The other men left at last, and the Marshal ushered Paks back to his study. On his desk was a leather tube; Paks could see the paper rolled inside. He nodded at it. "That's for Sir Felis; it explains what I'm doing. Now—you seemed uneasy tonight. What have you found?"

Paks told him about the blazed tree, and the "game" trail that ended a few yards from it and the road. The Marshal nodded. "I think you've found something important. If you'll take my advice, don't ride that way tomorrow. If you were seen pausing there—well, it could be very dangerous. Right now a single arrow could end your campaign. Anything else?"

Paks hesitated. She glanced at Ambros, leaning against the door. He shrugged and moved back into the passage. "I—I'm not sure. One of the yeomen said something—"

"Asked or said?"

"Asked, at first, about my business with the Council. He asked if I'd been hired or if I'd—I'd bribed them."

The Marshal's face stiffened. "Who?"

"Sir, I don't think he meant insult—"

"I didn't ask that. I asked who it was."

"I think his name is Doryan."

The Marshal nodded. "That doesn't surprise me. Doryan is—difficult, sometimes. He became a Girdsman after he moved here. Anything more?"

Paks thought of Doryan's words and decided none of them were important. "Not really, no."

He looked thoughtfully at her before going on. "Paksenarrion, it's my business to defend my yeomen, if they need it. Don't be afraid to tell me what they say."

"But I don't want to be—" she couldn't think how to say what she meant, that no soldier held another to close account for every word, or told even a sergeant what a friend had said.

"You are not of our fellowship yet," said the Marshal with a smile. "Now—I meant what I said about you and Ambros riding out together. Race the horses, if you will—anyone will understand that. Ride north and east for a day or so. Wear your mail, and keep alert. If you find where the brigands are hiding out, talk to Sir Felis before you do anything. Don't wait for my return, if you need to take action, but don't rush things, either. Ambros will not be able to go with you on an attack; until I return, his primary responsibility must be the grange."

A little later, Paks rode north out of town toward the keep. Most of the houses were dark; the black horse's hoofbeats echoed in the quiet streets. She had put on her mail shirt, and kept one hand close to her dagger.

At the keep, torches burned at the perimeter fence and on the building itself. An alert sentry challenged her; she waited while he took her name in, and returned to escort her to the entrance. There another soldier led her upstairs to Sir Felis's workroom, a long room with two tables littered with papers and maps. Sir Felis and Master Zinthys, standing together near one table, looked up as she entered.