The Tainted Sword

Chapter XI

“Sit and eat,” the dwarf said, breaking the silence that Wyrmblight had cast over the room. He pulled the kettle off the fire and quickly dished up four plates of steaming stew. Then he pulled out a small keg, unstopped it, and began to fill tankards for everyone. His good eye twinkled suddenly at Flinn. “Maybe I should draw you a second mug and a third, as long as I’m at it, old friend,” he said.

“Trying to get me to blather in my cups, eh, Braddoc?” Flinn rejoined. He took a sip of the ale the dwarf had poured and nodded his appreciation.

“That’s not hard to do, as you well know,” Braddoc retorted as he handed a cup to Jo.

“Hah!” Flinn shot back. “You’re the one who can’t hold your ale, Braddoc, not me!”

“Oh? And just who is it who’s always under the table by cock’s crow?” Braddoc hooted.

“I might be under the table, friend—” Flinn slapped Braddoc’s shoulder “—but there’s a dwarf under me!” Braddoc broke into laughter, and Flinn, Jo, and Dayin joined in. It is good to laugh again, Flinn thought, after the horrors of the last few days. And it is good to be warm and safe, with a hot meal and a decent cup of ale. His fingers stroked the blade resting beside him. And most of all, he added, it is good to have you back again.

“Tell me more of your travels,” Braddoc said as he passed around a small pot of honey to garnish the little loaves of bread he had given everyone.

Sighing and downing a large swig of ale, Flinn settled back to recount all that had happened to them that strange winter, omitting nothing—not even the creation of the crystals or what they had revealed. He ended his tale with the revelation of Bywater’s destruction and Verdilith’s orders to the orcs.

Braddoc shook his head. “I first heard the orc drums three nights ago, which must have been just after Verdilith attacked Bywater,” he said. “They were quite a distance away, but I could make out enough of the beat to learn they were going on the move immediately—straight south through the hills where I was hunting.”

“What did you do, Braddoc?” Jo asked. “It’s strange to think you were in the same situation as we were.”

“I hid the ponies in a cave nearby, hoping the orcs wouldn’t find them by accident. Thank Kagyar they didn’t,” Braddoc said in an aside to the ceiling. “Then I hurried home as fast as I could, trying like you to slip past them as they went on the march. Unlike you, I had the benefit of their never having seen me.”

“I take it the Rooster’s tribe dwells south of here, then?” Flinn asked.

“More or less.” Braddoc laughed grimly. “I, too, had to cut my way through their lines. The Rooster was missing a few orcs after passing me.” He grinned at Flinn. “When you rode up this evening, I was sure you were orcs sent back to check on missing patrols.”

They all laughed, and a companionable silence fell as the four of them finished their meal. Braddoc’s eye wandered to Dayin. The boy was too busy eating to notice the attention.

Flinn noted Braddoc’s interest. “There’s not a great deal to tell you about Dayin,” he said. “He spent the last two years haunting my woods, but I only really met him after Jo came along.”

“You said he knows magic, eh?” Braddoc murmured, taking another sip of ale.

“That’s right,” Jo answered. “He made rose petals appear out of nowhere at the cabin. And during the orcs’ attack, he distracted two of them with doves.” She smiled at Dayin, who smiled back. “They were beautiful.”

Flinn cocked an eyebrow, then turned to Braddoc. “The boy’s father was a mage, and he taught Dayin some spells before he died.”

“What was the mage’s name?” Braddoc asked off-handedly. “Maybe I knew him.”

“Maloch Kine,” Flinn answered, his attention drawn to the boy. Dayin listened closely.

“Maloch Kine, eh?” Braddoc rejoined. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Though the castle’s got a new mage—fellow named Auroch. Hmmm,” he said, stroking his braided beard. “In the old tongue, both Kine and Auroch mean cattle. Was your father some kind of magical herder?”

