Paks wondered what he would have said if she'd blurted out the truth, but merely smiled. "I'm glad you thought to send a few around back for the stragglers."

"Oh, of course. I see you have quite a few prisoners—how about transport?"

"If you could have someone send a cart or wagon out from town—and Master Travannen is wounded. It would be better for him to ride—"

"Certainly. Why don't I see to moving your mounts back along the road—then you can come out the way we came in. It's easier traveling."

"Fine." Paks looked around. The prisoners had rough litters ready, covered with their cloaks. They loaded the wounded, and prepared to march out. Zinthys rode off with a wave of his hand; the soldiers from Sir Felis's command joined her, flanking the party. One of them offered his horse.

"No, thank you," said Paks. "I'll walk to the road." He shrugged and moved back into position. She wondered if she should have taken his offer.

"I wonder," said Arvid quietly at her side, "that you are unhurt. Didn't you know that a sword broke on your armor?"

Paks thought back to the fight—it hardly deserved the name of battle. "I don't—oh—I remember a blow in the side—"

"Yes. I was just behind you then. It was a fair blow, and the man was as heavy as you, or more. I thought you'd get a broken rib out of it, at the least."

Paks took a deep breath, feeling nothing. "No," she said. "It must have caught at an angle."

Arvid shook his head. "I saw it. Either you're a good bit tougher than I thought—which is unlikely—or your armor has great virtue. Where did you get it?"

Paks gave him a straight look. "I found it," she said. "In a ruin."

"Hmm. That's a good sword, too."

"Yes." Paks looked around. Everything seemed to be secure. Mal was moving up beside her. He had wiped the axe blade on something; it was clean.

"The others are dead," he said. "Too bad hurt to make it; the riders trampled some of 'em. I did it quick." He looked past Paks at Arvid. "You fight good, for a city man."

Arvid laughed easily. "Do you think all soldiers begin in a farmyard?"

Mal's forehead creased. "Nay, not that, sir. But the ones I know all did, and the city men I know are mostly merchants. This lady, now, says she comes from a farm. Isn't that so?"

Paks nodded.

"Many good things come from cities," said Arvid.

"Oh, I didn't mean any different. I know that. Fine clothes, and jewels, and that. But there's more thieves in cities, too. My brother always said that wealth draws thieves like honey draws bees."

"I suppose." Arvid didn't sound interested; he turned to Paks. "What are you going to do now?"