"That's sweet of you to say," Fidelias replied. "You've come a long way since your first term at the Academy. You were so shocked when you found out that the Cursors did more than deliver missives."

"You love telling that story even though you know I hate it."

"No," Fidelias said with a grin. "I love telling that story because I know you hate it."

She looked down at him archly. "This is why the Cursor Legate keeps sending you away on missions, I think."

"It's a part of my charm," Fidelias agreed. "Now, then. My first concern-"

"Question," Amara corrected.

"Question," he allowed, "is with our cover story."

"What question? Armies need iron. You're an ore smuggler, and I'm your slave. You heard there was a market out this way, and you came to see what money could be made."

"Ah," said Fidelias. "And what do I tell them when they ask where I got the ore? It isn't just found by the roadside, you know."

"You're a Cursor Callidus. You're creative. I'm sure you'll think of something."

Fidelias chuckled. "You've learned delegating skills, at least. So, we approach this renegade Legion with our precious ore." He nodded back toward the squeaking cart. "What's to stop them from simply taking it?"

"You're the harbinger of a smuggling network, representing several interests in the business. Your trip is being watched, and if the results are good, others might be willing to bring supplies as well."

"That's what I don't understand," Fidelias said, his expression innocent. "If this is indeed a renegade Legion, as rumors say, under the command of one of the High Lords, in preparation for overthrowing the Crown-aren't they going to object to any word about them getting out? Good, bad, or indifferent?"

"Yes," Amara said. She glanced down at him. "Which works in our favor. You see, if you don't return from this little jaunt, word is going to spread all around Alera about this encampment."