Dayin shook his head and said, “No, he was a mage.” The dwarf stood and gestured toward the hall. “Let’s adjourn to the great room. I’ve some dried apples the boy can heat in the fire.” He smiled at Jo. “Flinn says you’re quite a storyteller. I’d like to hear a tale tonight, unless someone has a lute in his pack and would care to sing?” He looked at the others and then shook his head. “I thought not. Well, I’m providing the food, so you’ll have to provide the entertainment. My singing would drive you all away. Jo, have you a tale for us?”

Jo laughed. “All I know are the tales of Flinn that my father used to tell me. Surely you’ve heard all those.” Braddoc nodded. “Yes, I have. And most of them are full of audacious lies about Flinn’s courage and skill,” the dwarf said with a wink. “Still, tell us the story where Flinn meets up with Verdilith. Perhaps we’ll learn some long-forgotten weakness of the wyrm.”

Shaking his head grimly, Flinn led the companions into the great room. Its walls were fashioned of rough-hewn granite and its ceiling supported by dark oak timbers. It was comfortably furnished with low upholstered benches, a few small tables, and a single human-sized chair. Braddoc went to the hearth and stoked the fire banked there. He gestured to the chair behind Flinn. “Sit, and let’s hear the tale Johauna has to tell. Then we’ll discuss plans for the morrow. Dayin, you can warm the apples on this poker.” Braddoc pulled a small barrel from a corner of the room and presented it to Dayin, who sat on a short stool before the hearth.

The dwarf sat on a bench opposite Flinn, and Jo took a place across from Dayin. Jo smiled shyly, then let her gaze rest on Flinn. As always, he felt uncomfortable being the center of attention, but he knew that Jo would tell no other tales.

“There is a tale,” Jo began, “a tale told in taverns near and far, in castles high and low, in hamlets humble and dear. This is the tale of the Mighty Flinn and the good blade Wyrmblight. This is the tale of Verdilith, the Great Green, scourge of Traladara, now Karameikos. Listen to the tale I tell you now, and listen you well.”

Johauna stopped and coughed. “I’m not a bard, but that’s how my father always started this story,” she said nervously.

“It had quite an effect on a six-year-old in front of a campfire.” Her eyes flicked from Flinn to Braddoc.

“Tell the tale, Johauna,” the dwarf said patiently, then smiled. “It’s the price of your dinner.”

Guessing the girl felt uneasy under Braddoc’s piercing gaze, Flinn gave her a reassuring smile. Dayin began quietly handing out the warmed rings of dried apple.

Jo continued, “A fierce and terrible dragon saw the lands of Penhaligon one day as he flew, and he coveted the lands beneath his wings. The hills and trees were bountiful, and water, too, was in plenty. Nearby, in the wild barren hills of the Wulfholdes, he could hide. Aye, he could hide from those whom he taunted … those whom he killed. He could bring his treasures from far and wide to secrete away. He could sleep on his bed of gold in peace.

“Or so the wyrm thought.

“Verdilith was the great green’s name, a name that means ‘green stone’ in the ancient tongue. Verdilith, in his debaucheries of blood, hadn’t reckoned on the knights of Penhaligon. Most noble of all these knights was Fain Flinn. He was not called ‘the Mighty’ for naught, and many was the monster that had fallen beneath his blade, the good sword Wyrmblight. The sword was well named, for it devoured dragon blood with glee. The Mighty Flinn learned the art of tracking dragon with the help of his wondrous blade, and he became legend.”

Flinn snickered. Immediately he was sorry he had, for three sets of eyes fastened accusingly on him. He held up his hands in appeasement and leaned farther back into the chair. He would interrupt the story no more.

With a warning look at Flinn, Jo continued. “The Mighty Flinn became legend, but Verdilith was filled with overweening pride. He did not believe the tales of Flinn, nor did he believe the power of Wyrmblight. Or, if he did fear Flinn and his blade, he coveted the lands of Penhaligon still more.

