"Your Lordship," announced the old man, "Omardicar the Omnipotent, the seer from the tavern."
Delbridge bent close to the old man and whispered, "Who are the other two?"
The retainer rolled his eyes at the bother. "Seated behind the table on the velvet corner chair is Lord Curston.
Next to him is his son, Squire Rostrevor. The fellow there—" The retainer pointed to a tall human with a bald pate, a red cape over his muscular frame, standing to the right of the Lord's chair—"he's Balcombe, Lord Curston's mage and chief adviser."
With this minimal bit of information, Delbridge strode forward confidently to stand before the table. He did not wait for introductions or an invitation to speak.
"Lord Curston, I have an offer most valuable to a knight of such obvious power and wealth as yourself." Delbridge heard his words echo in the nearly empty chamber.
The knight, who was obviously once a fit man now gone soft, wore a silk tunic, a cap upon his graying head, and a look of boredom on his lined and weathered face. His son, an almost pretty, tow-headed lad in his late teens, stood to the left of the seated knight, his hand on his hip in an insolent pose. A thin blond mustache revealed his knightly ambition. He seemed more amused than the others by the sight of the oddly dressed, obese man before them.
Up close, the most riveting of the three, to Delbridge's mind, was the wizard. Delbridge had not noticed from the door, but the man had a hideous scar across the side of his face where his right eye should have been. The lid was sealed shut by scar tissue, but Delbridge could tell by its sunken look that no eye remained in the socket. The left one stared with dark intent, devoid of warmth or even interest. His head was not bald, but shaved. Short, colorless stubble cast a gray shadow over the visible blue veins. The only hair of any length was a black mustache and goatee that completely encircled his thick liver-red lips.
Feeling distinctly uncomfortable under the wizard's intense gaze, Delbridge shifted his attention back to the knight.
"We have heard of you, and I must admit I am curious," said the knight at last, his voice low and aristocratic. "But be quick. I have heard many pleas this audience day and have grown weary."
Delbridge waved his arm for effect, fluttering his billowy sleeves. "I possess a gift, my lord, which the stars of my birth saw fit to bestow upon me. It is simply the ability to see the future. I am ready to place this power at your disposal. You would be warned in advance of dangers posed against yourself, your family, and your subjects."
The knight frowned. "I already have a mage who fulfills very nearly that role now."
"And I mean no slight or disrespect to him," cut in Delbridge quickly, "but even the greatest wizard's spells are limited in their ability to divine what will be and are restricted to a certain number per day. My power is not subject to the normal limitations of magic. It functions continuously, whenever I choose to exercise it."
"Do not disregard this out of hand, Father," advised the youth with a brief glance at the mage. "His words bear consideration." He turned his blue eyes on Delbridge. "Perhaps a little demonstration is in order, Mister—?"
"Omardicar the Omnipotent, young sir," Delbridge supplied quickly, boldly adding, "Ommi to clients and friends."
"I should like a demonstration as well," said Balcombe in a low, detached tone, his gaze unwavering.
"I would be happy to oblige," said Delbridge. "However, you must understand that my gift does have its peculiarities. I must concentrate on a particular event or person, and if anything unusual or of interest lies in its future, I experience a vision detailing it. If there is nothing of interest—" He shrugged.
"How conveniently simple," said Balcombe. "Do you expect His Lordship to simply accept what you say and put you on the payroll?"
"He said he would try to demonstrate," said Rostrevor tersely.
Balcombe bowed his head slightly.
Frowning again, Lord Curston looked from Rostrevor to Balcombe. "I wish, as always, that my beloved son and my most trusted adviser were not perpetually at odds," he sighed.
"We are not at odds, my lord," said the mage. "We both desire a demonstration of this man's supposed power. We disagree only in how rigorous such a test ought to be."
The room fell uncomfortably silent. Sensing that this tension did not bode well for his prospects, Delbridge said, "With your permission, I will demonstrate as much as I am able right now, and you can then decide whether any additional trial is warranted."
Closing his eyes, absently brushing the bracelet with the fingers of his left hand, Delbridge concentrated on the people before him one at a time. First, he pictured the knight. Suddenly his stomach churned, and his head throbbed. He felt as though he were plunging through incredibly thick fog, then as if the fog were whipped away. This sensation was replaced by a vision of the elderly knight on his knees in a chamber of the castle. Somber draperies covered the walls. The once stoic man wailed and sobbed in unspeakable despair at what appeared to be a funeral, yet there was neither bier nor body. The tragic image was such a shock to Delbridge that a small cry escaped his lips, and his eyes flew open. The vision abruptly ended.
"What was it?" asked the knight, leaning forward. He was startled by the look of uncertainty and pity in Delbridge's eyes. "What did you see?"
"I—nothing," said Delbridge quickly, flustered. He could not tell a ruling Knight of Solamnia that he had seen him bawling like a baby! "I saw nothing."
He changed the subject quickly. "I will focus on the young squire next."
Delbridge thought of Rostrevor's boyish face, dotted
