“Arvid would say you should not envy him,” Arcolin said. “I have never seen a man so shattered and then remade. If he made it to Fin Panir, he is one the Marshal-General should ask.”

The High Marshal shook his head. “She might—but would the others listen? We have had glib-tongued thieves before in the Fellowship—and in fact the results of our expeditions to Kolobia now indicate that Luap himself was not the paragon we thought him. He twisted Gird’s own words to his use.”

The Marshal-Judicar held up his hand. “But Seklis—consider. What do we know of the others of Gird’s day, but by stories and Luap’s writings? We know the Fellowship has changed, the Code has changed. Were all Gird’s followers perfect? I doubt it. Gird himself changed: that much we are sure of. Paksenarrion—and all honor to her now—changed from a soldier who was not Girdish, to a Girdish paladin-candidate, to a craven who nearly died, and finally to a paladin. How can we say a thief could not change? I met this Arvid when he was here in Vérella, and there was something about him … If any thief could change, he could.”

The High Marshal scowled, then shrugged. “I suppose. But I still say most will not believe him.”

“I daresay many people did not believe Gird at first.”

Arcolin followed this argument with amazement—still shocked by the news that magery was recurring, and that the king’s own brother displayed it. The king now held up his hand, and both the Marshals subsided.

“The point is, my lord Dukes, that we have a potential division we did not have before and one that has implications should we be invaded. You both have military experience—you best understand, I believe, what the stakes are, if this becomes known and the people rebel. How, then, could we withstand this southerner?”

“You must not give him what he wants,” Arcolin said. “Sir king, that would be the worst—he himself has magery. Magery may not be inherently evil, but the Duke of Immer has chosen evil already.”

“Help us decide, then, how best to handle this problem.”

Arcolin glanced at Dorrin, who was staring at her hands as if deliberately not taking part.

“Sir king, if it were up to me … I would find something that could be the cause of this resurgence.”

“Duke Verrakai—” said the High Marshal.

Arcolin shook his head. “No, High Marshal. Something else. Who was first to show magery here?”

“She—”

“No, sir king. Kieri Phelan. I was told that when he drew that elven sword in the Council chamber, light came and the Bells chimed.”

“Yes, but that was elven magery—”