The Dragon's Tomb

Chapter V

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t like it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jo and Braddoc drew closer, the squire holding on to her sword. The dwarf set his gear on the green marble floor near his bedroom door. “What is it, Sir Graybow?” Jo asked. Braddoc merely grunted.

The castellan kept his eyes on Jo. “It’s about the dragon—Verdilith,” he said heavily.

Jo’s heart sank. He’s dead! she thought. And I—I mean Wyrmblight—didn’t strike the killing blow!

“What happened?” Braddoc asked. “Did your knights find the lair with the directions I gave them?”

“Directions?” Jo turned on Braddoc. “You gave directions to Verdilith’s lair? Why?” She turned back to the castellan. “Tell me whats going on here! Is Verdilith dead? Did you send out a party after the dragon without telling me?” Her fingers clenched on Wyrmblight. “I’ve sworn an oath to avenge Flinn’s death, and—”

“And you’re not skilled enough to complete that oath without the loss of someone’s life—” Sir Graybow interjected “—most likely yours.” He took a step closer to Jo, who fought the urge to back away. “Jo, I asked Braddoc for directions to the dragon’s lair. He gave them to me, and I swore him to secrecy.”

“Why?” Jo whispered, though she knew the answer. “Because you would have gone after them,” the castellan said coolly, “and you simply aren’t ready” He sighed. “I sent five knights and two mages to corner and slay the dragon. That’s my job. I couldn’t let Verdilith heal and plot while we waited for you to be ready for your vengeance.”

“Flinn—” Jo began.

“Fain Flinn would have been the first to have agreed with me,” Sir Graybow reminded her, “ And you know that.” The castellan gestured with his hands. “Jo, others here—knights, not squires, mind you—are as eager to slay the wyrm as you. With eager hands and a wounded dragon, I had to proceed.”

Jo glanced at Braddoc, who pursed his lips and shrugged. The squire turned back to the older knight. “What—what happened with the party you sent?” she asked at last, trying to instill her voice with a knightly reserve.

“The knights found the lair, and the mages got them inside,” Sir Graybow replied. He turned away and began pacing. “Verdilith was there, all right. He slew one knight and then escaped—” Sir Graybow paused to draw a tight breath “—apparently with the aid of a wizard.”

Jo and Braddoc looked at each other, then said simultaneously, “Teryl Auroch!”

“Exactly,” the castellan replied. “My people recognized him immediately.” The knight resumed pacing. “They were obviously in the process of relocating Verdilith, for virtually all of the treasure had been removed. I doubt the wyrm will ever return to that cavern.”

Jo felt a surge of wicked joy fill her and was only slightly chagrined by it. Yes, she thought, yes! I can still be the one to avenge Flinn’s death! Jo turned away from the others, embarrassed that she hadn’t shown—couldn’t show—the proper sorrow for the knight who had been slain, or suitable consternation over the dragon’s escape.

Braddoc spoke to the castellan. “If it’s all right with you, Sir Graybow, I’ll be leaving shortly.”

The castellan nodded as Jo turned nervously back to the dwarf. “You’re leaving?” she asked Braddoc. “You’re not leaving … because of me, are you?” Sir Graybow discreetly withdrew to the trestle table at the side of the living area and began arranging the books there.

The dwarf brought his hands together. He said to Jo, “I’m leaving for a few days—nothing special. No, I’m not leaving because of you, or because of what you’ve just found out, or because you’re happy that Verdilith’s still out there for you to hunt down.” He paused, shaking his head in slow warning. “I’m going to check on my home, gather a few things, and then return.” He smiled when he saw Jo’s blushing, crestfallen face. “Don’t worry, Johauna. I’ll be back in time for the initiation ceremony. Have no fear.” Jo took a step toward the dwarf. “Why don’t I come with you, Braddoc?” she asked and then gestured at the castellan. “I’m sure Sir Graybow wouldn’t—”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong there, Jo,” Sir Graybow interrupted. Jo turned to the castellan, who pulled out a chair for her and motioned her toward it. The squire hesitated, then quietly took the proffered seat. “Thank you,” Sir Graybow said quietly, touching the table before her. “You have much left to learn during this last week before your initiation. There is no time to spare.”

Jo watched Braddoc retire to his room and heard him begin to pack a few belongings. She looked up at the kindly face of her mentor, and her brows knitted in perplexity. “But … Braddoc didn’t mention this trip to me until now,” she began.

“At my request,” responded Sir Graybow. He took a step toward the other end of the table. During their lessons he preferred to stand, and Jo had grown accustomed to the arrangement. “We didn’t want to distract you from your lessons, either with the sword or the quill.”

