The Tainted Sword p-1

by D. J. Heinrich

  “Why aren’t there any guards surrounding the baroness?” Jo asked suddenly. “Does she trust the people that much? Don’t they ever get out of hand?” Setting her hand on her sword, she eyed the people jostling for position around her.

  “There are guards, but not as many as you think.” Flinn pointed to the blue velvet ropes surrounding the dais. “You see how no one is standing anywhere near the ropes? That’s because the rope repels people. The cordoned area is laced with magical defenses to keep people out. If you get too close to it, a jolt of fire ripples through you. I hear it’s quite painful. Furthermore, no magic can penetrate that area, and weapons such as ours disappear if we enter the cordon uninvited. Don’t ask me how that works because I’m not a wizard. Ask Karleah; she could answer that one. The ropes are why the guards don’t bother checking weapons at the door.”

  “Are the defenses foolproof?” Jo asked curiously.

  “As far as I know, yes. Even arrows and crossbow bolts disappear once they enter the cordoned area. My guess is there’re wards other than just the ropes, but I don’t know for sure,” answered Flinn absently. Graybow was talking to the baroness now, and Flinn saw the older man gesture toward him. He glanced at Brisbois and Maldrake, noting that only the latter appeared to see him. Then Flinn saw Edwina Astwood leave Maldrake’s side.

  “But if the baroness unknowingly invited a magical beast into the cordon, it could wreak havoc, couldn’t it?” Jo asked, but Flinn shushed her. Sir Graybow was waving him down and would meet him at the entrance to the cordon.

  “It’s time to go, Johauna,” Flinn said hastily.

  “Already?” Jo’s voice broke, and she coughed. “Already, Flinn?” she said in a lower voice. “I thought we’d have a chance to sit around for a couple of hours and-and get prepared for this!”

  “Well, I thought so, too, but Sir Graybow’s called in some favors. He wants us down there, now!” Flinn pushed his way through the last of the crowd. Jo followed so closely behind him that she stepped on his heels. Moments later, they stood before the castellan, who put his hand on Flinn’s shoulder, then looked at the baroness and nodded.

  Baroness Arteris Penhaligon rose, and immediately four dozen trumpets sounded. They continued until the crowd fell silent in the great hall. All eyes turned to the baroness, who spread her hands and spoke before the huge audience.

  “My people!” she called loudly, and the words, amplified either by architecture or magic, carried to the farthest comers. “A most extraordinary case is about to be presented to us.”

  Brisbois cast a vaguely bored expression at the baroness. “He still doesn’t know I’m here,” Flinn muttered under his breath. Just wait, thought Flinn, that expression of yours will soon change. Flinn turned his attention toward Maldrake, who nodded cordially in response.

  “Fain Flinn,” the baroness was saying, and the crowd began to murmur at the name, “a man formerly dear to the heart of Penhaligon, is here today to seek justice. Step forward, Master Flinn.” Arteris sat down.

  As Flinn strode forward, Jo behind him, someone called out, “Look! It’s Flinn the Fool!” Others took up the shout, and in less than a minute more than half the people inside the great hall were shouting, “Flinn the Fool! Flinn the Fallen!” The warrior clenched his teeth and entered the cordoned area with Graybow and Johauna.

  Arteris let the chant continue for a few minutes more, and Flinn endured it as patiently as he could. He tried to ignore the awful and relentless chant, but could not. Instead he focused on a point just past the baroness, who sat less than twenty feet away. Arteris had a streak of something less than kindness in her, and it was evident now. Only after Flinn’s expression had grown dark with anger did she signal the trumpeters to silence the crowd. The mob had become so raucous by this time that the trumpeters played long minutes before the crowd quieted.

  The baroness rose again. “Fain Flinn, you stand before us. What justice do you seek resolved?”

  “I seek retribution for an injustice committed seven years ago,” Flinn called out. The audience quieted still more, straining to hear every word. Grimy peasant faces and clean freemen faces alike shone with hungry interest.

  “And what injustice, pray tell, is that?” Arteris asked. Her voice was cool and civil. He wouldn’t receive any quarter from her.

  “That of my being falsely accused of dishonor on the battlefield, Your Ladyship,” Flinn’s voice rang out clearly. He pointed to Sir Brisbois. “That man did maliciously and falsely accuse me of denying an enemy mercy!”

