"Teagan! What are you doing here?" Arl Eamon asked happily as he saw who had just ridden into the courtyard.

"Hello, brother," Teagan answered, sliding off his horse and handing the reins off to a stable boy before walking over to exchange a warm hug with his brother. "I've had some unexpected business come up in Highever, and thought I should drop in and say hello while I was passing."

"Good, good – I'd never have forgiven you if you'd been in the area and hadn't, you know. I hope you're able to stay for dinner? Or is your business urgent enough that you need to be on the road again as quickly as you can?"

Teagan smiled. "No, it's not that urgent – I can stay the night. I'm in no rush – certainly not in this heat!"

"Excellent! I'll have the Seneschal prepare your usual room, then. Come, let's go on in and find some place cooler to sit down and talk."

Teagan smiled, and followed his brother indoors.


Teagan was doubly glad that he'd elected to stay the night at Redcliffe Castle when a storm rolled in from the southeast late that afternoon, enormous dark grey thunderheads drifting in from the Hinterlands. At least the storm also brought a good strong wind with it, and being out of the south, it was a cooling wind. For the first time in weeks the temperatures dropped down into a comfortable range.

"If you don't mind, I think I'll go check on my horse," Teagan said as the pleasant family dinner with Eamon and Isolde drew to a close. "She's a recent purchase, and my stable master tells me she gets nervous during thunderstorms; I'll want to be sure your stable master knows to keep an eye on her tonight."

"Of course," Eamon agreed, nodding. "Join me in my study when you return; we can have brandies over a game of chess before retiring for the night."

Teagan nodded and rose to his feet, and headed off to the stables.

He found the stable master easily enough; the man was standing in one of the aisles, talking to a young man – one of the senior stable boys, at a guess – with an annoyed scowl on his face, and Teagan paused to allow the man to finish whatever his current business was before bothering him with his own request.

"...Tam, Jory, and Alistair," the stable boy finished counting out names on his fingers.

Teagan's attention was caught by the final name. Alistair – that was Maric's bastard, wasn't it? He'd never quite approved of the fact that the lad was being employed as a stable boy by his brother – surely Eamon and Maric could have found some more appropriate placement for the him, fostered him out somewhere perhaps – but it wasn't like Eamon had ever asked his opinion of the matter, and unlike Eamon, he himself was not a particular confidant of the King.

"And the gate guards are sure that they were last seen going down into town?" the stable master asked, scowl deepening.

"Yes, sir," the stable boy answered. "I sent one of the boys down to find them when they didn't turn up for supper, and he says he couldn't find any sign of them anywhere. One of the chantry sisters remembered seeing Jase there some time in the early afternoon, but apart from that no one's seen hide nor hair of them since they left the castle, sir."

Just then the stable master happened to glance Teagan's way, and quickly straightened, stepping over to speak with him. "Bann Teagan," he said. "Here about that lovely mare of yours, I take it?"

Teagan smiled. "Just so," he agreed. "My stable master had mentioned to me that she gets nervous during thunderstorms..." he trailed off as thunder from the rapidly approaching storm rumbled loudly enough to momentarily drown out their words. "I wanted to be sure you were aware that she might need extra care tonight."

The stable master nodded. "I'll have one of my boys bed down nearby to keep an eye on her, sir."

Teagan nodded. "Thank you. Though it sounds like you're shorthanded at the moment?"

A momentarily flicker of irritation crossed the man's face. Knowing that knowledge of a problem in the stables had already passed beyond it couldn't be making the man feel particularly happy. "Unfortunately, yes," he admitted. "A group of the stable boys had a half day off this afternoon, and have failed to return from it. They should have been back two hours ago. Bunch of young mischief-makers; I have little doubt I'll have someone showing up on my doorstep soon to complain about whatever it is they've gotten up to that's kept them out this late."

Teagan nodded, smiled understandingly. "I assume when they do return, it will be to all the messiest, smelliest, most tedious jobs you can find for them to do?"

