"With an axe?" Paks stared at him.

"Oh, aye. Just you swing it from side to side, see-like the Master Smith does his hammer, that's all. It's the very thing. Won't break like a sword will." He laughed again, and Paks eyed him narrowly. If she had seen him in a tavern in Aarenis, she'd have thought him a stupid lout. He was two fingers taller than she, and built like an ale barrel. She'd seen him drain a tankard at one swallow. Yet he didn't move like a drunkard, and his size was more solid than fat.

Several more yeomen had joined them, hurrying out of side lanes. For a few moments, Paks felt almost at home, almost as if she was going somewhere with Stammel and other friends. Then one of them nudged another and spoke.

"Is it true, lady, that the Council has hired you?"

Paks was too surprised to make a good pretence of ignorance. "Why do you ask?" she said finally.

"Well-you've got money enough, that's obvious, and you make no sign of leaving. Could be you bribed them, or could be they hired you."

"Doryan!" Mal's bellow startled Paks as much as the statement.

"Don't yell at me, Mal. I've a right to ask, as much as anyone." Doryan shifted away from Mal, nonetheless, and winked at Paks. He was middle-aged, slightly stooped, and she had no idea what his trade was. "If you don't want to say, that's all right. Just asking."

Paks thought what she could say. The Council had not told her to keep her mission quiet, but she had planned to say nothing. How else could she find the spy they thought lived in Brewersbridge? "The Council decided," she said, "that I was no threat to the peace here. I had ordered .

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goods, and they gave me leave to stay until these were made up. They did say that you'd had trouble with brigands attacking caravans. Since I have been a soldier, they asked me to consider leading some volunteers against them.

"Huh!" Mal grunted and rubbed his neck as he walked. "Have to find them first, don't you? We all know they're out there, but no one's seen them."

"But who would go with you?" asked Doryan. He had an irritating whine in his voice. "We don't know you-the militia don't-and they don't think you could fight all those brigands yourself, do they?"

Paks answered Mal first. "You're right, no one can say where they are. I don't even know where to start looking. If I ever get that black horse tamed down-"

"I've seen you riding out," said Adgan. "One time I saw him shy, and you nearly went over his ears."

Paks blushed, grateful for the evening gloom. "Yes-the Marshal's teaching me, but I still fall off now and then. Anyway, I thought I could ride around and look for the brigands that way, but not until I can look at something besides his ears.'

"You rode though town today," said Doryan. Paks began to dislike him very much.

"Yes," she said shortly.

"You don't want to go looking for brigands alone," said Mal, more quietly than she'd heard him speak. "What if you found them?'

"I'd ride away," said Paks. "Very quickly."

"That's right; you're not a Girdsman." Doryan managed a sneer. Before Paks could react, Amisi and Adyan took him up on it.

"Doryan, that's stupid-"

"What's she to do, be hogstuck by a dozen brigands? TTiat's not Gird's way; you know the Marshal says Girdsmen have to think as well as fight."

"I still think-" began Doryan. Mal punched his shoulder hard enough to make him gasp.

"Doryan, you don think. You just talk. The lady Paks is our guest in the grange, and if you treat her like this she never will join the fellowship of Gird. We've all seen her 202.

drill; we know she'd be a good Girdsman. Marshal hopes sh.e.l.l join the grange, and so do I. Leave her be, man. You haven't caught any brigands yoursetf."

By this time they were approaching the barton gate. This time the boy on guard recognized Paks and grinned at her as she entered. Drill went much as it had oefore, with most of her time spent teaching the few swordsmen to use the short blades in formation. Ambros and the Marshal did much better; Paks decided they must have been practicing in private. As he was dismissing diem from chill, the Marshal asked Paks to carry a message to Sir Felis.

"Cal or Doryan could take it," he said, as some of the men turned to listen. "But even though they live on that side of town, it's an extra couple of miles for either of diem-and they start work early in the morning. It wouldn't takeyou long, to ride out there-"

"III be glad to," said Paks honestly. She had been looking for a good reason to talk to Sir Felis in privacy.

"And I can t work with you for a couple of days, the Marshal went on. "That's why the message must go tonight. I'm leaving for barton court rounds immediately. Ambros here will handle matters at the grange. Drill as usual," he said to the others. "I expect 111 be back in a few days, but Ambros will take drill if I'm not. Paksenarrion, I suggest that you and Ambros ride together an hour or more a day-but don't try mounted drill until I return. And if you can give him a couple hours of swordplay, it'll be good for both of you."

The other men left at last, and the Marshal ushered Paks back to his study. On his desk was a leather tube; Paks could see the paper rolled inside. He nodded at it. "That's for Sir Felis; it explains what I'm doing. Now-you seemed uneasy tonight. What have you found?"

