"Yes, but-" she waved a hand at the magnificence.

"It's colored gla.s.s, laid in a pattern, and bound in strips of lead. And 111 have you know, it wasn't an elf designed that." Now that the first dazzle had pa.s.sed, Paks could see that the colored gla.s.s made designs-even pictures, in some of the windows. The round window held a many-pointed star in shades of blue with accents of gold. Along the sunny south side of the Hall, she saw Gird with his cudgel striking a richly dressed knight, Camwyn riding a dragon whose breath seemed literal flame, a harper (she could not remember the name of the harpers' patron saint) playing to a tree that seemed to be turning into a girl, and Torre partway through her Bide, with half the stones of the necklace turned to stars. The longer she looked at each window, the more she saw. Each had smaller scenes inset in medallions around the main picture. Paks walked over to Torre's window. There was her home, with its six towers, and that must be her sorrowing father with the wicked king threatening him. Here was the stable, with the strange horse standing loose between the stalls, the ring of coals around its neck. A white flower stood for the first trial of her Ride, and three snowflakes for the next. A fat dwarf held the blue ring, and an elf in green held out the branch of yellowwood in flower, complete with two bees. The wicked king's ted banner blew from a tower on a cliff. A sleeping baby in a basket floated on a river. At the very top of the window, the stars of Torre's Necklace blazed out of blue gla.s.s just as they did in the sky.

Paks tore her eyes away and looked around again. Hie shadowed, northern side windows were pictures as well. Sertig pounding on his anvil, and Adyan writing the true names of everything in his book. Alyanya, the Lady of Peace, wreathed in flowers, with fruitful vines trailing around her. Some pictures she did not recognize at all. One seemed to be all animals, fitted into every available niche, all mixed together, large and small. One was simply a tree, whose gnarled roots and branches filled up the s.p.a.ce above and below, curling and recurling until Paks could not tell how many little rootlets filled even one small section.

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When she finally left the windows to look at the rest of the building, it was equally engrossing. The floor was paved with flat slabs of stone in a subtle pattern. Many of the slabs were engraved with names and dates that meant nothing to Paks-but much to her guide, when she asked.

"That there's Lolyin's marker--he was Marshal-General over a hundred years ago, and converted the King of Tsaia to the fellowship of Gird. That was the great-grandfather of the present crown prince. Under his name is the paladin Brealt. You might have heard of him, since I can see you've been in Aarenis. He freed the captives of Pliuni, and fought two priests of Uart by himself to do it." Paks had not heard of him, but she nodded. Hie old man went on. "Marshal-Generals and paladins of Gird-and a few others-they have their names and dates put here. Some say their deeds should be added, but the rule is that (hose who want to know should look them up in the archives. There's not one of them but is worth remembering. Take this-" he led her up near the platform. "This is Gird's own marker, put here by Luap-the oldest we have." The stone was worn in a hollow, and the letters were feint. "In the old way, all that joined the knights of the fellowship, or became paladins of Gird, would spend part of a vigil washing that stone, to keep Gird's name pure. But then they realized they were wearing it down, and only the Marshal-General does it now."

Paks could think of nothing to say. She had never imagined that anything built by men would be as beautiful as the Hall. That soaring s.p.a.ce.seemed to liberate something inside her, as if it called for wings within. When they came out at last, she blinked in the sunlight, her head still full of what she'd seen.

She had no idea what to expect of a Marshal-General. Tfce Marshals she had met had been matter-of-fact, much like the Duke's captains. But what she'd seen of feudal commanders, and the splendor of the Hall, led her to think that the Marshal-General might be more-she tried to think of a word-impressive? magnificent? As the ser- 296.

vant led her through the pa.s.sages and up a broad stair to the Marshal-General's office, she felt her stomach flutter. The door was open. Paks looked across a fairly large room to a table set under one of the south windows. Behind it stood two people, a woman and a man, both in blue tunics over gray trousers. Both had Gird's crescents on chains around their neck. They were looking at something on the table as the servant knocked; the woman looked u.

"A messenger, Marshal-General, from Marshal Cedfer of Brewersbridge." He gestured at Paks.

"Ah yes. Argalt mentioned you - your name?"

"Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter," said Paks, uncertain of the correct address.

"You're not a Girdsman?"

"No - my lady." Paks thought that was safest.

"Then you may not know I m Marshal-General Arianya. But you're a warrior - that's clear enough. " Paks nodded. "Well, then, let me see your message."

Paks walked into the room and handed over the Marshal's letter. The Marshal-Genera! was a tall woman of middle age, her graying curly hair cropped short. She wore no sword, but her tunic was marked by sword belt and scabbard. Her right hand bore a wide scar; Paks wondered how it had missed severing some tendons. The Marshal-General looked up from what she was reading.

"Do you know what Cedfer's written?"

Paks felt the blood rush to her face. "Some of it, my lady. He said he- that you - that I might take some training here."

He's recommended that you be admitted to a probationers' cla.s.s in the Company of Gird. And he's said why - " She paused and looked at Paks closely. "It's most unusual, you know, for anyone not of the fellowship to be admitted here."

