The Dragon's Tomb

Chapter IX

“I tell you, I’m innocent!” Brisbois yelled.

He wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand and glared at Johauna Menhir, standing before him. The man swayed and almost slipped on the wet ground, and Jo tensed. Fall! she thought viciously. Fall so I can kick you! Brisbois held his left arm awkwardly to his side and said hoarsely, “I had nothing to do with—”

“Liar!” Jo shouted and slapped his battered face again. This time he did fall to the slick ground. She lifted her foot to crush his hand.

“Ease off, Johauna,” the dwarf said, pulling her aside. “The mans hurt.”

Jo rounded on Braddoc. She grabbed the dwarfs shoulder and shook him as hard as her bruised ribs would allow. “How can you say that, Braddoc? This man agreed to be Flinn’s bondsman, then attacked us! He—”

Braddoc gripped Jo’s arm. His fingers tightened so hard that Jo cried out in pain. “He didn’t attack us—Auroch did!” Braddoc said intently.

Jo wrenched her arm free, her eyes blazing at the dwarf.

An ugly sneer distorted her lips. “He stood by while we all battled Auroch’s tornado of fire! What more do you want?” her voice rose shrilly. Jo started to tremble, but clenched her teeth and forced the impulse down.

Braddoc put his hands on her arms and forced her to look at him. He murmured, “Johauna … killing Brisbois isn’t going to bring back Flinn.”

Jo choked back a sob. Her eyes blinked rapidly. I will not cry! I … will … not! she thought harshly. Image after image of Flinn flooded her mind. She saw again the icy street of By water on the day she’d heard the children taunting Flinn, “Flinn the Fallen! Flinn the Fool!” She saw the lines of pain in his darkened face as he haltingly told her of his fall from grace. She saw the glory that shone brightly in his eyes when he was reunited with Wyrmblight. She saw his crimson, crumpled form, couched in a well of bloody snow.

Stepping backward, Jo held up her hand and shook her head. She looked from Braddoc to Brisbois, lying on the ground, and she fought down the urge to kick the man. Her heart filled with hate. “I say we kill him,” she hissed. “I’ll tell Sir Graybow we couldn’t find him—”

“I tell you. I’m innocent!” Brisbois interrupted hoarsely, a touch of fear behind the bravado. One side of his face was swollen almost beyond recognition. He shifted, struggling to rise from the mire, then winced as his left arm dangled awkwardly. “I didn’t attack Auroch in the castle because I knew it wouldn’t do any good! I—”

“Quiet, cur!” Jo fell to her knees beside Brisbois and held up her hand menacingly. She ignored the stabbing ache in her side. Her ribs would heal; her heart would not.

“Let him speak, Johauna!” Braddoc barked suddenly. Jo turned to him and opened her mouth to put the dwarf in his place, but Braddoc said tightly, “Think a moment what you’re doing here, Johauna. Think! Sir Graybow trusted you to carry out a mission of retrieval, not vengeance. If you kill him now—whether he deserves it or not—you’ll be betraying your oath to the baroness … and to Graybow!”

Johauna stood slowly and ruthlessly quelled the remorse his words inspired. She poked Braddoc’s chest and said angrily, “Yow think for a moment who falsely accused Flinn, who goaded those knights to drag him down and beat him. Think?”

Braddoc seized Jo’s hand and gripped it against his chest. In the faint lamplight that illuminated the back of the rendering hall, he stared at Jo. His white eye gleamed, and for one awful moment Jo wondered what he could see with it. “Listen to me!” the dwarf said urgently. “Verdilith was behind all that—”

Jo rebuked, “Brisbois denies being charmed by the dragon! He says—”

“If Verdilith could charm Flinn’s own wife into defaming Flinn, he could certainly charm Brisbois into doing the same,” Braddoc said as he released Jo’s hand. The squire took a step back.

“Yeah?” she said, angrily rubbing her hand. “So what’s your point?” Little flecks of spittle accompanied her last word.

Braddoc rubbed his beard. “My point—” he began.

