“Sir, I’m well enough—”
“I don’t doubt you are well enough for duty, but humor me in this, if you will. The road north is long and hard; you will be meeting many travelers who may carry disease. A recurrence of your fever would be bad for both of us. If the physician tells you to follow a certain diet, and it prevents trouble—can that be so hard?”
Arneson flushed. “No, sir. I just—I just do not wish to cause you extra expense.”
“I’m certain you won’t. Let me introduce you to Master Simmitts.”
The physician, as Arcolin expected, recommended that Arneson eat more, to gain at least a stone. He also had specific recommendations for ordering meals at each inn. “This early in the season, traveling north, you won’t find fresh fruit. Take a sack of candied plums with you, eat at least three a day. Fresh greens, only lightly steamed, at your evening meal, along with redroots. Cows should be calving; you should be able to get fresh milk and butter. If not, be sure to eat cheese. Fever like you had thins the bones …” He was writing as he talked, and eventually handed Arneson a list. “And here’s a salve for your scar; use it morning and night. If it doesn’t last you all the way, here’s the name of a physician in Vérella who will give you more.” He took the list back, scribbled another name on it, and handed it over again.
“We have candied plums in our supplies,” Arcolin said, as they walked back to the common room. “Be sure to take a sack. I’ll be up at dawn; see me before you and Versin leave.”
“Yes, sir.” Arneson turned to the stairs and went up them with a spring in his stride.
Arcolin watched him go. If he managed only one thing right, he had given that man back hope. He could do this—it was easier every day to talk to people as if he, not Kieri, were this Company’s commander. Kieri would be pleased if he did it well. No … he would be pleased with himself if he did it well.
Arcolin woke before dawn and came downstairs to find Arneson and Versin both before him—a good sign, though he had planned to be waiting for them.
“Breakfast together?” he said.
“The horses are ready, sir,” Arneson said. Versin looked hungry.
“Breakfast,” Arcolin said. “Better here than up the pass.”
“Thank you, sir,” Versin said.
The innkeeper, warned last night of early departures, had porridge ready, bread almost out of the oven, he said, and eggs. He set out bowls of porridge and a pitcher of cream.
“The good thing about the south,” Arcolin said, having ordered everything offered, “is how early milk and eggs come in. We leave home with the cows all dry and the hens not laying, and arrive in Valdaire to the full bounty of spring.” He poured cream into his porridge; the others did the same.
Burek came into the room, carrying a bowl of porridge with a spoon stuck in it like a flagpole. “The men are up,” he said. “Moving their tackle downstairs.” He sat down and reached for the cream pitcher. Arcolin made a note to remind him that Phelani were not all men, and the preferred term was “troops.”
“Summer, more like,” Versin said, as the innkeeper brought a basket of bread still steaming from the oven. Versin broke one open then blew on his fingers. “It’ll be sweaty already, down on the plains.” He scooped a lump of butter onto the torn side of the chunk, and it melted instantly. He bit into it. “Not that I don’t like butter and eggs.”
“And here they are,” the innkeeper said, setting a platter of stirred eggs and fried ham on the table, along with a bottle of a red southern sauce. “And your plates, gentlemen.” He dealt those out, and then hurried off, as Stammel told Arcolin the troops were starting their breakfast line.
Sun gilded the mountains behind Valdaire when they came out into the yard. Arcolin handed over the packet of letters. Arneson and Versin checked their girths, then mounted and rode away. Arcolin turned to Stammel, supervising the cohort’s breakfast.
“All good so far?”
“Yes, Captain. That Captain Burek—” He nodded across the yard to the corner where Burek was checking off boxes the first soldiers to finish breakfast were loading in a wagon. “—he’s a good choice, sir. Young, but energetic and seems to know his business. Should be a big help to you.”
“I certainly hope so,” Arcolin said. “What did you think of the others? Or hear of them?”
“Both have a good reputation in the city. There’s feeling against the Blues for casting Arneson off without even his death money.”
“They did that?”
“Yes, sir. Said they’d use it to bury him if he died, and there was no use wasting it beforehand. Their physician said he was hopeless. His friends supported him while he was still fevered, but after that he wouldn’t take charity. Sold everything he had to pay his last bills, and tried to find work as common labor, but most wouldn’t hire him, he looked so bad.”
“And Versin?”
“Good, solid, experienced—what I’m guessing Aesil M’dierra told you. Doubt you could’ve found better than the three you signed, Captain.”
“Guess I learned something from the Duke,” Arcolin said. Then he shook his head. “I’ve got to remember to say ‘the king’; he’s not a duke anymore.”
“I don’t think he’d mind, sir. And when are they giving you a title, do you know?”
“Not yet, is what I know. Our prince will be crowned this Midsummer; he might do it then, or he might wait until I come back through in the fall.”
“Will we be staying south, this next winter? Or do you know?”
He didn’t know; he should be planning for that but his plans went only as far as Cortes Vonja. “We’ll see how Burek does,” he said. “I have to go north; I would want to be sure Burek is permanent before leaving you with him.”
“Oh—of course, sir. That makes sense. Only I heard from one of the Clarts that the Duke’s factor who handles the winter quarters rents them out early—we wouldn’t need the whole place, but to reserve part of it …”
Someone Arcolin hadn’t thought to visit. What else had he for-gotten?
“Captain Burek!” he called.
“Yes, sir?” Burek jogged across the inn yard.
“I’ve got a last visit to make here in town. Finish all this—” He waved at the yard where some men were still eating and others were packing up. “—and if I’m not back, start them on the road, ordinary pace. I’ll catch up.”
Paltis, the Duke’s factor, lived across the city; Arcolin rode, to save time, after assuring the innkeeper he would be back to pay any final charges. Paltis was enjoying his own breakfast when Arcolin was shown in.
“Captain Arcolin—it’s been several years! I heard you’d brought a single cohort down.”
“Did you hear that Duke Phelan is now the king of Lyonya?” Arcolin asked.
“That? A rumor, of course. Just because he hasn’t been here a couple of seasons—”
“No, it’s the truth. It happened a few tendays ago, not long before I started south.”
“How did he conquer it? Were you in the battle?”
“It wasn’t a battle.” Arcolin explained again how it had come about.
“What does this mean for his property?” Paltis asked. “Will he want to sell it? I’ve had offers. And who will pay the taxes?”
“The court of Tsaia has appointed me to take over his domain, with his blessing,” Arcolin said, handing over the relevant documents. Paltis bent over them, lips moving as he read. “I’m here to see you about our winter quarters. We will need some of the space this coming winter.”
Paltis looked up. “But—but I just told the Blues they were first on the list.”
“I believe, if you check the contract you had with Kieri, that our Company is always first on the list.”
“Yes, but—but you haven’t been here, and if he’s no longer the legitimate owner—”
Arcolin let his voice chill. “You’ve dealt with me before, as his senior captain; you have before you his word in his writing—and the authority of the Council in Tsaia—that I am now authorized to use any of his property as he himself would. I claim precedence to the winter quarters and if you wish to remain factor … you will comply. Else I’ll see a judicar this very hour.”