Kavarthin walked with him to the door. “It’s been a difficult few years,” he said. “You know what it was like, the season you defeated Siniava. It’s become more difficult, especially in the south and east. There’s been reason why people who were scrupulously honest before might be less so now.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Arcolin said.

“And if I were you, I’d ride with that sword on my hip and not under the saddle flap,” Kavarthin said, nodding at Arcolin’s horse, being walked up and down by a bank servant. “And wear your helmet.”

“On the trade road?”

“Indeed.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

At the inn where they’d been quartered, Arcolin paid the innkeeper’s last charges and heard that the cohort had marched off three full glasses ago. Once out of the city gates, he considered putting on his helmet, but the morning was already warming; he wanted to feel the breeze on his head. He checked the hooks—yes, he could free it quickly at need. He legged his mount to a canter on the dirt path to the left of the trade road and its drainage ditch. If only Tsaia had roads like this, it would take six days less to move a cohort north and south.

Traffic on the road this close to the city seemed sparse for the time of day. He saw one small flock of goats herded toward the city on the other side of the road, and an oxcart on the road itself, driven by a farm woman, a small child alongside the ox with a goad. In the cart, a stick cage held geese, their long necks poking between the bars. They honked indignantly. He passed a moderate-sized caravan heading east, a half-glass after he left, with guards armed with bows atop each wagon. He waved; the guards raised their bows in salute. Ahead, the road curved around a hill slope covered with trees; Arcolin knew from past years that a trail easy for horses cut through the trees and met the road again, saving some distance. It was also an easy place for bandits to ambush a lone traveler. He’d taken it often enough before when in a hurry … but not today. He passed the fork in the trail, noting fresh hoofprints and a pile of droppings where it entered the trees.

He kept to the path beside the main road, slowing to pass a group of foot travelers and give them greeting. Three men, two women, one older than the other, four children, all with packs and staves. His horse, eager as always to run, tossed its head; Arcolin legged it to an easy canter again. The morning’s problems blew away as the breeze brought him the fragrance of blossoming trees; his horse pinned one ear and quickened stride. Arcolin grinned. This one, of all his mounts, most loved to run, and he’d held it to a foot-pace all the way south. He took one hand from the reins to steady the hilt of his sword and closed his legs.