"This sword," said Paks, laying her hand on the hilt. "Another one, not so good—"

"That one's magical," said the Marshal-General. "Did you know?"

"Yes, my lady. And a dagger, and a short battleaxe."

"Do you use all of them?"

"No, my lady. Just sword and dagger, and I can use a long-bow, though not well."

"And I see you have mail as well. For the first weeks, though, you will not use your own weapons. The weaponsmaster will assign you weapons for training; yours may be stored in your quarters or in the armory, as you prefer."

"Yes, my lady."

"Your clothes—" She glanced at Paks's traveling clothes. "We have training uniforms, but we are not strict, except during drill and classes. We discourage display of jewels and such, but you don't look the type to show up in laces and ribbons."

"No, my lady."

"Very well." She signed the end of her note, and handed it to Paks. "Take this down, and ask Argalt to direct you to the Master of Training. He'll assign your quarters, and see that you're set up with the instructors. You will take your meals in the Lower Hall—by the way, you have no difficulties with the elder races, have you?"

"Elder races—you mean elves and dwarves?"

"Among others. We have quite a few here—you'll be meeting them. Don't get in fights with them."

"Oh no."

"Good. You may go, Paksenarrion. May Gird's grace be on you, and the High Lord's light guide your way." She rose, and Paks stood quickly, knocking her hand on the table edge.

"Thank you, my lady—"

"Thank the gods, Paksenarrion, for their bounty. I have done nothing yet to deserve your thanks."

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Argalt, when she finally located him again, after losing herself in a maze of passages on the ground floor, looked her up and down. "Training Master, eh? So you're going to become a Knight of Holy Gird, are you? Or a Marshal? Or is it paladin you're thinking of?"

Paks felt her ears burning again. "I—don't know, sir."

Argalt snorted. "I'm no sir, not even to the newest member of the training company. Argalt: that's my name, and that's what you'll call me, young woman."

"Yes, si—Argalt."

"That's better. You're no hothouse flower of a noble house—where are you from?" Paks told him. He looked at her with surprising respect. "Sheepfarmer's daughter? That's like Gird's daughter herself—barring he raised cattle and grain, so the story goes. But still it means you know what work is, I'll say, and a few blisters on the hands. Where'd you learn to wear a sword like you could use it?" When she mentioned the Duke's name, he stared. "You were in the Fox's company? And came here? I'll believe anything after that!" He shook his head as he led her across the courtyard, past the Lord's Hall. "I was in the Guards at Vérella when I was young; what I don't know about that Duke—" But Paks asked nothing, and did not expect that he would have answered if she had. He gave her a long look outside the Training Master's office. "If you need someone to talk to, sometime, sheepfarmer's daughter—I'll share a tankard of ale with you."