The Dragon's Tomb

Chapter VI

Sir Lile Graybow smiled his approval as Jo crossed the floor between them. She grinned back, then looked down at herself. She had polished her dark maroon boots until they shone, the silver clasps glistening against the heavy leather. Her new breeches, provided by the baroness for tonight’s ceremony, were midnight blue and made of a light, summery cloth.

Jo picked at the nape and said, “These aren’t likely to last long,” she said, somewhat scornfully.

The castellan laughed, and Jo shyly smiled at him. “Jo,” the man said, “these are pants to wear only on special occasions—perhaps even only this once.”

Jo frowned. “To wear only once?” she asked, perplexed. “Isn’t that awfully extravagant? Can the baroness afford breeches for everyone for every occasion?” she asked anxiously.

The castellan rubbed his heavy jowls. “What is the matter with you, my dear?” he asked kindly, though he tried to mask that by making his voice even more gruff. His pale blue eyes almost disappeared in the folds of his face.

Then realization touched his face. “Ah,” he said quietly. “Were you very poor?”

Jo blinked once or twice rapidly. Sir Graybow had a most disconcerting habit of asking astute questions. She walked toward one of the tower’s windows. She could see servants scurrying about below in preparation for the night’s festivities. She turned to face the castellan. “Yes,” she said simply, “I was very poor.”

“Tell me about your parents,” Sir Graybow suggested. He sat down on one of the nearby settees. Jo leaned against the rough stuccoed wall and looked at the castellan, while Sir Graybow continued. “Flinn told me about them—how they never showed up at the port in Specularum as planned,” Graybow said gently. “What a terrible loss for a little girl.”

As always, Sir Graybow’s sensitivity undid her. Jo had never known anyone who was so habitually kind. Even Flinn had never been actually kind to her. Jo looked down at her hands, resting on her lap. Beneath her hands shone the golden yellow tunic of a squire. Midnight-blue threads created a swirling floral embroidery around the center of the tunic, and an intricate lacework about the tunic’s edges. Jo was proud to wear that tunic tonight, to be recognized before all the people of Penhaligon as worthy to wear it. She picked off a stray thread and then looked at Sir Graybow, who was sitting nearby and waiting patiently. Jo shrugged.

“Did you know I have a brother?” Jo asked quietly. “At least I think I have a brother. I remember my mother holding a crying baby and hugging him so fiercely he cried all the harder.”

“When was this?” Graybow asked gently. His face softened with concern.

“It was the day they put me on the ship,” Jo said slowly, her eyes glazing over. “Mother kissed me good-bye, and all the while the baby screamed. She kept fussing with him, and so I turned to my father.” Jo’s thoughts retreated back in time, and she saw her six-year-old self once more on a wharf.

“Why do I have to go ahead of you and Mama, Papa?” Jo asked her father.

A man with flaming red hair, a full moustache, and merry eyes knelt beside her. He wore a leather apron over his grimy clothes, and his bare arms smelled of burned hair and molten metal. Her father worked at a foundry, and Jo had grown accustomed to the way he smelled. In fact, she little recognized him the day after his monthly ritual bath. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek, then sat back on his heels. It was the first time she had ever seen her fathers eyes dim, and Jo saw tears welling up there.

“That’s a long story, Jo dear,” he said, “and you’re too young to really worry about that. We’ll … we’ll be with you soon. I promise. I do.” Jo felt the same awful way she did when her mother sent her out at night searching for her father. Jo would find the man in some filthy gutter, a bottle nearby and his pockets empty.

“Papa,” Jo said as she touched her father’s tousled hair, “are we out of money again? How can we afford to send me on ahead?”

Her father glanced at the ground and murmured, “Ships don’t cost money, dear. People ride them for free.” Jo bit her lower lip. Papa’s lying again, she thought.

Her father tucked her flyaway hair back into Jo’s two braids and then said with a smile, “You have your blink-dog’s tail, don’t you now?” Jo solemnly nodded and patted the bulging pouch at her waist where she kept her most treasured possession.

“Good,” her father said. “Use it when you need to escape bullies or what have you, but don’t let anyone see you use it. Those same bullies will try to take it away from you.

Jo nodded again. “When are you and Mama joining me, Papa?” she asked. A little tear trickled down her cheek.

“Oh, soon, Jo dear, soon! I promise! I really do!” her father said and pulled her into his arms. “Now, I want you to be a good girl and mind the steward. He knows where to take you when you get to the city. All right, Jo dear?” Her father took her chin in his thumb and finger and gave it a little shake. Jo smiled bleakly.

The ship’s steward called, “Last board! Last board! Boaaard up!”

Jo’s father gave her one last swift hug, then stood and turned to his wife. He took the squalling baby from her. Jo hugged her mother fiercely, treasuring the touch and warmth of her broad, clean arms, which always smelled of bread. Jo’s mother said nothing, though tears trickled down her freckled cheeks and wet a few stray strands of her chestnut hair. Her mother gave her one last kiss, then took the baby from her husband’s arms. She looked down at her daughter.

