“I’ll go first.”
“Greedy—you always go first.” The man behind her let go her arms, and Paks fell face-down in the straw. She rolled away, trying again to escape, but they caught her. The tall man backhanded her across the face, knocking her into the back of the stall.
“That’s for the bite, slut. Now don’t cause trouble.” He grabbed her shirt, and ripped it open. “What a beauty!” His voice was cold. “Where’d you get those scars—somebody whip you once?”
“More than once,” said the other one. “By the dark goddess, I never saw anything like that outside of Liart’s temples in Aarenis. Kevis—”
“Don’t bother me, Cal.” The tall man tugged at her belt. “I’m busy.”
“Kevis, wait. If this is Liart’s bait—”
“Cal, I don’t care if it’s the crown princess of Tsaia—”
“But Kevis—” The shorter man pulled at his companion’s arm. “Listen to me. I know what I mean—Liart won’t like it if that’s one of his.”
“Liart can go—” He had broken the belt, and forced his hands between her thighs. Paks tried to struggle, but he had her wedged against the wall where she could not move.
“Don’t say that!” The shorter man used enough force to pull the other’s arm away. “Kevis, it’s serious. Liart is a jealous god; he’ll kill—and I know how he kills—”
“Don’t bother me!” The taller man turned away from Paks and pulled his knife. “Hells blast you, Cal, you’re as craven as she is. Get back—”
“No! I’m not having any part of this if she’s Liart’s—”
“Then go away. Don’t—I don’t care—but don’t—” He swayed a little on his feet, and the shorter man took his chance to pull him away from Paks. She watched through a fog of fear as they began to fight. They stumbled into her and away; she took stray blows and kicks, feeling each of them as a shattering force that left her still less will to move, to escape. Finally they staggered into the partition, and knocked over the candlestick. Light flared up from the neighboring stall; the men stopped short, staring.
“Hells below! See what you’ve done?” The shorter man, breathing heavily, glowered at the other.
“Me! It was you, pighead! Come on—run for it!”
“What about her?”
“Leave the stupid slut.” Paks heard their feet on the passage floor, heard the crackling flames in the next stall. She could not move, she felt; her body was a mass of pain. She heard more yelling, and more, in the distance, but was hardly aware when someone grabbed her legs and dragged her out of the burning barn. By the time she had realized what had happened, she was already being blamed for it.
“I let you sleep there, out of the kindness of my heart, and what do you do? You not only whore around in the stalls, but you take candles—candles, open flames, Gird blast you!—into the stable and start a fire! If it hadn’t been for Arvid coming back in, we’d have lost five horses. We did lose all that hay. He should have left you there.”
“It wasn’t—I didn’t—” Paks could hardly speak, with her bruised throat, but she tried to defend herself. “They—they tried to rape me.”
The innkeeper snorted. “I don’t believe that! No one would pick you—gods above, I have comely girls in the house they’d likelier try. You’ve been using my barn—my barn!—for your tricks. Now get out! Where do you think you’re going?”
“My pack—” said Paks faintly.
“I ought to take it for the damage you’ve done. All right, take the damn thing—it’s probably full of lice anyway, dirty as you are.” He hit her hard as she tried to leave, and drove her out of the gates with another blow and a kick. She fell heavily into the street, but managed to clamber up as he came toward her, and limped away.
It was dark and bitter cold. She followed the street by touching the walls along it, stumbling into them, choking down sobs. She felt as if a great vise were squeezing her body, twisting it to shapes of pain she had never imagined. When she thought of the past—of last winter—it seemed to recede, racing away into a distance she could never span. A last little bright image of herself at Fin Panir, happy and secure, gleamed for a moment in her mind and disappeared. She stopped, confused. She had no wall to touch, and all around was a howling dark, cold and windy. It was one with the void inside.
31
Marshal-General Arianya
High Lord’s Hall
Fin Panir
To all Marshals of Gird,
Greetings:
In the matter of Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter, recently a member of Gird’s Company here, I request the courtesy and charity of your grange. Paksenarrion was a member of Gird’s quest to the stronghold of Luap; without her defense the quest would have failed more than once. Through the malice of Achrya, she has been left unfit for battle, and has chosen to work her own way in the world rather than accept grange gift, which she was offered freely. Marshals, this is not weakness; she was assailed with such power as even you or I might fall before. Give her any aid she needs; report any contact to me in Fin Panir for reimbursement; defend her as you can against malice and evil, for she can no longer defend herself. On my honor as commander of the Fellowship of Gird, she has no taint of evil herself, and Gird’s grace is on her.
She is tall, yellow-haired and gray-eyed, and has many fighter’s scars, including some that look recent, still inflamed. She carries a safe-conduct from me, but I fear she may be too shy to present it. Look for her. She is under our protection.
Marshal Keris
Shaleford Grange
To Marshal-General Arianya,
Greetings:
As you requested, I am writing to report that Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter has been here. I was away when she came, but yeoman-marshal Edsen took her in overnight. She seemed in good health; she seems to me a pleasant young woman, very willing to please, though not steady of nerve. She spoke to our yeomen about the quest to Kolobia, which they had not heard. I sent her with a message to old Leward at Highgate Grange; I know there is much traffic along the way there, even in winter, and thought she might find work. No one is hiring here.
I must say that with the little you wrote, it’s hard to explain her to the yeomen here. Even Edsen wondered about her. Perhaps in more traveled areas, they’ll be more understanding. If I understood you correctly, she has had her mind damaged by a demon—right?
It looks like another hard winter; I’m having trouble getting all the grange-gift without cutting the farmers too short. I’m sending the rolls; note that Sim Simisson died, and his widow has remarried into Hangman’s barton. Their farm was split between the three boys, but Jori and Ansuli have moved away, and young Sim is farming it all. Gird’s grace to you.
Marshal Leward
Highgate Grange
To Marshal-General Arianya
Greetings, Arñe!
Did you hear that old Adgan finally died? Kori Jenitson told me a few weeks ago, when he rode by this way. I told him to write you, or send word from Vérella.
Keris sent that Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter to me. What is the Fellowship coming to, after all? I know, I know. You had your reasons. But such things should happen to those of us with years enough to know better. She’s nought but a young sprout, I don’t care how many years she fought with Phelan. By the way, someone told me he’d been to Fin Panir. Is that true? Is he coming back to the Fellowship?
Anyway, I found the girl a place with a trader I know. She looks strong enough, though much disfigured with those scars. Loading wagons should put a little muscle on her—then maybe she won’t find swords so frightening. Keris, the trader, promised to keep her on all the way to the south if she earns her keep. Can’t see any reason why she won’t. She’s certainly polite and better-educated than most. If she weren’t scarred as she is, I’d be tempted to find a husband for her.