The Dragon's Tomb

Chapter I

Gritty ash from the still-smoldering funeral pyre whirled up in the midmorning breeze and stung Johauna Menhir’s gray eyes. She blinked the tears back. Rubbing her swollen eyelids with the back of one grimy hand, Jo whispered, “No more.” Her lips, dried out from more than four days’ exposure to the late winter winds, split in a sudden grimace. “No more,” she repeated hoarsely. “I’ll cry no more for you, Fain Flinn.” She shook her head sadly.

The wind shifted, and with it came a sudden hint of spring. The barren trees surrounding the tiny glade swayed gently, and for the first time Jo saw that the branches were about to burst with green. It was as if the world was oblivious to the death of Flinn, oblivious to the sacrifice he had made. It was as though the forest had already forgotten the titanic battle waged here between man and dragon. The hushed trickle of spring runoff filled Jo’s reddened ears, and a crow circled lazily overhead.

Her hands gripped the great sword she held, a six-foot weapon fully an inch taller than she. “Wyrmblight,” she murmured, as though to comfort herself with the name. The famed sword shone silver-white beneath the pale sky, untouched by the black taint that had covered it before. The four ancient sigils on one flat of the blade glinted brightly: Honor, Courage, Faith, and Glory. The four points of the Quadrivial. Flinn had attained the four points, but it had cost him his life. And now the sword was hers—her only physical reminder of the man who had sheltered her and taught her so much of life.

Jo’s memories grew bitter, and the corners of her mouth tugged downward. A crack in her lips opened and bled a little. She stared at the fourth and brightest rune. “Glory,” she spat. “If you hadn’t sought glory, you wouldn’t have fought Verdilith alone.” No, that’s not true, her mind whispered. Flinn went alone so we wouldn’t be killed. He knew he was going to his doom; he wouldn’t let us die, too. Her eyes wandered to the still-smoldering pyre.

“Oh, Flinn,” Johauna whispered in a voice that broke, “why didn’t you let me come with you? Why?” A thread of anger wound through the pain-filled words. “I was your squire! If I couldn’t save you, I could have at least died with you!” One hand curled into an angry fist, and Jo stared unblinking at the pile of ashes. She ground her teeth, unable to voice the emotions welling inside her.

Wyrmblight glittered cold and lifeless in the young woman’s hands. The warmth it had generated in its master’s grip was absent for her, and she wondered if it always would be. For four days and nights Jo had stood vigil over Flinn’s body; then she and the others had lit the pyre, and she guarded it during the day it took to burn. So cold and bitter had been the blade during winter’s last throes that Jo had developed chilblains on her hands. But she hadn’t noticed them then, and she ignored them now as she cradled the sword of elven silver and dwarven steel to her chest. “Oh, Flinn,” Johauna whispered, “why did you have to die?”

Jo’s gaze fell one last time to the ashes before her, the ghostly image of a man’s body seeming to take shape amid the charred remains of oak and elm. Jo blinked once, and the form was gone. The embers had finally died out in this tiny glade in the Wulfholde Hills. All that remained of the finest knight the lands of Penhaligon had ever known was ash and distorted bone.

Flinn the Mighty was no more.

The squire’s hand fell to her belt where a small, beaded leather bag hung—the one other possession of Flinn’s. The pouch carried the abelaat crystals they had used for scrying. Three of the stones were orange in hue, created from the abelaat’s own blood, but the other four were deeply red, formed from Jo’s blood. A twinge of pain gripped Jo’s shoulder as she remembered the eight-fanged creature biting into the joint, its poisonous saliva turning to stone in her wounds.

Jo touched the beaded bag. “Do I dare?” she whispered, unsure of her ability to control the crystals. When the stones were heated, they could be used to see or contact whomever the bearer wished. Some said they could even contact the dead.

The squire rubbed her tired eyes once again. “No, I can’t,” she murmured to the ashes. “Not now, anyway. I’d need Karleah’s help.” Jo looked behind her to the trail that led through the woods to her companions. The trampled snow had melted, leaving the brown richness of earth and a tinge of green. She blinked. Always before, spring had filled her with hope, but now she felt only empty.

They’re waiting for me.

She blinked again and realized she didn’t care. They’re waiting for me, she repeated to herself, and I must go. Reluctantly, Johauna turned back to the remnant of the pyre. She held Wyrmblight before her, crosswise, and bowed low, her movements trembling and weary.

“Farewell, Fain Flinn, my lord—” Jo’s voice faltered and could not continue, though her thoughts ended with “—my love.” Jo closed her eyes wearily, then bit her cracked lips in sudden determination. “I will avenge your death, Flinn! Verdilith will die, and Wyrmblight will deliver the death blow,” she said grimly. Jo clenched the sword again, this time drawing blood from her palms. She turned and hurried down the path, refusing to look back.

