“I trapped them yesterday.”
Flinn was dumbfounded. “You—a city girl—trapped them?”
Exasperated, she glared at him. “Don’t look so surprised, Flinn. Not all city girls are helpless, you know. Some of us do know how to hunt. There’s really no difference between trapping rabbit for the pot and wharf rat for the spit.” She turned away and began ladling the stew into bowls.
“Wharf rat?” Flinn’s voice rose. “You ate wharf rat?”
Johauna nodded. “It wasn’t bad, really. You have to eat something, so when you’ve got no money, you hunt whatever’s around. At the wharfs in Specularum you hunt wharf rat. There are worse ways of surviving. The sailors would’ve paid handsomely for… favors, but…” her voice trailed off and she was suddenly still.
Silently Flinn’s hand reached out to touch the glossy braid down her back. She moved briskly away, fetching the bread and water. He drew back his hand.
Jo faced him across the table as they sat down to the meal. “What made you decide to teach me how to be a squire?” she asked awkwardly.
Flinn shrugged, then sniffed happily. He didn’t cook very well, and the rabbit stew smelled excellent. “I… I’m not sure I know why. Suffice to say that I think you’d be a good squire, and that I think I could teach you a few pointers.”
Jo said nothing, only looking at him inquiringly.
“In a few weeks I’ll find out your ability to learn—your strengths and weaknesses. I’ll also know how the council’s likely to react to you. You won’t have a formal sponsor—that is, a knight or a noble to vouch for you,” Flinn added.
Jo’s eyes were wide and unblinking. “Must I have a sponsor, Flinn? And—” she hesitated “—can’t you sponsor me?”
Flinn returned her gaze, a strange pain in his chest. “No. I can’t sponsor you. I’m no longer a knight,” he said heavily. “As to whether you need a sponsor, the answer is no, but you’d be better off to have one. Still, we can get around it.”
Jo nodded, her gaze intent. “Fair enough, Flinn, fair enough.” She smiled quickly, handing him the plate of bread. “Now, let’s eat. You’ve had a long journey. Time enough to talk about this later.” Her eyes were shining, and he sensed a terrible tension in her. “Flinn,” the girl’s voice was barely more than a whisper, “thank you.”
“The rabbit stew’s excellent, Jo,” Flinn said after a few swallows. “Tell me more about Specularum, and… tell me about you,” he added after a moment’s consideration.
The girl looked at him abruptly, as if unsure what to make of his last remark. She looked down at her bowl and finished chewing a bit of food.
“It’s true that I did hunt wharf rat for food. I learned how from a crippled fisherman who lived by repairing nets. Pauli taught me how to make a thin, strong twine from unsalvageable netting. He showed me how to place a loop trap where the rats’d run.” She shrugged. “I had a choice: I could hunt wharf rats, scavenge rotten fish, or steal marketplace food.” The girl leaned toward him. “I chose to hunt.”
“Tell me about the city,” Flinn requested.
“Specularum? It’s crowded, filthy, and unwelcoming. What would you expect from the largest seaport around? The stench is unbelievable. Even a week after I left the city I couldn’t smell anything.”
“Why did you leave the city? Really?” Flinn asked suddenly.
Jo looked at him for a moment, then her eyes crinkled and she laughed. “I left because a drunken lord tried to get frisky with me in an alley—he must’ve stumbled down the wrong way in the dark, for no lord had ever been down that street before, I’ll warrant. Anyway, I bit his ear off.”
Flinn snorted derisively.
“The next day there were warrants out for the arrest of the ‘fiend who had accosted Lord Arston’. It seemed a good reason to leave Specularum. I stowed away on a river caravan heading north for the Castle of the Three Suns, but the captain found me and threw me overboard. I followed the river north, but somehow I ended up in Bywater instead of at the castle.”
Flinn smiled at her, freshly amused at the girl. “You came up the Castellan instead of the Hillfollow. The Hillfollow would’ve taken you straight past the castle.”
Jo smiled back and shrugged, then she said, “There’s something I want to show you.” She went to the bed, reached under a soft fur, withdrew a foot-wide square of blue silk, and handed it to him. “I found what was left of your tunic and did what I could to salvage it.”
