"I—I'll tell you, Paks, but please don't tell everyone. I'd hoped to—to go as far as my father's farm. It's been over a year, now, and it less than a day's ride away. And I wonder if I'll ever see them again."

"But if it's that close, why haven't you—?"

"Because the Marshal hasn't allowed it," said Ambros shortly, reining his bay around to the west. "It's been one thing after another—chores, drills, whatever. My father's been in to Brewersbridge, of course, to the markets. My mother came once, last spring. But it'll be spring before either of them come again. I just wanted to see them one more time before winter." He sighed again. "It was a foolish idea."

"But why? I mean, just because it's going to rain—I don't melt in the rain, Ambros—not even in snow. How far is it?"

He shook his head. "No. Paks, you're not a Girdsman; I can't explain. But I tried to go on my own, and it's not what I should do. With Marshal Cedfer gone, the grange is my responsibility. The clouds are another warning; the first was in my own heart. We'll go back. I pray Gird that no more will be required."

Puzzled, and a little put out, Paks followed Ambros back toward Brewersbridge. The clouds thickened, and soon a fine drizzle wet her face. It was not enough to penetrate her cloak. She nudged the black horse and rode up beside Ambros.

"Ambros, do you really think Gird made it rain because you wanted to see your family?" She thought even less of Gird if that was his sort of action.

"No, not exactly." Ambros spoke slowly, as if more lay behind his words than he wanted to say. "I don't know, to be honest, where the clouds came from—the High Lord may grant the wind's keys to any he wishes, I daresay. But Marshal Cedfer did say the grange was my responsibility—even if you find the brigands, he said, I cannot fight them with you."

"But did he tell you not to visit your family?" Paks persisted.

"No. I think—I think he knew I would want to go, but did not insult me by telling me my duty." Ambros gave a short laugh. "He should have."

"But you—"

"Paks," said Ambros, with a look that stopped the words in her mouth. "Paks, you have been a soldier in many battles—have you ever had a dream of death?"

She stared at him, surprised into long silence. "Not—exactly," she said finally. "Some of my friends have—I have had disturbing dreams, though, if that's what you mean."

"Have you—did you ever know someone to have a true dream like that?"

"Once." Paks swallowed with difficulty. She wondered what dream had come to Ambros. When she glanced at him, he was staring at his horse's mane, fists clenched on the reins.