Galen Beknighted

Chapter VII

Rain was general throughtout Solamnia. The waters had risen above the stone fences that portioned off the country south of the Vingaard River. Risen so high, in fact, that in some places the fences were submerged, and the servants said that from the heights of the Cat Tower one could look north and west to where the Vingaard had overflowed its banks and see only thatched roofs in the lowlands where houses had once dotted the landscape- thatched roofs afloat on a muddy, swirling tide of water.

We grew uneasy at home, of course, because of the well beneath us. For years, Castle di Caela had enjoyed running water, pipes, and plumbing, because one of Sir Robert's ancestors possessed the foresight to build the place above an enormous artesian well. Now good fortune rebounded on us with a vengeance, for those subterranean springs had dangerously little natural outlet to the surface, as the ground water slowed the customary seepage and flow. The more nervous of the engineers had nightmares in which all of Castle di Caela rode a monstrous geyser into the Solamnic skies and was dashed, inhabitants and all, when it hurtled to earth miles away.

Only the highlands, it seems, remained reasonably dry, a narrow ridge of waterlogged land that extended due west from Castle di Caela nearly twenty miles until it rose even farther into the foothills of the Vingaard Mountains. A traveler, it seems, could forget about fording the river and follow that ridge along its cobbled spine, known as the Highlands Road. From there, he might enter the known passes through the mountains by a way obscure and roundabout.

Legends emerge from this time: incredible stories of strange migrations and drownings. When the waters cleared finally, over a month after the ceremonial evening in which I was knighted, travelers and scavengers continued to find the bones of birds dotting the landscape-sparrows and nightingales and the heavier skeletons of owls and raptors. Tales arose that the trees in which the larger birds slept were overwhelmed by water, rapidly and violently, catching the sleepers unaware. And as for the smaller birds, why, they simply dropped from exhaustion, having flown in circles for days without finding a place to alight.

As for the folk who dwelt in the countryside of Southern Solamnia, it seems that for once the poor fared better than their more wealthy countrymen. For the poor built their houses of wood instead of stone, and many of them floated away north and east across the plains, where they settled on higher ground, some of them beyond the Vingaard Keep halfway to the Dargaard Mountains.

Whatever the circumstance, people vanished, people drowned. And people floated away, their far destinations a mystery.

There was little mystery, on the other hand, about our setting forth.

The next morning after the incidents in the stable, six horses were assembled in the bailey and led to a plot of high ground where we did not have to mount them in ankle-deep standing water. Two of the horses were laden with supplies-food, dry clothing, and extra weaponry, all wrapped under canvas, from which most of the water ran in little rivulets onto the ground.

Our provisions were dry for now, but if the rain continued, I foresaw trouble in the making.

The other horses were for the four of us, of course: Ramiro and his squire Oliver, and the two Pathwarden boys, Alfric and me. Only recently pried from his rank-smelling hideaway, Alfric managed to do a fairly decent job of guiding Lily out of the unnaturally quiet stable, and into the brisk, damp air of the Solamnic predawn. He took his place with Oliver behind Ramiro and me, sullenly holding on to the reins of one of the pack animals.

I was drowsy that morning, having dozed fitfully in the stable as Oliver prepared four horses-Ramiro's, his own, and the two pack animals. I awoke now and then to the faint light of the lantern nodding against the flanks of horses, to the rush of rain on the roof, and Lily's blissful snoring. To the sounds of Oliver busy at some unattended detail with a voiceless efficiency that was almost frightening, making me wonder if this was how a real squire was supposed to behave.

One time I arose, walked out of the stable into the rain, ran across the bailey, and entered the keep, drenched and sputtering. It was my farewell trip to my quarters. Raphael had arranged all my belongings in full view, lest I forget something essential.

The brooch, the gloves, and the dog whistle lay on my bed in the darkness. I had no second thoughts about any of them.

Quickly I picked up the whistle and thrust it to the bottom of my tunic pocket. Brithelm would no doubt be pleased to see it when we reached him. The gloves followed quickly, almost an afterthought.

The brooch, on the other hand, I inspected carefully, making sure none of the stones was missing.

What was it the vision had said about the opals? In them lies the path of my darkness. A murky sentiment, even as visions go. The opals caught the light of the torches and glittered as 1 counted them, and then the brooch joined the whistle in the depths of my pocket.