“Mama?” Jo asked, not understanding why her mother wouldn’t say anything.

Her mother busied herself with the baby. “Not now, Johauna,” she said. “Baby’s crying.”

“Can I hold him good-bye?” Jo asked.

The mother clung to her infant and savagely shook her head. “No, Johauna! It’s time for you to go.” She pointed toward the ship. “Now, go on! Go on!” Jo backed away, not understanding why her mother suddenly seemed so hurtful.

Behind them two sailors began pulling the boarding plank, and Jo’s father carried Jo toward the ship. One sailor groused at the delay, but the other extended his hand toward Jo and helped her board. He even wiped away a tear before putting her on deck.

“Good-bye, Jo dear!” her father shouted and waved. Beside him, her mother waved, too, though the gesture was reluctant. She turned away soon. Jo heard the baby squalling his good-bye to a sister he probably would never know he had.

The plank clattered as it landed on the ship’s deck, and then, slowly, the ship began pulling away from the dock. Jo stood by the railing, clutching the salt-hardened wood with her small hands, until her father and mother disappeared.

Jo’s thoughts returned to the present, and she looked at the castellan. “I was only six,” she whispered. “The steward sent me to this place with hundreds of other children, but there wasn’t room for me. They turned me away. At first I thought it was a home for children until their parents came for them. But it wasn’t an orphanage. It was a sweat shop. People had sold them so many children that they were turning the extras away.”

Jo scratched her forehead. “My parents, of course, never came for me. Every day I went to the docks, and they never came for me. All I had left to remind me of them was my blink-dog’s tail. How my father got the tail, I’ll never know. Now … now I don’t even have that. Flinn used my blink-dog’s tail in his fight with Verdilith, but I couldn’t find it after the battle.” She paused and added, “I like to think the tail helped him live long enough for me to see him before he died.”

“Jo dear . . began the castellan.

Jo looked at the aging knight and then slowly smiled. “My father called me that,” she said haltingly, “and I never remembered that until now. Perhaps there are some good memories to my past after all.” She smiled, though her lips trembled a little.

“You’re a very special young woman, Johauna Menhir,” Sir Graybow said earnestly after a pause. “Its time a few people recognized that, and tonight at the ceremony they will.” The castellan paused again, then picked up a nearby goblet and fidgeted with it. Jo knew the man well enough by now to understand he was nervous. She waited patiently.

“I … I’ve been thinking, Jo,” the castellan began, “about our position here at the castle.”

Jo felt immediate alarm. Have I done something wrong? she thought. Am I breaking some rule of etiquette? “Is … something the matter?” she asked cautiously.

Sir Graybow set down the cup. “Only something that I feel can be easily remedied, if you agree.”

“Agree?” Jo asked. “To what?”

“I’d like to make you my heir, Johauna,” the castellan said clearly, his eyes on Jo’s face.

Jo expelled her breath, only just realizing that she’d been holding it. “I … see,” she said, then nodded slowly. “Elowyn and Fritha were your only kin?” she asked as kindly as she could.

The wrinkles around the castellan’s eyes deepened. He said quietly enough, “Yes, they were. As I said, you remind me of Elowyn. I have no heir, and you have no kin of your own that you know of. We are knight and squire and—I think—friends, too.” The castellan’s smile was sad though not bitter.

Jo nodded slowly, her eyes unable to leave Sir Graybow’s face. “Yes,” she said softly, “yes. If you want me as your heir, I would gladly accept.”

The castellan gave her a brief hug and then backed away, saying, “Good. That’s settled. I’ll make the announcement at tonight’s ceremony.” He smiled again at Jo, and this time, his expression held no sadness. “I’m very proud of you, Jo, and I’m more pleased than I can say that you’re willing to adopt me.”

Jo colored a little at the praise. After living for six years with an alcoholic father and thirteen years on the streets of Specularum, Jo had little practice in accepting praise. Unable to say anything, she looked about the room. “I hope Braddoc arrives in time to see the squires and knights initiated,” she said, deliberately changing the subject.

Sir Graybow laughed, a chuckle much like a bark. “What you mean to say, young lady, is that you hope the good dwarf sees you initiated in the order!” The older knight smiled at Jo’s sudden discomfiture. He smiled at her a moment longer, then added, “I’m sorry Karleah and Dayin won’t be here tonight.”

Jo looked down at her hands. She’d received a message from Karleah yesterday to that effect. “Yes, well,” Jo said slowly, “Karleah’s very close to discovering why she’s lost her powers. And I understand her concern… .” Of course, I thought I was a concern of hers, too, Jo thought, then tried to push her disappointment aside.

