"Shall we stop for a rest and perhaps a wee bit of midday sustenance?" Ramiro asked me, leaning back in the saddle as his large stallion grunted and bravely shifted its flanks to accommodate the change in burden. Beneath the broad brim of his "traveling hat"-a straw monstrosity that smelled of water and sweat and years of use-his broad nose peeked out of the shadows, and somewhere behind the water coursing over the brim I could make out the glitter of his little eyes as he sized me up.

Instantly I was on guard, for I remembered the castle wisdom, circulated among the cooks and the bakers: When Sir Ramiro of the Maw asks for lunch, be elsewhere and be occupied, or you'll be working on through supper.

From what I knew of Ramiro, one whiling would lead to another. The road would lengthen meal after meal, our travels slowing to a gorged crawl westward. We would be on the road a month, during a journey that should take all of three days.

"Why don't we go on a little more, sir?" I asked graciously, trying to slip a note of command into my voice. The rain seemed to subside as I spoke, and I caught myself almost shouting into Ramiro's ear, shouting into the quiet of softer rainfall and the wet hoof splatter of the horses behind us.

Ramiro reined in his big steed and looked at me slyly from under the drooped corner of that extinct hat.

"I mean… there's time aplenty this evening. For food. For fellowship. Even a warm fire then, sir, when we could all settle down to a good hearty supper among friends," I explained.

"That tree there is as good as any for stopping," he replied cheerily, as though my suggestion had been so much rainfall, brushed off readily into the mud beneath him.

"But, Sir Ra-" I began. The big stallion turned and cantered toward a gnarled old vallenwood. Oliver followed suit, as did Alfric behind him.

Dannelle, with scarcely a glance in my direction, followed the rest of them.

The rain picked up again, and with it a chilling wind for the summertime, borne out of the mountains and carrying with it the whiff of icy peaks and evergreen and thin air. But despite its freshness, it was cold, settling on me like a sudden shift in the seasons.

I was afraid for a moment then.

Things were tumbling rapidly out of my control.

I reined Lily toward the shelter and the others.

Whatever lay buried in Ramiro's provisions, one could trust it was not dried fruit or jerky. The big Knight drew an enormous ham from a sailcloth bag on the packhorse. Several loaves of bread followed, and two bottles of wine-a vintage no doubt pinched from Bayard's wine cellar with the sure knowledge that the host, who so seldom drank from it, would go years without missing it.

It was there that I heard Dannelle's story, told to us all between mouthfuls of ham and bread.

It was, as I had guessed it would be, a tale of gender imprisonment.

The three of us-Ramiro, Alfric, and I-rivaled each other to seem even more sympathetic to Dannelle's misfortunes, even more concerned and outraged when she complained of her mistreatment at the hands of a forbidding male world.

Respect and honesty were, as always, excellent disguises.

So we wrinkled our brows with concern, brimmed with sensitivity, and, most importantly, interrupted Dannelle only rarely as she told about her rough week at the hands of her uncle, and how his restrictions had provoked an onslaught of tantrum-throwing and servant abuse never seen before in Castle di Caela.

"Things had reached a real impasse between me and Sir Robert," Dannelle began. "You see, I wanted permission to ride Carnifex, which he was not about to let a girl attempt."

Alfric and I looked at one another with alarm. My brother emitted a low whistle. Carnifex, you see, was a terrible half-wild stallion, a gift of some godforsaken nomad chief to Sir Robert five years back. The horse was nearly ten now, and no more docile or ridable than he had been as a colt. Sir Robert kept him as a huge, unmanageable trophy, a consumer of oats and, occasionally, grooms.

"The first time I asked," Dannelle continued, "I sidled up to him like we all sidle-said my 'yes, sirs' and set the matter aside for a month. Then I returned and used the old strategy Enid perfected while Uncle still ran things at the castle."

"Told him that he had approved it the last time you spoke?" Ramiro asked.

"Of course. It had always worked before," she explained. "But of course this was the time he picked to pay attention, and when he saw what I was doing… well, he threatened me, Galen.

"He told me that a few weeks of doing 'women's work' would remove all notions of riding Carnifex from what he called my 'pretty little head.' "

I smothered a smile. Of all the Solamnic Knights who were mired deep in backwardness when it came to the subject of what women could and couldn't do, Sir Robert was mired the deepest. For years, he had kept these sentiments in check, mainly because the women he dealt with directly were all di Caelas and all completely impossible to govern or even advise. But now, his duties as lord of the castle set aside, Sir Robert was saying what he damned well pleased, and I knew firsthand that he damned well pleased to offend just about everyone.

What Sir Robert considered "woman's work" would be just about anything the old coot found distasteful.

Dannelle looked long at me. I remained expressionless.

She continued.

"He says to me, 'Niece'-he forgets my name when he's angry-'Niece, it seems to me that you're in some need of respecting a proper tour of duty about this castle, what with two dozen servants to fluff up your circumstances every time something ill suits you.'

"Then he says, 'Hear the thunder outside?' and of course I think he's off to the Age of Dreams again, and I smile and nod because I'm about to ask him once more about Carnifex, because I'm sure that if Robert's all abstracted, he's likely to think I'm someone else and let me ride the horse. But then I hear the thunder at a great distance and know that my uncle's hearing is perhaps the one faculty he hasn't lost. It's just then, like it's on cue or something, that the rain begins to fall and everybody hears it against the stones of the castle and the old man starts singing that 'rainy days are washdays, rainy days are washdays,' and the next thing I know, I'm down in the laundry with a handful of sheets, crouched over a washboard and tub."

It was all I could do to keep from laughing aloud, and I wished devoutly that I could have seen the dazzling Dannelle di Caela scrubbing the castle linens. But I governed myself, looked alarmed, even pained, and I encouraged her to continue.

"Well, it gets worse from here, Galen. Sir Robert fastened himself on the idea that I should do laundry as long as it rained, and as you know, it has been raining as though it will never stop. Two days into this, and I had lost almost all my interest in Carnifex. I was simply praying to any listening god that Sir Robert would not start taking in laundry from Palanthas or Kalaman just so he could keep me at the basin forever.

"I thought of all kinds of ways to deliver myself-things dark and violent, terrible things to wish upon an uncle. I must confess that my temper got the better of me when my servants escorted me to and from that soap-smelling prison at all hours of the day."

"Surely not!" I whispered, barely squelching my laughter, not trusting full voice.

Dannelle nodded gravely, taking me entirely seriously.

"I must confess that some of the linkboys did not fare well in my company."

I nodded in turn and cleared my throat several times.

"I thought dire things through long hours, Galen. But in the end, it seemed most fitting simply to run away. At any rate, you know the rest of the story, or at least it doesn't take a visionary to figure it out: how I went on the sly to the stable, intent on joining up with you and Ramiro, on leaving the castle grounds until Sir Robert-"