Jo shook her head and made a chopping motion with her hand. “He betrayed Flinn!” she interrupted the dwarf. “He gave his word as bondsman to Flinn that he would act in his behalf for one year!” Jo stalked over to Brisbois, still lying on the ground. In one swift gesture, she grabbed his clothing and yanked him to his feet. Her hands clutched his collar, and her gray eyes flashed at him. “And the first chance you had, you escaped with your friend Teryl Auroch! No serving as bondsman for you!” She released him roughly, backed a step away, and spat at the knight’s feet, hoping to trigger a fight.

Through puffy eyes Brisbois glared back at the young woman, ignoring the spittle. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He ground the words out reluctantly, cradling his injured arm to his side.

Jo stared at the man, her eyes incapable of blinking. “If you hadn’t left him,” she breathed, “it might have been you who’d died instead of Flinn!” She sneered. “Because you’re in cahoots with—”

“I’m not in league with Auroch! I never have been. I hate the man,” Brisbois snarled, “and I can prove it!” His eyes remained on Jo’s face as he carefully pulled out a piece of coarse paper. He handed it to her.

Johauna stared at the paper, at the bloody fingerprints Brisbois left on it. She opened it up and read aloud to Braddoc, “‘Come to the alley behind the rendering hall, just after ten bells. There, I will meet you.’ And then there’s the sigil of a bull’s horn.” Jo’s eyes glittered at Brisbois. She lifted one eyebrow and said smoothly, “The sign of Auroch, no doubt.”

“Yes,” Brisbois spat out. “He spirited me away against my will when … when he left your chambers at the castle…. I escaped him, but he’s been hounding me ever since. I thought … I thought I could perhaps bargain with him in the alley … make him leave me alone. But he … he sent those thugs to kill me.” The man’s voice came in ragged gasps.

Jo held up the note. “Oh? So you think the fact that you’d bargain with Auroch should make us trust you?” she asked angrily. She threw the note down into the muddy water at her feet and stepped on it, twisting the paper into the ground with her heel.

Braddoc took a step toward Brisbois, who was on the verge of collapse. The disgraced knight weakly waved Braddoc away. “Let me finish,” Brisbois said, his words not much more than a whisper. “Jo. You’re smarter than this. You just want a scapegoat for your anger.”

Jo winced at the man’s familiarity and clenched her hand. “Watch your tongue, Brisbois,” she snapped.

“Aurochs been hunting me,” Brisbois continued with some exertion. “I know too much about him—I compromise his safety. He’d’ve found me sooner, too, if I’d not bought this amulet from a backstreet mage I know …” He pointed to a simple pendant hanging from his grimy neck. “And I’ve kept moving, too, to … to throw him off track. Still, his goons found me fast enough. They … they sent me that note, and I … I thought I could maybe cut a deal…. I couldn’t run forever.” The man paused and then said, “Cut a deal, or kill him.”

“Only Auroch had the same plan,” Braddoc noted stiffly.

Brisbois nodded his swollen head. Brisbois looked at Jo and began to tremble. He took a breath of air through lips so swollen they could hardly open.

Johauna looked from Brisbois to Braddoc and back to the knight. Her mouth curled into a sneer, and she said, “You bastard liar” She spat in Brisbois’s face.

“That’s enough!” Braddoc roared. He grabbed Jo’s arm and dragged her a few steps away. The dwarf stared at her, twitches of anger working across his features. “Johauna, I’m ashamed of you! Ashamed, do you hear?” As if to reinforce his words, he took his hand off the young woman’s arm.

Enraged, Jo tore into the dwarf. “He’s lying, you fool! He’d say anything to avoid going back to the castle! He’d kill Auroch to save his hide, and he’d kill us, too.”

Braddoc waved his hand. “The man would have died here if we hadn’t happened—”

“He faked it! He’s faked it all!” Jo shouted. “Somehow he knew we were here! He hired those thugs—”

“Excuse me,” Brisbois said in a whisper that cut through the humid air. He tried unsuccessfully to raise his hand. “I don’t mean to interrupt … your decision of my fate,” he said, his eyes whirling in his head, “but I think I … Brisbois’s expression went blank, a mocking smile seeming to curl about his battered lips, and he crumpled to the wet ground.

