"We must know what we have here, before we decide what to do," added the one at Pak's side. "I feel no great evil in her." He had brushed the snow off her, and now caught his breath as he saw the rings on her hand. He worked off the one with the Duke's seal, and read the inscription inside. "This is no common robber, cousins. Here is a ring given for honor to a soldier of the Duke Phelan-Halveric's friend, and-"

"And we all know of Kieri Phelan. Yes. If she did not steal that as well. We shall wake her, then, and see what she says. I doubt that any fair tale can be told resulting in such a one bringing treasure out of the banast taig. But we shall see."

Pales was vaguely aware of voices talking over her head before she woke fully. They were strange-sounding voices, musical and light but carrying power nonetheless. Light glowed through her eyelids. She struggled toward it, and finally managed to raise her heavy lids.

"You waken at last," said one of the strange beings before her. He turned to speak to another, and Paks saw torchlight play over the planes of his face. It was clearly unhuman, and in it she saw full strength the strangeness that Macenion had shared. These must be elves. He looked back at her, his expression unreadable. "You were very cold. Can you speak now?"

Paks worked her jaw around, and finally managed to say yes, weakly.

"Very well. We have many questions for you, human warrior. It would be well for you to answer truthfully. Do you understand?"

"Who-are you?" Paks had no idea of elven politics, if any.

"Do you not know elves, human, when you see them?"

96."I thought-elves-but who?"

Arched eyebrows rode up his forehead. "Do humans now concern themselves with the genealogy of elves, having so little themselves? If you would know, then, I am of the family of Sialinn-do you know what that means?" Paks shook her head. "Then you need know no more of my family. Who are you, and what lineage gives you the right to question elves?"

Paks remembered now Macenion's pride, and how Bosk had always said elves were haughty and difficult.

"I am Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter," she began. "Of Three Firs, far to die north and west-"

"Far indeed," said one of the other elves. "I have seen that place, though not for many years. Is there a birch wood, a day's ride west of it, in the side of a hill?"

"I don't know, sir; I never traveled so far before leaving to join the Duke's Company. Since then, I have never been home, or near it."

"Whose company was this you joined?"

"Duke Phelan s. He has a stronghold in northern Tsaia, and fights in Aarenis."

"A red-haired man?" Pals nodded, and the elf went on. "This packet sealed by the Halveric, in your baggage: how came you by that?"

"1 was given it, by the Halveric, to take to his home." Even as she spoke, Paks felt the cold darkness rolling over her again. One of the elves exclaimed, and she felt an aim under her shoulders. A cold rim touched her tips, and fiery liquid trickled into her mouth. She swallowed. Warmth edged its way along her bones.

Not too much of that," said the first elf who had spoken to her. "In case we must-" He broke off and looked at her again. "You have come to a strange place, soldier of Duke Phelan and messenger of the Halveric. You have come to a strange place, anoyou seem-forgive me-weaker than I would expect such a soldier to be. Give us now an account of how you came here, and what you were doing in the valley of the banast taig."

Paks found it difficult to tell a coherent story. Events and places were tangled in her memory, so that she was .

97.hard put to distinguish the encounters of the last day or so from those in the past. Still she managed to convey the call she and Macenion had received, and the outline of their adventures undergound. The elves listened attentively, interrupting only to ask for clarification. When she finished, they looked at each other in silence. Then a burst of elven; it sounded to her like an argument. The leader turned to her again.

"Well, Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter, you have told an unlikely tale, to be sure. Yet on the chance that it is true, I am sending one of my party into the banast taig to find out. Should he not return, or return in jeopardy, it will go hard with you."

In the snowy darkness, Paks could not tell how long the elf was gone. She lapsed into a doze, hardly aware of her surroundings. She was roused by a hand on her shoulder.

"Awake, warrior. You will need this-" and a hot mug pressed against her lips. She swallowed, still half asleep, and found the taste strange but pleasant. Slowly her drifting mind came back to her. She tried to sit up on her own, but was still too weak. The elves had pitched a shelter over her, and a tiny fire flickered in one corner, under a pot.

