She turned the black horse off the road, and made a half-circle in the woods around the marked tree. Nothing but a game trail, that ended a few yards from the road. She came out to the road again, and thought about it. Game trail? Why would a game trail stop suddenly? She had seen others that crossed the road. Her neck prickled, and she looked around at the silent trees. Nothing. She thought of returning to the mysterious trail, but decided to ride on as if she had found nothing. As she jogged on toward town, she heard a distant call off to her right—a herdsman, perhaps, or perhaps someone else.

That night was drill night again. Paks drank a quick bowl of soup in the crowded common room, then went upstairs to change. When she came downstairs, the tall young man she'd noticed the first day in the common room called to her.

"Lady Paks! Going to drill? Walk with us, why don't you?" His grin was nearly as wide as his shoulders. Two other men, that Paks remembered but vaguely from the first night's drill smiled at her.

Paks nodded at them. She wondered who they were.

"I'm Mal Argonist," said the one who had called her. "I'm the forester here, since my brother went away. I saw you the day you came in."

"Amisi," said the dark one at his side. "I'm a farmer, just east there—beyond the grove, those grain fields."

"Adgan," said the redhead. "I work for Amisi, right now."

"He's my senior herdsman."

"They're just learning sword drill," said Mal. "I told 'em they should use an axe, but—"

"Mal, for Gird's sake don't start on that—"

"What?" asked Paks.

"Axes. Mal thinks everyone should fight with an axe. It's all right for him, as big as he is, and using an axe every day. But—"

"In formation?" Paks tried to imagine it. She knew that some knights fought with small axes, but she'd never heard of a foot soldier using one.

"Nah—not formation exactly." Mal laughed loudly. "It's a right Girdish weapon, that's all, being taken from our tools, you see. And I've killed wolf with it—"

"With an axe?" Paks stared at him.

"Oh, aye. Just you swing it from side to side, see—like the Master Smith does his hammer, that's all. It's the very thing. Won't break like a sword will." He laughed again, and Paks eyed him narrowly. If she had seen him in a tavern in Aarenis, she'd have thought him a stupid lout. He was two fingers taller than she, and built like an ale barrel. She'd seen him drain a tankard at one swallow. Yet he didn't move like a drunkard, and his great arms showed solid muscle.