“Verdilith invaded the hills of Wulfholde, spreading terror in his wake. The good Baron Arturus of Penhaligon sent five of his finest knights to rid the land of the great wyrm. At their head rode Flinn, the bravest of all. His armor gleamed in the bright spring sun; the light glinted off his sword. His charger pranced sideways, eager for the hunt….”

Flinn found his mind drifting off in the memories Jo’s words stirred. The sound of her voice receded away. He remembered the day Baron Arturus had sent him after Verdilith: It was late winter, not early spring, and the weather was miserable. Rain and sleet pelted him and the two squires who accompanied him. Disputes with giants along the western borders of Penhaligon had escalated, and most of the knights and their squires were serving there. Flinn had just returned from a mission and was preparing to rejoin the fight to the west, but the old baron had other plans. As always, Flinn did as his lord commanded.

He and the two squires, who were both quite new and really little more than stablehands, headed northeast to the spot where the dragon had last appeared. There, Flinn drew Wyrmblight and held it before him; he concentrated on the image of the green dragon. The blade, forged to slay dragons, scented the dragon’s essence and turned toward it, leading Flinn through the forest. In time, he found tracks and broken branches that marked Verdilith’s occasional landings.

Flinn continued on, Wyrmblight ever before him. If he encountered Verdilith, the blade would prove his greatest weapon and his best defense. Earlier, the blade had turned the fiery breath of a young red dragon and the lightning strike of an older, white dragon. Wyrmblight faithfully led Flinn toward Verdilith. Flinn and his squires traversed the woods and rocky hills, then returned again to the forests before they discovered the creature in a tiny glade. Verdilith was sunning himself on a rock. He seemed sublimely confident of his powers and not the least bit afraid of the three humans who interrupted his rest. The dragon roared when Flinn approached, and the two squires fled in terror. They never returned to the Castle of the Three Suns.

“So you are the Flinn I have heard about,” the dragon rumbled. “And that is the sword I am supposed to fear.”

Disregarding Verdilith’s taunts, Flinn shouted in return, “By the order of good Baron Arturus Penhaligon, I charge you to leave these lands willingly and never return, wyrm, or I shall drive you from them!”

The dragon responded by stretching wide his fang-studded mouth and blasting Flinn with a choking green cloud. Although Flinn coughed a little at the noxious fumes, he suffered no ill effects. He strode forward and attacked. Through glade, through forest, and on into the Wulfholdes their battle raged. Twice more the dragon let loose his foul breath, but each time Wyrmblight drew the poison into itself, protecting its master.

Wielding Wyrmblight foremost, Flinn drove Verdilith toward a dark pine forest. Only there could he stand a chance of defeating the dragon single-handedly—by out-stepping the ungainly beast. But the dragon only smiled his toothy grin and retreated into the open. Flinn was forced to follow. There, in the rocky outcroppings of the Wulfholdes, Flinn at last met his match. Although he was a powerful knight, a man renowned for strength and stamina, the dragon’s strength waxed beyond measure that day. For the first time ever, the knight knew fear—fear so great he wanted to run as the squires had.

The barren hills offered Flinn no cover. Verdilith buffeted him with his great wings and knocked him aside with his tail. The dragon raked the knight with his claws and snapped teasingly at him with fangs of ivory. When Flinn’s strength was finally spent, the dragon lost interest in playing with his foe. Deep and true was the wyrm’s next bite, piercing nearly through the knight. Flinn still bore the scars of those ugly wounds. But deep and true, too, was the bite of Flinn’s sword that day in the dragon’s side. Dragon blood cascaded to the rocky ground. Both seriously wounded, the dragon and the warrior gave and took a series of blows so great that Flinn thought they would die together. But then the huge green dragon took to the skies and fled.

Flinn fell to his knees, almost mortally injured. Four knights of Penhaligon, returning home from the war with the giants, came upon Flinn. They had heard the battle raging from afar and arrived with swords drawn, but they saw only their fallen comrade and the dragon winging away.