“I knew this would happen! I just knew this would happen!” Braddoc fumed. He handed Jo his battle-axe and knelt by the injured man. Jo refused to move; she watched in stony silence as Braddoc checked Brisbois. “His arm’s broken—thankfully not his sword arm—and he’s got a lot of bad bruises. His face looks awful.” Braddoc stood and began gathering the man’s lanky body over his shoulder.

Jo licked her lips, and her eyes narrowed. The wind shifted a little, and the stench of the rendering hall hit her full in the face. “Throw him into the dead animal pen,” she said brutally. “Tomorrow he’ll be a candle—not a traitor.” Her lips pulled downward.

“Wish I had a real squire to give me a hand,” Braddoc barked unexpectedly. “I’m bringing this man back to the inn. He may or may not be innocent, but he is injured. You can either stay here and pout or join us.” The dwarf grunted as he shifted Brisbois’s body on his shoulder.

Braddoc started walking away, back through the alley they had entered.

Unmoving, Jo watched Braddoc sway as he disappeared past the lamplights range. Her glimpse of Brisbois saw his broken arm swing loose from the dwarfs hold. The arm jerked and dangled, moving unnaturally. The squire smiled coldly, and her eyes didn’t blink. For a long time she continued to stare after the pair, her expression frozen, until she could no longer hear Braddoc’s shuffling gait.

The squire turned away, then suddenly raised her fists to the sky. She threw her head back and cried in rage, “Fliiinnn!”

The rain began again to fall.

Karleah entwined her fingers together and then stretched out her arms, cracking her knuckles and her elbow joints simultaneously. Granting the boy a sidelong glance, she began to rummage through a basket of dried herbs on the table before her. As her fingers slipped among the dried stalks and tightly woven bags, the old woman peered up at the boy through her bushy brows. It was on the tip of her tongue to say, “You’ve grown,” but Dayin’s expression was too sad and confused for such an innocuous observation.

“What are you looking for, Karleah?” Dayin asked quietly. His sky-blue eyes were shadowed with pain, but he hadn’t cried. There was an edge to his gaze that had been lacking this morning. Karleah wondered if the boy would ever cry again.

“Let me present a puzzle to you, boy.” Her long fingers delicately pulled the orcbane from the feverfew. “Let’s see if you get the same answer I did. Sit down.”

“What’s this puzzle about, Karleah?” Dayin asked, a tinge of interest coloring his voice. His eyes shone a little brighter.

Karleah frowned as she stared at the boy. “Why do you suppose the dragon brought useless wands of power with him to his fight with Flinn?” she asked. “Verdilith knew he and Flinn would fight; he knew Flinn would finally join him in the glade where they had first fought many years ago. So why did the dragon bring useless gadgets along? And why did he refrain from casting his own spells? Tell me, Dayin.”

The boy stared at Karleah and then blinked twice. He shook his head and said, “They must’ve been drained, just like your spells were drained.” Dayin paused, waiting for Karleah to say something. She remained silent, and he continued, “So whatever drained the spells must be in the glade where they fought, or in the dragon’s lair itself.”

“Almost right,” Karleah replied, amused at the boy’s sincerity but gratified to see that he was working out the puzzle on his own. “Where were my spells drained, in the glade or in the lair?”

“The lair,” Dayin blurted, sudden recognition breaking over him, “so whatever was draining magic must have been in the lair, right?” The boy stopped, his blue eyes clouding a little.

Karleah nodded and said, “Yes, Dayin?” Let the boy work it through, she told herself.

“But that’s not quite right, either,” Dayin said suddenly. He propped his chin with his hand. “Because I wasn’t ever in the lair, and I lost my spells, too. And you lost more spells after we left the lair; your staff kept being drained, even after we got to the castle.”

Karleah played with a forget-me-not twig, then looked at the boy. “And … ?” she queried.

Dayin’s brows knit again. “And …” he said slowly, then his brows rose, “and so that means somehow I’ve been near whatever drained you and the wands of magic. It must have been something that attached itself to you in the cave… . Something like dust, or water, or spores …”

“… or treasure,” Karleah nudged impatiently.

Stunned, the boy stared at the wizardess. “Do you think all that stuff works like a magic magnet, Karleah? Sucking out enchantments from everything the treasure comes near?”