The stable master grinned. "Oh yes. Not that that ever seems to keep them tamed down for long. Was there anything else you needed, my lord?"

"No, no, that was all. Thank you," Teagan said, and turned to head back to the castle.

He paused in the courtyard to admire the oncoming storm, the thunderheads towering over the castle's curtain wall in all their dark glory, thin threads of lightning visibly flickering between the stacked layers of cloud, the rumbles of thunder following long minutes later.

He was about to turn away and go back inside the castle when a disturbance at the gate caught his attention; a red-faced young man, with a shock of thick black hair and a bristling beard, arguing with the gate guard.

"I know it's sodding late! I've spent the last three hours looking for my boat, and only just found someone who'd seen it – and according to him, there was a group of boys rowing it away. Wasn't any of our lads from down to the town, so it must be some of your boys up here!"

Teagan frowned and walked over, interrupting the guard who was busily denying the man entry to the castle. "Excuse me," he said. "Did you say a group of boys were seen going off in a boat?"

The man turned to look at him, face set in an angry scowl, then took in the fineness of Teagan's clothing. His expression went through an almost comical change of expression as he paled, then dipped his head, big hands closing on the hem of his tunic and twisting it as nervously as a boy being called up before his father "Beg pardon, sir," he said. "Yes, my boat went missing this afternoon, and it seems like a group of boys was seen rowing off with it."

Teagan nodded. "Come with me," he told the man, and turned and walked back to the stables, the man trotting at his heels, looking decidedly ill at ease. Teagan quickly relocated the stable master.

"I may have found word of your missing boys," he told him, and turned to the man. "Tell him what you just told me," he prompted kindly.

The fisherman nodded, and repeated his tale again. The stable master's scowl deepened, and Teagan was sure the man would of been openly swearing if not for his own presence. "And you say they've not returned?" the stable master asked.

"No, not unless they came back while I was on my way up here. No one has seen them since they rowed off – or my boat!" the fisherman said in an aggrieved voice. "I wouldn't even have known it was missing, except I saw the storm that's coming in and thought I'd better go beach it; getting knocked about by wind and waves wouldn't have done it any good."

"So where are the boys, then?" Teagan suddenly asked, feeling the first stirrings of real alarm.

A particularly loud peal of thunder sounded, followed by the sudden hiss of rain.

"Still out on the lake, most likely," the fisherman said, looking grim.

"In this storm," the stable master said slowly, looking, to his credit, distressed by the thought.


They splashed and ran around and had water fights until they were all tired, then climbed up on the rock islet their boat was beached on to rest for a while before heading back, the group of them lying in a circle with their heads together, looking up at the sky and talking and laughing, enjoying the comparative coolness out here on the lake.

"We should have brought food," Tam said. "I'm starving,"

"Oh, yeah, a picnic out here would be brilliant," Peatrick agreed. "We'll have to do that next time."

All of them agreed, all of them having enjoyed their illicit outing on the lake enough that they wanted there to be a next time.

"We should probably head back," Simon said. "At least it'll be faster going in then coming out, the wind will be at our backs so we won't have to tack. Running before the wind is the best, it feels like what flying must be like," he said enthusiastically.

They pushed the boat back out and climbed back in, inexpertly raising the sail again, and started back towards the distant line of the shore, the castle and town looking all hazy from this far out.

"Oh, look at that!" Tam exclaimed, pointing towards the shore. "There's a storm coming in."

"What?" Simon asked apprehensively, and squinted toward the horizon. Sure enough, he could make out a thin line of dark clouds beyond the paler line of the cliffs. He frowned worriedly. Being out on the lake in a storm – that was dangerous. Men died when they were storm-caught too far from shore. But they were making good time, the steady breeze pushing them at a good pace back towards shore. They should be able to beat it in, with a good margin to spare.