But she didn’t need to look back to remember. The trail evoked the memory of the first time Jo had traversed it. Less than a week earlier she had stumbled through these woods, seeking Flinn and praying he was still alive after his attack on Verdilith, the green dragon. Jo had followed the path of blood, muddied snow, and broken branches all the way to the tiny glade she had just left—the glade where Flinn had died. Now the trail was brown and pungent with raw earth, and clumps of green lined its edges. It showed no evidence of Flinn’s passing, as if it, too, had forgotten.

Suddenly Jo dropped Wyrmblight and fell to her knees. Cold mud clung to her legs, but she didn’t care. Her arms crossed in a ragged embrace as she doubled over in pain. “Flinn! Flinn!” Johauna rasped, remembering how she had found his battered body, lying facedown in the trampled snow. She had turned him over, fearing the worst, but Flinn had been alive then, and for one precious moment Johauna had believed he would live.

But he didn’t. He didn’t live. Jo pressed her face between her hands, determined not to give in to the despair and grief and anger that threatened to engulf her.

“How am I to live without you, Flinn?” Jo whispered, finally giving voice to the fear that had haunted her ever since Flinn had died in her arms. Who else will believe in me, teach me? Who else will have hopes and dreams for me, will have pride in me? Who else will love me? Jo wondered, her anger growing. Each day since Flinn’s death, she had held her grief at bay. First she had stood vigil at the pyre, guarding his body for four days and nights from the wolves. Then she had waited the long hours it had taken for Flinn and the pyre to burn, not ceasing her vigil until the last ember died.

But now, there was nothing to stop her grief.

Jo doubled over and beat her clenched fists against the ground. Chunks of ice and rock bit into her skin, already fragile and damaged; chilblains opened and pus mingled with the blood of fresh cuts. “Why? Why? Why?” Bitter tears flowed from her unseeing eyes, and roaring filled her ears.

Jo paused and held out her hands before her, palms upward. Her hands were raw, the skin battered away. “Oh, Flinn,” she murmured hoarsely, “let me join you.” Jo looked past her hands to Wyrmblight, shining bright on the ground where she had dropped it. Catching a small, fearful breath, she placed her wrists to the sword’s finely honed edge. The thin, razor-sharp edge of silvern steel stroked her skin.

A strange heat suddenly radiated from the sword.

Jo closed her eyes and slid her wrists against Wyrmblight’s edge. She felt the fragile skin give way, and blood run in a sluggish stream from her veins, hot tears for the ground. Jo looked down at the stain of red on the white blade. A single tear escaped her eyes and splashed on the sword, hissing when it hit.

The young woman blinked, dizzy, vaguely wondering what she was doing. She raised her wrists from the edge of Wyrmblight and looked at the ragged wounds. Blood spilled forth and dripped onto the sword, splashing onto the sigils and hissing. One of the four sigils on the flat of the blade began to glow, and intense heat emanated from it. For a moment Jo was mesmerized by the pure white beauty of the glowing sigil; then she noticed that the blood on Wyrmblight had disappeared. Her eyes traveled from the sword to her bleeding hands and wrists. As she looked, a waving thread of white light stretched from the sigil. The light circled one wrist. Jo watched, speechless, as the white light took on the hue of blood and stitched itself about the gash. As it reached the opposite end of the laceration, the light gradually became pure white.

Jo blinked. “Flinn … ?” she whispered. The thread of light wove between her fingers, turned pink and paused, then encircled her other bleeding wrist. Jo held up her left hand and gasped. It was healed, completely healed. Only a tiny scar remained. She held up her other hand and it, too, was healed.

The waving thread of light retreated back to the third sigil. Jo reached out with her finger and tentatively touched it, marveling that she could despite its heat. “Faith,” she murmured. She shut her eyes briefly, then stared above her at the surrounding trees. “Oh, Flinn!” she shouted. “You were the only one who ever had faith in me!”

The light from the sigil shot out and enveloped Jo. At first she was aware only of its warmth. Then, little by little, she felt the sorrow in her heart ease and become bearable.

The pain and grief still remained, but somehow she had gained the strength to bear them. Her mind was clearer, and the horror of the past week receded.

The words have faith in yourself rang inside Jo’s mind. She thought it came from the light surrounding her. Have faith, Johauna Menhir. Slowly the light withdrew from Jo’s body, leaving behind an unexpected calm, however small. Jo watched the light retreat inside Wyrmblight. Suddenly the warmth and glow were gone—Wyrmblight lay cold and lifeless once more in the trampled mud and snow. Jo stared in awe at the white blade, the words have faith ringing in her ears.

