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"Just to be your squire," pleaded Suli. "I know I couldn't earn ray way yet, as a soldier. But you could teach me-"

"I don't know enough myself. No, don't argue. I know what a private in the Duke s Company knows, and a little more. You think it's a lot-dial's because you don't know-" Paks broke off, shaking her head. Would ihis have convinced her, the year she left home? Would anything convince Suli, now glaring at the table? She could feel that stubborn resolution as if it were a flame. She tried again. "Suli, I do think you can be a good soldier. You are strong, fast, and fairly skilled. More skilled than I was when I left home. I'm not trying to keep you from becoming a fighter. If you don't want to join a mercenary company, try one of the guards' units. Or ask Marshal Cedfer about training in the Fellowship. But all I can teach is fighting skills, and I'm finding out how much more 1 need. Why, when I first came, I'd never stayed in an inn before-"

"TTiat's why I don't want to join a company," said Suli. "Staying all together, never on my own. I already know how to uve on my own-and I can help you with mat."

"You fight too much," Paks said. She had heard that from Mal and the others. Suli blushed. Paks went on. "My old sergeant said soldiers were fools to get in brawls. Most folk don't like soldiers anyway, and you get a reputation for causing trouble, they're glad enough to see you in the lockup or sold to slavers."

"We don't have any slavers here," muttered Suli.

"No, but you've got a lockup." Paks drained her mug. "Look, Suli, that's beside the point. It's not you. It's me. I'm not ready to take on someone to train. I was looking for more training for myself. If I were just adventuring, it'd be different, but I'm not. I want-"

"But 111 never have another chance," Suti burst out. "n.o.body pays any attention-I'm just a crazy girl, that's what they think. I thought you would help-you're a woman, after all-and I'll never get out of this place if you don't-"

Paks slapped the table. "That's just what I've been telling you, Suli. How to get out and get die training you need. But you don't want to do it the right way. You want 284.

it to come all at once. I can see it in your eyes-you look at my sword, and my mail, and that big horse, and see yourself. What you don't see is the years in between, the years it took me to get all that. And there's no other way. Yes, I was lucky-I got some of it by a lucky chance. But die experience, the fighting skill, no. That came from years of just what you say you don't want-daily drill, daily work, battles that you call dull. That's what gave me the skill to take a chance when it came. You can't just leap from being a village girl with a knack for swordplay to-' she paused, uncertain how she would describe herself honestly.

"It could happen," said Suli. "It could. If you had found someone before you joined the company, she could have taught you everything you needed. You might have been rich and famous before now."

"I might have been dead before now, too. And Suli, knowing what I know now, I wouldn't have hired myself back then. It took the Duke's recruit company months to train any of us."

"But I've been training, with the Marshal. You've seen me-I'm not a beginner."

Paks sighed. She wondered if she had seemed so-so young, when she'd joined the Company. All that eagerness. At least she had taken Jornoth's advice, had not just run away to search for adventure on her own. She was trying to frame an answer, aware of Suli's intense gaze, when a shadow fell on her. She looked around. One of the senior yeoman nodded to her.

"Lady Paksenarrion? Marshal Cedfer would like to speak with you in the grange." He smiled at Suli, who reddened. "They say, Suli, that you fought weU with this lady."

"She did," said Paks.

"Well have to see about transferring you to the senior rolls," said the man to Suli. "Might make a yeoman-marshal, might she?" he asked of Paks.

"I-don't know how you choose yeoman-marshals, but Suli is a good swordsman." Paks stood up. "If you'll excuse .

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me, I'll get my cloak-" The yeoman sat down and began talking to Suli; Paks was relieved.

The Marshal's office was slightly cold; Paks wondered why he had lit no fire in the small fireplace. Then she saw that the Kuakgan stood leaning in the corner, quiet as a shadow.

"Come in, Paksenarrion," said the Marshal. "We've been talking about you." She glanced quickly at the Kuakgan, who said nothing. What had they said? The last talks with the Marshal had been painful enough; she knew he no longer blamed her for Ambros's death, but she still blamed herself a little. She sat down when he gestured at a chair; the Kuakgan moved forward to take another.

"You will be wondering why," the Marshal went on. "I, as you know, would like to see you join the Fellowship of Gird. As a Marshal of Gird, I am interested in all soldiers, as well as the cause of right. In your case, something more moves me. It is for this that I contacted the Kuakgan, and talked with him about you."

"Yes, sir," said Paks, when he paused as if for some comment. She didn't know what else to say.