  “Sir Brisbois!” Baroness Arteris cried, and Flinn saw his enemy’s face blanche. “You have been named in this case. Please stand before Master Flinn!” Brisbois slowly stood and walked with measured paces until he stood between Flinn and the council table. Brisbois turned to face Flinn. “And did anyone else accuse you of such a heinous crime, Master Flinn? You have the right to face all your accusers,” the baroness continued.

  Flinn had been about to point out Lord Maldrake, but he remembered that the man hadn’t actually accused him of dishonor. Maldrake had only upheld Brisbois’ position-an understandable mistake. But someone else had directly accused him of dishonor. He paused, then said heavily, “The Lady Yvaughan, Your Ladyship.”

  “Bring the Lady Yvaughan to the hall at once!” the baroness cried. Not more than a minute passed before Flinn’s former wife was brought in by a side door and led to stand near Brisbois in front of the council table.

  Flinn was saddened at the sight of Yvaughan, for she was obviously ailing. She’s given birth to her child, he thought, but she hasn’t recovered yet. I should have thought of that and not named Yvaughan in my suit. The woman stumbled a little in her walk, and she cradled a white bird in her arms. Refusing to look at Flinn, Yvaughan nervously petted her bird and mumbled beneath her breath.

  The man leading Flinn’s former wife was particularly short and particularly nervous. His features were plain-so plain as to be indistinct-save for his eyes, which were a brilliant blue. His hair was a medium brown and modestly cut. His chin was weak, though covered with a tiny goatee, and the flesh beneath it wobbled as the man jerked his head about, which was often. He was dressed in a gray tunic, dark breeches, and a brown cape. Flinn had never seen the man before.

  Lord Maldrake stood and addressed the baroness, “Permission to attend my wife, Your Ladyship?”

  The baroness said icily, “Permission granted.” The blond knight walked over to his wife and put his hands on her shoulders. Yvaughan momentarily cringed away, then leaned against Maldrake. The young lord gestured for the man who had brought Yvaughan into the council area to leave. The gesture awoke in Flinn a memory: sometime before Flinn’s fall, Lord Maldrake and Yvaughan had stood in the same stance, and Maldrake had made the same dismissing gesture toward Flinn. How could I have been so blind? Flinn thought.

  “You may state your case, Fain Flinn, and none may gainsay you until you are through. Speak you now, or the former judgment on you shall stand!” Arteris cried in a voice that carried to the rafters. The people in the great hall rumbled in return, and Flinn fancied he heard some shouts of support.

  “I charge you, Sir Brisbois, with falsely accusing me, intending to stain my honor and discredit my reputation as a knight!” Flinn’s voice rang out sternly. He turned to his former wife and his voice trembled. “And I charge you, Lady Yvaughan, with falsely accusing me, intending to divorce me and claim a new husband!” Flinn didn’t want to believe that Yvaughan had been a willing partner in his scene of shame, but the indications seemed irrefutable.

  “How say you, Sir Brisbois?” the baroness cried, and all eyes in the hall turned on the knight. “How say you? Are you innocent of this deed-or are you guilty?”

  Sir Brisbois took a step toward the people, addressing them instead of Flinn or the council. “I am-” he said solidly, then paused. Flinn clenched his jaw, resenting the man’s dramatic pause. Brisbois repeated, “I am-” The words broke off and doubt edged the man’s voice
. Flinn looked at the knight closely and saw that he was staring at Maldrake. Brisbois’ face worked, and he clenched and unclenched his hands.

  The knight tore his gaze from Maldrake and hurried toward the edge of the blue cordon. “I am- guilty!” he shouted to the great hall. The people erupted into a frenzy of emotion. They stomped their feet where they stood, slapped fists into palms, and shouted. The roar was almost unbearable. Brisbois held up his hands and shouted again, though the words were barely audible, “I am guilty-and he is responsible for that!” Brisbois whirled and pointed at Maldrake.

  The lord hissed, “Fool!” Maldrake ripped the white bird from his wife’s arms and threw it at Flinn’s feet. The bird dissolved into a viscous white substance that slowly began to reshape. Jo’s words echoed in Flinn’s mind, “…if the baroness unknowingly invited a magical beast into the cordon…” Flinn drew Wyrmblight and rushed Maldrake.

  “Draw your sword, Maldrake! I will avenge my honor!” Flinn shouted.