"You still need healing," said the elf leader. "I admit surprise, Paksenarrion. I would not have believed such a thing without proof. The banast taig freed to be the elfane taig again, and the pollution gone from its heart! We rejoice to know that. But you have taken more damage from that combat than you know: humans cannot fight evil of that power unscathed. Without healing, you would die before daylight."

Paks could not think what to say. She felt weak, and a little sick, but no worse than that. As the elf seemed waiting for something, she finally asked. "Was-did you find out about Macenion?"

"Macenion!" It was very nearly a snort. "That one! The elfane taig buried him cleanly with his orcish murderers; he is well enough."

"But he was an elf-half-elf, I meant. I thought you would-"

"Macenion a half-elf? Did he tell you that?" Paks nodded, and the elf leader frowned. "No, little one, he was not hatf-elven-not a quarter elven, either. He had so much elvish as might your pack pony have of racing blood."

"But he said-" Paks broke off. It was hard to talk, and she realized that Macenion's behavior made more sense the less elven he was.

"He lied. What did he tell you, Paksenarrion, to get you into that valley?"

"That-his elven cousins-denied him his rights to elvish things. That he knew of-treasure there-that should be his."

"Did he not warn you of evil at all?"

"Yes-but he said his magical talents could fight that; he needed a warrior for protection against-physical things. Like the ores."

"I see that you speak truly. I apologize, Paksenarrion, for the untruth of this distant cousin; it shames me that any elven blood could lie so."

"That's-all right." Paks felt as if she were slipping down a long dark slope.

"No! By the G.o.ds of men and elves, we shall redeem the word of our cousin." And the elf shook her again, lifting her up until she could drink from a cup one of the others held. The darkness crept back. The elven faces came back into focus. Then one of them laid his hand on her head, and began to sing. She had never heard anything like that, and in trying to follow the song she forgot what was happening. Suddenly she felt a wave of strength and health surge through her. The elf removed his hand, and smiled at her.

"Is that better now?"

"Yes-much better." Paks sat up, and stretched. She felt well and rested, better than she'd felt in days.

"Good. It will be day, soon, and we must be going. We have much to say to you in the few hours left us."

The snow had stopped before dawn. A light wind tore the last clouds to shreds and let the first sunlight glitter on the snowy ground. In daylight the elves bade her farewell, .

99.and Paks saw their beauty clearly. She felt ashamed to have thought Macenion elvish-looking. One of them caught her thought, and laughed, the sound chiming down the long slope.

"No---don't be sorry, fair warrior. Your eyes saw truly, to find what was there in so little. Remember what we have told you, and fere well."

And as she turned to climb the slope upward to the ridge and the trail the elves had spoken o she felt far distant from the self of yesterday. She felt a surge of the same spirit that had sent her away from home in the first place, a sense of adventure and excitement. Anything might happen-anything had happened. She still found it difficult to think clearly what it was-what nature of thing she and Macenion had fought against, and what had helped her at the end. The words eliane taig meant nothing to her. The elves' explanation meant very little more.

But she was on a trail once more, alive and eager to be going. Star moved slowly, burdened heavily by the gifts of the elfane taig. Paks had transferred some of that to her own back. The pony snorted a little with each heave of her hindquarters. Paks grinned to herself. No more mountains, they had told her. These, that would have been mountains anywhere else, counted but as foothills, and in another two days she would be on die gentler lowland slopes.

On the for side of the ridge, only a few patches of snow whitened the trail, and by noon these had melted. Now other trees mingled with the pointed evergreens-duller greens, more rounded shapes. Paks did not need her cloak, for warmth. She was alert for danger, but the elves had told her that they sensed nothing dire moving in the area. She hoped they were right. As far as she could see, the forested slopes wove into each other endlessly, the trail angling down one and up another, always edging west and north.

Her solitary camp that night was almost too silent. She had resented Macenion's lectures-yet to sit alone, in the middle of a vast wilderness, was worse than anything he had ever said to her. She doused her tiny fire early, and 100.sat awake a long time, staring at the stars. The night was half gone when she realized that she was missing more than Macenion. She had never, in her life, spent an entire night alone like this. Not even once had she slept outside, out of hearing or sight of others. The thought itself made her shiver, and she got up to check on Star. The pony's warm rough mane rea.s.sured her. She looked at the stars again, her hands still tangled in Star's mane. The night sky seemed to go on forever, up and up without ending, as if the stars were sewn on veils that lay one behind another. She looked for Torre's Necklace; it was still behind the mountains. Of the other stars she knew nothing.