How long Jo knelt there in the melting snow and spring mud, she didn’t know. She knew only that the sword had been a balm to her spirit, a balm that eased her sorrow. And now, in place of the pain, a new passion rose in Jo’s weary mind: vengeance. At the pyre, she had vowed to avenge Flinn’s death, and now she was suddenly determined to carry out that vow.

The dragon had brought him death, and the dragon would be destroyed by it. Only then will Flinn’s death and my life have meaning, she suddenly realized.

Jo stood and picked up Wyrmblight. The woman frowned. She was a squire of Penhaligon, owing obedience to Baroness Penhaligon. But that obedience would likely interfere with Jo’s desire to hunt Verdilith. Her thoughts turned grim. Your loyalty lies with Flinn, she mused, for it was he who helped you become a squire in the Order of the Three Suns. Without him, you would never have reached the castle. Or if you had, they would have laughed you back to the rat-infested streets of Specularum. Jo shuddered.

The squire touched the sigils one last time, then she turned and continued down the path. Her steps grew increasingly sure. “Have faith, have faith,” she chanted under her breath. She looked at the trees around her, noting how they burgeoned with buds, waiting to burst into green. But none of their vitality, their hope, seeped into Jo. She felt dead. Hurrying her step, she shoved her thoughts aside. “Have faith,” she said a little unsteadily as she touched the silver bark of a birch.

Just ahead, at the end of the trail, the midday sun streamed into a glade larger than the one Jo had left. She hesitated before entering the glade, suddenly unsure of how to greet her comrades. You’ve been beastly to them, Jo told herself, callously berating them for “failing” Flinn, ignoring their grief. They’ll understand, her logical half replied. They know I spoke out of anger and sorrow, not truth. Nodding once, Jo stepped into the glade and moved toward the encampment, keeping her eyes averted. If she didn’t look out into the glade, perhaps the memory of her first sight of it wouldn’t return. She quickened her pace, but the images were seared into her mind. She saw, once again, the terrible sight that had greeted her five days ago.

The crumpled, brutally savaged body of Flinn’s griffon lay at this end. All about the creature, a score or more of staves, wands, and rods lay half-buried in snow. The once-pristine whiteness was marred by blood and churned mud from the battle Flinn had waged with Verdilith.

Jo bit the inside of her cheek. She had to face these memories and drive them from her mind or she would surely go mad. Jo stopped walking and forced herself to look at the glade. Her eyes grew wide.

Sometime during the last few days, the sun’s rays had melted the snow. Gone was the white spattered with red. Dried tufts of grass and wildflowers lent a new, clean color to the glade. Jo blinked. Tans and yellows and browns and curtains of evergreen lay all about her as she knelt to take it all in. The trees had seemed so cold, so unfeeling the day they had witnessed Flinn’s death. Now, spring was coursing through them, and the trees had sprouted buds.

Jo drew a ragged breath. If I can only endure, like the trees endure, she thought, I’ll weather the winter of Flinn’s death. Tears flowed freely from her eyes. “I understand.” Jo slowly covered her face with her hands. The words have faith whispered once more through her mind.

A gentle touch on her shoulder made Jo look up. The concerned expression of Braddoc Briarblood’s good eye met hers, though his milky eye wandered blindly away. Beneath the blind eye Braddoc’s cheek twitched, puckering a deep hatchet scar that ran from his eyebrow to the cheekbone below, just short of the neatly plaited beard. Braddoc of the Cloven Eye had lost partial sight but not his life the day he had been attacked by an axe-wielding frost giant in the Altan Tepes Mountains. The dwarf’s lips compressed a little, and Jo wondered if the usually laconic mercenary was about to say something.

Instead, Braddoc held out a gnarled hand to Jo. Three purple-and-white blossoms glistened there. They were snow crocuses, the earliest flowers to bloom in the spring.

“Braddoc . . Jo whispered. She reached out and took the fragile blossoms; she sniffed them delicately, then looked at her friend. “For Flinn?”

Braddoc shook his head. “No, they’re for you, Johauna,” he said sharply. “Flinn won’t be needing these.” The dwarf took Jo’s arm and helped her rise. “Come, Karleah and Dayin are waiting. The time for mourning is past. It’s time to go.” Braddoc began walking toward the two canvas tents pitched at the other end of the glade. He stopped and eyed Jo quizzically when she didn’t follow.

“I’m not sure the time to mourn ever ends, Braddoc,” Jo said slowly. Her eyes slipped to the crocuses in her hand. “But you’re right—it is time to go.” She joined the dwarf, and together they crossed the ground leading to the camp.

