“Well, my friends,” the warrior said, “it’s time to make some decisions. I’ve promised to take Dayin to Karleah Kunzay to see if she would like to take him on as an apprentice. That errand will delay my return to the Castle of the Three Suns by no more than half a day, so to Karleah’s I’m headed.”
“When?” Braddoc asked.
“The day after tomorrow,” Flinn replied readily. “The animals—not to mention the riders—have been through much the last two days. We need to rest, but for one day only.”
“Will Ariac be fully recovered, do you think?” Jo asked. Her hands were clasped before her and she seemed calm, but Flinn saw that her knuckles were turning white.
“Yes, I think so. There are easier paths to follow to the west, and there won’t be a blizzard and an entire orc tribe trailing us. At least, I hope not,” Flinn added wryly. “It will probably take a day and a half to get to Karleah’s, but after that I head straight to the Castle of the Three Suns.” He took a deep breath.
“Between now and then, Jo, you need to make a decision,” he continued. “Do you want to petition the council for squiredom on your own—or do you want to stand at my side while I petition for reinstatement as a knight? You should know that I think your skills have improved enough that they would accept you as a squire. Furthermore—” he looked at the young woman keenly, and she grew nervous under his gaze “—I think you do have the dedication and commitment necessary to become a knight, even without me.”
“Oh, Flinn,” Jo cried softly. Her gray eyes were luminous in the light of the dying fire. The faith and devotion he saw there touched him deeply. He remembered he had once slapped her because of that shining belief. “I don’t need a day and a half to make a decision,” she said, shaking her head. “The decision I made when you first asked me that question still holds: I will be your squire no matter what. I don’t need to think on that.”
Flinn looked at her closely, trying to determine whether she knew what lay in store for them. Although she’d been a flighty girl in the past, in the last few months she had developed into a courageous young woman. He nodded toward her, then said, “That’s settled then. After we bring Dayin to Karleah’s, we go on to the castle. There I settle a score with Sir Brisbois, and then I petition the council for reinstatement as a knight. If all goes well, Jo, you and I will leave the castle as members of the Order of the Three Suns.” He smiled and Jo did the same.
“And your plans for Verdilith?” Braddoc asked, thoughtfully stroking the plait in his beard.
Flinn sat back in the chair and drew Wyrmblight onto his knees. “Once I’m a knight again, my rights as a knight will be restored. Only then will I be a match for the dragon, and only then will Wyrmblight shine in full glory. I’ll avenge the town of Bywater and my friend Baildon the Merchant. I will hunt down that wyrm and, as Thor is my witness, I will kill him.” Flinn’s teeth clenched involuntarily, and his hands tightened on the sword.
“Would you like another comrade?” Braddoc asked casually.
Flinn looked at the dwarf in surprise. “You?” he asked. “But, Braddoc, what of your mercenary duties? Don’t you have any contracts pending?”
“I disbanded the group shortly after you left, Flinn,” the dwarf said slowly.
“Why?” Flinn and Jo asked simultaneously.
“Because, like you, I wanted something better for myself. I wasn’t going to find it as a mercenary. I took up goldsmithing; the case I made for Wyrmblight was the first thing I made.” Braddoc held up his braids and smiled ruefully. “I stripped the gems from my hair clasps—not to mention my goblets, my daggers, rings, and everything else I could find—to ornament that case.”
“The case is lovely, especially now that we know what you sacrificed to make it. What made you become a goldsmith?” Jo asked politely.
Braddoc shrugged. “You might say I wanted to return to my dwarven heritage.” He turned his good eye toward Flinn. “You haven’t said whether you’d like my company.”
Flinn held out his hand. “I would be grateful, friend, if you’d join me.”
The dwarf extended his hand, too, and the two men clasped wrists. Braddoc nodded and said, “It’ll be good to be on the trail again with you, Fain Flinn.” He stood and looked down at the sleeping Dayin. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, the boy’s got a good idea. I’m off to bed. Good night.” Braddoc picked up Dayin and carried him from the room. Just before entering the kitchen, Braddoc flashed Flinn a thoughtful look. The warrior looked away.
