"Have you a grudge against them?" asked Paks, honestly curious now. "Have they done you or your family an injury?"

"I will not tell you that at this time." Arvid turned a t.i.ttle, and signalled Hebbinford, who came over with a sharp glance for both of them. "Wine, sir, if you please." Paks shook her head, and the innkeeper moved away. "I perceive, lady, that you are of sufficient experience to .

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have caution-but insufficient to recognize an honest offer. Nonetheless it stands. My word you would have no reason to trust-but I will tell you honestly that I will not kill you, and I will defend you within reason, if you accept me as one of your company. If you were wise enough to know what I am, you would know what that is worth."

Paks frowned, not liking the bantering tone or the subtle insults. It reminded her too much of Macenion, She looked up at him again. "If such a command is offered me, and if I accept you-what other suggestions would you have?"

His brows arched. "You ask much, with nothing given." "I do? What of you-you ask my trust, with no evidence of your character. I have had such chances, sir, as make me distrust most strangers." "But Girdsmen." His tone was sour. "Most soldiers have found Girdsmen to be honest, at the least, and usually brave as well. I don't know .your allegiance, either to G.o.ds or lords."

Arvid sighed. "I am a guild member in good standing. As such I obey my guildmaster, in Verella. It is an old guild, long established there-" "What craft?" asked Paks.

He laughed. "What-do you think the Master Moneychanger here tells everyone when he travels what his guild affiliation is? Don't you know that some guilds bind their traveling members to secrecy? Do you want to bring down on me that very plague of thieves you think I represent?" "No-" Paks flushed, confused.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I shouldn't have laughed. I understand your suspicion-and it does you credit. Any experienced adventurer is suspicious. But I cannot tell you my guild-at least not without asking-at this time. I cannot tell anyone here. I can only tell you what I have told you. In my judgement-and I am not without experience in the world myself-it is in both our interests to cooperate. I have an interest in those brigands-I want to see them removed. Does that sound like a thief or worse? You, I believe, have the Council's permission to mount an attack on them. And you could use someone at your back 228.

who has no reason to wish an honest witness dead. Sim-pose they are actually living in town-related to one of the Council members. Do you honestly think they!! thank you for capturing such as that? Let you take the risk, yes. Let you km and capture them, yes-perhaps. But let you Hve to take the credit, when it's their own? I doubt that much. If the brigands really are strangers, then you have no problem. But otherwise-"

Paks nodded slowly. She was not truly convinced, but she had worried that the spy the Council wanted her to find might turn out to be someone they liked. And, as well, they had asked her to involve the other adventurers in town if she could. Surely this Arvid Semminson was an adventurer.

From the hill west of the keep, the crooked path down the moat was clearly visible, as were die signs of age and decay: stones from the outer wall tumbled into the moat, leaving ragged gaps in the wall through which the battered interior could be seen. Paks, concealed behind a thick-leaved but p.r.i.c.kly shrub, stared down at the broken walls and watted for die diversion Sir Felis had promised. She had ended up with a motley group: Mal and several other yeomen of Gird, including Doryan; the two traders she'd met some days before, who said they wanted to avenge the attack on the caravan; a servant of theirs whom they said was a good bowman; one of Eris's sons (a Falkian, Mal had reported sadly, but a good man), and Arvid. The sun rose higher, burning off the last of the mist from the moat and swamp around. Paks insisted that her group stay well back in cover, and refused to let them talk or light pipes. A subdued grumble followed these commands.

"Stands to reason," muttered the heavy-set bowman, "that if they could see us, we could see them. We can't see a thing, through these leaves. We could smoke, at least."

Paks shook her head fiercely. "Sun's in our eyes. They've got the better light. Think: how fer can you see a shepherd's breakfast firesmoke? There could be a dozen eyes .

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looking out of that gap, from the shadow, and we'd never know it. Be still."

Someone cursed, but softly, and they rested as best they could in the positions Paks had chosen for them. The sun rose higher. Paks had to force herself to stay still. She wanted to walk back and forth, from post to post. Was this why the captains had so often walked the line before battle? She could hardly believe that she, the same old Paks, was commanding a group like this-a group of strangers.

