The Lady rose; Paks and the Halverics, trying to stand, found themselves unable to move. The Lady’s voice was kindly, now, its silvery music warmer than before.
“It will make your task no easier, that all know the Ladysforest has moved to enclose your steading; as I shift the border in return, you will find that none of your people remember a summer’s afternoon in winter. For you, I leave you such memories as you need—and from Paksenarrion I withhold no truth. You will not be troubled by any elves of my Household—”
Paks suddenly thought of the evil plots Achrya had woven for the Duke before now—had all this, for near fifty years, been one—? She wanted to ask the Lady, wanted to explain—but gentle laughter filled her mind.
“Be at ease, paladin; others, too, can see a web against the light.”
A knock came on the door; Paks and the Halverics looked blankly at each other. Between them a bowl of apples and a tiny glass flask with a spray of apple blossoms filled Aliam’s study with the mingled odors of spring and fall.
“What is it?” Aliam finally croaked.
Cal Halveric put his head in. “It’s getting late, sir—did you wish to dine here? Shall I sit for you in Hall?” Paks looked at the small window; outside it was full dark.
22
The three of them looked at each other, still dazed; Paks saw Caliam look at the apple blossoms with disbelief, and then at her. She inhaled that delicate odor, then shook her head. Aliam took a long breath, then thumped the arms of his chair with both hands.
“No—we’ll be down. In a few minutes. Cal—do you—?” But he stopped himself, and turned to Estil. She smiled, and touched his hand, holding her other out to Paks.
“I thank you, my dear, for a very—interesting—discussion,” she said. Paks could see in her eyes the memory of the Lady’s visit. “I am sorry you must leave as soon as you say, but in the meantime, enjoy our hospitality.”
“With all my heart,” said Paks. Estil laughed, in her eyes, and they rose, less stiffly than Paks had expected. The squires looked curiously at them as they entered the Hall, where everyone waited at the tables. Now, at evening, more of the seats were filled. Cal and his brothers and their wives sat at the head table with their parents and Paks; the older children fitted in where they could, and the little ones tumbled around them. The Hall rang with laughter and talk. Paks did not miss the many glances sent her way; she knew when one of the younger children sneaked behind her and boldly touched the hilt of the sword. Estil saw that, and snatched the girl back.
“You! Suli, you rascal—you do that with the wrong person someday, and you’ll lose a hand, if not your life. You know better than to touch a warrior’s weapon.”
“It’s pretty, grandmother—I just—”
“You just indeed! If you want to speak to a paladin, go ahead—there she is—speak—” And Suli, both frightened and thrilled, was thrust forward to face Paks, who had turned to watch this.
“I—I’m sorry,” she quavered. Paks heard one of the boys giggle from a safe distance. Suli threw a sulky glance that way, and then stared at Paks.
“Your grandmother’s right,” Paks said, bending down to face the child. “I will not hurt you, but another might. And did you know that some weapons are magical? A sword might hurt you, if you were not its true master. You have a bold heart, and that is good—only learn from your grandmother to let a wise head guide it.” The child blushed, and Paks turned to see the other children beyond her. “And for you others—it is easy to laugh when another is in trouble—but another’s folly does not make you wise. In this family I would expect you to defend one another.” To her surprise, a boy about Suli’s size came forward at once.
“I only laughed because she is never afraid,” he said stoutly. “If that was wrong, I’m sorry. But if you had tried to hurt her, I would have come.”
Paks smiled at him. “I’m glad you would help. I said what I did because when I was helpless and in trouble, some laughed at me.”
“You? I thought—can a paladin be helpless?”
“I was not born a paladin, lad. Even now, I expect there are things I cannot fight except by faith.”
“I will not laugh again,” said the boy seriously. “Suli—”
“It’s all right.” Suli put her arm around him. Paks realized suddenly that they were twins. Both of them grinned at her, and then Suli poked her brother in the ribs. They tumbled back, laughing and sparring.
“Ruffians,” said Estil calmly. “Those two are wild as colts.”
“’Tis because you spoil them, Mother,” said a woman down the table. “Every time I come, you—”
“Well, they’re good-hearted ruffians,” said Estil. “And the only twins in the family. Gods grant we don’t have more, the way they are, but still—”
“At home,” their mother went on, looking down the table to Paks, “I keep them in more order—when they aren’t running off in the woods. But since we spend half the year here, why—”
“Now that’s unfair.” The tall man beside her grinned. “Shall I tell them all what you said when we packed this time to come?” The woman started laughing, and he went on. “She was so glad we were coming, because then when the twins did something, she could blame you.”
“Yes, but—”
“And, she said, they were better behaved when we left than when we came.” He tapped his wife’s nose. “So you see what you get?”
She shrugged, grinning, and made a face at Paks and Estil. Paks was amazed. She had never been in such a family—had not, she thought suddenly, been in any family since leaving home. There were at least a dozen children in the hall, and more had been carried off after falling asleep. Three or four generations lived here—happily, as it seemed. She looked at Estil—grandmother certainly, and maybe a great-grandmother—and still tall and broad-shouldered. A formidable bowman, her husband said. How had she done it? Paks could not imagine having all those children (for there sat Caliam, Haliam, and Suli—married to a Tsaian but home for a visit—and she had heard of others), managing such an estate, and still finding time to stay fit in weaponscraft. She shook her head; Estil noticed and turned to her.
“Is it too noisy for you, Paksenarrion? We’re a noisy family; always have been. Aliam and I love talk and music as much as life itself.”
“No, I just—I never—this is very different,” said Paks lamely.
“It’s just a family. Bigger than most, I suppose—and when you count in the others—” She looked around. The side tables were still fulclass="underline" Paks saw men and women in working garb.
“Does everyone eat here, my lady? Every meal?” She had thought that in rich houses, the master and mistress and family ate alone.
“Oh no. Some live in their own cottages; some prefer to eat somewhere else. But in winter, we keep a good fire here, and anyone is welcome. Evening meals in winter are usually a crowd. My sister from northern Lyonya says it’s like a barracks, but we like it.” Estil smiled. Paks heard the chime of harpstrings from somewhere, and looked around. Caliam’s oldest son had brought a harp to the hall, and now tuned it. The tables began to fall silent. When he was ready, he brought the harp to Aliam, and bowed.
“You first, young man,” said Aliam. “I’ll let my fingers warm to your music first.”
The boy began to play, a jigging dance tune that soon had hands slapping the tables. Someone knew the words, but had a flat voice; others took up the tune with better grace. After that, the boy played a slow song like summer afternoons before haying time; Paks felt her eyelids sag. Then a love song, which half the men sang along with. Then Cal took the harp.