"You do, eh? Then we've a right to dump you on your tail." He took a step forward, but Rufen came out of his room.

"No one has a right to brawl, Jori, and you and Con know it. I don't know where you got the idea that this is your passage—"

"You'd dispute that?" asked Con scornfully. "You? By Gird's toe, Rufen, I can throw you with one arm alone."

"I doubt that," said Rufen. The boy had started to roll to his feet, but Con aimed a kick in his direction.

"Stay there, little boy."

Paks had been growing angrier. Jori sneered at Rufen, and said, "We have to do something—the Master's put one of 'em on our floor!"

Rufen cocked his head. "So?"

"So, we'll have to teach them all a lesson—I don't suppose a peasant girl can be much trouble."

Paks felt her anger like a leaping flame. "You don't?" she asked, trying for a pleasant tone. The two whirled; she saw the shock in their faces as they saw her size and condition. Behind them, Rufen helped the boy in red to his feet. "What kind of lesson," she asked, rocking slightly from heel to toe, "did you think to teach me?" She hoped they would jump her; she wished she had gone for them at once.

"Who in Gird's name are you?" asked Con, glancing sideways at Jori for support.

"Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter," said Paks quietly, still ready to jump. "A—peasant girl, I believe you said, wasn't it?"

"You're the new—?" Con seemed unable to believe it.

"Yes." Paks waited, suddenly finding it funny.

"Paksenarrion," said Rufen pleasantly from behind them, "is a veteran of the wars in Aarenis. I believe she is known to Sir Fenith, as well as Marshal Cedfer of Brewersbridge and others." Paks glanced at him quickly, still balanced to fight. The boy Aris was grinning openly.

Con shook his head. "I'm sorry for what I said, then. You're no novice, barely trained as a squire. I had heard you were a sheepfarmer's daughter, but obviously—"

"I am a sheepfarmer's daughter," said Paks, dangerously quiet. "Does that change your opinion?"

He looked confused. "But you're not Girdish. Where did a—a girl like you learn warfare, outside the granges?"

"In Duke Phelan's Company," said Paks, glad to see the surprise return. "I began there, as a recruit."

"Phelan!" That was Jori. "But he's—" He looked quickly at Con.

"Yes?" Paks let her hand slip to her dagger hilt.

"I didn't say a thing—" began Jori. He held out his hands, palm up.

"Look, Pak-Paksenarrion—I don't know Duke Phelan, I only know what I've heard. Don't—"

"And what is this?" The Training Master had turned into the passage from the stairs. Paks, facing them all, saw their faces stiffen at his voice. She stood silent, waiting to see what would happen. No one spoke for a long moment. Then—"Well? Have you set a gauntlet for our new student to run? Aris, I thought you were to escort her to supper, and now I find you all standing about up here as if you had all night to chat."