“To keep my word to Baildon and avenge Bywater, I must see if I can locate my sword before I do anything else,” Flinn said slowly. His moustache twitched a little, and he leaned against Ariac as he looked at Jo and Dayin. “I lost Wyrmblight deliberately—I won’t tell you why—in a game of bones to a dwarf. His name is Braddoc Briarblood, and a finer man I never knew. He lives somewhere north of Bywater and to the west of the Castellan River.”
“Somewhere? Don’t you know where he lives?” Jo asked. “No. I’ve never visited his home. You see,” the warrior hesitated, “we were mercenaries together for a while before I began trapping.” Flinn shrugged. “It was a living.”
“You lost Wyrmblight—the most fabulous sword in history—to a mercenary?” Jo’s voice rose. “Of all the—! What makes you think this—this paid raider still has Wyrmblight?”
Flinn shook his head. “I don’t think he has it. In fact, I’m sure he doesn’t. But I’ve got to find Braddoc to see if he knows where the sword is. The dwarf is notoriously well informed. He should also know the news of the castle—why the order hasn’t killed or banished Verdilith, who Yvaughan married, and whether she had her baby like Brisbois said.” Jo stiffened. “So we’re going to run around the Wulfholdes in the middle of winter until we find this dwarf?” she asked sarcastically.
“Yes, we are. I know how to find his place, and it’s not that far out of our way,” he answered, growling slightly. “We head north along the Castellan, then turn west at a rock formation called the Broken Arch. That’ll bring us to Braddoc’s and head us back toward the castle.”
“What about Karleah?” Dayin asked quietly. Jo and Flinn glanced questioningly toward him.
“Karleah?” Jo asked.
“You said Karleah was northeast of the castle,” the child said to Flinn. “Couldn’t we stop to see Karleah on the way to the castle?”
“It’s a possibility I considered, but the decision’s Jo’s,” Flinn said heavily, then looked at Jo. “I know how eager you are to get to the castle, Jo.”
“Aren’t you eager, too?” she retorted.
Flinn cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve waited seven years; I can wait another few days.” He put his hand on Jo’s shoulder. “Jo, we can head straight for the castle if you want. I know time is precious to the young. I only wanted to go to Braddoc’s so I can find my sword, because I won’t be able to defeat Verdilith without Wyrmblight.” The warrior shook his head. “And if there’s trouble at the castle… if Brisbois and his cohorts are waiting for me, as they likely will be, I’d feel better with Wyrmblight in my hands. That’s assuming I can retrieve it between Braddoc’s and the castle, of course.” Jo paused to consider the options. “You still think Karleah might show us how to use the abelaat stones to see past events?”
“Yes, I do,” Flinn nodded.
“Then, let’s do it,” Jo said agreeably. “Braddoc’s first, crazy Karleah’s second, and the castle’s third. If we can use the crystals at the council, we’ll be sworn in as knight and squire that much quicker.” Jo smiled wistfully at the warrior and the boy.
“Good girl,” Flinn said briskly. “Mount up! I want to be north of the river before we set up camp.”
* * *
Nightfall found them north of the Castellan. They had located the wide river’s shallow ford just before the Castellan branched off into the upper Castellan and the Highreach. Flinn had not traversed the Wulfholde Hills in a long while, and he felt uneasy. The Wulfholdes were a rugged, treacherous range, home to Ogres, bugbears, orcs, and other humanoids. The Order of the Three Suns had often tested its mettle in these hills. Flinn set the boy the task of rubbing down and feeding the animals, while he and Jo set up the tarpaulin and the rest of camp. He scanned the sky nervously.
“Is something wrong, Flinn?” the girl asked.
“Something feels wrong,” he answered. “Don’t start a fire just yet. I want to check around a little before true night falls.”
She nodded, and Flinn slipped away from camp. His sword drawn, he began a systematic search of the half-mile or so of surrounding hillside. Their position by the riverside allowed the water to protect their backs. Few creatures would cross the river before morning, and by then they would have already broken camp. The hills surrounding him now were another matter. They seemed too quiet, as if something was on the march and silencing the lands as it went. Flinn cursed himself for not asking Baildon about activity north of By water. As a rule, none of the humanoid tribes moved in winter, for the Wulfholdes were too wild and treacherous even for them. Still, a small band of orc hunters or scouts might be on the move.