Marshaling her patience, Karleah responded gently, “You saw all the things Jo and Braddoc brought from the lair. Tell me about them.”

Dayin’s eyes wandered to the ceiling. “Jo had a really pretty opal, I remember, and a crown with some blue gems on it. She had lots of coins, a weird dagger, some pearly things …”

“And Braddoc?” Karleah coaxed.

“Braddoc had, let me see, a jeweled dagger that you could hide stuff inside the hilt. And he had a giant goose egg encrusted with gold and gems.” Dayin pointed suddenly at Karleah. “Oh! And a box! That funny box that wouldn’t open!”

Karleah smiled, touched her nose with one finger, then reached out and touched Dayin’s. “You’ve got it, Dayin! Dragons hoard treasures of great value. All the objects you mentioned would fetch a fortune in the marketplace—all except that plain iron box. It had to have some reason for being there, some great value to the dragon, and I think drawing magic must be what it is.”

“Are you sure, Karleah?” Dayin said, suddenly discouraged. “It was awfully plain—Just iron and all that.”

“Ah, but you saw what happened when Braddoc tried to open that ‘simple’ box,” Karleah rejoined. “There’s much more to that box than meets the eye, my boy.”

“But the box didn’t even seem magical …”

“Of course not,” Karleah replied, a bit more harshly than she intended. “It’s antimagical. It somehow acts as a magnet for magic and draws it out of anything that is near it.” She smiled at Dayin, well pleased at his deductive powers. “So, the riddle is solved.” Dayin responded to her keen-edged smile with a look of concern. “Don’t worry about it; I’ll have Braddoc drop it in the bottom of a deep gorge in the Wulfholdes. That should …” Karleah’s words trailed off as the boy’s expression of concern deepened into one of horror. “Dayin?” Karleah asked worriedly.

Dayin shook his head. “K-Karleah!” he whispered. “Didn’t Braddoc say in his message—? Didn’t he give the box to a mage at the castle, since he couldn’t open it? Didn’t he?”

Karleah stared at Dayin. She scratched her lower lip with her strong white teeth. Finally she said, “Well, I’ll be damned.” The crone shook her head, then grabbed her staff and used it to stand. “Saddle up, boy. We’ve a trip to make.”

“Stand away from the window.”

The noise came from somewhere behind him. Verdilith couldn’t make out who might be speaking, nor did he try. The words were simply part of the dull roar of pain that sometimes hummed and most often screamed through his fragmented mind. Pain. It was both curse and blessing to him. It wouldn’t leave him, not even long enough to let him sleep. But, by its very intensity, it defined the core of his being—it kept his mind from dissipating on the wind. He cradled his maimed arm, watching with mild delight as his body restlessly changed from the form of Lord Maldrake to that of the blacksmith … of Brisbois … of the bitch squire … of Teryl Auroch. He had neither the will nor the attention to keep any form for long. Besides, surely his transformations unnerved the speaker behind him.

“I said stand away from the window! You’ll be seen.”

Verdilith didn’t know who spoke, and he didn’t care. He only knew that it wasn’t Wyrmblight.

Wyrmblight.

If there was a name for his pain, it was Wyrmblight. It grated on him that the sword still remained, out there in the hands of a fool, out there, ready to strike from the darkness. The sword haunted him. The thought of the four runes, glowing and bright, burned like brands into his spasming mind.

Through human ears—Maldrake’s ears, to be precise—the dragon heard the noise again. “Maldrake! For the last time, get away from that window! I don’t want anyone to see you.

Verdilith turned his head toward the sound. It was the paltry human speaking, the mage who called himself Maloch Kine … and Teryl Auroch. Ah. yes, his “rescuer” from the Knights of Penhaligon, the dragon’s friend and master. But Verdilith knew Aurochs true motives—it was Auroch who had given him the box that ate magic, Auroch who had drained his power, Auroch who had made him vulnerable to the sword. Soon, Verdilith would have his revenge. But first, he would accompany the mage, play his games long and well. Only then would he gain a magical means to break the damned-blessed blade.