Jo could see the smoke curl lazily away from the fire beneath the cook pot. Karleah Kunzay, an ancient, withered crone of a wizardess—and also a passable cook—was stirring something in the pot. Karleah ignored the approaching pair and busied herself about the fire. A sudden whiff of rabbit stew reached Jo’s nose, and she sniffed appreciatively. Only then did she realized she was hungry.

The ten-year-old boy sitting at the camp saw Jo and Braddoc approach, and he stood in quiet anticipation. Dayin Kine had once been a shy wildboy hiding in Flinn’s woods before Jo and Flinn offered him shelter. As Jo entered the camp, the boy brushed back his blond, shaggy hair and smiled tentatively. The smile was sweet in its innocence, and Jo couldn’t help smiling back. Dayin’s eyes were the color of the spring sky above, and they watched Jo intently.

The squire moved closer to the fire and saw that Karleah, too, was watching her with equal intensity. The creases around Karleah’s black, beady eyes had furrowed more than their usual wont. Her lips were pursed, and the ancient lines crisscrossing her face had sunk deeper over the last week. Why, Karleah’s worried! Jo thought in sudden surprise. About me? A wave of guilt washed over Jo, and she felt her face flush. Her dismay deepened when Braddoc left her to join Karleah and Dayin on the other side of the fire. The three of them looked at Jo silently.

“I—” Jo began, then coughed. Get a hold of yourself, she thought sternly. “The … pyre has finally burned out. Flinn is no more,” Jo finished.

Braddoc and Karleah glanced at each other. The old wizardess looked down at Dayin, then put her bony arm around her apprentice’s equally thin shoulder. Karleah nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Have you given any thought as to what to do next, Johauna?” Braddoc asked, his good eye looking up at Jo.

What to do next? thought Jo suddenly. Next? Why ask me? Jo turned away and placed Wyrmblight reverently on some nearby skins, buying a moment to think. Can it be, she thought, that they expect me to make the decision? She turned back to the others, and all three were looking steadily at her.

“I … hadn’t given it much thought,” Jo said truthfully, “but I know that the first thing I intend to do is find Verdilith.” Seeing their dubious faces, Jo added grimly, “The dragon must die. I won’t rest until Verdilith is dead.” Her gray eyes flashed.

“While you stood vigil over Flinn’s body,” Braddoc said after a discreet pause, “I followed the path Verdilith made through the woods. It wasn’t hard. He never once took to the sky—I think Flinn must have damaged his wings.” The dwarf grinned savagely.

Karleah began dishing up plates of steaming stew and bread and handing them to Dayin to pass out. Jo accepted one gratefully and took a place by the fire. She touched the sword lying behind her, and the words have faith seemed to echo through her.

As Braddoc opened his mouth to speak again, Karleah thrust a bowl into his hands and grunted, “Eat.” Snapping his mouth shut, he, too, sat by the fire. Dayin joined the dwarf and began eating his stew, using his bread as a ladle.

The fastidious dwarf shot him a censoring glance, then dug in with his spoon. A tiny drop of broth spattered Braddoc’s yellow jerkin and leather breeches. He frowned and wiped the spot away immediately. Jo smiled. He’s a strange fellow, she thought. So brusque and yet so persnickety about his appearance. Though his clothes were travel-stained, they were free of crusted mud, unlike Jo’s and her other companions’. The dwarf spent far more time at the stream washing his things than the rest did.

“What happened to the trail once the dragon cleared the woods?” Jo prompted the dwarf.

Karleah harrumphed at Braddoc as she sat down, and Jo turned to the older woman. The wizardess bit into a steaming piece of meat and, seemingly oblivious to the heat, said to Jo, “He lost it. Wouldn’t think a creature so close to the ground could lose a trail—a dragon trail at that—but the dwarf did.”

“I did not lose the trail!” Braddoc barked.

“You sure enough did!” the old woman retorted.

Jo held up her hand for silence, about to speak, but the words died on her lips. The gesture she had just made was one of Flinn’s, and she was shaken. She didn’t know whether to be surprised that she used the gesture or heartened that she was following in his footsteps. Jo managed to say, “That’s—that’s enough bickering, please. Just tell me what happened after you broke through the woods, Braddoc.”

Braddoc shot Karleah an I-told-you-so look with his good eye, then turned back to Jo. “The trail continued once I was through the woods and into the Wulfholdes,” the dwarf said sharply. He paused, then shook his head. “Flinn severely injured Verdilith, by the looks of the blood trail the dragon left. In fact, I’d wager it was a close fight.

