"You have given us good sport, Paksenarrion," said the iynisi. "Such sport that we are minded to reward you greatly. You remember your friends, don't you? Your friends outside?"

Paks felt her forehead wrinkle, as she tried to remember. Friends. Yes, she had friends somewhere—she could not remember their names, but she had friends. She nodded.

"Your good friends," he coaxed. "Such good friends." Paks felt a surge of anger. Why was he being so tedious? "Your friends are worried about you; they have come to find you. To free you."

Paks growled, then stumbled over the words. "Can free myself. Can fight."

The iynisi smiled. "Yes, that's right. You can fight. You can free yourself. We will let you fight, Paksenarrion. Just one more fight, and you will be free. You will be with your friends."

Suddenly Paks's mind cleared for an instant; she seemed to see Amberion, Ardhiel, and the Marshals before her. Those were her friends. Were they here? Mingled worry and hope rose in her. She glared at the iynisi: what did he mean, fight herself free?

"Ah—some memory coming back. That is well. Now listen to me. You must fight once more, fight your way through some of our lesser servants, to reach your friends. If you can do this, you may go free. Otherwise, you will die, and so will they. We will arm you in what you have won."

Before she could reply, he waved into the cell several iynisin carrying a suit of black plate armor, a black helmet crested in black horsehair, and a handsome longsword with a curious design at the crosshilts. Paks had no time to examine it. The iynisin began to fit the armor on her; she found, as always, that she could not move when the caped one commanded her to stand still. The armor had a strange feel; it made her uneasy. The helmet was even worse. As it neared her head, she felt a sudden loathing for it, and tried to duck aside. The effort was hopeless. Down over her head came the helmet, close-fitting around her ears and cheeks. She felt breathless. Someone pulled the visor down. She squinted through the eyeslit, but found that everything wavered as if seen through a blowing mist.

"I can't see!" she said.

"That's all right," the iynisi answered. His voice echoed unpleasantly in the helmet. "All down here are your enemies, yes? All are enemies. Here—take the sword." She felt the sword hilt pressed into her right hand. She hefted the blade. It felt good. "All enemies—" said the iynisi's voice, now behind her. "Go—fight—fight for your rights, Paksenarrion. Fight your enemies. Fight—"