The Dragon's Tomb

Chapter IV

A man on a chestnut horse approached Johauna and her companions as they turned their mounts onto the castle road. Parts of the knight’s armor shone in the late afternoon sun, and the rest was covered by a midnight-blue tunic embroidered with three golden suns. Behind him rode two guards, each carrying their spears upright in formal greeting. Jo had wondered if the baroness would send a guard to formally meet Flinn and his comrades upon their “victorious” return to the castle.

Jo clenched her jaw. Only there’s no Flinn to return triumphant, she thought. The baroness is greeting a party who has lost its hero—a party who hasn’t even avenged that hero’s death. Jo’s mind slipped back a few days to a conversation she’d held with Karleah and Braddoc. They’d been sitting around the campfire the night after they’d attacked Verdilith. Karleah was adamant about leaving in the morning and heading back to the Castle of the Three Suns.

“Look, I understand that you think you’ve lost your magic, but—” Jo began again.

“There’s no ‘think’ to it, Jo!” Karleah interjected. Her voice cracked with strain and anger and, Jo thought, fear. “Something inside that lair has stolen most of my spells! I’m afraid to use any more for fear they’ll disappear, too!” Jo tried to calm the distraught woman, who had begun to pace again. “I understand that, Karleah,” the squire said, “but I want to stay here and at least watch the lair! You and Braddoc and Dayin can head back to the castle. Then send me a mage who can help me get back inside.”

“Bah!” Karleah snorted. “One of those pansy (meaning no disrespect to the flower) mages might be able to get you in, but not out!”

Jo stood up and held her hands toward Karleah. This argument had gone on long enough. “What do you expect me to do, Karleah? Will you tell me that much, huh?” Jo’s voice rose. She took a step forward and slashed the air with one hand. “At Flinn’s pyre, I swore I would avenge his death!” Her eyes flashed at the older woman. Karleah had the grace to look momentarily chagrined, but Jo wasn’t mollified. “I must stay here—”

From his position by the fire, Braddoc spoke up for the first time that night. All the time Jo and Karleah had argued, he’d been idly rummaging through his backpack, looking at his treasures from the dragon’s lair. Dayin had stayed by the dwarf’s side, obviously seeking Braddoc’s stoic protection against the volatile argument between the squire and the wizardess.

“No, Johauna,” Braddoc interrupted, “that’s not what you must do—that’s what you want to do.” The dwarf picked up a stick and stoked the embers. He eyed Jo with his good orb, the firelight glinting off the blind one.

Jo rounded on Braddoc. “Oh, yes? Is that what you think? Come on, Braddoc! You know what Flinn meant to me!”

“Yes. I do,” the dwarf said imperturbably. He tossed aside his stick. “I also know you swore an oath to Baroness Arteris Penhaligon. When a knight dies, the squire must immediately report to the castle for reassignment … or dismissal. Which oath is more important to you, Johauna, the oath of vengeance or of honor?” Braddoc stood and drew himself to his full height. “I could tell you which was more important to Flinn, but I think we all know. If you aren’t going to be a squire any longer, Johauna, then I’m leaving in the morning.”

“Leaving!” The word exploded from Jo’s lips. She put her hands on her hips and stood before the dwarf.

Braddoc nodded. “You heard me.” He shook his handsome russet head, the newly plaited beard gleaming with a golden braid he’d found inside the lair. “Remember: I’m a mercenary at heart. I was one before you ever met me.” He gestured at the rest of the booty he’d stolen from Verdilith. “I’ve got a few baubles I can sell to keep me in comfort the rest of my life, plus an interesting box to spend my time puzzling over.”

“But—!” Jo exclaimed, cutting short her words. She changed her tactic. “What about Flinn? I thought he was your friend.”

Braddoc didn’t bat an eye. “ Was is right. What about Flinn? He’s dead. I can’t help him any more. He wouldn’t expect me to, either.”

Jo leaned backward, her eyes caught by Braddoc’s expression. “And what of me? Am I not your friend?” she asked quietly after a long moment.

The dwarf pursed his lips before saying slowly, “Yes, you are my friend, Johauna Menhir. But you have a choice to make here, and that is, which of the two oaths you have sworn will you honor first? If you choose your desire to avenge Flinn’s death, I can’t help you now. If you return to the castle, I can help you. I’d like to take over where Flinn left off on your training.”

