Company and the Pliuni volunteers. Westland troops were at Sibili as well. Paks felt a rising excitement. She did not doubt Cha would fall, and after it the Honeycat’s home city, Sibili. Paks thought of him looking from his palace windows to see the banners of his enemies.
She squinted against the early sun and saw the city wall crowded with men. Smoke rolled up from the sapper’s work near the northwest corner of the city. Paks saw archers lean to shoot into the roofed shelter; their own archers replied. An outcry rose from the main gate tower: Siniava’s black and yellow banner sagged from its pole, slipped back toward the wall. Someone up there waved a smaller flag; Paks could not see the colors. The Count’s herald blew a long blast. It was answered from the tower, and followed by even more noise from within the walls.
By the time they entered the city, Paks had heard that a faction favoring Andressat had opened the gates. Siniava’s men still fought, but they were hampered by the factions opposing them. Despite the warning, Paks had not imagined how chaotic this could be. She soon found out. Just as they came to the first side street, a body of armed men rushed out to form a line across it. These were Siniava’s, armed with pikes. They had scarcely engaged the enemy when another band—bowmen in plain leather with a twist of blue and gold on their helmets—charged out of a building behind the enemy line and fired into the back of the pikemen. Fifteen or so fell at once, hit squarely in the back at close range. One arrow hit Paks’s shield with enough force to drive the head through; another struck someone behind her. She heard the yell, half pain, half fury. The enemy fighters whirled to meet this attack, and the front ranks of Paks’s cohort charged, trying to run them over before the archers made another dangerous shot.
Several more fights interrupted their progress to the city’s center. Twice they fought their way out of attempted ambushes. Bodies littered the streets: men, women, children, animals, caught in the street fighting and left behind when the flood of violence passed. At last, beyond a mass of frightened people crammed into a large square, Paks caught sight of the Halveric banner.
As her cohort spread around its side of the square, a small boy broke away and darted toward the street they had left. Rauf made a grab at him and missed; Paks swung her shield across his path. He ran into it headlong, and slipped to the ground, crying. Paks sheathed her sword and reached down to help him up. She heard a cry from the crowd as the terrified boy tried to twist away from her.
“Here now, I won’t hurt you,” she said. The boy screamed, flailing at her with pudgy fists. “Stop that,” she added. He froze in her grip, staring at her with wide eyes. “Now—what did you run for? Don’t you know you should have stayed with—your sister, was it?”
“I’ll take ’im, Paks,” said Rauf. “His sis is all upset—” But as Rauf reached out, the child started fighting again.
“I’d better—” said Paks. “Now, lad—be quiet—you’re not hurt, and you won’t be.” He calmed again, and Paks glanced around for the girl. She was standing only a few yards away, held there by a serious-faced Keri. “Let’s go back to her now, lad—and you stay with her, you hear?”
“But—but my puppy!” He choked on the words and started to cry.
“Your puppy? You lost your dog?” His accent was thick, but Paks thought she understood.
He nodded. “He was mine—my very own—and he’s not here. He got lost.”
Paks thought of the dogs she’d seen, dead in the gutters. “Lad—you stay with your sister. Find your puppy later—not now.”
“But he’s got lost. He—he’ll be frightened without me.” Paks thought it was the other way around, but knew it would do no good to argue.
“Even so—What’s your name?”
“Seri. Seriast, really.”
“Well, Seri, even though your puppy may be frightened, you stay with your sister. She’ll help you find your puppy later. Now promise you’ll stay with her—” The boy nodded finally. Paks thought he was the same age as her youngest brother, the year she’d left home. She put a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the girl. “Come along now.” The girl grabbed him and held him close.
“I tried to tell her, Paks, that you wouldn’t hurt him,” said Keri, sounding worried. “I don’t know why she thought—” Paks waved him to silence. The girl looked up, her eyes blurred by tears.
“I think he’ll stay with you now,” said Paks. “But keep a close grip on him for a few hours.” The girl nodded, tightening her grasp until the boy squealed.
“Please don’t take ’im,” she begged. “Please don’t—he won’t harm ye none.”
“We won’t take him. What would we want with a child that size?” But the panic on the girl’s face made Paks uneasy for days. What were these people used to, that they feared intentional harm to so small a child?
The next day, as Halveric Company rode away to Sibili, Paks found herself hard at work in a warehouse, cataloging plunder for the Duke’s Company. This time, at least, she did not have to drag it out, but counting sacks of wool and goat hair, and barrels of wine, beer, oilberries in brine and oil was a hot, dusty, boring job. They finished this chore in one day; the next was spent loading supplies for Sibili and repairing damaged equipment. Paks got a new shield, as did Keri, and Volya had snapped a sword tip against a wall. Jenits came up while Paks was helping Volya wrap the grip of her sword; he had a lumpy bundle of shiny yellow silk.
“Wait until you see this,” he said, dropping it on the ground. It clinked. He worked at the knot one-handed. Keri reached to help. “Thanks. There: look at that.” They looked at a miscellaneous collection of bracelets, rings, coins, and little carved disks of ivory or shell. Jenits grinned. “That’s what I get for being one-armed right now—not strong enough for the heavy stuff. Kefer had me working through the goldsmithies and jewelers’ shops with him, and he said to take this much—and to share it with my friends, if I wanted to keep any. I knew that you, Paks, were stuck in those warehouses, and Keri and Volya hadn’t found anything better than a stray silver, so here I am. Take your pick.”
“Is it really gold?” asked Volya doubtfully.
“I think so. It’s soft, like gold, and it doesn’t look like copper. It’s heavy.”
Keri reached over and picked up a ring with a pale green stone. “I wonder what this is.”
“I don’t know. But let’s split it up, before I lose my generous impulses. Paks, you choose first; you’re the veteran.”
Paks looked over the small pile. “I could take this bracelet for my sister,” she said tentatively. It was made in a pattern of linked leaves, with tiny blue stones between them. “We’ll take turns,” she went on.
“Go on, then. Keri?”
“I’ll take this ring.”
“I like this,” said Volya. She had found a little gold fish, arched as if it were leaping, with a loop formed by the dorsal fin to hold a chain.
Jenits held out his left hand, with a heavy gold ring set with onyx on the first finger. “I cheated,” he said. “I took my favorite out first.” They laughed and went on choosing. When they’d finished, Jenits folded the square of silk and tucked it into his tunic. “I feel much safer how,” he said. “I was afraid I’d have a greedy fit, and you’ve done all the fighting. By the way, Paks—”
“Hmm?”
“My arm doesn’t hurt any more—when can I come back to regular duty?”
“What did the surgeons tell you?”
“Oh—well—six weeks altogether. But it’s been three, and it doesn’t hurt. I don’t want to miss Sibili, and I feel well enough. I thought you could say something to the sergeants.”
Paks looked up from Volya’s sword and shook her head. “Jenits, it’s up to the surgeons. You won’t do us any good if you try to fight and it’s not healed. Likely it’d come apart at the first stroke, and you’d be worse off than ever. You can ask the surgeon—”
Jenits scowled. “The last time I asked him, he said to quit pestering. Bones heal at their speed, he said, and not for wishing.”
“That sounds like Master Simmitt. He’s the sharp-tongued one. You won’t miss Sibili anyway. We’re all marching—”
“But I’ll miss the fighting. And if Siniava’s there—”
“You wouldn’t have a chance at him anyway. You’ll see enough fighting, if you stay whole.”
“I hope so. To break an arm, my very first—” Jenits broke off as Stammel came up; he squatted beside them with a sigh.
“Well, Jenits, is your arm holding up?”