Elazar and Fernando would just have to wait for my earthly belongings, especially if anything I owned stood to be the key to finding Brithelm.

With my treasures gathered, I went back to the stable and to a short restless hour of sleep, where I dreamed of the voices of Plainsmen rising from the gargoyles in the cornices of the castle.

So we departed Castle di Caela, Ramiro and I riding abreast through the great gate of the castle onto the soggy western fields, our squires behind us and the gods knew what ahead of us.

Bayard greeted us at the gate, carried on a cot by two sweating surgeons, the third sullenly holding an umbrella above my reclining friend and master.

"Gentlemen," Bayard pronounced, in his best formal and ceremonial voice, "may the gods speed you on your journey. May you, Sir Ramiro, take gracious instruction from the Knight at the head of your embassage."

I wished devoutly I could tell Bayard to stop, having seen the sidelong glance that Ramiro gave me. But true to his Solamnic nature, the lord of Castle di Caela was in full flourish.

"And you, Sir Galen Pathwarden-Brightblade. May Huma buoy your spirit, and may you prove adept, resourceful, and worthy of the charge placed upon you. May you be gracious in the instruction of your subordinates, for the leader often learns from those who follow. But may your commands be iron. And let none question your wisdom or resolve."

So much for smoothing my path into command. Now even the horses would hate me. I smiled weakly at Bayard and told him to give my best wishes to Lady Enid and Sir Robert.

Then, with dire reluctance, I set out, men, boys, and horses falling in line behind me.

They always say in Coastlund that a long look back on the outset of a journey bodes ill fortune. If that is the case, everything disastrous, perilous, and strange that befell us in the following days was my doing, because I must have memorized my recent home-its towers and battlements- as we passed through the gates and rode westward, seeking the high ridge and drier ground.

What lay behind me were buildings full of monotony-a place that had driven me to distraction, not to mention Marigold. It was a place I had always told myself I would be delighted to leave.

But the prospects in front of me were frighteningly uncertain. The plains were so covered with water that following paths had become impossible, steering by landmarks difficult for anyone except those who could navigate by stars. Also, it was easy to imagine what would wash up when the waters subsided, and when it is easy to imagine things, my imagination is extreme and unkind. I fancied beached sea monsters in the process of learning to use fin and fluke as legs, monsters we would come across when their hunger was no doubt desperate. I imagined drowned men draped over the branches of trees. All of this, not to mention whatever was going on up in the mountains, and whatever catastrophe in which I would no doubt find my brother Brithelm, played out before me as we made our way though the murk of dawn and puddle.

All in all, it was a gloomy prospect, next to which Bayard's displeasure and Marigold's attentions and Dannelle di Caela's threats and approaching presence-and the strange phenomenon of the visionary brooch-all seemed worth the braving.

Several times I came close to turning Lily around and riding away from Ramiro and Alfric and Oliver, straight back through the western gates of Castle di Caela, to lose myself under quilts in my quarters for, oh, six to seven months, Marigold no doubt tapping at my chamber door, hair sculpted and lacquered into the form of a yellow heart and arms laden with lurid pastries. So I would have done, were it not that desertion of one's fellow Knights is punishable by death under the old Solamnic codes. In his present mood, Ramiro, no doubt, would be more than delighted to interpret my refusal as such.

Therefore I looked a last time at Castle di Caela, then set my eyes ahead of me westward, toward the crest of a dark hill that marked the easternmost fingers of the highlands, faintly visible through the gray of the morning and the rain. There, in a misty little copse that stood at the beginning of the Highland Road, a small hooded form awaited us.

My troubles, I figured, were about to increase remarkably.

I had dreaded the moment when we would meet up with Dannelle, dreaded every question from my companions, every Solamnic sniff and headshake, every judgment passed in silence.

So I held my breath a moment as she led her horse out from among the trees. Her hair was tied up for the road, and she was blanketed and booted and armed, but already the rain had soaked through and the mud taken hold.

Nevertheless, she made all of us gasp-even Oliver, who was a young thirteen and no doubt considered a twenty-year-old woman to be ancient past recall. Pushing back her hood, she mounted her little gray palfrey, straddling it effortlessly like a cavalryman, her eyes already on the road ahead of us.

"Thanks be to Huma!" Alfric murmured. "The women are already following me."

Ramiro was the first of us to address Dannelle, bowing ponderously in the saddle. Roasted chestnuts dribbled from his pockets as he spoke.

