Madam Astwood smiled icily. “There are, of course, those who believe as you do, miss—er, Squire Menhir,” the lady said smoothly. “Others, of course, believe differently.” The woman raised her pale eyebrows, flecked with gray. Jo felt suddenly insulted. She bristled.
Baroness Penhaligon interrupted before Jo could make her retort. “Pray continue with your report, Squire Menhir. Sir Flinn is a beloved member of our order—” the baroness glared in Madam Astwood s direction “—despite his unwarranted fall from grace. We would know what has become of him.”
Jo related her tale, picking up when she, Flinn, and their companions had left the Castle of the Three Suns only a few weeks earlier. Jo told the council of their search for signs of Verdilith s passing in the Wulfholde Hills northeast of the castle, and how fruitless that search had been. She told the council, too, of Flinn s departure in the middle of the night to confront Verdilith single-handedly. He did this, Jo told them, so that Karleah Kunzay s prophecy of doom would not come to pass for any but himself.
Standing in that room, bathed by the light of the magical lanterns, Jos eyes misted over with tears as she told them of the final day of Flinn s life. Her storytelling instincts took over, and Jo s imagination colored her recounting.
“And Fain Flinn struck one last, final blow with his mighty blade, Wyrmblight,” Jo said softly, her words echoing off the walls in the silent hall. “Not even Verdilith, the great green, could recover from that blow. He turned tail and fled, but so grievous were his injuries—so badly had Flinn harmed the malevolent wyrm—that Verdilith could not fly. Instead, the dragon crashed through the barren winter undergrowth , He left a trail of blood and broken branches that the greenest hunter could follow.
“But it was not such a hunter who followed that trail— it was Fain Flinn, Flinn the Mighty. Grievous, too, were his wounds, but he did not hesitate in his duty. He was a knight in the Order of the Three Suns; he had sworn to kill the dragon who menaced Penhaligon,” Jo swallowed abruptly, disregarding the tear that escaped her eye.
“And so Flinn the Mighty took up Wyrmblight and stumbled after the dragon, determined to slay the wyrm. But at the body of his faithful griffon, Ariac, Flinn fell to one knee. He said good-bye to the crippled bird-lion, and perhaps he thanked him, too, for trying to save his life. We will never know.
“Flinn followed the dragon’s path of blood, his own adding to the trail. He fell, but would not relent,” Jo paused and slowly looked at each council member one by one. All were engrossed and saddened at the tale. Even Madam Astwood look chagrined. “He would not relent,” Jo repeated, “but instead dragged himself through the trampled snow and mud. He would not fail, he told himself, he would not fail.”
Jo’s throat constricted, and she looked down at the sword she held in her hands. She looked back at the council and fixed her gaze on the castellan, warming at the empathy she sensed in him. “We found him late that day,” she said simply, “and he was still alive, though a lesser man would have surely died.” Jo s hands clenched on Wyrmblight. “He seemed to have clung to life until we could reach him, for shortly after I arrived, he died—” Jo choked on the words before she could embarrass either Flinn or herself by saying “in my arms.”
The council members remained silent while Jo collected herself. Then Madam Astwood spoke up, her tone laced with irony. “How touching,” she said cattily. “It’s a shame the man did not defeat the dragon, for he would surely have attained the fourth point of the Quadrivial then. That was always Flinn’s goal. What a pity he didn’t succeed. But, then, so few knights do really attain all points of the Quadrivial. Such knights are really quite rare.” The woman’s statement set Jo’s teeth on edge, and something close to hatred rose in her breast. She struggled to find a fitting retort.
A hand upon her arm made Jo stop and look down. Braddoc stood beside her, his one good eye fixed on her.
He pursed his lips, and Jo nodded to him. Braddoc took Wyrmblight from Jo’s hands and stalked over to Baroness Penhaligon. Sir Graybow, on her left, remained calm, but the knight on her right rose and drew his sword. Braddoc paused momentarily, grunted in the man’s direction, then dropped the sword on the table in front of Arteris. Jo came to stand by the dwarf.
“There,” Braddoc said and pointed at the blade. “There’s all the proof you need that Fain Flinn attained the Quadrivial ” The council members gathered near and peered at the silver-white sword.