My guess is Flinn very nearly—”

Jo winced and put her hand to her eyes. Braddoc halted his words, and Jo silently thanked him. By the Immortals, she thought, Flinn would have lived if I had been there, regardless of Karleah’s prophecy.

“Johauna …” Braddoc said tentatively, his voice quieter than Jo had ever heard. “I’m sorry I said that. I thought you’d be comforted to know that Verdilith paid dearly for—”

Jo winced again. “Thank you, Braddoc. I know,” she said heavily. “I just wish I’d been at Flinn’s side, like a good squire—”

“Don’t think that, girl,” Karleah cut in with her high-pitched voice. “Fain Flinn rode to his doom that day, and he knew it. He knew, too, that any who went with him would meet their doom as well. Flinn did a brave deed that day—don’t belittle it by thinking you could’ve saved him.”

Jo looked at her plate of food and then at Karleah. “You believe your prophecy, Karleah; I’ll believe my instincts. I could have saved him.” Jo frowned bitterly.

Karleah snorted, and her dark eyes glittered at Jo. “Harrumph! My prophecies have never failed me, girl. Had you been in the glade with Flinn, you both would have died.”

And how much better that would have been than this! Jo’s heart cried. She gripped her bread tighter and stared at the crone. “Believe what you like, Karleah,” Jo said coldly, “and leave me to do the same.”

“I’m glad you didn’t die, Jo,” Dayin said softly, his eyes shining at Jo. The young woman stared at the boy, unable to decide if she felt grateful or annoyed at his feelings for her. Dayin’s eyes averted from Jo’s before she could decide.

The boys shoulders hunched slightly, and Jo turned back to Braddoc.

“So you were able to follow Verdilith’s trail into the Wulfholdes?” Jo asked briskly, determined to change the conversation. She bit into a piece of bread.

Braddoc nodded, swallowing some food. He said, “Yes, I followed the trail—it was clear and obvious. Then I rounded a hill and—”

“—and the trail disappeared! The dwarf lost the trail!” Karleah cackled. She slapped a bony knee beneath the shapeless gray shift she wore.

A wicked grin slowly crossed Braddoc’s face as he fixed his good eye on Karleah. “That’s where you’re wrong, old hag,” he said gleefully.

“Eh?” Karleah’s tiny black eyes widened suddenly, and her mouth hung open. “That’s not what you said before,” she noted worriedly.

Braddoc nodded slowly, still grinning. He waggled a finger at Karleah. “I didn’t tell you, old woman, because I wanted to tell Johauna first,” Braddoc said and then turned to Jo. The smile left the dwarf’s face. “I may have lost the trail, but I haven’t lost the dragon.”

“What do you mean, Braddoc?” Jo asked. She placed her cleaned plate by the fire, then licked her lips and frowned. An odd aftertaste lingered in her mouth. I hope the rabbit wasn’t spoilt, she thought, then thought better of it. Karleah never brought home carrion when she hunted in wolf form.

Braddoc held out his hands toward Jo. They shook slightly. “Johauna! Listen to me!” he said excitedly. “I lost the trail because the trail ended! The trail ended at the hill!”

“The hill? What hill, Braddoc?” Jo asked, just a shade testily. She blinked rapidly, trying to stifle the sudden urge to close her eyes. The lack of sleep is catching up with me, she thought, but I won’t sleep now. I don’t dare. “The Wulfholdes are all hills!” Jo yawned abruptly.

Braddoc glanced quickly at Karleah and then turned back to Jo. “Does one particular hill—a slightly rounded hill, with a stunted pine nearby—interest you?” Braddoc asked quietly. Beside him, Karleah drew her breath in sharply. Dayin looked up from his food, then leaned closer.

Jo blinked, only then aware that she had stopped breathing. Then, with a long intake of air, she asked, “You found the hill? You found Verdilith’s lair? You found the dragon?”

“You’re sure it’s the same hill we saw in the crystal?” Karleah asked sharply.

Jo interrupted, “Is it the hill, Braddoc? Did you find the dragon?” She yawned again. A great desire for sleep washed over her, but Jo shook herself mentally. I know you’re tired, she thought, but there are more important things than sleep. You must listen to Braddoc.

The dwarf stared at Jo, his good eye not blinking. Jo struggled to focus her eyes on him. Nodding, Braddoc said, “Yes, it’s the right hill. But I spent the better part of three days searching and I couldn’t find an entrance anywhere—nothing!”

Jo’s vision swam. She stood shakily, oblivious of the concern on her three comrades’ faces. “W-we have to find an entrance somehow. We must. Surely we can reach this hill before sundown—”

Karleah broke in. “Not today, Jo.” The old woman stood, too, and put her hand on Johauna’s arm.

