“I have no intention of dying,” Arvid said, putting an edge of humor in his voice. He looked around at the others. “But grateful as I am for the rescue, I wouldn’t mind a little time with my son. Would that be possible?”
“Are you hungry?” Pia asked.
He was, he realized. “Yes—and I’ll bet this lad is, too.”
Most of the others left the room, boots loud on the floor, with smiles and murmured good wishes. Pia, Marshal Cedlin, and the Marshal-General stayed.
They pulled a table Arvid had not seen before out of a corner and set chairs by it. Pia spoke to the boy.
“Come now, lad; help me bring the food up, won’t you? He’s not going to die if he’s hungry, and the Marshal-General and Marshal Cedlin can help him wash up. You could do with a wash yourself.”
Slowly, the boy unpeeled himself from Arvid and stood, tear tracks down his face. “Da?”
“I’ll be fine, Arvi. We can eat together in a bit, all right?”
The boy nodded and with a last look back followed Pia out of the room. Marshal Cedlin helped Arvid sit up and use the pot, then washed him down with cool water from a jug. “A clean shirt—where?”
“In the press,” Arvid said. He felt a little dizzy, but his leg didn’t hurt the way he expected. “You—healed me?”
“Gird did,” Cedlin said, bringing a blue shirt from the press. “Nasty thing—hit the bone, but you won’t have bone fever from it. Now, that hole in your side—that wouldn’t heal. Any idea why?”
“To teach me to be more careful,” Arvid said. He tried to sit up straighter as Cedlin put the shirt over his head and then wriggled one arm at a time into a sleeve. His left side twinged when he moved that arm. “It was my own bolt. When the fellow hit me with the stock of his crossbow, it hammered the point into me. Right through the leather.”
“Lucky it didn’t go deeper,” Cedlin said. “Here—lie down again. You lost a lot of blood from the leg.”
“He has a habit of that,” the Marshal-General said. She shook her head at him. “Remember last year?”
“Wasn’t my plan,” Arvid said. He felt worse briefly, lying down, but then his stomach settled. He heard feet coming up the inn stairs. Cedlin lifted his shoulders and packed more pillows behind him. “Just in time.”
“Well, now,” Pia said, coming in with a tray. “That’s more like it.” She put the tray on the table. “I brought enough for everyone, I think. A bowl of beef broth and barley for you, Arvid, and for you Marshals, bread and cheese and a pitcher of ale. Arvi, your da will like what’s in that jug, I expect. Honeyed sib. Pour him a mug.”
Arvid had not felt particularly hungry, but the honeyed sib woke him enough that the beef broth with barley went down smoothly. Arvi finally relaxed enough to eat a slab of bread spread with soft cheese.
“We have a problem,” the Marshal-General said when Arvid quit eating. He merely looked at her, then at Marshal Cedlin. “More than one,” she said. She looked at Marshal Cedlin.
“You’ve done well, Arvid, as you must know,” Cedlin said. “You’ve learned everything and more I ask of new yeomen. You get along with the others; your section leader says you take on every task he asks of you. Gird knows you’re beyond yeoman level in your knowledge of the Code. You’re skilled with weapons, and you’ve been patient and effective teaching longsword to those who want to learn.” He shot a glance at the Marshal-General, who nodded for him to go on. “I hear from up the hill that you’ve almost qualified as a judicar in that regard—and could easily in another half-year of study. And as you told me, and the Marshal-General, and your Marshal in Aarenis, you hear Gird directly.”
Arvid still said nothing. He began to guess where this might lead, and he was not—absolutely not—ready to hear what was coming.
“You’ve been loyal to me, Arvid,” the Marshal-General said then. “You gave us warning that night last fall; you fought for me. You are … well, I can’t say exactly … but unexpected is the least of it. You aren’t afraid of those different from you, and you seem—amazing for a man with your background—to have almost an instinct for justice.”
Arvid tried to laugh, and his side stabbed him. “I—think thieves understand justice, just from the other side.”
“That may be. But Arvid, I must know: In this matter, did you call on Gird, and did you hear Gird speak?”
Had he? He thought through the slight haze that blood loss and a good supper had given him. He used the pause to take another sip of honeyed sib before he answered.