He laughed bitterly. “We lost. Argent Hall is the playing ground for bullies, cowards, thieves, and murderers now. You would think that every crooked reeve has flown in and made himself a cozy nest in our lovely hall.” He choked down a sob.

She reached out to touch his hand. “Garrard’s death isn’t your fault.”

“If I’d called out sooner—” he whispered.

She slapped him under the chin. He reared back, and she jumped to her feet. “There’s nothing you could have done! How many times do I have to tell you?”

He rubbed his jaw. “We could fly to Clan Hall, give them our report. Surely they ought to have sent someone to investigate. They should want to know why Yordenas swings the marshal’s staff yet we’ve never seen feather or talon of his eagle.”

The woman slumped down on the log. “Clan Hall! Didn’t they authorize half the transfers of those criminals into Argent Hall? Maybe they’re up to their beaks in the whole corrupt enterprise.” She shoved a stick into the fire, then cursed when the edifice of burning scaffolding cracked and tumbled, spilling sparks and spits of red-hot wood everywhere.

They both leaped up, stamping and laughing in the way of old comrades who can down a mug of ale and enjoy a bowl of porridge after exhuming a rotting corpse from the pit where the murderer buried it.

“Eridit’s Tit! That’s burned my arm.” The man brushed himself down. His face, turned into the light, had a grim pallor. “Eiya! Dov, what will we do?”

She sat back down, kicked a charred stick into the fire pit, and picked up a new branch to poke around until she rousted fresh flames. “See if it’s true that this Captain Beron is in league with Argent Hall in some murky doings. I just don’t get it.”

“What’s to understand? There’s a larger conspiracy boiling under our noses. Yordenas is taking orders from the north. He’s got his cronies hunting into the Barrens for this ‘treasure’ everyone is whispering of. Gold. Gems. Silk.”

The woman shook her head. Like the man, she had the look of an experienced reeve not much older than Marit had been, in the prime of her reeve service. Tall and lean, she had a firm grip as she grabbed his wrist.

“Teren. Listen. Maybe it isn’t an object. Maybe this ‘treasure’ everyone whispers of is a goal. Why take over Argent Hall with their thugs and their squirks if they didn’t want the power to twist the hall and the eagles and the reeves to their own purposes? To rule the Hundred?”

“Neh. I think it’s an object, all right. I think they’re the greediest scum that ever mucked a pond, looking to make themselves rich. I think—”

“Hush.”

She rose and drew her short sword. He eased back and picked up his baton from the ground behind him, held it under his cloak. They were not looking toward the place Marit had hidden herself.