Bernard frowned at the two men. "Where is Centurion Giraldi?"
The one in the cloak gave Bernard a blank look. "Hey," he said. "Clodhopper. In case you didn't notice, we're the soldiers here-"
"And Citizens," put in the other in a surly tone.
"And Citizens," the guard in the fine cloak said. "So we'll ask the questions, if that's all right with you. State your name and the purpose of your visit."
Bernard narrowed his eyes. "I suppose you boys are new to the Valley. I am Steadholder Bernard, and I am here to see Count Gram."
Both soldiers broke out in snickers.
"Yes, well," the unshaven one said, "The Count is a busy man. He doesn't have time for visiting with every scruffy clodhopper about every little problem that comes up."
Bernard took a deep breath. "I understand that," he said. "Nonetheless, I am well within my rights to request to see him immediately on a matter of urgency to his holdings."
The unshaven guard shrugged. "You aren't a Citizen, clodhopper. You don't have any rights that I know of."
Amara's temper flashed, her patience evaporating. "We do not have time for this," she snapped. She turned to the guard in the fine cloak and said, "Garrison could be in danger of attack. We need to warn Gram about it, and let him react as he thinks fit."
The guards glanced at each other and then at Amara. "Look at that," the unshaven one drawled. "A girl. And here I thought that was just a skinny boy."
His partner leered. "I suppose we could always take off those breeches and find out."
Bernard narrowed his eyes. The Steadholder's fist lashed out, and the young legionare in the fine cloak landed in a senseless sprawl on the snow.
His unshaven partner blinked down at the unconscious young man and then up at Bernard. He reached for his spear, but Bernard spoke sharply, and the weapon's haft bowed, then straightened again, writhing out of the guard's reach and bounding away. The guard let out a short shriek and reached for his dagger.
Bernard stepped close to the young man and clutched his wrist, holding his hand at his belt. "Son. Don't be stupid. You'd best go get your superior officer."
"You can't do that," the guard sputtered. "I'll throw you in irons."
"I just did it," Bernard said. "And if you don't want me to do it again, you'll go get your centurion." Then he gave the young man a stiff shove, sending him clattering backward and falling into the snow at the base of the wall.
The guard swallowed and then bolted, running inside.
Amara looked from the guard in the snow to Bernard and asked, "Polite and respectful, eh?"
Bernard's face flushed. "They might be spoiled city boys, but they're Legion, by the furies. They should treat women with more respect." He rubbed at his hair. "And show more respect to a Steadholder, I suppose."
Amara smiled, but didn't say anything. Bernard flushed even brighter and coughed, looking away.
The unshaven guard emerged from the guardhouse with a half-dressed centurion, a young man little older than him. The centurion blinked stupidly at Bernard for a minute, then gave the guard a terse order, before stumbling back into the guardhouse to march off a moment later, still only half-dressed.
Several legionares gathered around the gate, and to Bernard's relief he recognized a few of the men from previous visits to Garrison. A few moments later, a grizzled old man dressed in a civilian tunic, but with the bearing and mien of a soldier, came walking briskly out of the gates, wisps of white hair drifting around his bald pate.
"Steadholder Bernard," he said, critically, eyeing the Steadholder. "You don't look so good." He made no particular comment about the condition of the guard lying in the snow, leaning down to rest his fingertips lightly on the young man's temples.
"Healer Harger," Bernard responded. "Did I hit him too hard?"
"Can't hit a head that thick too hard," Harger muttered. Then cackled. "Oh, he'll have a headache when he wakes up. I've been waiting for this to happen."
"New recruits?"
Harger stood up and paid little further attention to the young guard in the snow. "The better part of two whole cohorts down from Riva herself. Citizens' sons, almost all of them. Not enough sense to carry salt in a storm among the whole lot."
Bernard grimaced. "I need to get to Gram. Fast, Harger."
Harger frowned, tilting his head to one side and studying Bernard. "What's happened?"