You figured how to read these northern chicken tracks? Elmo asked. He had led me into what must have been the headquarters for the whole camp. He indicated a mountain of papers his men had piled on the floor, evidently as tinder for another fire.

I think I can puzzle it out.

Thought you might find something in this stuff.

I selected a paper at random. It was a copy of an order directing a specific Rebel mainforce battalion to filter into Lords and disappear into the homes of local sympathizers till called to strike at Lords defenders from within. It was signed Whisper. A list of contacts was appended.

Ill say, I said, suddenly short of breath. That one order betrayed a half-dozen Rebel secrets, and implied several more. Ill say. I grabbed another. Like the first, it was a directive to a specific unit. Like the first, it was a window into the heart of current Rebel strategy. Get the Captain, I told Elmo. Get Goblin and One-Eye and the Lieutenant and anybody else who maybe ought to be....

I must have looked weird. Elmo wore a strange, nervous expression when he interrupted. What the hell is it, Croaker?

All the orders and plans for the campaign against Lords. The complete order of battle. But that was not the bottom line. That I was going to save for the Captain himself. And hurry. Minutes might be critical. And stop them from burning anything like this. For Hells sake, stop them. Weve hit paydirt. Dont send it up in smoke.

Elmo slammed through the door. I heard his bellows fade into the distance. A good sergeant, Elmo. He does not waste time asking questions. Grunting, I settled myself on the floor and began scanning documents.

The door creaked. I did not look up. I was in a fever, glancing at documents as fast as I could yank them off the pile, sorting them into smaller stacks. Muddy boots appeared at the edge of my vision. Can you read these, Raven? I had recognized his step.

Can I? Yes.

Help me see what weve got here.

Raven settled himself opposite me. The pile lay between us, nearly blocking our view of one another. Darling positioned herself behind him, out of his way but well within the shadow of his protection. Her quiet, dull eyes still reflected the horror of that far village.

In some ways Raven is a paradigm for the Company. The difference between him and the rest of us is that he is a little more of everything, a little bigger than life. Maybe, by being the newcomer, the only brother from the north, he is symbolic of our life in the Ladys service. His moral agonies have become our moral agonies. His silent refusal to howl and beat his breast in adversity is ours as well. We prefer to speak with the metallic voice of our arms.