"In the manner of all creatures. His time on this earth ended, and the gods plucked his soul from the husk to give it a new life in another being."
Joss had always found these sorts of platitudes irritating, and that fueled his rash streak. "We'd heard no news at Clan Hall of his passing."
The marshal blinked.
"We'd wondered about Legate Garrard, and the dozen duty reeves who were withdrawn from Clan Hall at the beginning of the year. No news, and no legate to replace him, and no roster of duty reeves. Clan Hall also sent a reeve this way at the beginning of the Flood Rains. Evo, his name is. Do you have news of him?"
The marshal moved his quill to a different spot on the work table.
It seemed to be all the answer Joss was going to get. He had dealt with uncooperative witnesses many times, but there was something about the hushed room, the lack of pillows on which a visitor might settle to make friendly conversation, the rhythmic stroke of the broom outside, and the memory of that darkened inner chamber that unsettled him as few things did. Even dealing with the ospreys and their corrupt ally had not made his skin creep, not like this.
At last, the marshal replied in that innocuous voice. "You're come into Argent Hall's territories. Why?"
"I was sent here at the order of the Commander at Clan Hall to find out why Legate Garrard was never replaced, and why we've had no word from Reeve Evo. Nor received any news from Argent Hall in almost a year." When the marshal made no effort to reply, Joss went on. "As it happens, I've also heard complaints from merchants that there is trouble both on West Track and on the Kandaran Pass. They claimed that border guards on the Kandaran Pass were in league with ospreys."
The marshal smiled as does a child who is told a ridiculous story. "Do you believe that?"
"I have proof of it."
Such a guileless face. "Proof? How can I believe that?"
"I have a man in custody, an ordinand who was in league with the ospreys. Who admits to the crime."
"Is he with you here?"
"No."
"Where, then? It's a serious charge. The Thunderer's ordinands are the gods' holy soldiers, famous for their devotion to duty and the straight path. It's a hard thing to imagine one of them casting aside his oath to hunt with ospreys."
"He'll come before the Olossi town assizes. Had Argent Hall no word of these attacks?"
"Who told you of this?"
"Some among Olossi's merchants tried-" He broke off, and reconsidered. "Word reached Clan Hall of the council's concerns."
The marshal touched the quill, but picked up the bell instead and rang it. As in answer, a deeper bell rang twice, breathed twice, rang twice, breathed twice, and rang twice again.
"We'll speak tomorrow," said the marshal. "At the parting of day, we take our supper."
Joss considered gain and loss, and decided he had no choice but to stay. He took leave to tend to Scar, to get the eagle settled for a night in the guesting loft. Scar was the only eagle present in the space. For the first time in his life as a reeve quartering in a reeve hall, Joss did not properly leash the eagle. He wasn't sure how quickly he would need to leave.
A fawkner's assistant wearing a slave's bracelets came by to offer a huge haunch of mutton, but Joss fed Scar lightly and sent the rest away. He remained in the semidarkness talking to the eagle about nothing in particular, just that soothing, mellow chatter necessary to allow the old eagle to adjust to the new surroundings, although all guest lofts were built exactly the same in every hall. But Scar had the patience and calm of a veteran and, when the second bell came, took the hood without fuss.
The same slave who had brought the mutton waited outside the door. They crossed the parade ground, skirted the west loft by an alley running along the sea side of the compound, and moved directly into the hall where the reeves and their community ate together every night under the eye of their marshal. He did not see the young man with scarred chin whose strange warning had raised so many alarms. A place on a bench awaited Joss, but not at the marshal's table. The marshal ate alone, still in his outdoor clothing. He was served by the old reeve, who had a habit, Joss noted, of tasting each dish before ladling out a portion onto his master's trencher.
Joss sat at the second-rank table among a flight of experienced reeves, stolid, laconic men and one woman who said nothing, apparently because it was now the custom at Argent Hall to listen to a reading while the meal was taken. A middle-aged woman read in a clear alto from a book of children's poetry about the origins and functions of the fourteen guilds, known to Joss from his schooling days when he'd been set the whole to memorize. It was as nourishing as straw.
Hew! The forester, strong and stern,
Swings with the axe the blacksmith forged.
Soon comes carter to haul the logs
To the shop where woodwright plies his turn.
Gods, how had he endured it then? Well, he had not, and had been caned on the hands more than once for his tricks when he got bored.
The mention of the carters got him thinking again about his dreams. Strange that he had folded the dying Silver's words into a dream and given them Marit's voice, as if to give himself an excuse to fly south straight into the fray rather than return with the wounded Peddo. For twenty years, hers was the only death he had never been able to leave behind.
The poem droned on and on.
Even bramble, healer uses
To give to dyer for handsome blues
Ghastly! He kept himself busy by sampling every dish, although he was careful to eat lightly, to avoid getting too full and thus too heavy. Argent Hall ate welclass="underline" boiled fish covered with a spicy red chili sauce, rice cake, fried vegetables, nai porridge smothered in butter. Steamed spine-flower petals, heated just until their edges began to curl, were strewn over lamb basted in sharp ginger. The ubiquitous flat-bread and mounds of rice rounded out the meal.
Trenchers were cleared away and cups of wine brought. A cluster of giggling youths dressed in short, sleeveless tunics scurried into the hall. In the pause while this unprepossessing entertainment readied itself, his companions ventured a few comments.
"Clan Hall, is it?" asked the youngest of these veterans. He had a nose once broken but long since healed with a bump and a twist.
"It is," agreed Joss pleasantly.
They stared at him as though he had grown a second head. The man with the broken nose scratched an elbow.
"Toskala is besieged," said the woman. "How goes it there if foodstuffs can't come in or out?"
"Tss! What are you thinking?" demanded Broken Nose as two of the grizzled elders hissed through tight lips. She paled, shaking her head.
"Besieged?" Joss asked, startled and troubled by the comment. "Beleaguered, truly, but Toskala is not under siege. A strange turn that would be!"
"Beleaguered," said Broken Nose, elbowing the woman.
"That's right. That's what I heard." She wasn't a good liar.
Broken Nose continued. "That's what we heard. Refugees. Food shortages. Fighting in the hills. Fields laid waste in the night. What news have you heard, there in the north? What of the regions north of you? Heard you anything?"
Joss wanted to ask them why no one from Argent Hall had sent any manner of communication to Clan Hall this entire year, but the prickling along the back of his neck kept him quiet on this subject. He shrugged instead. "The north is lost to us. Few reeves dare patrol there now. The reeves of Gold Hall and Copper Hall say the same, of their territories that touch anywhere along the borders of Herelia and Vess. No news at all from the high vales, so I've heard. But that's only hearsay. The worst news-this I saw myself-is that High Haldia has come under attack. Under siege. Perhaps that's what you were thinking of."