Bit by bit, the four sigils on the flat of the blade began to glow. The runes depicting Honor, Courage, Faith, and Glory released a warm, white light. Then the four spots of light merged and grew brighter still, forcing Jo and the others to squint to see them.
Glory was attained, whispered the blade to Jo. By the stunned look on Sir Graybow s face, and others’ too, Jo realized the sword had spoken to everyone. The Quadrivial was attained, Wyrmblight whispered.
Suddenly the glow from the sigils diminished one by one, until only Glory was left alight. Then it, too, faded into the sword. Wyrmblight lay on the table, once more simply a sword of renown.
“But, Karleah, I don’t understand!” Dayin protested. The old wizardess was heedless, pacing their chambers, pulling open drawers and rifling through them. Dayin raised his voice. “We just got here! Why do we have to leave?”
“I told you, child,” Karleah snapped, “its just getting worse and worse. My powers have diminished even faster since we arrived. I need my safe valley, my books and things if I’m ever going to find out why. I’ve been jittery ever since we left the dragon’s lair, and I just don’t feel safe here in the castle. Ah ha!” Karleah pulled out a piece of paper, then a quill and a pot of ink from a drawer. She hurried to the table and sat down, spreading the paper before her.
“What are you doing, Karleah?” Dayin asked nervously. He had little tolerance for this agitation from Karleah. It was the same odd mood that had possessed his father those many years ago—had possessed him in those weeks before he’d abandoned Dayin to the harsh wilderness. Now Karleah, whom he loved and trusted more than anyone, was acting the same.
“I’m writing Jo a note,” Karleah began, dipping the quill into the ink. She was poised as if to write, but paused and looked at Dayin. “Does she know how to read, do you suppose? Well, no matter—someone will read it to her, if necessary.” The ancient crone scribbled away in a sprawling hand, dipping frequently into the black ink. Dayin huddled near, peering over Karleah’s thin shoulder.
Johauna—
I must return to my valley immediately, and I am taking Dayin with me. Do not worry—we are both well. We unit work on the boy’s training as a mage, and perhaps I can discover a thing or two on my own.
You see, more than merely my teleportation spell failed us at the dragon’s lair. My light spell did, too, and my wind funnel. Further, my staff’s magic has begun to fade. I know these are not mere coincidence, and I intend to discover what—or who—is draining my magic.
We’ll be in touch. Do not worry.
Yours, Karleah Kunzay
“What do you mean, ‘don’t worry’? What’s there to worry about, Karleah? Karleah?” Dayin tugged on the wizardess’s arm. His blue eyes were wide with fright. “Are we ever going to see Jo and Braddoc again?”
The old woman turned to the boy and looked at him with something akin to exasperation. Then she smiled reluctantly and drew Dayin into her arms. The boy closed his eyes in relief. All will be well soon, he thought. Karleah will take care of me.
“Always, child,” the old woman murmured. Dayin smiled. Karleah had read his mind! It pleased him when she did so, for he knew she did so only with those whom she trusted. Karleah gave him one last squeeze, then said briskly, “Come. It’s time we were off.”
“Are you sure you’re well enough?” Dayin asked anxiously.
The old woman blinked her dark eyes rapidly. “I feel fine enough, aside from my magic,” she said, then shrugged her shoulders. “I want to leave now.”
“What will we d
o about food and supplies?” Dayin sensibly asked.
“We’ll take one tent and some of the gear; I imagine the equipment’s still in the stables, along with the horse that Graybow lent me, and Braddoc’s pony for you,” Karleah answered, gathering up the few personal belongings they’d brought with them to the chambers. “We’ll stop at the kitchen on the way out. I’ll get some foodstuffs—have no fear.”
“Why should I fear, Karleah?” the boy asked innocently.
Karleah pulled up short and looked at Dayin. She ruffled his shaggy blond hair and said softly, “Because something happened in the dragon’s lair, Dayin. Something happened to my powers. It’s more than the loss of a few simple spells; it’s a loss of much of my inner magic.” Karleah cocked her head to one side and added, “I’ve even lost the magic that lets me change into a wolf.”