Somewhere in the tower a bell sounded, ringing the three-bell stroke for assembly. The people will be starting to gather in the great hall for tonight’s ceremony, Jo thought. Her cheeks flushed, and she turned her bright eyes to the castellan.

Sir Graybow stood and said, “Hold on a moment, Jo. I have something for you.” He entered the kitchen.

Jo stood and picked up Wyrmblight. The sigils seemed to glow in the evening light, though Jo fancied it could be simply a reflection from the candle sconces that Jo had lighted at sunset. She held the blade before her and whispered, “Oh, Flinn. Why aren’t you here with me? What is my moment of triumph without you?” Her eyes smarted.

Wyrmblight warmed to the touch, and Jo felt a measure of comfort. Have faith whispered through her mind.

The castellan returned, bearing a burgundy-colored sword sheath in finely tooled leather. He held it out to Jo, who set Wyrmblight aside.

“What’s this?” she asked as she eyed the peculiar arrangement of belts.

“It’s a harness rig for a great sword,” Sir Graybow responded. “Here, let me.” He picked up one part of the harness, which Jo saw served as a belt. It was wider than her palm and studded with grommets. The castellan fastened it at her waist, making sure it rested snugly against her. A second similar construction looped over her shoulder and under the opposite arm. From both dangled leather straps and silver snaps and buckles. Sir Graybow took Wyrmblight and silently began fastening the blade in place.

Jo looked over her shoulder closely. Wyrmblight was too long to actually sheathe, for no one could quickly withdraw a great sword from a case. But the leather straps of this harness were so designed, Jo saw, that a single pull would undo them. It obviously takes much longer to buckle the sword into the harness, Jo thought as the castellan finally finished.

“There,” Sir Graybow said. “A proper harness for a proper sword—” he smiled at Jo, the many wrinkles around his eyes crinkling “—for a proper squire,”

Jo practiced bending and kneeling, checking the balance of the hanging sword. The harness held Wyrmblight securely in place, the tip of the sword about a foot off the floor. She wouldn’t be able to sit with the sword strapped in place, but she doubted she’d have much opportunity of that until after the ceremony. She touched the rich burgundy leather and the silver appointments reverently.

“Thank you, Sir Graybow,” she said simply. “The harness is beautiful.” She looked fondly at the man standing before her. “It will be a relief to have Wyrmblight with me, properly sheathed, tonight. It’s irksome not having my hands free.”

The castellan nodded, a pleased expression on his face. He put his hand on Jo’s arm and turned toward the stairwell. “Come, Jo,” Sir Graybow said gravely. “It’s time for your initiation as a squire in the Order of the Three Suns.” He smiled at the young woman.

Jo’s answering smile was solemn, for her thoughts had turned inward. If Flinn cannot be with me now in my shining moment, she thought, at least his sword and his mentor can. And when the time comes, when I am ready to take on Verdilith, I will find that wyrm and slay him. I will avenge Flinn’s death. Jo nodded to herself, seeing only then the concerned expression in the castellan’s eyes.

Braddoc Briarblood eyed the man in front of him, then kicked his calf with the sharp tip of his boiled-leather boot. The man yowled and turned around, searching for the perpetrator. You’re looking a little too high, mister, Braddoc thought maliciously as he stepped around the man. He wiggled his way between two more humans and breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the upper balustrade’s railing. The balcony overlooked the interior of the castle’s great hall.

At last! Braddoc thought. I didn’t think I’d ever make it in time. He put his battle-axe and knapsack between his feet. The dwarf leaned over the stone balcony and peered into the crowd of people below. The great hall of the Castle of the Three Suns was filled with people, though not as packed as the hall had been during the open council last winter when Braddoc, Jo, Karleah, and Dayin had seen Flinn confront his accusers.

The dwarf’s trip had proven uneventful. His home was still secure, though a pair of raccoons had moved inside the house. After leaving his home, Braddoc had circled back past the dragon’s lair and found no sign of Verdilith there, though of course he hadn’t been able to get inside the lair. Still, the castellan’s report seemed true. Verdilith was gone.

The last task Braddoc had set himself was the most difficult, for he had visited the site of Flinn’s funeral pyre. There the dwarf had scattered the few remaining ashes and said his own good-byes to Flinn. Then he had begun a methodical, diligent search for the one gift he wanted most to give Johauna: her blink-dog’s tail. Braddoc checked his pocket for the bristly fur and again thanked the Immortals that he’d been successful.

All in all, the trip had been most productive and uneventful—until he’d stabled his pony at the castle not half an hour ago. As he had turned from his mount, a large, black crow had fluttered in the stable entrance and dropped a parchment in his hands. The crow had squawked and flapped away before Braddoc could even feel surprised. Remembering the peculiar bird, the dwarf pulled the parchment out again and smoothed it against the stone railing in front of him.