They were halfway back when the breeze faltered, then died. For a moment the boat coasted onwards, already loosing momentum as the water dragged at its hull, the sail hanging slackly without any breeze to fill it. And then the wind sprang up again, a strong one, away from shore. The sail snapped noisily in the gusty air, the small boat heeling sharply over for a moment before it swung and straightened, boom swinging from one side to another in a sudden movement that by the Maker's own luck managed to miss braining anyone.

Simon cursed, and hauled on the oar-rudder, trying to turn the boat back to shore, hoping he could manage to tack in rather then being pushed further out. But the wind was pushing strongly enough that the boat didn't want to turn; instead he found himself scudding across the lake at an angle, heading generally eastwards but still being pushed north. There must be some way to force the boat further around, to get it turned into the wind, but... he didn't know it.

"Everyone all right?" Alistair was asking.

"I'm going to have bruised ribs from someone's elbow landing right on them, but yeah, I'm all right," Leon answered, the other boys chiming in to indicate that they, too, while variously bruised and a little shaken by the abrupt change of direction, were all okay.

"What's happened?" Alistair asked, looking enquiringly at Simon.

"Storm made the wind change," he said, tersely. "I don't think I can turn the boat back to shore," he added reluctantly after a brief pause.

"Can we get back to those rock islands?" Alistair asked, clearly already appreciating what that meant; that they were stuck out here, with a storm coming on.

Simon considered the angles in his head. They'd been south of the islands, now they were moving east, if they headed back west... but no, they weren't moving straight east, he was pointed east but they were being pushed rapidly north as well... he glanced over his shoulder, to the still dimly visible rocky islets, judging their relative movement and the distances involved. Too far, much too far already. "No," he said, striving to remain calm. "Even if we turned now, we'd miss them, pass to the north."

"Anything off this way we can try to reach, then?" Alistair asked, still managing to sound calm, considering their options.

"I... don't know," Simon reluctantly admitted. "Maybe. There's supposed to be another shallows northeast of the castle somewhere – big one, mucky bottom, good for bottom fish and clams and stuff depending on how deep the water's running. But I don't know where it is, or if it has parts above water."

"Well, we'll just have to keep our eyes open, then," Alistair said calmly, and set about detailing the others to keep watch in all directions for anything that might be a place to aim for. It gave them something to think about; something to stop them from realizing just how much danger they might be in.


Eamon frowned as Teagan entered his study with the stable master and another man – a fisherman, by the look of him – following behind him. Teagan looked worried about something.

"Is something wrong, Teagan?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Teagan said, and the three of them quickly filled him in on the story; the missing stable boys, the missing boat. The likelihood that the boys were still somewhere out on the lake in this storm.

He didn't understand why Teagan was concerned about a pack of missing boys at first; not until the stable master rattled off the names of them all – not that Eamon had the faintest idea who any of them were – at least not until the man mentioned the name Alistair. Drat the brat, he would go and get himself into trouble of some kind.

"Well, I don't see that there's anything we can do about it," Eamon said. "Either they'll turn up, or they won't."

The fisherman nodded agreement. "More likely not," he said sadly, though probably with more sadness over the possible fate of his boat then the possible fate of the boys. "Not out in this storm, not with none of them knowing how to handle a boat proper."

The stable master frowned. "One of them might. Simon is Joram's youngest boy."

"Joram? I know him," the fisherman said, nodding, and looked thoughtful. "They might have a chance then, if they manage not to capsize, though where they'll end up is anyone's guess; storm this big, they could end up being pushed all the way down the lake, and that's more then a few miles."

"Well, thank you for bringing this matter to my attention," Eamon said. "I'll have to take thought on what we can do."

He said it in a way that was clearly a dismissal for the two men. They both bowed and withdrew.

"Come, Teagan, shall we game?" Eamon asked, gesturing toward the nearby chess table, all the pieces carefully set up in gleaming rows.

"Game? While young Alistair is lost on the lake?" Teagan asked, sounding surprised.