Dayin shook his head, his eyes widening in fear. He had seen Karleah once or twice in her wolf form, and he had envied her. She’d promised to teach him how to change into an animal when the time came. Could she still teach him now? he wondered.
“I’ve lost the first magic I ever knew, Dayin,” Karleah said, her raspy voice quiet and her eyes wandering about the room. “Either something has stolen my powers, or I’m turning senile. Either way, I don’t want to be rendered helpless and stuck here in this stone block. I want to return to my valley. There, I’ll know what’s what.”
Johauna’s eyes stretched wide, and her face blanched. “I will not give up Wyrmblight, Baroness Penhaligon! I cannot,” she said staunchly. Jo heard the hollow ring of fear inside her words. Her hands gripped Wyrmblight all the harder.
Arteris sighed, then fixed Jo with her stony brown gaze. “Young lady—”
“I’m a squire, Your Ladyship,” Jo broke in quickly, “until you decree otherwise.” She bit her lip, appalled at her brazen interjection. Apologize! she told herself. Apologize immediately and maybe she’ll forgive yet another faux pas. No! her other half spoke up stubbornly. No! I will not be bullied this way! She can’t take Wyrmblight away from me! I’ll give up being a squire before I let her take Flinn s sword from me!
Arteris smiled coldly, her lips forming more of a grimace than a true smile. Beside her, Sir Graybow abruptly rubbed his cheeks, hiding his mouth and keeping his eyes on the table. Jo felt sudden remorse; the castellan had tried to warn her, but to no avail.
“I’ll ignore this one intrusion, Squire Menhir,” Baroness Penhaligon said graciously enough, though Jo couldn’t help hearing the undercurrent of threat running through it, “but only because of the bond I know squires feel for their masters. That bond is now broken—” but not forgotten, Johauna thought mulishly “—and you have no use for the sword. Wyrmblight is a treasure that should be displayed for all to see—”
Jo couldn’t contain herself. “But—!”
Sir Graybow coughed loudly, effectively cutting offjo’s torrent of words. The glance he cast her was murderous, and that alone quelled the squire. He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose noisily, then turned to the baroness with elaborate courtesy. “My sincere apologies, Your Ladyship,” he said loudly. “Pray forgive me.” Arteris inclined her head.
The castellan shot one more black look at Jo before gesturing toward the sword. “It’s a most intriguing prospect before the council, Your Ladyship,” Sir Graybow continued smoothly, “the question of what to do with Wyrmblight, the most renowned sword in all of Penhaligon.” Jo opened her mouth to speak, and the castellan said quickly, “And what are all our options, do you suppose?”
“I believe,” the baroness said without hesitation, “that we have but two options: to put Wyrmblight on display or to leave it in the hands of Sir Flinn’s squire.” Arteris paused, her agate eyes glittering coldly at Jo. “If Sir Flinn’s protege can contain her passions, she may tell us why she feels she ought to bear the sword.”
Jo made a move to speak, then stopped and glanced at Sir Graybow. She wondered if she had misread Arteris’s invitation. But the castellan nodded, a slight smile of encouragement on his lips. Jo turned back to the baroness. “Your L-Ladyship,” she stammered, then gripped Wyrmblight tighter. Have faith, the blade whispered. “Your Ladyship,” Jo began again, her voice growing stronger and more sure, “I feel I should bear the sword for one specific reason, if no other.” She paused for effect and swept her eyes over the council members. “Sir Flinn would wish me to wield it. Of that, I am certain.” One or two of the council members murmured to each other, then silence fell once more in the room.
Lady Arteris rubbed her fingers together. “Clearly, you cannot bear the sword unless you remain a squire for Penhaligon. However, the knight who chose to sponsor you has, most regrettably, died, Squire Menhir,” the baroness said with unusual gentleness. “This puts you in an awkward position. We currently have no knights who are without squires. We could give one knight two squires to train, but in the past we have found that detrimental to the squires’ learning.” Arteris paused to let that information sink in.
“I am without a squire,” Sir Graybow said distinctly All eyes turned to him.
“By tradition the castellan is usually without a squire, Sir Graybow,” Arteris said after a momentary silence. “A castellan has too many duties to properly attend to the training of a squire ”
“Save when he is training his replacement,” Graybow rejoined.