The warrior scanned the terrain as well as he could in the fast fading light. The wind blew from the south and the air was moist. They’d have snow on the morrow. He frowned. The Wulfholdes were no place to get caught in a blizzard. He could only hope he was overestimating the strength of the coming storm. At last, satisfied that nothing imminently threatened their camp, Flinn returned to the river.
“Did you see anything?” Jo asked, handing Flinn a bit of smoked pork on bread. She added by way of explaining the cold meal, “I figured we weren’t having a fire.” She and Dayin turned to their own food.
“Thanks,” Flinn said. “No, I didn’t see anything. Something still doesn’t feel right, though maybe it’s the weather. We’re in for a storm tomorrow. I think we’d best break camp before first fight,” Flinn added, wolfing his food. “You two turn in after you’re finished eating. I’m going to stand watch for a while.”
“Wake me at midnight for the next watch,” Jo said. She and Dayin disappeared into the tiny tent.
“If it’s necessary,” Flinn called after them. He made a tour of the campsite one more time while he finished his meal. Then he checked Ariac, Fernlover, and Jo’s hone. She had named the roan gelding Carsig, though why she wouldn’t say.
Flinn stood watch for the next several hours, restlessly roaming the camp’s perimeter. His thoughts were occupied by the bloody massacre of Bywater. The carnage there had forcibly reminded Flinn of the unspeakable evil of the dragon. Somehow he’d forgotten that evil in the last seven years. Verdilith was a threat to the entire region, and Flinn had to address that threat. At the least he should discover why the order hadn’t hunted the dragon. By rights, the Order of the Three Suns was supposed to protect all the citizens of this region. That right had been stripped of Flinn upon his dismissal as a knight. He had been strictly forbidden to act in any manner as a knight for fear his actions would mock the sanctity of the order. If my petition to be reinstated is denied, he thought, perhaps they will at least let me help track Verdilith. I know Verdilith’s mind better than anyone else.
At midnight he checked the perimeter one last time, but only a few wolves were moving in the hills. Flinn quietly entered the tent. He decided against sending Jo out on watch.
Flinn crawled to one side of the tent, Jo to the other, and Dayin took the middle. Flinn had instructed the child to sleep between the two adults. The warrior slid between the furs and knew immediately that it wasn’t the boy’s slim form next to him.
“Dayin? Dayin?” Flinn whispered, his voice cracking.
The child responded only with rhythmic breathing. Jo, however, said sleepily, “The boy’s asleep, Flinn, and so was I until you came in.”
“What are you doing in the middle?” Flinn asked, trying to relax his suddenly tense muscles.
“I told Dayin I was often cold in the morning, and he offered to trade places with me. I accepted. Am I supposed to stand watch now?”
“No, you don’t have to. Things are quiet out there.” Flinn shifted his position, wondering why he wasn’t comfortable.
“Good,” the young woman murmured. Then she rolled over, her head unexpectedly finding the hollow of his shoulder and her arm resting on his chest. He wondered if she could feel the rapid beating of his heart through all the clothing he wore. Flinn found himself putting his arms around her.
“Tell me about your days
as a mercenary, Flinn. There aren’t any tales about that,” Jo mumbled sleepily, her breath warming his body.
“There’s not much to tell, really,” he said quietly. Lost in thought, he began rubbing his thumb back and forth where it rested on Jo’s arm. “I was dismissed from the castle with literally only the clothes on my back. I had no money, and only a little food. I quickly became impoverished. There’s not much call for a former knight.”
“Save as a sell-sword,” Jo added. One of her fingers kept curling and uncurling a leather thong on his shirt.