She looked again at the keep, which seemed a different shape as the shadows shifted with the sun, and wondered if the magician who built it had, indeed, left a curse. A light wind sifted through the trees, shuffling the leaves and making the shadows dance. She wondered if the militia had left Brewersbridge on time. They were supposed to have left just enough time for her to get her group into position. It had been too long. She squinted at the sun, feeling the sweat spring out on her neck, chill as it was. She swallowed against the fear, and glared around at the others. Someone had shifted carelessly, and a rock clattered. She turned back to the keep. Nothing moved there but a cloud of midges over the moat, a shimmer in the sun.

At last she heard the rhythmic noise of marching men and horses. She eased forward to the edge of the wood, trying to see the north side of the keep, where the forest stood back a ways. The sound came louder, eddying in the uncertain wind. Now she could hear it distinctly. A movement in the distance caught her eye. A horn call swam through the air, mellow and long. She looked back at the keep. There: a flicker, quick as a lizard's tail, on the highest part of the ruin. The horn call came again, louder. She could hear a bellowed command from the oncoming force. She looked back at her group; they were all alert. Mal grinned at her, shifting his broad shoulders. She realized that he had moved forward, coming between her and the others. But she had no time to think of that.

The front of the captain's "show of force" was out of the trees now. She could not tell from this distance how many 230.

of them were illusion. Nor could she tell which was Zinthys. None of them wore die land of robes she had seen on him so far.

"There's one," said Mal, so softly she almost missed hearing it. Then she, too, saw the brown-clad man peering from a low gap in the keep wall. He pa.s.sed through, carrying a plank and laid it on the edge of the moat. It extended to one of the fallen blocks farther out. He moved out onto the plank and at once another came, this one in a heavy mailed shirt, and dragging another plank. The second plank bridged the moat from the stone to the near sh.o.r.e. A third man appeared, carrying bows, and the three slipped across the bridge and spread to cover it. After a glance upslope, they concentrated on the corners of the keep.

Noise from the north side increased. Paks could not tell if it was a fight, or just noise. Suddenly a gout of flame rose up, and a thunderous boom echoed across the woods. Birds flew up screaming. The bowmen below did not flee, though one of them half stood, to be pulled back by the others. Another gout of flame, and another, followed. The noise was appalling, even though Zinthys had warned them. A deer broke cover and bounded through the woods, crashing and snorting. A hurrying file of men slipped from the gap and teetered across the bridge. Paks saw the glint of matt on most of them; they had their swords out, and bows slung to their backs. She counted as they came, hoping that Sir Felis's estimate was right.

She knew die last had come when the bowmen moved. The entire group-just over a score-started up the hill, as she had expected. The archers stayed in the rear, and two swordsmen took the lead, several strides ahead of the rest. Paks frowned. With that spread, some of them could escape, if they were quick. She thought they would be quick.

She turned to the stocky bowman. "Shoot low. Just in front of "em."

"Why?" But he complied. Two arrows thudded into the ground, and the two brigands in front slowed and peered up the slope.

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"So they'll bunch up," said Paks. "As they are now." He gave her a quick look. "Hunh. That's quite a trick. Where d you learn-?" But they were all together now, and Paks called for another volley, from this man and the Girdish archers as well. Four of the brigands fell; Paks saw one of them struggle up and begin to crawl away along the slope. The others, furious and frightened, charged up the slope.

The bowmen shot as fast as they could, and seven more were hit before Paks led the others to break the charge. Some of them fell; others turned aside, limping, or jerked the arrows free and kept with the main group. She herself was in the lead, full of the same delight she often felt in battle. The sword she had carried since the elfane taig balanced easily in her hand. She met the first brigand with a sweeping blow that broke his sword at die hUt. He jerked out his dagger and thrust, but she was past him, the sword carving into another man's side. A blade she didn't see caught her in the ribs; she felt the blow, but rolled off it to take another brigand in the neck. She heard the yeomen of Gird call his name as they followed her. But compared to the battles she'd been in with the Duke's company, it was short and easy. Almost before she knew it, the clash of weapons ceased.