“…with cries of dismay,” Jo was saying, her words returning Flinn’s thoughts to the present. “They carried their brave leader back to the Castle of the Three Suns, tears falling every step of the way. But at the castle the great baron called for his finest healers and clerics. In time, the brave knight mended, becoming whole and strong again.

“Shamed, the wyrm fled the lands of Penhaligon in defeat. Thus ends the tale of the Mighty Flinn, his sword Wyrmblight, and Verdilith the Great Green.” Jo’s eyes flashed. “But I won’t add the ending I was taught, for Verdilith has returned, and that rather spoils it.”

Braddoc and Dayin enthusiastically voiced their appreciation for the tale, and Dayin handed Jo some apple rings he had saved for her. Flinn, too, expressed his pleasure, and Jo’s face lit up at his praise. How good it is to have someone believe in me again, really believe, he thought suddenly. His smile turned rueful.

Dayin yawned suddenly, and Braddoc put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. The dwarf said, “It’s late, and I think the child should get some sleep while the rest of us discuss what tomorrow may bring.” He looked at Jo. “I’ve put your things in my room, Johauna. There are advantages to being a woman, like a comfortable bed rather than a hard floor. I hope the bed’s not too short for you. Flinn, your bedroll’s here by the hearth. Dayin and I will bed down in the kitchen.”

Dayin yawned widely, but tried to mask it with his small hands. “No, please. I’m not sleepy, just tired.”

Jo mussed his hair and said, “All right, Dayin, you can stay up. But the moment you fall asleep, Braddoc will take you to the kitchen.” She smiled at the boy, who sleepily nodded in return.

Flinn put his elbows on his knees, leaned forward, and sighed. The last few days had been long and grueling ones, and for a moment a part of him didn’t want to contemplate what the morrow might hold. But he knew he must, and with another sigh he looked at Jo and then Braddoc.

“Well, my friends,” the warrior said, “it’s time to make some decisions. I’ve promised to take Dayin to Karleah Kunzay to see if she would like to take him on as an apprentice. That errand will delay my return to the Castle of the Three Suns by no more than half a day, so to Karleah’s I’m headed.”

“When?” Braddoc asked.

“The day after tomorrow,” Flinn replied readily. “The animals—not to mention the riders—have been through much the last two days. We need to rest, but for one day only.”

“Will Ariac be fully recovered, do you think?” Jo asked. Her hands were clasped before her and she seemed calm, but Flinn saw that her knuckles were turning white.

“Yes, I think so. There are easier paths to follow to the west, and there won’t be a blizzard and an entire orc tribe trailing us. At least, I hope not,” Flinn added wryly. “It will probably take a day and a half to get to Karleah’s, but after that I head straight to the Castle of the Three Suns.” He took a deep breath.

“Between now and then, Jo, you need to make a decision,” he continued. “Do you want to petition the council for squiredom on your own—or do you want to stand at my side while I petition for reinstatement as a knight? You should know that I think your skills have improved enough that they would accept you as a squire. Furthermore—” he looked at the young woman keenly, and she grew nervous under his gaze “—I think you do have the dedication and commitment necessary to become a knight, even without me.”

“Oh, Flinn,” Jo cried softly. Her gray eyes were luminous in the light of the dying fire. The faith and devotion he saw there touched him deeply. He remembered he had once slapped her because of that shining belief. “I don’t need a day and a half to make a decision,” she said, shaking her head. “The decision I made when you first asked me that question still holds: I will be your squire no matter what. I don’t need to think on that.”

Flinn looked at her closely, trying to determine whether she knew what lay in store for them. Although she’d been a flighty girl in the past, in the last few months she had developed into a courageous young woman. He nodded toward her, then said, “That’s settled then. After we bring Dayin to Karleah’s, we go on to the castle. There I settle a score with Sir Brisbois, and then I petition the council for reinstatement as a knight. If all goes well, Jo, you and I will leave the castle as members of the Order of the Three Suns.” He smiled and Jo did the same.

