Delbridge's eyes flew open, and he gasped for air. Immediately the vision disappeared, but his heart still pounded wildly and sweat stung his eyes. He tried unsuccessfully to flex his shaking fingers, only to realize that the bracelet was unbearably hot. In anger and awe he slapped the burning hand against his thigh. Needles of pain tore up his arm and forced a wail from his lips.

Quickly he became aware of Rostrevor standing in front of him, grasping his shoulders and shaking him slightly. "Are you quite all right? Stand up to it now, and get a grip."

Delbridge wiped his face on the sleeve of his gown, took several deep breaths, and began massaging his hand. The squire had returned to his position behind his father, who regarded Delbridge curiously. Balcombe, on the other hand, seemed unmoved as usual.

Lord Curston leaned forward slightly in his seat. "You cannot tell me that you saw nothing that time. If you saw something concerning my son, I'll know what it is. Speak!"

How could he tell them what he saw?

Delbridge swallowed hard. "My lord, well do I realize that you already half think me a charlatan, but what I have just seen I can barely begin to describe. It was unlike anything I have ever experienced. Other visions have been brief and distinct, showing me what actually is to happen. But this was almost like… a nightmare. As if I was seeing hints or symbols of what might happen but not the events themselves. I beg you to believe that this is not just an act intended to frighten you. Squire Rostrevor is in great danger.

Delbridge quickly relayed what he had seen, including the earlier vision of the grief-stricken knight. "I cannot explain it further or better, but I know it to be true," he concluded.

To Delbridge's surprise, Rostrevor was the only one to scoff. "Father, this is nonsense. Abducted by a red light! I am far too strong-you've trained me yourself-to allow such a thing to happen. Besides, our family, and you in particular, are much beloved by your subjects. Who would do such a thing?"

The elder knight's face showed his concern. "There are always malcontents who might seek to hurt me through you. I have lived a long life and made more than enough enemies to disturb my rest."

Scowling, the young knight stepped around the table and took Delbridge firmly by the arm. "I think you've wasted enough of my father's time. Be off!"

"Wait," interjected Balcombe, raising a restraining hand. "What has this fellow to gain by making a fraudulent prediction of such a serious nature? I admit I have reservations, but if he's fabricated this tale, time will quickly reveal the truth." The red-robed mage turned his one eye on Delbridge. "Is this danger imminent?"

"I believe so, yes," blurted Delbridge. "That's how my power works." Feeling a bit awkward, like a bug under glass, Delbridge scratched his jowls.

"Then, my lord, I suggest we err on the side of caution," said Balcombe in his baritone, "by securing Rostrevor in his chambers and out of harm's way, for this evening at least. Station guards outside his door and windows. I will provide additional security by placing magical seals and protective wards on the doors and windows. No one will be able to enter his room, physically or otherwise, without triggering my spells, nor could Rostrevor be removed by any means. If any attempt is made, we will know immediately. In fact, if we act prudently, no one but the four of us in this room will know or suspect that my magical seals exist."

The elder knight seized on it. "An excellent idea! That will certainly thwart any kidnapping attempts, physical or magical."

"But, Father-" protested Rostrevor.

Lord Curston waved away his son's protests. "You will indulge an old man who loves his only son too well."

The young knight glowered. "But if we cut off even the possibility of an attempt, how will we know if anyone had ever even planned such a thing?"

"We will keep Omardicar here, as a guest. If nothing happens concerning this matter, he may try again to prove his claims. In the meantime, we will take no chances. Rostrevor, you are confined to your chambers until dawn tomorrow. We will go immediately with Balcombe and see you safely secured." His expression firm, the knight stood, wincing as gout sent waves of pain shooting through his legs.

"Froeder!" he shouted through gritted teeth. The wizened old retainer hastened through the curtain at the far end of the room. "Our audiences for today are at an end.

Please extend my apologies to those who wait outside and tell them they will have another opportunity, then see that this man is accommodated within the keep. With your pardon, Omardicar, until we know fully what is happening, I wish you to remain in your rooms as well. Froeder, see that it is so." With that, leaning heavily on his resigned son, the knight was helped from the room. Balcombe, with his hands tucked into the full cuffs of his robe and his expression as unreadable as ever, followed at a proper distance.

Left behind with Froeder, Delbridge shook his head in bewilderment. This was turning out well enough, but certainly different than he had planned. Still, who could argue with a sumptuous dinner served by a fireplace lit only for his comfort, followed by a sound sleep in a clean feather bed?

A slight tingling at Delbridge's wrist grabbed his attention. He clapped a hand over the copper bracelet. The metal was quite warm. Delbridge was not in the mood for any more visions that day, especially not in front of Froeder. He tried slipping the bracelet off, but the fit was too tight. After much tugging and prying that left the flesh and bones of his hand bruised, he finally wrenched it from his thick wrist and dropped it into his pouch. Feeling quite good about himself, he followed the impatient retainer from the audience hall and into the luxurious keep, anticipating the fruits of his labors.

Perhaps he had at last reached his true station in life.

Delbridge awoke when a rough hand shook his shoulder until his teeth rattled in his head.

"Omardicar the Omnipotent?"

"Who? Oh, yes," he mumbled, momentarily confused. Blinking against the lamplight, it took Delbridge a moment to remember where he was. He sat up slowly, and an empty wine bottle from the night before rolled off his chest and shattered on the stone floor. "Who are you, and what is it you want?"

Standing above him, a burly man in chain mail laughed, his thick red beard and mustache dancing in the wavering light. "I'll answer no scoundrel's questions. You're under arrest." A second soldier wrenched back the curtains from across the room's window, adding thin dawn light to the scene. The red-bearded man grabbed Delbridge by the upper arm and yanked him from under the feather tick and out of bed.

"What are you talking about?" Delbridge squealed, trying to slip from the man's strong fingers. "I'm a guest of Lord Curston's! He'll be most displeased by your rude treatment of me. I demand to see him at once!"

The sergeant maintained his hold but said nothing.

Delbridge knew he'd had too much to drink the night before, but he'd been in his room the whole time and could not possibly have caused any trouble.

"Perhaps you need a little incentive," hinted Delbridge, reaching toward the table for a small stack of coins, but the guard jerked Delbridge's arm behind his back.

"Don't try any of yer magic on me, cur." The armored guard dragged Delbridge from his sleeping chamber on the second floor, down a narrow flight of stairs, and out the east entrance to the keep. Two more guards holding pikes joined them as they crossed the bailey, headed for an archway bearing the sign, "Gaol."

Delbridge laughed a bit hysterically. "Can't you see? You've confused me with someone else, an easy mistake with all of the strangers about for audience day." He tried slipping his arms from the hands of his captors. "If you'll just let me go now, I'll forget about this indignity."