A breeze began to move lightly along the ground. Star moved away from her hand, and lowered her head to graze. Paks went back to the blankets she'd laid out. A wild animal cried out in the distance; she stiffened, but no sound followed. Paks felt an urge to take out Canna's medallion; her hand found her pouch before she thought. Her fingers touched it, smoothed the crescent shape. When she pulled it out, Saben's little horse came along; the thongs were tangled. She woke stiff and cold in the morning, with Star nosing her face, and the horse and crescent still clutched in her hand.

That day warmed quickly. Paks looked over the whole treasure she had been given, and made her first estimate of its value. She had not realized what she'd taken-it was too much-it shouldn't be hers. But she was not going to return to the elfane taig with it, that was certain. She thought the elves must have examined it as well, and if they said nothing about it, she would not. Sunlight glittered on die items she'd laid in the gra.s.s-the ruby-decorated dagger and sheath, the gold and jewel inlaid battleaxe, gold and silver coins, both familiar in stamp and strange, a set of chainmail that was oddly light when she lifted it, and looked as if it would fit. She thought about that, looked around, and tried it on. It did fit-perfectly-which made her scowl, thinking. Where had she heard of enchanted mail, evil stuff-? But when she reached for Canna's medallion, nothing happened; it felt easy in her hand. Was it dress mail, then, good for nothing? She tried her own .

101.

dagger on the sleeve, notching the dagger. Lightweight, the right size-she scowled again, but kept it on. Over it she put on the best clothes she had-not that any of them looked like much, she thought ruefully, remembering the money she'd spent in Sord to outfit herself.

It was late when she started moving again, and she traveled slowly, as much for her own benefit as the pony's. She was beginning to wonder what she would find when she came out of the wilderness into settled lands again. The elves had been quite specific in their directions-go to Brewersbridge, they had said, by this trail, and tell the Master Oakhallow and Marshal Deordtya about the elfane taig. But they would say no more about either Master Oakhallow or the Marshal, or why these would want to know about events so far away.

As Paksenarrion came around the slope of the hill, she could see cleared fields and orchards some miles ahead, their straight edges easily visible against the broken forest and meadowland. The track's gradient lessened as she descended; she saw sheep grazing on the slopes to her right, and a barelegged child with a crook watching them from a rock. Gradually the track changed from rock to dirt. Star stepped out more easily. Paks lengthened her own stride to keep up. She saw smoke rising from the center of the cleared area; perhaps it was the village the elves had spoken of. She wondered if the people were friendly. At least it was the north again: home.

In an hour, she was among the fields and orchards. She had pa.s.sed two farmsteads set back from the road. Hie farms looked prosperous; she noted tight bams, well-made stone walls, sleek livestock. A boy picking early apples from a tree near the track told her the village ahead was Brewersbridge; when she'd pa.s.sed she looked back and saw him running for the farmhouse. Now the track joined a lane, bordered on either side by a wall, wide enough for wagon traffic. She noted wheelruts grooving the surface. On the right, a wedge of forest met the road; she could not tell how large it was. Ahead were a cl.u.s.ter of buildings and another road coming in from the right.

102.

103.

Two cottages now on the left, one opening directly on the road. Beyond them was a large two-story building with a walled courtyard to one side. A bright green and yellow sign hung over the road, and a paved area fronted it. Paks squinted at the sign: The Jolly Potboy. It must be an inn; it was too big for a tavern. She looked around.

The inn sat at the crossroad, feeing north. The road Paks had come on continued generally west, wandering among houses and shops. The north road was straighter, with buildings along its west side and forest on the east. The ground floor of the inn had a row of tall windows feeing the road; these were open, and Paks heard the murmur of many voices from inside. She wondered if she had enough money to stay there. The treasure-but she didn't know what it was worth, or if they would accept the old coin.

As she hesitated, a stout man in a big ap.r.o.n came out and spoke to her.

"Just arrived?"

"Yes, sir."

"Will you be wanting a room?"

"I don't know, sir. How much are they?"

