"Yes."
"And what is he like, may I ask? Will he be an ally of Lyonya?"
"He seemed nice enough." Paks did not know how to explain that she could sense only strong evil and good—not the average mixture most men carried. As well, she had no experience of princes. If he had been a recruit or a squire, she would have been well-pleased with him, but as a prince she had to hope the same qualities would serve.
They were interrupted by a polite knock on the outer door. Lieth rose at once to answer it; Paks waited at the table. Lieth came back with a curious expression on her face.
"It's a boy—he wants to see you. He says he knows you."
"Knows me?" Paks looked down at herself quickly; she couldn't receive anyone in a bathrobe, even with silver clasps. But Lieth was already handing her a clean undershirt.
"Here—says he's a young Marrakai. Aris Marrakai—did you ever meet such a one?"
Paks remembered the boy she'd met her first night in Fin Panir—and often thereafter. "Aris—yes. Fourth son, I think. Thanks." She looked at the mail and decided against it, pulling on her swordbelt over her clothes instead. Then she went through to the front room.
Aris had grown even taller, and looked much older in his squire's livery, the dark green and blue of Kostvan House, piped in the red and green of his father's colors. His black hair was longer, cropped just below his ears, but he had no facial hair. He stood stiffly by the door until Paks was halfway across the room, then grinned as widely as ever.
"Paks! I mean, Lady Paksenarrion—I'm sorry. But they said—and I kept telling them you would come back. You look—" He paused, examining her with his head cocked. "Fine," he finished. "But don't you have mail? Silver mail?"
Paks found herself laughing; even Lieth was smiling. "I have mail, Aris, but even paladins take it off now and then."
"Oh." He looked crestfallen. "I was hoping—when Juris, that's my brother who's Kirgan, said he'd seen you today, I wanted to come—and then I could say I saw it, you see?"
"I see. You wanted to make an impression on the other squires, eh?"
Aris blushed as red as the clothes he had worn that first night. "Well, Paks—Lady Paksenarrion—it's like this—"
"You're the youngest squire," said Paks inexorably, "and they tease you, and when you told them about your three estates someone pounded you, didn't they?"
"Yes, but—"
"And you think this will get you out of some scrape?"
"You didn't used to be like this," said Aris.
"No, and you used to be a little boy. Now you're a young man, not my pet brother. You are the fourth son of a powerful Duke, and you should have better things to think about than impressing other squires by claiming acquaintance with a paladin."
Aris nodded. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not. I'm glad you came to see me, and if the others think it's because you're a vain young boy trying to shine by reflection, perhaps they won't pay too much attention to you."
"What?"
"Aris, listen. I know you've wits enough in that head." With that he stood still again, eyes gleaming. Paks went on. "Yes, indeed. As someone told me recently, Marrakaien are all one brew, and that a heady one. I'll tell you what, young Marrakai—you keep your wits about you and you'll have something to hold up your head about—and I'll see that it's known."
"Can I do something for you? Really? What can I do?"
"I want to know the extent of the division in the Council—who opposes your father on what issues, and why, if you know."
"Oh. Right now?"
"If you have anything to tell. But come into the next room; you can take a look at my mail, and have something to drink."
Once seated at the table, Aris recovered his usual ebullience, and told Paks what he knew of Council business with expressions that had Lieth on the edge of laughter. Paks did not correct him, for she wanted his first impressions, scurrilous though they were.
"Part of it's the Red Duke," he said, coming to what interested Paks without any prompting at all. "They call him the fox, and I can see why. Oh—that's right—you know him. Well, then, you know what I mean. My father says it's not slyness, just intelligence, but some of the others don't trust him at all. They say he got too rich too fast. No one could be so lucky as that. Someone had to be helping him, and of course they think it's Simyits or something. Even worse." He took a swallow of ale from the mug Paks had poured him, and went on. "But Lord Verrakai, the Duke's brother, he told his page that he had proof of Duke Phelan's wrong. Someone who had been with him in Aarenis, and seen it."
Paks managed not to move, merely raising an eyebrow. Aris scurried on through his tale.
"A veteran of his, who left because she didn't want to stay with such a man, or he mistreated her, or something. And she's supposed to prove you aren't really a paladin, too."
"That may prove difficult," murmured Paks.
"Well, of course. You are one." Aris snorted. "I haven't seen her, but Dorthan—that's the page—swears he has. Big and black, he says, and shoulders like an ox. But then Dorthan's so skinny he thinks I have big shoulders."
Paks could not think of anyone matching that description. "Do you have a name for this witness?" she asked.
"No. He didn't know that. Why? Would you know her by name?"
"I might, if she fought in the Company the same years I did. Go on."
