Suddenly the Marshal quickened his pace, surprising her; she'd thought he was slowing. She gave back, turning, her rhythm broken, fending him off as much by reach as stroke. She took a breath, and stepped back again to gain room for her own attack, but her foot found nothing to step on: she had come to the edge of the platform.

Instantly she threw herself sideways and tucked, hitting the stone floor on her left side, and rolling up to a fighting position. But the Marshal had not followed up her fall.

"Forgive me!" he cried when her saw her up. "I had forgotten, Paksenarrion, in the fighting, that you were not one of us, and did not know the platform well. It was ill-done of me to press you so close to the edge." He racked his sword and came to her side. "Were you hurt in the fall?"

Paks took a breath. Her side hurt, but that was as much the old bruises as the new ones. "No, sir. It's all right, truly it is. I've had harder falls."

"Oh, aye, I'm sure you have. But you're not a yeoman here for training. I should have warned you—glad you're not hurt." As Paks sheathed her blade, he picked up his robe. "It's customary," he said, "to make an offering toward the armory, too. Though as you're not a Girdsman, it isn't strictly required—" Paks found that Ambros had come to her side with a slot-lidded box. She fished out the pouch from her tunic again, thinking to herself that it seemed hard to be dumped on the floor and then asked for money. She took the first jewel at random and dropped it into the box. The Marshal did not appear to be watching.

"You're very good with that longsword," he commented. "Don't most mercenary companies use a short one?"

"Yes, sir, we do, but we had the chance to learn other weapons. And out of formation a longsword has great advantage."

"Yes, of course. With your height, too. I was surprised to see that you moved so freely with it, though. Most who come from formation fighting are used to depending on the formation, and are static. Though you're not a Girdsman, you're certainly welcome to drill with us here at the grange, as long as you're in Brewersbridge. We have open drill three nights a week, in the barton usually. You'll find most of the local yeomen fairly good at basic things, though few of them are up to your standard. And I'd be honored to partner you for advanced swordsmanship—or Ambros, here: he's certainly up to a bout with you. Have you had any training at unarmed combat?"

"Yes, some. And some with polearms," added Paks, hoping to forestall further questions.

"Excellent! I certainly hope you'll come; you'll be most welcome. Tonight's a beginner's class in marching drill—I hardly think it would interest you—but tomorrow?"