D&D - Mystara - Penhaligon Trilogy 02

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

  Jo nodded at the castellan, then turned to the baroness and said, “Your Ladyship, I would be proud and pleased to remain a squire in the Order of the Three Suns under the care and training of Sir Graybow”

  Jo bowed low, holding Wyrmblight to her side. The silver-white blade felt warm to the touch.

  Chapter V

  ohauna Menhir swung Wyrmblight around her shoulders in a wide, arcing stroke. The edge of the blade was met by Braddoc’s wooden practice shield, and Wyrmblight clove into the oak. The leather sheath around the blade gave way; Wyrmblight’s edge was so keen that it cut through one blade guard after another. Jo wrenched the blade loose and stepped back a pace, holding Wyrmblight before her. She tore away the leather streamers, keeping her eyes fixed on the dwarf, Braddoc shifted his battle-axe and raised his shield a bit higher. The dwarf slowly began circling the young squire.

  Jo smiled impishly at her friend. During this last month at the castle, she’d come to enjoy these practice sessions. Braddoc’s constant camaraderie had kept the pain of Karleah’s and Dayin’s departure to a minimum. Indeed, between Braddoc’s sparring and the castellan’s lessons, Jo had had little time to think of anything else. And a recent note from the old wizardess had assured Jo that all was well.

  The young squire and Braddoc were in one of the castle’s many smaller courtyards. Three other sparring partners practiced their maneuvers, two of the squires using swords, and one young half-elf wielding a polearm. At the far wall, an archery range had been set up. Two squires were there, shooting arrow after arrow. Before Jo and Braddoc had fallen to, Jo had watched the archers. One was quite good; the other was far less skilled than Jo, despite her inexperience. Flinn had started teaching her archery only the past winter. She was hoping to practice a bit today after her bout with Braddoc.

  A sudden gust of spring wind blew a trailing lock of hair into Jo’s mouth, and she spat it out immediately. The momentary distraction allowed Braddoc an advantage, however, and the dwarf leaped forward. His battle-axe— the edges dulled by a boiled leather sheath—sliced through the air in a stroke parallel to the granite courtyard. Jo, unable to bring the unwieldy Wyrmblight up fast enough to block the blow, leaped backward. The axe whistled by, just touching the leather practice jerkin Jo wore.

  Braddoc grunted. “It’s a good thing they make fighters put guards on their weapons.”

  Jo responded by swinging Wyrmblight in an upstroke. The blade sank into Braddoc’s shield again. “Yes,” Jo said as she worked the blade free. “I wish I could get a guard to stay on Wyrmblight. I could hurt you, Braddoc.”

  The dwarf chortled as he and Jo stepped apart and began circling again. “Don’t worry about it, Johauna. If you can nick me with Wyrmblight, then I deserve it! Yow!” Braddoc jumped in pain as Wyrmblight just glanced across his shoulder. The dwarf touched the wound and then pulled his hand away. It was red. Braddoc grimaced and said wryly, “Or maybe not!”

  Jo lowered Wyrmblight and stepped forward in concern. “Did I hurt you, Braddoc?”

  The next thingjo knew, the pommel of Braddoc’s battle-axe was in her stomach. She doubled over, but didn’t fall to the ground. “Why, you—” she said through teeth clenched in pain and anger.

  Braddoc raised one mocking finger. “Uh, uh, uh!” he admonished. “Flinn taught you the rudiments of fighting—fighting honorably, that is. I intend to teach you how to really fight!” Braddoc grinned suddenly. “I may be the nephew of King Everast, but even I know how to fight dirty. You, Johauna Menhir, are bound to meet people who don’t fight fair—and I want you to be prepared!”

  Jo’s eyes narrowed as she slowly closed the gap between her and Braddoc. “If that’s the case, my friend” Jo said smoothly, “then try this!” Jo swung Wyrmblight over her head and leaped forward, bringing the shining great sword down in a crashing blow. The metal tip rang off the granite stones, not the wooden shield Jo had expected. To her side laughed the dwarf, suddenly, maddeningly, nimble.

  “You’ll have to do better than that, Jo,” Braddoc said mockingly. “That little love bite earlier was a lucky stroke—took no skill at all.”

