Now they laughed, gently. "Paksenarrion," said the Marshal-General, "we are pleased that you accept the challenge. Now let me explain why we are taking a chance on hurrying you." Quickly she outlined die situation: the shortage of paladins, the growing a.s.saults of evil power in several areas. "You see, we must replenish the ranks-as fast as we can-or risk having no paladins to train new ones."

^'How long does the training take?" asked Paks. "It depends in part on the candidate's previous status. For you, it means becoming a knight first, and Uien a paladin--more than a year, likely two years. It means some isolation-paladin candidates withdraw from the main training order, sometimes for months at a time, for meditation and individual instruction. Not all the candidates progress at the same rate. Do not be surprised if someone finishes before or after you who begins the same night."

"We will be taking the vows of the new candidates the same nightvou become a Girdsman," said the Marshal-General. "This is unusual-as I said-but I feel that it is even more important for your vows to be public. Then-if anything happens ..." But Paks was determined diat mrthing would happen-everything would go well. At that moment, she would have done anything they asked, for Ae sheer joy of having a chance to prove herself a worthy paladin-candidate.

She hardly felt the stairs under her feet as she went down. As she came through the arch to head for her quarters, she nearly ran into Argalt. She had spent a couple of evenings with him and his friends at a nearby tavern. He grinned at her. "Well-so you haven't been sent away, eh?" "No." Paks felt like bouncing up and down. She wasn't sure if she should tell him; they had said nothing about keeping her selection secret.

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"It must be good news. How about sharing a pitcher later?'

"I can't." Paks couldn't contain it any longer. "I have so much to do-you won't believe it, Argalt!"

"What-did they select you for paladin-candidate, now you're joining the Fellowship?"

Paks felt her jaw drop. "Did you know?"

He laughed. "No-but it's what I would do. Well, now, sheepfarmer's daughter, I'm glad for you. And you so stiff" when you came-remember what I said?"

"Yes-yes, I do." Paks threw back her head in glee. "I have to go-I have things-"

"To do, yes. I heard. I'll be watching you, now. You'd better show us something."

Paks had never imagined Midwinter Feast in Fin Panir. Back home, it had meant a huge roast of mutton, sweet cakes, and the elders telling tales around the fire. In the Duke's Company, plenty of food and drink, speeches from the captains and the Duke, and a day of games and music. Here, the outer court erupted at first light with all the juniors starting a snow battle. Paks took one look at the fortifications, and decided that they must have stayed out half the night building them. When the Training Master came out to quell the riot, he was captured, roiled in the snow, and rescued only when Paks led the seniors in an a.s.sault on the largest snow-fort. But by then he had agreed (as, she found later, was the custom) that the juniors had the right to demand toll of everyone-of any rank-crossing die court. Those who refused to pay were pelted with s...o...b..a.l.l.s; some were even caught and held for ransom. The day was clear, after several days of snow, and no one could possibly sneak across the yard undetected.

The feasting started with breakfast. In place of porridge and cold meat, the cooks offered sweet cakes dipped in honey, gingerbread squares, hot sausages wrapped in dough and fried, and "fried snow," a lacy looking confection Paks had never seen. All day long the tables were heaped with food, replenished as it was eaten. And all day long the feasters came and went, from one wild winter game to another.

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Paks had been told that she was free until midafternoon. With that, she joined a group that rode bareback out onto the snowy practice fields, where they jousted with blunt poles until only one remained mounted. Paks lost her pole early, but managed to stay on the black horse for most of the game, winning her bouts by clever dodges, and a quick straight-arm. She did not recognize the woman who finally shoved her off into a snowdrift; she floundered there, laughing so hard she could not work her way out for several minutes. After this, they tried to ride in a long line, all holding hands and guiding the horses with their legs. Soon they were all in the snow again, and after another few tricks they came back for more food.

Now the tables held roasts and breads as well as sweets. Paks piled her plate with roast pork and mutton, a half-loaf of bread yellow with eggs. Four juniors staggered in, their faces bright red with cold. Behind them came the dwarves she had met, eyes gleaming. They saw her, waved, and came to sit across from her.

"Is it that you have recovered, Paksenamon Dorthansdotter of Three Firs?" asked Balkis.

"Yes, indeed," said Paks. "But the surgeons didn't want me fighting until after today."

