Gabriel flashed her a smile. “Let’s take a closer look,” he said, and dismounted. MacGilly, the page, sprang forward and took his horse, and then took Anne’s, and Gabriel, armoured head to toe in his old harness, went down on one knee as the small easterner told of his arrows.

Mikal Dvor, a different kind of easterner, with high cheekbones and pale eyes, dismounted, slipping easily to the ground and nodding back over his shoulder at Count Zac, who looked pleased at the man chosen; better him than almost any other man in the third rank . . .

“He says here are forty arrows for men or horses. He says they have no soul, but they are fine arrows.” Dvor held one up: a Liviapolis Arsenal manufactured arrow, with a cane shaft, a light steel head, diamond cross-section, armour piercing point, goosefeather fletch.

“No soul?” the emperor.

The small man spoke at length.

Dvor shrugged. “He is Klugthai, a nomad from so far to the east that it is as far from his homeland to mine as it is from mine to . . . Lucrece.” He spread his hands and winked at Anne.

She flushed for no reason and was annoyed at herself.

Dvor waved at Klugthai. “He says when a warrior makes his own arrows, he gives them something of his soul. But he says he rides far, and eats the emperor’s salt, and kills his enemies, and he admits that the emperor’s sorcerers make arrows that kill.” Dvor met the emperor’s eyes. “I find him hard to understand, and I have ridden with him ten years.”

“Show me the other arrows,” the emperor commanded.

Klugthai held out a handful of arrows. “These five are for very long shots. He made them himself,” Dvor translated. “These two are signal arrows; they shriek. Every rider must have one. It happens that he is one of my squadron’s best men and has a spare.”

Morgon took the arrow. He moved his hand over it. “Is louder better?” he asked.

Dvor repeated the question.

The little man grinned. “Da,” he said.

Morgon released the working and handed back the shaft. “It will be very loud,” he said.

The small man bowed, clasping both hands and tapping them to his forehead.

“And these?” the emperor asked.

“One for killing horses. One for killing very big things; monsters.”

“Just one?” the emperor asked.

Dvor shrugged. “Most of us shot away all our monster killers facing the Umroth, Your Grace.”

“Got it,” Michael said. He made a note on his wax tablet.

“And that’s why you have inspections,” the emperor said to his squire.

She nodded, fascinated by the row of arrows left.

“And that one?” she asked, greatly daring.

Dvor smiled at her. “It holds a line. For shooting a rope, or starting a trap.”

“This one?” she asked.

The emperor looked at her.