“Old witch,” Braddoc muttered into his beard. “What’s ‘harm’ supposed to look like? I wish you’d been a little more specific.”

Braddoc folded the note and stuffed it in his belt. Squinting, he looked out into the great hall, searching for anything or anyone that seemed remotely unusual. His eyes ran along the clean architectural lines of the ribbed vault above, searching for a dark spot or irregular shape that might be hiding a lurking assassin. He saw no such sign, only soot trails from a time when the castle had used torches. Braddoc harrumphed. Four immense chandeliers hung from the vault, attached to it with ornate, wrought-iron housings. Each chandelier carried a dozen sconces, all elaborately chased with touches of gold and silver. Magical light poured forth from the tops and bottoms of the sconces, casting gaunt shadows over the vault. The dwarf smiled grimly. Those massive chandeliers could easily conceal some crossbow-toting villain. Though he strained his eyes to make out such a form, he could see none. The fixtures swayed slowly, silently in gentle eddies of air from the vault.

“Have to keep my eye on those.”

Next, his attention turned to the seven other balconies overlooking the great hall below, three on his side of the hall, and four on the other. They were crowded with eager peasants and merchants—the riffraff like himself. Given the density of the throng, an attack could easily come from any one of the balconies.

“’Scuse, please,” grunted a burly blacksmith, shoving Braddoc into the stone rail and crushing him against it as he pushed by. As soon as the mans large stomach stopped pressing against him, the dwarf whirled angrily about, hand on the dagger in his belt. The blacksmith was gone. Bristling, Braddoc stared into the churning crowd around him to catch a glimpse of his assailant, but the man had disappeared as though he had never been.

“Bloated idiot,” Braddoc mumbled, drawing a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbing at a line of black grease on his shoulder. “Filthy, bloated idiot.” He pulled the kerchief away, staring irritably at the two spots that now marred it. One spot was black and grimy like grease. The other was red as blood. “Bad omen,” Braddoc noted, the breath in his bruised lungs catching short. Trying to shake off the chill that washed over him, he turned his attention to the great hall below.

The floor was a vast mosaic of interlocking tiles that formed some grand design Braddoc couldn’t make out. The surface of the pattern was obscured by the people, sitting in thick rows on the floor. The lines of them extended from one wall to the other, like a furrowed garden of villagers. Young pages ushered more peasants into the already packed hall, gesturing for them to tighten the existing rows. The pages, little more than children themselves, also tirelessly cleared the red-velvet aisle in the center of the hall.

“Could be any one of ’em,” Braddoc muttered, eyeing the crowd. His hand slipped a second time to his pocket, checking for the blink-dog’s tail. His fingers wrapped around the beaded handle, and he peered once again at the swaying chandeliers, the burgeoning balconies, the crowded floor below…. “I just hope this thing works.”

Noise swelled at the front of the hall. Suddenly a dozen or more people, including Baroness Penhaligon and Sir Graybow, filed into a cordoned area where the council table sat. Long and rectangular—imposing even at this distance—the table rested on a low dais and was attended on the far side by high-backed chairs. Only pages, squires, knights, and nobility were allowed beyond the ropes that marked the cordoned area.

“Let’s hope this starts it,” Braddoc said to himself. He was tired of waiting, especially since he had hurried straight to the hall, with trail dust still clinging to him.

Baroness Penhaligon waited for the castellan to pull out her seat, then sat down. The council members stood by their respective chairs and waited. The crowd, none too quiet a moment before, grew noisier still. A man behind Braddoc pressed forward, practically leaning over the dwarf. Braddoc jerked his elbow back and connected with the man’s thigh. The human said, “Ooof!” but backed away peaceably. Oh, to be back in Rockhome! Braddoc sighed, feeling nostalgic for the short folk of his dwarven homeland.

Arteris raised her hand. A dozen trumpeters, six to either side of the dais, stepped forward and blared out the call for silence.

Its begun, thought Braddoc. His eyes left the stage and combed the audience.

Jo pressed against the delicate iron grillwork that screened the small anteroom from the great hall. She couldn’t see beyond the backs of the first row of people. Braddoc could be anywhere out there! she thought. She could only hope she would catch sight of him as she walked up the aisle.

The squire wrapped her fingers around the metal grill-work. Her hands were perspiring from the heat of the small, crowded room, and she hoped to cool them. She glanced nervously to each side of her. Eleven other men and women were gathered with her, each wearing the same golden tunic Jo did. Most of them were young like her, though one man sported a grizzled beard. Jo wondered what had prompted him to become a squire in midlife.

In a separate cluster stood seasoned squires who were about to be promoted to knighthood: two men and three women, one obviously elven. Jo hadn’t had the nerve to approach the elf maiden, even for a simple greeting, for she admired the elven race above all others. Tonight’s ceremony was too distracting and emotionally taxing to let her overcome her shyness and approach the golden-haired, violet-eyed beauty.

