D&D - Mystara - Penhaligon Trilogy 02

by The Dragon's Tomb - Heinrich, D. J (v1. 1)

  Show no hurry, she thought. Show no grief. Flinn died in glory; to show your pain is to mock his death. Jo’s face set in rigid lines, and her teeth clenched together involuntarily. Every step she took back to the castle meant she was that much farther from avenging Flinn’s death, and that rankled inside her. But, she thought, I have a duty to perform.

  Just as they reached the halfway point of the long, narrow road that wound up to the castle, the knight and his guards met up with Jos party. Jo pulled Carsig to a stop. Behind her, Karleah, Dayin, and Braddoc halted their mounts as well. Jo heard the dwarf grumble as Fernlover, the pack mule, tried his best to continue on. A tiny smile tugged at Jo s lips. The mule had had enough of wilderness travel and longed for the comfort of a stable. Jo recalled the softness of the bed she had stayed in here at the castle, and she suddenly wanted only to retire to a clean, warm room. She quashed the desire immediately and turned her attention to the knight, a man she didn’t know.

  “Greetings, Sir Knight,” Jo said courteously. “I’m Squire Menhir, and these are my companions.”

  “Well met, squire,” the knight rejoined, looking over the group. If he was perturbed at the absence of Flinn, the knight’s face did not betray him. “I’m Sir Sieguld, and I’m here to escort you to the baroness.” Sir Sieguld turned his horse around. Jo and the others fell in step behind him, and the guards brought up the rear.

  Jo approached the Castle of the Three Suns and wondered if it had changed in the short time she’d been away; so much of her life had. But the familiar white towers were still there, marking the four points of a diamond, one being the main approach to which they were headed.

  Three other towers marked the center of the outer walls, w'hich presented a formidable barricade to the world. These seven outer structures stood four stories high.

  Jo passed under the main approach and saw again the single tower that rose twice as high as the others from the center of the castle. This structure was the keep, or donjon, as Flinn had called it. Sir Sieguld continued to ride through the slate-lined courtyard leading toward the inner portion of the castle. Peasants hawking their wares gave way before the knight and his guests. Jo was reminded vividly of her first trip to the casde at Flinn’s side, but she ignored the pain that threatened to rise.

  Some of the peasants stopped and stared at the procession; a few began nudging their fellows. Others pointed fingers, and a low murmur rose in the gathering crowd. Jo silently willed the knight to move faster. Please, she thought, please don’t let them recognize me!

  Just then, a peasant with a booming voice called out, “’Oy! Ain’t that the squire of the Mighty Flinn?” Others took up the cry, and Jo found her horse surrounded, cut off from Sir Sieguld and Karleah behind her. Grimy hands grabbed at Carsig s reins to draw her attention. Jo glanced in desperation at the peasant who had given voice to the people’s thoughts. The tall, burly man swung down from his wagon and worked his way through the throng. Carsig started to fidget at the nearness of the people closing in on him, and the gelding reared halfheartedly.

  The peasant caught Carsig’s rein in a black-gloved hand and quieted the horse. His black hair was unkempt but clean, and his face and bare arm were covered with more black hair. Jo looked down at him in anger but was distracted by his flashing golden eyes. She wondered briefly if she had ever seen a man with such unusual eyes before.

  The peasant’s voice boomed throughout the courtyard, so that every man and woman could hear. “’Oy, miss! Ye are Flinn’s squire! Where be the Mighty Flinn?” he asked in mock concern. He held up his gloved hand and turned to the crowd. “Or has Flinn the Mighty fallen again?” Some of the crowd bristled at the insult, but a few of them joined the booming peasant’s laughter.

  Jo jerked Carsig s rein from the man’s hand. He tried to regain control of the gelding, but Jo kept the horse prancing. “I’ll thank you to leave me and the name of Fain Flinn alone!” she said loudly. The peasant laughed brutally and caught the beleaguered horse. Jo was about to force Carsig to rear, knocking the man away with his hooves, but a commotion just ahead stopped her.

  Someone was coming from the donjon. The crowd, protesting mildly at first, soon parted quickly and quietly for the man and his horse. Sir Sieguld stepped his mount aside, too, and at last Jo caught sight of the fully armored knight. With a stern and disciplined silence, the knight pulled his horse to a stop immediately before Jo.

