Branson charged into the stables with fire in his eyes. Three of the seven Grand Knights of Grathsen had fallen. Two of them had mocked him only hours before, "What can a stable boy do? What stable boy could be of assistance to a Grand Knight?"

Now they were dead. Branson thought that he and his humble, strong horse could hardly do any worse. He saddled up his speckled brown mare and rode down around the side of the battle hill.