Jo’s russet eyebrows rose in perplexity as she struggled to understand the wizardess. Then anger knitted her brow.

“Why n-not today, Karleah?” she stuttered, angry at her sleepiness. “You’re not in charge—”

“No, I’m not,” Karleah said agreeably. The crone lifted one thin hand and touched Jo’s cheek. She nodded at the younger woman. “No, Jo, you’re in charge. But you’re exhausted and need to rest. I think the powder I put in your stew is beginning to work… .”

Johauna’s eyes rolled backward as she fell into Braddoc’s waiting arms. Karleah drugged me? Jo thought in disbelief. She could hear her friends’ concerned voices, but the voices seemed to come from far away. A roaring filled her ears, and a strange lethargy seeped into her body. She struggled against it, suddenly afraid of what her dreams would bring. No! she cried, unaware that she made no sound. No! I mustn’t sleep! I mustn’t sleep!

But the sleeping powder and her own exhaustion were too much for Jo. Fatigue descended, surrounding her and dragging her into dreaming. Jo’s last conscious thought was one of mingled dread and longing: she knew that in her dreams, Flinn would live again. She knew, too, that when she awoke, he would not.

But, for now, she dreamed of Flinn.

Flinn lay in a world of cold and ceaseless flames. He was naked. He was dead. And the body that he occupied was somehow like his own, and somehow different. It floated numbly about his consciousness, as though his limbs were made of water and sponge. And the world of flames around him seemed to purify his watery form.

The knight clenched his fists, noting the strength in his hands. His arms felt stronger than they had in a very long time, perhaps stronger than they had ever been. He glanced at his body, his chest, his thighs; everything was smooth and strong, as though he were a statue freshly chiseled by a master sculptor.

All his scars of battle were gone.

With some effort he stood, noting only then the shadowy trees that towered in a ring about him. The ground beneath his feet crackled and broke, the only sound in this strange place of flickering light. He saw that he stood upon a burned-out pyre of wood and realized this was probably the same wood used to burn his mortal body. He was not surprised to discover that his soul had form, a perfect form of which his body was only a crude simulacrum. And then, with inhuman calm, he knew where he was.

The Realm of the Dead.

Whatever he was doing here, and wherever he was to go would certainly be revealed in time.

As he peered more intently into the flames, Flinn saw one other figure in the clearing. Johauna Menhir. She knelt, frail and fearful, upon the ground, Wyrmblight clutched loosely to her side. She was more beautiful and more graceful than Flinn had noticed with mortal eyes. The knight stood for what he thought must have been a long time, staring at the form of the woman he loved. She was more perfect here than in his memory, and his passions raced the longer he stared. He knew that these were the first feelings he had had since death. He stepped off his grave to embrace her.

Johauna’s image was instantly dispelled as the fires about him spread in a roaring rush that engulfed the whole world. Johauna was gone, the trees, the sky … only the ceaseless flames remained. For a moment Flinn felt rage and pain, but he quickly cooled his feelings. The land of the dead had its own laws. Though he did not feel them yet in his thoughts, his heart knew they would be revealed.

In Johauna’s place, a perfectly spherical boulder as high as Flinn’s waist appeared, a primitive spear thrust clean through its width. It was a perfect stone, and a perfect spear, and the knight recognized the symbol of his most favored Immortal patron.

Diulanna, Patroness of Will, beckoned from the flames in the distance. Flinn, naked, strong, pure in spirit and body, walked toward her.

Karleah came out of the tent and nodded coolly at Braddoc. The dwarf ducked through the flap and looked at Jo’s sleeping form. Braddoc had carried Jo into one of the tents and laid her on the sleeping furs, then Karleah had undressed Jo and made sure she was sleeping peacefully. The dwarf, however, mistrusted Karleah’s magical powders and ministrations and was determined to check on Jo himself. Braddoc knelt now by Jo’s bedroll and pushed a straggling lock of hair from her eyes. He smiled.

For some reason, it pleased him that her hair color so closely matched his. Johauna’s was just a shade darker than his red mane.

The dwarf tucked a wolf skin a little closer around Jo’s shoulders. His expression grew grim when he heard the girl moan a little. He slid Wyrmblight within her reach and set her hand lightly on the hilt. Braddoc fancied the girl’s face smoothed a little. In her condition, he thought, she won’t be able to lift the blade, let alone injure herself with it. With a final nod, he turned and left the tent.

Karleah and Dayin looked at him expectantly. “Is she settled?” the old woman asked, her voice neutral.

Braddoc nodded, then joined the others at the fire. Dayin sat at Karleah’s feet. He was sorting a number of dried twigs, some of which still held leaves and berries. Part of his lessons with the witch, Braddoc assumed. “Yes, she’s settled,” Braddoc said flatly. He shook his head. “Poisoning her like that wasn’t such a good idea. I think she’s having nightmares.”

