“No, my lord. As far as we can discern, it is all natural magery, what the magelords had. Born magery, showing in children as young as five or six winters, though more often in those at the change, twelve to fifteen—sometimes in those older. Your Marshal will hear, if he has not already, of the Marshal-General’s concerns in this matter.”

“He knows,” Arcolin said. “But no one seems to know why it came.” He paused, fiddling with a napkin ring, then went on. “Some of us thought it might have come from Gird through you, Paks—the first magery anyone remembers seeing was Kieri with the sword when you gave it to him. And you helped Dorrin regain her magery. After that it was Beclan, her squire—”

Paks frowned. “I don’t think so … though who knows how the gods work? I had no part in saving Kieri Phelan or Dorrin Verrakai from the perils of their early lives, but I am sure Gird and the High Lord did. A paladin is but the tool the gods use. The eldest of Elders might know, but Dragon does not explain.”

“Dragon’s essence, he tells me, is transformation,” Arcolin said, remembering that conversation.

Paks tipped her head to one side. “But who wakened or sent or released Dragon?” she asked. “He did not tell me.”

Arcolin felt a shudder down his backbone at the casual way she spoke of the dragon. “Perhaps … perhaps he just is, and none of our words—sleeping, waking, sending—mean anything to him.”

“Perhaps.” Paks yawned. “Excuse me, my lord, but eating and sleeping both mean something to me.”

A few days later, she said she must leave the next dawn; Jamis began to cry, throwing his arms around her. Paks hugged him then set him down. “When a god calls, Jamis, a paladin must answer. If the gods will, I will return—and meanwhile, you are fortunate in your mother and father and in having your own pony. Think of those things, and spring coming. You will make friends and learn as much as you can. Will you do that?”

He nodded, solemn-faced now, and took his mother’s hand.

Arcolin was up before dawn to bid her farewell. As he’d promised, he woke Jamis, and with Jamis and Calla stood in the courtyard to see her come lightly down the steps and across the inner court, her mail glittering under her surcoat, saddlebags over her shoulder. They followed her through to the forecourt, where her mount waited, saddled and bridled, red coat gleaming as if in summer sun though no sun yet lit the place.