Flinn fingered the square of cloth in his hands. The girl had skillfully taken apart the embroidery of the suns and used the thin yellow strands to sew the midnight blue cloth together. From a distance the contrasting stitches were hardly noticeable, but close up they created a pleasing mosaic pattern. The three suns, though now much smaller, were still situated on the front of cloth.. Flinn touched the frail golden threads that ran through the yellow threads, surprised to see the strands shimmer.
“The gold threads are still enchanted, Flinn,” the girl said. “When I pieced them together they glowed, though only faintly. Whoever cast the spell must have been a powerful wizard.”
“Camlet the seamstress took great pride in her work. I’m not surprised the threads still glow.”
He looked up at Jo standing beside him. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. “It’s beautiful, Johauna,” he said simply. “Thank you for saving as much as you could.”
Her voice was breathless. “You’re more than welcome, Flinn.” She stroked the three suns briefly. “I know this square can’t replace the tunic, but perhaps you can keep this as a… a favor, I think the knights call them.”
“They do.” Flinn pointed at one of the sacks he had brought in. “I have a present for you, too. Take a look in there.”
Johauna looked in a long, narrow bag and pulled out a wooden sword. The dull gray wood that formed the blade had a fine, tight grain. Although the sword was thicker than a normal steel sword, its beveled edge was very sharp. The leather-wrapped hilt and fitted, wooden guard fit perfectly in Jo’s hand. She said nothing, her eyes searching his inquiringly.
“I didn’t give it to you earlier because—” Flinn paused, rubbing his neck uncomfortably, “—I didn’t know if you were serious enough.” He gazed toward her, his face reddening. He continued, “It’ll do for us to parry with. I figured I would teach you first how to defend yourself.” He took the sword from her and gave it a few swings. “I made it from a piece of ironwood. It’s virtually indestructible and almost as heavy as steel.” He shrugged. “It’ll make a good practice blade for you. It doesn’t have the bite of metal, of course, but it’ll dent just about anything you’ll find in these woods.”
A shadow crossed the girl’s face. “Even the creature that attacked me?”
Flinn considered his words, then nodded slowly. “Even the creature that attacked you.”
* * *
“I don’t understand!” Johauna shouted at Flinn, one week later. She was lying flat on the now-packed snow of the commons between the cabin and the barn. The tip of Flinn’s blade rested squarely on her chest.
“That’s because you’re not trying!” Flinn shouted back. He abruptly stuck his sword into the ground and jerked her to her feet. “You’re not listening! You’ve got to learn defense before you can think about attacking!”
“What do you think I was trying to do? I had my sword out! I tried to stop you!”
Flinn’s hands clamped firmly on his waist. “Well, it didn’t work, did it?”
“I did everything you said!” Jo mimicked Flinn’s posture. “You’re not teaching me right!”
“Hah!” Flinn snorted. “You’ve got another think coming there, you thick-headed girl!” Angrily he picked up Jo’s sword where it had fallen in the snow and then grabbed his own. He threw the wooden blade at Jo, who caught it handily this time. Flinn grunted his approval. “That’s better,” he snorted again and went into a crouching position. “This time, let me attack and you defend,” he said.
“I told you!” Flinn whirled his blade in a fast, low arc. Jo barely jumped in time. “You don’t need a shield. Your sword’s everything you need to stay alive. The shield might protect you, but it won’t save your hide like a sword will.” He swung his blade overhead, letting it come crashing down on Jo’s wooden blade. She winced at the force of the stroke and fell to one knee, but she didn’t release the blade.
“Good girl,” Flinn said quickly and backed away, preparing his next move.
“What if I lose the sword? Then I’ll need the shield,” she said. She blocked his next move easily and smiled, only to find his sword at her stomach.
Flinn sighed in exasperation, backing away. “If you lose your sword, Jo, you’re dead! Think! Hold onto your sword as though your life depends on it—because it does. A shield is expendable; you haven’t time to worry about expendable distractions. Devote your attention to what is necessary. Now—prepare yourself!”