Verdilith withdrew from the window into the inn room. He walked with shuddering steps toward the mage, past the bed where he had spent the last week in sleepless fits, past the mage’s tables crowded with magic paraphernalia. Jars and vials and tubes bubbled with Aurochs foul concoctions, the smell of which was sweet to Verdilith. Surely, with the aid of these accoutrements, Auroch could devise some magical means of destroying the hated sword. Indeed, Verdilith wondered if the man already had the means. But Auroch would surely force the dragon through a maze of lies before providing any solution. Such was the way with Auroch: everything he spoke was a lie, especially his offers of healing.

“Maldrake? Won’t you sit down?”

Concentrating to retain the form of Maldrake, Verdilith forced his spinning mind to focus on that little room, on the little man that still called to him. As his vision cleared, Verdilith let his human face twist into a small, almost polite, smile. He approached the withered old mage and felt the wound across his arm burn like acid. But he allowed no sign of agony to show on his face, his green eyes gleaming wide and eager. He took the proffered chair, greedily scanning the bubbling beakers.

“My men should have finished with Brisbois.”

Verdilith glared at the mage through slitted eyes. For a moment, Auroch stepped back, away from the intense gaze. The dragon let a small plume of poisonous gas escape from Maldrake’s nose.

“Why didn’t you simply kill Brisbois yourself?” he hissed. Remembering the reason for tolerating Auroch, the dragon added politely, “Such a thing would be simple for you.”

Auroch at first made no reply, turning as a beaker cradled above a small burner begin to boil. He removed the glass container with his bare hand and placed it inside a small wooden black box. As the mage placed another beaker atop the flame, he said, “Brisbois is a mere mouse in the house. I’m far more interested in the master.”

Verdilith let Maldrake’s head nod slightly, again scanning the room. He was familiar with magic and its creation, but did not recognize any of the mage’s devices. The items Auroch toyed with seemed not of this world, as alien as the box that ate magic. “Ah, and I assume that the master you refer to is me.”

“Of course you assume so,” Auroch replied with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Verdilith shifted uneasily in his chair, but the wound on his side rubbed against the leather. It was as though Wyrmblight itself were jabbing him, reminding him of his torment. “Surely we agree, human, that you desire to keep me within your grasp.”

“So that I may heal your wounds, Maldrake, so that I may heal your wounds,” Auroch appeased smoothly. “These things you see about you—”

“Are part of your self-promoting machinations,” Verdilith interjected mildly. “As, you think, am I. And now you wish to blackmail me into carrying out your schemes.” The magician lightly dropped the tools he was using onto a table, frowning in irritation. He ran fingers through his thick hair and sat down heavily in a chair behind the table. After a moment, he sighed and raised his eyes.

“What is it you want?” he asked leadenly.

Verdilith would not allow himself to be fooled by the human’s theatrics. The man was too powerful, too otherworldly to be so affected by the dragon’s moods. Clearly, Verdilith was pivotal to Aurochs plans to destroy all things magic. But Verdilith didn’t care if Auroch would engulf the world in flames, as long as Wyrmblight, the sword blessed to destroy him, were first shattered.

“You know what I want, Auroch. And to get it, you know I will do what you want,” he softly replied, letting another trail of poison seep from his lungs through the body of Maldrake. He was lying. He cared nothing for the mage’s desires.

“You distrust me,” Auroch noted calmly.

“Return my magic, and I will return my trust,” Verdilith replied.

Auroch nodded, as if to himself, and stood. He turned to a large cabinet directly behind him. “Restoring your magic is a feat I cannot perform. But to prove my good intentions to you, I shall give you what you desire before you ever act on my behalf” He made a gesture with his left hand, and there was a loud click from the cabinet’s door, which swung partially open. Verdilith tried to peer inside, but his wounded side forced the air from his body. A small trail of venom dropped from Maldrake’s lips and fell on the floor. The rug burned.

The sorcerer closed the door with another gesture and placed a long, reddish gemstone on the table. The stone, about the length of Aurochs shaking hand, rattled heavily on the wooden tabletop, and its edges flashed a sinister light in the mage’s eyes.

“I have no use for riches,” Verdilith muttered, eyeing the shimmering gem. “Your ‘rescue’ deprived me of a hoard worth more than a million such stones.”

