“Only in training—we trained with them, but rarely used them.”
“Same as us, and mostly so our swords can practice against them. Tell me, do you consider yourself fit enough for duty? M’dierra said you were sick a long time. Are you healthy now?”
“Yes, sir. I know my missing eye is a problem, but I’m otherwise whole of body and limb. If you wish to test my sword skills, I’m afraid I must ask for the loan of a sword.”
“You wouldn’t have lasted nine fighting seasons with the Blues if you weren’t a good swordsman. I think you’d better have lunch with me, Captain, because if you’re willing, you’re hired.”
The relief showed through the scar. “I—thank you, sir.”
“Come on in, meet the sergeants. They’re staying south with me, but they can fill you in—”
“Sir, I’d—I’d rather not—the way I am—”
Arcolin nodded. “You haven’t asked about your pay—you’re due a signing bonus. We have to get you on the rolls for that—come in for that, and then meet me for supper.”
Despite his ragged clothes—he’d probably sold his good ones for food or lodging—Arneson already moved more confidently. Arcolin ordered hot bread and sib. “We have to share bread and salt,” he said. “It’s our custom.”
Arneson smiled as best he could. “I grew up with that. Thank you—I have a pinch of salt.”
Arcolin sent Stammel, who had been waiting for him in the common room, to fetch the cohort rolls. As they waited, Arneson sat straight, almost rigid, carefully not looking at the bread. Arcolin knew better than to offer. Stammel brought in the rolls, a quill, and an ink stick and bowl, then withdrew. Arcolin mixed the ink, tested the quill, and turned to Arneson.
“Your full name and your home, where you were born?”
“Talvis Keri Arneson, of Sorellin, but my parents came from the north, from southern Fintha. They were dyers by trade.”
Arcolin wrote that in, and had Arneson repeat the familiar oath, changing Kieri’s name to his own. Then Arcolin broke the loaf; Arneson shook the meager contents of a paper twist of salt onto it, and Arcolin pushed the pieces together. Joining heart-hands, they turned it over three times and then broke off pieces, each offering one to the other. Arneson signed the book, and they were done.
“You might as well help me eat this,” Arcolin said.
His new captain shook his head, but drank a mug of sib and ate half the loaf anyway.
Three glasses later, when Captain Talvis Arneson reappeared, the door ward did not hesitate to let him in. Arcolin, fetched by Sergeant Devlin, recognized only the scar. Clean, shaved, his hair neatly clubbed at the neck, an eye patch rather than a rag covering his ruined eye, in clean clothes only slightly worn, boots oiled, a plain but serviceable sword at his side, he looked nothing like the ragged beggar he’d seemed before. He must have spent the entire advance, Arcolin thought, to look that good that fast.
“Reporting for duty,” he said.
“Excellent,” Arcolin said. “I’ve just hired a second captain, who’ll be going north with you. He’s gone to fetch his things from his lodgings. He has his own mount, but no spare; you’ll need to visit the horse yards tomorrow and find a mount and spare for yourself. Our limit for officers’ mounts is twelve natas. Right now, I need someone to check with the quartermaster—how close are we to being ready to march? Sergeant Devlin, this is Captain Arneson; introduce him to the quartermaster, answer his questions, and so on.”
“Yes, sir,” Devlin said. He turned to Arneson. “Captain, this way, sir.”
The next day, Arcolin watched his newly hired captains as they carried out task after task he gave them. Arneson, sent to the horse market, came back with three horses—two for himself and a spare for Versin. All three were exactly the kind of sound, useful mounts Arcolin would have chosen for the long ride north. Arneson had had them freshly shod, as well. Versin, sent to market to obtain travel clothes and supplies, returned with a reasonable selection. Burek, chosen to stay with Arcolin in Aarenis, spent the entire day with the sergeants and the troops, supervising drill in a field outside the city. Around noon, one of the troops came to the inn to report that Stammel thought the young captain would do.
“What did you think?” Arcolin asked.
“He’s got a funny accent, but he knows his business, sir. Stammel asked him to set us a tactical problem, and he got us working with one of the Free Pikes cohorts. Says we’ll do another this afternoon.”
“Excellent,” Arcolin said. “Tell him that I’d like him back here for supper with the other captains before full dark.” He spent the afternoon writing letters to Cracolnya, the prince in Vérella, and Kieri Phelan.
He wondered where the Halverics were; he’d been here three days and heard nothing of them. Had Aliam retired? Then he remembered that Halveric came from Lyonya. Of course he had stayed north, to attend his protégé’s coronation. Arcolin let himself imagine, for a few moments, what that might be like. How would elves crown a king? Or would it be just the humans? Nobody had ever explained how that worked, the joint rule of a kingdom, and he could not figure it out. He wished he could be there to see Kieri crowned … but he was better here. The Company—his Company—needed him.
At supper that night, Arcolin ate with his three new captains. Versin and Arneson had met; Arneson had accepted the additional clothes Versin bought for the journey with the air of a man who knew he had been given charity and knew also he must accept it graciously. He’d changed to a clean shirt and trousers for dinner.
Arcolin kept the table talk to business; time enough for them to share personal matters later. “You two head north tomorrow,” he said to Arneson and Versin. “I’ve written you a safe-passage through Tsaia on the trade road. Ordinarily you’d travel with a northbound caravan, but I need you in the north sooner than that. You’ll have to stop in Vérella at least one night; I’m sure the Council will want a report from you on the south. They know I was planning to hire replacement captains here; they’ll probably be watching for you. Don’t get drawn into political discussions; even if you know something about Tsaian nobility, best not to show it.”
He laid out the situation as he knew it, including Dorrin’s probable elevation to the dukedom of Verrakai and the Order of Attainder on Verrakai and Konhalt. They listened attentively, including young Burek, who’d be staying with him in the south.
“Are we authorized replacement mounts in case one goes lame?” Versin asked.
“Yes. I’ve made a list of the people we deal with in every town; I spoke to them on the way south and they’ve agreed to supply you. You’ll have to sign for it, of course. Check in with the moneychanger listed for each town; he will authorize your lodging and, if necessary a mount.”
“So we will not need to carry much money,” Versin said.
“That’s right. Safer than showing gold on the road. The Duke set it up that way years ago, as soon as he could afford it. I must warn you, though, with the Verrakai mess going on, Tsaia may not be as safe as usual, even on the trade road. You will be safer traveling as civilians, but some count’s alert reeve, or some Girdish Marshal, may insist on stopping you and asking questions. Show them the pass; everyone on that route knows me and knows the Company.”
Arcolin noticed that Arneson ate no faster and no more than the others; he admired the man’s determination to hide his poverty. Still, the sooner the man put some weight on his scrawny frame, the better. He called Arneson back as the others were leaving.
“I can tell that you’re basically healthy,” he said. “But I want our physician to see you, to see if he thinks you need a special diet. Fever, they tell me, does some damage that certain herbs can heal.”