“And your plans for Verdilith?” Braddoc asked, thoughtfully stroking the plait in his beard.

Flinn sat back in the chair and drew Wyrmblight onto his knees. “Once I’m a knight again, my rights as a knight will be restored. Only then will I be a match for the dragon, and only then will Wyrmblight shine in full glory. I’ll avenge the town of Bywater and my friend Baildon the Merchant. I will hunt down that wyrm and, as Thor is my witness, I will kill him.” Flinn’s teeth clenched involuntarily, and his hands tightened on the sword.

“Would you like another comrade?” Braddoc asked casually.

Flinn looked at the dwarf in surprise. “You?” he asked. “But, Braddoc, what of your mercenary duties? Don’t you have any contracts pending?”

“I disbanded the group shortly after you left, Flinn,” the dwarf said slowly.

“Why?” Flinn and Jo asked simultaneously.

“Because, like you, I wanted something better for myself. I wasn’t going to find it as a mercenary. I took up goldsmithing; the case I made for Wyrmblight was the first thing I made.” Braddoc held up his braids and smiled ruefully. “I stripped the gems from my hair clasps—not to mention my goblets, my daggers, rings, and everything else I could find—to ornament that case.”

“The case is lovely, especially now that we know what you sacrificed to make it. What made you become a goldsmith?” Jo asked politely.

Braddoc shrugged. “You might say I wanted to return to my dwarven heritage.” He turned his good eye toward Flinn. “You haven’t said whether you’d like my company.”

Flinn held out his hand. “I would be grateful, friend, if you’d join me.”

The dwarf extended his hand, too, and the two men clasped wrists. Braddoc nodded and said, “It’ll be good to be on the trail again with you, Fain Flinn.” He stood and looked down at the sleeping Dayin. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, the boy’s got a good idea. I’m off to bed. Good night.” Braddoc picked up Dayin and carried him from the room. Just before entering the kitchen, Braddoc flashed Flinn a thoughtful look. The warrior looked away.

Jo quietly looked at the fire for a few moments, then turned to Flinn. “I had best be going to bed, too.” She made as if to stand, but Flinn caught her arm. She settled back in her seat.

Flinn looked at Jo, taking in the curve of her neatly braided hair and her high, intelligent brow beneath. He noted her firm chin, sensitive lips, and compassionate eyes. He touched her hand.

“Stay and talk awhile?” he asked quietly. He’d never actually asked her to converse with him before, and for a moment he wondered if she would misinterpret his desire.

“Certainly,” Jo said with alacrity. “What would you like to talk about?” Her eyes watched him intently.

“Tell me what you think will happen when we reach the castle,” he suggested.

Jo smiled. “That’s easy. I know what will happen. You will present your case, exposing the lies of your accusers, and not one person there will vote against you. Everyone will know that you were unjustly accused and that you deserve to become a knight again. Your knighthood will be reinstated.”

Flinn looked at her, baffled at how she could have so much faith. “You can’t really believe that, can you? There are people who don’t think of me as you do, you know,” he added with asperity.

“Yes, I know,” Jo said, then smiled solemnly. “Your petition isn’t likely to go that smoothly. But I do know you will regain your knighthood. Have no fear.”

Flinn looked at her questioningly. “Do you have any fears, Johauna?”

She looked away for a moment, then turned back to him. Her eyes were clear and steady. “I fear that perhaps you may find it difficult adjusting to a life with people again. You’ve lived outside society for the last seven years, and been a recluse for the last three.”

“What makes you think I’ll have trouble getting used to people again?”

She shrugged. “Only that I had trouble adjusting to a life without people. You might have the same problem, but in reverse.”

“Do you miss Specularum?” Flinn asked suddenly. It had never occurred to him that Jo might be homesick.

“I did, but not anymore.”

“And you don’t think I’ll adjust as easily as you did?” Flinn asked laughingly.

