By the time she was back downstairs, Ambros had led his horse into the inn yard. He was munching a hot pastry, and grinned at her as she went into the stable. Sevri was busily cleaning out stalls; Paks thought of telling her about the black-clad man, but decided against it. She saddled the black horse without trouble, led it into the yard, and mounted. Ambros swung into his own saddle and they rode out, turning right onto the east road.

"How far out this way have you ridden?" he asked.

"Not very. I came in this way—on a trail that joins the road from the south."

"I know the one."

"I've ridden that far—no more."

"Let's go to the border, then," said Ambros. Paks looked at him. He seemed happy and younger, like a child at a fair. She wondered what the life of a yeoman marshal was like.

"How far is that?"

"Oh—if we keep moving, we can be there and back by tonight. Late tonight."

"Should we?"

Ambros grinned at her. "Probably not. But it would be fun. I grew up near the border; I know the country. We won't get lost, and I don't think anything this way will bother us."

"Well, the Marshal said—"

"The Marshal said ride other ways than west. This is other. By Gird, Paks, I haven't had a day to myself since—" he stopped suddenly, and ran his hand through his hair. Paks remembered suddenly that she had not brought her helmet, and felt stupid. What good was mail, when a head-blow could kill so easily? "Anyway," he went on, more calmly, "I don't see that it will hurt to ride all day. If we don't make it that far by noon, then we'll turn back. Why not?"

Paks wondered if he really wanted to visit his home. She did not want to ask. She wondered what Ambros would say if she turned back for her helmet. Would he think she was a coward? Was he even wearing mail himself? She tried to see, and could not tell. The mail from the elfane taig, she had found, did not jingle as her other mail shirt had; she thought perhaps good mail did not. In the end she said nothing, and they jogged on together, into the morning sun.

When nothing happened for some time, Paks quit thinking so much about an arrow in the head, and instead enjoyed the ride. A thin haze covered the sun, thickening to a gray ceiling as they rode. Ambros frowned at the sky.

"If that keeps up, we'd better turn back."

"Why?"

"From that direction, it means rain, or even an early snow." He sighed. "I might have known that Gird himself would shorten my leash, with the Marshal gone."

Paks stared at him; he looked both unhappy and slightly worried. "Ambros, what is it?"