"Ah, we have heard that you make adoption into the Fellowship," said Balkis, stuffing a leg of chicken into his mouth. "This will make it that you are blood-bound to the others, is it not?"

Before Paks could answer, the woman who had dumped her in the snow slipped into a chair beside her, and answered the dwarves. "No-it is not that, rockbrothers. Ask not the child of the father's business." To Paks's surprise, both dwarves blushed. She looked at the woman in surprise.

"You're the one who-"

"Yes." The woman grinned as she took a sweet cake from a tray. "I'm the one who dumped you. I'm Cami, by the way-that's what everyone calls me, but my real name is Rahel, if you need it." She said something in dwarvish to the dwarves; Balkis looked startled, but the darker 366.

dwarf burst into laughter. Paks eyed her. Garni (or Rahel) was small and dark, a quick-moving woman who reminded Paks a little of Canna.

"Why are you called Garni if your name is Rahel?" asked Paks.

"Oh that Well, it started when I came here. They used to tease me that I should have been Gamwyn's paladin instead of Gird's-"

"You're a paladin?" Paks had not thought of any paladin being so light-hearted; Garni seemed almost frivolous.

'Tes." Garni stuffed the rest of the cake into her mouth, and then spoke through it. "It was what I did when I was young and wild. I won't tell you; you don't need ideas like that. But they started calling me Camwynya, only that was too long, and then Garni. You're a candidate, right?"

"After tonight," said Paks.

"I thought so. It's good that you know these rockbrothers already- "I don't, really-" began Paks, but Garni shushed her.

"Better than many do, I can tell. Balkis Baitisson, I will speak no more dwarvish, for this lady knows it not, but it is not the blood-bond of brethren that she joins this night."

Not? How so? It is the Fellowship of Gird."

"Yes. The Fellowship is the blood-bond of Gird with each yeoman, sir dwarf; not each with the other."

"But it is that brother of brother is brother," insisted the dwarf. "It is that makes the clan-bond, the blood-bond."

"It is that for dwarves," said Garni. "For man it is other. The bond is like that of the Axemaster for each member of the clan, not between members."

"It is not possible to have one without the other," said Balkis, his eyes flashing. "If the Axemaster accepts adoption from any outlander, the putlander is blood-bound to the clan. Ah1 of it"

Garni shot Paks a quick look. "Paks, no one has ever convinced dwarves of this-and I won't-but 111 keep trying." But now the second dwarf spoke for the first time.

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"Lady Garni, you know me, Balkon son of Tekis son of Kadas, mother-son of Fedrin Harasdotter, sister-son he of the Goldenaxe, but to this lady I have not spoken in my own name." His voice was higher than Paks expected when speaking Common, midrange for a man, but much higher than Balltis's.

Garni nodded politely, and Paks copied her, wondering if she should state her own name again.

"You say this lady is to be paladin as you are?"

"Yes," said Garni, with another quick look to Paks.

"Last time we saw Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter, she had hurt of an axe, and no healing of Marshal. That I thought was disgrace, or punishment. To be candidate must be honor, is it not? Why this then?"

Now it was Paks's turn to blush. She did not know how much Garni knew of the whole situation. But someone had to explain.

"Sir-sir dwarf," she began, copying Cami's style of address, "I said then it was not unfairness of the Marshal-"

"But we thought it so. It might be you did not know, being nedross." At that word, Cami choked on her food, and shook a finger at the dwarves. Paks, confused, waited for a moment, then went on.

"It was not unfairness. I told you they thought I had taken value from them in training, and had not returned value." Now they nodded, and she hurried on. "So they said if I wished to stay I must make a commitment; I was willing to make it, even if they did not let me stay, for the truth I felt of it"

"Truth." Balkon looked at her sharply. "It is that you have that power to see truth itself?"

"She might," interrupted Cami. "And not even know it. Nedross, indeed!"

"What is that?" asked Paks.

"I hope," said Cami severely, "that they're using it in the gnome sense, unwilling or unable to see insult, and not in the dwarf sense of cowardly."

Both dwarves burst into speech, protesting.

"It is not that we-"

368.

