"I'm Gar Travennin," said the older. "A merchant, as you see, from Chaya. Could we talk with you?"

Paks nodded; her mouth was full. They sat across from her. Travennin was balding, with a gray fringe. The younger man was blond.

"We hear you came over the mountains, from Aarenis." Paks nodded again. "I heard there was more fighting than usual down there, and no trade this year. Is that so?"

Paks took a sip of her ale. "Yes. That's so. Had you heard of Lord Siniava?" The man nodded. "Well, he tried open war against the Guild League cities and the northern mercenaries all at once. He lost."

"Ah . . . so. Do you think, then, that trade will be back to normal by next spring? I held off this year, but I've a caravan of fine wool that needs a buyer."

Paks thought back to the turmoil in Aarenis. She spread her hands. "I can't say, sir, for certain. I came north with a late caravan, as far as the Silver Pass, but whether they made it safe to Valdaire I don't know."

"Were you with a regular company?" Travennin asked as if he had heard already.

"Yes. Duke Phelan's Company. The Duke was—much involved." Paks was not sure how much to say; the old habit of silence held her still.

"Mmm. And why did you leave?"

Paks felt irritated; it was none of his affair. "Why, sir, I enlisted for two years. My time was up."

"I see. You had had no trouble—?"

Merchants! she thought disgustedly. No honor at all. "No, sir. No trouble." She went on eating.

"I heard the Duke and Aliam Halveric were much in each other's pockets," said Travennin, his eyes roaming around the room.

Paks gave him a hard look and returned to her meal. "Oh? I couldn't say."

"After some kind of trouble last year—over the pass? Some border fort, I forget the name—"

She thought of Dwarfwatch at once, and said nothing. The smell of that mountain wind came to her, and her last sight of Saben and Canna in the rain, and Captain Ferrault's dying face.

"—do you know it?" the merchant persisted.

Paks stopped eating and slowly put both hands flat on the table. He glanced at her and froze as she glared at him. "Sir," she said finally, in a voice she hardly recognized. "I have nothing to say about our—the Duke's—Company. Nothing. And by your leave, sir, I'll finish my supper in peace." She stared at him until he reddened and pushed back his stool. She had lost her appetite. All those deaths, that grief and rage—The merchants she had traveled with had not been so crass. But of course, they had been in Aarenis during the war. They knew. Her breathing slowed; she took another sip of ale. The merchants were back at their own table, heads together. The man in black was watching her. As he met her eyes, he lifted his glass in salute and grinned. She looked away. All at once she wished she were anywhere but here. No, not anywhere, but back with the Company, laughing with Vik and Arñe, talking with Stammel or Seli or Dev. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back angrily. She drew a long breath and drank more ale.