She looked around. Arvid Semminson was wiping the blade of his narrow sword; it was stained to die hilt. One of the merchants nursed a wounded arm; his bowman stood guard over him, dagger drawn. Mal had one brigand down, and was tying his arms; two of the other yeomen were guarding die remaining brigands who could stand. Ten of them were down, dead or dying of serious wounds. In the distance, Paks thought she saw two or three huddled forms limping away. None of her own force seemed badly hurt, barring die merchant. Paks walked over to look. He had a long, deep gash on the arm, but not a killing wound, though he seemed dazed. She hadn't expected much from him anyway.

"What now, Paks?" asked Mal. "Do we kill them, or take them back, or what?"

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ment. For an instant she had thought he might seriously mean to kill the prisoners. In that moment, the other merchant spoke.

"We ought to kill them."

"No." Paks shook her head for emphasis. "We'll take them to Sir Felis. He's the Count's representative."

"But they killed-"

"We've killed enough. How many do you want?" Paks turned away, and squatted beside Mals prisoner. She recognized the man who had led the others up the hill. He was bleeding from a cut on his head that had split the leather helm, and from a deep gash in one leg. "Better bandage that," she said to Mal, who nodded. She wiped the blood off her own sword and sheathed it. The prisoner watched her, dark eyes alert. He flinched when Mal touched his leg, then held still as it was bandaged. Paks said nothing, looking around at the others as she caught her breath. Then she met the prisoner's eyes.

"Your name?" she asked.

"Why should 1 tell you? We're just going to be killed-"

"Probably," said Paks. "Any reason why not?"

"Reasons!" His mouth worked and he spat blood. "Being poor's reason enough-that and going looking for work. That'll get you killed, that will-going along, trying to find a place, and nothing-nothing." He twisted his neck, wincing, to look around.

Paks felt an obscure sympathy she had not expected with this weatherworn robber. He did not look as if he'd enjoyed his life. For that matter, he didn't look as if he'd profited by it. "How many of you were there?"

"They're the lucky ones," he said sourly. "Dead and over with. G.o.ds above, what chance did we have-"

"Chance?" rumbled Mal, coming back to confront him. "About the chance you gave Ens at her form, I suppose. Poor, eh? You think we're all rich?"

The prisoner closed his eyes briefly. "I don't-dammit, man, I never thought to be a robber. Not back when I-I had land once myself. A few cattle, enough. If I hadn't come here-"

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"What about *hereT' asked Arvid, who had come up softly behind Paks. "What's so special here?"

"I-" The man seemed to choke, shook his head, and said no more. Paks pushed herself up. All of her group could travel as they were; of the brigands, four that might live could not walk. Those whose wounds were mortal she despatched herself, not trusting the others to give a clean deathstroke. But she told the others to gather the weaponry, such as it was: she had always hated stripping die bodies, and had avoided it most of the time. She had the yeomen supervise the prisoners in making litters for those who could not walk.

"Paks, what about those that got away?" Mal swung his b.l.o.o.d.y axe slowly in his hand.

"Well have to track them. They're all wowided." Paks sighed. "I don't know how many-"

"I thought four or five. There's a couple down there still-" he jerked his head toward the slope. "I'd better go-"

"No. You stay here-I'll take Doryan. You don't need him here." Paks started to protest, but thought better of it. She was sure Mal was trustworthy.

He had just started down the hill when five hors.e.m.e.n broke from the woods on die south side of the keep. Paks saw a flurry of motion in the bushes near them, and then four of the hors.e.m.e.n charged, driving out the remnant of tie robbers. That was over in a few seconds. Zinthys rode across the slope to greet her.

"Well done, Lady Paksenarrion," he said cheerfully. "Sir Felis will be pleased."

