"But I—but she—but my father is Duke Marrakai!"

"Oh—you are the Kirgan?"

"No, sir. I'm the fourth son; the Kirgan is my brother Juris." The elf waved his hand, dismissing.

"Whatever, young Marrakai—your father's affairs might march with mine, but yours—no. I mean you no discourtesy, but—"

"I'm not a child!" insisted the boy. Paks had to admit he seemed childish even to her; the elf's face expressed nothing, but she could feel his withdrawal.

"No? For me, young Marrakai, all in this room are but a summer's memory. If you would be comfortable with elves, you must admit this. I have known your family for more generations than you have lived in your House." Aris flushed, and set his jaw stubbornly. When his friend across the table whispered, he rose to go, looking pointedly at Paks.

"The Training Master said I was to show you where to go."

"Yes—thank you, Aris, I'll be right there." She looked back at the elf, whose eyes seemed for a moment sad. "Sir, I thank you."

"Lady Paksenarrion, it is nothing. I hope to see more of you hereafter."

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

In the next few days, Paks felt that her mind and body both were battered and confused. Her instructors were forthright with both praise and criticism; other students accepted her presence without comment, but tested her skills relentlessly. Yet they tested each other just as freely, and seemingly held no rancor. She found it somewhat like being a recruit at the Duke's Stronghold, with the many hours of required drill. Yet out of class and drill there was no regimentation, no barracks chores. Clean clothes appeared in her room each day, and the room itself was cleaned while she was out. Someone else maintained the jacks and the bath house; someone else groomed the horses and polished tack. She began to wonder if this was the way the nobles lived, playing at war with weapons drill, but with someone else doing the dirty work. She had to admit she liked it.

Once she knew where everything was, and which place to go when, she began to enjoy it as she had never enjoyed anything else. Most of the students cared as much about weaponry and tactics as she did. They sat up late, arguing problems assigned by the instructors: where should a cohort of archers be set, or which order of march was best in heavy forest. At first Paks was shy of speaking up to Marshals and High Marshals, but silence was no protection: they would ask her. For Marshals in Aarenis had brought reports of the last season's fighting to Fin Panir, and the problems set were those she had fought through.