Kihrin followed her with his eyes as she headed toward the bar. She started talking to the bartender. Whatever Janel said made the other woman throw down her towel and cross her arms. A few seconds later, they slipped through a back door.

Meanwhile, Brother Qown picked up his notebook and read aloud. “There are many accounts of the rebellion, the reasons for it, the manner of its successes and failures. Brother Qown was certain his account wouldn’t match any other histori—”

“Hold up. I have a question,” Kihrin said.

Brother Qown paused. “Just one?”

“I make no promises,” Kihrin said dryly. “A rebellion? What rebellion? I thought we were talking about a dragon.”

“Context, remember?” Qown said. “Please be patient. It’s not as though you have any choice, until certain draconic obstacles are removed.”

“Fine, fine. Is this recent? Duke Kaen moving against the rest of the empire?” Janel and Qown had mentioned Duke Kaen earlier, and Kihrin’s friend Jarith Milligreest had been concerned about the duke’s undeclared rebellion. For that matter, Jarith’s father, High General Qoran Milligreest, had been concerned about Duke Kaen. Father and son had both watched him, waiting for the man to give them an excuse to send in the army.

Which reminded Kihrin his friend Jarith had been claimed by the Hellmarch two days before in the Capital.

He exhaled.

“My apologies,” Kihrin said. “Please continue.”

“Right, yes.” Qown looked for his place in the journal. “So … Qown would always insist the rebellion began in Jorat.

“It began with a robbery …

“The whole affair had been problematic from the start. The outlaws had proved unwilling to engage in the ‘robbing’ part of their duties. Brother Qown knew the bandits lurked in the nearby trees; he’d felt eyes on their position for hours. He wondered what they could be waiting—”

Brother Qown looked up, frowning. “Yes?”

“Third person?” Kihrin asked, trying not to laugh. “Really? If you were there … why wouldn’t you tell this from your point of view?”

“It’s a chronicle,” Brother Qown protested. “I’m a chronicler. One does not write a chronicle as a first-person diary.”

“I never found anyone who’d refer to themselves in third person trustworthy. I knew this mimic—”

Janel set down a tray filled with ciders, local beers, and several more bowls of upishiarral. “Here we are.”

“Problems with the barkeep?” Kihrin asked.

“Hm? No problem at all,” Janel said. She helped herself to a cider as she sat.

Kihrin glanced over at the bar. The bartender had returned, but now she huddled with the old groom, whispering.

“He keeps interrupting me.” Brother Qown looked over at Janel as if pleading for protection. “May I please continue?”

Janel touched Kihrin on the hand. “There’ll be no living with him if you don’t allow him to read.”

Kihrin let the little man read.

Qown’s Turn. Barsine Banner, Jorat, Quur.

The previous bandits had never hesitated like this.