  “I think not, Fool!” Maldrake cried. His hand jerked once, and Yvaughan whimpered in pain. Her eyes glazed over and Maldrake pulled a knife out of her back. The young lord pushed Yvaughan toward Flinn, who caught her. Maldrake backed slowly away, brandishing the dagger as Flinn cradled his one-time wife.

  “Yvaughan,” he murmured. For an instant, her pallid form seemed to transform again into the lively and vibrant woman he had once fallen in love with.

  “Fain-” she gasped and then grew still. Her eyes rolled back and her eyelids closed. Flinn smoothed the silken hair on her brow once, then laid Yvaughan on the floor. He advanced on her murderer. Maldrake was slowly backing toward the mass of people in the great hall. He swung his bloody knife at a guard who came near.

  “Stand still, Maldrake!” Flinn called out, rage pulsing through him. “Your game is up!” He stepped forward.

  Maldrake leaped the blue cordons, and as he did a transformation took place. His neck, arms, and legs sprouted horribly, growing to the size of trees. A great tearing noise filled the hall as his torso lengthened and broadened, stretching into a scaly, reptilian body. Gossamer wings unfurled along his back, then solidified into thin membranes of leather. His head warped horribly, bulging and reshaping into a vast skull lined with spearlike teeth. All this transpired in a heartbeat, and then the wyrm’s scream erupted through the hall.

  “Verdilith!” Flinn shouted, a thin film of red filling his eyes.

  The crowd beneath the dragon broke into shrieks of panic, and the people fell back. Those near the door flooded out in terror, while those trapped within pushed mercilessly to escape.

  “Verdilith!” bellowed Flinn again, leaping forward with Wyrmblight overhead. “Turn and face me, wyrm!”

  “Another day, Flinn! Face me alone, not with a score of knights at your back!” The dragon shimmered suddenly and then winked out of the air.

  “I’ll hunt you to your death!” Flinn roared, shaking his clenched fist at the vaulted ceiling. He charged to the spot where the dragon had been. “Come back! Murderer!”

  “Flinn!” Jo shouted. “Behind y-”

  A snarl interrupted her voice. Flinn wheeled. A humanlike creature with scaly brown skin and wiry hair towered above him. It swung its foot-long claws toward Flinn. He dropped, hearing the claws whirl above his head. Jo leaped behind the beast, wedging her sword into its bony back. It wheeled, smashing her with the back of its hand. Jo fell, sprawling across the floor, but retaining her sword. Flinn swung Wyrmblight in a whistling arc toward the creature’s overlong muzzle. The monster spun, deflecting the stroke with its scaly shoulder. It hissed at Flinn, baring eight glistening fangs. The monster swung its huge, spidery arm, catching the edge of Flinn’s breastplate with its claws. The blow spun Flinn about, knocking him to the ground. He rolled over quickly, expecting the beast to follow with a killing slash.

  But the beast paused, sniffing the air. Council members, their weapons drawn, formed a broad circle to surround the monster. Slowly, awkwardly, it turned and knelt beside Yvaughan’s crumpled form. It sniffed again. Then, tentatively, it reached out to touch the woman who had been Flinn’s wife. A little croon escaped the creature’s lips, but the sound was lost to the shouts in the hall.

  “Now!” shouted Flinn to the council members. In accord, the knights of Penhaligon rushed in to attack. Half the knights slashed first at the monster, then fell back to allow the others to strike. The second wave of knights hit just after the first wave. Their onslaught was fierce and mercifully swift. The creature fell almost immediately.

  Flinn stepped back, his heart thundering. He felt saddened to witness such a slaughter, but the baroness and all the folk in the chamber had been in danger. Pushing his way through the crowd of knights, he carefully rolled the creature’s bloodied body off Yvaughan and picked her up. Flinn carried her limp form to the council table and laid her to rest there. “She’d been deceived by the dragon all along,” he murmured with sudden belief. “She didn’t willingly betray me.” He stroked her flaxen hair once, then turned to the baroness.

  “My heart goes out to you in your sorrow,” Arteris said formally. She clasped her pale hands together, her eyes avoiding the body of her cousin.

