At the far end of a large room, much larger than the common room at the inn, a knot of people clustered around the one table. Paks recognized Marshal Cedfer, now in mail, and looking much more like the Marshal she’d seen in Aarenis. His surcoat bore the crescent of Gird on a dark blue field. Master Oakhallow, in the same long robe he had worn in the afternoon, was already seated, and talking to one of the other men. Another man in mail—Paks assumed it was Sir Felis—stood at the end of the table, lips folded tightly as he listened.
Paks heard someone come in behind her, and turned to see the stonemason, Master Feddith. He gave her a cold look and stumped over to the table at once. Hebbinford, too, moved to that side of the room, and Paks followed slowly. A man she had not seen in town before, tall, with a generous belly, sat behind the table and looked up as the master mason and Hebbinford approached.
“Ah,” he said. “We’re all here, then. Have a seat, Councillors, have a seat. Let’s get on with this.” He looked at Paks. “So you’re the young woman I’ve heard so much about? Paks—” He looked down at a sheet before him. “Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter? Of Three Firs?”
“Yes, sir.” said Paks. The others were all taking seats around the far side and ends of the table.
“Good. Let me introduce you to the Council. I’m the mayor, Brewmaster Ceddrin. You saw my place on your way to the grange. You know Marshal Cedfer, and Master Oakhallow, and Master Hebbinford already. Captain Sir Felis Trevlyn, our count’s military representative—” Sir Felis nodded shortly; in this light Paks could tell that he was a lean, weather-beaten man somewhat shorter than Duke Phelan. His beard was carefully trimmed. “—and Master Zinthys, the mage—” Paks looked at the slender, handsome young man in a long velvet robe lavishly banded with braid. He had rings on both hands, and a great polished crystal hanging by a silver chain on his chest. Master Zinthys smiled. The mayor went on. “This is Master Feddith, the stonemason, and I believe you also know Master Senneth, the moneychanger.” He looked up and Paks nodded. “Also with us tonight are past Councillors: Master Hostin, our miller, Trader Garin Garinsson, and Master Doggal, the smith. Eris Arvidsdotter is here representing the farmholders.” Trader Garin wore merchants’ robes, and Eris Arvidsdotter wore a wool gown and cloak. She was as tall as Paks, and broad-shouldered; her gray hair was in a braided coil. The mayor paused until Paks had nodded at each of these. Then he picked up a heavy gavel lying on the table and rapped three times; the table boomed.
“The Council of Brewersbridge is in session,” he said loudly. “I ask the protection of all the gods, and the guidance of all good spirits, to be over us in this meeting. May wisdom and truth prevail. In the name of the High Lord, and all the powers of light.” It sounded stilted, as if he didn’t open the Council formally that often.
“May it be,” responded the others.
“We are met,” he said in a lower tone, “to learn what we can of a traveler here, one Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter. We have heard disturbing things all this year of trouble in Aarenis. We will examine this person to see what her business is here, and how it may be bound in with what has happened there.” He waited, and Paks noticed that both the mage and the Marshal were taking notes. “Does anyone object to my asking the questions?” asked the mayor. Heads were shaken around the table. “Very well, then. If you have other questions, when I’m through, just say so. Now—is Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter your true name?”
“Yes, sir, but I’m called Paks, since I left home.”
“I see. And you come from Three Firs? Where is that? In Tsaia?”
“I—I’m not sure. The closest larger town was Rocky Ford; that’s where I joined Duke Phelan’s company—”
The Marshal cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Mayor, but Rocky Ford is just within Tsaia, near the Finthan border in the north.”
“I see. Three Firs was small, then?”
“Yes, sir. Much smaller than Brewersbridge. My father’s land was a half-day’s sheep drive out on the moors. We went to Three Firs rarely.”
“And Rocky Ford?”
“I’d never been there before I—I ran away to join the company.”
“So you went directly from home to Duke Phelan’s company—hmm. And what was your father?”
“A sheepfarmer,” said Paks. Then, anticipating the next question, she added, “I learned about mercenary companies from my cousin Jornoth; he’d left several years before, and came back with a horse, and gold, and said he was in the guard.”
“Where? In Tsaia?”
“He didn’t say, sir. But he said I couldn’t go directly to a job that good. He said I’d have to start somewhere else, and he told me what to do.”
“Hmm. Not common, for a girl from a remote farm to join an army.”
“No, sir. But I’d always wanted to be a warrior—”
“As a mercenary?” put in the Marshal.
Paks blushed. “Not—exactly, sir. But Jornoth said that was the way to start.”
The mayor took control again. “You say you were trained at Duke Phelan’s stronghold, and went from there to the wars in Aarenis?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long were you in Aarenis?”
“I was there for three campaign seasons, and in winter quarters in Valdaire.”
“You must have had a short season this year,” he said, looking at her sharply. “Why did you leave your Company?”
Paks hesitated. “The war—Siniava had been killed, and my two years were up.”
“You have told Marshal Cedfer and Master Oakhallow what happened to you; we also would like to know, from your own lips.”
“Yes, sir.” Paks gathered her wits. She hurried over the first part of the trip with Macenion, merely mentioning his half-elf ancestry and the knowledge he claimed of the mountains. Then she described the valley of the elfane taig as they had first seen it, and the dream that came to both of them. The Councillors listened without interrupting as she described the underground passages, and the chamber where they’d found the elf lord. Through the battle with him, the burning, and the running fight with the orcs, and the last struggle that ended, beyond her comprehension, with her alone on the surface, no one spoke or stirred. “Some sickness came on me,” she said finally. “I couldn’t go far along the trail; a snowstorm came down off the mountains, and I fell. Then it was that the elves came. They healed me, and entered the valley to see whether I had told them the truth. When they returned, they told me how to find my way here, and gave me messages to Master Oakhallow and Marshal Deordtya. I was to say that the elfane taig had awaked, and the elf lord was freed.” Paks stopped, and looked up and down the table. The faces were intent, but no longer hostile.
After a moment’s silence, Sir Felis turned to the mayor. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask a few questions.”
“Go ahead.”
“Paksenarrion, you say you served three campaign seasons. How soon after you joined the regular company were you made private from recruit?”
“The first battle, sir.”
“What was your file position?”
“File second, the first year, sir, and the second. This past year we moved around a lot, but at the end I was file leader.”
“I’m not clear on something. You’ve spoken both of leaving the company, and of being on some sort of long leave. Are you still the Duke’s soldier, or not?”
Paks sighed. “Sir, the Duke had reason to give me a long leave. He and others had suggested that I might leave the company for a year or so. For other training, or experience, they said. But the Duke said I would be welcome back any time. I hadn’t decided yet, sir, how soon to return.”
“But you have no complaints against Duke Phelan, or he against you?”