The last sentence held such a ring of concern and sincerity that Jo had to swallow a sudden lump in her throat. She glanced away at Karleah and Dayin, both of whom were silently watching her, then she turned back to the dwarf. “Can’t—” Jo began, then coughed “—can’t you go to the castle with Karleah and Dayin and send back help? I can guard the lair… .”

Braddoc crossed his arms. “You’re forgetting one thing, Johauna,” he said quietly. “Yow are the squire, not me. Flinn’s dead and Verdilith is still alive. It’s your job to report that back at the castle.” Braddoc turned and began walking away toward his tent. “I won’t do your job,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Jo watched the dwarf retreat into the darkness. She rubbed her hands together wearily. Just as she saw Braddoc pull back his tent flap, she called out, “All right! All right! I’ll … go to the castle.” She added when she saw Braddoc turn back toward her, “I will do my duty as a squire in the order, but I will request assignment to avenge Flinn’s death”

“And we’ll go with you,” Braddoc replied. Karleah and Dayin nodded assent.

Jo rubbed her eyes and pushed aside the memory of that conversation. Tensions had run high between her and her comrades, but they’d lessened the last few days on the road. Now the party had almost reached the Castle of the Three Suns. The knight and his guards were approaching her, and soon she’d have to make some sort of formal report to the baroness. Jo bit her lip but didn’t slow her horse, Carsig.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir Graybow said only, “Continue, squire.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need rest—not healers,” the old woman interrupted irascibly. “I don’t want any clerics prodding my bones and murmuring incantations and forcing me to drink funny-colored potions made of newt brains and what-have-you.”

“Let them help, Karleah, please,” Dayin said in his most pleading voice. “Please,” he said again. Karleah nodded, relenting. A smile touched Jo’s lips; no one could refuse Dayin when he asked for something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Madam Astwood smiled icily. “There are, of course, those who believe as you do, miss—er, Squire Menhir,” the lady said smoothly. “Others, of course, believe differently.” The woman raised her pale eyebrows, flecked with gray. Jo felt suddenly insulted. She bristled.

Baroness Penhaligon interrupted before Jo could make her retort. “Pray continue with your report, Squire Menhir. Sir Flinn is a beloved member of our order—” the baroness glared in Madam Astwood’s direction “—despite his unwarranted fall from grace. We would know what has become of him.”

Jo related her tale, picking up when she, Flinn, and their companions had left the Castle of the Three Suns only a few weeks earlier. Jo told the council of their search for signs of Verdilith’s passing in the Wulfholde Hills northeast of the castle, and how fruitless that search had been. She told the council, too, of Flinn’s departure in the middle of the night to confront Verdilith single-handedly. He did this, Jo told them, so that Karleah Kunzay’s prophecy of doom would not come to pass for any but himself.

Standing in that room, bathed by the light of the magical lanterns, Jo’s eyes misted over with tears as she told them of the final day of Flinn’s life. Her storytelling instincts took over, and Jo’s imagination colored her recounting.

“And Fain Flinn struck one last, final blow with his mighty blade, Wyrmblight,” Jo said softly, her words echoing off the walls in the silent hall. “Not even Verdilith, the great green, could recover from that blow. He turned tail and fled, but so grievous were his injuries—so badly had Flinn harmed the malevolent wyrm—that Verdilith could not fly. Instead, the dragon crashed through the barren winter undergrowth , He left a trail of blood and broken branches that the greenest hunter could follow.

“But it was not such a hunter who followed that trail—it was Fain Flinn, Flinn the Mighty. Grievous, too, were his wounds, but he did not hesitate in his duty. He was a knight in the Order of the Three Suns; he had sworn to kill the dragon who menaced Penhaligon,” Jo swallowed abruptly, disregarding the tear that escaped her eye.

“And so Flinn the Mighty took up Wyrmblight and stumbled after the dragon, determined to slay the wyrm. But at the body of his faithful griffon, Ariac, Flinn fell to one knee. He said good-bye to the crippled bird-lion, and perhaps he thanked him, too, for trying to save his life. We will never know.

“Flinn followed the dragon’s path of blood, his own adding to the trail. He fell, but would not relent,” Jo paused and slowly looked at each council member one by one. All were engrossed and saddened at the tale. Even Madam Astwood look chagrined. “He would not relent,” Jo repeated, “but instead dragged himself through the trampled snow and mud. He would not fail, he told himself, he would not fail.”