Paks felt her heart sink. She had only begun to realize, during the trip to Fin Panir, the power wielded by the granges of Gird. When the Marshal had suggested a half-year in the training program, it had seemedtike fun. And .

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she had always been able to learn warrior's skills. She said nothing, and met the Marshal-General's eyes steadily.

"What has he said, Marshal-General?" asked the man. Paks glanced at him. He was a little taller than the Marshal-General, and had a short gray beard.

"He recommends her highly-" the Marshal-General paused again, and looked once more at Paks. "You were trained and fought with Duke Phelan of Tsaia, is that right?" Paks nodded. "Cedfer was surprised to find you so good with a longsword; he implies that the Duke himself suggested you seek advanced training. That's so?"

'Yes, my lady." Paks felt very uncomfortable. She knew what was coming next; she still did not want to talk about those last weeks in the Duke's Company. But the Marshal-General's next question surprised her.

"Do you think he would be pleased to have you here?"

Paks knew her face showed her astonishment. "Why- why of course, my lady. Why wouldn't he? It would be an honor-"

The Marshal-General looked away. "Duke Phelan, Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter, is not without his quarrels with Gird and Gird's granges."

Paks thought of the subtle tension between the Duke and the Marshal in Aarenis. His words to the paladin at Cortes Immer came back to her. She shook her head, driving them away. "No-I'm sure he would be glad. He is not a Girdsman himself, but he is a good man-a good fighter-and he would be glad for any honor that came to me. And training here would be an honor."

"Why would you think it so, when you are not of our fellowship?" asked the man quietly. Paks turned to him.

"Sir, it is widely known. The Knights of Gird, the paladins of Gird-all of them train here, and many others beside, who serve honorably in the royal guards of several kingdoms.''

"I see." He glanced at the Marshal-General, but she was looking at Marshal Cedfer's letter. After a moment she looked up at him.

"Kory, if you'll excuse us, I'd like to talk to Paksenarrion. Cedfer almost persuades me, but I must see for myself what she is."

"Of course, Marshal-General."

"Paksenarrion, have you had anything to eat?"

"No, my lady. Not since breakfast."

Then we'll eat together here. Kory, ask them to send something up, will you?"

"Certainly." He bowed, and left the room. Paks met the Marshal-General s gaze.

"Well, Paksenarrion, have a seat-there-and let's find out more about you. Cedfer sent word at once about the efcfane taig, but few details. Where are you from, and how did you come to join the Duke's Company?"

Tin from Three Firs, my lady. My lather is a sheepfarmer."

"Three Firs! I know that country-for from the Honnorgat, or any city, isn't it?" - "Yes-*

"So you left to join the Duke's Company? Or for another reason?"

"I wanted to be a warrior." Paks thought back to the mood of what now seemed her childhood, when Jomoth had come visiting with a bright sword and hispurse full of silver. "My fether didn't-so I ran away." The Marshal-General nodded. "I joined the Duke's Company at Rocky Ford, and then-" she shrugged. "1 was a recruit, and then a private in the Company."

"You fought in die north, or in Aarenis?*"

"In Aarenis. For three seasons." Paks stopped, uncertain how much to say about those years.

"Cedfer says the Duke evidently favored you-had give you some important missions. Can you tell me about them, or would that violate a secret of the Duke's?"

Paks shook her head. "No. Nothing secret-I don't know how much to say- The last year, I was acting corporal for awhile, when Seti was hurt. And I helped capture Siniava."

"Siniava. Then-^wait-" The Marshal-General's face furrowed for a moment. "Did you meet a paladin in Aarenis? Fentthr "Yes, my lady." Paks didn't want to talk about that, either: the one tune die Duke had not lived up to her image of him.

"You're that Paksenarrion!" The Marshal-General stared .

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at her. "Fenith wrote about you-you took on a priest of Loart, and lived! Gird's grace, child, I hadn't heard of such a thing. Neither had he. He sent the High Marshal to your Duke to find out about you, and the Duke nearly took his head off for suggesting you might not be what you seemed."

"He did?" Paks didn't remember any such thing.

"I suppose your Duke didn't tell you. Fenith also said you were the one to spot Siniava in shapechange. He thought it had something to do with a Gird's medallion you carried-a gift of a friend, he said-"

"Yes." Paks md not want to discuss Canna's gift, which she had not worn since the night Siniava died.

"You told him, I understand, that you would stay with the Duke's Company-yet here you are on our doorstep. What happened?" The Marshal-General's eyes were as shrewd as the Kuakgan's; Paks realized that there was no way out of this but the long one-the whole truth. Haltingly, at first, she began to tell of the last year in Aarenis. The Marshal-General did not interrupt, and the pressure of her attention kept the tale flowing. When a servant carried in a tray of food, bowls of stew and a couple of loaves of dark bread, Paks stopped. The Marshal-General spread the food on the table, and waved the servant out.

"Gird's grace be with you, Paksenarrion, and with me, and may we gain strength to serve the High Lord's will. Go on, now, and eat." She took up her spoon and began. Paks did the same. After the stew was mostly gone, the Marshal-General looked up. "I can understand why you left, and why you were reluctant to leave. But I am still not sure why you quit wearing Canna's medallion. Do you know?"