Jo furtively watched the soon-to-be knights, who were talking quietly among themselves. Some were trying to feign nonchalance, but Jo sensed their excitement nevertheless. They’re about to become knights in the Order of the Three Suns! Jo thought, then caught one of the women trying to surreptitiously rub a tarnished spot from her armor. Jo smiled. Unlike the squires, who had already been given their golden tunics, the knights would receive their midnight-blue tunics from Baroness Penhaligon herself. The tarnish will never show then, Jo thought charitably.

Trumpets sounded then, and Jo turned back around and pressed against the grillwork. Beside her, a young man did the same, and Jo glanced at him. She blushed and averted her eyes immediately when she saw that he was looking at her. “Hello,” said Colyn Madcomb, the squire who had opened the door for Jo in the practice courtyard a week ago.

Jo blushed, unable to say anything to the young man with the merry eyes. She couldn’t help noticing that his eyes were an interesting combination of green and brown, and that they were framed by black, curly lashes.

The trumpeters finished their introductory theme, a fanfare that had been used since the beginning of Penhaligon’s days as a court. The people responded by slowly quieting. Baroness Penhaligon regally stood and began to speak, her voice echoing through the great hall. Jo strained to see past the people still moving about in the hall, but she lost sight of the dais. She would have to be patient: she and the other initiates weren’t allowed into the great hall until a page opened the door and escorted them to the council area.

“Gentle folk, commoners and royals alike,” rang Arteris’s voice, “welcome, one and all.” Arteris paused while the audience erupted in the traditional cheer of greeting.

“In the tradition of our forebears,” the baroness continued, “tonight we celebrate the initiation of those who have been found worthy to join the Order of the Three Suns… .”

Jo rubbed her sweaty hands on the legs of her trousers, then fidgeted with the collar of her tunic. Her thoughts drifted away, and she remembered Flinn telling her he believed she would one day become a knight in the order. His words and manner had been filled with such earnestness, such faith, that Jo had believed him with all her heart. It had been the first time since her parents had sent her away and betrayed her that she had believed anyone so fully.

Oh, Flinn! Jo’s heart cried. I have such doubts! How I wish you were here! Once again, the words have faith entered Jo’s mind. She smiled sadly and put her hand on Wyrmblight. “I’ll try,” she whispered, “but it’s so hard without you.”

Then suddenly the door opened and a young woman poked her head inside. “It’s time for the squires,” the page said. “The castellan will announce your name shortly—begin walking down the aisle at the pace he taught you.” The page smiled sweetly and held open the door.

Jo’s heart thudded, and she barely heard Sir Graybow announce to the audience in the great hall, “We have found twelve persons worthy to become squires in the Order of the Three Suns.” Listen, girl! Jo admonished herself. It’ll never do to miss your name!

Sir Graybow called out, “Colyn Madcomb, from Greenheight in the County of Vyalia, now squire to Madam Francys Astwood. We bid you welcome to Penhaligon ” The young man with the merry eyes flushed and stepped out onto the velvet-strewn aisle. Jo clenched her hands.

Moments passed slowly, agonizingly, while Squire Madcomb walked the long hall to the dais. The audience responded with a round of cheers and clapping when the young man reached the council members. Jo felt faint.

Then the words Jo longed to hear rang out. “Johauna Menhir, from Specularum in the Estate of Marilenev. We bid you welcome to Penhaligon,” came Sir Graybow’s strong, gruff voice. For a moment Jo couldn’t move. Then she caught sight of the page hurrying toward her, and the motion spurred Jo forward. She stepped onto the velvet walkway.

As she walked the long aisle, Jo was too overwhelmed to even think of looking for Braddoc. To each side of the aisle, people sat in neat rows on the floor and peered expectantly up at her. She swallowed convulsively; Sir Graybow was speaking.

“—formerly to the Mighty Flinn, the order’s most renowned knight, who recently died in battle against the vile wyrm Verdilith. Johauna Menhir has accepted the position as squire to the Castellan of Penhaligon,” Sir Graybow was saying. Jo flushed at the proud tone in his voice. Her eyes were bright as she continued down the walkway. To each side of the aisle, people twisted and shifted to get a look at the young woman. Jo was almost halfway to the dais.

Sir Graybow continued, “Squire Menhir has also graciously agreed to become my ward—”

His words were cut off by a sudden screeching noise, as of metal twisting and groaning under pressure. Jo stopped and looked around, trying to locate the sound. The protesting metal screeched louder, a piercing wail echoing off the stone walls of the hall. Some in the audience rose to their feet in confusion; they began to murmur, their cries mixing with the grating noise. The screech came again, though this time more muted. Jo looked up.