Eamon glanced at his brother, saw the concerned frown on his face, and realized he'd dismissed the fate of the boys too quickly; Teagan would go and take an interest in the fate of Maric's curséd by-blow... and would undoubtedly think poorly of him if he made it clear just how little he cared about the fate of a pack of stable boys, Maric's bastard in their midst or no.

"There is nothing we can do about it tonight," he pointed out calmly. "No one can search the lake until this storm has passed."

"You're right," Teagan reluctantly agreed. "Still, I feel like I should be doing something..." he said, and paused. "I'm sorry, brother, but do you mind if I pass on the game for tonight? Even if it doesn't accomplish anything particularly useful right away, I'd like to go down to the village and talk to that boy Simon's father; he should be told anyway, and he might have some idea of where the boys could have headed to."

"Of course, of course," Eamon said with false tranquillity, sinking into a chair. "I'd join you but my going out in a storm like this would disagree with my old bones – and my young wife," he added, eyes twinkling.

"Thank you, brother," Teagan said, with a nod, and exited the room.

Damn, thought Eamon. And he'd so been looking forward to a quiet evening in his brother's company.


By the time the rain reached them, the air was already cold enough to have the boys regretting the brevity of their clothing. The rain made it worse, a torrential downpour that narrowed their circle of vision to almost nothing, while the wind-whipped waves gave the boat an alarming rocking motion that soon had several of them turning green.

Simon tried to warn them that they couldn't all hang over the same side when they needed to vomit; the boat was leaning dangerously over to one side. Lost in the misery of their sea-sickness, they didn't hear him. Alistair did, and squirmed over and physically dragged a couple of the boys away from the rail, getting the load more evenly distributed.

Simon was beginning to think things couldn't possible get any worse when, of course, they did; hail joined the rain, landing with stinging force on bare skin. Only the size of barley grains at first, they quickly coated every reasonably flat surface with a thin layer of icy pellets, more of them sloshing around in the bilges. The temperature dropped further, everyone shivering and complaining bitterly of the cold, the wet, the tossing, the sea-sickness. Then the hailstones got larger, and larger yet again, until it was like being pelted with handfuls of gravel and the occasional small rock, hard enough to raise bruises.

The wind gusted, changing direction abruptly, and the boat heeled hard over again, shipping a good-sized bit of water before it straightened again as the wind steadied. The extra weight made the boat sink lower in the water, loosing way and beginning to ship more water as the taller waves broke over the sides.

"Bail! We've got to bail!" Simon shouted. Peatrick found the greased leather bucket stowed in the bow for the purpose, and began scooping up and tipping water over the side, but it was clear that one single bucket wasn't going to be enough.

Simon thought Alistair had gone mad for a moment when he saw the boy skinning out of his pants, until he knotted the leg-ends together and, grasping the waistband in both hands, started using it as a second, crude scoop. Jase and Jory, seeing what he was doing, did the same, and between the four of them managed to begin making headway on bailing out the water.

Simon found himself laughing. It was all just too crazy; the storm, the hail, the naked boys frantically using their pants as buckets...

Alistair looked up and grinned at him, a fierce look with as much determination and fear in it as humour. "Brilliant idea," he called out sourly, teeth chattering.

Simon grinned back, then felt a sudden sharp pain as something struck his head, and everything went black.


Alistair felt his mouth drop open in shock. One moment Simon had been grinning back at him, the next he was fallen over face down, a hailstone the size of a grown man's fist awash in the water around his motionless form. For a moment all he could do was stare, unable to believe what had happened.

"Simon!" he shouted, dropping his improvised bucket in the bilges to crawl over and lift the other boy's face out of the water. A huge bruise was already forming at one temple and he was limp as a dead fish.

Peatrick splashed up beside him. "Is he all right?" he asked, sounding scared.

"I... don't think so," Alistair said, then gasped as another vagrant gust of wind sent the boat heeling over again, throwing them all to one side. The weight shift made it tilt over even further, and then just like that, the boat capsized entirely, dumping them all unceremoniously into the lake.