The old woman frowned, then shrugged. “Of course she’s having nightmares; the powder only guarantees sleep, not sweet dreams. But Jo needs to rest. I don’t think she’s slept any since Flinn’s death.”

“Will she be any better in the morning, Karleah?” Dayin asked softly. His young face puckered with worry.

Karleah touched the boy’s shaggy hair briefly. “I think so, dear,” she said in a gentle voice Braddoc had never heard from her. The old hag has a heart after all, he thought. Karleah continued, “Jo placed too many of her hopes and dreams on Fain Flinn. She would have discovered that in time—if only she’d had time. But we’ll help her learn how to find new dreams for herself.”

“How long will she sleep, do you think?” Braddoc asked. He pulled out a whetstone and began sharpening his battle-axe. The edge was already keen, but sharpening the blade again gave the dwarf something to do.

Karleah squinted up at the midafternoon sun. “All day today and through the night, I suspect—perhaps longer,” she answered.

Braddoc’s only response was to grunt. He flicked his thumb across the battle-axe and smiled, well pleased with his work. He almost wished something other than wolves would dare return to these woods. But the terrible battle that had been fought between dragon and man had frightened away all creatures, and it would be some time before they would return.

Karleah pointed at a wrapped bundle near one of the tents and said to Dayin, “Let’s try again, boy.”

Silently Dayin retrieved the bundle and unwrapped it at Karleah’s feet. Inside were nearly a dozen wands. All were handsomely crafted, adorned with glittering gems and made of rare, precious metals. All were magical, inscribed with both ancient and recent runes of powers.

And not a one worked.

Verdilith had brought the wands with him in preparation for meeting Flinn, Karleah surmised, but for some reason all the magic had been leached from them. Braddoc frowned. The only logical explanation was that Verdilith hadn’t known the wands were drained when he brought them to the glade. The other obvious answer, that there was something about the glade that negated magicks, had been ruled out by Karleah two days ago. She had tried to use her own spells and magical items to reenchant the wands, but they would not hold the magic.

Dayin picked out a slender wand of silver embellished with mottled turquoise. “Try this one, Karleah,” he suggested. “Let’s see if we can enchant this one.”

Braddoc glanced over with little interest. The workmanship on this particular wand had not captured his fancy, for the silver was crudely cast. “She tried that one the day before yesterday, Dayin,” Braddoc said gruffly. “If you’re intent on being a wizard like Karleah, you’ll have to learn to be more observant of the little details.” He was being pedantic, he knew, but Braddoc was hoping to goad the boy. Dayin’s passivity rankled the dwarf. He blamed Karleah for the child’s behavior—behavior Braddoc thought was far too calm.

Dayin turned to the dwarf. “If you remember Karleah trying to use it, what did she do?” Dayin asked, a little testily. The boy’s tanned nose wrinkled. Good, thought Braddoc. Get mad; don’t be so sweet!

“Why, that I don’t recall,” Braddoc said smoothly, “but I do remember the outcome: nothing!” He laughed abruptly, pleased with his little joke.

Karleah smirked at Braddoc. “Harrumph!” she muttered caustically. She turned to Dayin and said, “Pay no attention to him, boy. Dwarves don’t know magic … or humor. Now, let’s try this wand of yours once more.”

The old wizardess held the wand before her and began murmuring an incantation. His attention pulled from the battle-axe, Braddoc watched a scene he had witnessed many times the past few days. Beside Karleah, Dayin began a counterchant. His voice blended with Karleah’s, and the sound swelled and filled the air of the glade. The wizardess’s bony fingers hovered above the wand and traced invisible runes in the air. Dayin pulled powders and other items from the little pouches Karleah had given him and dusted the wand—all to no avail.

“I don’t understand,” the crone muttered, her dark eyes snapping. “I just don’t understand. We’ve established that all the wands in this glade are no longer magical, but that doesn’t explain why I can’t enchant them!” Karleah scratched her chin. “I’ve enchanted empty wands before—even some of my own, now that I think about it.” The old woman’s bushy, peppered brows knitted.

“Is there something wrong with the wands themselves, Karleah?” Dayin asked, staring at the silver item the wizardess had dropped.

Karleah shook her head. “No, they’re fine, for the most part. Oh, a few were trampled in the fight, of course, but most of the wands are perfectly formed—they should serve as fine new vessels for magic. All I need to do is enchant them!”

Braddoc raised one brow and cut in, “Maybe you’re not a good enough mage, old hag.”

