Paks stared at him, shocked. She couldn't speak. Finally she choked out: "Agent? But-but I never thought-"

"No," said the Kuakgan grimly. "You didn't think. That much is obvious. An agent would think, would have acted very differently. But the Council can't know what I know.

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They are concerned. So they should be. Your tale of the elfene taig, and the elves' aid, and having to meet me and Marshal Cedfer, and treasure-well, it would be stupider men than our Council that could see where that might come from." He went back to his meal. Paks sat frozen, her appet.i.te gone, the food she had already eaten a cold lump in her belly. She watched him eat. Finally he pushed his plate away. "And on top of all," he said, "a green shirt. With gold embroidery. I suppose you don't know what that means?" She shook her head. "Hmmph. You must have gone straight from your sheepfarm into the Company, and straight into Aarenis from there."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, child, Brewersbridge is near the border of Tsaia and Lyonya. Our local Count, such as he is, is a va.s.sal of Tsaia. His colors are blue and rose. Green and gold are the colors of the royal house of Lyonya."

"Oh." Paks thought suddenly of the Halveric colors: dark green and gold. She did not even consider asking.

"I told them you didn't mean anything by it. I a.s.sume you just like the colors? Yes. They'll be asking you anyway. There's a Council meeting tonight, and you're summoned. Ill be there, and Marshal Cedfer. You met our Master Mason the other night. Captain Sir Felis Trevlyn, the Count's military representative, and commander at the new Keep. Probably his mage, Master Zinthys. Jos Hebbinford you know, and Master Senneth. Our mayor is Master Ceddrin, the Brewmaster. You'll be asked for a clear account of yourself, and for news of what's happened this past year in Aarenis." He stopped again. Paks noaded, and he went on.

"I thought you might give a clearer account, if you had the afternoon to think about it. If there's anything you haven't told the truth about, you'd better be prepared to tonight. You'll probably be asked to submit to an Examination of Truth-'

"What's that?" asked Paks.

"A spell. Under its influence, you cannot lie. You can refuse to answer questions, however, should you wish. The Council consented to my telling you this, because of 154.

my judgment of you, I think you have nothing to fear from the Examination or the Council, but you must expect sharp questioning: don't get angry. If you are unwilling to come before the Council, you must leave Brewersbridge at once. You can't go north, deeper into the Count's lands, without Sir Felis's permission, which you won't get. You could go west, if you went fast, and were beyond the bounds by sundown. East, as you know, has its own hazards, and south is back up the mountains. And if you go, they 11 a.s.sume you've lied. I advise you to stay."

"I wouldn't have run away," said Paks.

"Good. Jos Hebbinford will tell you what time to come. After supper. You might want to dress for it, if you can." He stood, and Paks scrambled to her feet. "You are, you know, as welcome at the Grove as at die Grange." He turned away. Paks thought of the snowcat again. Should she tell him? She wondered what he would say.

By midaftemoon, Paks had bathed and washed her hair. Her good shirt, mended, was drying in the stableyard; she wore the ragged one in her room. She bad oiled her boots, and was working on her sword belt while her hair dried in the breeze from the window. She heard boots coming down the pa.s.sage, stopping before her door. She froze, and reached for the sword, where she'd laid it on the bed. Someone knocked, and called her name softly.

Paks glanced around the room, then at the door, conscious of her loose hair, the mail shirt hanging on a peg. She shrugged, and answered.

"Yes?"

"I'm Arvid Semmmson, lady, a traveller also staying here. You've seen me in the common room, in black trousers. I heard you were staying in this afternoon, and I've been wanting to speak with you. May I come in, or could we meet downstairs shortly?"

Paks thought of the man in dark clothes. She had no idea what his profession was, which itself made thief most likely. She thought of the Council meeting that night, and decided that she didn't want to meet anyone privately. "I'll be downstairs a little later, if that will suit."

"Very good," came the voice through the door, a mel- .

