“Depends on the cost to remake them to our pattern. If that’s too expensive, I’ll sell or trade them to one of the mercenary companies that uses a similar design, or have our armorer beat the steel into lumps and sell that. The steel’s good enough; it’s not the best, but serviceable for blades or tools. What I won’t do is let them get into the hands of the brigands.”

“Our troops couldn’t use them?”

“Your troops use polearms. Their blades are daggers—daggers could be cut from these swords, I suppose, but the cost, unless you were credited with the value of the metal removed, would be high. As well, for close formation fighters—as your militia is, and as we are—the curved style of blade is not as effective. For brigands, it’s ideal, if the quality’s good enough.”

“I’m sure any of our smiths would be pleased to work with you,” the Councilor said.

“And if we have metal to sell, or need their assistance, I will certainly come here and not somewhere else,” Arcolin said, answering the unspoken intent.

Burek rode into the Merchants’ Guild court. “There you are, sir! I’m sorry to intrude, but I need your authorization—”

“If you’ll excuse me—” Arcolin bowed to the Councilor, who nodded.

“Stammel said you’d need me,” Burek said. “But I do have something for you. A packet all the way from the north.” He pulled out a leather purse and handed it over.

Arcolin untied the cord that held it closed, broke the seal and unfolded it. Inside was Kieri Phelan’s familiar handwriting. Arcolin scanned the first paragraphs, realized the letter was so densely packed with information he could not absorb it hurriedly. He glanced at the Councilors, who were obviously watching for something they could interpret, folded the letter back into its leather case, and nodded to Burek.

“You did right to bring me this. I will deal with it later; the immediate need is to secure our share of the goods seized. We have four pack mules; we will need a couple of carts just for the rest of the day.”

“Right away, sir,” Burek said. He looked at the mules, still harnessed to the wagons. “Which mules are ours?”

“The team hitched to the second wagon,” Arcolin said. He had noticed that this team worked better together than the other and seemed less skittish. They were not matched in color—two were dark, one an odd pale cream color, and the last a flea-bitten gray—but their stride length was the same. The other team, matched seal browns, were not as efficient. To the Councilors, he said, “Those four—all right?” They nodded.

Burek turned to his escort. “Those mules—we’ll be taking them.”

“But not the harness,” the Councilor said. “The animals only.”

“All accouterments attached to their bodies,” Arcolin said. “That includes harness.”

“Sir! You—” began one Councilor.

Arcolin shook his head and the man stopped. “Be glad I don’t consider the wagons accouterments attached to their bodies. The clause was written for just this situation: an animal without its saddle or harness is merely another expense.”