The Dragon's Tomb

Chapter VII

“Have you lost your senses?” Arteris raved at Sir Graybow. She looked away; her lips pressing into a thin line. Regaining her composure, Arteris leaned toward the castellan and splayed her hands across the wide expanse of table before her. “Tell me. Sir Graybow,” the baroness asked sarcastically, “by what logic do you send an untrained squire after a former knight who is, by all accounts, a man of dishonor and treachery?” Arteris arched her eyebrow.

Johauna hurriedly took the last step separating her from Sir Graybow. She raised her hand and was about to speak, but the castellan caught her wrist and flashed his eyes at her. Jo pursed her lips and kept silent. The castellan gave her hand a brief squeeze as he released it, then turned to Baroness Penhaligon.

“My logic, Your Ladyship,” Sir Graybow responded drily, “is this: Brisbois, for all his dishonor and treachery, is a coward—no match in battle for my squire and her associate. Furthermore, Brisbois is merely a tag for the whereabouts and weaknesses of Teryl Auroch and Verdilith, the true villains. While Squire Menhir and Braddoc are pursuing Brisbois, I need every other experienced knight and squire to guard the castle against further attack from the mage and the dragon. You yourself said that the castle’s security was paramount.”

“I did, indeed,” Arteris said, lifting her hands from the table and standing erect. She drew a breath in preparation to speak, but Graybow was already talking.

“And, most importantly, I am your castellan and have been for many years now. I have every faith that my squire and her companion are best suited for this task. If you have faith in me as your castellan, you should have faith in my choice of assignment.” Lile Graybow lifted his bushy eyebrows slightly and stared at Arteris.

The baroness blinked stoically. Her expression remained inscrutable for a long moment. Finally, she coughed once, delicately, and said, “You are correct in your assumption that I have every faith in you, Sir Graybow.” She fixed her penetrating gaze on the castellan. “As such, I will extend that faith to your squire. But know you this, Sir Graybow—” Arteris pointed at the castellan “—I do not want to discover that this choice of yours has been dictated by either infatuation or senility. Do I make myself clear?”

Sir Graybow bowed low. “Yes, Your Ladyship, you do. And no, you will not.” Jo caught the briefest trace of a smile lingering around the castellan’s lips.

“In that case, Sir Graybow,” Arteris said wryly, “I suggest you adjourn to brief Squire Menhir and Master Braddoc. I wish to talk with these—” there was the briefest pause “—mages. Please attend me later tonight.” The baroness nodded dismissal to Jo, Braddoc, and the castellan, then turned to the mages. Jo saw Aranth actually squirm before she turned to follow Sir Graybow out the room.

The castellan maintained a quick pace through the halls and stairwells that led to their chambers, despite the lack of adequate light. “This will take some getting used to,” he murmured when he discovered that one hall was virtually unlit. He stopped, put his hand on Jo’s arm, and squeezed it. Graybow said gruffly, “We’ve a lot to discuss tonight, Jo. I suppose I should have asked first if you wanted to go—”

Jo shook her head vehemently, unable to see much of Sir Graybow’s expression in the dark. She gripped the man’s hand. “No, sir,” she said strongly, “I do want this opportunity—I do! If you won’t let me hunt Verdilith yet, I can avenge Flinn’s honor if not his death—”

Sir Graybow raised a gnarled forefinger in warning. “No, there will be no talk of that,” he said sternly. “I am sending you after Brisbois to bring him in, not to seek vengeance.” Sir Graybow’s voice had a hard edge to it that Jo had never heard him use with her. “Understood?”

Conflicting emotions warred within Johauna, and for a moment she couldn’t respond. Then she quelled all her thoughts and said lightly, “Of course, Sir Graybow. You can count on me.”

Something in her tone made Sir Graybow pause to look at the young woman, but the darkness hid her expression. “Jo … ?” he began, his voice like a low growl.

Jo closed her eyes and felt her skin flush. “Yes, sir?” she forced herself to say with just the right degree of concern.

The castellan peered at her once more, then, seemingly satisfied, he turned down the hall. Jo and Braddoc fell in step beside him.