“I didn’t say that,” she responded. “I only wanted you to be aware of my thoughts. My only fear is that you will think things would be the way they used to be, and then discover that they’re not. You’ll need to readjust, that’s all.”

“And is that really your only fear?” Flinn asked slowly. He leaned near her. He wanted to make sure Jo harbored no lingering doubts about becoming his squire.

The girl looked at him sharply. Her hands were tightly clasped again. “No … there is one other fear I have.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Flinn’s peered into her eyes. “And what is that?” He lowered his voice, too, though he didn’t know why.

Jo didn’t look away. “My last fear is that Yvaughan will plead for your forgiveness.”

Flinn’s eyebrows knit. “Why should you fear that?”

“Because I’m afraid you will forgive her, and that she will once again mean to you what she used to,” Jo said in a small, tight voice. “Because, if that happens, you won’t need me to—to love you.” The last words were spoken in a broken whisper.

Flinn reached out and took both her hands in his. He gripped them hard. “Jo, Jo,” he murmured. “My feelings for… Yvaughan died a long time ago. My forgiving her—if indeed I do forgive her—won’t change how I feel about her now.”

Jo hung her head. “I think it might.”

Flinn touched her chin and tilted her face upward, but her eyes remained averted. Flinn waited. Finally she looked back at him. Her eyes were clouded, and he couldn’t discern her emotions. He moved as if to hold her, but something held him back. “Jo, dear,” he said, unaware that the endearment slipped out, “you are right. My feelings for Yvaughan might change, but too much time and pain have passed. I will never love her again.”

Jo bit her bottom lip. Flinn felt her hands tremble within his. He could only imagine what it cost her to say her next words. “Do you… do you think you could… love me—someday?” Her voice cracked.

Flinn tightened his grip even more and smiled wistfully. “Jo, my… my feelings for you are too new for me to understand just yet. I must regain my life—my soul—before I can have anything to offer you, or anyone else.” He released one hand and permitted himself to touch her cheek. “It’s not that I’m not tempted….” He shook his head. “It’s that I’m not sure I should.”

Jo took the hand touching her cheek and turned her head so that her lips rested against his palm. She kissed the inside of his hand, and he felt her tremble. She released his hand and nearly ran across the floor to the bedroom door. “Good night, Flinn,” she called over her shoulder without looking back.

Flinn stared at the dying fire. The girl worshiped him. She had from the very beginning, that much Flinn had known. But her feelings had escalated into something much deeper, and he wondered why he hadn’t stopped it. He should never have allowed that. A glowing log shifted position in the hearth, and Flinn used the poker to push it back in place. The fire snapped and hissed in return. “Would I have quelled Jo’s feelings if I had known?” he asked himself. His gaze darkened.

Johauna Menhir had turned his life completely around. She had believed in him wholeheartedly, despite his fall from grace as a knight. She had believed him a man worthy of knighthood; she had believed him honorable and courageous and good. He smiled grimly, shaking his head. Her faith was so groundless, and yet it was her faith alone that nourished his soul.

As the midnight hours slipped slowly by and the fire died completely, Flinn realized that he couldn’t have faced his past disgrace were it not for Jo. She had inspired him to look beyond his misery and petty spite to see that he was still, at heart, a good and honorable man.

Flinn sighed, scanning the elaborate runes that chased the flat of Wyrmblight. He had regained his honor and his courage, and he touched those two shining runes of the Quadrivial. His fingers slipped slowly past to the points of faith and glory. Jo had faith in him. Jo had complete and absolute faith in him. But he needed more than that. He needed to find his own faith in himself, and he needed the faith of the people, too. Confronting those who had wronged him seven years ago and righting that wrong would restore that faith, he was sure.

He picked up Wyrmblight and pointed the tip of it toward the ceiling. He stared down at the last stained sigil and said aloud, “Slaying Verdilith will bring me the fourth point of the Quadrivial: glory.”

The warrior returned the sword to his side and looked about the room, his eyes filled with a restless hunger. “And on that day, I shall once again be a true knight.”