  Angered, Jo swung the heavy sword in a horizontal arc, twisting it so the flat of the blade would hit Braddoc in the small of the back. She hoped to knock the wind—and the pride—out of the little man. She didn’t want to hurt him. Not much. But Jo’s stroke went awry. Braddoc simply crouched, and there was no way Jo could halt the sword’s stroke. The weight of the swinging blade dragged her off balance, making her twirl around without control.

  Thump! The flat of Braddoc’s battle-axe smashed into Jo’s unprotected thigh. Already off balance, she spun from the impact and sprawled heavily to the granite stones. Wyrmblight fell beside her, the harsh clang of metal ringing throughout the small courtyard. Two of the sparring couples and both archers turned to stare at her. Jo felt her face flush crimson, and her panting turned even more ragged. She’d met a few of her colleagues, but she had never been the center of their attention before.

  She didn’t like it.

  Jo shook her head, refusing to let her embarrassment ruin today’s sparring lesson. She looked up at the dwarf, who stood calmly before her. Braddoc wasn’t even winded! Jo held out her hands, palms upward. “Braddoc,” she asked, “what am I doing wrong? I was so much better and quicker against Flinn! At least I think I was!”

  Braddoc rubbed a balled fist against his milky eye for a moment, then sat beside Jo. He stared at Jo with his good eye and released a long, grim, I-didn’t-want-to-be-the- one-to-break-this-to-you sigh.

  “What? What is it?” she asked, her voice rising in pitch. She returned the dwarf’s gaze.

  Braddoc’s look grew thoughtful. Carefully he tucked a few stray strands of Jo’s reddish hair, so much like his own, back into her leather practice helmet. Then he said slowly but clearly, “Wyrmblight s too big for you, Johauna.”

  Jo jumped to her feet. “Too big? Too big?” she shrieked. Once again a practicing pair stopped to look at her. Jo lowered her voice. “What do you mean, Braddoc?” she insisted. Her eyes were narrow with annoyance.

  The dwarf shrugged but refused to stand. Jo knelt on one knee beside him and peered intently into his face.

  “What do I mean? Just what I said, Johauna,” Braddoc said simply. “Wyrmblight’s too big for you. The sword’s too long and too heavy. You haven’t got the—”

  “It’s a man’s sword, that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?” Jo said bitterly. She couldn’t deny the truth, however. Sparring with Braddoc the last few weeks had shown her just how poorly she wielded Wyrmblight. Her arm, shoulder, and back muscles ached every day after only a few swings. Her strength seemed to be growing, however, and that had given her hope.

  Unexpectedly, Braddoc put his hand on Jo’s knee. “Look. If it makes you feel any better, I couldn’t wield Wyrmblight either,” he said. He gave the girl’s knee a squeeze and then drew his hand away.

  Jo frowned and said nothing for several moments. Finally she asked quietly, “Are you saying I should give up Wyrmblight? Perhaps give the sword to Baroness Penhaligon, like she wanted me to?”

  Braddoc shook his head adamantly. “No, I’m not saying that at all,” he said, his good eye fixed on her. “Flinn would want you to have Wyrmblight—that much nobody will argue about.”

  “Nobody?” Jo asked suddenly. “What about Madam Astwood? What about Arteris? Maybe Flinn would want Wyrmblight put on display for all the people to see. Surely he’d prefer that to having me smash it against the ground all day.” Tiny lines of worry crossed her face.

  The dwarf smiled at the squire and patted her hand. “Yes, Flinn would have been pleased about having it on display—” Braddoc paused for effect “—but he would still prefer you to have it. You reminded him of all that was good and right and noble, Johauna. You alone are worthy of his blade.”

  Jo hung her head, refusing to meet Braddoc’s eye. “I—I don’t know about that,” she whispered, “but that’s not the point here
.” Jo looked at Braddoc. “The point is, Wyrmblight is too big for me—”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t learn how to use a form of Wyrmblight,” Braddoc interjected.

  Jo sat down, tucking one leg under her chin. One of the other sparring couples—a sword-wielding human and a half-elf with a polearm—danced nearby, casually avoiding the sitting pair. Jo looked up at them for a moment, then stared at Braddoc. “What do you mean, a form of Wyrmblight?” she asked.

  The dwarf shrugged. He gave Jo an appraising stare, from the top of her practice helmet down her lanky form to her burgundy boots. “You’ve a tall enough build. With some work, you could learn to use Wyrmblight as the blade is now.” He held up a cautionary finger as Jo’s face brightened. “Mind you, that would require a lot of work—far more training than I’ll ever be able to give you.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” Jo asked, crestfallen.