Early dawn found Jo and Braddoc mounted on horse and pony and traveling south on the smooth, hard-packed Duke’s Road. Only a few ruts, puddles, and frost boils hampered the steady, ground-eating canter they set for the animals. The road was the finest thoroughfare around and was used by almost anyone traveling across Penhaligon. Originating in Specularum, to the south, the Duke’s Road worked its way north through Kelvin, on through the southern Wulfholdes to Penhaligon, then through the Wulfholdes again as it wound its way north to the Altan Tepes Mountains.

The River Hillfollow bordered the western edge of the Duke’s Road. Its bank had come alive with a flush of vivid green as the trees burst into leaf. The Wulfholdes surrounding Jo and Braddoc seemed pale by contrast, though a few tenacious shrubs and grasses dotted the shale slopes. Jo glanced at the river, her eyes drawn by the glint of sparkling waters. She remembered they’d have to cross that river to get to the tiny village of Rifllian, which was just on the other side of Castle Kelvin to the south. Brisbois was supposed to be hiding in the village. She turned to Braddoc.

“There’s a ford at Kelvin, isn’t there?” Jo asked.

Braddoc nodded, his long-legged pony cantering to keep up with Carsig’s stride. “Aye, there is,” the dwarf replied. “We’ll cross the river there, and then the Duke’s Road branches westward. We take that into Rifllian.”

And that’s where we’ll find that—that traitor, Sir Brisbois! Jo thought savagely. It rankled Jo that Brisbois’s title was still intact—at Flinn’s gracious request, the title had never been officially stripped from the man. The “knight” was a menace. Surely discrediting Flinn with lies and betraying Flinn as bondsman were only two of Brisbois’s heinous crimes, Jo told herself. Her fist clenched on Wyrmblight’s pommel, then forcibly relaxed. Calm down, girl, she told herself as she tried to find something else to concentrate on. Duty, not vengeance. She’d repeated the phrase in her head many times already, but still the words rang hollow. Once, she even found herself hoping Brisbois would provoke an attack so they could kill him on the spot.

Shaking her head to clear it of the destructive thought, Jo glanced at Braddoc. “Didn’t you meet Flinn in Rifllian? What’s the village like?” she asked.

Braddoc’s beard, braided into a single plait, bounced up at his pony’s canter. He tucked it back into his wide, silver- and sapphire-studded belt. “Rifllian?” he repeated, then snorted. “It’s not much of a place, that’s for sure. My comrades and I—”

“What were you exactly, Braddoc? You weren’t really mercenaries—you said so yourself to the baroness,” Jo cut in quickly. “What did you do?”

Unexpectedly, Braddoc laughed. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Johauna Menhir!”

“Then tell me,” Jo entreated lightly. “We’ve—what? one? two? days on the road before we reach the village? I’d like to know more about you and how you met Flinn ”

The dwarf looked at Jo oddly for a moment. A sudden break in his pony’s rhythm drew his attention away from Jo. The animal pulled up sharply and halted. “Likely a stone,” Braddoc murmured as he dismounted and looked at the pony’s legs. Jo pulled Carsig to a halt and watched Braddoc.

The pony was favoring her left forehoof. Braddoc leaned against her while facing the animal’s rear. Onyx obediently shifted her weight, and Braddoc slid his hand down her leg and picked up the hoof. He cupped her hoof with one hand and pulled out his knife. Gently he scraped away loose gravel and packed mud with a blunt hook on the knife’s pommel. “Here it is,” he said as he probed deeper. Using the hook, he carefully dislodged and removed a sharp, jagged piece of granite. The dwarf eyed the rock with disfavor, then threw it away. He set the pony’s hoof back down and remounted.

“The sole looks bruised,” Braddoc said to Jo. “Let’s slow to a walk and let Onyx recover.” He added after a moment, “That’ll give me time to answer your questions in a more sensible fashion, rather than bounce along and lose half my words.” The dwarf fell silent.

Jo nudged Carsig into a walk. “Think she’ll pull up lame?” the young squire asked momentarily. She knew she might have to prime the pump to get the reticent dwarf talking about his past. A little banal chitchat could do the trick.

