“But—”

“The Chalice is the responsibility of the true king of Nether. Your responsibility, Faldain. Turn not from your destiny.”

Dain thought of Lord Odfrey’s petition to King Verence that would make him legal chevard of Thirst Hold. He thought of his friends in Mandria and the new life he had forged for himself. Was he to toss everything aside and chase after something told to him in a dream?

Frowning and troubled, he looked up to ask another question, but the darsteed and its mysterious rider were gone. Dain stood alone on the beach, the surf foaming white atop the black waters.

When he awakened the next morning, he felt stiff and far from rested. His eyes were swollen and gritty. Yawning, he sat up in the shaft of sunlight streaming in through the narrow window.

A rolled-up tunic hit him in the head. “ ‘Bout time you woke up, lazybones,” Thum’s voice said impatiently. “We’re all waiting on you, but if you lie abed much longer, we’ll miss the whole thing.”

Dain pulled his tunic over his head and stretched until his joints popped. “I was dreaming all night. I feel I hardly slept.”

“Well, don’t prattle about it,” Thum said. He tossed a boot at Dain, who ducked barely in time. “Get dressed, will you?”

It was only a dream, Dain assured himself, thinking of the moonlit beach and the ghostly king who had urged him to leave everything here and set off on a quest to find the Chalice. In the brightness of daylight, the dream seemed less vivid, less compelling.

Yawning again, he flung back his blanket and swung his legs off the bed, only to stop and stare, bemused, at his sandy feet.

It could not be, and yet...

With a sense of wonder, he bent over and ran a fingertip along the top of his right foot. Tiny grains of dried sand trickled to the floor.  Impossible, Dain thought, his puzzlement changing to alarm. He’d gone to no beach last night. He did no walking in his sleep. It was a dream, not reality.  Yet his feet were crusted with sand and dried salt, and the bottoms of his leggings were damp.

He could have asked Sir Terent if he’d gone walking in his sleep, for his knight protector was bound to have accompanied him for his safety. Lifting his head, he glanced around the empty room. “Where is everyone?” “They’re without,” Thum said impatiently. “The horses are saddled, no doubt, and Sir Terent will miss the jousting if you do not hurry.”

“Why doesn’t he ride on?” Dain said, but even as the words left his mouth he knew the answer and was ashamed of himself.

“He’s waiting for you. He’s still in your service, Lord Lout!” Thum said. “Of all days for you to laze in. No one could rouse you, though we all tried until Sulein made us stop. Sir Polquin was able to get Sir Terent down to the stables at last, but he’s sworn he will not go to the contest without you.” “Nonsense,” Dain snapped, finally regaining his wits. “He is not my protector today; I released him from that service last night. He must go and fight. Run and tell him so.”

“He won’t believe me,” Thum said. “If you’ll get dressed, you can tell him yourself.”

Dain hastily pulled on his clothes, then grabbed a crumbly hunk of leftover cheese for his breakfast as they hurried out. Clattering down the steep, narrow stairs of the inn, he found the place deserted, and only a serving girl sweeping the floor. Outside, the sun was well up, and already the day felt hot.  Horrified that he should make Sir Terent miss the jousting, Dain quickened his step. He found the Thirst contingent mounted in the yard, talking idly among themselves while they waited.

“Sir Terent!” Dain said loudly, causing the knight’s head to snap around to face him. “What are you doing here? Get yourself to the lists, right away.”