“This was not on your book,” the Guildmaster said, scowling at the merchant. “You know the Guild’s rules.”

“Yes … but my family …”

“We are not here to hear excuses; we are here to determine the truth. You know it is forbidden to carry wares you have not recorded.”

“And false-bottomed wagons?” Arcolin murmured.

“Oh, no,” the Guildmaster said, aside. “That’s not a problem. A merchant may be carrying treasure that must be concealed under another load, even as that load is delivered and another picked up. But it must be recorded and available to any Guildmaster along the way.”

The mercenaries’ share of the food came out remarkably evenly—five of eight bags of grain, ten of sixteen packets of dried fish, five of the eight remaining hams. Arcolin smiled to himself; he had gifted the villagers with an amount that made division later easier. The next wagon, packed with bundles of the curved swords, was another matter.

“Five-eighths,” the Guildmaster said. And to the servants, “Unwrap those and start tallying.”

“No,” Arcolin said. The servants paused, confused. “By contract, all captured weapons belong to the Duke’s Company.”

“But you already have weapons.”

“Yes,” Arcolin said. “But by contract, those weapons, in that wagon, belong to me. And so do two of the mules and half one wagon, but I’m willing to trade that for four mules.” The Councilors sputtered. Arcolin waited a precise moment and said, “Or their value, as of today, in the horse market. We can take them down and sell them, if you like.”

“But—but—”

“It’s in the contract,” Arcolin said, sticking his thumbs through his belt and leaning back, the very picture of confidence. He had learned that pose from Kieri Phelan, and suspected Kieri had learned it from Aliam.

“You are as bad as Kieri Phelan,” the senior Councilor said.

“I take that as a compliment,” Arcolin said.

“And you have a copy of the contract and we have already certified that it is correct. Do you want half a wagon or the two extra mules?”

“Mules,” Arcolin said. “We must get off the roads to catch these brigands—and that means pack animals.”

“You killed twenty-three of them—how many do you think there are?”

“One for every one of those swords,” Arcolin said. “And your merchant said he came through twice a year, not always with the same cargo. He avoided Andressat, took what he calls the war road. You might want to consider a permanent guardpost on these lesser roads.”

“That will cost a lot,” the Councilor said. “We could hire you for that, I suppose …”

“Not all year, and that’s what you need. You can’t stop a trickle of individuals coming in—not with the forest land you’ve got—but you could stop serious supply, by blocking the roads. That will force them to come to the villages for food, and when they do that, it’ll be easier to catch them.”

“What are you going to do with all those swords? They’re not the style your people use.”