Then again, he told himself glumly, the soldiers might very well prefer chaos to his command.

As he reined in Fanfare at the wooden guardhouse, a scout came out to meet him. The scout was a short, bow-legged fellow with brown hair that hung shaggily to his shoulders. Like Garrin, he wore no uniform, but dressed instead in mountain garb--leather breeches, scuffed boots, and a thick woolen jacket.

Mac Tom was the scout's name, a fairly new addition to the unit. Garrin had encountered Mac Tom a few months ago when he had come to camp to give his final report to Captain Nigel. Mac Tom hadn't even offered his hand when Nigel introduced him, but of course the little scout hadn't needed to feign respect for Garrin at that meeting. Garrin had been nothing more than a scout himself then, despite all his decorations from the king.

As Garrin swung from the saddle, Mac Tom gave a perfunctory salute, just this side of insolence.

"Captain Windson, sir," Mac Tom didn't meet Garrin's gaze.

Exactly what Garrin had expected, and yet he still felt the sting of the man's contempt. He only hoped his expression didn't betray his emotion.

Probably it did not. He'd been told, by the scant few friends he'd made, that his face was like a page written in a foreign tongue, unreadable to those who hadn't studied it for years.

Fanfare stomped briefly, then quieted as Garrin removed his saddlebags, harp, and sword.

"Take my horse to the stables," he said briskly to Mac Tom. Garrin towered over the scout. Whenever he spoke to short men, Garrin felt not superior, as some tall men might, but gangly and ill at ease.

"And when you're done with the horse," Garrin went on, "find Lieutenant Lev and tell him my orders are to have all the scouts currently in camp assemble for my inspection at seventeen hundred hours."

"Yes, sir," Mac Tom answered. Then, in a sullen tone, "Do you want help with those?" He gestured at Garrin's belongings.

Garrin shook his head. "I can find my own way through camp. And--" He knew he needed time to compose himself before the inspection. "I don't wish to be disturbed in my quarters. Understood?"

The scout hesitated, mouth puckered as if to keep back an acerbic comment, no doubt something to the effect that no one in his right mind would visit Garrin Windson uncoerced. "Yes, sir," he finally said.

The gaze that met Garrin's was hostile, but nothing in this man's conduct left Garrin room to issue a reprimand.

Mac Tom had done his duty, even though making it clear he wished Garrin in Nedral's lowest hell.