The Marshal-General sighed again. Paks looked up to find her gazing out one of the narrow windows, her face stern. After a long moment she turned back to Paks. "We are not," she said firmly, "a training camp for those who want fancy skills to show off." Paks felt her face reddening again. "If what you want is an accomplishment to display—like someone stringing another pearl on a necklace—you don't belong here, and I won't lend Gird's name to it. Those we train must go out as Gird's warriors, to serve the lands and defend them against the powers of evil. They must care, Paksenarrion, for this cause more than their own fame. Those sworn to the fellowship of Gird I have ways of testing. If you persist in remaining aloof, I must assume that your dedication is unproven. I will not—absolutely not—let you take advantage of this company, and go off boasting that you trained with the Company of Gird at Fin Panir, unless you can show me what you will pay. Not in money, young warrior, but in your life."

Paks managed to meet her eyes steadily, though she felt as frightened and helpless as she had when a new recruit. She said nothing for some time, wondering what if anything she could say. At last she looked away and shook her head ruefully.

"I don't know, my lady, what I could say to convince you. For me, I have been trained as a warrior, not to argue. I think perhaps you feel what I felt in Brewersbridge—there was a young girl there, who wanted to join me, and be a squire to me. I knew I didn't know enough to be her—her commander, or whatever, but also—I used to think she only wanted the glory she could see. To wear a sword like mine, to have a scar to show, perhaps—but she didn't know what it cost, what lay behind it. I tried to tell her, tried to get her to join a regular company, as I had—"

"And did she?" The Marshal-General's voice was still remote.

Paks shook her head. "Not as far as I know. I tried—but she wanted adventure, she said. It would be too dull, she didn't like people yelling at her; she said she could get enough of that in Brewersbridge." Paks stopped before saying, "She had a very bad father, my lady."

"You ran away from yours."

"Oh, well . . . he wasn't like that. But I see what you mean—you think I want to—to make a name for myself, from the fame of your Company. That would be wrong. You're right. But—I can't swear to follow Gird until I know—until I'm sure of myself—that I can do it."

"That's coming out differently than what you said before. Then you didn't seem to trust Gird—"