"A silver in the common loft; that includes bread and beer for breakfast. A gold crown for a private room; two for the suite. A silver a day for stabling, including grain, hay, grooming, and safe storage for your tack."

Paks thought a moment. It seemed high, but she had enough southern money for a night or two. She could always find a cheaper place the next day. Star could use a good bait of grain. "I'd like a private room," she said. 'And stabling for Star,"

"That'll be in advance, please," said the man. "I'm Jos Hebbinford, the landlord.'

Paks wrapped Star's lead around her arm and dug into her belt pouch. "Here-" she handed over the money. "I'm Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter, from Three Firs."

The landlord looked closely at the coins she had given him. "Hmm. From Aarenis-that your home?"

"No, sir. Three Firs is north and west of here. I was with Duke Phelan's company in the south, and I'm headed home."

"I see, A fighter, are you?" Paks nodded. "Are you a Girdsman, too?"

"No. I've known those who were."

"Hmmm. We don't think much of brawling, here."

Paks flushed. "I'm not a brawler, sir."

"Good. Just a moment-Sevri! Sevrienna!" At his call, a short stocky redheaded girl came out of the courtyard and ran up. "My daughter, Sevrienna," said the landlord. "Sevri, this is Paksenarrion, who will be staying this night. This is her horse-" he glanced at Paks.

"Her name's Star," said Paks. "She's gentle."

"Sevri will take Her to the stable," said Hebbinford. "If you'd like to see your room-?"

"If you don't mind, sir," said Paks, "I'll just give Star a rubdown first, and check her hooves. She's come a long way over rocks."

"Very well. Sevri will help you. When you come in, I'll take you to your room."

"Come on-this way," said Sevri. Paks followed. The walled courtyard was large, paved in flat slabs of gray stone. A flock of red and black hens scratched and pecked in the entrance of the stable that ran along one side; a black c.o.c.k with gold on his throat and a green tail stood atop the dungheap. Along other sides of the courtyard were barns full of nay and an open shed with two wagons and a cart beneath it.

Sevri led Paks to a box stall big enough for a warhorse; all the stalls were big. "I can rub her down," Sevri offered. "You're paying for grooming."

Paks smiled at the child. "I want to check her and make sure she hasn't hurt her hooves on the rocks. If you want to rub her down-"

Sevri nodded. "Surely. She'll be easier than the big horses, and I do them. Do you want her to have grain, or would a mash be better?"

"A mash would be good for her, if it's not too much trouble."

"I'll put one on, then come back and start on her. If you want water to work on her feet, here's a bucket, and the well is out there." Sevri jerked her head toward the courtyard.

104.

When Sevri had gone, Paks untied the bundles from the saddle, and lifted them down. Star sighed. "Poor pony," said Paks. "That was a load. Here now-" She uncinched the pack saddle and lifted it from Star's back. Underneath, Star s coat was matted and damp. Paks moved the bundles to one side of the stall, and bent to feel Star's legs. Then she took the bucket Sevri had pointed out, and fmed it at die well. Back in the stall, she lifted Star's feet, one at a time. They were dry and hot. Paks found a rag in her pack that she'd used for a headcloth and dipped it in the water. She washed out each hoof and dampened the coronary band. The pony reached down and mumbled Paks's hair. "No, Star; stop that." Paks shoved the pony's head away. She found a cut on the off hind pastem, and cleaned it out carefully.

"You must like her a lot," said Sevri. Paks jumped.

"I didn't hear you come."

"That's because I'm barefooted," said Sevri. "Are her feet all right?"

"Yes, but for one little cut. Just dry from the rocks."

"She is wet. You want me to start rubbing her now?"

"Yes. Just let me get these things out of the stall." Paks grunted as she hoisted the bundles. She dumped them in the aisle. Sevri was watching her.

"That must be awfully heavy."

"It is," said Paks shortly.

Sevri had brought two lengths of coa.r.s.e woolen cloth and a brush. When she picked up one cloth and started work on Star's sweaty back, Paks took the other and began the other side.

"You don't have to help me," said Sevri. "I can do it by myself."

"Do you mind, though? I'm used to doing her."

"No-o. But I am strong enough."

"I don't doubt that," said Paks, though she did. Star turned her head and nudged Sevri with her soft nose. Sevri stopped and stroked Star's head.