Paks told him about the blazed tree, and the "game" trail that ended a few yards from it and tine road. The Marshal nodded. "I think you've found something important. If you'll take my advice, don't ride that way tomorrow. If you were seen pausing there-well, it could be .

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very dangerous. Right now a single arrow could end your campaign. Anything else?"

Paks hesitated. She glanced at Ambros, leaning against the door. He shrugged and moved back into the pa.s.sage. "I-I'm not sure. One of the yeomen said something-'

"Asked or said?"

"Asked, at first, about my business with the Council. He asked if I'd been hired or if I'd-I'd bribed them."

The Marshal's face stiffened. "Who?"

"Sir, I don't think he meant insult-"

"I didn't ask that. I asked who it was."

"I think his name is Doryan."

Hie Marshal nodded. "That doesn't surprise me. Doryan is-d&icult, sometimes. He became a Girdsman after he moved here. Anything more?"

Paks thought of Doryan's words and decided none of them were important. "Not really, no."

He looked thoughtfully at her before going on. "Paksenarrion, it's my business to defend my yeomen, if they need it. Don't be afraid to tell me what they say."

"But I don't want to be-" she couldn't think how to say what she meant, that no soldier held another to close account for every word, or told even a sergeant what a friend had said.

"You are not of our fellowship yet," said the Marshal with a smile. "Now-I meant what I said about you and Ambros riding out together. Race the horses, if you will- anyone will understand that. Ride north and east for a day or so. Wear your mail, and keep alert. If you find where the brigands are hiding out, talk to Sir Felis before you do anything. Don't wait for my return, if you need to take action, but don't rush things, either. Ambros will not be able to go with you on an attack; until I return, his primary responsibility must be the grange."

A little later, Paks rode north out of town toward the keep. Most of the houses were dark; die black horse's" hoofbeats echoed in the quiet streets. She had put on her mail shirt, and kept one hand close to her dagger.

At the keep, torches burned at the perimeter fence and on the building itself. An alert sentry challenged her; she 204.

waited while he took her name in, and returned to escort her to the entrance, inhere another soldier led her upstairs to Sir Felis's workroom, a long room with two tables littered with papers and maps. Sir Felis and Master Zinthys, standing together near one table, looked up as she entered.

"You nave an urgent message from the Marshal?"

"Yes, sir." Paks pulled the leather tube from her tunic and pa.s.sed it over. Zinthys smiled at her, as Sir Felis, frowning, worked the paper out of the tube and unrolled it. Zinthys wore a different, but equally rich-looking velvet robe, trimmed in white fur around the shoulders. Paks noticed, once again, the graceful movements of his hands.

"Why don't you sit down, Paksenanion. We have spiced wine ready on the fire-would you care for some?"

Paks shook her head, not certain what courtesy demanded, but sat in the chair Zinthys pointed out. He moved to the one next to her, and sat down with a sigh, stretching his legs.

"I'll have some then, if you permit." He hooked a potlift in the handle of a can on the hearth, and poured the wine into his mug. "Ah. These chill autumn nights make the best of wine. You should try it." He slid his eyes sideways at her. "Or perhaps you drink only ale?"

"I-most soldiers drink ale," said Paks. "Wine-we had that with an herb in it, if we were wounded."

"Numbwine. Yes. Not as good as a potion, but good enough. But you're hardly a common soldier now, lady, and you might find you liked spiced wine." Zinthys poured another mug full and pa.s.sed it to her. Paks took it, and sipped. Zinthys watched her, his eyebrows raised. "Well?"

' It's-very good." She looked down, and sipped again. It was good, a red wine flavored with her favorite spices.

"Have you found any trace of our brigands?" asked Zinthys.

"No, sir, unless something I saw today-" She told him about the blazed tree, and answered his questions. She started to add what the Marshal had explained about the possible uses of such a blaze in setting an ambush, but remembered in time that Sir Felis probably already knew that. He nodded.

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"Fresh blazes. There's that merchant from Chaya in town now-wasn't he planning to leave tomorrow, Zinthys?"

"That's right. Master merchant Cobai Trav-something, and his gnome partners-"

"Gnomes?" asked Paks, sitting up.

"Yes. What is it, haven't you seen gnomes before?"

"No. I've heard of them." She remembered Bosk talking about gnomes, elves, and dwarves on her first trip south.

"Well, around here you'll see gnomes fairly often. I'm surprised you didn't see these at the inn today. Two of the gnome kingdoms are less than a three days* ride from here. If you meet them, remember that they're very strict."

"Strict?"

Zinthys laughed. "They make a court judge look like a juggler, Paksenanion. They are full of dignity, and pride, and the right way to do everything-Ashto help you if you laugh at a gnome, or fail to complete a contract.'

"They don't like wizards," said Sir Felis drily. Paks glanced at him, and he grinned slightly, c.o.c.king his head at Zinthys. Zinthys flushed.