Jo quietly looked at the fire for a few moments, then turned to Flinn. “I had best be going to bed, too.” She made as if to stand, but Flinn caught her arm. She settled back in her seat.
Flinn looked at Jo, taking in the curve of her neatly braided hair and her high, intelligent brow beneath. He noted her firm chin, sensitive lips, and compassionate eyes. He touched her hand.
“Stay and talk awhile?” he asked quietly. He’d never actually asked her to converse with him before, and for a moment he wondered if she would misinterpret his desire.
“Certainly,” Jo said with alacrity. “What would you like to talk about?” Her eyes watched him intently.
“Tell me what you think will happen when we reach the castle,” he suggested.
Jo smiled. “That’s easy. I know what will happen. You will present your case, exposing the lies of your accusers, and not one person there will vote against you. Everyone will know that you were unjustly accused and that you deserve to become a knight again. Your knighthood will be reinstated.”
Flinn looked at her, baffled at how she could have so much faith. “You can’t really believe that, can you? There are people who don’t think of me as you do, you know,” he added with asperity.
“Yes, I know,” Jo said, then smiled solemnly. “Your petition isn’t likely to go that smoothly. But I do know you will regain your knighthood. Have no fear.”
Flinn looked at her questioningly. “Do you have any fears, Johauna?”
She looked away for a moment, then turned back to him. Her eyes were clear and steady. “I fear that perhaps you may find it difficult adjusting to a life with people again. You’ve lived outside society for the last seven years, and been a recluse for the last three.”
“What makes you think I’ll have trouble getting used to people again?”
She shrugged. “Only that I had trouble adjusting to a life without people. You might have the same problem, but in reverse.”
“Do you miss Specularum?” Flinn asked suddenly. It had never occurred to him that Jo might be homesick.
“I did, but not anymore.”
“And you don’t think I’ll adjust as easily as you did?” Flinn asked laughingly.
“I didn’t say that,” she responded. “I only wanted you to be aware of my thoughts. My only fear is that you will think things would be the way they used to be, and then discover that they’re not. You’ll need to readjust, that’s all.”
“And is that really your only fear?” Flinn asked slowly. He leaned near her. He wanted to make sure Jo harbored no lingering doubts about becoming his squire.
The girl looked at him sharply. Her hands were tightly clasped again. “No .. . there is one other fear I have.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Flinn’s peered into her eyes. “And what is that?” He lowered his voice, too, though he didn’t know why.
Jo didn’t look away. “My last fear is that Yvaughan will plead for your forgiveness.”
Flinn’s eyebrows knit. “Why should you fear that?”
“Because I’m afraid you will forgive her, and that she will once again mean to you what she used to,” Jo said in a small, tight voice. “Because, if that happens, you won’t need me to—to love you.” The last words were spoken in a broken whisper.
Flinn reached out and took both her hands in his. He gripped them hard. “Jo, Jo,” he murmured. “My feelings for… Yvaughan died a long time ago. My forgiving her—if indeed I do forgive her—won’t cha
nge how I feel about her now.”
Jo hung her head. “I think it might.”
Flinn touched her chin and tilted her face upward, but her eyes remained averted. Flinn waited. Finally she looked back at him. Her eyes were clouded, and he couldn’t discern her emotions. He moved as if to hold her, but something held him back. “Jo, dear,” he said, unaware that the endearment slipped out, “you are right. My feelings for Yvaughan might change, but too much time and pain have passed. I will never love her again.”
Jo bit her bottom lip. Flinn felt her hands tremble within his. He could only imagine what it cost her to say her next words. “Do you… do you think you could… love me—someday?” Her voice cracked.
Flinn tightened his grip even more and smiled wistfully. “Jo, my… my feelings for you are too new for me to understand just yet. I must regain my life—my soul—before I can have anything to offer you, or anyone else.” He released one hand and permitted himself to touch her cheek. “It’s not that I’m not tempted….” He shook his head. “It’s that I’m not sure I should.”