  “And mine goes out to you,” Flinn replied equally formally. He looked at Yvaughan once and said a silent goodbye as her soul slipped away. The woman who had died in his arms was not the girl he had loved in his youth. Her death he had mourned seven years before. Shaken, he turned around to face the council members. They were all standing near him quietly, as was Jo. Her wide and somber eyes were filled with emotion. Flinn looked away. The people remaining in the hall had grown strangely quiet. A hushed expectation filled the chamber.

  Baroness Arteris stepped forward, her hands spread wide in an embracing gesture. “In the name of all that is holy, Fain Flinn, I rescind the accusations levied against you seven years ago. Only a true and valorous knight could have returned to this hallowed hall and revealed the evil that had come to live among us.” The baroness raised her hands and shouted, “People of Penhaligon, what say you?”

  Flinn turned around slowly, clutching Wyrmblight tightly against his chest. A chant began-a chant like that which had haunted him for seven years. It spread in a ripple, traveling from one corner of the huge chamber to the other. The chant grew in volume as more and more voices joined. Flinn clenched his jaw, hearing only the remembered taunts of the people:

  “Flinn the Fallen! Flinn the Fool!”

  He shut his mind to the words the people shouted, unaware that tears were streaming down his face. The people saw those tears and they rose to their feet, their fists pounding their palms with the rhythm of the chant.

  Flinn blinked, gripping Wyrmblight more tightly. The pounding of his heart filled his ears, finally drowning out even the remembered taunts of the crowd. Wyrmblight’s hilt felt hot in his hand. Flinn peered down, uncertain, at the blade. None of the beast’s blood remained on it. Flinn’s heart beat faster still, and the people’s clapping kept up with the rhythm.

  Flinn took Wyrmblight in his hands and looked at the white silver of the sword. No taint of darkness clung to it anywhere. Slowly, slowly, Flinn lifted the blade sideways above his head, gripping the hilt and the center. The crowd’s frenzy rose. With a shining Wyrmblight in his hands, Flinn finally heard the crowd’s true chant, breaking apart the scars that had festered in his heart for seven years.

  Two thousand voices rang as one in the great hall of the Castle of the Three Suns that day. The roar of the people shook the very rafters. They were shouting Flinn’s name-shouting it in gladness and joy and not the jeering anger of the past.

  “Flinn! Flinn the Mighty! Flinn! Flinn the Mighty!”

  Flinn the Fallen was no more.

  Chapter XV

  Later that day, Arteris raised her hand for silence in the small meeting chamber. The council members, Flinn, and Jo ceased their debate and turned toward the baroness. “We’ve been here nearly two hours and not even approached a de
cision regarding Sir Brisbois.” Arteris pronounced the defamed knight’s name with clipped precision. In the silence that settled, the music of the festival outside the hall intruded. Faint shouts of “Flinn the Mighty!” interspersed themselves with the songs of bards and the sound of lute and pipe. Flinn stifled a smile, hoping that Braddoc, Karleah, and Dayin were enjoying the feast-day Arteris had declared in his honor.

  Sir Brisbois certainly was not enjoying the feast-day. He sat in front of the U-shaped council table, his hands resting uncomfortably in his lap. Two guards stood at either side of him.

  Flinn smiled wryly. He thought it poetic justice that he had regained his council seat-a spot Brisbois had occupied that very morning. He remembered being in the council sessions many years ago, taking part in the active administration of the estates of Penhaligon. He had believed injustice and goodness then, and he had believed in his ability to help those less fortunate than he. The beliefs that sustained him so long ago had returned. Once again, he believed that justice would prevail and good would defeat evil. This afternoon had affirmed that.

  Flinn’s attention returned to the trial at hand. The council members had split into two factions-those who said that Brisbois had been under the malevolent influence of the dragon all along, and those who believed he had willingly bartered with the wyrm. The debate was growing heated. Flinn had said next to nothing in the council, letting the factions wrestle the issue of Brisbois’ guilt. He personally thought Brisbois had willingly sided with Verdilith, but that was a matter for the council to decide.

  Flinn turned and looked at Johauna beside him and smiled. She was quiet and, he guessed, a little overwhelmed by all the proceedings. But she was as composed as always; he feared no discredit from her. This closed council session would be a good introduction to the less-glorified aspect of knighthood: political duty. Although protocol stated that no one who was less than the rank of knight could attend a closed council, Flinn had insisted on Jo’s behalf, stating that her future was at stake, too. The baroness had graciously given her consent.