“But he’s my friend—” Jo said, then gave voice to what really troubled her. “He’s my friend, and I’ll miss him—” The castellan nodded, his pale eyes filled with understanding. “I know, Jo, I know. You miss Karleah and Dayin, and now Braddoc’s leaving you, too. But he’ll be gone for only a little while.” The old knight hesitated, then Jo saw his eyes crinkle into what sometimes passed for a smile. He said firmly, “I’m your friend, too, Johauna. Don’t forget that.” He gestured toward the papers covering the table. “Come. It’s time to begin your lesson.”

Jo leaned Wyrmblight against the nearby wall and pulled her chair closer to the table. Sir Graybow had never questioned her desire to have the sword constantly near her. If he had, Jo’s only response would have been that she found the presence of the blade comforting. She lightly touched the four sigils, wishing Flinn would talk to her again through the blade. No matter how hard she pleaded with the Immortals and the sword itself, Jo had never again seen Flinn as she had in her wounded delirium.

Have faith, the blade whispered back.

Jo’s fingers lingered on the third sigil, and for the first time she wondered why the sword never admonished her about the other points of the Quadrivial. Then the thought came to her: Without faith you cannot attain the others. Sir Graybow cleared his throat, and Jo turned to him, startled. The words had been so faint that she wondered if it had been her own mind or the sword speaking.

The squire looked at the castellan and said lightly, “I’m ready, Sir Graybow. What intricacy of courtly manner am I to learn today?” She smiled at the castellan to soften the teasing in her words. Her respect for the aging knight had grown with each new thing he taught her, and she wanted to convince him she was a fast and serious learner. Sir Graybow frowned as if lost in thought, then opened his mouth to speak.

Braddoc came out of his room then, a knapsack and a bedroll over his shoulder, as well as an iron box about a foot square. Jo recognized the unusual box Braddoc had taken from the dragon’s lair, and she asked, “Have you had any luck yet getting that catch to open?”

The dwarf looked up distractedly, apparently surprised that anyone else had noticed his growing obsession with opening the box. His eye lingered for long moments on Jo before he shook his head and said, “No, none. I mentioned it to a mage named Keller, and he’s offered to have a look at it for me while I’m gone. Damnedest construction I’ve ever seen.” Braddoc shook his head again and glanced over his shoulder at the peculiar box. “Marvelous though, simply marvelous.” His eye, seemingly a bit watery now, turned toward the castellan and his student. “Well, I’ll take my leave now, Sir Graybow,” the dwarf said formally. He gave a slight bow to the castellan, then turned to Jo. “Take care, Johauna. I’ll be back soon.”

Impulsively, Jo stood and hugged her friend, who was too weighted down with gear to return the gesture. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away immediately. Braddoc would never appreciate my crying, she thought. She returned to her seat at the table and looked at the dwarf. “Please hurry, Braddoc,” she said simply.

A strange look came over Braddoc’s face, but Jo couldn’t fathom it. “You say the strangest things sometimes, Johauna Menhir,” Braddoc said. He shook his head, gathered the rest of his things, and quit the room without a backward glance.

Jo turned back to the castellan. She looked expectantly at him and asked, “You were about to say something, Sir Graybow?”

The older man looked quizzically at Jo, then suddenly shook his head. “No, nothing—-just an old memory,” he said lightly. He picked up one of the books on the table and began leafing through it. “Let’s begin the lesson today with the ceremony of the joust… .”

Curiosity got the better of Jo, and she asked hesitantly, “What … memory was that, Sir Graybow?” She had never asked the castellan a personal question before, and she wondered now if he would take affront at her prying.

The book snapped closed, and Sir Graybow abruptly looked at Jo. His watery blue eyes did not blink, and his face remained carefully blank. Jo could only stare back at her mentor and think how stupid she had been to commit such a foolish mistake. The castellan looked away as he rested the book on the trestle table.

“I … was thinking how much you reminded me of… my oldest niece,” Sir Graybow said, his voice distant and quiet. He turned his back to Jo and gazed out the window.

“Your … niece?” Jo asked neutrally. “I didn’t know you had a niece.”

The castellan slid the book back and forth across the table’s cherry surface. His brows drew together, and he said in an even more remote voice, “I had two, actually.”

A tiny silence followed, broken only when Jo finally asked softly, “Had—?”

The castellan nodded, his brows still knitted and his attention still on the book beneath his hand. “Yes, had,” he said in a flat voice, made emotional by its directness. “They … died … many years ago.”

Conventional manners dictated Jo murmur some platitude, but she found herself gripped by the desire to know more about Sir Graybow’s sorrow. The words, “How … did they die?” slipped out before she could catch them.

