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to continue.
Deep in the night, Dain lunged upright from sleep with a gasp. He felt as
though he were drowning in a deep, icy-cold lake. He could not breathe. Water
filled his lungs and nostrils, holding him down. In his hand he gripped a
sword that flashed with fire. A
sorcerelle held him enchanted, drawing him forth from the water only to plunge
him
back in.
Shuddering, Dain rubbed his sweating face with both hands and pulled up his
knees to rest his forehead on them. He realized now it had been only a dream.
He was safe within the foster sleeping chamber in Thirst Hold, and he d better
take care to make no noise that might disturb the others.
After a time his pounding heart slowed and he began to breathe more normally.
It was hot and airless in the chamber. His cot was closest to the window, but
the Mandrian custom was to keep windows firmly shuttered at night. If he
opened it now to fill his lungs with fresh air, the others might wake up.
Dain had no desire to take a beating from Mierre. As silently as shadow, he
slipped from the room, passing Thum s cot, where his friend snored, passing
Kaltienne s cot, and finally passing Mierre s. The largest boy was a light
sleeper, but Dain made no sound. He had learned early on how to smear goose
grease on the hinges of the door so that it could be opened without a sound.
Safely in the corridor, he let out his breath in relief and, barefooted, went
padding off outside. He crossed the walkway over to the battlements and leaned
his bare shoulder against the cool stone crenellation, gazing outward across
the patchwork of light and darkest shadows that marked the fields, meadows,
and eventually forest belonging to this Thirst.
It would be morning soon. He sniffed the breeze, aware of an imperceptible
lightening of the sky. Down at the corner of the wall, the sentry yawned and
resumed his slow walk. The man had not yet noticed Dain, but once he did there
would be no challenge. The sentries were used to Dain s nocturnal ram-blings.
Sometimes he slept on the walkways, or tried to. Usually a sentry roused him
and sent him back inside.
No one understood how hard it was for him to sleep inside a building of stone.
Although he had lived at Thirst now for three-quarters of a year, he still
wondered sometimes what men feared so much that they should build such a
fortress of timber and stone to hide within. He found it overwhelming at times
to be among so many people, with so many men-minds flicking past his own. He
had learned to shut them out as much as possible, but at night it was harder.
Sometimes he dreamed their dreams, and that was difficult, if not repulsive.
Tonight s dream, however, had been different. Frowning, Dain rubbed his chest.
He still felt unsettled by it, and he hadn t understood it at all. It was
almost as though he hadn t dreamed it, but had instead been yanked by magical
means into another world and time. If so, why? Who was that maiden on the lake
with eyes like starlight, and what had she wanted him to do?
His fingers reached up to curl around his pendant of bard crystal, which
wasn t there.
Dain s frown deepened. Angrily he lowered his hand. He kept forgetting he no
longer wore it.
Thanks to Gavril and Mierre, who had tormented and teased him on his first day
of training. During the break, Mierre and the prince closed in on Dain, and
Mierre attacked first. While he and Dain were fighting, the leather cord had
snapped, and the pendant went flying into the dirt. Gavril picked it up,
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exclaiming,  This is king s glass! Where did you get it?
Pinned at that moment by Mierre, who was sitting on him and twisting his arm
painfully behind him, Dain spat out a mouthful of dirt.  That s mine.
 Oh, you stole it, no doubt.
 Didn t.
 I say you did. No one wears king s glass unless they are royalty.
Mierre twisted Dain s arm harder. He grunted, gritting his teeth to keep from
crying out, and flailed uselessly with his other hand.
 Mine, he insisted.
 You cannot claim stolen property.
Dain gathered all his strength and managed to break free of Mierre. Sending
the larger boy toppling, Dain scrambled up, landed a dirty kick that made
Mierre double up and howl, and launched himself at Gavril.
 It s mine! he shouted, tackling the prince and knocking him down.
Biting and scratching and gouging, the only way he knew how to fight, Dain
swarmed Gavril furiously, determined to get his property back. It was all he
had of his lost heritage, the only possession his unknown parents had given
him. Jorb had warned him and Thia never to lose their pendants, never to show
them, never to give them into anyone s keeping. And now, his worst enemy this
arrogant, pompous prince who had already thrown a royal fit at the idea of
even being in the same hold with him, much less in training together clutched
his pendant and no doubt intended to keep it for himself.
 Give it back! Dain shouted. He struck Gavril in the mouth, and pain shot
through his knuckles as they split on the prince s teeth. Blood spurted, and
Gavril howled.  Give it back! Dain shouted. Lunging for Gavril s clenched
fist, Dain rolled over and over with the prince.
Then they were surrounded by men, who pulled them bodily apart. Bleeding and
streaked with dirt, his fine doublet torn, Gavril pointed at Dain with a
shaking finger and gasped, too furious to speak.
Dain glared and lunged for him, only to be held back by the men.
 Now, now, what is all this? demanded the master-at-arms, Sir Polquin.  This
is not the way knights, nobles, and gentlemen conduct themselves on a field of
honor.
 He s none of those, Gavril said, his face beet-red with fury.  The dirty
little 
 Now, now, your highness, Sir Polquin broke in.  Dain does not yet know our
customs. Let us not lose our temper.
Gavril turned his blue-eyed rage on the master-at-arms.  I shall lose my
temper if I
desire! He ll die for this! The ruffian attacked me without provocation.
 Liar! Dain shouted back, struggling against the hands that held him fast.
 He is a thief. That pendant is mine. He took it from me.
Sir Polquin s weather-roughened face turned slightly pale. He frowned and
scratched his sun-bleached hair, but his green eyes held little mercy when he
looked at Dain.  You must never strike his highness or call him a thief or a
liar.
 He «! Dain insisted.
Sir Masen cuffed Dain on his ear. Pain flared through his head, distracting
him momentarily.  Don t talk back to the master-at-arms, boy.
Sir Polquin beckoned to Mierre, who had dusted off his doublet and now came
forward.  And what say you about this? Were you fighting Dain as well?
 I was showing him how to wrestle, sir, Mierre lied smoothly.  If we must
have him with us, we don t want him shaming us by not knowing how to grapple.
The men chuckled, and seemed to accept this lie. Mierre smiled, and his gaze
flickered to Dain for one brief, malevolent moment.
Seething, hating them all, Dain set his jaw and glared at everyone.  The
pendant is mine, he said.  Prince or not, he cannot take it from me.
 He hit me, Gavril said.  That is a crime punishable by 
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