“At the wedding, he gave her a sword, a sword that Aliam Halveric had found in the forest up there in Lyonya. It was a pretty thing, they both thought, and fit for a lady.”

“The one with that green stone?”

“Yes.” Arcolin explained what he’d been told about the sword’s origin. “I don’t know more than that, but I do know that Aliam had no idea whose it was, nor Kieri, and Kieri had vowed not to hold it, when he gave it to Tammarion.”

“Why?”

Arcolin shrugged. “I never understood it myself, or why he didn’t use it after she died. But it hung on the wall at the fort all those years until the night the Duke’s steward and a priestess of Achrya tried to kill us all.” He hurried through that part. “Then Paksenarrion rode off with it, having a call from the gods, and the next thing we heard was a summons from the Council for the Duke to come to Vérella along with representatives from the village councils of his domain.” Aesil said nothing, but put a piece of fruit in her mouth. “Then I had his letter telling me he was going to Lyonya to be king. And when I got to Vérella, I heard from the prince about the Verrakai attacks, not only on Kieri but on the prince, his uncle, and the Marshal-Judicar.”

“The Girdish will be out for blood. What about the other Verrakai?”

“Order of Attainder. And on the Konhalts.”

“So Tsaia has three domains up there with no, or new, commanders. Where I come from, that would mean war.” M’dierra scowled. “The situation here is unstable too. Has been since the last year Phelan was down here.”

“A bad time,” Arcolin said.

“Bad indeed,” M’dierra said, her voice low. “We did things—”

“We all did things we aren’t proud of,” Arcolin said. “But now it’s your turn. What’s the situation, and—most of all—what’s your opinion of these five?” He laid his short list on the table in front of her.

She tapped the first name. “What did he tell you about his experience?”

“Served with you for two hands of years, half as sergeant. Decided to go out on his own while he still could.”

“Eight years, and two as sergeant. He’s not bad, but he’s not as good as he thinks he is, and he’ll tell you what he thinks you want to hear. He’s a competent soldier, less so as a sergeant; too much temper and too fond of ale. An excellent swordsman, though, and capable with several weapons.”

“I wondered,” Arcolin said. “I thought I remembered seeing him in the ranks that last year.”

“You did. Now this young fellow—” She tapped the next name. “He’s someone’s bastard, won’t say whose, but claims he knows. Last season, he took a short contract with Sobanai and they offered him permanent, but he wanted varied experience, he said. I hired him on another short contract, in the fall, to take a cohort on escort duty to Andressat and back; the sergeant said he was diligent and honest. Andressat had some complaint—you know the Count, how fussy he can be. I’ve contracted to Andressat many times; can’t afford to have anyone he won’t tolerate, so I let him go, but have nothing against him.” She put the list down.