"I think the brigands gave him the money," Arcolin said. "It's backward, I know, brigands giving money to merchants instead of robbing them, but if you wanted to put counterfeit money in circulation, who better than a merchant going to trade? As for the food, I think that's farther from their camp, wherever it is."

"I suppose," Stammel said. "But it only makes the merchant richer, doesn't it? I mean, if it weren't discovered? And if it is, he's dead and they don't have a supply line." He shook his head. "I don't see the gain for them-or whoever hired them."

"If the coins aren't discovered, then with more silver or gold-or what's taken for gold-I suppose that would spread somehow...but I can't figure out if prices would go down or up."

"Up," Stammel said. "They always go up."

Arcolin laughed. "Seems so, indeed. But scarcity always makes them go up more, and sometimes they go down in a good harvest year."

"One of the conversations I heard," Stammel said, "one man said if the Guild League cities started adulterating their coinage, there was no use to have a Guild League at all. He said...he said there was only one reliable mint in all the south. The others laughed at him and called him a fool."

"Did he say where that was?" Arcolin said.

"No, sir. I think he showed them a coin-I heard one fall to their table. But I couldn't see-and Suli was away just then, for a few moments, and didn't see."

"Sounds like a spy," Arcolin said. "And very much as if someone doesn't want the Guild League itself to prosper. I can think of only one lord down here who might have ambitions that high. Most of them are still recovering from Siniava's War. But that only adds to my concerns. We're only one cohort."

"We'll be all right, sir," Stammel said. "Where are we, exactly? Other than two and a half days' ride from Cortes Vonja?"

"Sitting athwart one of their main trails," Arcolin said. "We move every two days-they've become better at attacking our camps, but we've had only minor casualties. Here-I'm going to take your hand and put it on this map-I've put out sticks and things to show how the land is here."

Stammel grimaced but put out his hands; Arcolin took one and guided it to the map. "These stones are the last village we pa.s.sed. Only six huts; three more in ruins. About half the fields they used to farm are overgrown; they run pigs in the woods and let cattle have the overgrown fields. I'm trying to find as many of the trails as I can, and thus figure out where their camp is."

"You don't think they're moving about like we are?"

"No...largely because the villages differ so in how they react when asked about them. If they were always on the move, I'd expect the villages to have about the same contact with them, but that's clearly not so." Arcolin swallowed. He had to talk to Stammel about the effect of his blindness on the cohort, but he dreaded it. He tried to keep his voice light. "I wanted to ask you about Suli-she's your usual guide, isn't she?"

"I'm used to Suli now, sir. I know it's strange, having a woman as my guide-all the things we've said-but there's nothing-"

"I didn't think that." He was sure of Stammel, less sure of a young girl whose good heart might lead her too far.

"It's her experience, you see. Her uncle went blind. She understands just how much help I need. She doesn't try to smother me, and she doesn't leave me lost." Stammel swallowed. "It's not fair to her, o' course. She signed on to be a soldier, not a blind man's guide. She says she doesn't mind, but-"

"We'll let the two of you train others," Arcolin said. "This may not be the last time we have someone blinded. Most of our people know how to tie up a bleeding arm or leg now; they might as well learn this. Then she can rotate back into her regular duties."

"Makes sense," Stammel said. "Whatever the cohort needs, sir, you know I'll go along."

"Your needs count, too. You've already brought me valuable information. But now, I've kept you long enough. Suli can take you to find Devlin; you and Dev decide who to start training as Suli's a.s.sistant."

Arcolin stood under the tent flap, watching Suli and Stammel walk across to the tent where Devlin waited, talking to Arne. Except for his hand on Suli's shoulder, Stammel seemed the same as ever: his carriage upright, his steps firm and even. With a guide, he would be able to march with them; he would not need a horse or a seat in a wagon. His mind was as clear as ever...he would gain weight and muscle, Arcolin knew, with time. Stammel alive, sane, healthy-should he be grateful for that and consider sight a small price to pay? He closed his eyes, shutting out the sunlight, the familiar faces of his cohort, trying to imagine it, but he could not. Sight was not a small price, no matter what else was left.

