your

know you'd be in camp this afternoon—have you seen them?"
"Yes, my lord; most of them I've seen, and all the wounded. I appreciate the chance to meet with them."
"I," said the Duke brusquely, "don't try to influence my troops."
"No? I'd have thought you influenced them daily with your example of courage and fairness."
"Don't flatter me, High Marshal, if you want something."
"I'm not flattering. You command a fine, well-disciplined body of troops; everyone knows it. You don't get that without the other. Look at Siniava's, for example—or Sofi Ganarrion's, though the cause is different." The High Marshal shifted his weight and set his hands on his knees. "My lord, it's late, and you have much to do. I will not trespass further on your time. But if you would allow me to speak to Paksenarrion again, when her memory has returned, I would like it."
The Duke gave him a long look. "It's not my decision to prevent you—but we march in the morning."
"Can she?"
"I leave no wounded behind for that scum or his agents to capture, High Marshal. Those who can't march will ride in the wagons. If you're going our way, you can talk to her again."
"Do you expect to have need of clerical aid, where you're going?"
The Duke laughed. "Delicately phrased, High Marshal. I appreciate your delicacy. No, I think not. This city, and perhaps others