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Frynkel. The junior marshal nodded slightly.
    “All
we can say, Lord Waleryn,” Alyniat said, “is that we will consider your
suggestion. If upon consideration we find it has merit, we will bring it to the
attention of Marshal Wyerl.”
    Waleryn
bowed. “That is all that I could ask, Marshals, and all I sought. I trust you
understand why I brought it to you. I wanted the idea considered on its merits,
not upon whether it was good or bad because of its source.”
    “We
will consider it,” Alyniat repeated.
    After
another bow, Waleryn turned and departed.
    “What
do you think?” Alyniat asked after the door to the study had closed behind the
departing lord.
    “I
worry about his sources. I would that we knew who they are.”
    “You
think they’re the ones supplying information to the Regent of the Matrial?”
    “They
might be. They might not be. We don’t know.” Frynkel shrugged. He placed the
edge of his palm against his right eye for a long moment. “And Waleryn makes a
crooked road look direct. That’s true. But… he’s right about our situation. If
anything, it is more difficult than he has said.”
    Alyniat
glanced toward the window and the sun low in the west. “The other thing is that
Overcaptain Alucius is known to be not only an excellent commander, but one who
can train lancers well and quickly. We ‘ could perhaps include some partly
trained companies in his force…”
    “You’d
have to give him his own company back. Under him, that is.”
    “They’d
probably be happy to serve under him.”
    “But
would he agree to serve? Even as a majer?”
    “He’s
not stupid. If his choice is to protect the Iron Valleys by serving or let them
fall to the Regent, after what he’s been through, he’ll agree. He may not like
it, but he will.”
    “What
about the Lord-Protector? How do we convince him?”
    “We
don’t have to.” Alyniat laughed. “Wyerl has to. We just have to give Wyerl the
reasons to present to the Lord-Protector.”
    Frynkel
laughed as well, but there was an ironic bitterness in the sound.

Chapter 11
    After
the trip that Alucius and Wendra had made into Iron Stem, another week passed,
ten long days on the stead, and Tridi dawned gray and colder than normal, more
like late harvest or even fall, with gray clouds swirling in from the north,
racing straight south from the Ice Sands and the Moors of Yesterday, clouds
filled with water thrown as spray against the Black Cliffs of Despair and
picked up by the winds. Only once had Wendra ridden out with Alucius, and the
end of summer and the beginning of harvest loomed less than two weeks away.
    As
Alucius rode the gelding away from the stead and to the northeast up the long
and gentle slope of Westridge, he found it hard to believe that more than two
weeks had passed since he had seen the soarer. He had also not seen or sensed
any signs of sanders, and, according to Kustyl, neither had anyone else.
    Not
only was he worried about what the soarer meant, but also about the dream he
had had. While he did not trust anything about the ifrits, the words of the
dream bothered him. Had he squandered time when he should have been doing
something? But what? He couldn’t very well have ridden across all Corus, using
his Talent to see if people were ifrit-possessed. He had neither the time nor
the golds to try such. It was not as though he possessed one of the ancient
Tables, even had he dared to risk its dangers.
    Because
stormy weather sometimes emboldened the sandwolves, Alucius had taken two
rifles with him, using the double saddle case he hadn’t used more than a
handful of times since he’d left the Northern Guard. He hoped he didn’t have to
use the rifles, but he’d rather carry them than worry because he hadn’t brought
them.
    Once
more, he studied the Plateau, then the lower hills to the north. So far, the
wind was little more than a mild breeze, but the dark clouds moving in from the
north suggested that before long that would change.