“Just a moment—” They had come out into the forecourt now. It had gone full dark; people were milling about, hard to see in the flickering light of torches that caught the glint of a few drawn weapons. Clusters of people talking, moving uneasily. Someone said, “It’s the Marshal-General—” and the groups converged, moving toward her.

“This is the Fellowship of Gird!” the Marshal-General’s voice rang out; movement ceased. “Not a mob of untrained, frightened peasants. We are Gird’s people today, as we have been these hundreds of years.”

“But there was an alarm—” someone began.

“Yes,” the Marshal-General said. “Some Marshals attacked me, to my sorrow. We are Gird’s people; it is not right for us to kill each other. To pour poison in a mug … that is not something Gird would do. When we disagree, we argue. We bang on tables. We shout. That is how Gird’s people disagree. Not secretly plotting.”

The silence acquired an edge, as the listeners thought about that.

Arvid, thinking of the things he’d read in the archives, knew she’d shaded the truth there. Some Marshal-Generals in the past had come to that position by plotting.

“What if I don’t think you’re really Girdish? You defend magery.” A voice from the crowd; Arvid could not see who had spoken.

“You tell me so, and we argue about it,” the Marshal-General said. “I would suggest you read the entire Code of Gird and its history, including the new material in the Scrolls of Luap beforehand, though, because I will refer to them in my responses.”

“That … that would take years! I have work to do!”

“It took me years,” the Marshal-General said, a hint of humor in her voice. “Much of it spent as a Marshal running a grange. But you’re welcome to argue with me, whenever you feel prepared.” Silence followed that.

Arvid felt the tension leach out of the crowd. Most of these would be people who knew the Marshal-General, who lived or worked in the palace complex. They had reacted to an alarm. They would now—with no immediate danger in sight—accept her words. A few still held to another purpose; he could sense their tension. Could the Marshal-General? He glanced at her. She looked as calm as usual, standing poised but not tense, confident.

“People of Gird,” she said, “remember what Gird stood for. Fairness, justice, protection of the defenseless. We are not a people of fear, but a people of courage. It is time to go about our business. We have deaths to mourn, and other deaths to prevent.”

A low mutter, but no real resistance. A few turned to walk away toward one or another of the entrances to the forecourt. A clatter of hooves coming up the hill and the tramp of marching feet brought them to a halt; all turned toward the gate.