"Before we go on, would you mind telling me whether you have accepted Suli's service? I know she wants to be your squire, or some such-she's been wanting a way out of Brewersbridge for the last three years."

"Marshal Cedfer, I was talking to her when your yeoman asked me to come here. I don't-I know I'm not a knight, and have no way to use a squire. I'm not a wandering free sword-which she seems to think-and I don't need a companion. I told her fhat."

"Have you any complaint of her?"

"No. None at all. She fought bravely against the hool, as I told you, and did well against the priest's guards. But sir-she's not ready to be a soldier, I don't think. And I'm not the one to train her. I need more training myself, to be what-what I'd like."

"Do you know what that is, Paksenarrion?" asked the Kuakgan.

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herself in some n.o.ble's troops-even the Tsaian Royal Guard-the picture blurred and blew away. "Not a mercenary-what people think of as a mercenary. Not a caravan guard the rest of my life."

"A knight?" asked Marshal Cedfer. "A captain, perhaps?"

"Maybe." Paks looked at her hands. "I am a soldier, I enjoy swordplay, I want to be in that kind of life. But not just for-for fighting anything, or for show. I want to fight-"

"What needs fighting?" suggested the Kuakgan.

Paks looked at him and nodded. "I think mat's what I mean. Bad things. Like the robbers in Aarenis that killed my friends, or Siniava-he was evil. Or that-whatever that held the elf-lord. Only I don't think I have the powers for that. But I want to fight where I'm sure it's right-not just to show that I'm big and strong. It's the same as tavern brawling, it seems to me-even if it's armies and lords-"

The Kuakgan nodded. "You've learned a lot, Paksenarrion, besides what most soldiers know. I thought so before, but now I'm sure. Do you know anything of die rangers in Lyonya?"

"No." Paks frowned. "Why?"

"You have fought with the elfane taig. It may be that you can sense the taigin, and if so you would be able to work with them."

"Master Oakhallow-" the Marshal began. The Kuakgan waved him to silence.

"Marshal, I don't question the sincerity of Girdsmen. You know that. We honor the same G.o.ds. But some fighters have abilities Gird does not use. She may be one of them." He turned back to Paks. "Paksenarrion, we agree that you have shown ability to fight evil. You have shown a desire to know more of good, and to fight for it. We both think you have been touched by the evil you've fought- not to contaminate you, but in such wise that you should not go back to ordinary soldiering. Do you agreed* *;?

Paks was too bewildered to answer. Marshal Cedfer spoke up.

"Paksenarrion, when you came you said your Duke had .

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recommended additional training-even toward a captaincy. We are prepared to guide you toward such training, but you must choose. I can give you a letter to the Marshal-General at Fin Panir; she will probably take my recommendation and let you study with the training order there. From that you can become a knight in either of the two Girdish orders-or even a paladin, if Gird's grace touches you."

"And I can give you introduction to the rangers of Lyonya," said the Kuakgan. "If you satisfied them, they might recommend you to the Knight-Commander of the Knights of Falk. That would be a few years away, however. But in either case, you would use your skills only in causes of good. If that way of fighting did not appeal, you could always leave."

"You could not take Suli with you, either way," said the Marshal. "That's why I asked. If you had contracted with her, the gnome merchants have told me that they can get you a contract from the gnome prince of Gnarriniulk. Something in the way of soldiering, I don't know what. But if you aren't taking Suli, then-" He stopped and c.o.c.ked his head, waiting for her answer.

"But I'm not Girdish," she managed to say. Nothing else came out.

"No. But I daresay that in Fin Panir, at the High Lord's Hall, after training with others of the faith, that Gird would make plain his interest in you." The Marshal leaned back a little in his chair. "I think he has already, Paksenarrion. When I think of the things you have come through-" Paks thought to herself that he didn't know the half of it. She had not told him all about Aarenis. She remembered what the priest of Achrya had said: "near enough a paladin . . . Achrya will be pleased if I interfere in the growth of a paladin of Gird ..." And the training at Fin Panir was famous throughout the north. She might become a knight -or even a paladin-she pushed the thought away. It was for the G.o.ds to think of such things, not a soldier. But the other way. Rangers-she knew nothing of them. The thought of more powers like the elfene taig daunted her, 288.

though she hated to admit it. And years of service, before she might think of the Knights of Falk.

She looked at the Kuakgan again, meeting his dark eyes squarely. "Sir-Master Oakhallow-I honor yon-"

"I know that, child," he said, smiling.

"If you have a-" she stopped, knowing what she meant, but not how to say it. If he demanded it, in return for releasing her from guilt for the snowcat's murder, she would go. She saw understanding in his eyes.

