"Yes. I suggest you send someone down to the marketplace and see if my horse is for sale or if a horse of that description sold yesterday. Dark bay, looks black from a distance, touch of white on the off rear pastern. Well-built, no brands or other marks. If he's there, he knows my call-better the whistle that was in my pack, but that's conveniently gone. My pack would be easy to lose down any cistern."

"If you believe it is someone from here, I cannot send anyone," the Marshal-General said. "If you're well enough, let's go."

"Now? In these?" Arvid glanced down at his flower-embroidered front.

"They will not recognize you," she pointed out, but she was laughing at him; he could see it in her eyes. "We will let your kteknik kteknik gnome know where you've gone, and then see if your horse was sold, while others look for the missing boys." gnome know where you've gone, and then see if your horse was sold, while others look for the missing boys."

In those clothes Arvid felt as conspicuous as a cow in a kitchen, despite seeing at least half the population dressed similarly. A disguise, yes, but he preferred concealment by shadow, in the night, not this.

The first of the horse-dealers specialized in teams; Arvid left the Marshal-General chatting with the man and strolled through the barn...no, his horse was not concealed in a back corner or in the yard where an old swaybacked roan dozed in one corner. The second, nearer the east gate, had more saddle horses, including a dark bay with three stockings and a thin stripe, drinking from a stone trough alongside two chestnuts and a gray. "There he is," Arvid said.

"You said white only on the off hind."

"So I did. That's not natural white-it's whitewash." Arvid pursed his lips and whistled. The horse jerked up its head and looked around.

"Well, that looks-" The horse dipped its head again. "-like a horse that alerts to whistles," the Marshal-General said. "So how do you propose to prove it's yours?"

"Soap and water," Arvid said. "It's an amateurish job. I can tell that from here."

The horse-dealer protested. "It can't be stolen. That Marshal told me-a Marshal from up there." The man pointed his thumb up the hill. "He said it was his, and he wanted something quieter, not so flashy."

"Did he say why he bought it in the first place?"

"No...t'horse was jerking on the lead. I thought maybe he was heavy-handed." The horse-dealer watched Arvid scrubbing at the white on the near fore. "I swear, Marshal-General, I didn't know...he was a Marshal; I never even thought about it-"

"There we go." Arvid spoke up. Patchy black showed through the white now. "See that?"

"Yes." The horse-dealer grimaced. "And I paid..." His voice faltered as Arvid looked at him. "Two gold crescents."

"I'll wager he didn't haggle," Arvid said.

"No, but I thought...he's a Marshal, see."

"Did you record the purchase?" the Marshal-General said.

"Yes, Marshal-General, just like the Code says."

A full gla.s.s later, Arvid's horse was back in a stall at the Gird's Hall stables and the gnome was back at his side; he had finally told Arvid his name, Datturatkvin. "But for humans, Dattur alone is enough," he said.

Arvid nodded. "Thank you, Dattur, for the gift of your name." He turned to the Marshal-General. "Are there other stables here, or just this one?"

"The knights have their own, and so do the paladins and paladin-candidates," the Marshal-General said. "Why?"

"Would someone instantly notice an extra saddle and bridle, do you think?"

"Not with all the concern focused here," she said. "I'll go with you."

Dattur found Arvid's saddle stuffed into a grain bin in the knights' stable; Arvid recognized his bridle in a tangle of those awaiting mending in the tack repair area. "Someone is clever," Arvid said. "He-or she-had limited time to suggest I was guilty...to dispose of my horse, tack, pack in only a few turns of the gla.s.s, without being noticed. I wonder, how many non-knights come into this stable? Would the stable help know if someone did?"

"In daylight, certainly. At night, there's a watch going the rounds, but no specific guard."

From her tone, this might change. Arvid nodded. "So anyone who knew the watch schedule could come in here, dispose of the tack...What about the guest stables?"

"The same. But do you have any idea where the boys might be, if they weren't killed?"

"No. I don't know this city. You've tried cisterns, I suppose, and granaries...any place big enough to hold boys and secure enough they couldn't get out?"

"Not yet. Not all of them." She looked pale; Arvid realized she must feel responsible for the boys' safety.

"If I were the thief," Arvid said, "I'd be busy enough disposing of that horse and my tack-that must've been done while the horse-dealer was still up, willing to make a deal. Then finding a hiding place for the necklace. I don't think I'd waste time putting the boys anywhere difficult...just enough to keep them out of the way while I escaped. It would take a hard man to kill two boys who happened to see him, which is what I suspect happened."