Paks laid down the hunk of bread she'd picked up. "I thought-it seemed that it-it led me into things. Trouble. I never knew if it-if I-how they happened "

"It led you into trouble? And you a mercenary?" The Marshal-General's voice had an edge of scorn. "You had not chosen the most peaceful life."

"No, my lady. But I don't know what it did, or didn't do. I don't know if it healed Canna, or didn't or if it really saved me from the man in Rotengre-"

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"Watt. You haven't told me about that yet. Canna is your friend who died and left it to you, isn't that so? What's this about healing?"

Paks felt die sweat cold on her neck as she began to tell die Marshal-General about their flight from Dwarfwatch. Knowing that she would insist on hearing those oarts of the journey that made Paks the most nervous didn t help. She had not mentioned the prayers over Canna's wound to anyone but Stammel, and it was no easier now. The Marshal-General seemed to grow more remote and august as she fastened.

"You, no follower of Gird, suggested praying to Gird for healing? Don't you think that was presumptuous? Had you planned to join the fellowship afterwards?" Paks had not thought of it like that at all.

"My lady, we had need-I didn't know much of Gird, then, and- "

"Your friend had not told you? And she a yeoman?"

Paks shook her head. "We didn't talk about it much; she was our friend. We knew she was a Girdsman, and she knew we had our own G.o.ds."

"You know more of Gird now, 111 warrant-what do you think now, of such a thing?" Paks thought a moment.

"I don't think Gird would mind-I can't see why he would. If he had been a n.o.bleman, perhaps, but-why would it be wrong to try? Healing is good, and Canna was one of his yeomen."

The Marshal-General shook her head slowly, but more in doubt than disagreement. "I'm not sure, child. What happened?"

"That's what I don't know." Paks remembered clearly Canna's yelp of pain, and then the seeming improvement in her condition. "It didn't go away at once," she went on, carefully telling the Marshal-General everything. "But she had been getting weaker, and feverish, and she was stronger afterwards. It looked cleaner and drier the next time we changed the bandage. But you see, we'd found some ointment in that farmstead, and used that too. I don't know which worked, or why."

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"You didn't tell this to Marshal Berran or Fenith," said the Marshal-General.

"No-I wasn't sure-"

"Go on, then. What happened with the man in Rotengre?" That, too, Paks told, even Captain Dorrin's remarks afterwards. The Marshal-General nodded.

"Your captain had the sense to see what lay before her. Is she Girdish?"

"No, my lady. Falldan-or that's what one of the sergeants said."

"I see. What did you think then, when two times the medallion had acted for you?"

"I didn't-I was frightened of it, lady. I didn't know what to do."

"Did you not think of speaking to a Marshal?"

Paks shook her head vigorously. "Oh no. I-"

"You were with Duke Phelan. I suppose you had no chance."

"I didn't want to, not then. I-I suppose I wished that it would just-just be over. I kept thinking about them-"

"Canna?"

"And-and Saben. He was my-our friend, that was with us."

"Your lover?"

"No." Ttie old grief and longing choked her again. When she looked up again, die Marshal-General was stacking the bowls on the tray.

"Taking those events with the later ones, Paksenarrion- with surviving the blow of Liart's priest in Sibili, the warning of ambush, and withstanding the enchantments when Siniava tried to escape-don't you think that there's clear evidence of Gird's action in your behalf?"

"I don't-I can't be sure-"

"Gird's teeth, girl, what do you want, a pillar of fire?" Hie Marshal-General glared at her. "D'you expect the G.o.ds to carry you up to the clouds and explain everything in words a sheep&rmer's daughter can understand?*

"No, my lady." Paks stared at her hands, near tears again. She heard a gusty sigh.

"How old are you, Paksenarrion?"

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Paks counted it out aloud. "I was eighteen winters when I left home-and then nineteen was in the stronghold, and twenty-twenty-one after Dwarfwatch-near twenty-two, my lady."

"I see. Are you set against die fellowship of Gird?"

"Oh no, my lady! The more I know, the more-but you see, my family was not Girdish. And I still think it's better to abide the G.o.ds you know-"

The Marshal-General sighed again. Paks looked up to find her gazing out one of the narrow windows, her face stern. After a long moment she turned back to Paks. "We are not," she said firmly, "a training camp for those who want fancy skills to show off." Paks felt her face reddening again. "If what you want is an accomplishment to display- like someone stringing another pearl on a necklace-you don't belong here, and I won't lend Gird's name to it. Those we train must go out as Gird's warriors, to serve the lands and defend them against the powers of evil. They must care, Paksenarrion, for this cause more than their own fame. Those sworn to the fellowship of Gird I have ways of testing. If you persist in remaining aloof, I must a.s.sume that your dedication is unproven. I wUl not- absolutely not-let you take advantage of this Company, and go off boasting that you trained with the Company of Gird at Fin Panir, unless you can show me what you will pay. Not in money, young warrior, but in your life."