Braddoc shook his head. “I don’t think it’s that bad a bruise, and she’s moving pretty good now.” The dwarf opened his mouth, then closed it suddenly. He glanced at Jo and stroked his beard.

Jo bided her time, taking in the countryside, which was far different from the streets of Specularum, where she had spent her early years. The Wulfholdes gave way to gentler hills and meadowlands. The Hillfollow still curved to the west, and the road matched the river curve for curve.

Overhead, birds flocked here and there, some still heading north to summer ranges. A flock of snowy geese flew high above the ground in a deep V; their cries echoed faintly in Jo’s ears. Then Jo heard the eerie, lonely cry of a solitary loon as it winged its way toward the river’s waters. She smiled in wonder. How different these birds are from Specularum’s raucous gulls! she thought. During her years in the port city, Jo saw only gulls and pigeons. The wealth of birds in this untamed land startled and pleased her.

The terrain leveled into gentle rolls before Jo finally turned to Braddoc. “Well?” she asked tersely. The dwarf had never taken this long to answer her questions before.

“Well what?” the dwarf asked mildly. His good eye caught Jo’s.

Jo sighed elaborately. “You were going to tell me about your life as a supposed mercenary and about how you met Flinn,” she added in a rush. She saw Braddoc tug on his beard—a sure sign of nervousness—and she smiled reassuringly at him. “You’re my friend, Braddoc—” Jo grew suddenly serious and sincere “—probably my best friend in the world, what with Flinn gone. I’d be honored if you’d tell me more about yourself.”

Braddoc looked at Jo thoughtfully, trying to match his pony’s stride with her horse’s. He turned away and said slowly, “I told the truth to the baroness when I said I’m not a mercenary, though I’d pretended to be one. And I told Arteris at least a partial truth when I said my people were interested in opening trade relations with Penhaligon.” Braddoc paused, as if pondering what or how much he should say.

“Go on,” Jo urged.

Braddoc looked away from Jo and patted Onyx’s shaggy neck. Both the horse and pony were still shedding their thick winter coats. Jo groomed Carsig twice daily in an effort to remove the gelding’s thick hair.

“I … I’d prefer if you didn’t ask me any more of my past, Johauna,” the dwarf said so quietly Jo had to lean toward him to hear. “I’ve said more than I should, and anything more might compromise your position at the castle.”

Jo blinked, feeling a mixture of surprise, disappointment, and a little resentment. I thought we were friends, she said to herself, then quelled the thought. We are friends, Jo reminded herself. If Braddoc has something in his past he’d rather not share, so be it. Jo nodded slowly and said, “I’ll respect your wishes for now, Braddoc, but you’ve done the one impermissible thing around me: piqued my curiosity.” Jo smiled roguishly. “I’m giving you fair warning. I intend to know’ all about this by the return trip to the castle.”

Braddoc snorted but didn’t deign to comment.

“Tell me about your meeting with Flinn then,” Jo suggested. The dwarf was with his band of supposed mercenaries then; surely he’ll let slip some clue about his past, Jo told herself. And, besides, I’ll get to hear more about Flinn.

“I’m sure you’ve heard Flinn’s side of the tale,” Braddoc began, then suddenly smiled. “I remember the first time I saw Flinn.” The dwarf laughed aloud.

“Yes? Was it funny?” Jo asked quickly, excitement creeping over her, though her heart shrank with grief and pain at the thought of Flinn. Jo had learned all the tales of Flinn the Mighty and had become a fair storyteller as a result. But she knew next to nothing about Flinn’s life after his fall. Braddoc hadn’t met Flinn until then, and she was determined to draw as much of the dwarf’s information as she could.

Braddoc laughed again and nodded his head. “Oh, yes!” he chortled. “My men and I were at an inn in Rifllian—the Flickertail, if I remember correctly—having an ale, minding our own business. In walked this tall, angry man. Flinn was just spoiling for a fight that night.”

“Did you know it was him?” Jo asked, picturing the scene. She could see Fain Flinn’s tall, muscular form burst through the tavern door, a door that held the weathered image of some unrecognizable bird. Flinn would be grimacing, his eyes glowing like smoldering embers. He would snarl some greeting to the innkeeper as he looked around. Braddoc and his men would be in one corner of the tavern, peacefully minding their own business.