By evening everyone had greeted Stammel, and the mood of the whole cohort seemed better. Devlin, in particular, had lost his worried expression; Arcolin had seen the two of them, Stammel's hand on Devlin's shoulder, doing a circuit of the camp.

"I did not think it would make so much difference, having him back," Burek said.

"You hadn't had time to know him," Arcolin said. "Those here who hadn't fought with him before trained with him in the north. He's everyone's favorite uncle or older brother."

"M'dierra has a sergeant like that-the recruits are first terrified, then adoring."

"Minicor?" Arcolin asked. When Burek nodded, he said "I met him years ago; you're right; he is very like Stammel. The troops could stand to lose me better than Stammel."

Burek looked horrified. "But sir-if you-then I-"

"Not ready for it yet?"

"Not if it means you-something happens-"

Arcolin shrugged. "These things do happen, you know. I believe you'll do well if it does, but in the meantime, I do wear my helmet."

Burek laughed. Arcolin's adventure without his helmet had indeed spread through the cohort.

"So, now that things are more as they were-not that they will be, if he doesn't regain his sight-let me tell you what I learned from Stammel and the others who returned today." He gave Burek a precis of the information they'd brought. "So-together with what we've discussed before, do you see anything else, any pattern I've missed?"

"No," Burek said. "I could wish they'd gone into the markets and noticed prices, especially the horse market, because that's what I know most. If there's bad money about-or more money than there should be-the price of horses goes up. Shoeing, too. I wonder if any of them noticed that."

"They were staying in a grange in Smiths' Street. Surely some of the yeomen were smiths. But then, the Girdish are set against false weights and measures, and in Fintha they control prices. I don't know if Marshal Harak would approve if they raised their prices, unless the cost of iron and coal went up."

"When we go back to the city, I can go to the horse market and talk to the smiths," Burek said.

"In the meantime," Arcolin said, "let's make sure the camp isn't so happy to have Stammel back they get careless with the watch."

But Stammel himself took care of that; they heard his voice from across the camp, the familiar bellow. "And while you lot are sitting here like spinsters gossiping, who's keeping watch? Less talk and more work!"

A startled silence, then camp noises resumed, this time with a different timbre.

Over the next few days, Arcolin grew used to seeing Stammel with a hand on someone's shoulder, his head c.o.c.ked a little sideways. Neat in appearance as always, attentive, alert, quick to silence idle chatter, ready to respond to any orders Arcolin or Burek gave. They moved every few days, marking the trails they found on the map; Stammel marched as fast as the others, needing extra help only on the rougher ground. Everyone called Suli "Eyes" now, but many of the troops had a nickname; he thought nothing of it.

Arcolin suspected-but knew better than to ask-that Suli, Devlin, and others gave him special help. That didn't matter. They had Stammel; Stammel had them. If some ch.o.r.es were quietly diverted from him, and others came to him because sight was not required, it was only common sense. A familiar voice, a familiar presence.

They were attacked again one night, an attack as carefully planned as the other, and this time killed only five; two of their own were wounded. Arcolin heard Devlin, voice harsh with effort, tell Stammel to get back, get down. He felt a stab of grief, but there was no time-they fought off the attack, and when he came back, Stammel was busy, talking to one of the wounded as he held the man's shoulders down and Master Simmitt st.i.tched the wound. He made no complaint.

But just before dawn, as Arcolin made the rounds, he found Stammel standing with one of the sentries. "I was wondering," Stammel said. "About archery."

"Archery?"

"I know I can't use a sword without eyes. But I think I could shoot."

Arcolin felt his brows rising. "But you need eyes even more-the targets are farther away."

"I need someone to tell me where. I was thinking about Paks, and that trip she and the others made from Dwarfwatch. Canna was shot by someone who never saw her, Paks said. Someone just shooting blindly into a thicket. Now, if we were attacked, and I had someone to tell me where to aim-"

"Sergeant-" Arcolin shook his head, glad for once Stammel could not see. "I never heard of a blind archer," he said finally.

"There's a legend," Stammel said. "And I've seen inns with that name-always thought it was a joke about the ale, to be honest. But still-if I could try with a crossbow..."

Arcolin looked at him. "You've spanned one already, haven't you?"