“Doesn’t the shape look familiar?” Auroch teased, running a finger along the edge of the stone. “The shape and the color?”

“Ail abelaat stone?” Verdilith asked in a growling voice. “What good is that for destroying Wyrmblight?”

“Not an abelaat stone,” Auroch corrected, smiling evilly, “but an artifact fashioned to look like an abelaat stone”

“What good is that?” Verdilith repeated, purposely spewing noxious breath into Auroch’s face.

“This stone will give you a window on the progeny of Flinn—on Squire Menhir, the bearer of Wyrmblight. You will know everywhere she goes, every word she speaks. You will learn every secret of the blade she bears, of its magnificent strengths, of its one, great weakness.”

Verdilith eyed the softly glowing gem. “What weakness? I clutched that sword between my own fingers and wrenched it against stone, but it would not break.”

“Every weapon has its weakness,” Auroch replied, “just as every man does. You found Flinn’s weakness in his glory and relentless pride … and his wife, Yvaughan.”

“Yes,” Verdilith mused, gently stroking his maimed arm. “But I could speak directly to the mind of Flinn, plant the seeds of destruction in him.”

“You can speak to the squire through this stone, too,” Auroch said, lifting the gem from the table and setting it gently in Verdilith’s hand. “You can take the form of Fain Flinn and appear to her in the stone.”

The gem felt hot in the dragon’s human hand. He peered into its bloody depths, a line of bilious drool sagging across his lip.

“You can poison her heart, like you poisoned the heart of Flinn,” Auroch continued, breathless. “You can twist her so she will happily give you the sword—even help you destroy it.”

Yes, Verdilith thought, gazing into the crystal. Yes, this gemstone could deliver the sword of Flinn and the squire of Flinn into my hands. In the glinting light of the stone’s facets Verdilith’s mania to smash the blade calmed and deepened, and he began to desire a more satisfying, more poetic vengeance. Certainly, Wyrmblight would be shattered and the squire destroyed, but only after Verdilith had insinuated himself into the heart of the girl.

Johauna was her name.

He would steal Johauna away from Flinn as he had stolen Yvaughan. With a clicking, whirring sound, the wheels within wheels had begun to spin in Verdilith’s dragon brain.

“How can I track the squire with this?” Verdilith asked, allowing his rumbling dragon voice to issue from the mouth of Maldrake. “How can I see her? Speak to her?”

“Simply give her the stone,” Auroch said. “Tell her she can use it to see Flinn. Tell her she must keep it secret, or the stone will shatter. Then, to see or speak through the stone, you need merely peer into a mirror and wish it so”

Verdilith raised his eyes from the gem, now clutched tightly in his palm. “Why would you give this to me?”

Auroch walked back to the table and leaned comfortably on it. He fixed his deep blue eyes on to the dragon’s green ones and said, “It serves my purposes, as do all things. In exchange for this priceless gift, I ask only a simple service from you. There is a boy named Dayin traveling along with the bearer of the sword. I want the boy returned to me.”

“Why don’t you retrieve him yourself?” Verdilith asked through Maldrake’s lips. He continued to stare at the gemstone.

Auroch’s eyes flashed angrily. “Do as I say, dragon, and I may let you work with me again.” His wizened features softened, and he said, “As a token of my friendship, I will tell you a secret. The wounds you suffer so mightily are incurable while Wyrmblight is whole. But, when you break the blade, your wounds will finally heal.” The mage leaned forward slightly, staring deeper into the great serpent’s eyes. “But, if you don’t bring me the boy, I shall make certain you are torn limb from limb, and nothing will heal you again.”

Without another word, the human returned to his bubbling flasks. This final mention of the accursed blade sent Verdilith into another paroxysm of pain, and he choked off his rising whimper. The pain was so great he almost believed what the magician had said. But the dragon knew that nothing could ever heal his wounds. Whether Wyrmblight remained whole or not, he would bear these wounds to his grave, of that Verdilith was sure.