“Oh, we knew it was Flinn, all right,” Braddoc answered. “Everyone knew Flinn the Mighty—newly Flinn the Fallen—by sight back then. People couldn’t help but stop and stare at Flinn. Like I said, he was spoiling for a fight that night, but all he really wanted was a plate of stew and an ale.”

“What happened when Flinn looked around the tavern?” Jo asked.

“The innkeeper asked him what he’d have, but Flinn only asked for water,” Braddoc answered. “I knew he must be flat broke then, for it only cost half a copper for a loaf of bread; Flinn obviously didn’t even have that.”

“Then what happened?” Jo asked. She was a little surprised by the dwarf’s suddenly loquacious manner, but she figured Braddoc hoped to distract her from asking any more questions about his own past.

The dwarf laughed. “I said something sarcastic like, ‘That’s a fitting drink for a man’—implying, of course, that Flinn wasn’t much of a man if he could only drink water.” Braddoc chuckled again. He directed Onyx around a large frost boil in the road and continued, “That was all it took. Flinn snapped. He leaped at me, my men leaped between, and they beat each other up. Flinn put up a good fight, but in the end it was him lying on the floor looking up at us.”

“Go on,” urged Jo.

“I looked down at Flinn, this man I’d heard so much about in the last few weeks. I looked at him, and I thought: This man hasn’t got a dishonorable bone in his body. And I held out my hand to him,” Braddoc paused. “He didn’t take it immediately, but I think that’s because his bruises were puffing up and obscuring his vision.”

“He finally took your hand?” Jo asked.

“Aye, he did,” Braddoc nodded. “I helped him up, dusted him off, and apologized for my lot. Then I invited him to have a bit of food with me. We sat down then and there and ate. We were friends from that moment on until the day he died.”

Jo said nothing, and the silence that fell was marred only by the trilling of birds and rhythmic clopping of hooves.

Braddoc mused quietly for a few moments, then said, “Before his disgrace, people followed him around, pestering him to take up their causes. But he understood that. He knew he was their hero, and he knew they looked up to him.” The dwarf shrugged, then shifted in his saddle. “At the same time he was an intensely private man. Sometimes the two sides of his life were difficult to reconcile.”

“Surely the people stopped dogging him after his fall?” Jo asked. She was getting to know a side of Flinn she hadn’t considered before.

“Well, in one way, yes, and in one way no,” Braddoc answered readily. “Trouble is, the hero worship was replaced with a malice and cruelty.”

“Is that why Flinn was so angry the night you met?” Jo asked in sudden inspiration.

Braddoc nodded. “I’m sure of it. This was several months after his dismissal from the order, understand. He’d been drifting, trying to find work, I’m sure. His reception in Rifllian was probably typical: callow and brutish.” Braddoc shifted in the saddle, his short legs obviously wearying of the ride.

The late afternoon sun was beginning to set. They topped the crest of a hill, and Jo spied a cluster of towers rising above the tree line a few little valleys away. They were nearing Castle Kelvin. She and Braddoc would stop there for the night, then make for Rifllian and Brisbois tomorrow morning. She pointed toward the towers and asked, “How long to Kelvin, you think?”

“Two hours, maybe a little more,” Braddoc replied. He frowned at the clouds looming from the south. “We might get some rain before then, though. Onyx seems better; let’s pick up the pace.” The dwarf urged his pony into a canter, and Jo gave Carsig the rein. The big gelding nickered and easily matched the pony’s stride.

The pair traveled in silence for the next hour. The road was smooth, and the animals’ pace was swift, but the clouds proved faster still. It wasn’t long before the once-clear sky turned dark and overcast. Distant rumbles of thunder grew progressively louder and more sustained, and the clouds boiled black with rain. Jo and Braddoc kept to the winding Duke’s Road, catching glimpses of Castle Kelvin through the trees every now and then and hoping to reach it before the clouds let loose.