Flinn advanced toward her again, his blade swinging out in faster strokes. His gaze passed over the spot on her calf where one of his strokes had nicked her. He had taken extra care since then. Jo fended the first few strokes well enough, but then Flinn’s sword flashed faster. She stepped back, fumbling with the blade.
“Parry! Parry!” Flinn shouted. “Quit using the sword as just a shield!”
“You told me to use it as a shield!” Jo retorted.
“Never mind what I told you! Parry the stroke, don’t just meet it!” Flinn shouted in return.
Spurred on by his words, Jo stepped forward, forcing his blows back rather than merely blocking them. She successfully turned six strokes in a row. Astonished, she smiled.
Suddenly she was lying on her back with Flinn’s sword at her waist again and her own beyond reach. Flinn shook his head at her, clicking his tongue. He pulled her to her feet.
“You got cocky, girl,” he said. “Worse thing that can happen to a fighter—think the fight’s over and gloat. You had a couple of nice moves, but don’t let those go to your head. That’s why you’re in the snow again.” He gestured toward her sword and shook his head. “Never, never lose your sword, Jo, no matter what the cost of keeping it in your hand.” His dark eyes were serious as he peered into hers. “Losing your sword will cost you your life.”
“But I was afraid you were going to break my arm. I had to drop the sword.”
He shook his head. “No, you only thought that. Human bone is strong, Jo, particularly with a little armor.” He rolled up the left sleeve of his woolen tunic and traced the deep scar in the middle of his forearm.
“I lost my shield once in a fight. The next blow struck my left arm. The blade bit through my armor, gouged out some flesh, and broke the bone in two places. I survived and lived to win the fight.” Sighing, he continued, “The point is, don’t be afraid to suffer some pain in the short run if it can save your life in the long run.”
Johauna hesitated, then reached out and lightly traced the ridged scar. “I’ll remember, Flinn.”
“Now,” Flinn said briskly as he rolled down the tunic’s sleeve, “do you want to continue or are you tired?”
Jo knew she was tired. She also knew Flinn enjoyed these practice bouts, particularly because she became a more worthy adversary daily. “Continue,” she said, retrieving her sword and returning to her starting stance.
This time Jo concentrated on parrying each of Flinn’s moves without trying to anticipate them. She carefully avoided being maneuvered next to the buildings or the fence, where she might be trapped. At one point, Flinn drove her toward the corral’s gate. Jo dropped and rolled toward Flinn, bringing her wooden sword upward in a thrusting stroke inches from his gut. Flinn leaped neatly aside. “Good move!” he cried.
Jo rolled to her feet and took the offensive, slashing enthusiastically with her blade, forcing Flinn toward the bam wall. Flinn laughed, the first genuine laughter Johauna had ever heard from him. The sound spurred her on. Each stroke fell with greater force, sharper precision. Even so, Flinn stepped back, parrying the blows easily.
At last Jo cried, “Enough!” She released her sword and dropped to the ground. Her nearly healed shoulder throbbed with the exertion. Flinn plopped down beside her on the packed snow.
“Well done, Jo, well done!” Flinn proclaimed and began massaging her sword arm. He had stressed the importance of stretching her muscles before any exercise bout and chasing away any knots in her muscles afterward.
Jo’s heart pounded loudly in her ears. Her lips parted and her breath became shallow.
Flinn was still speaking. “You’ve improved quite a lot since we first began practicing. Anyone who can keep showing progress will…” Flinn’s words trailed off as he gazed into her face. His lips pursed and his eyes darkened.
She wondered if he thought she was trying to seduce him. She abruptly pulled her arm from his hands and leaned away. “Thanks, Flinn. My arm’s fine now.”
Flinn stood, picking up the weapons and taking a few brisk strides about the yard. “You’re progressing very well, Jo. I’m pleased.” He paused to look down at her. “I think you should spend the rest of the day practicing with the bow. The target’s still set up by the barn.”
The warrior extended his hand and pulled Jo to her feet. “You want me to practice target shooting?” Jo asked, “Or should I do the run-and-shoot maneuvers?”