The castellan continued to methodically rub the book across the table, though Jo saw now that he was beginning to fray the book’s edges against the corner of the table. She didn’t dare point that out to him. His knuckles on the book were turning white beneath the aged skin.

“Elowyn was … fourteen and Fritha … twelve,” Sir Graybow said. His gruff voice was so gravelly that Jo barely understood him. His unblinking eyes remained locked on the book he held. Jo leaned closer to hear his words, for the man’s voice had become a whisper. “Their parents died of plague. Somehow they were spared and came to live with me. I was their only kin.

“It was early winter, and the old baron was holding a great hunt,” Sir Graybow continued slowly. Jo assumed he meant Baron Arturus Penhaligon, Arteris’s father and the man to whom Flinn had been so devoted. She strained to hear Sir Graybow’s next words. “The girls were marvelous archers, both of them, and they pleaded with me to let them join the hunt.

“I couldn’t say no to them, and the baron couldn’t either.” For the first time the castellan lifted his hand from the book and looked about the room. Jo had the impression he was looking back into a distant time, when the castle had a very different lord. “They joined us on the hunt, and we spotted a giant boar almost immediately. It fled south of here, into the Moor, where apparently it made its lair.”

Jo drew her breath. She’d heard tales of how dangerous wild boars were, particularly if injured or cornered.

The castellan continued, “They were young, and they’d never been on a hunt before. They spotted the boar and immediately raced after it. We lost sight of them. Then the boar circled back and caught me and the rest of the party. Elowyn’s and Fritha’s arrows had bloodied it, but not seriously injured it. It was mad, furious for blood, and it turned on us. Three of my men died before we downed the beast.” Sir Graybow stopped speaking. Jo saw his extra chin quiver as he swallowed several times.

When a respectful silence had passed and the castellan still didn’t say anything, Jo said tentatively, as gently as she could, “What … happened to … Elowyn and Fritha?”

The castellan took a deep breath, and his eyes closed and sank into the folds of his face. He touched his forehead and then nervously brushed back his thinning hair. His hand shook.

“We followed their trail as best we could, though it grew dark fast that time of year,” he said huskily. “To make matters worse, the girls were hopelessly lost. They headed deeper into the swamp. Soon we were lost, too; no one knows the Moor well. But at least we had camped in the wilderness before and knew what to do. Then the rain began to fall.

“Some called it quits for the night and set up camp, but a few stout fellows stayed with me—Flinn was one such. One by one, though, they had to turn back; the last one made Flinn return with him, telling him the baron needed him. I couldn’t fault them for leaving. Elowyn and Fritha were my nieces, not theirs.”

Jo wasn’t surprised to hear Flinn’s part in the tale, and she knew he would have been torn by Graybow’s obvious need. Jo pictured Flinn standing before the castellan, winter rain freezing them. He would want to believe there was still hope for the two young girls lost in the great marsh in winter, but would know there couldn’t be. And he would also know that his allegiance lay first with the baron. In the end, he had no choice.

“I drove my horse onward. My lantern blew out a dozen times before my tinder grew too wet to light it. I didn’t need it anyway—the wind blew so much debris and rain that I couldn’t see even with light. But I’d hoped it would attract the girls, and I missed it for that reason.” Graybow’s voice had become a hushed, ghostly whisper, and his breath curled in gray wisps from his lips.

“I stayed to the high ground, praying my nieces would do the same. But the weather grew colder and nastier, the wind more chill and biting. The rain turned to sleet, then to snow. I pushed my horse to cross channels of water, forcing him to carry me on to the next patch of icy ground.” The castellans voice had grown gruff, and Jo could almost hear the frigid waters sluicing past the stallion’s legs.

“I kept going. When my horse finally collapsed, I left him wallowing in a frozen morass of swampland. I stumbled, dazed, away, not even thinking to end his misery.” The castellan stopped and swallowed, then continued, “I began to walk through that swamp. The water came up to my waist in most parts, and over my head in others. The winds howled, and the snow whirled about me so fiercely I knew I was only walking in circles; I had no sense of direction.

“How I kept going, I don’t know. I only knew I couldn’t stop until I found my girls. I called. I walked and I called all through that night and on into the next morning. I called my nieces’ names until my throat was raw and my spittle red.” The castellan picked up the book and stroked the frayed edges. It was a long minute before he continued.

“I stumbled across their bodies late the next morning by accident. They were in the water, frozen; the water was no more than two feet deep. Ice covered the surface of their little pond—and their little faces.”

The castellan dropped the book abruptly. He looked at Jo, his eyes suddenly naked with emotion. “There’ll be no etiquette lesson today,” he said gruffly. With long, swift strides he made for the stairwell and hurried out the door.