  Her attention drawn from the malcontent peasant, Jo held up her hand in greeting, and the knight did the same with his gloved hand. Then Jo caught the flash of a gold pendant hanging about the man’s throat. It carried the stamp of a gyrfalcon, a large white raptor that hunted the rocky reaches of the surrounding Wulfholdes. Only then did Jo recognize Sir Lile Graybow, castellan of the Pen- haligons. Reaching up, he took off his helmet.

  The aging castellan nodded to Jo, unaware that his thinning gray hair had been ruffled by the helmet. His watery blue eyes looked over Jo’s comrades, lingered on the supplies tied to Fernlover’s back, then circled back to Jo. “Squire Menhir!” the castellan barked gruffly, loud enough so that all the courtyard could hear. “Your report!”

  Jo sat straighter on Carsig. Once, and once only, she thought. “Sir Graybow,” Jo began formally. Then, to her horror, she felt her eyes fill with tears and spill over. No! Not now! she thought wildly. Not in front of the castellan!

  Unexpectedly, Sir Graybow urged his horse forward a step. He took off his metal-and-leather glove and put his gnarled hand over Jos. She looked into the castellans eyes and saw only kindness there. She smiled bleakly, wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, and nodded at the castellan, who withdrew his hand. Jo looked away once, took a deep breath, and turned back to Sir Graybow. Her composure had returned, and she nodded again gratefully.

  “What happened, Squire Menhir?” Sir Graybow asked more quietly. The crowd of peasants literally leaned closer to hear.

  “We ... we attempted to track the dragon, and at first we failed,” Jo said coolly. “One night, Sir Flinn left our camp. He found Verdilith in the same glade where they had fought their first battle, and—” Jo stopped, unable to go on. Something felt lodged in her throat. Silently she implored the castellan.

  Sir Graybow said only, “Continue, squire.”

  Jo drew her breath. She would get no quarter from him. She suddenly realized she respected him for that. Jo nodded and said as calmly as she could, “We . . . found ... Sir Flinn the next day, barely alive. He . . . died shortly after that, and we paid our last respects according to the old tradition—by burning his body.” Jos voice sank to a whisper. The nearest peasants murmured in awe and quickly relayed the information to those behind them.

  “And Verdilith?” the castellan asked, equally calmly, though Jo had seen a flicker of emotion cross his face at her tale of Flinn’s end.

  Jo shook her head. “The dragon survived Sir Flinn’s attack, Sir Graybow. We . . . tracked the wyrm to his lair, and we confronted him inside, but. . . the dragon escaped. My companions and I are out of provisions and in need of rest.” Jo hesitated. “They thought it best to return.”

  The castellans face grew stern, and he admonished Jo, “Never be too proud to come back to the castle to report a setback; time for completing a mission will come if you are patient enough. Remember that if you wish to remain a squire in the Order of the Three Suns, Johauna Menhir.”

  Jo heard only the terrible if, Her face blanched, and she reached out to touch the castellan. “Sir Graybow,” she murmured, disregarding the peasants who leaned still closer, “what do you mean ‘if’? Am I not still a squire—?”

  Once more the castellan closed his hand over Jo’s, and she saw again the spark of kindness in his pale eyes. “Don’t worry, my dear. That’s something to be discussed later. First things first. We’ll get you settled, and then the baroness will want you to report at council. Follow me.” The castellan turned his horse around, signaled for Sir Sieguld to follow after Jo and her companions, then
moved his mare into a trot back to the donjon. The peasants parted the way immediately.

  As Jo fell into place behind Sir Graybow, a new fear entered her heart, one she’d avoided considering before. Can they really take away my status as squire? she thought miserably. With Flinn dead, I have no knight, that’s true. I guess I just assumed I’d be assigned as squire to another knight. That thought seemed suddenly repugnant to Jo. The idea of working closely with someone other than Flinn didn’t sit well with her.

  Carsig carried Jo smoothly under the gate separating the outer portion of the castle from the inner. She passed low buildings lining the perimeter of the inner wall, then the guards’ dormitories, craftsmen’s dwellings and shops, stables, and the like. She and the castellan rode on through the gigantic, rose-granite courtyard. It was even larger than the last one and it led the way to the castle proper— the donjon. Sir Graybow slowed his mare to a walk, and Jo did the same with her gelding.