Karleah turned on the dwarf and hissed, “Not good enough!” The woman’s voice rose to a shriek. “Not good enough? Why, I’ll show you ‘not good enough’! ” Karleah pushed back one sleeve of her nondescript gray robe, and Braddoc dove for his shield. The dwarf managed to raise it only an instant before a flash of blue light struck the shield and exploded into tiny sparks.

After the last fizzle sounded, Braddoc peered over the shield toward Karleah and Dayin. The crone’s expression was mixed, telling him nothing, and the boy was frowning in disapproval as usual. Braddoc turned the shield over and waved away the last of the smoke. He saw with a measure of satisfaction that Karleah had missed the center of the shield. “We’ll count that as one for me, old crone,” he jeered.

Her ancient features flexing, Karleah waved vaguely toward the shield, and a blue light from her fingertip shone over a blackened scorch mark, “Mark’s closer to the center than to the edge. My point.”

“It’s a tie!” Braddoc protested, pointing out that the latest scorch mark rested squarely on the circular line that divided the iron hub from the wooden rim. Three fainter black marks touched the inner circle of metal, while only two marked the outer wood.

“It’s a tie?” Karleah replied, incredulous. “Ties go to me, eh?”

Braddoc shook his head. “I think not, hag. Ties belong to the dodger. That makes it three to three.” The dwarf shook his head again and laughed. “I just pray one of these days you don’t really miss, Karleah!”

The wizardess sniffed haughtily and then said, “The day I miss, Braddoc, is the day you forget to dodge!” Her black eyes twinkled at the dwarf suddenly, taking away some of the sting.

Dayin broke in, his voice sharp with concern. “I don’t think you two should play this game,” he said urgently. His summer-sky blue eyes flickered between the dwarf and Karleah. “Someone’s going to get hurt.”

“No one’s going to get hurt,” Braddoc rejoined, annoyed at the boy. “Karleah and I both know what we’re doing. Besides, it’s useful practice for me to stay in shape as a fighter. Though, truth to tell—” Braddoc’s good eye winked at Karleah “—the first time the hag took a potshot at me I was a little surprised!”

Dayin glanced at the wand he was holding, his brow wrinkling with anger. Come on, boy! Braddoc thought. Let it out! Show us your anger; show us you’re alive! When Dayin did nothing more than purse his lips, Braddoc frowned. Same reaction as always, Braddoc thought. The boy had plenty to be angry about: his father had maliciously abandoned his young son, he’d had to survive for two years in the wilderness, and only a few weeks ago he discovered his father was the evil mage Teryl Auroch. Even one of these events would send Braddoc on a tirade, he knew, but Dayin always contained his anger.

The boy was faultlessly useful in camp and always pleasant and conciliatory. Braddoc suspected that Dayin blamed himself for his father’s leaving and thus tried to remain as unobtrusive as possible. Perhaps Dayin would not risk losing his temper for fear the others would also abandon him. Whatever the cause, the boy’s manner grated on Braddoc’s nerves, and the dwarf deliberately tried to provoke the boy on more than one occasion. So far, nothing had cracked the child’s resolve.

Dayin held up the wand. “Karleah, you said the wands were drained of magic. I’d say it’s more than drained. They’ve been altered so that they can no longer hold magic, as if every spark of enchantment had been removed,” Dayin conjectured. His young blond brows knitted in imitation of Karleah’s bushy gray-black ones. Braddoc stifled a laugh.

Karleah nodded sagely. “I’m afraid that’s the conclusion I’ve come to, too, Dayin.” She shrugged. “Whatever did it must be powerful indeed. I’ve never run across a spell that could do that!”

“What do you propose to do with them?” Braddoc asked, eyeing one particular wand that had caught his attention with its chased gold filigree set with emeralds that shone in the sunlight.

Again the old woman shrugged. “They’re useless to me. We can bring them back to the Castle of the Three Suns, but the mages there are mere bunglers next to me.”

Braddoc raised a brow at Karleah’s statement but wisely chose to say nothing. He never timed his taunts of the wizardess too closely; he was well aware her magic missiles were of a low-key variety, and he didn’t want to push her to anything more powerful.

Karleah continued, “We’ll find out what’s what at the dragon’s lair. I’m sure of it.” She turned to Braddoc. “If you’ve really found the hill we saw in the crystal, dwarf, then I can find us a way in, even if you couldn’t.”

Braddoc drew the whetstone across the edge of his battle-axe one last time before he looked at Karleah. “I found it, all right, but like I said—” the dwarf shook his head “—there’s no entrance to the lair. None whatsoever.” The crone’s faced crinkled into myriad wrinkles as she suddenly grimaced. “Leave that to me.” Her black eyes glittered in the setting sun.