“Killed? Wasn’t he the one at Dwarfwatch?”

“No. That was Seliam, his younger brother. He was killed, but his sword was recovered. Cal’s sword wasn’t.”

“So it would have been one of Siniava’s prizes?”

“Yes,” Arcolin said.

“Hmmm. The Halverics are Falkian, are they not?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should let me take it to the Captain of Falk here—have him bless it—before you return it to the Halverics. There’s an aura of terror clinging to it—”

Arcolin looked away a moment, then met the Marshal’s gaze. “No wonder. Caliam will father no more children. Our people found him beaten, bound, squeezed into a crate like a pig for market …” The old anger rose; he pushed it down.

“He fought bravely through the rest of the war, I heard,” the Marshal said. Arcolin nodded. “Then Falk would want him to have it back again, without the pain. May I?”

“Certainly,” Arcolin said. “I’d intended to send it back to the Halverics in any case, but having it blessed by a Captain is a happy thought.” He took the blade, found a clean cloth in which to wrap it, and handed it to the Marshal. “I should write a note to accompany it—perhaps if you stay to supper—”

“Captain!” That was Burek. “There’s a messenger from the Council; they bid you to the city.”

The Marshal laughed. “So much for supper,” he said. “No, do not apologize. Shall we ride up together?”

In the long summer evening, they rode back to the city, Arcolin’s escort behind them. The guards at the gate passed them through without question. “Where is the Field of Falk?” Arcolin asked. “Or is there more than one?”

“Only one; we outnumber them, with three granges. In the northeast quadrant, a little north of the east gates. My grange, should you wish to visit another time, is in the smiths’ street, near the main market.”

“I will do so,” Arcolin said, “though I planned to march south in the morning; I will be back later. And here—I must make offering—” He reached into his belt pouch.

The Marshal held up a hand. “No, Captain. Not now. We worked together to defeat an evil; we did not exchange blows. Your contribution will be gratefully received another time, but not now.”

“You certainly gave enough blows,” Arcolin said. “That work—”

“Is well repaid by seeing good metal lose its evil taint. No, I know what Gird requires, and this day Gird requires no offering from you. Another time, I am sure he will.” The Marshal grinned, touched his riding whip to his head and reined his horse down a side street before Arcolin could say more.

The Council had gathered in the Council chamber; Arcolin recognized most of them from years past. Another boon he owed Kieri, for Kieri had ensured that his captains—especially the senior captains—met senior officials wherever they had a contract.

“My pardon, sirs, for appearing in such disarray,” Arcolin said. “We had a situation that demanded my attention all afternoon.”