There, four stories above her head, a huge, wrought-iron chandelier pitched precariously back and forth. Its magic sconces cast swirling, ghostly shadows across the ribbed vault, and a green-gray mist seemed to hover about the chandelier’s iron mounting. Jo gasped, raising her arm up over her head, squinting at the brilliant, hypnotic lights. Suddenly, the chandelier began to flicker, as did all the other magical lanterns inside the great hall. Women and children screamed and cried out in panic, and the sounds masked the screeching of rending metal above Jo. In the next instant, the floor filled with running people, shouting, fleeing from the hovering doom.

It seemed like Verdilith’s first attack on the great hall.

The lights flickered into blackness. Abruptly, someone slammed into Jo and flung her forward through the racing dark. As she hurtled heavily to the ground, panic swept over her, then crunching pain. Jo struggled to break loose of her assailant, tugging helplessly at the sheathed and tangled great sword harnessed to her.

With a rumble more felt than heard in the chaotic din and darkness, the chandelier’s mounting tore free of the stone ceiling. A horrible and sudden silence in the crowd answered the rumble, and in that shocked hush, the gentle clink of iron chains filled the hall. Jo stiffened in fear, knowing the chandelier was directly overhead. Whoever had knocked her aside clutched her collar in tight fists and dragged her, rasping, across the mosaic floor.

Jo’s feet tangled with her assailant’s, and the two of them fell heavily to the stone floor. With a deafening thunder, the iron chandelier crashed to the floor, its massive metal frame less than a sword’s length from Jo. The lights flickered once, and Jo saw the grimly terrified look of Braddoc Briarblood holding her.

Then all was blackness.

The crowd panicked, running toward the entry doors, trampling any who had remained sitting or had fallen to the ground. Children cried. Jo heard prayers being spoken, and curses as well.

Sir Graybow’s voice rang out stentorianly, “Stay calm! Stay calm and sit down! The lights have failed—that’s all! We are not under attack. Please remain calm; we will have light soon.” Several knights entered the hall carrying lanterns, which they began passing out to the other knights, squires, and pages.

“Braddoc! Braddoc!” Jo said shakily, sitting up next to the dwarf. “Are you all right?” she asked, her breaths coming in labored wheezes.

“I was about to ask the same of you,” the dwarf noted huskily.

“You made it to the ceremony,” Jo mumbled, and the moment the words had left her lips she realized how stupid they sounded.

“You have a gift: for understatement, Johauna,” Braddoc said, rising to his feet and coughing.

“Yes,” Jo said absently as she tried to dust the powdered stone from her clothing. Lantern light flickered by the pair, now and then casting strange and eerie shadows onto the hall’s walls. The audience was still confused, and pages and squires hurried about trying to calm frightened men and women and comfort crying children. Groping in the darkness, Jo’s shaking hand found Braddoc’s shoulder and she blurted, “How … how did you know? About the chandelier, I mean. How did you get here in time to save me?”

“A little gift of mine, you might say.” Braddoc held out his hand. The light was so dim that it took Jo a moment to make out the curved form of the blink-dog’s tail. “Or a little gift of yours, more truthfully.”

Jo took the bristly tail and ran her fingers over the beaded handle. “How—? Where—?” she began, unable to continue.

The dwarf shrugged. “I … stopped to pay my respects to Flinn. I thought I’d look around while I was there and see if I could find it. Dwarves can be notoriously tenacious when we want to be, you know.” He took the tail and flipped it over, then handed it back. “I’d thought some animal would have eaten it by now, but there must be enough magic left in it to make it distasteful.”

Jo looked at her friend. “How did you figure out how to use it? I taught Flinn the particular bark command to trigger the teleportation, but . .

Braddoc rubbed his elbow and said, “Oh, I heard you use it once or twice.” The dwarf smiled ruefully and shook his head. Then he sobered. He fixed Jo with his good eye. “I almost didn’t make it, Johauna. I couldn’t get the right tone. If I hadn’t—” The lines around his eye creased in worry.

Jo touched his hand and bit her lip.

A page ran up to Jo and Braddoc and asked, “Squire Menhir, you’re wanted up front by the castellan. Immediately. Do you need any help?”

“No, thank you,” Jo said automatically. She stood and Braddoc did the same. Together they began pressing forward through the crowd. The audience was beginning to settle now that more light had entered the hall. Most were sitting on the floor, huddling in small groups. The flush of fear had given way to curiosity, and the screams and moans had given way to muttered speculation.

Trumpeters blared the peal for silence once more. Jo and Braddoc hurried forward. Baroness Penhaligon stepped to the end of the dais and raised her hand.

“People of Penhaligon,” Arteris said loudly, “I pray you calm yourselves. Our mages inform me that the chandelier’s mountings were slowly corroding in the ceiling. As it began to work its way loose, it broke the incantations that lit this hall.”

Jo and Braddoc reached the dais, and Sir Graybow gestured for them to join him. They did so with alacrity.