“Exactly,” Flinn sighed. “I met Braddoc in a tavern in Rifllian, over by the Radlebb Woods. We… we hit it off, though not immediately. He didn’t care about my fall as a knight, though he’d certainly heard all about it.” Flinn’s voice grew bitter. The months following his dismissal from the order had been the hardest ones of all to live through. Every town, every village tavern, had heard the tale of his supposed disgrace, and many people greeted him with jeers and even rotten fish or vegetables. His humiliation had been complete by the time he reached the town of Rifllian.
“Go on,” whispered Jo. Flinn wondered if the young woman was falling asleep, though he detected a certain tenseness in her back.
“I entered the Flickertail Inn that night in a foul mood.” Flinn gave a snort. “I was spoiling for a fight, and Braddoc and his cronies knew it. They knew who I was, of course, and that only made them all the more eager. Anyway, I insulted them—they were obviously mercenaries by the looks of them. I told them that even I wouldn’t stoop so low as to take up their profession.” The last words rolled out bitterly.
In the darkness he felt Jo turn to look at him, but the tent was swathed in blackness and he couldn’t see her eyes. She kept her hand on his chest, and Flinn found himself wanting to touch it. Biting his lip, he took hold of her hand.
“Go on,” Jo whispered.
“Braddoc and the others beat me up. Worse thrashing I’d ever had, too,” Flinn added. “But after it was over, Braddoc reached down and gave me a hand standing up. He offered to buy me a meal and a mug of ale, and I accepted. I was starving, and I think he knew that. Over our food he told me about himself and why he had joined the others. He asked me to join him, and I did. That was the beginning of my days as a mercenary.”
Jo snuggled against his chest again, sleep overtaking her. “Why’d Braddoc become a sell-sword?” she mumbled.
Flinn stroked her hair and said, “Another time, Jo. It’s time to sleep.”
Her only response was light breathing.
* * *
Flinn had always had the innate ability to awaken whenever he chose, be it dawn, the middle of the night, or a half hour after closing his eyes. He opened his eyes now at early dawn. The shelter was still dark with night, but the time had come to break camp. Slowly he eased his way out of the furs to give Jo and Dayin a few more precious moments of sleep. He left the shelter and walked about, stretching his muscles.
Dawn approached slowly; darkness still lay heavily on the valley by the river and the surrounding Wulfholdes. The warrior arched his back, feeling the bones slip into place. The hills were silent—strangely silent. Flinn scanned the land, west, south, east, and north.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose.
More than a dozen shapes—each darker than the hills surrounding them—were moving toward the encampment. Flinn’s senses newly aroused, he heard the rustle and clink of chain mail on leather as the shapes shifted position. They were slowly advancing, though their movements were still cautious. Good, thought Flinn. They aren’t sure of us. We can still escape this situation. He was acutely conscious of the ford behind him, and he cursed himself for not having pushed farther inland last night. Whatever was coming at him wanted to cross the Castellan, and this was the only ford for miles around.
The slowly dawning sunlight glinted off metal axes and spearheads. The shapes trudged nearer, their faces forming in the darkness. Their teeth jutted forward from protruding lower jaws, and their snouts were pushed back and flattened.
Flinn slowly reached out and pulled back the tent flap. “Break camp—now!”
Chapter IX
A war-drum sounded from a distance, its single beat reverberating through the early morning air. Its tone left no doubt that a tribe approached from the north, on the near side of the river. The drum sounded a second time, then a third. Each successive beat was louder than the one before, and the third beat was answered by a single piercing tone from a horn to the northwest. Two factions will soon join at the ford, thought Flinn. Jo and Dayin scrambled out of the tent and joined Flinn where he stood. All three gazed northward at the Wulfholdes.
“Orcs!” Flinn hissed, a shiver passing through him. “From the sounds of the drums, two tribes are on the move!” He jerked his thumb behind him and added, “Jo, get the animals ready.” As he and Dayin began tearing down the tent, Flinn kept a sharp eye to the north. If the orcs attacked, he’d give the command to mount up and race back to Bywater. Even without saddles and bridles, Flinn and his friends should still be able to escape with the griffon, the horse, and the mule. He considered leaving behind the shelter and the other supplies and fleeing the moment Johauna had the animals ready, but the orcs’ march seemed unnatural. Why haven’t they attacked? Flinn asked himself anxiously. Breaking camp gave him an excuse to find that answer.
