He’d have remembered that himself, he thought; but with his palm on the hilt of the Sword there was no need to struggle with memory or call for files from his staff. It flowed in currents like the deep strong movements of the ocean, any knowledge he’d ever so much as glimpsed just there in any form he wanted it. He no longer feared the sensation.

I’m . . . resigned, he thought. It’s even coming to seem natural. And sure, it’s as convenient as an ever-filled stock of firewood in winter. I’ll have to watch that I don’t make the Kingdom too dependent on it in the long run, to be sure.

“Lord Rigobert de Stafford, Baron of Forest Grove, yes, Your Majesty,” the Grand Constable said. “With local forces of the County called out under the arrière-ban, mostly, besides his own menie, and a thousand or so from County Chehalis who he’s been hammering into shape for eight months now. A very capable man; aggressive, but not reckless.”

Unexpectedly Signe spoke, with her brother nodding agreement: “He’s the PPA Marchwarden of the South, so we Bearkillers have a border with his bailiwick. I’ve dealt with him myself. A hard bargainer but honorable.”

“Very well, I defer to your wishes, Grand Constable; send those units immediately.”

She bowed again. “I’ll get things moving then, Your Majesty.”

A polite nod to the others, and one of her squires led her courser forward. She put one hand on the cantle of the high knight’s saddle and made a skipping leap. Her left foot caught the stirrup, and she swung onto the horse with a light clatter of gray steel. The party of Associates reined around and cantered off. Bjarni watched consideringly.

“How effective is that armor?” he asked; his own folk used knee-length tunics of mail or scale, and simple conical helms with a strip riveted to the front as a nose-guard.

“Very,” Rudi said; then he touched the Sword that hung at his right hip. “This could cut it, but an ordinary slash with an ordinary sword, no, it’s about like trying to chop through an anvil. Even if you’re very strong, the most you could do would be to dent it quite a bit, knock the wearer down and bruise him badly. You have to thrust, so”—he indicated face, armpits, groin, the backs of the knees—“and even then you’d best be lucky. You need a two-handed weapon like a long ax or a greatsword to pierce plate. Or something that concentrates impact, like a war-pick, or a war hammer. Or a lance with a charging horse behind it, or a hard-driven bodkin-tipped arrow or bolt hitting just right.”

“It doesn’t seem too heavy,” the Norrheimer said meditatively.