“The ceremony will commence immediately, for we are all too proud of the friends and family we admit this night into the Order of the Three Suns to cease the ceremony here,” Arteris continued. “Heaven help us if the pride of Penhaligon should be brought to its knees by faulty lamps! We’ll celebrate as we did in days of old!” The baroness’s uncharacteristically impassioned speech brought a ragged cheer from the crowd.

“The good castellan will check on getting us additional light, and so I am turning his part of the ceremony over to Madam Astwood. She will announce the remaining squires and introduce you to the new knights in our order.” The crowd, pleased that the ceremonies wouldn’t be canceled, answered with a heavy round of applause. Smiling tightly, Arteris finished, “I pray you enjoy yourselves, good people of Penhaligon. And I enjoin you to remain after the ceremony to partake of the fine wine and food the pages will dispense. I must take leave of you for a few minutes, but I shall return shortly. Madam Astwood, pray continue with the initiation.” Arteris bowed slightly and turned toward the knight, who strode forward as Arteris retreated.

Madam Astwood called out, “Thank you, Your Ladyship! We look forward to your return.” The woman gestured toward the people, “And now, people of Penhaligon, let us bid welcome to young Squire Aldney Blackbuck, late of the Rugalov village—”

Sir Graybow nodded, then began moving rapidly away. Jo and Braddoc fell into step behind him, and they met up with the baroness as she neared a small door at the side of the dais. Arteris strode through the door and rapidly down a short, dark hall that led to a stairwell. Jo was not surprised to see that torches lined the walls of the passageways and stretched away into the distance. So, the lanterns failed elsewhere, too, she thought, as she followed the castellan up the stairs. Behind her, Braddoc was grumbling beneath his breath.

As Jo hurried to match the baroness’s pace, she struggled to keep a smile of excitement from her lips. She was part of a special detail, the baroness’s own personal entourage. Jo wanted desperately to ask where they were going, but, seeing the determined step of the baroness, she reined in her tongue. They turned down a familiar hall. There, the baroness threw open the doors to the small council room and greeted the three men and one woman who arrived from the opposite hall. Once everyone had entered the chamber, the baroness peremptorily shut the doors—just short of slamming them—and whirled on those gathered.

“What is happening here?” Arteris demanded, glaring. “Why did the magic fail? Are we under siege?” Her agate-brown eyes flashed at the four mages, who glanced nervously at each other. Arteris strode forward and took her accustomed seat at the center of the U-shaped table. The mages moved to the side of the table and sat down slowly. Watching Graybow, Jo set her teeth and tried to look as calm and stern as he. Sir Graybow, glancing sidelong at Jo, positioned himself before Arteris, between the mages and his baroness.

“Well?” Arteris demanded. “All the lights in the castle falter and fade on a single day? In a single hour? How can this be?” The baroness focused her wrathful eyes on the oldest wizard. “Aranth? What is the meaning of this?”

The man named Aranth stood. He flicked a nervous look at his comrades before facing the baroness. Jo felt sudden distrust form in her heart. What is he hiding? What is he afraid of? she wondered.

“Your Ladyship—” the mage said formally.

“Dispense with the formalities, Aranth,” Arteris snapped once more. She crossed her arms, apparently unconcerned about wrinkling her lovely blue-and-silver gown.

“We—we believe Teryl Auroch may have somehow infiltrated the castle,” Aranth began.

The baroness’s eyes narrowed. “What proof have you of this suspicion?”

Aranth smiled wanly, clutching the collar of his robes for an uncomfortable moment. “No direct proof, My Lady. But we’ve noticed a general, magical malaise over the castle—some kind of subtle but powerful spell that’s affecting all the magic here. Its been weakening the light spells, the magic items, even new incantations.”

“Why wasn’t I told of this ‘malaise’ earlier?” Arteris demanded, her sharply trimmed nails beginning to rap impatiently on the table. “This is a matter of castle security—a grave weakening in our magical defenses.”

“I apologize personally for that, Your Ladyship,” Aranth replied, punctuating the statement with a shallow bow. “The effects of the spell have been slow, but cumulative. Though we now believe the spell has been in effect for some weeks, its influence on our magic only became obvious this morning, and has since then grown acute.”

“What—if I may be so bold—” interjected Graybow, thoughtfully stroking his chin, “does this ‘malaise’ have to do with Teryl Auroch?”

“He is the only mage we know of with enough power to cast such a spell,” replied Lady Irys, the female mage, as she rose to her feet. She was a slight, middle-aged woman of plain appearance. “We’ve discovered Auroch is a much more powerful wizard than we had been led to believe. And, he’s the only one with a clear motive to cast such a spell.”

“And that motive is … revenge?” Arteris inquired.

