“Then it came out of someone’s pay. Let’s see … these are longswords … someone’s officers? Do you know this mark, Captain?”

“Sofi Ganarrion’s … he won’t be happy about this. Well, unless it’s to do with the marriage. Officers’ swords, not the dress ones. Someone sold them to pay for something—gambling debts, like as not.” Arcolin picked one up, tapped it with his fingernail. “Not bad steel at all, but Burek and I both have better. Might do for a spare.”

“We don’t want these, do we?” The armorer’s face was drawn into a scowl of disgust, as he pointed to five jagged-edged curved blades with hooks at the tip.

“Gods, no! Hammer them into a lump and we’ll sell the lump.”

“Might want a Marshal or Captain to say a prayer over them first,” the armorer said.

“That bad?” Arcolin leaned closer; a wave of malice made him stagger; the armorer caught his arm to steady him. “You’re right. I’ll send someone. We should get that taken care of tonight.”

The rest of the weapons were daggers and some simple knives of various lengths, useful more as camp tools than weapons. “Knives to the cook tent,” Arcolin said. “We’ll let them decide which they want. That one”—he pointed—“is stout enough to cut leather; that could go in the tack kit. I’ll see about getting us a Marshal.”

He sent Burek on that errand, and went to his tent to read the letter from Kieri.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Arcolin sat in the folding chair, the letter on the table—Kieri’s table, around which he and Kieri and Dorrin had sat so many times—and opened the letter.

My dear Jandelir,

Forgive the hasty note—all I had time to write and not all my thoughts—upon leaving from Vérella. I can think of no one better fit to take charge of the Company than you, my friend. I had never thought to leave it, but since I must, I know I leave it in the best possible hands.

I am certain that by now you have heard more of what happened, including the sacrifice made by Paksenarrion. I do not know when you will have reached Vérella or what news will then have been received there. She is alive and hale, beyond all our hopes. We were attacked by Verrakai and Pargunese before reaching Lyonya, nearly overwhelmed until my relatives, the elves, arrived. Yes, I say relatives and elves. You will understand how I felt when I found that my grandmother—my mother’s mother—is an elf. All the jests I ever made have come back to haunt me.

My hope is that you found a contract and are receiving this in Aarenis. Should you have any problems with my banker or other persons with whom I worked, this letter should, in addition to what I sent before, be sufficient to prove that you are entitled to all that was mine. I mean that literally, Jandelir. My old life is over; I must commit to my new realm, or I will not do it justice. You can be trusted, I know, to deal justly with my—no, YOUR other captains and with those in my former domain—which I hope Tsaia will confer on you permanently.

You are ever welcome at my court in Lyonya, and if I can do aught to make this easier on you, you have but to ask. I think of you sitting at the same table, somewhere in Aarenis, reading this on a quiet evening—too hot, perhaps, for comfort.

Take care, old friend, and be not surprised by what may come. I never expected to be a king. Who knows what the gods will send you?

Falkieri Artfielan Phelan