He nodded, clearly happy with that idea. “With so many granges between here and Vérella that should be easy enough, and I can use a courier to warn the Marshals.”

Dorrin went on. “Even without magery, and without weapons of their own, they will do everything they can to injure you and your troops and escape. Do not assume that because they are women of high family with fine manners they will be docile; you must be as wary as if they were a band of brigands. Travel with all speed.”

“I understand. Will you send the Phelani cohort with us for extra guards?”

Dorrin shook her head. “My cohort must stay with me, to keep order in Verrakai lands until I am certain all members of the family have been found and turned over to the Crown. I have been gone so long, I do not even know how many there are.”

“What order of march do you recommend when we go into Verrakai?”

“Half your troop in front, and half behind, mine; I will ride with you in front. We need the royal colors visible; I have had no chance to change mine from Phelan’s.”

“You could at least change saddlecloths to blue,” Valthan said.

“My troops are but lent, from Phelan—or whoever comes after him. They have their own colors.”

“They’re mercenaries; they’ll serve who pays.”

Dorrin stared at him until he looked down. “Mercenaries, sir, have loyalties as well as greed. My troops have fought years with me, and are loyal to me, but through me to Phelan, to whom I was loyal.” To whom she had hoped to stay loyal, to become a vassal in Lyonya, but now that was impossible. “Nonetheless, a change of saddlecloths might be a good idea. Excuse me.” She pushed back her chair and went outside.

“Captain, what orders?” As always, one of her cohort stood sentry by the door.

Dorrin took a deep breath and tried to relax the tension in her shoulders. “Where’s Selfer?” she asked.

“In the stable, Captain, checking the farrier’s work. I can go—”

“No, I’ll go,” she said. Calm. She must stay calm. She must not react to such slight insults as Valthan’s assumptions about mercenaries; her relatives would try that, too, hoping for a chink in her mental armor.

In the stables, the familiar smells of dung and hay and animals took the last knot out of her shoulders. In the aisle, one of the men held a horse’s lead, while Selfer picked up one hoof after another. Dorrin paused to watch, and when he was done, he looked around and saw her.

“Captain—I was just checking—”

“All done, then?”

“Yes; everything’s shod, all the straps mended, ready to pack up—do we march?”

“I want your opinion on something, you and the sergeants. Find Kefer and Vossik and meet me in the harness room.”

“Yes, Captain.” He jogged away; Dorrin walked to the end of the stables and turned in to the small room lined with pegs for harness, now mostly empty but ready for the traders and their wagons come summer.