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low and pleasant voice. "I shall be honored to buy you a tankard of Hebbinfbrd's best ale, or wine, whichever you prefer." The footsteps went away, back toward the stairs. Paks ran her hands through her hair, which was almost dry, and began to comb it. Somehow it was much worse to be found with loose hair: she did not feel like a fighter with hair down her back and wisping into her face. She braided it tightly, then finished her work on the sword belt. Her sword was clean and sharp, as always. She took off her trousers and looked them over. The previous mending still held. She could do nothing more for the shirt she had on. She had patched the worst rents, but the other holes and scorches remained. She had brushed and aired her cloak, but it, too, was stained and worn. The leather tunic, though bloodmarked, was better over her shirt than nothing. She slipped it over her head, decided against the mail, and felt her boots. Still damp and oily. It would be another hour or so before they were dry. She pulled out die thin leather liners she'd worn in the high mountains, and put them on. More respectable than socks or bare feet. She strapped her sword belt on over the tunic, made sure she could get her dagger easily, and went downstairs.

Arvid Semmmson had chosen a table with a good view of the stairs. He smiled as he saw her, and waved. Paks came to his table. Only one other person was in the common room, a great cheerful youth she had seen before, happily downing a tankard of ale at a swallow. He was leaning on the wall behind his table, and looked half asleep.

Semminson's clothes, Paks noticed as she came closer, were, if not new, at least unpatched and whole. By the drape of the shoulder and sleeve, the cloth was of fine quality. The belt at his waist was polished black leather, new enough that die edges had not curled; his dagger's sheath was well-oiled and unscarred. He himself had neatly trimmed dark hair, a smoodi-shaven face, and bright black eyes. His mouth quirked in amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Do I pa.s.s your inspection, lady?" he asked pleasantly.

Paks thought of her own ragged shirt and patched trousers, and reddened. "I've no right to inspect," she muttered.

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"No, but you were. Everyone does. I expect that. See here, lady, I'll be straight with you-no secrets. I'm no merchant, nor mercenary fighter. Our esteemed innkeeper thinks I'm a thief, though I haven't robbed him. That's neither here nor there. But you, either you're-how shall I say?-in a related business to mine, or you're simply unaware of the situation. Either way, I can't let such an attractive young woman wander into a trap without warning. Do you follow me?"

Paks shook her head. She felt a certain distaste for his attempt at flattery. After the tailor's wife's comments, she had no illusions about being "an attractive young woman" by local standards.

"Well-" he looked her up and down. "It might be that our interests would lie together. Or if not, a favor done might earn a favor later, who knows? But you know there's a Council meeting set for tonight?"

"Yes, but-"

"And you've agreed to go."

"Yes."'

He snorted, "Then either you're a great deal more knowing than you act, or you know nothing at all." He leaned closer to her. "You can't hope to come out of that easily, you know. They'll get you one way or the other."

"What do you mean?"

He ticked off the points on his fingers. "A stranger in town, with plenty of money, and no liege to worry about angering, and under no protection they know of? Don't be silly. They'll find some excuse, and then pfft! You're in trouble."

"But I haven't-"

"-done anything," he finished for her, and laughed again. "And just what do you think that has to do with it, eh? No, let me give you some advice. It's too late to escape, if you would. But be very careful. After they back you in a corner, they'll probably offer you some sort of deal, if they can't find anything to imprison you for at once. Consider it very carefully, whatever it is. Very carefully. Make no promises you can avoid. Beware of that .

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wizard, if he's there: he'll try to bind you with some sort of spell, if you aren't careful."

"But why are you telling me all this?" asked Paks, thinking hard.

"As I told you. A favor. I may need one from you someday. You can't do me any good if you're in a cell, or dead. And if they do offer you a deal, I'd like to know about it. Before I came here, I'd heard the Council had hired outsiders for some kind of interesting work. Since I arrived, no one will tell me anything. Maybe they'll tell you, if they think they have a hold on you. And if you end up taking a job-well, you might want someone with you who wasn't one of theirs, if you know what I mean."

Paks was both fascinated and repelled. What he said almost made sense, almost fit with the Kuakgan's words. She still could not understand what sort of hold anyone could have on her, or why they would want to find her guilty of something. In Aarenis, they might have wanted an excuse to seize her for the slave market, but not in Tsaia. She wondered if Semminson was the kind of agent that the Kuakgan had been talking about. Would anyone, ever, try to help a southern army invade the north? She was sure not, until she remembered that Soft Ganarrion was planning to come north to fight for his throne. She said nothing, rubbing her toe against the top of the other foot. Semminson was watching her.

"Well," she said finally. "Whatever comes, I'll be meeting with the Council tonight."

