Here, for the first time, she saw something not desolate and ruined. The floor, laid of pale green and gold stone blocks, had been swept clean of dust so that the pattern was clearly visible. At the far end of the chamber, a great ring of candles seemed to hover in midair. After a moment, Paks realized that they were attached to a metal framework suspended from a chain that ran to a ringbolt in the high ceiling. Candlelight warmed the cool white light of the corridors to a friendlier hue. In that warm glow, on a brilliantly colored carpet, stood a tall figure robed in midnight blue. Its face was subtly like Macenion's, and yet different; Paks knew at once that she stood in the presence of an elf of high rank. Along the far wall of the chamber stood several motionless figures clad in rough garments of gray and brown like poor servants.

Paks looked at the elf's face. Its bones showed clearly under the skin, yet with no sign of age or decay. The eyes were a clear pale green. She felt no fear, though she was fully aware of the elf's power, so much greater than Macenion's. The elf's wide mouth curved in a smile.

"Welcome, fair warrior. Was your companion too frightened to come so far with you?"

Paks shook her head, uncertain how to answer. She had the vague thought that no elves should be here. But perhaps this was the person they had come to help? She could not seem to think clearly. The elf was not frightened of her, and did not seem angry—and elves were, if uncanny, at least not evil. As she thought this, she realized that she was walking forward, moving out into the chamber.

"Excellent," the elf continued. "I shall be glad to receive you both into my service." He gestured to the line of servants. "You see how few I have, and you have just killed some of my best fighters. It is only fair that you take their place."

Paks found her voice at last. "But, sir, I have a deed to perform, before I can take service with another." She tried to stand still; her feet crept forward despite her efforts. She knew she should be afraid but she could feel nothing.

"Oh?" The silvery elven voice was amused. "And what is that?"

Paks found it difficult to say, or even think. A confusion of images filled her mind: the Halveric's face as he handed her a sealed packet, the Duke's parting words, the images of victory and glory that had come in the dream of the night before. She had advanced to the edge of the carpet. This close to the elf, she noticed a distinct, slightly unpleasant odor. Even as her nose wrinkled in distaste, the odor changed, becoming spicy and attractive. She drew a deep breath.

"Now—" the elf began, but at that moment, Macenion cried out from the far end of the chamber.