Jo’s throat constricted, and she looked down at the sword she held in her hands. She looked back at the council and fixed her gaze on the castellan, warming at the empathy she sensed in him. “We found him late that day,” she said simply, “and he was still alive, though a lesser man would have surely died.” Jo’s hands clenched on Wyrmblight. “He seemed to have clung to life until we could reach him, for shortly after I arrived, he died—” Jo choked on the words before she could embarrass either Flinn or herself by saying “in my arms.”

The council members remained silent while Jo collected herself. Then Madam Astwood spoke up, her tone laced with irony. “How touching,” she said cattily. “It’s a shame the man did not defeat the dragon, for he would surely have attained the fourth point of the Quadrivial then. That was always Flinn’s goal. What a pity he didn’t succeed. But, then, so few knights do really attain all points of the Quadrivial. Such knights are really quite rare.” The woman’s statement set Jo’s teeth on edge, and something close to hatred rose in her breast. She struggled to find a fitting retort.

A hand upon her arm made Jo stop and look down. Braddoc stood beside her, his one good eye fixed on her.

He pursed his lips, and Jo nodded to him. Braddoc took Wyrmblight from Jo’s hands and stalked over to Baroness Penhaligon. Sir Graybow, on her left, remained calm, but the knight on her right rose and drew his sword. Braddoc paused momentarily, grunted in the man’s direction, then dropped the sword on the table in front of Arteris. Jo came to stand by the dwarf.

“There,” Braddoc said and pointed at the blade. “There’s all the proof you need that Fain Flinn attained the Quadrivial ” The council members gathered near and peered at the silver-white sword.

Bit by bit, the four sigils on the flat of the blade began to glow. The runes depicting Honor, Courage, Faith, and Glory released a warm, white light. Then the four spots of light merged and grew brighter still, forcing Jo and the others to squint to see them.

Glory was attained, whispered the blade to Jo. By the stunned look on Sir Graybow’s face, and others’ too, Jo realized the sword had spoken to everyone. The Quadrivial was attained, Wyrmblight whispered.

Suddenly the glow from the sigils diminished one by one, until only Glory was left alight. Then it, too, faded into the sword. Wyrmblight lay on the table, once more simply a sword of renown.

“But, Karleah, I don’t understand!” Dayin protested. The old wizardess was heedless, pacing their chambers, pulling open drawers and rifling through them. Dayin raised his voice. “We just got here! Why do we have to leave?”

“I told you, child,” Karleah snapped, “its just getting worse and worse. My powers have diminished even faster since we arrived. I need my safe valley, my books and things if I’m ever going to find out why. I’ve been jittery ever since we left the dragon’s lair, and I just don’t feel safe here in the castle. Ah ha!” Karleah pulled out a piece of paper, then a quill and a pot of ink from a drawer. She hurried to the table and sat down, spreading the paper before her.

“What are you doing, Karleah?” Dayin asked nervously. He had little tolerance for this agitation from Karleah. It was the same odd mood that had possessed his father those many years ago—had possessed him in those weeks before he’d abandoned Dayin to the harsh wilderness. Now Karleah, whom he loved and trusted more than anyone, was acting the same.

“I’m writing Jo a note,” Karleah began, dipping the quill into the ink. She was poised as if to write, but paused and looked at Dayin. “Does she know how to read, do you suppose? Well, no matter—someone will read it to her, if necessary.” The ancient crone scribbled away in a sprawling hand, dipping frequently into the black ink. Dayin huddled near, peering over Karleah’s thin shoulder.

“What do you mean, ‘don’t worry’? What’s there to worry about, Karleah? Karleah?” Dayin tugged on the wizardess’s arm. His blue eyes were wide with fright. “Are we ever going to see Jo and Braddoc again?”

The old woman turned to the boy and looked at him with something akin to exasperation. Then she smiled reluctantly and drew Dayin into her arms. The boy closed his eyes in relief. All will be well soon, he thought. Karleah will take care of me.

“Always, child,” the old woman murmured. Dayin smiled. Karleah had read his mind! It pleased him when she did so, for he knew she did so only with those whom she trusted. Karleah gave him one last squeeze, then said briskly, “Come. It’s time we were off.”

“Are you sure you’re well enough?” Dayin asked anxiously.

The old woman blinked her dark eyes rapidly. “I feel fine enough, aside from my magic,” she said, then shrugged her shoulders. “I want to leave now.”

“What will we do about food and supplies?” Dayin sensibly asked.

“We’ll take one tent and some of the gear; I imagine the equipment’s still in the stables, along with the horse that Graybow lent me, and Braddoc’s pony for you,” Karleah answered, gathering up the few personal belongings they’d brought with them to the chambers. “We’ll stop at the kitchen on the way out. I’ll get some foodstuffs—have no fear.”

