bittersweet memories.
'A long time ago, I thought she liked me.' I whispered. 'Is there still a chance, old girl?'
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?
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
