Arman's critical eye was better trained for composition and metals than horseflesh. He peered at the dozen animals in the market's auction stalls, but truthfully had little idea what he was looking for. One man ran his hands down the leg and looked satisfied. What was he looking for? Fleas? Weakness? Wonderful. How can I be a guard if I can't even find suitable mounts? Given their current terms, he doubted Kam would meet him, despite the polite note Arman sent begging for help. The Banis understood horses like a first language. He tried to get the auctioneer's eye when a shout interrupted him.

Wes wove through the crowd. He did not look any happier, but his anger seemed to have subsided. “You're not an easy man to find. We had to ask your Ma where you'd gone.”

“I've been busy.” Arman shifted. He half expected the large man to start a row again. “What do you need?”

“Nothing, but Kam and I have something to show you.”

Arman glanced back at the horses. “Can it wait?”

Wes sighed. “Just come on. I promise it won't take long.” He led Arman through the crowd to their forge. It was cleaner than before. Hiram must be settling in. Kam waited in the wide, covered alley. His brow furrowed as he adjusted a saddle on one of the two horses tethered there.

Arman stopped. “What's this? Where did you get these animals?”

Kam glanced over and offered a careful smile. “Wes and I went to the auctions yesterday when I got your note. He drew your half of the profits from the forge and I helped him pick these two. He saw to it their feet are set and the harness is sound.” He shifted awkwardly, looking down. “We’ve been damned bad friends the past few days.”

Wes handed Arman a small bag. “There was some left over. And that bandolier you could never part with is in the dun's saddlebag.”

Arman's chest was too tight for speech. He worried their friendship would still be bitter when he left. At a loss, he rubbed the dun’s neck. The chestnut nosed at the pear hidden in his pocket. I really couldn't have better friends. It drove everything he was leaving even further home. Arman's notion of home had been where he slept at night. Now home would be two places. “We leave at sundown. Can they stay here 'til then?”

Wes nodded. “Hiram will keep an eye on them.” He fixed Arman with an unreadable stare. “What are you doing now?”

Arman helped Kam unharness the horses and see them settled. Once he returned to the inn it would be to gather his pack. He was not ready for that, not yet. “Would you mind walking with me?” He did not need to say it was the last time he saw home for a long time. They knew. “Fates, enough with the dour faces, you're not going to a funeral.”

Wes glared. “Don't give us a reason to, understand? You have work at the forge already waiting.”

Kam shrugged. “I'll miss you, but I get all the ladies you leave behind.”

A winding road brought them through the Upper and around the market. They stopped at each of their childhood haunts. Kam told several stories, though they differed from how both Arman and Wes remembered. It was dusk when they finally arrived at the Cockerel, but Arman was ready.

Φ

The gate to the northern road was propped open and Arman sat on it while the horses grazed. Rocky hills rolled into the brown grassland beyond. Alea's soft footsteps made him turn. Bright determination in his eyes was soothing, and she offered him a smile. “Is this it?”

“This is it. I said my various good-byes.” He gathered the reins of his dun and mounted up.

She eyed the saddle wryly. “I was worried you'd have me riding sidesaddle.” She swung up easily and settled herself. Catching Arman's wistful gaze, she glanced back at the city. He seemed unable to look away. “I'd imagine she'll be green and blooming when you next see her.”

He turned toward the road and urged his horse into a trot. “Do you think Azirik will overlook her? Do you think she'll be spared this war?”

Her eyes were sad and steady. “I think nothing will be spared.”

Φ