"Just keep what I said in mind," he urged.

"Mmm. I will." She noticed Hebbinford watching her from the kitchen door. She looked away and stood.

"Good luck to you," said Semminson softly. "I fear you'll need it." Paks went on out to the stableyard to gather her clean clothes from the line.

All in all, she had little appet.i.te for supper that night. Her clean shirt had only die one tear, which she had mended, and everything was as neat as she could make it, but she still felt shabby. She wondered whether to wear her mail. If Semminson was a thief, she hated to leave it 158.

behind, but she didn't want them to think she was looking for trouble, either. She thought it over, and finally cornered Hebbinfbrd to ask him.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "It's valuable, and you're a fighter-wear it if you wish. You can't carry a sword into Council, but die guards will keep it for you. Whatever you're comfortable with."

She wasn't comfortable at all, but decided to go upstairs and put on the mail. Semminson was coming out of a room farther along the hall, and he gave her a knowing look. She put on the heavy jingling shirt, buffed her helmet on the blanket, and put that on as well. With a captain of soldiers coming, she might as well look like a soldier.

Hebbinford sent one of the girls to her room to call her; she came down the stairs with a sort of muddled determination to do the right thing and not be trapped. He was waiting at the door, dressed in a long blue gown under a far^joUared cloak, instead of his usual tunic and ap.r.o.n. He smiled and they set off for the Hall together. Paks heard horses behind them, and moved to the edge of the street automatically. Hebbinford turned to look, and waved to the lead rider.

"Ah, Sir Felis. You haven't been in town these past few days."

No. There's enough to do at the keep." Paks looked up at the mounted figure, his face lit by his escorts' torches. He wore chainmaD and helmet, and she could tell nothing about him except that he sat his horse like a soldier. He looked down at her and spoke to Hebbinford. "Is this the person I've heard of?"

"Yes, Sir Felis. This is Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter."

"Hmmph." She saw the glitter of his eyes as they scanned her. "You look more like a soldier than a free blade, young woman. You were with Duke Phelan's Company?"

"Yes, sir."

"What rank?"

"As a private, sir. File leader, my last year."

"I see. What-? No, I'll wait until we're in session." He gave a casual wave of the hand to Hebbinford, and rode on past them.

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The hall, when they reached it, was lighted by torches in brackets along the front, as well as inside. Two of the captain's escorts stood guard at the door. Paks felt sweat spring cold on her forehead; she wanted to yawn for no reason. Semminson's veiled warnings seemed suddenly appropriate. She heard voices inside. Hebbinford nudged her, and she surrendered her sword to the guard on the right, and went on through the door.

At the far end of a large room, much larger than the common room at the inn, a knot of people cl.u.s.tered around the one table. Paks recognized Marshal Cedfer, now in mail, and looking much more like the Marshal she'd seen in Aarenis. His surcoat bore the crescent of Gird on a dark blue field. Master Oakhallow, in the same long robe he had worn in the afternoon, was already seated, and talking to one of the other men. Another man in mail-Paks a.s.sumed it was Sir Felis-stood at the end of the table, lips folded tightly as he listened.

Paks heard someone come in behind her, and turned to see the stonemason, Master Feddith. He gave her a cold look and stumped over to the table at once. Hebbinford, too, moved to that side of the room, and Paks followed slowly. A man she had not seen in town before, tall, with a generous belly, sat behind the table and looked up as the master mason and Hebbinford approached.

"Ah," he said. "We're all here, then. Have a seat, Councillors, have a seat. Let's get on with this." He looked at Paks. "So you're the young woman I've heard so much about? Paks-" He looked down at a sheet before him. "Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter? Of Three Firs?"

"Yes, sir," said Paks. The others were all taking seats around the far side and end of the table.

"Good. Let me introduce you to the Council. I'm the mayor, Brewmaster Ceddrin. You saw my place on your way to the grange. You know Marshal Cedfer, and Master Oalchallow, and Master Hebbinford already. Captain Sir Felis Trevlyn, our count's military representative-" Sir Felis nodded shortly; in this light Paks could tell that he was a lean, weatherbeaten man somewhat shorter than Duke Phelan. His beard was carefully trimmed. "-and 160.

