“You’ll need the courage to stand here, knowing your eagle can kill you. You’ll need the courage to imp her feathers, cope her beak and talons, and a hundred more things besides. You’ll need patience to build the trust that jesses the bond between you.”

Scar opened his wings like great sails. He flirted. He squawked with that funny chirp the big eagles had, so at odds with their size and magnificent beauty.

“We’re bringing a training master down from Clan Hall, by the name of Arda. The senior fawkners are Askar, Verena, and Geddi. Now, Steward Govard will assign work duties and sleeping billets to those of you who wish to try your luck.”

He stepped from under Scar’s shade, and whistled. The eagle thrust and with a hammer of vast wings beat aloft, caught the wisp of a current, rode it to a better thermal, and shot up into the sky. Govard took his place, and Joss retreated to the marshal’s cote. Askar had left for the city, but others filed in with a thousand tasks left undone that needed his sanction. The morning wore on and on. He downed another two cups of rice wine, poured a third, but set it aside untouched.

Siras stuck his head in. “Marshal? The bell rang for meal. Will you want to eat in the hall or have me bring you a tray here?”

“Gods!” He stared longingly at the third cup of wine. “Can someone clear out these writing things? Who is meant to straighten this chamber?”

Siras shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I’m assigned to you for the moment, Marshal.”

“Surely you should be patrolling, Siras. Don’t you have a young eagle?”

“Fortune is his name. He vanished just after you and the outlanders drove out Yordenas and his crew. The fawkners told me Fortune’s overdue for nesting, so they think he’s flown to Heaven’s Ridge.” He wore the optimistic vigor of youth easily, but when he thought of his eagle, the line of his mouth cut downward and his gaze tightened. “Wouldn’t I know if he was dead?”

“The fawkners here know their business,” said Joss. “Heaven’s Ridge it is, and so you’re assigned to me for the interim, I take it. No doubt you’d rather be patrolling.”

The lad grinned winningly. “They do say it’s the best way to learn. That is, to follow around a more experienced reeve.” His gaze drifted to the full cup, and flashed away, and Joss wondered if someone had told him to monitor the new marshal’s drinking. It was the kind of thing the commander out of Clan Hall would happily command; she had a gift for sticking the salted knife into an already open wound.

He sighed. “I’ll go to the hall and eat with everyone else. That’s the custom.”

At first the senior reeves who were left hesitated to join him at the marshal’s table, but he waved them over with a pleasant smile to cover his irritation. In his short tenure as marshal, Yordenas had corrupted the traditions of the reeve hall even down to so small but significant a habit as the marshal taking his meals with the reeves so he could gauge the temper of the hall through hearing the complaints, troubles, gossip, and good tidings that circulated around the tables where everyone ate.