“But you took on Sir Flinn as your squire, presumably with the intent that he should one day replace you,”
Arteris said equably. “Sir Flinn has since died.”
“And has left behind the woman he chose worthy to be his squire,” Sir Graybow said neutrally. He turned his head toward Jo, and she swore the old man winked at her.
“I . . . see, Sir Graybow,” Arteris was at a loss for words. She looked at Jo, then turned back to the castellan. “It must be pointed out that you were considerably younger when you took Sir Flinn as your squire so many years ago. How do you propose to provide training for Squire Menhir?”
“I shall, of course, provide instruction in the virtues of knighthood, in etiquette, in reading and writing, geometry, tactics, and the like. As to the combat training, I intend on enlisting the aid of Braddoc Briarblood,” Sir Graybow gestured toward the dwarf. Jo turned to her friend. Although Braddoc s face remained passive, Jo had caught the fleeting look of surprise in his one good eye. “If that is agreeable with friend dwarf, of course.” The castellan inclined his head toward Braddoc.
The dwarf cleared his throat, took a step forward, and bowed low toward Sir Graybow, and then the baroness. “I should be honored to assist in any way I can, Sir Graybow.
I would consider it a privilege to so repay old debts to my lost comrade.” Jo had to repress a smile at the sound of such formal speech from her friend.
Lady Arteris was not so easily swayed. “I know nothing of you, Master Briarblood, save that you have the acquaintance of Sir Flinn and Squire Menhir,” she said coolly.
Madam Astwood nodded to the baroness and said, “With your permission, Your Ladyship?” At Arteris s nod, she continued, “I have heard of this dwarf. He has led the life of a mercenary for many years, his sword for hire.”
The baroness arched one eyebrow at the dwarf. “Is this so, Master Briarblood?” she asked coldly.
Braddoc glanced at Jo and then bowed again to the baroness. “Yes, what Madam Astwood says is true—to the extent that she thinks it is true.”
The baroness frowned, and several members of the council murmured in confusion. “You speak in riddles, sir?” Arteris asked severely. “Pray explain yourself.”
“It is true that 1 have led the life of a mercenary, Your Ladyship,” Braddoc said simply, “but I am no mercenary. I am the nephew of Everast XV, king of Rockhome, my ancestral lands. He bade me learn of your ways, and it was he who suggested I roam your lands as a mercenary that I might judge your mettle.”
Several members of the council rose to their feet in alarm. Even Sir Graybow stood, though his face was fill
ed with consternation rather than fear. The baroness held up her hands and motioned for silence. When she received it, she said, “This is most extraordinary, sir. And what, may we ask, is the purpose of such subterfuge?”
“To discover if the Estates of Penhaligon are a land that the Dwarves of Rockhome could do business with,” Braddoc said readily. He bowed at the baroness, his movements the graceful and elegant maneuver of a courtier. “And I am pleased to say that, on behalf of King Everast XV, we dwarves would like to open up mutual trade agreements.” Braddoc smiled at the baroness, then at Jo.
The squire had always wondered where Braddoc had gotten his finicky manners—they had seemed out of place in a true mercenary. Jo smiled back at her friend. Now she knew.
The baroness’s expression turned civil, and her brows arched faintly. “I . . . see no objection then,” she said slowly, looking over her council members. When none was forthcoming from them, she turned back to Braddoc and smiled. “I shall look forward to arranging trade discussions with you and your uncle, Master Briarblood.” Braddoc bowed low, his beard sweeping the floor, and returned silently to his chair. Jo looked expectantly at the baroness, and she gestured at the castellan.
Sir Graybow turned to Jo and said, “Squire Menhir, you are, of course, at liberty here. You may choose to leave the Order of the Three Suns now, if you like.”
Jo s hands tightened on Wyrmblight, and the thought of Verdilith rose in her mind. Her lips grew grim. She faced Arteris squarely. “What of the status of Wyrmblight—” Jo paused slightly, then added “—Your Ladyship?”
Baroness Penhaligon sighed heavily, then said, “We will honor Sir Flinn’s wish that you receive Wyrmblight, though we have none but your own word that that was his wish. Wyrmblight is yours to keep, Squire Menhir, but only if you remain a squire of this castle.”
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