"Would you?" she asked.

"No," Arvid said. "I might knock them on the head enough that they'd be silent. Put them in a pantry or something." He thought a moment longer. "Say the boys were in the School, as they ought to have been, and heard something-saw something-maybe my things being taken from my room. They're discovered-maybe they didn't think to conceal themselves. It's not easy to silence two boys and then carry them any distance. I'll wager they're still in the School barracks."

"n.o.body's reported anything."

"Let me look."

As they came into the forecourt, Arvid called over two boys carrying a barrel slung from a pole. "When you don't want to be found, where do you go?"

They glanced at each other, then at the Marshal-General.

"It's important," she said. "We think Baris and Tamis are hurt."

"Well...there's the back cellar. We're not supposed to go there, but Baris found a trap-door."

"Show me."

There they found the two boys, bound and gagged, both with bruises suggesting they'd fought hard and unsuccessfully and been knocked unconscious. Tears had left streaky tracks down their dusty, bruised faces.

Baris, as soon as the gag was out, said, "It was a Marshal-a Marshal of Gird-I couldn't believe-"

The other boy, smaller, said nothing; he seemed scarcely aware.

"Get him to the infirmary," the Marshal-General said. She turned to Baris. Arvid had cut his hands free, and the boy was rubbing his wrists. "So, Baris, can you walk? Or shall we carry you upstairs for a good meal?"

"I-I can walk," he said. He staggered with his first step, but his gait steadied. He accepted help on the stairs, but beyond the bruises and paleness, he seemed unharmed.

The Training Master insisted on his cleaning up before a meal, but soon enough he was seated in the Training Master's office with a tray in front of him and the Marshal-General and Arvid seated on either side. While he attacked his food, the adults talked of other things.

As the color came back into the boy's face and his eating slowed, the Marshal-General said, "Baris, can you tell us now what happened? You said a Marshal of Gird-do you know which one?"

"No, Marshal-General. It was my fault, anyway-"

"What was?"

"Tamis being involved. You know the older boys are in the upper bunks-he had the lower one. I woke up-I needed the pot-and as I was climbing down, I heard something-and I slipped and kicked Tam, by accident. He woke up. Then he heard it too."

The rest of Baris's story included seeing a grown man in a Marshal's tabard in Arvid's guest-room, stuffing Arvid's clothes into his pack. The boys had watched; Baris had to keep shushing Tamis, who wanted to ask questions, but they'd been caught when the man came into the corridor. Before they could do anything, the man had knocked Tamis senseless; Baris, shocked to stillness for a moment, found himself gagged with a glove before he could cry out. He tried to struggle, but the man overpowered him with a few blows. A hand at his throat, and the next thing he knew, he was bound and gagged in the cellar, with Tamis beside him.

"Did you see anything distinctive about him?"

"No...well, he had something glittery around his neck."

"Glittery?"

"I just saw it for a second, when he had my throat-a bit of it, anyway, where his shirt was open."

"The necklace," the Marshal-General said.

"I'm sure," Arvid said. To Baris, he said, "You are lucky to have been found."

"It was not luck," Baris said. "It was Gird. I prayed, and I'm sure Tamis did, too. I knew someone would find us. How's Tam?"

"In the infirmary," Arvid said. "Luck came almost too late for him."

"Gird came soon enough," Baris said.

Arvid sighed. Apparently fear had driven the boy back into his narrow faith. He made another attempt to inject some realism into the discussion. "Gird punished you for trying to stop a thief?"

"No...it was a test..."

The Marshal-General gave Arvid a warning glance. "Baris, do you remember anything more about the man. Young, old, bearded, clean-shaven, dark hair or light?"

"There wasn't much light. He was about as tall as you, Marshal-General, and his hair was...not black, and not really light. Brown, I guess. He had a short beard, like a lot of Marshals. Hair to here-" Baris touched his shoulder.

"Would he look like a Marshal out of that tabard, Baris?" Arvid asked. "Would you recognize him in ordinary garb, say, if he cut his hair?" The boy merely looked confused.

Once back in her office, Arianya summoned the Archivist to see what more had been learned from Luap's scrolls while she was away.

"Quite a bit, Marshal-General, but the most important things may be these: that cloth we found was an altar cloth for the High Lord's Hall made by a mageborn woman named Dorhaniya. That's in both Luap's writings and the records here. Gird himself gave permission for her to show it to a mageborn Sunlord priest named Aranha, and it was dedicated at the altar."

"In Gird's time?" Arianya asked. "I thought the rituals of Esea Sunlord were forbidden, as being tainted by blood magic."

