The mayor began the questioning, asking much the same things as before: her name, background, reasons for leaving the Duke, reasons for coming to Brewersbridge. He asked little about the conflicts she'd described, and no details she had not already given. She answered, as before, honestly. It went more quickly, since no one interrupted. When he was done, the mayor sat back and looked at the others.

"She's not lied. Her story's unusual, but true."

"Then why did she resist being spelled?" asked the mason, still hostile. "And how do we know the spell is working?"

The mage flushed and sat up straight, but Master Oakhallow's deep voice forestalled what he might have said. "Master Mason, Zinthys is a competent wizard. The spell is good."

"If you say so," muttered the mason.

"I wonder myself," said the Marshal, "that a soldier of her experience would show fear of a simple spell. But if the sorcery she suffered before were severe enough—"

The Kuakgan looked at him sharply. "Come, Marshal, you know as well as I the power in that place. Only a witless fool would want to risk that again."

"True—true."

"How long, Master Zinthys, will the spell last?" the Kuakgan asked.

"Not long. Another quarter-glass, perhaps, though I can counteract it now, if you wish."

"It would be more courteous," he murmured, and the rest of the Council nodded.

Paks watched as the mage came near. He picked up the wands and stowed them up his sleeve, then began another incantation. When he finished, he grinned at her.

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No, sir." Paks still felt nothing. Foolish, maybe. She wished she'd agreed at once to the spell, since it had done her no harm. The mayor cleared his throat.

"We've been here for some time, and there's more to come." Paks tensed again. "Let's take a short break now, and ease our throats with a bit of ale. Is that all right with you, Paksenarrion?"

"Yes, sir." Paks wondered what was coming next, and thought of Semminson's warnings. What might they want her to do? Meanwhile, she stood when the others did, and followed them out to the yard before the building. The mayor spoke to a man in servants' clothes standing there, and told him to fetch ale. It was quite dark out, and cool; Paks shivered. Sir Felis came up to her.

"I'm more than glad to know Siniava's dead," he began. "One reason the count had me down here is in case an army came over the pass. It will be a year or more before the keep is finished. But you haven't seen that, have you?"

"No, sir."

"That's my command. When it's finished, we'll have a place to fight from, if it's necessary. The last time there was a battle near here, we had no fortified position. No place to store arms, or haven for those who couldn't fight—nothing."

"We've built the grange since then," put in the Marshal.