"So. Each craft has its masters, and a knight's training ill-suits an infantry soldier. I'll try to remember that. Perhaps you'll give us the benefit of your training again. And now, since you carry a long blade by choice, you should have the chance to practice with it, if you will. He handed Ambros his short blade and gestured to Paks. She handed over the short sword and went to pick up her own blade. When she had settled it to her satisfaction, the Marshal had also armed himself, and awaited her.

"I suggest we go into the grange itself," he said. "The light is better."

Paks followed him in. So, she noticed, did many of the other men.

"I don't suggest the platform, since you aren't used to it. But here—" His glance cleared a space in the crowd, and he drew.

"Now," said Paks, smiling, "I expect you will have plenty to teach me."

The Marshal grinned. "I should hope so. You have some good strokes; I noticed that yesterday, but—" He moved to attack.

For the next few minutes they circled first one way then the other, blades ringing with stroke after stroke. Paks had to use everything she knew, and all her size, to keep from being pricked again and again. Sweat poured down her back and stung her eyes. The Marshal met every thrust with a firm repulse, and she found herself more often defending than attacking. She found no weakness she could exploit, and wondered what old Siger would do against him. That thought almost made her laugh—she'd still back Siger against anyone, even a Marshal of Gird.

"Very good," the Marshal said finally, still hard at work. "You certainly have a thorough grounding in long blades. I have a few tricks, but as far as plain fighting goes, you do very well." Paks said nothing, needing all her concentration. Despite her best efforts, he made a touch the next moment, ripping her left sleeve from shoulder to elbow. "There, now," he said. "I have regained the respect of our yeomen. Would you rest a bit?" He stepped back, and Paks lowered her weapon.

"I could stand to," she said ruefully, wiping her face. "I see I still have a lot to learn—just as I thought."

"The willing student learns quickly," he said. "You need naught but experience to master this weapon as well as the other. Common swordsmen you could defeat now, quite easily I imagine."

"Ah, but I like learning weaponcraft," said Paks. She thought of Saben's teasing with a pang. "I always have."

"Good, then. You're welcome here, any time. I'll be glad to drill with you; you're good enough to give me practice. Ambros, too. And mind—" he said briskly, fixing her with a sharp glance, "Mind, I intend to have you a Girdsman before long. Such skill as yours should be dedicated to a good cause. We need such fighters on the side of right, not running loose after idle gain." Paks felt a flicker of anger at that, and her chin came up. "No—" He stopped and rubbed his head. "I shouldn't say that of you, when I don't know your allegiance, but Gird knows we've trouble enough coming, and few to meet it." He grinned at her suddenly. "I still think you'll make a fine Girdsman someday—even a Marshal, who knows?"