“Target shooting,” Flinn said, smiling. “Your archery isn’t nearly as advanced as your swordplay. We need to fix that.”
“Will you watch and tell me again what I’m doing wrong?” Jo asked, moving to the bam where Flinn kept his bow and arrows.
“No, Jo, you’ll do fine without me,” Flinn answered, then paused. Jo turned around in the silence. Shaking his head, Flinn spoke again. “I’m going inside to work on restoring my armor.”
“I can do that this evening. It’s part of my job as a squire.” Flinn held up a hand to forestall her. “I know, I know, Jo. But there’s a lot of work to be done, and you can’t do it all.”
“…A lot of work to be done?” An odd chill ran down her back.
Flinn only nodded. “Yes,” he said curtly, his eyes glinting. “We’re going after the abelaat.”
Jo felt as though her throat was closing in on itself. “When?” was all she could say.
Flinn’s eyes were dark with compassion. “This week, depending on the weather. When I think you’ve advanced a little more and I get the armor back in order, we’ll head out. I’m tired of keeping Ariac and Fernlover here in the corral. And I want us to be able to gather firewood without looking over our shoulders every minute.
“We’re going to kill the abelaat—before it kills us.”
Chapter IV
Sir Brisbois yawned. The council meeting had dragged on for nearly three hours now. He gazed restlessly at the fourteen lords and knights who lined the small meeting room—the small prison, he thought. Brisbois closed his mind to the discussion surrounding him, his attention wandering to the stone ceiling some thirty feet above. A vague dizziness flushed through him as his eyes traced the intricately carved bosses and the pale murals on the ceiling. Brisbois’ eyes shifted to the huge tapestries that hung from three of the walls. Then his gaze turned toward the fourth wall, which held arching windows filled with leaded glass. He had watched the early winter sun set almost an hour ago through those windows. The brass lanterns throughout the room had magically lit at sunset, their blue-white glow casting harsh shadows across the people’s faces. Brisbois squinted. He had drunk too much last night.
He sat in an unupholstered, ornately carved chair that was distinctly uncomfortable for his angular, lanky frame. Before him was a U-shaped table, its top so perfectly joined that the seams were invisible to all but a master carpenter. Excepting me, of course, Brisbois thought wryl
y. If I sit here any longer, I’ll have every dust mote in this room catalogued. Beneath his feet stretched a green marble floor lined with gold. It was beautiful and cold and practical—just like the baroness herself, Brisbois mused.
Brisbois stared at the young matriarch, sitting at the center of the table. She was as tall as many of the men there, Baroness Arteris Penhaligon. Her blue and silver raiment set off her chestnut hair and eyes. To many of the older knights, she was the youthful image of her father, Baron Arturus Penhaligon. They revered her because the likeness was not simply physical; honor ran deep in the daughter of the baron. Other courtiers though—mostly younger knights who had never met the old baron—murmured against giving allegiance to a woman. She didn’t even have a husband, they argued. She should provide not only an heir but a husband as well—a proper lord to rule. Brisbois chuckled inwardly; his age placed him among the baroness’ supporters, but his views placed him among her adversaries.
Baroness Penhaligon continued to drone on about lifting the peasantry’s tax burden, and Brisbois, a leer coming to his lips, let his thoughts slip back to the maid he had cornered last night. He closed his ears to the discussion surrounding him.
“…Sir Brisbois? Would you be willing?” The baroness’ voice broke through Brisbois’ reverie. Her brown eyes, hard as agates, bored into him. He was sure she had called upon him deliberately, and his dislike for the daughter of Arturus Penhaligon deepened. She’s got her father’s eyes, he thought waspishly. I remember the old man looking at me in just the same way.
Sir Brisbois hurried to his feet. He bowed toward Arteris. “Of course, Your Ladyship. I should be delighted to handle the matter for you,” Brisbois said smoothly. He held one hand on the silky blue tunic that covered his chain mail and used the other to hold back the ceremonial sword hanging at his side.
“Wonderful,” was Arteris’ sour reply. “Who will you appoint to the committee?” she added.
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