Arcolin had a quick mental vision of four of his soldiers, two lugging the dead brigand’s body, over the fields in the dark. He could imagine the track they’d leave on the dew-wet grass—

“I worried about the track they might leave,” Burek went on. “But Stammel said the grass was dry enough, just be back here in a glass or less. And they were, and dewfall came after that.”

Arcolin pulled on his other boot and stamped down into it. “Good thinking,” he said. “I suppose you had them take his weapon back with him?”

Burek stared, then flushed. “No, sir—I didn’t think of that.”

“Never mind,” Arcolin said. “They’ll think someone stole it, or there was a third brigand.”

“Do we march today, after all this? The brigands must be near.”

“We march, because we’re not supposed to know the brigands are near.” And with luck they could be packed and on their way before the villagers found the dead men. “We know nothing, we heard nothing, we saw nothing … they told us no brigands were anywhere around and they’d had no trouble, so … we go on being ignorant.”

Burek grinned. “Stammel thought you’d say that.”

“Stammel is a wise man,” Arcolin said.

By the time the sun had cleared the trees beyond the fields, they were ready to march, leaving behind only flattened grass: the jacks filled in, scraps of food burnt to char and then the fire pit watered down and raked, the brambles pulled into a pile. Burek had arched his brows at the care taken.

“Leave a mess behind, find a worse mess when you return,” Arcolin said. “Duke’s saying; I expect he learnt it from Aliam Halveric. Farmers don’t like their fields and pastures damaged, and they’ll find ways to cause you trouble the next time you come through.”

Burek thought about that for a moment, then said, “Dead men aren’t a mess, then …?”

“Not if it’s nothing to do with us. They’ll think it does, but more like we drew trouble down on them, the brigands spying on us. That reminds me—” He turned, just as Tam came up with something wrapped in a cloth. “Ah—thank you, Tam.”

“It’s really pretty, Captain,” Tam said.

“It’ll go in the Company records as split between you and Vik,” Arcolin said. “It’ll be the end of season, most likely, before you see a copper out of it.”

“’Sfine, Captain. I just wondered.”

“And remember—no talking about it, anywhere we go.”

“No, Captain. I’ll tell Vik.” He paused. “I can tell Vik, can’t I?”

“Tell him not to talk about it. Nothing happened. That’s the important part. Nothing at all happened.”

Tam grinned, saluted, and hurried off. Arcolin unwrapped the cloth. The grip of it was made of some intricately carved bone or tooth—he didn’t want to meet the animal with such teeth—inlaid with gold and silver. No guard but a narrow flange of metal where the two met, and the blade itself had the waterflow pattern that meant the best steel.