"I have no commands for you, Paksenarrion," he said softly. "You have served Brewersbridge well; you have fulfilled my trust in you, and my hope for you. Go with my blessings, whichever way you go."

"Then-" she looked back at the Marshal. Was it for Ambros, who had trusted her with his fears and died beyond her help? Was it for Canna, who had left her the medallion? Or for something else, something she felt dimly and could not define? "I would be glad, sir, of your recommendation," she said formally. The Marshal snot a triumphant glance at the Kuakgan; Paks nearly took her words back. But the Kuakgan's smile was open and friendly. He spoke to her alone.

"Paksenarrion, the Kuakkganni treasure all life created in the first song. We study, we learn, but we do not order a creature from its own way. And the creature itself knows its own way best, unless it is sorely hurt. If the other way had been best for you, you would have known." He turned back to the Marshal. "Marshal Cedfer, we are no more rivals than two men who plant a seed neither of them knows, and argue until it sprouts whether it will be fireoak or yellowwooa. The seed knows itself; it will grow as its nature demands, and when the first leaves open, all arguments are over."

To Paks's surprise, the Marshal looked shamefaced. "You're right, Master Oakhallow. I have no right-but I was hoping so, for some good to come of Ambros's death."

The Kuakgan nodded gravely. "And yet you know that good has come of it. The webspinner's priest is gone, and you will clean that filthy place from end to end. Ambros has shown that your training prepares untried lads for the .

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worst of wars, and the best of ends. You live in constant combat, Marshal, and it makes you alert to each advantage- but the G.o.ds move in longer cycles, as well. Be at peace, honest warrior." He rose and left the room. For a long silent time, Paks and Marshal Cedfer sat in quiet, contented. Then the Marshal shook himself like a wet puppy and snorted.

"Gird's grace, that fellow could cast a spell on stone. He may have time enough, but I live a normal span, like any man. Paksenarrion, I will write my letter this afternoon. When will you be fit for travel?" "In a day or so. I'd like to get everything cleaned up." "Good. I think you should not linger; winter will close some roads soon, and it makes bitter traveling to the northwest. About Suli-do you want me to talk to her?" "I told her she should talk to you, but she-" "She doesn't want it; she knows what I'll say. I've said it before. All right. Ill say it again. I can send her to another grange-a larger one-with more women training. Let her know what she can work towards-yeoman-marshal, or something like that. Tell her to come, if you see her." Paks wondered if it would help, but said she would.

Chapter Eighteen.

As autumn darkened into winter, Paks rode north and west, into Ve"rella of the Bells, and west along the Honnorgat, through one town after another, as the river narrowed. She pa.s.sed from grange to grange, enjoying the hospitality of each, as the Marshal's letter opened the doors. As she neared Fintha, she tried to think of a more elegant name for the black horse, something suitable for a warhorse, but she had thought of him as Socks from the first, and it stuck in her mind. She thought of turning aside at Whitemeadow, and following a branch of the river north to Rocky Ford, and then on to Three Firs. But had her dowry arrived yet? Would she be welcome? She decided to wait until she had her knighthood, and ride home with Gird's crescent on her arm.

Frost whitened the ground the morning she first caught sight of Fin Panir. She had been on the road before dawn, the saddle cold as iron beneath her, and her breath pluming out before. When the sun rose into a clear cola sky, the ground sparkled in rose and gold; the tree branches interlacing overhead were glittering with frost. It was Wee riding inside a pearl. A t.i.ttle wind blew the sparkling frost in swirls before her. Paks found herself grinning, and nudged the black horse into a trot. He squealed and kicked out behind before settling down. She laughed aloud.

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Then the forest broke apart, and she saw across a bend of the river the spires of the High Lord's Hall, gleaming in silver and gold against the blue sky. Beneath was a tangle of roofc and walls, multi-colored stone, tiles, sliced into fantastic shapes by the sharp shadows of a winter sun. Fin Panir was a walled city, but wailed like none Paks had seen, with multiple angles in and out. She rode toward it, yearning.

Within an hour she was near enough to pick out the gates. Between her and the walls, a small company of hors.e.m.e.n rode, armor glittering and banners dancing above. When she was near enough, they hailed her.

"Ho! Traveler! Where are you bound?" The leader was deep-voiced, a man of middle height in chainmail with a blue mantle bearing Gird's crescent.

"To the Hall in Fin Panir," said Paks. "I have a letter from Marshal Cedfer of Brewersbridge."

"For the Marshal-General?" he seemed surprised.