  Braddoc turned away and rubbed his hands, intent on peeling back the loose skin of a callus. “You, er, could consider having Wyrmblight reforged into a smaller—”

  “Reforged!” Jo shrieked a second time. This time she ignored the stares her shout garnered. She grabbed Braddoc’s arm and shook him. “Reforge Wyrmblight? Are you crazy?” she shouted.

  The dwarf stared at her, his face suddenly, utterly serious. Jo was taken aback by his expression, and her hold on his arm lightened. “No, I’m completely sane, Johauna Menhir,” Braddoc said slowly. “If you search your memory of the calling you had at the spring, I think you’ll agree that that’s the only true answer.”

  “The spring . . .” Jo murmured, her mind reliving the day she had met Braddoc. She remembered the evening she’d spent in the dwarf’s sweat lodge, remembered the wondrously chill water, the swirling vapors, the vision. In it, Jo stood before a forge, waiting for a smith to pull something from the fire. Her stance was strangely expectant, and Jo wondered now if what she so eagerly awaited was the reforging of Wyrmblight, as Braddoc suggested. In the vision, Braddoc stood beside her, and Flinn was nowhere in sight. Jo narrowed her eyes and looked now at Braddoc.

  “I can’t believe that’s what the vision means,” she said simply, then shook her head. “I can’t. Reforging Wyrmblight would be sacrilege. I will not dishonor Flinn’s memory so.” Or his spirit, Jo added to herself. She shook her head again. “I will not do it.”

  Braddoc returned her gaze, then shrugged. “What will you do with Wyrmblight?” he asked steadily.

  “Learn how to use it, of course,” Jo answered. She rose to her feet and pointed at their belongings on a nearby bench. “In the meantime, I have the sword Flinn gave me in Bywater, and I have his bow. Practicing with both will hold me in good stead until I develop the strength and skill to properly wield Wyrmblight.” Johauna extended her hand to the dwarf and helped him rise.

  Braddoc grunted, then said, “You are persistent, I’ll grant you that.”

  Jo grinned, her first genuine smile since Flinn’s death. “I am nothing if not persistent!” When Braddoc broke into a laugh, Jo did, too, though hers was hesitant and shortlived. A bell sounded nearby, and she frowned and picked up Wyrmblight. “It’s time for my etiquette lesson,” Jo said, her voice edged with irritation. She handed Braddoc his shield as he picked up the batde-axe lying at his feet.

  “Just be thankful Sir Graybow got you out of taking those classes with Madam Astwood,” Braddoc replied sternly. “From what I’ve gathered, Johauna Menhir, you’ve been given a lot of leeway in your training here at the castle. Don’t be so quick to mope—someone’ll interpret it as ingratitude.” Braddoc began unlacing the axe’s protective guard.

  “Oh, I am grateful, Braddoc,” Jo said earnestly as they began crossing the courtyard. The other squires were doing the same; Jo noted thankfully that none seemed to be listening to their conversation. “It’s just that I’m not understanding all the little intricacies! And, Braddoc, there are so manyl” Jo sighed heavily. She stopped at a bench where she had left her belongings, picked them up, and continued onward.

  “Give it time,” Braddoc soothed. “You’ll learn. From what I’ve seen of Sir Graybow in the council meetings, he’s a master of etiquette. You couldn’t learn from any better.”

  “I know, I know!” Jo despaired. “It’s just that I don’t understand why there should be a difference between addressing an empress and a queen! But I’ve got to learn, Braddoc, I’ve just got to! I want so much to be a knight like Flinn—and he was so good at etiquette, too, even after all those years away from court.” Jo’s voice rose in vexation. Her long legs had lapsed into a brisk pace, and she had to slow down when she realized Braddoc was trotting to keep up.

  “Ask Sir Graybow,” Braddoc answered lightly. “He’ll be able to explain it to you in a way you can understand.”

  Jo stopped suddenly and looked down at her friend. Her eyes narrowed and she bit her lip. “It’s just that—it’s just that I feel so ... so at a disadvantage around the other squires, Braddoc.”

  The dwarf’s eyebrow rose. “Why?” he asked in astonishment.