Stammel nodded. "And the thing is, Captain, you know we usually have Cracolnya's cohort. We need archers. If I can-they'll never expect it. It's like you said; they're spying on us. They know I'm blind; they think I'm helpless." His hands clenched and opened, clenched and opened. "If I can hit a target, then anyone could-we could train our own-maybe a half-file?"

It was impossible; it could not work, but sparring in unarmed combat was not enough for a man like Stammel. He had to feel he could fight. Arcolin understood that very well. And Stammel was right-they did need more archers. They had the captured crossbows...

"If we were in the stronghold, I'd say yes," Arcolin said. "You'd have the s.p.a.ce there; we'd have armsmasters to teach you. But here? We're on campaign."

"Just let me try for one day, sir. If I make no progress by the end of it, I'll say no more."

"All right." What, after all, could it hurt? They weren't moving that day, anyway. He could let Stammel try to get over the notion-though what would replace it he could not guess.

Stammel took a typically Stammel approach to the practice. "How many of you think you can outshoot a blind man?" he asked a gla.s.s later. Silence. "Come on, don't be shy. I'm betting someone a jug of ale, when we get back to Valdaire, that I can outshoot you. Maybe not today, but another day. To make it fair, you can start practicing with me." A chuckle, somewhat nervous.

Stammel held up one of their five crossbows. "This is a crossbow. It's nice and short and thus good for use in the woods. Some of you have never used a crossbow, because Siger, being from Lyonya originally, likes longbows." He pointed out the parts of the crossbow, naming them. "Simple to use-aim, pull this, then re-span and you're set. Even if you don't hit anyone, they won't like the sound of death from the air." Meanwhile, targets were set up, not far away at all.

They were using blunt quarrels, but Arcolin still worried that someone would lose an eye.

Stammel's crossbow had a twig bound to the stock so it stuck out one side-to identify it, Arcolin a.s.sumed, but why? Then Stammel picked it up and brought the stock up...and the twig touched his neck just when the arms of the prod were level.

"Ready!" he called. Downrange, Suli and Devlin stood one to either side of the target, an arm's length away. Both said, "Here." Stammel aimed, Arcolin could see, between the voices. He pulled the trigger. The bolt skimmed over the top of the target.

"Two fingers above the target," Devlin called.

Stammel had re-spanned the bow and lifted it. Again it was level. "Ready," he said. The other two called, and again he shot. The bolt bounced off the middle of the target. He spanned the bow again and this time shot without waiting for the others to call. The bolt hit the middle again.

Silence. Arcolin could not believe what he had just seen.

"Well?" Stammel said finally.

"I think some people will be regretting that bet," Arcolin said. "Gird's arm, man, I didn't think anyone could do that. How-?"

"I'm not sure," Stammel said. "When I found I could walk and then make my way around the grange, I remembered that even on dark nights I had good balance. I always knew where my arms and legs were, when I was upright and when I wasn't. Siger used to say that crossbows were the lazy man's bow-you remember he said a blind man with one hand could shoot a crossbow. Then it was a jest, but I thought...if I could figure out a way to hold it level without someone having to show me each shot...and then there were the redroots."

"Redroots?"

"I was slicing redroots a few days ago, and Dev made some awful joke. I threw a redroot at him-just joking, you know-and it hit him square, he said. I threw at his voice. Turned out I could throw to any of them, though I couldn't catch. I could throw to someone I knew was between two voices, who said nothing. Well, if I could aim a redroot, why not a crossbow?"

"What about range-what will you do there?"

"Practice. The sound's different enough-I know how far away you are, Captain. I need practice to understand how much over the sound to aim for different distances, but-I can help, sir, in a fight, and not be helpless."

"Yes, but-none of our people will be out there to give you a direction and range. You could hit one of them by mistake."

"Not if I shoot beyond all their voices, at distant enemy voices. I know I'm not likely to hit anyone, but I can certainly scare them."

Arcolin still had doubts, but this was Stammel, after all.

By the end of that day's practice, Stammel was. .h.i.tting the target four times out of five at a distance twice as far as at first. The others, using crossbows without the twigs to signal when the prod was level, did worse. Stammel was grinning when he came back, one hand lightly on Bald Seli's shoulder and his crossbow hanging from the other.