"You too. Tliat was a real show, that-" Paks stopped short, wondering if she should reveal his work as illusion. Zinthys grinned at her confusion, and spoke up.

"Most people find a fireblast alarming," he said casually. "I sent the rest of the troops back when we found the main keep empty-you seemed to have everything well in hand back here.'

Paks wondered what he would have said if she'd blurted out the truth, but merely smiled. "I'm glad you thought to send a few around back for the stragglers."

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"Oh, of course. I see you have quite a few prisoners- how about transport?"

"If you could have someone send a cart or wagon out from town-and Master Travannen is wounded. It would be better for him to ride-"

"Certainly. Why don't I see to moving your mounts back along the road-then you can come out the way we came in. It's easier traveling."

"Fine." Paks looked around. The prisoners had rough litters ready, covered with their cloaks. They loaded the wounded and prepared to march out. Zinthys rode off with a wave of his hand; the soldiers from Sir Felis's command joined her, flanking the party. One of them offered his horse.

"No, thank you," said Paks. "I'll walk to the road." He shrugged and moved back into position. She wondered if she should have taken his offer.

"I wonder," said Arvid quietly at her side, "that you are unhurt. Didn't you know that a sword broke on your armor?"

Paks thought back to the fight-ft hardly deserved the name of battle. "I don't-oh-I remember a blow in the side-"

"Yes. 1 was just behind you then. It was a fair blow, and die man was as heavy as you, or more. I thought you'd get a broken rib out of it, at the least."

Paks took a deep breath, feeling nothing. "No," she said. "It must have caught at an angle."

Arvid shook his head. "I saw it. Either you're a good bit tougher than I thought-which is unlikely-or your armor has great virtue. Where did you get it?"

.Paks gave him a straight look. "I found it," she said. "In a ruin."

"Hmm. That's a good sword, too."

"Yes." Paks looked around. Everything seemed to be secure. Mal was moving up beside her. He had wiped the axe blade on something; it was clean.

"The others are dead," he said. "Too bad hurt to make it; the riders trampled some of 'em. I did it quick." He .

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looked past Paks at Arvid. "You fight good, for a city man."

Arvid laughed easily. "Do you think all soldiers begin in a fermyardr Mal s forehead creased. "Nay, not that, sir. But the ones I know all did, and the city men I know are mostly merchants. This lady, now, says she comes from a fernr Isn't that so?"

Paks nodded.

"Many good things come from cities," said Arvid.

"Oh, I didn't mean any different. I know that Fine clothes, and jewels, and that. But there's more thieves in cities, too. My brother always said that wealth draws thieves like honey draws bees."

"I suppose." Arvid didn't sound interested; he turned to Paks. "What are you going to do now?"

Paks shrugged. "First things first. Get the prisoners to Sir Felis. Then he can find out how they've been operating, and if they've had contacts in town.'

Chapter Fifteen.

Sir Felis met the party coming into town. Ambros was with him, as were several other yeomen. Some of the townspeople cheered; Paks felt her foce redden. She was glad she had the black horse; at least she didn't have to look up at Sir Felis.

"You've done well," he said, after a quick look at the group. "None of your men killed-or even badly hurt-"

"My arm-" began the merchant. Sir Felis gave Paks a quick look of amus.e.m.e.nt, soldier to soldier, before speaking to the man.

"I'm sorry, sir; I didn't see. The surgeon has been alerted; he's at the inn."

"G.o.d. It was a terrible fight-"

Paks saw one of Sir Felis's men roll his eyes. She choked down a laugh. Her knees felt shaky. In the stir around them, the black horse began to fidget. She met Ambros's gaze.

"How was it?" he asked.

"Went well." She worked the black horse over to the side of the road near him. "They all came out the bolthole, just as we thought. Your yeomen are good fighters-steady."

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Ambros smiled. "I know. The Marshal's trained them well. I'm glad they were willing to go with you."

"What now?"

"Well-Sir Felis will take them to the keep. I suppose he'll ask you along. The Council's heard; of course they're happy about it. Do you think you got them all?"