"No. Nothing."

* * *

Paks was never afterwards sure what had guided their choice, with so many ways to go, and no knowledge. At first, as they walked the bare stone corridor, Macenion continued to eat, reaching out now and again to touch the walls as if for balance. Then the corridor sloped down, and he paused.

"Wait—" Macenion's face, when Paks turned, was grim. He pulled out his own sword, and tested the balance. "I sense something—"

"Not that thing in the Winter Hall!"

Macenion shook his head. "No. Not so dire as that. But it's as if my blood tingled—some enemy is below, and coming nearer."

Paks looked around for a good place to fight. The corridor was slightly too wide for two to hold. "We'd better go on, then, and hope for something we can use."

Macenion nodded, and came up beside her as they started off again.

"Don't you want to stay back and prepare your spells?"

"I told you—I can't do that again today. I'd never be able to cast a simple fire spell, let alone anything useful."

The corridor turned right, and continued downward. Paks felt edgy; she was increasingly aware of the weight of stone and earth above her. She found herself whispering words from a Phelani marching song. Macenion looked at her curiously, and she blushed and fell silent.

Suddenly Paks caught a foul whiff that stopped her short. "What's that?"

Macenion looked eager. "Ah. I might have known. Orcs, that's what. They would move in when the elves were driven away."

"Orcs?" Paks had heard of orcs; they had raided Three Firs in her greatgrandfather's day, but she had not expected to meet any.

"Ugly but cowardly," said Macenion briskly. "If that was their master, they'll want nothing better than escape. They won't be looking for experienced fighters like us—"

"If they want to escape, we can let them," suggested Paks.

"Let orcs loose? Are you crazy? They're disgusting. Vermin, killers, filthy—"

"How many are likely to be in a group?" Paks didn't care how disgusting they were; enough orcs could kill them.

"Oh—not more than seven or eight. We can handle that many. I killed three by myself one time."

"But, Macenion—"

"Paksenarrion, I've seen you fight, remember? We have nothing to worry about. If we can handle that thing up there—" he jerked his head back where they'd been, "—we can handle a few orcs. Trust me. Haven't I been right on this so far?"

"I still think we should wait until we know how many there are. What if there's twenty? Let's find a hiding place, and—"

"Where?"

Paks looked around. Ahead, the corridor turned again twenty paces away, still going down. They had passed no doors for the last two hundred paces. She shrugged, and went on.