  Jo shrugged and looked away. “I figured it out the other day, Braddoc. Do you know, I’m the only orphan here? I’m the only one without any formal schooling, without any family lineage. Why, I don’t even remember my parents’ names!”

  Braddoc sighed heavily and looked down at his polished boots. He rubbed the tip of one with the other, then looked back at Jo and shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell you, Johauna,” he said slowly, “except that I’m proud of you. You’re here on your own merit—that and a little luck and persistence.”

  The dwarf pointed at the other squires gathering by the courtyard’s entrance. “Coming from royalty myself, I understand what it’s like to have lineage and money, like those folks have. But lineage and money don’t make me respect them. You I do respect—and so did Flinn and so does Sir Graybow. Just keep that in mind the next time these kinds of thoughts get you down.” He tapped Jo’s arm with his battle-axe. “Now, let’s get you inside for that etiquette lesson.”

  “You’re right, my friend,” Jo responded positively, her eyes shining down at the dwarf. They continued to walk toward the archway. In some ways I have it much easier than the other squires, Jo thought suddenly, and I shouldn’t complain. I’d hate to learn etiquette from Madam Astwood; she and I would have come to blows in the first lesson. Besides, none of the other squires has the opportunity to study with Sir Graybow, and he’s the most respected knight here in the castle. Jo smiled shyly at the thought of her new mentor, then noticed that the eyes of one of the other squires followed her: Colyn Madcomb, the young man who couldn’t fire a bow. He was holding one of the doors to the western tower open for Jo and Braddoc, and his smile at Jo was merry and interested. Jo turned her head aside and swiftly entered the tower. She didn’t wait for Braddoc.

  “Wait up, Johauna!” Braddoc scrambled after her, his short legs trying to keep pace with Jo’s long ones.

  Jo told herself to relax and slowed her pace. They entered one of many side stairwells in the western tower and slowly began to climb. A few weeks back, a large delegation from King Everast XV and a contingency from Duke Stefan Karameikos had forced Jo and Braddoc out of their guest chambers in the central tower. Sir Graybow had kindly invited both Jo and Braddoc to share his spacious quarters rather than bunk down in the soldiers’ building, and the squire and the dwarf had readily accepted.

  Although the political envoys had left the castle, Sir Graybow extended his invitation, stating that he enjoyed their company. The castellan had a floor of his very own in the western tower: a bedroom for each person plus a spare for guests and a wide open area connecting all the rooms. There was even a kitchen, and Sir Graybow had his own cook and scullery maid. Jo had never lived in such luxury before, and she still wasn’t accustomed to the idea of having someone do the drudge work for her. She frequently dismissed the cook and the drudge, particularly when Sir Graybow was away.

  “Too bad Dayin and that
witch left us. The old crone would have loved climbing all these steps as much as I do,” Braddoc said, slightly out of breath as they entered the fourth level of steps. The stairs were designed for human legs, and Braddoc detested climbing them. They wound their way up the middle of each tower and were tightly formed. He had to constantly lean into the next turn even as he was taking the next step.

  Jo smiled down at her friend. “You know, Braddoc,” she said mischievously, “that’s only the third or fourth time you’ve mentioned that this week. I think you miss Karleah as much as I do.”

  “Humph!” the dwarf snorted, but said no more.

  Jo and Braddoc reached the castellan’s floor and entered through the only door. A sparsely furnished living area surrounded the circular stairwell. Only two rugs dotted the floor; woven of red and black, they helped counter the room’s austerity. The furniture was utilitarian, though comfortably upholstered. A few fine tapestries graced the rough white walls. Jo never tired of gazing at them and asking the castellan for the stories woven there. The bedrooms and kitchen branched off the living area. Candles in sconces lit the chambers at night, their delicate golden glow further endearing the chambers to Jo; she found the magical lantern light in the rest of the castle too harsh for her eyes.

  Jo hung her short sword and the bow on the pegs in the wall next to the stairwell, but kept Wyrmblight beside her as she always did. Sir Graybow’s fine silver long sword hung in its black-and-gold sheath in its usual spot, and she knew the castellan was already here.

  The door to Sir Graybow’s room opened, and the aging castellan entered the living area. The man’s face, grim and shadowed, broke into a grimace at the sight of Jo and Braddoc. “I’m glad you’re both here. I have some news for you.”