“No,” Aranth said simply, then thought to quickly add, “Your Ladyship. I fear it runs deeper than that. Teryl Auroch originally insinuated himself into this court—into your trust—for some evil purpose. We believe his purpose was left unaccomplished when he was driven out by Flinn. We believe the spell he has cast must be calculated to bring about his unfulfilled plans.”

“Dominion over Penhaligon,” Graybow whispered in awe to himself, though the words cut through the silent room.

“What?” Arteris snapped, rising to her feet.

Graybow, shaken from his musing, blinked twice and said, “It only makes sense. Auroch is a ruthless, power-hungry mage. If he cannot rule Penhaligon from within, he will do so from without.”

“This is all guess and conjecture,” Arteris noted, striking her palms firmly on the tabletop.

“Not all,” Jo responded quietly, her voice quavering. Graybow glanced toward her quizzically. His gaze was sharpened with irritation that she had not observed proper etiquette in addressing the baroness. Jo, unaware of her mentor’s attention, took a weak step backward, bracing herself with a trembling hand against the table.

“Squire Menhir?” Graybow blurted in quiet alarm, reaching out a hand to steady her. “What is it?”

Jo, catching her breath, shook her head gently and murmured, “The mages are right. Auroch is behind it.”

Graybow’’s hand was firm on her arm. “How do you know?”

Jo looked up into her mentor’s face, anger and fear naked in her eyes. “I saw Verdilith here ”

“What?” chorused Arteris and Graybow.

“The day we returned from the dragon’s lair, after battling Verdilith …” Jo explained, “… a black-haired man accosted us; he ridiculed Flinn.” Her voice began to break, but Jo clenched her jaw and gathered her resolve. “He had golden eyes and wore a long leather glove over his left hand and arm. Verdilith has golden eyes, and his left arm was maimed by Flinn.”

“That proves nothing,” Arteris noted coldly.

“Excuse, please, My Lady,” Braddoc interjected, stepping forward, “but someone matching that description ran into me in the great hall. He left a streak of blood on my tunic, blood that must be from his left arm. And, just before the chandelier fell, I saw a greenish mist whirling about the ceiling mount. I think the man and the mist were both Verdilith, transformed.”

“I … see,” Arteris said, throwing Jo a sideways glance. “Verdilith and Auroch seem to be back to their old tricks.” She paused, her eyes patiently measuring each person in the room. “Now we have a vague idea what is happening, but I’ve not heard a single suggestion as to how to stop these schemers. What do you intend to do about this rogue mage?” Arteris asked icily, not batting an eye. “And what do you intend to do about restoring magic to the Castle of the Three Suns?” Jo felt a twinge of reluctant admiration at the baroness’s ruthless tone.

Aranth fidgeted with his fingers. “We will, of course, restore the magic as soon as possible, Your Ladyship. I caution you that this may take—”

“Do not caution me, Aranth!” the baroness said coldly. Her agate eyes flashed at the wizard. “You are my head mage, and I am sorely disappointed in you. You will have the magical wards and defenses restored by tomorrow. Magically locked doors and gates, magic cords … everything. Do I make myself understood?”

Aranth bowed and said, “Understood, Your Ladyship.” He leaned back, his eyes averted, but his lips curled in resentment.

“And the lights must be restored by the next day—all of them restored,” Arteris continued. “Understood?”

The three mages reluctantly nodded. Aranth said, “To do so, we will need to discover a way to break the enchantment. That may take time.”

The baroness’s eyes were like spheres of ice. “The less time, the better for you.” Her chill gaze warmed slightly, and she added, “The better for all of us. In the meantime, Sir Graybow, I want you to step up security. Double the guards throughout the castle, and treble them before magically warded portals. I don’t care if you must draw from the ranks of the squires and knights to do so. Security in the castle is the utmost concern ”

“Yes, My Lady,” Graybow responded, with a gracious bow.

“And I want Auroch found ” Arteris finished. “Found and slain, and his head paraded on a pike.”

“We will use every means at our disposal to magically detect the whereabouts of the rogue mage, Your Ladyship,” Aranth said quickly. “We will undo the damage he has wrought.”

Arteris pursed her lips at the mage but said nothing. Jo could clearly see the baroness’s thought: Fools. I’m surrounded by ineffectual fools. Jo smothered an irreverent smile, then felt the smile fade as Arteris turned to Sir Graybow. “My mages, Sir Graybow, plan to search for Auroch with their rapidly failing magicks. I pray my castellan can devise a more reliable plan. What do you plan to do, castellan?”

A gentle smile tugged at the corners of Graybow’s mouth, as though he had been waiting to be asked that question. “My scouts have discovered someone who—I am convinced—will know the whereabouts of Teryl Auroch,” Sir Graybow said slowly. Jo felt her heart begin to pound uncomfortably. A rushing noise filled her ears. “I intend to send Squire Menhir and Master Briarblood after the man.”

Sir Graybow paused, the grim, determined smile deepening across his lips. “The man is Sir Brisbois.”