Lieth was watching her, brows raised. “That will explain his visit, to all those listening ears.”
“So I thought.” Paks sighed, stretching. She would like to have rested, but felt she could not take the time. She wondered if the Duke would be at the grange hall that evening. Yet another tap on the door interrupted her thoughts. Lieth answered, opening to a page in royal livery.
“Please, I am to give this to the Lady Paksenarrion’s hand, and await an answer.”
“Here.” Paks took the single folded sheet, and opened it. The High Marshal Seklis wished a short conference before the evening’s ceremonies. He would be at the grange hall until dinner, if she could find the time. Paks handed the message to Lieth, who read it quickly and nodded. Paks turned to the page. “I’ll come, of course,” she said. “Can you guide us?”
“Yes, Lady.”
“You’ll want your armor,” said Lieth quietly; Paks smiled at her.
“In the Hall?”
“Yes.” Lieth could convey firmness very quietly, and she did it. Paks did not argue, and retired to the other room where Lieth helped her into it. “I’m coming with you, too,” she said before they rejoined the page.
“As you will,” said Paks.
The same High Marshal she had seen in the conference earlier met her at the side door of the grange hall.
“If the circumstances of your quest permit, Lady Paksenarrion, I would be glad of your participation in tonight’s ceremony.”
Paks frowned. “What participation, Marshal—?”
“I’m sorry—I forgot that we hadn’t met; I’m High Marshal Seklis. I’ve been attached to the court for about a year. Well, you probably know that the Order of the Bells advances its novices to knighthood at the Feast of Luap. We have a score of them this time. And since it’s a Girdish order—with a few exceptions—a trial of arms is part of the ceremony. It would be an honor for the candidates to meet your blade in this trial. Of course, we have other Marshals, and senior knights of the Order also help out, but—”
“I thought only knights could act in the trials,” said Paks.
“Well, of course—but paladins are knights first, and so—”
Paks shook her head. “No, Marshal; I’m not a knight.”
“You—! But you must be—I mean I heard that you were different, but—”
“Marshal, let me explain. I was not at Fin Panir long enough to qualify; the Marshal-General admitted me to the order of paladin-candidate before I was knighted—as is sometimes done.”
“Yes, but—”
“And after the expedition to Kolobia, I was unable to continue the training. I believe all Marshals were informed—?”
He nodded, reluctantly, it seemed to Paks.
“So I left Fin Panir, without being knighted—indeed, completely unfit for any such honor.”
“But—you are a paladin?”
“Yes. By Gird’s grace, and the gifts of the High Lord, I am a paladin—but not through the candidacy at Fin Panir. Marshal, I do not understand the gods’ ways or intent; I know only their commands and gifts.”
“I—see.” He chewed his lip. “I don’t know of another case such as this.”
“In the event, I might be an embarrassment to you—”
“No. No, indeed.” His voice steadied, and he gave her a sharp glance. “If the gods see fit to make a paladin of you, am I to quarrel with your qualifications? You are their champion—their knight, if you will—and that is enough for me, and for the rest.”
“Another problem,” said Paks slowly. “I have no blade of my own—this one I carry on quest, as you heard, to test the identity of Lyonya’s king. I dare not use it for any other purpose.”
“Easily solved,” grinned Marshal Seklis. “A grange of Gird holds ample weaponry, I would think. Choose a sword from the armory that suits you. But if your quest forbids, I cannot insist.”
“Then I would be honored. Only you will have to tell me how the ceremony goes.”
“Like most such—but I forgot. Here, then—” And he led her into the grange hall proper and showed how it would be set up. Although somewhat smaller than the High Lord’s Hall in Fin Panir, the grange hall was built to the same basic design. Tiers of seats rose on either side of a broad central aisle in which the trials would take place. Candidates would enter through a door at one end, and prove themselves against at least two of the examiners.
“Ordinarily,” said Seklis, “we know that each bout will be short, and we don’t expect the examiners to have much trouble. It’s like the ritual exchange—merely public proof that the candidates are able to face an armed opponent. Even so, some of them surprise us. Last year we had a lad that outfought two Marshals and cost me a hard struggle before I got the winning touch. He’s in Marshal’s training now, and he’ll be a strong arm for Gird in the future. But this time we may have real trouble. Many of them wanted to be in this ceremony because of the prince’s coronation this year—to say they were knighted in the same year. So we have twenty zealous and very capable candidates. Besides the honor alone, that’s one reason I asked you—I’ve scraped up every Marshal around, and the best of the senior knights, just in case, but we still have only fifteen examiners. That’s more than two bouts apiece, any way you look at it.”
Seklis explained the details of scoring, and introduced Paks to some of the pointers, who would keep track of each bout. Then he took her to the armory, and left her to choose a sword from the racks. They were all of similar design, with Gird’s seal deeply graven in the pommel, and well-shaped hilts. They varied only in length and weight. When Paks had chosen two, Seklis told a yeoman-marshal to put them aside for her that evening, then turned back to her.
“Oh—by the way—unless your quest requires it, I would ask that you not wear that maiclass="underline" for the trials, all wear the training armor, and all examiners are in the colors of their orders. You, of course, are entitled to Gird’s colors, and there are surcoats enough, as well as the bandas—”
“I see.” Paks thought a moment. She could think of no reason why she should be the only participant in full mail, but was yet reluctant to leave it aside. “I hesitate to question the custom—”
“And I the conditions of your quest.” The High Marshal cocked his head slightly. “Lady, you know best what evils you face; I would not have them come on you unawares, yet I think they will not brave the grange hall full of Marshals and knights. The candidates—”
“What about the challengers?” asked Lieth. “Or is not that the custom here?”
The High Marshal frowned. “Challengers? Oh, you mean outsiders? Well—I doubt there will be any—”
“What is that?” asked Paks.
“It is the custom,” he said, “that anyone having a grievance against the court or any examiner can present a champion for a trial of arms at this knighting. But when any such is planned, it’s usual for me to know ahead of time.”
“Would that bout be fought on the same terms?”
“No—as a full trial of arms. Do you suspect anything of that sort?”
“To be honest, Marshal Seklis, I don’t know what I suspect—besides trouble. We have been attacked already by Achrya’s minions and several priests of Liart with their beasts. Until I see the rightful king of Lyonya safe on his throne, I cannot be easy about anything. I am willing enough to test your candidates without armor, but if it comes to protecting the king—”
“Ah. I see.”
“If someone came in, claiming to be an outside challenger, could they challenge anyone there, or just the examiners, or what?”
“Anyone.”
“Umm.” Paks chewed her lip a moment. “I could keep my armor here—nearby—if Lieth will squire me here—”