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. Goldbuckle had lis-
tened, stood for a time in thought, then shook his head.
"Who's to know what a dream means?" he had sighed.
"I've had dreams, too, Chane. But that's all they were.
Just dreams."
It had been worse when he told Slag Firestoke what he
wanted to do. Old Firestoke was not fond of him anyway
and was not happy about an empty-pursed orphan
spending time with his daughter. It had been Jilian's idea
to tell her father about Chanc's premonitions, in the hope
that Firestoke might outfit him for his quest. He didn't
need much. Just warm clothing, arms and provisions,
and a few of Firestoke's hirelings to accompany him.
"Thorbardin is in jeopardy," Chane had told him. "I
know it, and in dreams I've been told that I must find the
key to save it."
"Dreams!" Firestoke had rumbled, glaring at him.
'You're daft as a warren-bat."
"I know I'm right," Chane had insisted. "I don't know
exactly what I'm to find, but I'll know when I find it."
Firestoke had laughed at that, a cruel, victorious
laugh, "So you come to me for money? Well, you can
wait until your whiskers rust. You won't see a brass coin
from me, Chane Feldstone. Now get out of my house
...and stay away from my daughter! She'll have better
than the likes of you."
Then, it seemed that old Firestoke had changed his
mind
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