”

She held up her hand; he fell silent. From the passage below, they heard boots and lowered voices. The knight moved silently down to the next landing. Then “Gird!” shouted several voices, and blades rang.

Arvid drew his dagger and followed the Marshal-General down. The men below—two of them the same as he’d seen above, but with new companions—now seemed determined to fight. The Marshal-General’s group had the high ground, however. The clash of blades soon drew cries from somewhere down the passage to the kitchen and then from the far end of the lower passage. This time the newcomers were clearly on the Marshal-General’s side.

“Once more,” Arvid said, “I believe you are surrounded.” The man in front of him hesitated, and Arvid thrust past the weak guard and into the belly. “Should’ve worn mail,” he said as the man’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped. He knocked the man’s sword loose with his dagger.

When the brief fight ended, only two of the attackers were alive; the Marshal-General and the knight had accounted for three between them, and the newcomers had taken out four.

“Marshal-General, there’s trouble in the city,” one of the knights said. “We were coming to let you know—”

“Come with me,” she said. And to Arvid, “Quickly. Tell me what you came for.” She headed toward the forecourt.

“What you see,” he said. “Conspiracy, based partly on truth and partly on lies. Someone’s raising fears that you’re secretly a magelord and want to return them to rule. Expedition to the west—”