Gears whirred to life inside the metal man and he shuddered, venting steam into the cold night. “I. ” The mechoservitor paused. “The evening before the city fell. He had given me my assignment and sent me with the Gray Guard escort into the spell vaults.”

So it was possible that he could’ve escaped, Rudolfo thought. And perhaps he knew of Petronus-it certainly wasn’t impossible, though the old man had surely kept his secret from most. But it did not explain the metal man.

“And we liberated all of your”-he searched for the proper word-“peers from Sethbert’s camp?”

Isaak nodded. “I’ve accounted for my brothers.”

Rudolfo nodded. He looked at Aedric now. “What do you think?”

Aedric’s hands moved quickly into the sign language of the Gypsy Scouts. I don’t like it, he signed. “I think we ride for the Keeper’s Wall and see for ourselves what this is about.”

Rudolfo looked to his men and then to his first captain. They would go with me now, Firstborn Feast or not, if I said we must. The scouts were sons of scouts and had served the General of the Wandering Army and Lord of the Ninefold Forest Houses as their fathers before them had, raised on the knives and the powders. And Aedric himself was Rudolfo’s best friend’s firstborn son. Gregoric and Rudolfo had been close since childhood, and when Lord Jakob and his wife were murdered, Rudolfo had taken the turban and passed the First Captaincy to his friend. They’d fought together in many political skirmishes and helped divert resurging heresies at the Order’s behest, equally earning their reputations as fierce leaders and formidable strategists. But Rudolfo knew the truth: A leader is only as capable as the men he commands, and his men were the best in the New World.

Their loyalty is nearly love, he realized. They learn it from their fathers. The reality of that gave him pause, and a thought pushed at his mind. He shoved it aside, forcing his attention to the matter at hand. “I concur with you, Aedric.” Then he used the hand language of the Gypsy Scouts in such a way that none could possibly miss it: But tomorrow morning is soon enough. We feast tonight as these men honor my first fatherhood.