  Hawkers and merchants milled about, vying for customers. Starving peasants begged for food. A shepherdess herded a small flock of sheep across the castellan’s path, and Graybow pulled up short, waiting for the last pregnant ewe to pass by. A man proudly displayed the paces of a pair of matched draft horses to a ring of interested buyers. A number of knights and their squires engaged in practice swordplay. They stopped immediately upon seeing the castellan. Several pointed and saluted, then they began gathering their things and hurrying to the large central tower.

  The donjon was eight stories high, its windows placed at equidistant intervals. Its walls of white limestone shone as if newly scrubbed. Jo looked south of the donjon at the far tower; it had been Flinn s home many years before and had been the home of his former wife before her recent death. Then, every window of the tower had been fitted with bars of black iron, and behind those bars had flitted birds of all colors and sizes. Jo noted that the bars were being removed; a man perched precariously atop a tall ladder as he removed yet another. So the tower’s been reclaimed from the birds, Jo thought. Yvaughan’s passion must not have appealed to Baroness Penhaligon. Or perhaps the baroness wanted no reminders of her mad cousin,

  Jo thought, recalling some bits of gossip she had heard the last time she had been at the castle.

  Sir Graybow led the way past the donjon and on toward one of the castle’s numerous stables. A stable girl ran up and took Carsig. Sir Graybow dismounted and gestured for Jo and the others to do the same. Jo, Dayin, and Braddoc all dismounted with alacrity, but Karleah hesitated.

  “A . . . little help, if you please,” Karleah whispered gruffly. “I’m feeling ... a bit fatigued.” Her face was ashen, and the veins of her neck stood out, pulsing wildly.

  Jo was shaken by the wizardess s weakness, and she saw the same emotion cross Dayin s face as they helped Karleah off her horse. The old mage nearly fell when her shoes touched the stable floor. “Sir Graybow,” Jo began, but the castellan had already gestured toward the guards.

  “You’ll have the same chambers as before, Squire Menhir,” Sir Graybow said. “My men will take Mistress Kun- zay to her room and call the healers at once.”

  “I need rest—not healers,” the old woman interrupted irascibly. “I don’t want any clerics prodding my bones and murmuring incantations and forcing me to drink funny- colored potions made of newt brains and what-have-you.” “Let them help, Karleah, please,” Dayin said in his most pleading voice. “Please,” he said again. Karleah nodded, relenting. A smile touched Jo’s lips; no one could refuse Dayin when he asked for something.

  The guards nodded toward the castellan and then left, one carrying the old wizardess. Dayin looked at Jo for permission to follow, and she gestured for him to do so. He flashed a quick, sweet smile at her and then ran after the guards. Braddoc stepped next to Jo’s side, carrying his bulging knapsack. The stable girl came back for Jo’s horse, and then Jo turned to the castellan.

  “Sir Graybow,” Jo began tentatively. She flexed her grip on Wyrmblight and then began again, more boldly, “Sir Graybow, if the council is still meeting, I’d prefer to make my formal report now and . . .” Jo hesitated, feeling her request was silly.

  “And?” the castellan prompted. He added, “To gain what you want in life, you must learn to ask for it, squire.”

  Jo took heart at the gentle reminder to stick up for herself. “. . . and—and to find out what’s to become of me now that—” Jo hesitated once more “—now that I have no knight to sponsor me.”

  Sir Graybow nodded. “Perhaps it is best to make your report now, Squire Menhir. The council is still gathered. I had thought to let you rest overnight and give your report in the morning, but perhaps you have the right of it. Come with me.” The castellan turned and began striding across the courtyard.

  Jo glanced quickly at Braddoc, who nodded his intentions to follow her. Jo caught up to the castellan and matched her steps to his. Sir Graybow frowned and said beneath his breath, “Four paces behind and to the left, squire. I’m a knight, remember. And for goodness’s sake, straighten your tunic.”

  Johauna winced at the irritation she heard in his voice and felt frightened all of a sudden. I’ve forgotten what little etiquette Flinn taught me! she thought to herself as she quickly shifted her golden tunic into place. Jo took her position behind the castellan and marched onward.

  They entered one of the many side doors to the main castle, and Jo was freshly impressed with the Castle of the Three Suns. She’d forgotten how lovely the place was, with its soaring stone pillars, patterned granite floors, and magnificent tapestries. Light shone everywhere from all the magical lanterns.

