“I trained in a hard school, the palace school of the imperial palace in Sirniaka.”

“Would the Red Hounds who serve the emperor really track you into a foreign country?”

“Track the emperor’s half brother? Especially now that the emperor is facing a revolt from his cousins over whose claim to the throne is most legitimate? My brother considers me a danger to his position, and my cousins likely more so, as I am the only other surviving son of Emperor Farutanihosh, who was their father’s older brother. Or do you think Tam was killed by the demon you’re calling a Guardian?”

“He was murdered with a poisoned knife. And your other soldier poisoned as well.”

“Seren’s life was saved by Ri Amarah healing, I remind you. He and Tam had nothing to do with the demon girl, ever. Indeed, Seren complained bitterly about her traveling with the company. Many of the men did. They wanted no demon to bring ill luck down on us.” He stroked his tightly cropped beard. “Listen, Marshal. The local militia has looked into the death of Tam. But if the deed proved to be of local origin, some malcontent, would the Olossi militia hesitate to turn on one of their own?”

“You don’t trust them, even though you are—as I believe—their new commander?”

“I’m an outlander in their eyes, however appreciative they might be that my men saved them. That’s another reason I must recruit more widely. I mean to create an army out of men drawn from all over the region who will be trained under banners, not with their local cousins but with strangers. They will learn to be loyal not to their village but to Olo’osson.”

“A dangerous thing, an army,” said Joss. “As Censor Guri pointed out.”

“As you must all know by now, seeing what havoc an army can wreak on an unprotected population. Nevertheless, if your reeves might investigate, I’d be grateful. I want justice for my dead soldiers, as any captain would.”

Joss nodded. “We have our ears and eyes open. Are you ready, then? I’ll call Scar.”

“I’m ready.”

Joss raised the bone whistle to his lips, but lowered it before he blew. “You never answered my question about the Ri Amarah, and the oil of naya.”

The dimple flashed again. “Marshal, don’t you know that I leave all trading arrangements to my wife?”

MAI PLACED FLOWERS on the altar, a table raised on bricks and covered with a red cloth. An image of the Merciful One gazed upon them with a gentle, almost detached expression of compassionate enlightenment, an upraised hand to signify awakening and another hand cupped at the belly to signify comfort. The colors in the painting glowed, not quite yet dried. The features and robes had more straight lines than curves, reflecting the style of the Hundred, but the artist had done a decent job in a short time with an unfamiliar subject.

“I offer these flowers at the feet of the Merciful One. Through the merit of offering may I walk the path of awakening. The color and fragrance of flowers fade, so does the body wither and disintegrate. Receive this with compassion.”