“These ties are called the brace,” explained the injured fawkner. “You stayed calm.”

“Best get that arm tended to, Rena,” said the small fawkner, taking charge. “Aras, can you run and get the salve? I’ll need the imping needle and—Eiya!—just bring the lot of it. What’s your name again?”

When no one answered, Nallo realized he was talking to her. “I’m called Nallo.”

“Well done. Tumna’s famous for having an uncertain temper at the best of times, but you handled her well. Better than Horas ever did.”

“Who is Horas?”

“Her last reeve.”

“What happened to him?”

Tumna dipped her head, huge beak probing the air as the marshal and Volias walked over.

“Keep talking,” said the small fawkner. “She likes the sound of your voice.”

“Tumna, don’t fret, they’re coming although I must say they’re slow about it and why all these staring fools have to stand here and stare so rudely is beyond my understanding. How badly is her wing injured?”

The fawkner was grinning, although she couldn’t figure what he thought was so funny. “She can fly on it, so that’s one thing. But we’ve got bleeding even after this long because she’s not resting properly. As you can see, she’s still in pain and not healing as she ought.”

“Volias,” Nallo said, “can’t you just chase these people off? Don’t they have anything better to do?”

He said, to the marshal, “You’re a hard man, Joss. I didn’t know you had it in you. I thought sure the cursed bird was going to rip—”

“Shut up, Volias,” said the marshal in a flat voice.

“I’ll take it from here, Marshal,” said the small fawkner in the manner of a man rushing to fill a gap.

“What was he going to say?” Nallo demanded.

“Rip off the hood,” said the marshal. “They’re trained to accept the hood when they first come to the hall. An eagle like Tumna or my Scar is accustomed to it. It eases them, helps them settle if they’re injured or exhausted. An eagle tumbles quick from keen-set to frail-set.”

“If you don’t mind,” said the fawkner, “we’ll get her settled.”

Thus dismissed, she had no choice except to walk with the marshal out of the parade ground and down an alley between storehouses. The reeve hall was a prosperous place, with plenty of impressive buildings to house its reeves, fawkners, assistants, hirelings, slaves, and eagles, and to store the provisions necessary to maintaining the hall.

“What happened to her other reeve?” she asked as her feet kicked up chalky dirt.

Volias coughed.

The marshal said, “Dead in the recent battle.”

“Do eagles mourn their reeves when they go?”

“Hard to say. We like to think so.”

“Do reeves mourn their eagles?”

He sighed as he looked at her. “Reeves don’t survive the death of their eagles.”

“You can’t mean it. How old can an eagle get?”

“Hall records show that the longest known life span of an eagle encompassed six reeves, although only one of those reeves lived to old age.”