In time, they rounded another curve of the road. Braddoc pointed at a walled gate not five minutes’ ride away. “Ah, there’s Castle Kelvin now,” the dwarf said eagerly. “They’ve got a fair-sized merchants’ quarters here on the north side. We should be able to find a decent room for the night and a place to stable the animals. Then we’ll get an early start in the morning for Rifllian ”

“I hope Brisbois hasn’t left by the time we get there,” Jo said with an edge of anxiety in her voice.

“Doesn’t matter,” Braddoc replied gruffly, guiding his pony around a large rock in the road. “In the inn room tonight, we’ll use one of the abelaat stones to pinpoint him. Doesn’t matter where he goes, as long as we’ve got stones to spy on him.”

“No,” Jo said quietly. She kept her eyes focused on a spot between Carsig’s ears.

“We can—” Braddoc continued, then abruptly stopped. “What did you say? Did you say no?”

“Yes, I did,” Jo said quietly, still staring at Carsig’s ears despite Braddoc’s intent stare. “I said no. I will not use the crystals to find Brisbois.”

“But why?” the dwarf’s voice cracked an octave. “It makes perfect sense! We locate Brisbois through the crystal and then corner him. We’ll know exactly where to find him, and we can make sure he doesn’t escape!”

“I know,” Jo said even more quietly. She shook her head, her red braid flapping forward. “But I won’t do it.”

“Why?” Braddoc demanded.

Jo glanced into the dwarf’s good eye, then back to the road. “Because Karleah says she may be able to contact Flinn through the abelaat crystals … because I’ve only got a few crystals left.” Jo’s voice rose, and her hands drew Carsig’s rein so tight the gelding was forced to carry his head too high. “Because I want to use every one of those crystals to talk to Flinn—” Jo choked on her words and clenched her teeth. The warm taste of blood reached her tongue, and she realized she’d bitten the insides of her cheeks. She loosened her grip on Carsig and bowed her head.

She could feel the dwarf’s gaze upon her, and she knew Braddoc wanted her to look up at him. Jo ground her teeth. I can’t! I can’t! she thought. As much as I want revenge on those who betrayed and murdered Flinn, I want even more to talk to Flinn’s spirit. Jo knew, without question, that Braddoc’s plan for the crystals was much more sound than her own. Karleah Kunzay had told Jo there would be no guarantees, that the crystals would likely burst if she tried contacting the dead.

“Jo …” Braddoc began, then stopped. He said slowly, “I see we both have things we’d rather not talk about. Let’s leave it at that.”

Long moments passed, and Jo was roused from her misery by a sudden clap of thunder. She looked up. Dark storm clouds filled the sky, wind tossed the trees about them, and fat raindrops began to fall. Jo and Braddoc approached the gate to Castle Kelvin, and Jo felt relieved that they wouldn’t sleep outdoors tonight. I hope we find a stable and an inn soon, she thought. She glanced again at the sky as a white-hot jag of lightning reached down from the cloud and clawed through the forest, filling the air with roaring thunder.

Jo looked over at Braddoc and smiled tentatively. The dwarf looked the other way. “Well,” Jo said in an attempt at levity, “looks like we timed our arrival just right.” She held up her hands as the rain started coming down harder.

The dwarf snorted and refused to look at Jo. “Look for an inn. I’m hungry, and I want a bath.”

The man leaned back in the rough wooden chair and took a draw of the bitter, pungent ale in his mug. He rested one long, lanky leg on the corner of the equally rustic table before him, then crossed his other leg over the first. He surveyed the tips of his badly worn leather boots, the maroon so faded as to be a nondescript brown. The once-silver buckles were tarnished irreparably. He took another draw of ale, then looked about the tavern.

It was the foulest establishment he’d ever been in, barring none. The room was tiny; it housed only four tables, assorted chairs, and a short counter. A film of smoke hung in the air, making the tavern seem even more cramped and closed in. But the rain had started coming down hard, and he didn’t have a place to stay tonight. The Elder Tavern seemed as likely a place as any to wait out the storm.

Besides, he might be able to shake the youth who’d been following him the better part of the day. He took another swallow of the bitter ale and grimaced.

