Sef saluted, then carefully rinsed the can and set it to dry before going out. Arcolin followed him, wondering if he’d have to explain to the Vonja agents before he found Stammel. Instead, Stammel met him at the gate. Arcolin smiled.

“Your good instincts again, Sergeant.”

“My insatiable curiosity, Captain. News from the Duke could always be marching orders.”

“It’s strange news indeed, and I’m not sure what will happen now,” Arcolin said. “The courier was Sef of Dorrin’s cohort—he needs a quiet bed to sleep; he was three days in thick fog between here and the south border. I sent him to the mess hall.”

“I’ll see to it, Captain.”

“I need to talk to the other captains before I spread the news,” Arcolin said. “I can tell you this—nothing will be the same.”

“It never is,” Stammel said. “That’s why we like it. Your leave, Captain.”

“Go ahead,” Arcolin said, thinking again how lucky he was to have Stammel as senior sergeant.

He found Cracolnya in the stables, talking fodder with the quartermaster.

“And I don’t know where more hay’s coming from, this time of year,” the quartermaster said. “Nobody’s got enough stored; it’s not to be bought, not at any price, and I know the Duke wouldn’t want us to take from the farmers’ stock.”

Arcolin made a motion with his head, and Cracolnya nodded. To the quartermaster he said, “A messenger’s come from the Duke; maybe an order to move out—that would help.”

“I hope so,” the quartermaster said gloomily. He spat into a corner. “I can’t be sure …”

Arcolin led the way down the aisle between rows of tie stalls to the box stalls at the end, empty now but for his and Cracolnya’s mounts.

“What is it? You look—strange.”

“I should. You must read it yourself.” He handed over the message tube; Cracolnya opened it, unrolled the message, and started to read. Arcolin’s roan ambler moved up to the front of the stall and nudged him; he rubbed the velvety muzzle absently while watching Cracolnya’s face.

“I—I don’t know what to think,” Cracolnya said, when he’d finished. “He’s a king? In Lyonya? How did that happen?”

“I don’t know more than this.”

“They have a king already,” Cracolnya said. “What’s he think about it?”

“You missed a bit,” Arcolin said. “He stuck it in between lines. Their king died without an heir. Paks was there—that’s where she went when she left here. She felt called to find the heir.” He ran a hand over his head. “But—what do we do now? He wants troops out guarding the Pargunese border; he thinks they might use this as an excuse to attack.”

“Scouts haven’t said anything.”

“No. And this about a contract. You know what he said before he went south; he expected to take the Company south. But only one cohort?” He shook his head. “You know the Vonjans. They’ll want twice the work for half the pay.”

“One cohort out, with pack mules, would ease the fodder situation,” Cracolnya said. “Two would be better, if you can talk them into it.”