But that was all Aris knew of the mysterious witness. He told a long involved story going the rounds of the squires concerning a second son of Clannaeth's younger brother, and Konhalt's heir, and a girl of the Destvaorn household, which supposedly explained why Konhalt was supporting Marrakai's position on the size of the Royal Guard, but Paks found she couldn't follow either the positions or the reasons. She was about to send him away when another knock on the outer door drew Lieth. Aris looked scared.
"If that's Juris, do you have to tell him I'm here?"
"Would he be angry?"
"That I came? Yes. When I told him today that I knew you, he said to let you alone."
And then Lieth announced the Kirgan Marrakai. Paks got up and jerked her thumb at Aris. "Come on, Aris, and see what the protection of paladins is worth."
In the other room, the Kirgan looked both embarrassed and annoyed.
"My pardon, lady, for disturbing you, but I feared my brother might—aha!" as he caught sight of Aris behind Paks.
"Kirgan Marrakai, your brother has given me information I greatly needed, and being unacquainted with the household, I knew not anyone else to ask."
"You asked him here?" The Kirgan's eyebrows lowered.
Paks smiled. "Not precisely, no. But I may say I valued his loyalty in Fin Panir, as I do here. I should not have kept him so long, perhaps, without asking leave of Lord Kostvan—"
"I had leave for the afternoon," Aris piped up. Paks and the Kirgan both stared him down. She looked back at the Kirgan and smiled again.
"And now that he has quite finished," said Paks, emphasizing the words, "I hope you have a few minutes to give me."
"I?" The Kirgan was clearly astonished.
"You. There are things the pages and junior squires know, and other things which heirs to titles know. Would you?" She waved a hand to the other door, and the Kirgan came forward, throwing a last glare at Aris as he hurried out the door.
"Did you really need him," said the Kirgan, "or were you in league with the scamp?" Despite the words, Paks could feel a warmth in his voice.
"A paladin in league with a scamp?" She spoke lightly. "No, he was a pestiferous little mischief in Fin Panir, and no doubt still is—but he was always loyal and honest, even in his worst moments. I asked, Kirgan, for gossip—because I needed to know it—and he told me what he knew, which I needed to know, and could not ask."
"And from me?"
Paks looked searchingly at him. Earlier in the day, he had seemed to have the same arrogant enamel as some of the boys at Fin Panir, but perhaps he had the same warm heart as Aris. "I will ask a few que
stions," she said then. "Please remember that I am not of this court, and speak only of what I have heard—not in condemnation or even suspicion. Is your father loyal to the crown? Are you?"
His lips thinned. "I should have expected this—you came from the east, didn't you? Through Verrakai lands. My father's inmost heart is his own, Lady, but to my knowledge he is and has always been loyal to the crown. As for me, I love the prince as a brother. Indeed—but I cannot speak of that. I will serve him, Lady, as his loyal servant, when I become Duke."
"Very well. Then another question. Would you know who the witness against Duke Phelan is, that Aris spoke of?"
"No—not by name. I've heard there is one, that's all. A veteran, which surprised us all; his veterans all love him."
"So I would have thought," said Paks. "Then a final question. What do you think of Phelan?"
"I?" He smiled. "I've always liked him. My father does; he says Phelan has more breeding than any noble in the land, say what they will of him. He has always been courteous to me. You were in his Company; you know more."
"I know what I think," said Paks. "But I needed to know what you thought—what others think. When I came in this afternoon, it seemed almost that he was on trial. While I am on quest, I may not delay—but you can understand that after what he's done for me—"
"You would defend him? Good—I mean, it's none of my business, but I can hardly bear it when Verrakai gets started. Gird's blood! I was about to boil over when father sent me out on an errand."
"Tell your father to take care, Kirgan," said Paks seriously. "I will not always be in a position to help the Duke; he will need all his friends before long."
"I will, Lady," said the Kirgan steadily. "May I go?"
"Yes—you may say I have saved your little brother a scolding."
"More than a scolding, if I get my hands on that scamp," said the Kirgan, laughing. "You don't know what he did to my sister's room."
"Nor want to know," said Paks, waving him off. "That's between you—but remember, Kirgan," she said as he opened the door. She saw two servants not a spear-length away down the passage. "If young Aris wants to visit me, I have granted him leave. He was my friend in Fin Panir, and I don't forget my friends, even the young ones. He must have his lord's leave—but not yours." The Kirgan's face, as he bowed, was remote, as if he'd been scolded, but his eyes danced. Paks shut the door behind him, convinced that the Marrakaien were all a heady brew indeed.
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. br />
"Oh—by the way—unless your quest requires it, I would ask that you not wear that mail: 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—"
Lieth nodded, and Seklis smiled. "That's permissible; we'll all have squires to freshen us between rounds; she can keep your mail in case of need. And on my word as High Marshal, I shall be watching for any trouble, and will ward whomever you say."