"It is quite an honor, m'lady, that in such inclement weather you would venture so far to bid us farewell. But as m'lady no doubt is aware, the rain shows no sign of abating, and a downpour the likes of this is passing uncomfortable for the delicate and frail."

"I shall pass that along to the delicate and frail," Dannelle replied curtly, "when we return from this journey and see some of them."

Ramiro looked at me openmouthed. The overwhelming smell of very cheap cologne arose behind me as I heard a bottle break and Alfric swear.

We all looked back at Dannelle, who smiled winningly. And though I am sure that none of us thought she should join the party, each of us would be drawn, quartered, and boiled before he would suffer losing sight of her. Wordlessly she took her place beside me in the column.

Ramiro ogled her as though she were a pudding or a carafe of wine. Alfric, on the other hand, jostled his way ahead of poor little Oliver, sending the young squire bottom-first into the mud and positioning himself within earshot, intent that no word of intelligence nor endearment would pass his notice.

All in all, it was like a swarm of drone bees following their queen as we reached drier ground and set off westward toward the Vingaard Mountains.

Needless to say, Ramiro had no real intention of letting me command, especially not now, when there was a Dannelle di Caela to strut for and impress and bedazzle. True to form he was-to the Measure and to his promise to Bayard-but by the time we had traveled an hour up the Highland Road, it was clear how he had things planned.

"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-"

"Forgot about laundry," Ramiro finished, admiration in his voice. "Perhaps even forgot that you were missing."

I shook my head. Dannelle would have to be a fool to follow anyone into the prospects we faced. But it made no difference: With her gossip and veiled knowledge, and with my history of misdemeanor, the girl had me, and had me without options.

So I resolved to make the best of it. After all, the night would come soon enough. And after all, there was room beneath my trail blanket for two…

Possibilities, impossible and unthinkable under the watchful eyes of Robert and Bayard, now loomed inviting in the cloudy night.

We were there until late the next morning, despite my coaxings and urgings. Ramiro lolled over a dozen eggs and three loaves of bread until the sun was high, when he finally seemed to remember that we were not off on some May Day outing but fully intent to go somewhere and do something.

It was only then that our huddled little party took to the road. Dannelle, Ramiro, and I rode at the head of the column, with the squires forming a bedraggled line behind us. The ride was tedious and silent, for Ramiro and I were equally hostile and equally quiet. The only sounds were the movement and murmurings of the horses and an occasional grunt or uncomfortable sigh from Alfric.

Ahead of us spread the highlands like a wide, grass-covered bridge. Almost a mile across, they formed the only dry thoroughfare between the drenched Solamnic plains and the foothills of the Vingaard Mountains. Even so, the water was standing an inch deep on the ground beneath us.

The grass blades swam in a dark pool.

"People are assuming an awful lot on this expedition, Dannelle," I exclaimed when we stopped late in the afternoon. She, Ramiro, and I were still mounted, our horses nose to nose as the three of us waited for the squires to build a fire. As we spoke, a silent, efficient Oliver and a grumbling Alfric gathered whatever nearly dry wood they could find in this drenched terrain. Soon, on a damp spot under a thick-leafed vallenwood, with a horse blanket spread over the low-hanging branches as a sort of makeshift canopy, a smoky, halfhearted fire burned sullenly, while the rest of us smoldered on the rainy road.

"I mean, first of all it was you, stowing away in full sight of everyone," I nagged. "Then it was Ramiro, intent on perpetual dinner last night, and no doubt thinking of a ruse to keep us here until late tomorrow morning. I suppose the squires will tell me soon that they have appointed me to take care of our armor, and the horses will claim they assumed that I had volunteered to carry each of them. My authority is eroding rapidly around here, and-"

"Keeping the shimmer on your authority is not high on the list of my duties, Sir Galen," Ramiro interrupted, flashing a big, gap-toothed smile at Lady Dannelle. "Indeed, you might know from the Measure that 'it is the duty of subordinates to anticipate the wishes of their commanders,' and I assumed only that your authority would be… somewhat sensible about our travel and provision."

"Wait just one minute, Ramiro!" I snapped coldly as both of us bristled and preened before the female of the species. But at that moment, there was a noise from the woods, shrilling through the dusky air like the cry of something haunted and forlorn. Ramiro's head snapped up, and he reached for his sword.

The troll emerged from the forest.