"That is not what we-"

Balkon shushed his friend, and continued. "Lady Cami, Lady Paksenarrion, we did not think that this lady, this lady who would use an axe, would be cowardly. No-only that it is not always the same for man and dwarf when words be said, that some should be taken and others not. If it is that we make mistakes, and think someone unfair to this fine lady, who would use an axe, Sertig's first tool, then we ask pardon of the lady, but we are glad to see that she had honor now in this house, and is blood-bound to a dan we honor."

Paks was thoroughly confused. Cami turned to her with an exaggerated sigh. "I'd advise you to accept their good wishes, and apologies, and be glad you have found dwarven friends. They truly did not mean to say you were cowardly."

Paks smiled at them. "Sirs, I know not your words, but I thank you for your good wishes."

They both grinned back. "That is very good," said Balkon. "And tf you wish to learn, we still will teach you what we know of axes."

Paks nodded. "If I am permitted, in my training, I will ask it of you."

"Paks!" Aris Marrakai had come up behind her, with several of his friends. He shuffled from one foot to another when she turned. "I-I brought you something."

"Aris-you shouldn't have-" Paks took from his hand a carefully worked leather pouch, fringed and decorated with tiny sh.e.l.ls. "It must have cost-"

He shrugged. "Not that much. And anyway, Rufen told me that paladins never have any money and can't buy things, and so I thought maybe you'd keep it and-and remember us."

"I'd remember you anyway, Aris," said Paks. "But thank you-I will treasure this." She knew already what would gp in it: Saben's little red stone horse, and Canna's medallion. Aris darted away; Paks met Cami's eyes.

"It isn't quite that bad," said Cami. "We don't get rich, but we can buy a fruit pie occasionally.''

369.

"That's good," said Paks. "I like mushrooms, myself."

"Then pray you aren't a.s.signed to the granges west of here for your duty," said Cami, laughing. "Dry and high- not a mushroom for days and days.'

"When do we have grange duty?" asked Paks.

"Just before the Trials," said Cami. "You may find it strange; you've never been in a normal grange, have you? No-then it's even more important for you. We all must know what limits Marshals face, and granges, and not think because we are gifted with powers that it's so easy for others."

"Cami!" The hall was filling now, as more and more cold revellers came in for warmth and food. Paks was startled to see the Training Master grab Cami by both shoulders and hug her. "Gird's right arm, I thought you were still in achael!'

"Through Midwinter Feast? Master Chanis, even the High Lord wouldn't keep me in achael through the best day in the year!"

"I suppose not. Are you out, or just on leave?"

"Out. Gird's grace for it, too; if I had missed Midwinter's Feast, and the installation, I'd have burst something."

"And are you fit to sing, Cami?" asked Sir Amberion, who had followed the Training Master into the hall. Cami looked at Paks.

"Ask Paksenarrion-I only dumped her a couple of times this morning."

Paks could not help grinning. "Only once-"

"Ah, but who stuck her foot in your black's ribs, in the line, to make him crowhop? And you flew off then, too."

"Was that you?" Paks joined the roar of laughter.

"It was," said Cami, "and I could do it again. Fit to sing? By the dragonstongue, I could sing and blow the lo-pipe at the same time." Again laughter, and Paks saw someone scurry away, yelling that a lo-pipe was coming up. But as she watched Cami move a tray out of her way and settle onto the table, the Training Master touched her shoulder, and beckoned. Paks followed him away from the hall.

370.

To her surprise, it was already midafternoon. The rest of the day was taken up with preparation for the night's ceremonies. She had to change into the plain gray of the Training Company, but the steward handed her, as well, the white surcoat of a paladin-candidate. She would have to change hurriedly between ceremonies. Paks had lines to learn and, like the Finthan youngsters who were making their final vows that night, she spent some time in the High Lord's Hall in meditation. When spectators began arriving, the group was led away to a small bare room off one end. Paks felt her stomach tightening. Her mouth was dry. The otihers in this room were not the paladin candidates, but junior yeomen making their vows as senior yeomen-the honor of taking these vows at Midwinter Feast in the High Hall came to those whose grange Marshals had recommended them. Most were about die age Paks had been when she left home-eighteen or nineteen winters. They eyed her as nervously as she watched them.