  In silence the castellan led the squire and the dwarf through numerous hallways, up several flights of stairs, and finally to a pair of ornately carved, closed doors. Jo remembered those tall, distinctive doors, for they were the doors that led to the “small” meeting room to which Flinn, Jo, and the council members had retired to discuss Sir Brisbois s punishment after Verdilith had fled the great hall. Behind those doors, too, had been the scene of Baroness Penhaligon s formal declaration of Flinn s reinstatement as a knight in the Order of the Three Suns and Jo s own instatement as a squire.

  “This is your last chance, Squire Menhir,” Sir Graybow stated, one hand on the gilt, curved doorknob. He eyed Jo quizzically, but with compassion.

  Jo shook her head. She returned the castellan s look, then said slowly, “I must make a report, Sir Graybow; I realize that. I would prefer to—to discuss Flinn s death tonight, so that I may seek Verdilith and win vengeance that much quicker”

  The old warrior arched one gray eyebrow, and Jo was poignantly reminded of Flinn. Had he picked up the habit from his castellan? “As you wish, Squire Menhir,” Sir Graybow said formally, then opened the door.

  The castellan, Jo, and Braddoc stepped into the meeting room. As one, the council members stopped speaking and turned to stare at the intruders. Jo held her breath. The sun had begun to set on the surrounding Wulfholdes, and now sunlight streamed through the four arching windows of leaded glass. Strands of golden light fluctuated in the room, covering everything with a gilt patina.

  Enchanted, Jo stepped forward. This was the room that had witnessed Flinn’s greatest triumph—her greatest triumph, too. Once again, she saw the intricately carved stone ceiling thirty feet above, the pale murals almost obliterated with age, the huge tapestries depicting numerous battles in Penhaligon s history. . . . But, most of all, she stared at the magnificent windows lining one wall, opening out to the setting sun. One by one, the brass lanterns throughout the room were magically lighting in response to the growing darkness.

  Fourteen knights and nobles were seated around an elaborately carved, U-shaped table. Sir Graybow moved to stand before the person seated at the center of the table. She was dressed in blue and silver, and, as she stood, a silver coronet shone in her chestnut hair. Baroness Arteris Penhaligon inclined her head toward the castellan and said regally, “Sir Graybow, I see you have returned.” The other council
members fixed their gaze on Jo and Braddoc.

  Sir Graybow bowed and said with respect, “Yes, Your Ladyship. I also bring with me Squire Menhir and Braddoc Briarblood. The squire, you may recall—”

  “I am aware of who Squire Menhir is,” Baroness Penhaligon interrupted. “Pray, take your seat, Sir Graybow” She gestured to the empty chair at her left, then continued, “Am I to understand, Squire Menhir, that you are here to make your report?” Jo felt the woman’s agate- brown eyes bore into her.

  Sir Graybow gave Jo a litde push before walking toward his seat at the table. Jo hesitated a moment longer, then strode farther into the room. She stood before the U- shaped table, directly across from Baroness Penhaligon. The castellan gave her a little nod of approval. Braddoc sauntered over to a chair standing against a wall, carried it to a spot behind Jos back, and sat down. Jo was momentarily irritated by the dwarfs cavalier attitude, for etiquette demanded that he not seat himself until instructed to do so, but she quelled the thought. She had more important things to attend to.

  Baroness Penhaligon nodded coolly to Jo and then sat down. Jo bowed slightly in return and said, as formally as she could, “Baroness Penhaligon, members of the council, I come bearing tidings of Sir Fain Flinn.”

  The council members other than the baroness and Sir Graybow murmured to each other, and Jo waited for them to be silent. An older woman spoke up—Madam Francys Astwood—a friend of Lord Maldrake’s. She had been covertly hostile to Flinn, and even unrepentant when she learned that Maldrake was Verdilith in human form. “Are we to take it that some tragedy has befallen the good knight?” Madam Astwood asked in mock worry.

  Jo gritted her teeth. Remember the lessons in diplomacy Flinn taught you! she scolded herself. Jo forced herself to nod cordially in the woman’s direction. “Yes, a great tragedy for Penhaligon,” she said. “We have lost the greatest knight the Order of the Three Suns has ever known.” Jo stopped, suddenly aware that absolute silence had befallen the room. “Er, at least in my humble opinion, madam,” she said, hoping to cover her diplomatic gaffe.