Over the next days, Devlin helped Stammel pick those who were learning fastest, and they were a.s.signed to more practice sessions. The armorer devised a better way to attach Stammel's levelers: iron rods with the ends beaten into smooth f.l.a.n.g.es set into the stock. As they all improved, Stammel managed to maintain a slight lead on them; Arcolin realized that would not continue forever, but they were all proficient enough to be useful in a fight, and two or three of the best were close enough to Stammel's level to make a contest fair.

The days shortened perceptibly, though the southern heat lingered; Arcolin thought of the coronation that had happened tens of days ago in Tsaia and wondered what it had been like. He could not imagine Dorrin as a duke, really. Or the young prince as a king, for that matter; and he must attend Autumn Court. He began counting how many days it would be, how soon he would have to leave the south to make it there in time.

River Road, Tsaia

Marshal-General Arianya rode steadily westward, glancing aside now and then at her most unexpected paladin. If, indeed, Paks was in any way her her paladin despite being on the list in Fin Panir. paladin despite being on the list in Fin Panir.

Paks at Kieri Phelan's northern stronghold had been surprise enough-alive and well, with the powers a paladin should have-after the way in which she had left Fin Panir. That had been miracle upon miracle, Arianya thought, though complicated by the actions of a Kuakgan.

But now-though it was hard to see the paladin in the blithe young woman who rode along so easily, plum juice running down her chin-now Paks was more than that. Arianya had never heard of such a thing as that silver circle on her brow. The stories she'd already been told, including that meeting with the thief who claimed to have brought her out of Liart's lair, went beyond imagining.

"Want a plum, Marshal-General?" Paks asked, holding out a handful. She'd bought the plums from a farmer that morning, just after they left Thornhedge Grange, and clearly intended to share them out before lunch.

"Thank you," Arianya said, taking one and biting into it. "I hope the king will let us see Dorrin's gift again when we pa.s.s through Verella. I'd like to make a sketch of the designs."

"If the necklace is is part of that set," Paks said. "I wonder if it's magical as well." part of that set," Paks said. "I wonder if it's magical as well."

"I was worried about that," Arianya said. "Magelord jewels...possibly royal...that's not something we should have in our treasury."

"Why not?"

Gird wouldn't like it was the obvious answer. Arianya paused. "It's a danger to those who don't know how to control its power," she said instead. "I'm not sure Dorrin could. Though anyone who could mend a well the way she did...that's power, all right. Remember the old story about the magelord who sent a whole river into a well and flooded a fort that way?" was the obvious answer. Arianya paused. "It's a danger to those who don't know how to control its power," she said instead. "I'm not sure Dorrin could. Though anyone who could mend a well the way she did...that's power, all right. Remember the old story about the magelord who sent a whole river into a well and flooded a fort that way?"

"That's when Gird's friend Cob was hurt, wasn't it?" Paks asked. "It's in the histories we had to read. Those scrolls I brought-do they tell the same story?"

"Yes, in more detail. But the point is, magelords could control water, or some of them could. And Dorrin can."

"She thinks it's because of Falk," Paks said. "She prayed."

"She may wear Falk's ruby, but she's not just a Falkian knight," Arianya said. "When she killed the man-her father, she said, wearing another man's body-that wasn't a prayer to Falk. That was magery."

"It could be both," Paks said. She bit into another plum and spat out the stone into her hand, then tossed it to the base of a hedge to the river side of the road. "Alyanya's blessing," she said.

Arianya glanced back, half expecting the stone to sprout then and there and bear flowers and fruit by the end of summer. No, that was silly. "I don't see how it could be both," she said. "Gird wouldn't-surely Falk wouldn't-"

"But she's his knight," Paks said, as if that made everything clear. "And I know he talks to her."

She sounded so certain. Arianya remembered feeling that certain and being wrong, terribly wrong. But she was not a paladin. "I wanted to ask you about that place where you found the scrolls-was it like Luap's Stronghold in Kolobia?"

"No-at least-not exactly," Paks said. "It was more elvish. Macenion-the part elf I was with-said elves had built it."

"I never heard of elves going under stone," Arianya said. "Even in Kolobia, there was no sign elves lived under stone."