Jo took the hand touching her cheek and turned her head so that her lips rested against his palm. She kissed the inside of his hand, and he felt her tremble. She released his hand and nearly ran across the floor to the bedroom door. “Good night, Flinn,” she called over her shoulder without looking back.
Flinn stared at the dying fire. The girl worshiped him. She had from the very beginning, that much Flinn had known. But her feelings had escalated into something much deeper, and he wondered why he hadn’t stopped it. He should never have allowed that. A glowing log shifted position in the hearth, and Flinn used the poker to push it back in place. The fire snapped and hissed in return. “Would I have quelled Jo’s feelings if I had known?” he asked himself. His gaze darkened.
Johauna Menhir had turned his life completely around. She had believed in him wholeheartedly, despite his fall from grace as a knight. She had believed him a man worthy of knighthood; she had believed him honorable and courageous and good. He smiled grimly, shaking his head. Her faith was so groundless, and yet it was her faith alone that nourished his soul.
As the midnight hours slipped slowly by and the fire died completely, Flinn realized that he couldn’t have faced his past disgrace were it not for Jo. She had inspired him to look beyond his misery and petty spite to see that he was still, at heart, a good and honorable man.
Flinn sighed, scanning the elaborate runes that chased the flat of Wyrmblight. He had regained his honor and his courage, and he touched those two shining runes of the Quadrivial. His fingers slipped slowly past to the points of faith and glory. Jo had faith in him. Jo had complete and absolute faith in him. But he needed more than that. He needed to find his own faith in himself, and he needed the faith of the people, too. Confronting those who had wronged him seven years ago and righting that wrong would restore that faith, he was sure.
He picked up Wyrmblight and pointed the tip of it toward the ceiling. He stared down at the last stained sigil and said aloud, “Slaying Verdilith will bring me the fourth point of the Quadrivial: glory.”
The warrior returned the sword to his side and looked about the room, his eyes filled with a restless hunger. “And on that day, I shall once again be a true knight.”
Chapter XII
The crystal shattered, and Verdilith roared in frustration. The shards fell to the sandy floor, adding to the layer of crystalline fragments from other abelaat stones. The dragon flicked his tail angrily. A gold-spangled crown and an emerald scepter flew against the far wall of the lair. The crown crumpled on impact, and the scepter smashed a crack in the rock wall. Verdilith snorted, green fumes roiling from his nose.
The abelaat stones had grown unpredictable in their duration, fouling the dragon’s plans. “Worthless lackeys,” Verdilith growled, his voice rattling hollowly through the lair. He scratched one scaly cheek. “These stones are flawed! They should last hours, not minutes!” He punctuated the words with a thunderous slap of his tail and the cave rumbled like a great drum. The dragon hissed. Once he had watched Flinn for an entire night and day, whispering his magic words of despair over and over and filling Flinn with impotent rage. Previously, Verdilith could use the stones to plant evil thoughts and emotions into Flinn’s mind. The dragon’s seeds of fear and self-loathing had taken root and nearly turned Flinn’s soul black. “Now I can hardly even see him!” Verdilith roared, the sound reverberating through the cavern.
The dragon looked up at the twinkling ceiling far above. If only the woman hadn’t happened by. “Who is she?” he wondered to himself. “Who is this disruptor?” The abelaat’s attack on her had been most untimely—the tiny traces of spittle remaining in her system rendered her nearly impossible to observe through the crystals. And where Flinn was, she was nearby. Since the arrival of the woman, Verdilith had gained only brief, tantalizing glimpses of his most hated enemy. Now only one unshattered crystal remained in Verdilith’s hoard.
The wyrm shifted on his bed of gold and silver. Absently, he licked the coins and gems slipping through his front claws. One claw grasped a single large amethyst and squeezed. The gem shattered and Verdilith smiled hugely. He would be able to crush diamonds in not so many more years.
The dragon let his thoughts drift away to the latest, most disturbing glimpse he had seen through the crystal: Flinn held aloft a greats word and spoke of slaying Verdilith to regain glory.
