There in the presence of bickering Solamnics, I unraveled a string from my tunic and settled down for another philosophers' duel, made only a little more interesting by the fact that I was the central subject in it all. The rain beat in waves against the shutters, and you could even hear it spatter the stone walls of the infirmary, it came down so hard.

Bayard was in full voice now, I discovered when I listened now and then, and the talk was of honor and obligation and staying the course. Of how much I could learn from this as regards responsibility and command, even though the chances were that Brithelm was untouched by the strange disturbances to our west. As the rain came down, so rose my sense of hope, for it became dimly possible that Bayard was winning them over, that by the time he was finished with them, Ramiro would follow me into the gaping maw of the Cataclysm or neck deep into the Blood Sea, for the pure and simple reason that he had promised Bayard some days back that he would follow someone somewhere.

In the midst of my musings, I saw Ramiro stand, saw that the big fellow was speaking.

Something about preparations.

"… tomorrow. We shall take the Plains Road due west, then ford the Vingaard and ride due north, keeping the mountains to our left. That way, if I recall, we can make steady progress without tiring… anyone unduly."

He glanced tellingly at me.

"Of course," he added, "this all depends on how… our leader figures it. I mean, if he has some little path of his own that he is all that bent on following…"

I could see I was completely accepted by my subordinates.

"Of course not. Sir Ramiro," I replied smoothly, also standing. "Indeed, I consider you an expert in terrain and travel, and it is a foolish leader who discounts the advice of his experts, now, isn't it?"

I was shameless, I know.

"And what is more, Sir Ramiro, if a lad must lead his first expedition as a Knight, must pass into unknown lands at the head of a party who become, tragically, his heavy responsibility, then I thank the gods that it is my lot to be thrown in with the most daring, resourceful, and formidable Knight Solamnia has to offer, in this time or any other."

Bayard blushed, and Raphael after him. The air in the room felt so laden with oil that I feared the candles would ignite us all. And yet I continued, crafting in the most indecent recesses of my imagination a way to compare my two companions favorably with Huma, while at the same time not comparing either favorably to the other.

But Ramiro raised his hands and cut short my groveling.

"Never mind, lad, never mind. It seems to me, Bayard, that the boy's intentions are good, and that perhaps his judgment… promises a likely future."

Bayard looked at me in disbelief.

"Thank you, Sir Ramiro," I replied. 'Tour kind words are an honor second only to my knighthood."

My protector winced as if I had broken his other leg, as Ramiro basked in my flattery like a walrus in warm water.

"Very well, lad," he huffed. "Very well. Now… ah, see to it that you're prepared for the road by tomorrow morning.

"That is," he corrected himself quickly, "if it suits you, being our commander and all."

It suited me, and I told him so.

It is a task to prepare for a journey, to see to the armor and horses and provisions not only for yourself but for those in your party.

It is a double task-a monumental one-when your squire is no help whatsoever.

Not long after the quake hit the castle, Alfric crawled out from under the rubble, none the worse for wear, but no longer quite as ardent for squirehood. In one moment, it seemed, he had discovered that peril was on all sides of him, full likely to rise from the earth itself. It could meet any of us unannounced and unexpected on the road from the stable to our bedroom or from our bedroom to the privy.

"There is just no need to go looking for things," Alfric maintained with high drama as he walked into the outhouse, hands filled with planks and hammer and nails, and proceeded to board himself inside.

It was a delaying tactic at best. Father, of course, was not buying it. Surely Alfric knew that, once he signed on as my squire, the old man would throttle him before he let him sign off.

While Alfric's hours were spent in the outhouse with the old man hovering angrily outside, I was left to my own resources, which seemed a loss only when I went down to the livery, intent on attending to last-minute details, and discovered that, thanks to the inattention of my squire, I had to start from the beginning-to arm and equip and supply myself, not to mention saddling all the horses. Cleaning the greaves alone took far too much time, and as the hours progressed into morning, I thought about the other duties that should occur to a Knight at the time of his departure-when he set out into unknown danger…

Perhaps never to return…

His second a man who mistrusted not only his leadership but his good sense in general…

And his squire an incompetent elder brother who was spending the day and the night in cowardly dodges…

I sat roughly on the tannery floor, the greaves heavy in my lap. It had been a while since I was constrained to think about the odds against me, about the prospects of not returning from anywhere, and the prospect gave me ominous notions. I saw myself waylaid by bandits, turning on a spit over one of those mountain fires with a family of ogres gathered around me in expectation.

If that were the case, there would be others besides me. For not only was I responsible for my own skin in the days to come, but Bayard had put me in charge of the party-of Ramiro, his squire, and my own brother Alfric.

I stood up, oily and burdened, hoisting the armor over my shoulder and staggering across the wide courtyard toward the stable. Three horses were flawlessly saddled and appointed beneath a sheltered paddock, safely out of the rain-three big stallions belonging to Ramiro.

I knew I would be lucky not to be kicked to death by the children's pony.

All of a sudden, the largeness of what lay ahead of me grew larger still, until I was quite overwhelmed by it. I stood in the open bailey, in the pooling rainfall, my red hair plastered dark to my face and the water running in courses down my forehead into my nose and mouth. The stable ahead of me blurred for a moment, though I cannot say for sure whether it was rainfall or tears of pure terror that clouded my sight, for I was drenched by both of them.

"There is a saying about the sense to get out of the rain, Sir Galen," a sweet voice prodded from behind me, interrupting my reflection and self-pity. I jumped and turned swiftly, dropping the armor and nearly losing my footing in the water and mud.

Dannelle di Caela stood between horses in the canopied paddock, dressed in a light chain mail and holding a curry comb. It was neither attire nor pose that I generally found attractive, but the girl was flawless-brilliant green eyes and thick red hair, somehow untouched by these terrible southern downpours. Having caught my attention, she flashed the fetching smile that had kept her three years in my thoughts and had made her a factor in my most restless yearnings.

I felt myself grow warm about the ears.

"I am glad you are constantly about me quoting deathless philosophy, Lady Dannelle," I replied finally, stooping in the rain to pick up the greaves and carrying them beneath the canopy, into the warm, horse-smelling dark. "But I have adventures to saddle for."

Undaunted, the girl sidled next to me, glancing about her as though alert for spies or eavesdroppers. She smelled wonderful, as I discovered from this new distance. She bore a faint hint of lavender, which, when you've been in a tannery or the midst of a rain or simply around horses, can be a pleasant change from the general whiff in the air. The welcome fragrance disarmed me, and she saw that it did so and smiled, which disarmed me further.