The summons came with an ear-shattering blast of trumpets, as High Marshals Connaught and Suriest opened the door and called them out. The High Lord's Hall was brilliantly lit by hundreds of candles. The spectators sat and stood on either side of the wide central aisle. With the others, Paks stood just below the platform. The trumpet music ended, to be followed by an interlude of harps. Then another trumpet fanfare introduced the Marshal-General, resplendent in a white surcoat over her armor, with Gird's crescent embroidered in silver on the breast. Following her were the other High Marshals presently at Fin Panir, all in Gird's blue and white. Behind them came those visitors who would be honored during the ceremonies: two Marshals of Falk, in long robes of ruby-red, with gold-decorated helms set in the crooks of their arms. A Swordmaster of Tir, in black and silver; Paks remembered die device on his arms from Aarenis. Last of all came the seven paladins resident and whole of limb in Fin Panir, each in fall armor, carrying Gird's pennant.

Pals watched them come up the aisle, her heart pounding with excitement and joy. This was exactly what she .

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had thought about in Three Firs-the music, the brilliant colors-she tried to take a long breath and calm down. She recognized Sir Amberion and Lady Cami, but none of the other paladins. They mounted the platform behind her, and she heard the footsteps move away to its far side. The the trumpets were still, and the Marshal-General's clear voice called out the ancient greeting: "In darkness, in cold, in the midst of winter where nothing walks the world but death and fear let die brave rejoice: I call die light."

"I call the light!" came the response from every voice. It seemed to shake die air.

"Out of darkness, light. Out of silence, song. Out of die sun's death, the birth of each year." Paks naif-listened, knowing die words better than any other she'd heard from die Marshal-General. Just so had her grandfather said diem, when she was small, and just so her father had said diem, die last Midwinter Feast she was at home.

"Out of cold, fire. Out of death, life. Out of fear, courage to see die day." Widi the others, she gave die response. And together they all completed the ritual, raising first one hand then die other, and finally both, to defy sundeath and greet the sun. "In darker night, brighter stars. In greater fear, greater courage. In the midst of winter, the world's birth. Praise to die High Lord." This would be repeated between every segment of the ceremonies, until sunrise the next dawn. Paks remembered falling asleep, year after year-and die first year that she had managed to stay awake, die last year of her grandfather's life, to light die first morning fire widi new wood. For with sundown, all fires were destroyed-to show respect, her grandfather had said, and to prove their courage to endure. Here, too, die fires went out when the sun fell, to be kindled at daybreak. Only those desperately ill were allowed a fire on Midwinter Night.

"Yeomen of Gird," said the High Marshal then, and Paks pulled her mind back to die ceremony. "We have widi us diose who seek to join the Fellowship of Gird; by 372.

our ancient customs we will test them in their steadfastness, and you will witness their vows."

"By Gird's grace," came the response. Paks felt her neck p.r.i.c.kle. She was suddenly cold, and wanted to rub her arms.

"Stand forth, you who would swear fealty to the Fellowship of Gird," said the Marshal-General. With those on her side of the aisle, Paks faced toward the center of the hall. One at a time they would mount those steps and face a Marshal for the ritual exchange of blows. Paks suspected that in her case it might be something more than a ritual. Her leg itched; she resisted the urge to rub it on her other leg.

Before she had time to worry, she heard her name. All at once she felt eager, and went up the steps quickly. To the questions she made response firmly; she acknowledged Gird as the High Lord's servant, the patron of fighters, the protector of the helpless. She swore to keep the Code of Gird, and obey "all Marshals and lawful authority over you." And then the questioner stepped back, and she faced the Marshal-General, who held out two identical staves.

Paks took one, with an internal prayer that she wouldn't look too foolish. The Marshal-General smiled, feinted, and aimed a smashing blow at her. Paks rolled aside, countering as best she could. The power of die Marshal-General's blows carried all the way up her arms. Ritual exchange of blows indeed, thought Paks. Hie staves rattled. She took a blow on the thigh, and managed to touch the Marshal-General's arm with a leftover move that carried little sting. Then her staff seemed to twitch in her hands and go flying through the air; the Marshal-General's staff tapped her head firmly before she could dodge. And the Marshal-General stepped back, bowed, and greeted her.

"Welcome, yeoman of Gird, to Gird's grange." As she spoke, she placed a Gird's medallion over Paks s head.

Paks bowed as she had been instructed. "I am honored, Marshal-General, to be accepted in Gird's Fellowship." Then, dismissed, she left the platform and returned moved to a s.p.a.ce behind it, where the Training Master waited to .