But that didn’t matter to the dragon as he rose from his seat, the acid from his human mouth having destroyed the chair and some of the floor. He slowly walked toward the table and lifted his arm to pocket the gem. The pain flared again and for once Verdilith found he could ignore some small part of it. The stone felt delicate in his hand. Fragile. But from this fragile gem, he knew he might finally have the vengeance he sought.

Or his own death.

It truly did not matter. Once the blade and the bitch were destroyed, he would betray Auroch for spite and let himself be torn limb from limb.

Jo’s weary step grew a little faster as she recognized the Hap’n Inn, where she and Braddoc were supposed to stay for the night. Not that there’s much night left, she thought, remembering the hour or so she had stood outside the rendering hall, trying to reconcile her rage at Brisbois and her grief for Flinn. She stopped to shift Braddoc’s battle-axe, which fit poorly in Wyrmblight’s harness. She had carried Wyrmblight in her hands all the way from the rendering hall; it had given her a sense of security she’d sorely needed as she walked through the gloom alone.

Almost by instinct, her fingers sought the four raised sigils. You have lost faith tonight—the sword again—but it can be reclaimed. Have faith, Johauna Menhir. Have faith! The words rang in Jo’s mind, but not in her heart. Duty alone had prompted her to return to Braddoc to help him bring Brisbois back to the Castle of the Three Suns. That and the fact that she couldn’t fail Sir Graybow. Jo’s benefactor had expressed his good opinion of her directly to the baroness.

Jo reached the alley leading to the exterior stairs. She took a step into it, then stopped. The alley was dark, far darker even than the one near the rendering hall had been. Shouldn’t there be a light near the stairs? she thought. Hadn’t there been one lit when they set out for the hostler’s? Perhaps the rain or the wind had extinguished it, she thought. The squire glanced toward the front of the inn. A shuttered lantern rested by the door, casting a starlike pattern of minute lights from holes punched in its sides. Pretty but not very illuminating. Still, it was brighter than the gloomy alley. Jo held Wyrmblight a Little higher. I can go through the front, I suppose, and risk stepping on the people sleeping in the common room. She took a step in that direction.

Something shifted in the darkness near the stair. Jo dropped to an immediate crouch, Wyrmblight gleaming before her. The gloom was too great for her to make out anything more than a general impression. Some creature, hunched and draped in rags, lurched toward her.

“Who goes there?” Jo called out firmly, only a trace of fear in her voice.

The figure halted for a moment, sniffing oddly in the darkness, then continued toward her. Jo retreated a step, trying to sidle toward the inn’s front door. The creature paused, its darksome eyes piteously studying Jo from beneath a tattered hood.

“Please,” came a thick, rasping voice. “I mean you no harm. I only wish to know if… you are Squire Menhir? The one who was bitten by the watcher in the woods?”

“… watcher?” Jo asked tentatively. Her eyes adjusted minutely, and she could make out the creature’s crooked shoulders.

“An old term,” the voice responded. Jo couldn’t tell if it was male or female, only that it sounded old and infirm. “Some call them abeylaut, or abelaat. Are you she?” The figure took one tentative step, and this time Jo did not back away. She kept Wyrmblight at the ready, however.

“And if I were?” she countered.

“I have … something for her, if you are she,” the voice grated. The figure knelt, removed something from its cloak, and placed it on the stony ground. It then stood and backed away. “It is for you,” it said, pivoting on a heavy, thudding boot and starting away down the alley.

Jo called after the mysterious creature. “Wait! What is it?”

The cloaked figure stopped, and Jo thought it turned around. It said, “It is a crystal, a crystal of the first abeylaut. Through it you may join with Fain Flinn. But beware: if you speak of it to anyone or anything, the stone will shatter into a thousand pieces, which will lodge in your flesh and work their way into your heart.” The figure began walking away again.

Jo bit her lip, unable to believe the infirm being, but unwilling not to. “How do I know this isn’t a hoax?” she called loudly.

The figure did not stop. “Try it,” she heard faintly, “and discover the truth.”

The next moment, only shadows remained in the darksome alley. Trembling, Johauna knelt on the ground and looked at the gem, taking care not to touch it. It glowed faintly, unlike any abelaat stone she had ever seen, and it was larger, too. Whether or not it was an abelaat stone, it was a thing of power. But why give it to me? Why?

