“I don’t know,” Arcolin said. “My thought was that Aliam stayed in Lyonya this year for Kieri’s coronation. He is older, though, and he might send a son with his company later.”

“Or disband it, if he has no need for the money. You will need an ally, Captain, to maintain the Code; other companies have fallen away from it since Siniava’s War.”

“So I understand,” Arcolin said, thinking of Andreson. The theft of the wounded man’s death fund still rankled. “Golden Company will stand with us. I met Aesil M’dierra in Valdaire and we agreed.”

“That’s good. It was one thing in which you mercenaries led the militias, your Code, and I would see that way spread, if fighting must.”

The Marshal refused Arcolin’s offer of wine. “I am too hot,” he said. “Small beer would suit me better, or water alone, if it was not drawn from the river.”

“Not ours,” Arcolin said. “We have no beer, but we do have good water.” He himself dipped a jug of water and set out two mugs and the Southern flavorings: a lump of dark honeycomb, a box divided into compartments each with a different spice. “I, too, am thirsty,” he said, “though I think drilling was not as hard work as what you did on the bellows. I should have called one of the soldiers in sooner.”

“No, indeed.” The Marshal had added a chunk of honeycomb, a sliver of dried lemon, and some dried mint to his mug, then poured in the water. He took a sip and smiled. “It was necessary that I control the bellows until I was sure the evil in the steel had vanished. As long as it was there, it tried to seize the wind and blow the fire into a storm. Gird strengthened my arms to resist.” He drank again, and again, emptying the mug and pouring it full once more. “It was not hard to work the bellows fast enough—the difficulty was slowing and stopping.”

“What then should we do, if we find more such blades?”

“They cannot catch fire by themselves; keep them away from it. Keep them away from other iron or steel; I do not know that the evil in them can spread of its own will, but I do not know it can’t, either. They were near other steel in a wagon, were they not? When I’ve cooled off a bit more, I’ll examine the other swords you found, and ensure that none of them are contaminated.”

None were, but the Marshal noticed the Halveric sword. “That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Halverics were always careful with their arms.”

“Hm. It’s not new, either. What’s this mark?”

Arcolin had not examined the Halveric sword closely, being more interested in the danger presented by the bad blades. The Marshal pointed out the small CH stamped into the undercurve of the flared pommel.

“A Halveric family member, perhaps?”

Arcolin’s skin rose in goose-prickles. “Caliam,” he said. “Aliam’s son who was captured.”