"Very well. We have many questions for you, human warrior. It would be well for you to answer truthfully. Do you understand?"

"Who—are you?" Paks had no idea of elven politics, if any.

"Do you not know elves, human, when you see them?"

"I thought—elves—but who?"

Arched eyebrows rose up his forehead. "Do humans now concern themselves with the genealogy of elves, having so little themselves? If you would know, then, I am of the family of Sialinn—do you know what that means?" Paks shook her head. "Then you need know no more of my family. Who are you, and what lineage gives you the right to question elves?"

Paks remembered now Macenion's pride, and how Bosk had always said elves were haughty and difficult.

"I am Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter," she began. "Of Three Firs, far to the north and west—"

"Far indeed," said one of the other elves. "I have seen that place, though not for many years. Is there a birch wood, a day's ride west of it, in the side of a hill?"

"I don't know, sir; I never traveled so far before leaving to join the Duke's Company. Since then, I have never been home, or near it."

"Whose company was this you joined?"

"Duke Phelan's. He has a stronghold in northern Tsaia, and fights in Aarenis."

"A red-haired man?" Paks nodded, and the elf went on. "This packet sealed by the Halveric, in your baggage: how came you by that?"

"I was given it, by the Halveric, to take to his home." Even as she spoke, Paks felt the cold darkness rolling over her again. One of the elves exclaimed, and she felt an arm under her shoulders. A cold rim touched her lips, and fiery liquid trickled into her mouth. She swallowed. Warmth edged its way along her bones.

"Not too much of that," said the first elf who had spoken to her. "In case we must—" He broke off and looked at her again. "You have come to a strange place, soldier of Duke Phelan and messenger of the Halveric. You have come to a strange place, and you seem—forgive me—weaker than I would expect such a soldier to be. Give us now an account of how you came here, and what you were doing in the valley of the banast taig."

Paks found it difficult to tell a coherent story. Events and places were tangled in her memory, so that she was hard put to distinguish the encounters of the last day or so from those in the Valley of Souls. Still she managed to convey the call she and Macenion had received, and the outline of their adventures underground. The elves listened attentively, interrupting only to ask for clarification. When she finished, they looked at each other in silence. Then a burst of elven; it sounded to her like an argument. The leader turned to her again.