"It's clear, Marshal-General, that our records of the period deviate from Luap's and from the writings of his followers as we found them in Kolobia. Another thing-not all the scrolls Paks brought us are Luap's. Some are even older than that, relating to events in Aarenis so distant in time, our only referents for the names and places are legendary. The language, too, is difficult."

"But the altar-cloth," Arianya said. "You're sure it was made for the High Lord's Hall and there was an actual priest of Esea Sunlord present?"

"According to Luap and the archives, Marshal-General."

"I need to see it again," Arianya said. "I believe I have seen a duplicate in Tsaia." She described the cloth that wrapped a crown now hidden from view, a crown from magelord times. "And," she said, "a magelord lives now, magery unlocked, to whom that crown answers."

"Answers?"

Arianya nodded. "I must talk to the Council about all this, but ask you to hold it close until I convene a Council meeting-but you scholars must know what to look for. That regalia is surely royal, from kings of old, and it speaks to Duke Dorrin Verrakai. Paksenarrion-whom I met again, and more must be told of that-helped unlock Dorrin Verrakai's mage-powers and was there when the regalia first showed power. Dorrin Verrakai gave it to Tsaia's king, as a coronation gift, and it lies presently in the king's treasury, but only Dorrin Verrakai can move it. The crown is wrapped in a cloth that, to my memory and Paks's, is the same design and style of embroidery as the cloth found in Kolobia. Moreover, that necklace Paks brought us-the sapphires and diamonds-is much the same design as the other regalia. Paks thinks it's part of the set." Arianya sighed. "I need all these threads untangled and the pattern laid clear, to know how best to proceed. Two years ago, I thought I understood all-now I know nothing, or so it seems."

"Here's the cloth, Marshal-General," said one of the scholars, who had gone to fetch it. She unfolded its wrappings and laid it out.

"It's the same," Arianya said, leaning over it. The scholar hovered, as if to be sure Arianya didn't touch those tiny st.i.tches. "I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. An altar-cloth would be made to an older design...at least, I'm a.s.suming the regalia are from before Luap's time."

"We haven't started on the priest's journal," another scholar said.

"Another question," Arianya said. "Have you found anything from Luap's Stronghold to indicate that elves ever lived there?"

"Elves? No. Their holy symbol is carved there, and Luap said one appeared, along with a dwarf and a gnome, but no sign of their living understone. Why?"

"We never asked Paksenarrion, when she was a student here, about what she saw in the banast taig that became the elfane taig. And more-we never asked any of the elves visiting here, though some were of the Ladysforest."

One of the scholars looked startled. "That's true-we didn't."

"Glamour," Arianya said, slapping her thigh. "They cozened us with a glamour, not to ask. Those patterns-in Kolobia and the High Lord's Hall and that cave Gird found-they must be elven."

"Or dwarven?"

"No. The rockfolk need no patterns to move in stone. We do. Elves do." Arianya shook her head. "I don't understand. But I will. And we must still record everything Arvid Semminson can remember about his encounters with Paksenarrion...any detail might be important, not just as a record of her deeds."

Vonja outbounds

The cohort had just moved to a camp south and east of their first area, where the ruins of another village and its overgrown fields gave them a defensible position along an old east-west market road, now barely more than a track. Arcolin planned to stay there a hand of days to map the trails found in this section of forest before heading back to Cortes Vonja; sixty days past Midsummer was the end of their contract. He had the camp fortified as if for a longer stay: a ditch, staked in the bottom, a dirt parapet topped with brambles pushed down over upright stakes. On the fourth day, he called for a contest.

"If we just counted hits from the first day of practice, the sergeant would win by a double-fist-but to be fair to the rest of you, the bet will be decided in one contest. Fifty shots, twenty at two distances, ten at the nearest. A point for the nearest, two for the middle, three for the farthest." He looked at Stammel, who seemed not at all daunted. Well-Stammel never minded being bested by someone who was actually better. "Some of you didn't take the original bet, but you've all had the practice, so I'm telling you-for a jug of ale in Valdaire, you're all in it. If Stammel wins, I hope he can drink that much..." Laughter. No one complained that Stammel's guides-the two who gave him the direction and distance by calling from near the target-gave him unfair advantage.

All of them placed all ten shots in the near target, as he'd expected. In the middle distance, Stammel and two others-Coben and Suli-placed all twenty; the rest missed one to three each. In the long, no one hit with all twenty shots; Stammel and Coben both got nineteen, Suli eighteen.