Cautiously Jo picked the stone up. It took up most of the palm of her hand and felt warm to the touch. She ran her fingers across the four sigils of her sword and murmured, “Wyrmblight, is this stone an abelaat crystal?” She waited for some sort of response, but the blade remained cool to the touch, and none of the sigils glowed. She tried other questions, all pertaining to the stone or the cloaked figure, and at first received the same silence after each question.

But then, a voice spoke. Keep the stone, Jo. It bears my heart. It bears my love. The words hadn’t come from Wyrmblight, but they had come all the same. Perhaps it was her own weary mind that had spoken. Perhaps it was the stone itself. But an insistent, irrational hope told her it was the voice of Flinn.

Blinking, Jo realized suddenly that dawn was lightening the sky. The alley, which a moment before had been impenetrably dark, now glowed with morning light. A lump in her throat, Jo lifted the stone and gazed, mesmerized, into it.

“Flinn,” she whispered, hoarsely. “You are in this gem, aren’t you?”

Her words were answered only by silence.

Glancing from side to side, hoping no one had seen the precious stone she bore, Jo tucked the crystal inside her belt pouch. She’d worry about it tomorrow, after she’d had some sleep. Maybe she’d talk to Braddoc about it, she thought for a moment, but a suddenly spasm of fear clenched her heart. Braddoc would insist on giving the treasure to the baroness, who would imprison it—the heart of Flinn—in a glass case for all the world to see. No, Jo thought. I will keep it a secret, my silent, constant communion with Flinn. Nodding, she headed down the alley, up the stairs, and into the hallway running the length of the inn.

At the seventh door on her left, Jo stopped and listened through the plain pine door. She heard someone stirring. Good, she thought, Braddoc’s up and I won’t disturb him. Jo opened the door to the room she had planned to share with Braddoc. The castellan had given her money enough for two rooms, but Johauna was frugal to a fault after living so many years on the street.

Jo entered the small room just as Braddoc sat down on the only chair, situated by one of the two narrow beds. A curtainless window behind the dwarf let in a little light, supplemented by a candle on a table between the beds. From the look of the melted wax and the stubble remains of the candle, Jo knew the dwarf had been up the better part of the night. Braddoc looked at Jo and grunted a greeting, then turned to Brisbois.

The squire’s eyes shifted toward the man on the bed. Brisbois’s injuries had been dressed, Jo saw. His broken arm was in splints and a sling, and white strips of bandage nearly covered one side of Brisbois’s face. He was murmuring in his sleep, and his free hand jerked spasmodically. Jo set the battle-axe in the corner with Braddoc’s other things. She undid the harness and stretched her back, then rested the sword next to the bed along the far wall.

Jo sat down on the edge of Brisbois’s bed, but was careful not to touch the man. For some moments, she watched him sleep, then turned to Braddoc. The dwarfs good eye was on her.

Jo gave Braddoc a little smile. “I hope you didn’t have too hard a time bringing him back here by yourself.”

Braddoc snorted. He shook his head. “I’ve had the healer in. Brisbois’ll live, if that’s all right with you.” The dwarf stared at Jo.

The young woman’s eyes widened for a moment, and she turned away from Braddoc’s gaze. “That’s good ” she said quietly. “I’m sorry about how I acted. I want to do what Sir Graybow asked of us.” She turned back to the dwarf. “At least, that’s what I want to do now. Earlier tonight was a different matter.”

Braddoc looked at her and said slowly, “I don’t understand you, Johauna. I don’t.” He turned to the injured man, then reached out and tucked the blanket a little closer around Brisbois’s neck. Beside Braddoc, the candle on the table sputtered and went out. The room was bathed in the half light of the rising sun, and, moment by moment, the light grew in the tiny room. Jo felt it touch her face, and she closed her eyes against its caress.

The squire stood and then lay down on the other bed. She groaned as stiff muscles tried to loosen up. Gesturing at Brisbois, she said. “Is he able to ride in an hour?” she asked.

Braddoc stared at Jo and then said slowly, “Yes … but I think—”

“That’s all I want to know,” Jo said coldly. “That’s all I need to know.”