The comment elicited a few chuckles, an elbow to the ribs, a snort of laughter.

“Most of you will go home disappointed. You can help us with our chores, you can share sex with any one of us, remind us that your uncle knows our aunt or your clan made a deal with one of ours years ago. You can share apprenticeship stories—I rode my year as a messenger for Ilu, by the way—but none of that will matter. The eagles choose. We don’t. How they make their choice we’ve never known. Even with as many eagles as we have here now looking for new reeves, I can’t even say that one of you waiting here will be marked and chosen by an eagle. You may all end up walking home. You may ask to stay on as assistant to one of our fawkners, who take on the difficult job of caring for the eagles and the lofts. You may hire on as one of the stewards and hirelings who do the day-to-day work of running the hall. Even if you do become a reeve, you’ll discover that the training process is arduous and dangerous.”

Restless murmurs began to rise. He raised a hand to quiet them. “Is there a question?”

An older man rose respectfully. “Marshal, thanks for hearing me. How long have you been a reeve?”

“Twenty-two years.”

“And how long a marshal?”

“Twelve days.” That got a laugh.

A younger voice called from the crowd. “Is it true that eagles sometimes kill their reeves?”

“It’s very rare, but it happens. If you don’t like that answer, then leave now.” He waited, but no one moved, nor did he expect any person to walk out while everyone else watched. “Hall eagles aren’t as territorial as eagles in the wild. Perhaps the gods bred it out of them. But they are territorial, and they will tangle, and the routines of patrol and hall rest and mating cycles are carefully calibrated so the halls can function smoothly. Eagles are our partners, not our servants. Their needs come first. There’s one other thing you may not fully understand. Once chosen, you cannot change your mind. You are a reeve for life. You can’t leave. And if your eagle dies, you will die with them.”

“Do you regret it?” called the older woman suddenly. “Do you regret being chosen as a reeve by your eagle?”

Joss grinned. “Never.”

He put his bone whistle to his lips and blew a note no human ear could hear. From elsewhere in the compound, dogs barked. Scar appeared, huge body seeming monstrous as he flew in low over the walls. Folk shrieked in alarm. The big eagle braked with talons forward and wings wide, and whumped down onto one of the big perches. Most flinched, or jumped back. A few, to their credit, did not. Scar dipped his head and turned it upside down to stare at the assembly, making many laugh nervously. Joss walked in under the cruel beak, within reach of the killing talons.