“Paksenarrion. I’m pleased to see you again.” The Marshal’s unasked question What are you doing with the Kuakgan? hung between them.
“And I you, Marshal Cedfer,” said Paks. “Will you eat with us? I just arrived in town.”
“So I heard from Sergeant Cannis. I’ll sit with you; it’s a drill night.” He paused, then asked. “Will you be coming to drill?”
“Not tonight, I think, Marshal.” Paks did not elaborate.
“Ah. You’ve journeyed long today, I imagine.” He looked at her, then around the room. “You’ve found our busiest season, this time. You’re—” he looked sharply at the Kuakgan. “There’s a place for you at the grange, any time,” he said formally. “Even without any notice from the Marshal-General—”
“Marshal, I thank you. I will be traveling on tomorrow; I’m heading north, to the Duke’s stronghold. And tonight—”
“You’re staying in the grove.” He sighed. “Perhaps it’s best. But I hope you will come by the grange before you leave. We still count you in our fellowship—here in Brewersbridge, perhaps, more than elsewhere.”
Paks was moved. She had still feared Marshal Cedfer’s reaction. “Sir, I will do so. I have been with the rangers in Lyonya this summer—”
His face lightened. “Indeed! Very good. And did you—” He stopped, and she wondered if he had been about to ask about fighting. “I mean,” he amended, “if it’s not breaching some vow of your service, I wondered how things stand in Lyonya. You may have heard rumors here—”
“Yes.” Paks was glad the conversation turned this way. “I cannot say much, since I spent my time in the southern forest. But my companions were concerned about some threat to the realm as a whole. They even mentioned trouble coming from Tsaia.”
“Tsaia! From us? Surely not. These kingdoms have been at peace for generations. We have no designs—”
“Nor they, I assure you,” said Paks. “They mentioned only rumor, as you have had here. They didn’t understand it, but feared the work of—” she paused and looked around the busy room. “Achrya,” she said softly.
The Marshal’s face tightened, and the Kuakgan frowned.
“That one,” said the Marshal. “Her. Well, it might be so. That was her agent near here. Yes, and her doing with the other moneychanger, as I recall. Well. If she’s active again . . .”
“Is she ever inactive?” asked the Kuakgan. “And would anything please her better than trouble between friends?”
“You’re right,” said the Marshal. “Gird’s cudgel, this will be a mess if that happens.” He looked at Paks. “Well, if you’ve been with the rangers, I expect you’ve learned some archery.”
“Yes.” Paks wondered if he would ask her to demonstrate, but he shook his head, and got up.
“I have drill, as I said, and must get ready. If you change your mind, Paksenarrion, you’ll be welcome.” He waved as he went out.
The Kuakgan raised his mug in salute. “I told you once the Marshal would surprise you. You have come far, Paksenarrion, since last spring.”
“Yes.” She looked into her own mug, drained it, and refilled it.
“Yes, but? Not all the way, eh?” She did not answer, but shook her head briefly. “Does it bother you so much, now?” he went on.
“No. Not really. I wish for it, but I can do without it.” She traced a design on the table with one finger. “I wonder, though, what would happen in serious trouble—”
“You don’t consider a daskdraudigs serious?”
Paks looked up, startled. “You knew about that?”
“Mother of Trees, did you think I’d send you off like that and not pay attention? Yes, I know about it. I know you didn’t kill it yourself, and I know you did face danger steadily.” He paused to drain his own mug. “Ah . . . here comes the food.” Neither of them spoke while a serving girl laid the trays on their table: roast meat, gravy, mushrooms, bread, and cheese. A dish of onions, and one of redroots, and one of stewed pears. Finally she left, taking the empty jug, and promising to bring another. “I know you didn’t panic, Paksenarrion, when you might have. And they tell me you were able to sense the daskdraudigs before anyone else.”
“Yes.” Paks was piling meat on a slab of bread. “I was still frightened, you know. But I kept thinking of what you’d said, and then what I’d been taught of fighting—this arm here, and that step there—and I was able to keep on.” She bit into the food. “I threw up afterwards,” she said around a mouthful of bread and meat. “The first time, at least.”
“Yes. But you were able to keep on. Good.” They ate in silence awhile. Paks was just about to say something, when Sevri came to the table. She had grown even more over the summer.
“Paks? Dad says you aren’t staying with us—I could’ve found room—you could’ve slept with me.”
“Sevri. Are you tired of everyone saying how you’ve grown? Are you still working mostly in the stable?”
“No, and yes. I do some in the inn, too, but I like the stable work better.” She had the same friendly smile as before. “Are you all right, Paks? You look different without your sword.”
“I’m fine. When did they start telling everyone not to wear a sword?”
“Over the summer. It’s helped a little, with the caravaners. We’ve had fewer fights.” She glanced at the Kuakgan. “I’m sorry, Master Oakhallow, that I didn’t greet you—”
“No matter.”
“Do you still have the black horse, Paks? Or did you get another?”
“I’m traveling on foot right now,” said Paks carefully. “I left Socks in Fin Panir—they said they’d keep him until I came for him.”
She could see the thoughts passing through Sevri’s eyes, but Sevri finally said, “I hope he’s all right. I remember how scared I was of him at first, and by the time you left I could feed him from my hand.” She looked at Paks’s clothes curiously. “Are you a ranger now? Or shouldn’t I ask?”
“I spent the summer as a ranger. Now I’m going to see Duke Phelan.” Paks tried to think of something comforting to say, and couldn’t. Sevri sat in silence a moment, and then got up.
“I’d better get back to work. We’re feeding one of the caravans, too, and they’ll be sending in for it any minute.” She started away, then turned back for a moment. “I’m glad you’re here, Paks. I hope you come back.”
“Sevri’s talked of joining the grange,” said Master Oakhallow. “She’s said she would like to be like you.”
Paks shivered. “She shouldn’t. She’s too—”
“She’s tougher than you think. She’d make a good fighter—in some ways like you—though I think she shouldn’t plan to make her living at it. But if trouble comes here—she could fight, I think, and well.”
Though it was nearly dark when they left the inn, the streets were just as crowded. Paks felt sleepy and fulclass="underline" the meal she’d eaten, on top of the long day’s march, had her longing for a bed—any bed. But the Kuakgan, when they came to his house, laid a fire and lit it. He seemed wide awake and ready for a long talk.
“The seed you brought me is indeed rare,” he said. “I have no arissa in the grove, and I am glad to have the chance to sprout one. Did you see it in bloom?”
“Yes.” Paks yawned. “Like—like great lights, high in the forest. Not the sort of flowers most trees have.”
“Tell me something of the forest you traveled.” Paks wanted to sleep; she yawned again, but began to talk of her summer’s work, remembering as best she could the trees, flowers, vines, birds, and animals. The Kuakgan interrupted now and then with questions. Then he asked about the daskdraudigs.
“It felt—bad. Sick.” Paks felt itchy talking about it. “I felt it, inside my head—I fell down, at first.”
“And then?”