"Yes, sir. Can you direct me?"

"Yes, of course. But you might ask at the gates; she may be abroad this morning. You will have left Tor's Crossing early-or did you camp out last night?"

"I left early, sir."

"Well, the Marshal-General's quarters are in the Hall Courts. Take the first left, after the gate, and then a right-go straight past two turns, and then left again under the arch. Someone will take your horse there, and guide you. But, as I said, ask at the city gates if your message is urgent; they will know if she's ridden out somewhere."

"Thank you, sir." Paks lifted her reins and started forward. One of the other riders spoke to the leader, and he lifted a hand.

"Wait a moment-" He looked closely at her. "Are you a Girdsman?"

"No, sir." He looked puzzled. "You are carrying something of great worth-is it a gift from the Marshall'

"Gift? No, sir." Paks thought of the jewels she still had, and wondered if that was what he meant. Somehow she didn't think so.

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At the city gates, a neatly uniformed guard waved her through after she explained her errand. When she asked, he said that the Marshal-General had gone to the practice fields west of the city, but that she might wait at the Hall if she chose. Paks followed the directions through stone-paved streets of middle width, and arrived at an arched entrance through a wall. Far above she could see the towers of the Lord's Hall. A grizzled older man stepped out of an alcove in the arch and asked her business.

"Marshal-Generai, eh? She'll be out until noon; can you wait?" At her nod, he stepped forward. "Good, then. Ill get someone to take your horse-"

"I can take him," Paks interrupted. "If you'll tell me where."

His bushy eyebrows rose. "A guest take her own horse to stable? What do you think we are, ruffians?" He turned and bellowed through the archway. "Seli! Seliaml" Paks heard the clatter of running feet, and a boy raced up, panting. "Take this horse to the guest stables, Seli. Have the stableboys see to him." The boy laid his hand on the rein, and Paks dismounted. She rummaged in her saddlebags for Cedfer's letter to the Marshal-General. "Seli will take your saddlebags to the guest house in a few minutes," the man said. "Would you prefer to wait there, or in the Marshal-General's study?"

"Could 1-" Paks suddenly felt shy. "I-I haven't been in Fin Panir before," she began again. "Could I see the High Lord's Hall? Is it permitted?"

His face split in a grin. "Permitted! Of course it's permitted. Let me find someone for the entrance, ana 111 take you in myself Haven't been here before, eh? I daresay you've heard tales, though, haven't you?" He turned away without waiting for an answer, and yelled again through the arch. This time another older man answered the summons.

"What is it, Argalt? An invasion of ores?"

"No. A newcomer, who wants to see the Hall while waiting for die Marshal-General."

"And you want to show him-her, excuse me." The man smiled at Paks. "Gird's grace, lady, you've made Argalt's .

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day. He loves to show off the Hall. And you've bright sun for it, too." He waved them away, and Paks followed the man through the arch and across a cobbled courtyard to the entrance of the High Lord's Hall of Fin Panir.

Broad steps led up to a pair of tall bronze doors, cast in intricate designs. Paks stopped to look at them, and her guide began to explain.

"These doors are not the original-those burned, hundreds of years back, the year the Black Lady fought to the steps here. But these were designed and cast by the han-elven craftsman Madegar. The middle of each door bears the High Lord's Seal-it's inlaid in gold, as you see. All around are the seals of the saints, and a little picture of each one doing something famous. There's Gird, with the cudgel, and Falk with a sword and the tyrant of Celias, and Cam wyn riding a dragon, and Dort shearing the golden sheep, do you see all that?"

"Yes." Paks traced the designs with her finger, as far as she could reach. She found Torre and her magical steed, Sertig with his anvil. She stared, fascinated, until the man tapped her on the shoulder. "Come along in, now, and see the rest." From the great doors, the Hall stretched away, longer than any grange Paks had seen. The grange at Brewersbridge, she thought, would have fit in sideways, and three more with it. The soaring arches that held the roof were lifted from stone columns like treetrunks springing from the floor. It reminded her, in that way, of the elves' Winterhall underground. At the far end, a double platform with a low railing took the place of die usual training platform in granges. On either side a railed gallery with stepped seating offered a clear view of the floor.

But all this she saw later. First she was aware of the great wash of brilliant tight, broken into dazzling chips of color, that poured through the great round window in the far end. All along both sides, high windows of colored gla.s.s spread fanciful patterns of light on the floor. She turned to^the guide, who was chuckling at her reaction. "How?" was all she could say. "You had seen gla.s.s in windows before?" he asked.

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