Dawn was breaking, but the overcast sky still revealed little light. Anxiously Flinn eyed the orcs surrounding them to the north and the river that lay to the south. The orcs were agitated. One orc warrior pointed his spear toward the camp. Another orc held up a staff tipped with a tattered red rag. “Banner of the Rooster,” Flinn muttered. The orc with the Rooster staff hit the gesturing orc and shouted something. The scant Orcish he knew told him the orcs were bickering over what to do. “Why are they hesitating?” Flinn wondered aloud. “They could easily overrun us.” He turned and quickly began loading Fernlover. Then Flinn made out the words “…only south of, not north.” The orc clearly spoke of the Castellan, but why? Were they awed by the sight of humans entering the Wulfholdes in winter? Did their orders forbid a fight north of the river? If so, why?
In a sudden flash of intuition, Flinn decided not to break for the ford and return to Bywater. He had already failed to avert the dragon attack—he would not bring two tribes of orcs down upon the beleaguered folk of Bywater. Besides, if Flinn, Jo, and Dayin continued south, the orcs would only dog their heels. By traveling north, they might elude the orcs in the wild roughness of the Wulfholdes. If they kept the Castellan to their right, the river could guard their flank from the tribe to the east. The only orcs that could harry them would be those from the northwest—the Rooster’s tribe. “One orc tribe is better than two,” Flinn observed as he shifted a bundle on Fernlover’s back, “Especially if the northeastern tribe is Greasetongue’s.” They would get no quarter if they met up with Greasetongue.
Flinn tied the last knot and secured the tent on Fernlover’s back. He’d thought again about leaving behind their supplies and racing away to elude the orcs, perhaps to the west. But he had no clue as to what might be coming from that direction. Better to face the known threat than the unknown, he thought. He grimaced. Even if we manage to evade the scouts here at the river and those in the surrounding hills, we’re likely to die in the Wulfholdes, he thought. The hills are treacherous enough at any time of the year, and doubly so during the cruel winter months. “I was stupid to bring Jo and the boy,” Flinn muttered savagely to himself.
Flinn tightened Ariac’s girth strap, hoping they could get moving before the orcs’ argument ended. But then the orcs bunched together and began to move again. Are they clearing a route for us to leave—or preparing a mass attack? Flinn asked himself caustically.
Another drumbeat echoed through the hills, coming from farther west than had the first drum sounds. This drum was answered from the east by three beats in quick succession. Hastily Flinn mounted up.
“Follow me w
ithout fail!” he hissed, his eyes flashing at Jo and Dayin. “Don’t show any fear, and whatever you do, don’t break from my side!” Flinn dug his heels into Ariac’s flanks, and the griffon bolted northward. Jo and Dayin followed immediately, though Flinn fancied Jo looked surprised by their heading.
These creatures respect offense more than defense, Flinn thought as he and Jo and the boy galloped past the orc scouts. A number of them brandished their spears, snarling and gesturing to attack, but the leader threatened them with his staff. The orcs cowered and lowered their weapons. Why aren’t they attacking us? Flinn couldn’t fathom the answer, and he wondered how long the creatures would hold off.
Flinn led Jo and Dayin north along the Castellan, proceeding as quickly as the mounts could over the rocky ground. The river guarded their right flank. Nothing could attack them from that direction without their knowledge. The river was wide and running fast, and its banks—relatively clear of snow—were smooth enough for Flinn, Jo, and Dayin to make good time. To the west, a perimeter guard of Rooster’s orcs kept a keen eye upon them, dispatching runners to stay abreast of them and watch their maneuvers.
“Why are orcs on the move in winter?” Jo called out as she spurred her horse next to Ariac. “Is war afoot?”
Flinn shook his head. “I’m not sure. There’re two tribes, one to the north and west of us and another to the east across the Castellan. If they are massing for war, maybe they’re gathering at the river so they have room to fight.”
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