"You're sorry. I'm sure." He sighed again. "Paksenarrion, we accept occasional outsiders—non-Girdsmen—because we know that good hearts and good fighters may choose another patron. You have an unusual background; it may be that you have seen that which makes today seem minor to you. But to us it is important. We have all watched you, for these weeks, and been puzzled. You are capable, intelligent, hardworking, physically superior to most of the others. You have gotten along with the others, juniors and seniors both. You don't brawl, get into arguments, get drunk, or try to seduce the Marshals. If you were a Girdsman, we would be more than pleased with your progress. Yet you have reserves, you harbor mysteries, which we cannot fathom. All our skills say these are not evil—yet great evil has been known to masquerade as good, just as a beautiful cloak can cover an evil man. This—today—is the first chink in your behavior. Is it characteristic? Is this the true Paksenarrion coming out? And why have you refused to make any commitment? Marshal Cieri does, in this way, speak for all of us. We would welcome you gladly as a knight-candidate—perhaps more—if you were of the Fellowship of Gird. But until you show us some willingness to give in return for what you are given—more than that surface pleasantness you have shown, I must concur with him."

Paks sat still, unable to move or speak. She had never really believed that anyone could think she was evil. She longed to be back with the Duke's Company, where Stammel, she was sure, would defend her against any such accusation. Why had she ever left that safe haven? Into that shock, her leg intruded, throbbing more insistently. She blinked a few times, and lifted her head.

"Yes, sir," she said, through stiff lips. "I—I will go pack."

"Gird's right arm!" The Training Master's voice must have echoed through the entire first floor. "That's not what I said, girl!" Paks stared at him. "You have the choice—make it!"

"Choice?" Paks could not think.

"You can become a Girdsman," said the Training Master crisply. "Has that not occurred to you?"

"No," said Paks with more honesty than tact.

"Then it should have. By the gods, girl, you think better than that in tactics class. You recognize what the problem is: you want to stay for more training, and we are unwilling to give more training without some return. How much do you want to stay? What are you willing to give? And what did you want the training for, if not to follow Gird?"

Paks felt her heart pounding so that she could scarcely draw breath. "You mean I could join—but if you think I'm bad, why would you—"

The Training Master gave a disgusted snort. "I didn't say I thought you were evil. I said it was a possibility. Do you want to join the Fellowship of Gird? Will you pay that price?"