"He—he thought it must be soon, sir." Paks felt the tears burning in her eyes. She hoped Ambros would not mind her telling the dream now. "He could see—in the dream—the marks I gave him that last night at drill. The cut hadn't healed." The Marshal nodded, silent. Then he looked at the others.

"Did he tell any of you this dream?"

"No, sir." They answered in a ragged chorus. Mal went on. "I knew something was wrong, sir—he didn't say about the dream, but when I said something about not being in best shape to fight, he took me up on it and said I should stay behind."

The discussion dragged on for hours. Finally the Marshal dismissed them, having, as it seemed, worn out his anger. Paks was so tired she could hardly walk, but her mind kept buzzing at her. She made it to the inn, and up the stairs, without a word to anyone. Stretched on her bed, still wearing her armor, she wondered what she'd done with her horse, and was too tired to get up and find out. She thought she would never go to sleep. Cold air rolled over her from the window. At last she managed to pull a blanket over her and slept.

Dawn came gray and foggy. She had left the shutters open; the floor near her window was wet and cold. Paks looked at the beads of moisture with narrowed eyes; she didn't want to move. She heard noises from the rest of the inn, footsteps and voices. Her legs hurt. Her shoulder ached. Something was poking a hole in her side. That finally moved her—that hard lumpy something which seemed to be underneath a rib no matter how she squirmed. In one rush she threw back the blanket and staggered to her feet. Her boots skidded on the wet floor as she reached for the shutters.

The remains of her clothes hung on the fine chainmail like dead leaves on a shapely branch. Only her leather tunic was whole, though scarred by the net as if it had been touched by flame. She ripped the rags free, glad she had worn her old clothes for that trip, rather than the new ones. She slid out of the mail, noticing as she did a lumpy pocket in her tunic. Arvid's present. She reached into it and pulled out a handful of fire.

After a moment, she could see what it really was. A string—several strings, interconnected—of fiery jewels, some white and some blue. It poured through her hand like sunlit waterdrops. The clasp was gold. She stared, openmouthed, then tucked it quickly away. When she opened the door, she nearly fell over Suli, who was curled up asleep outside.

* * *

"It won't work," said Paks firmly. She avoided Suli's eyes, tracing a design on the table with one finger. "It won't work because I'm not what you hoped for—and it's not as easy as you think."