"It's not that, Sir Felis-it's that they're so-so-" he waved his hands in the air. "Sober," he finished. "Dead serious all the time, that's gnomes."

"Anyway," Sir Felis went on, "there's a west-bound caravan in town now-headed for the gnome kingdoms next, and then Verella. And if that blaze is fresh, it could mean that the brigands are planning to attack."

"It won't do any good to tell gnomes," said Zinthys.

"No, perhaps not. But I will send word to the caravan master. Not you, Paks-" he said, as she opened her mouth. "I don't want you to ride with this caravan-you weren't hired as a guard. If the brigands do strike, they should leave some trace you can follow to find their lair."

Sir Felis agreed with the Marshal's advice to ride out in other directions for the next day or so. Paks took this chance to look at his maps one more time, and fix in her mind the location of the ruined buildings he thought might harbor brigands.

The next morning when Paks went out to care for the 206.

black horse, die inn yard was busy. The day before she had been so excited about the blaze that she had not noticed the wagons and teams in the yard. Now teamsters were hitching teams of heavy mules to wagons. Paks realized that the short fellows she'd dismissed as someone's boys were actually not human-gnomes, she a.s.sumed. They were not so stout as the dwarves she'd seen; they wore plain clothes of gray and brown. Sevri merely nodded to her, darting quickly from one stall to another as she finished her morning's work. Paks decided to eat breakfast at the inn, after feeding the horses, so that she could watch the caravan leave.

It was not nearly so large as the one she had been with in Aarenis: seven wagons loaded with barrels and bales, with two guards besides the driver on each. The merchants -a blond human and two gnomes in sober colors but richer cloth than the gnome teamsters-rode saddle mules. Paks noticed that none of the gnomes smiled, though the human merchant grinned a farewell to Hebbinford, and *promised to bring a barrel of "Marrakai red" on the way back. She went on with her breakfast, and was just washing down the last crumbs of it when Ambros appeared outside. She leaned out the window and called to nira.

"I thought I'd come here," he said, dismounting. "If we're riding east today-"

"Just a moment-" Paks gestured to Hebbinford, who came to take her coins. "I know I'm late, but I thought I'd have time to breakfast before work today."

"Don't rush." Ambros did not seem in any hurry. "Shall I saddle your horse for you?"

"No. I don't know how he'd behave." Paks hurried up to her room, remembering the Marshal's injunction to wear mail every day. She was startled to see the black-clad man lounging in the upper pa.s.sage. Had he been trying her door? But he smiled and nodded, as if glad to see her. Paks unlocked her door thoughtfully and latched it behind her. Everything seemed to be in place. She donned the lightweight man the elfane taig had given her, pulled her shirt back over it, and caught up her old cloak. With that rolled into a bundle under her arm, she came back into .

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the pa.s.sage, and found it empty. She had heard no footsteps pa.s.sing.

By the time she was back downstairs, Ambros had led his horse into the inn yard. He was munching a hot pastry, and grinned at her as she went into the stable. Sevri was busily cleaning out stalls; Paks thought of telling her about the black-clad man, but decided against it. She saddled the black horse without trouble, led it into the yard, and mounted, Ambros swung into his own saddle and they rode out, turning right onto the east road.

"How far out this way have you ridden?" he asked.

"Not very. I came in this way-on a trail that joins the road from the south."

"I know the one."

"I've ridden that far-no more."

"Let's go to the border, then," said Ambros. Paks looked at him. He seemed happy and younger, like a child at a fair. She wondered what the life of a yeoman marshal was like.

"How far is that?"

"Oh-if we keep moving, we can be there and back by tonight. Late tonight."

"Should we?"

Ambros grinned at her. "Probably not. But it would be fun. I grew up near the border; I know the country. We won't get lost, and I don't think anything this way will bother us."

"Well, the Marshal said-"

"The Marshal said ride other ways than west. This is other. By Gird, Paks, I haven't had a day to myself since-" he stopped suddenly, and ran his hand through his hair. Paks remembered suddenly that she had not brought her helmet, and felt stupid. What good was mail, when a head-blow was easy and deadly? "Anyway," he went on, more calmly, "I don't see that it will hurt to ride all day. If we don't make it that far by noon, then well turn back. Why not?"

Paks wondered if he really wanted to visit his home. She did not want to ask. She wondered what Ambros would say if she turned back for her helmet. Would he 208.

think she was a coward? Was he even wearing mail himself? She tried to see, and could not tell. The mail from the elfane taig, she had found, did not jingle as her other mail shirt had; she thought perhaps gooa mail did not. In the end she said nothing, and they jogged on together, into the morning sun.

When nothing happened for some time, Paks quit thinking so much about an arrow in the head, and instead enjoyed the ride. A thin haze covered the sun, thickening to a gray ceiling as they rode. Ambros frowned at the sky.

"If that keeps up, we'd better turn back."