“He evaded my trap,” the dragon seethed darkly, his sibilant voice echoing over the stone. “Those stupid orcs. I’ll have my revenge on them.” Thoughts of the orcs dispersed when Verdilith remembered Flinn’s shining sword. “Wyrmblight!” Verdilith seethed, a green cloud issuing between his teeth.
Something dug unpleasantly into the dragon’s side. He shifted his bulk on the treasure hoard and pulled out a silver urn. A leer of satisfaction flashed across his spearlike teeth as he looked at the now-crumpled item. Then, flicking the scrap away, he returned to his musings. “I should have killed Flinn the first time,” he roared. The old witch’s prophecy surfaced in his mind—One of you will die when next you meet. “Yes—and that one will be Flinn.”
But he had wanted Flinn’s death to be more than merely physical—he had wanted to kill the man’s very soul. How delicious it has been to corrupt Flinn’s honor from afar rather than simply bite him in two, Verdilith thought. He smiled. And how satisfying the man’s suicide would have been. The dragon slowly licked one claw. “But revenge takes many forms.”
Verdilith looked down at his last remaining abelaat crystal. He needed more. He slid to one corner of his lair, pulling his massive bulk up before a large brazier. Reaching into a deep alcove, he pulled forth some aromatic herbs and flowers and placed them in the brass basin. Then he raked his claws along the rugged cave wall, sending a shower of sparks down onto the herbs. In moments, a fire flared to life. The sweetly scented smoke rose to the dragon’s vapor-scored nostrils, soothing his senses. Drawing a deep breath, the dragon began to speak, the sounds rumbling low in his long neck. The ancient command words rolled out into the smoke and mingled with it.
The miasma above the brazier began to thicken and swirl. Strange, bright colors glimmered through a veil of misty ash, like lightning bolts dancing behind summer storm clouds. But at last the colors coalesced, and the smoke took on the vague shape of a human’s face.
“Your bidding is all, Master,” came a disembodied voice as indistinct as the face in the smoke.
“Bring me more abelaat crystals,” the dragon rumbled. “Good ones this time. Make them if you must.”
“Is that all, Great One?” the voice droned.
“No!” The single word was nearly a roar, sharply contrasting to the servant’s voice. “Have you done the penance I set for you?”
A brief silence hung in the air, then the words “No, I have not.”
“Do so!” Verdilith hissed. “Do not try my patience!”
“Yes, Master,” came the barely audible reply. T
he image wavered and disappear. Another shadowy face formed in the smoke, as indistinct as the first. It spoke.
“I understand Flinn has regained Wyrmblight.” The words were smooth, without any detectable malice. Verdilith bared his teeth anyway.
“Yes,” the dragon hissed.
“Don’t fail in your revenge, Verdilith. Your domination of Penhaligon is critical to our plans. And, I must ask—” the speaker paused “—is that item I entrusted to you still safe?”
Verdilith smiled uneasily and said, “Yes. It is where you left it.” His eyes wandered over to the one-foot—square box resting in a corner of his cave. It was a simple box, iron reinforced with steel. Not a single gem or rune graced it. Even the lock was inauspicious—a simple clasp. Its looks were deceiving, however. Verdilith had spent more than a month trying to open the box, but to no avail. The clasp simply would not be undone, despite the dragon’s best magical and physical efforts. And neither would the box break. Verdilith had carried the box to the loftiest height he could climb and then dropped it on the rocky Wulfholdes far below. A tiny, one-inch scratch was his reward.
“Good,” the voice replied. “When you are finished with your business with Flinn and I have things settled here, I will take the box from you. Do you need anything?”
“Only the abelaat crystals, but the other one is taking care of those.” Verdilith needn’t have bothered with his response, for the swirling image had dissolved into simple smoke. The dragon turned away and hissed in annoyance. He lumbered over to the precious box and picked it up.
It fit easily into Verdilith’s palm and was inexplicably heavy. Nothing rattled inside. He tried the lock again, and as usual it wouldn’t budge. The dragon put the box down and returned to his bed.
“Vengeance,” the dragon rumbled, a green cloud swirling like a dark halo about his head. “First, death to Flinn, then to the orcs… and then to you, my fine friend.”
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