“Why should I fear, Karleah?” the boy asked innocently.

Karleah pulled up short and looked at Dayin. She ruffled his shaggy blond hair and said softly, “Because something happened in the dragon’s lair, Dayin. Something happened to my powers. It’s more than the loss of a few simple spells; it’s a loss of much of my inner magic.” Karleah cocked her head to one side and added, “I’ve even lost the magic that lets me change into a wolf.”

Dayin shook his head, his eyes widening in fear. He had seen Karleah once or twice in her wolf form, and he had envied her. She’d promised to teach him how to change into an animal when the time came. Could she still teach him now? he wondered.

“I’ve lost the first magic I ever knew, Dayin,” Karleah said, her raspy voice quiet and her eyes wandering about the room. “Either something has stolen my powers, or I’m turning senile. Either way, I don’t want to be rendered helpless and stuck here in this stone block. I want to return to my valley. There, I’ll know what’s what.”

Johauna’s eyes stretched wide, and her face blanched. “I will not give up Wyrmblight, Baroness Penhaligon! I cannot,” she said staunchly. Jo heard the hollow ring of fear inside her words. Her hands gripped Wyrmblight all the harder.

Arteris sighed, then fixed Jo with her stony brown gaze. “Young lady—”

“I’m a squire, Your Ladyship,” Jo broke in quickly, “until you decree otherwise.” She bit her lip, appalled at her brazen interjection. Apologize! she told herself. Apologize immediately and maybe she’ll forgive yet another faux pas. No! her other half spoke up stubbornly. No! I will not be bullied this way! She can’t take Wyrmblight away from me! I’ll give up being a squire before I let her take Flinn’s sword from me!

Arteris smiled coldly, her lips forming more of a grimace than a true smile. Beside her, Sir Graybow abruptly rubbed his cheeks, hiding his mouth and keeping his eyes on the table. Jo felt sudden remorse; the castellan had tried to warn her, but to no avail.

“I’ll ignore this one intrusion, Squire Menhir,” Baroness Penhaligon said graciously enough, though Jo couldn’t help hearing the undercurrent of threat running through it, “but only because of the bond I know squires feel for their masters. That bond is now broken—” but not forgotten, Johauna thought mulishly “—and you have no use for the sword. Wyrmblight is a treasure that should be displayed for all to see—”

Jo couldn’t contain herself. “But—!”

Sir Graybow coughed loudly, effectively cutting off Jo’s torrent of words. The glance he cast her was murderous, and that alone quelled the squire. He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose noisily, then turned to the baroness with elaborate courtesy. “My sincere apologies, Your Ladyship,” he said loudly. “Pray forgive me.” Arteris inclined her head.

The castellan shot one more black look at Jo before gesturing toward the sword. “It’s a most intriguing prospect before the council, Your Ladyship,” Sir Graybow continued smoothly, “the question of what to do with Wyrmblight, the most renowned sword in all of Penhaligon.” Jo opened her mouth to speak, and the castellan said quickly, “And what are all our options, do you suppose?”

“I believe,” the baroness said without hesitation, “that we have but two options: to put Wyrmblight on display or to leave it in the hands of Sir Flinn’s squire.” Arteris paused, her agate eyes glittering coldly at Jo. “If Sir Flinn’s protege can contain her passions, she may tell us why she feels she ought to bear the sword.”

Jo made a move to speak, then stopped and glanced at Sir Graybow. She wondered if she had misread Arteris’s invitation. But the castellan nodded, a slight smile of encouragement on his lips. Jo turned back to the baroness. “Your L-Ladyship,” she stammered, then gripped Wyrmblight tighter. Have faith, the blade whispered. “Your Ladyship,” Jo began again, her voice growing stronger and more sure, “I feel I should bear the sword for one specific reason, if no other.” She paused for effect and swept her eyes over the council members. “Sir Flinn would wish me to wield it. Of that, I am certain.” One or two of the council members murmured to each other, then silence fell once more in the room.

Lady Arteris rubbed her fingers together. “Clearly, you cannot bear the sword unless you remain a squire for Penhaligon. However, the knight who chose to sponsor you has, most regrettably, died, Squire Menhir,” the baroness said with unusual gentleness. “This puts you in an awkward position. We currently have no knights who are without squires. We could give one knight two squires to train, but in the past we have found that detrimental to the squires’ learning.” Arteris paused to let that information sink in.