The only other customers in the place were two old men. They were rolling and smoking some filthy weed as they played a game of stones. The stench of the smoke was overwhelming. Every now and then, one of the geezers would go into a hacking cough and spit phlegm onto the floor. Although a layer of sawdust covered the hard-packed dirt, the sawdust hadn’t been changed since the day it had been laid out. Someone had added extra layers of sawdust and rushes throughout the years, and the floor had developed a strange, rolling appearance. One of the ancient men coughed again, this time spitting up blood as well as mucus. From some dark corner a scraggly dog came out of the shadows, wandered over to the bloody pile, and began snuffling.

The only woman in the place looked the man’s way and caught his eye. He gave her a bold appraisal. Once truly a serving “girl,” the woman was now a little mature for his tastes. She was also a trifle overblown, like a rose that had passed its perfection. He met the woman’s eyes, and she smiled coyly. A little dimple played in her plump cheek, and she swayed back and forth ever so slightly.

It’s been a while, he thought. Too long, in fact. He downed the rest of his ale and held up his mug, an inviting leer creeping to his lips. The woman smiled back readily. She slowly wiped her hands across her stained apron, pressing her short, fat fingers into the cloth to outline her bodily curves. She winked and smiled once more, then turned around seductively and picked up a small ale cask from behind the bar.

Come on, come on! the man thought. I don’t want to be at the courting stage all night. Suddenly his attention was captured by the sound of the door scraping open and rain splashing on the threshold. Through the obscuring haze of smoke, he saw someone enter and close the door. The two old men never looked up from their game. The serving woman frowned, then put down the cask she’d picked up and began searching for the cleanest tankard.

He watched the figure enter the tiny tavern room, hesitate, then walk toward him. His eyes widened. It was the youth who’d been following him. Casually he moved his hand to the knife at his belt.

The thin, dirty urchin held out a slip of paper and said, “Here, this is for you. I was told to deliver it by a quarter of ten bells.” When the man made no move to take the note, the boy placed it on the table. He turned around and, shying away from the serving woman, left the tavern.

The man stared at the stained slip of paper, lying crumpled on the coarse table before him. Should I? he wondered. How brave am I?

The woman retrieved the cask and walked over to the man, her hips swaying languorously. He glared at her, and she stopped walking. Her beaming face fell into lines of discontent and disillusion. The mans lip curled into a sneer. Another five years for you, woman, and that expression you wear will be habitual, he thought. Maybe three.

He turned his attention back to the paper, wondering if it could be magically trapped. It was so blotched and sodden, so crumpled by the waif’s grip, that he thought it unlikely. Gingerly, he reached out and picked up the paper. It was folded into fourths. The man bent back the first fold and braced himself. He half expected some sort of explosion, but nothing of the sort happened. He stared at the paper and wondered if the next fold was trapped. If he hadn’t been so damned curious, he might have never known.

With a cautious breath, he gently bent back the second fold. He winced as he did so and closed his eyes. Still no explosion, no trap of any kind. Using the surface of the table, he blindly smoothed the rough paper flat. Drawing another deep breath, he opened his eyes.

It was a simple note, and not the scroll-casted spell he had feared.

Come to the alley behind the rendering hall, just after ten bells. There, I will meet you.

The note was signed with a sigil reminiscent of a wild bull’s horns. The man snarled. Then somewhere, faintly, he heard the first chime marking ten bells.

Waves of searing heat passed through him, purging every tissue of his unearthly body. Still his feet bore him across that place of flame, still he kept his mirrorlike eyes on the Immortal that guided him. And in place of the constant, dull thudding of his mortal heart, he felt the insistent words resound and repeat in his breast: have faith, have faith, have faith. …

With solid, reverent steps, Flinn followed on the heels of his patron, Diulanna. In life she had been his inspiration, and he had followed her immortal path. Now, in death, she led his soul across the tumbled, stony ground of this netherworld, led him through the cleansing fire. He had seen visions of others along the way, other Immortals he knew were the friends of his patron—Thor, the Thunderer, and Odin, known as the All Father. They had saluted Flinn on the path and he had saluted them back, remembering how he had called for their blessings on the battlefield. Now he knew his call had been answered.

It would not be long before he reached his final destination. It would not be long before he would again feel the earth of the mortal plane beneath his feet.