Master Zinthys, the mage-" Paks looked at the slender, handsome young man in a long velvet robe lavishly banded with braid. He had rings on both hands, and a great polished crystal hanging by a silver chain on his chest. Master Zinthys smiled. The mayor went on. "This is Master Feddith, the stonemason, and I believe you also know Master Senneth, the moneychanger." He looked up and Paks nodded. "Also with us tonight are past Councillors: Master Hostin, our miller, Trader Garin Carinsson, and Master Doggal, the smith. Eris Arvidsdotter is here representing the farmholders." Trader Garin wore merchants' robes, and Eris Arvidsdotter wore a wool gown and cloak. She was as tall as Paks, and broad-shouldered; her gray hair was in a braided coil. The mayor paused until Paks had nodded at each of these. Then he picked up a heavy gavel lying on the table and rapped three times; the table boomed.

"The council of Brewersbridge is in session," he said loudly. "I ask the protection of all the G.o.ds, and the guidance of all good spirits, to be over us in this meeting. May wisdom and truth prevail. In the name of the High Lord, and all the powers of light." It sounded stilted, as if he didn't open the council formally that often.

"May it be," responded the others.

"We are met," he said in a lower tone, "to learn what we can of a traveler here, one Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter. We have heard disturbing things all this year of trouble in Aarenis. We will examine this person to see what her business is here, and how it may be bound in with what has happened there." He waited, and Paks noticed that both the mage and the Marshal were taking notes. "Does anyone object to my asking the questions?" asked the mayor. Heads were shaken around the table. "Very well, then. If you have other questions, when I'm through, just say so. Now-is Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter your true name?"

"Yes, sir, but I'm called Paks, since I left home."

"I see. And you come from Three Firs? Where is that? In Tsaia?"

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"I-I'm not sure. The closest larger town was Rocky Ford; that's where I joined Duke Phelan's Company-"

The Marshal cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Mayor, but Rocky Ford is just within Tsaia, near the Finthan border in the north."

"I see. Three Firs was small, then?"

"Yes, sir. Much smaller than Brewersbridge. My father's land was a half-day's sheep drive out on the moors. We went to Three Firs rarely."

^And Rocky Ford?"

"I'd never been there before I-I ran away to join the Company."

"So you went directly from home to Duke Phelan's Company-hmm. And what was your father?"

"A sheep farmer," said Paks. "I learned about mercenary companies from my cousin Jornoth; he'd left several years before, and came back with a horse, and gold, and said he was in the guard."

"Where? In Tsaia?"

"He didn't say, sir. But he said 1 couldn't go directly to a job that good. He said I'd have to start somewhere else, and he told me what to do."

"Hmm. Not common, for a girl from a remote farm to join an army."

"No, sir. But I'd always wanted to be a warrior-"

"As a mercenary?" put in the Marshal.

Paks blushed. "Not-exactly, sir. But Jornoth said that was the way to start."

The mayor took control again. "You say you were trained at Duke Phelan's stronghold, and went from there to the wars in Aarenis?"

"Yes, sir."

"How long were you in Aarenis?"

"I was there for three campaign seasons, and in winter quarters in Valdaire. Only a few come back north in the winters."

"You must have had a short season this year," he said, looking at her sharply. "Why did you leave your Company?"

Paks hesitated. "The war-Siniava had been killed, and my two years were up."

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"You have told Marshal Cedfer and Master Oakhallow what happened to you; we also would like to know, from your own lips."

"Yes, sir. ' Paks gathered her wits. She hurried over the first part of the trip with Macenion, merely mentioning his half-elf ancestry and the knowledge he claimed of the mountains. Then she described the valley of the elfane taig as they had first seen it, and the dream that came to both of them. The Councillors listened without interrupting as she described the underground pa.s.sages, and the chamber where they'd found the elf-lord. Through the battle with him, the burning, and the running fight with the ores, and the last struggle that ended, beyond her comprehension, with her alone on the surface, no one spoke or stirred. "Some sickness came on me," she said finally. "I couldn't go far along the trail; a snowstorm came down off the mountains, and I fell. Then it was that the elves came. They healed me, and entered the valley to see whether I had told them the truth. When they returned, they told me how to find my way here, and gave me messages to Master Oakhallow and Marshal Deordtya. I was to say that Ae elfane taig has awaked, and the elf-lord was freed/ Paks stopped, a.n.a.l looked up and down the table. The faces were intent, but no longer hostile.