“Burek, when I was in Valdaire, my banker told me some Guild League cities had started minting bad coins. Did you hear anything about that?”

“Yes, sir.” Burek rode his horse into the ford. “M’dierra’s company got some; she was furious. It was while I was with that cohort in Andressat. She had the rest over in Cilwan, and her banker refused about twenty percent of the payment. She had a row with the Count of Cilwan—it was Cilwan-minted coins the banker refused—and the Merchants’ Guild came in on his side, until the banker gave a public demonstration. The coins were counterfeit, all right. The natas were the weight of nas, lead-cored. The Count blamed merchants for bringing in counterfeit, swore up and down his mint was honest. The merchants were furious and blamed the Count; the Moneychangers’ Guild backed M’dierra’s demand for the rest of her pay. But Cilwan’s not the only mint to turn out bad coins—there’s been complaints of other mints, too.”

Arcolin felt stupid. “I should have looked at our merchant’s coins more closely. They looked fine to me, but now I wonder—why was he carrying so much money, not as an agent of the Moneychangers’ Guild?”

“Were they all southern mint?”

“I didn’t even see that,” Arcolin said. “Some were gold, some silver … I did see a Cortes Vonja mark on a few on top.”

“Seems unlikely all the mints would start minting bad coins at once,” Burek said. “Though it’s a way to stretch a treasury until people figure out there’s plenty of money and few goods.”

“But … if someone else were making the false coins—sending them to various cities—that would cause trouble, as in Cilwan.” He looked around. Nothing to see, nothing to hear but the gurgle of water over the ford. “Alured, I’ll wager. He wants the Guild League broken; he knows it financed the last war … if the cities war against each other, if the merchants can’t trade as they have … he could move in with more than brigands.”

“I don’t see why he isn’t happy with a dukedom,” Burek said.

“Nor I,” Arcolin said, with a sigh. “And our immediate problem is these brigands and tonight’s camp.”

Burek flushed. “Sorry, sir—”

“No—that wasn’t a correction. Thinking long-term is what made Phelan successful, but while thinking long-term we must not lose track of today’s duties. Let’s get these wagons across—we may have to unload them—and try to reach that village—ruined or not—tonight.” He cast a last look at the bootprinted game trail before turning to the cohort.

Devlin’s choices as junior sergeant and corporals had already shown their ability and energy in the previous night’s camp. Now Jenits in particular pulled almost equal weight to Devlin. Arcolin, remembering the brash youth of Jenits’s first campaign year, the last of Siniava’s War, watched the serious, determined young man organize his two files quickly and get the second wagon unloaded even before Devlin had the first one ready to cross. And it was Jenits who suggested using the spare horses and the four mules to move cargo across the stream alongside the wagons.