“I am without a squire,” Sir Graybow said distinctly All eyes turned to him.

“By tradition the castellan is usually without a squire, Sir Graybow,” Arteris said after a momentary silence. “A castellan has too many duties to properly attend to the training of a squire ”

“Save when he is training his replacement,” Graybow rejoined.

“But you took on Sir Flinn as your squire, presumably with the intent that he should one day replace you,”

Arteris said equably. “Sir Flinn has since died.”

“And has left behind the woman he chose worthy to be his squire,” Sir Graybow said neutrally. He turned his head toward Jo, and she swore the old man winked at her.

“I … see, Sir Graybow,” Arteris was at a loss for words. She looked at Jo, then turned back to the castellan. “It must be pointed out that you were considerably younger when you took Sir Flinn as your squire so many years ago. How do you propose to provide training for Squire Menhir?”

“I shall, of course, provide instruction in the virtues of knighthood, in etiquette, in reading and writing, geometry, tactics, and the like. As to the combat training, I intend on enlisting the aid of Braddoc Briarblood,” Sir Graybow gestured toward the dwarf. Jo turned to her friend. Although Braddoc’s face remained passive, Jo had caught the fleeting look of surprise in his one good eye. “If that is agreeable with friend dwarf, of course.” The castellan inclined his head toward Braddoc.

The dwarf cleared his throat, took a step forward, and bowed low toward Sir Graybow, and then the baroness. “I should be honored to assist in any way I can, Sir Graybow.

I would consider it a privilege to so repay old debts to my lost comrade.” Jo had to repress a smile at the sound of such formal speech from her friend.

Lady Arteris was not so easily swayed. “I know nothing of you, Master Briarblood, save that you have the acquaintance of Sir Flinn and Squire Menhir,” she said coolly.

Madam Astwood nodded to the baroness and said, “With your permission, Your Ladyship?” At Arteris’s nod, she continued, “I have heard of this dwarf. He has led the life of a mercenary for many years, his sword for hire.”

The baroness arched one eyebrow at the dwarf. “Is this so, Master Briarblood?” she asked coldly.

Braddoc glanced at Jo and then bowed again to the baroness. “Yes, what Madam Astwood says is true—to the extent that she thinks it is true.”

The baroness frowned, and several members of the council murmured in confusion. “You speak in riddles, sir?” Arteris asked severely. “Pray explain yourself.”

“It is true that 1 have led the life of a mercenary, Your Ladyship,” Braddoc said simply, “but I am no mercenary. I am the nephew of Everast XV, king of Rockhome, my ancestral lands. He bade me learn of your ways, and it was he who suggested I roam your lands as a mercenary that I might judge your mettle.”

Several members of the council rose to their feet in alarm. Even Sir Graybow stood, though his face was filled with consternation rather than fear. The baroness held up her hands and motioned for silence. When she received it, she said, “This is most extraordinary, sir. And what, may we ask, is the purpose of such subterfuge?”

“To discover if the Estates of Penhaligon are a land that the Dwarves of Rockhome could do business with,” Braddoc said readily. He bowed at the baroness, his movements the graceful and elegant maneuver of a courtier. “And I am pleased to say that, on behalf of King Everast XV, we dwarves would like to open up mutual trade agreements.” Braddoc smiled at the baroness, then at Jo.

The squire had always wondered where Braddoc had gotten his finicky manners—they had seemed out of place in a true mercenary. Jo smiled back at her friend. Now she knew.

The baroness’s expression turned civil, and her brows arched faintly. “I … see no objection then,” she said slowly, looking over her council members. When none was forthcoming from them, she turned back to Braddoc and smiled. “I shall look forward to arranging trade discussions with you and your uncle, Master Briarblood.” Braddoc bowed low, his beard sweeping the floor, and returned silently to his chair. Jo looked expectantly at the baroness, and she gestured at the castellan.

Sir Graybow turned to Jo and said, “Squire Menhir, you are, of course, at liberty here. You may choose to leave the Order of the Three Suns now, if you like.”

Jo’s hands tightened on Wyrmblight, and the thought of Verdilith rose in her mind. Her lips grew grim. She faced Arteris squarely. “What of the status of Wyrmblight—” Jo paused slightly, then added “—Your Ladyship?”

Baroness Penhaligon sighed heavily, then said, “We will honor Sir Flinn’s wish that you receive Wyrmblight, though we have none but your own word that that was his wish. Wyrmblight is yours to keep, Squire Menhir, but only if you remain a squire of this castle.”

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.