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haut itself near the mountain passes； which seemed to be as far north as the Ancients had established themselves。
The massive arch offered its own clear testimony as to what those who built it had been。 Where the milestones by the long； straight roads told of continuity and the orderly； regulated flow of society in a world now lost； the triumphal arches such as this one spoke to nothing but domination； the brutal grinding down of whoever had been here when the Ancients came to conquer。
Blaise had been to war many times； both for his country and for his own purse as a mercenary； and had known both triumph and defeat on widely scattered battlefields。 Once； by the frost…rimed Iersen Bridge； he had fought among ice and blowing snow past the bitter death of his king through to a twilit winter victory that had then been alchemized into defeat in the elegantly phrased courtiers' treaty of the spring that followed。 That one had changed him； he thought。 That one had changed his life forever。
The arch standing here at the end of a procession of planted trees told a hard truth that Blaise knew in his soldier's bones to be as valid now as it had been centuries ago： when you have beaten someone； when you have conquered and occupied them； you must never let them forget the power that you have and the consequences of resistance。
What happened when the arches remained but those who had so arrogantly raised them were dust and long departed was a question for milk…fed philosophers and troubadours； Blaise thought； not for a fighting man。
He turned his head away； unsettled and unexpectedly angered。 And it was only when he did so； wrestling his attention from the massive arch； that he became aware； belatedly； that he was no longer alone on this shore of Lake Dierne under a westering sun。
There were six of them； in dark green hose and tunics。 The livery meant they were unlikely to be outlaws； which was good。 Rather less encouraging was the fact that three of them had bows out and arrows to string already； levelled at him before any words of greeting or challenge had been spoken。 What was even more ominous was that the obvious leader； sitting his horse a few feet ahead and to one side of the others； was rangy； dark…skinned； moustachioed Arimondan。 Experience in several countries； and one sword fight he preferred not to remember except for the lesson it had taught him； had led Blaise to be exceptionally wary of the swarthy warriors of that hot； dry land beyond the western mountains。 Especially when they appeared at the head of men who were aiming arrows at his chest。
Blaise held out his empty hands and lifted his voice into the wind。 〃I give you greetings； corans。 I am a traveller on a high road of Arbonne。 I mean no offence to anyone and trust I have given none。〃 He was silent； watching； and left his hands out to be seen。 He had defeated four men once at a tourney in Aulensburg； but there were six here； with arrows。
The Arimondan twitched his reins and his horse； a genuinely magnificent black； moved forward a few restive paces。 〃Fighting corans carrying armour sometimes give offense merely by their existence；〃 the man said。 〃Who is it that you serve？〃 He spoke Arbonnais flawlessly； with scarcely a trace of an accent。 He was clearly no stranger to this land。 He was also observant。 Blaise's armour was well wrapped under cloth on the pack pony； the Arimondan would have deduced what it was by shape。
But Blaise； too； was used to watching men closely； especially in a situation such as this； and out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the archers lean forward with the question； as if hanging upon the answer。
Blaise temporized。 He had no real idea what was happening here。 Outlaws on the roads were one thing； but these men were clearly trained and just as clearly asserting control over this part of the road。 He wished he'd studied a map more closely before leaving Baude。 It would have helped to know whose lands these were。 He ought to have asked more questions at last night's inn。
He said； 〃I am traveling in peace on an open road。 I mean no trespass。 If such is your plaint； I will gladly pay a fair toll。〃
〃I asked a question；〃 the Arimondan said flatly。 〃Answer it。〃
Hearing that tone； Blaise felt his mouth go dry； even as a familiar anger began rising in him。 He had his sword； and his bow was ready to hand in the saddle quiver； but if the three men behind the Arimondan knew how to shoot there was little hope in trying to fight。 He considered cutting the rope that tied the pony to his grey and making a run for it； but he hated leaving his armour behind almost as much as he hated fleeing from an Arimondan。
〃I am not in the custom of detailing my affairs to strangers with bows drawn；〃 he said。
The Arimondan smiled slowly； as if the words were an unexpected gift。 He gestured with his left hand； a negligent； graceful movement。 All three archers loosed arrows。 An instant later； with a queer； grunting sound； Blaise's pack pony collapsed behind him。 Two arrows were in its neck and one was just below； near the heart。 The pony was dead。 The archers had already notched three more arrows。
Feeling the colour leave his face； Blaise heard the Arimondan laugh。 〃Tell me；〃 the man said lazily； 〃Will you preserve what you call your customs when you are naked and bound face down in the dust to serve my pleasure like a boy bought for an hour？〃 The two other men； the ones without bows； had moved without visible instruction in opposite directions； cutting off both paths of flight for Blaise。 One of them； Blaise saw； was smiling broadly。
〃I asked a question；〃 the Arimondan went on softly。 The wind had dropped； his voice carried in the stillness。 〃The horse dies next if I am not answered。 In whose service do you ride； Northerner？〃
It was his beard； of course； it labelled him like a brand marked a thief or blue robes a priest of Corannos。 Blaise drew a slow breath and； fighting hard to hold down his anger； sought shelter in the shade of the great…as Rudel had more than once put it。
〃En Bertran de Talair has hired me for a season；〃 he said。
They shot the horse。
But Blaise had had his clue from the one archer's straining manner the first time the question had been asked； and he had kicked his legs free of the stirrups even as he spoke。 He landed on the far side of the screaming stallion and pulled his bow free and the dying horse downwards towards him in the same motion so that it offered protection when he dropped behind it。 Firing from an almost prone position he killed the northernmost coran and； turning； shot the one guarding the southern path in the neck before the three archers could loose another volley。 Then he dropped flat。
Two arrows hit his horse again and the third whizzed above his head。 Blaise rose to one knee and fired twice； at speed。 One archer died； screaming like the horse； and the second dropped in silence with an arrow in his throat。 The third man hesitated； his mouth falling open with dismay。 Blaise notched his fifth arrow and shot him calmly in the chest。 He saw bright blood stain the dark green tunic before the man fell。
It was suddenly extremely qui