"I'll walk with you to the inn," said the Marshal to Paks in a neutral tone. Paks followed him down the alley, leading both animals. She kept her thumb firmly on the ring.

They were almost to the crossroad when the Marshal spoke again. "If I'd defended you," he said without preamble, "old Doggal would be lodging a complaint to the Council somehow. He won't agree with me on anything but smithing itself if he can help it."

"Then—you aren't angry with me for this?"

"For going to his aid? Of course not. You might wait, another time, to see whether your aid is needed, or someday you'll be killed over some little thing, and nothing gained. I'll just have a word with Hebbinford," he said as they came to the inn door. "You take that horse around back."

Paks found herself leading the tall black warhorse to the stable before she quite realized the Marshal had taken Star's lead. She heard, behind her, the innkeeper's voice and the Marshal's, and the exclamations of the serving wenches.

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

When she came in to supper that night, the common room stilled. Someone dropped a dish, and it clattered on the floor. She could hear the rustle of cloth as someone bent to pick it up. Paks carefully did not meet any of the eyes in the room, but picked her way to an empty table. As she sat down, a muted hum resumed. She heard a phrase here and there, but tried to ignore the voices. They all knew, as she did, that the tall man lay unconscious in his room upstairs. She didn't know what stories were going around, but obviously she was in them. She ordered the special dinner: roast beef, mushrooms, hot bread and pastry. She was halfway through it before she remembered that she'd thought of going to weapons-practice at the Girdmen's that evening. If she ate all that—she sighed and pushed the dishes away.

"Is something wrong with your meal?" asked Hebbinford, pausing by her table.

"No, not at all. I thought I'd go to the grange this evening, though, and drill—and not on a full stomach."

"I see. Well, we can put that by for you, for when you get back, if you like."

"Thank you." Paks had not thought of that. "I'd like that—this food is too good to waste. If it's not too much trouble—?"

"Not at all. Marshal Cedfer mentioned that you might be visiting this evening. I suppose, a warrior must always practice, eh?"

"Yes, if we want to stay good. And it's been too long since I had a proper drill."

"Fights don't count?" No mistaking the ironic tone. She wanted to answer sharply, but knew better.