The Tainted Sword

Chapter XIV

Flinn pulled Ariac to a halt and dismounted. The warrior stroked the griffon’s neck, nervously plucking out a few stray feathers. Beside him, Jo, Braddoc, Dayin, and Karleah halted their beasts and dismounted, too. Jo strode through the snow to stand beside Flinn, not saying a word. There, on a promontory that overlooked the Penhaligon valley, stood the Castle of the Three Suns. Its limestone walls glittered whitely in the midmorning sun, and the clay tile roof glowed with red splendor. Flinn’s eyes tightened to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. It has been so long, he thought, so long.

The castle itself was diamond-shaped, the main approach and angle towers comprising the points. Four other towers supported the outer walls, which presented a formidable barricade to the world. These eight outer structures stood four stories high, and a single tower rose twice that height from the center of the castle. The tall structure was the keep, or donjon as some called it in the old tongue.

The castle of the Penhaligons had no moat; the sheer and rocky slopes around it made assaults nearly impossible. The main thoroughfare leading to the castle was a narrow, winding road; nothing larger than two merchant wagons could pass side by side. Approaching the castle from any other direction involved climbing the steep hill on which the castle stood.

An easy trail led from the Wulfholdes down to the curving castle road. In little more than two hours, Flinn would confront his past and regain the people’s faith in him, as well as his faith in himself. He turned to face the others. “Listen to me,” he began. “This is something I must do by myself.”

His dark eyes studied each of their faces.

“If you think you’re going alone, forget it. We want to go with you,” Johauna said clearly. She gestured at the wizardess, then crossed her arms. “Karleah and Dayin didn’t come along for the ride. They came because they want to see you be rightfully reinstated as a knight. We’re coming with you; we’ve come too far to turn back.” Her brows knitted stubbornly.

Briefly Flinn wondered why these people should care about him, but he was grateful nonetheless. It had been so long since he’d had friends, true friends. “If you insist. I would be… pleased to have you there,” Flinn said steadily and then smiled.

Braddoc spoke up. “What else would we do? Besides, what if Verdilith has plans for you? What would you do without us?”

“At the castle?” Flinn was incredulous. “The Castle of the Three Suns is powerful and well armed. Verdilith wouldn’t stand a chance attacking there. The castle’s inhabitants are also renowned for their purity of heart. No one there would ever have dealings with a beast like Verdilith.” Flinn was affronted at the very idea. “I think the dragon was trying to frighten us with his warning. I think he would have attacked us by now if he’d had plans to do so.”

Braddoc jerked his thumb toward the castle and said gruffly, “It’s been seven years since you were there, Flinn. You don’t know what’s happened since you’ve left, and you have no idea whether the people are still ‘pure of heart.’ After all, Brisbois is still there, isn’t he?” The dwarf’s hp curled in a sneer.

Flinn looked away from the dwarf and then back. “One bad apple doesn’t always spoil the rest in the barrel, particularly if it’s removed. That’s what I intend to do with Brisbois.” Flinn’s voice grew cold. “As to Verdilith, if he fulfills his threat to attack today, he’ll do so on the road to the castle—out in the open. If Verdilith is down there waiting for me… yes, I’ll need your help.” Flinn thought of Karleah’s prophecy. He knew he was risking his friends’ lives by taking them with him, but some instinct told him now was not the time of Verdilith’s choosing. His instincts had always been true in the past, and he hoped they would be again.

Jo uncrossed her arms and said, “Then let’s get this over with! Enough said.” She grabbed the reins to Carsig, mounted the gelding, and smiled down at Flinn.

The warrior cocked an eyebrow. “Remember the protocol I taught you, Jo,” he said dryly. “Once we get to the road, ride to the left and behind me by two lengths—no more, no less. And when we go inside, you follow to the left and behind at four paces.” Jo nodded coolly, one hand on the pommel of her sword.

Flinn mounted Ariac and called to Braddoc, Dayin, and Karleah, who was riding Fernlover, “The rest of you should follow a little way back. If Verdilith does attack, we don’t want to be lumped all together. If you’re behind me, that’ll give you a chance to rush to my defense.” Flinn smiled his lopsided grin.

The dwarf fixed the tall warrior with his good eye and said, “We’ll watch your back.” Karleah cackled.

Flinn continued, “Once we’re safely inside the castle, you three are on your own. There’s plenty to see—or you can come to the great hall, which is where Jo and I will be. Today is open court—they hold it the same day of every month—and I will have my chance to speak to Baroness Arteris and the council. Hopefully they will listen to me. If not—” Flinn shrugged “—it would be good to have you on hand.” He smiled reassuringly and turned back to face the valley.

Without further ado, the warrior guided Ariac down the path toward the castle road, and the others fell in behind him. The sun shone warmly on the softening snow, and the wind had died down. “Spring’s on her way,” Flinn murmured to himself. Ariac appeared to feel the same enthusiasm, for he picked up his claws and nearly pranced down the path. Carsig eagerly kept pace, shaking his head and arching his neck in response to Ariac. Jo moved beside Flinn.

“Carsig’s a delight to ride. I don’t think I’ve ever ridden a finer animal,” Jo said easily. She flashed Flinn a smile, and Flinn suddenly saw that she was beautiful. Without volition, he smiled in return.

They fell into companionable silence for the rest of the short journey down the hill’s path. Before long, they could see the winding road leading to the castle. The rumble and clang of a merchant caravan rose in the still air. As Flinn and the others approached the crossroads, the two wagons passed by, heading toward the castle. The noise was coming from the metal pans hanging along the wagons’ sides. Other bits of metalwork hung from the wagon: harness rings, axeheads, chisels, and tools.

No one else was in sight, and Flinn held up his hand to Jo and the others to halt. “We’ll wait here until they’re a little farther up the road. The wagons should be safely to the castle by then, in case the dragon attacks us out here. Remember your protocol, Jo. If anyone from the castle happens to be watching you, proper protocol will commend you to them.”

Johauna was looking at him with something akin to compassion. “Are you afraid, Flinn?” she asked softly.

He turned his eyes to the road and said thickly, “Afraid? Of course I’m afraid.” The aging warrior urged Ariac into a gentle walk onto the road, his thoughts turning dark and somber.

As Braddoc had said, more than seven years had passed since Flinn last saw the Castle of the Three Suns. He and several other knights had spent the day routing a band of ogres foolish enough to cut across Penhaligon lands. An easy dispatch, the attack was little more than a training exercise for the younger knights. Flinn and Brisbois, being the only senior knights, had led the expedition.

They headed home, meeting up with another group of knights along the way. Both parties had been victorious, and their cries of triumph rang in the air. Flinn was content, for he had done a good day’s deed and was returning home to his wife. Only the devotion and loyalty he’d had for old Baron Arturus, his wife’s uncle, could compare with what Flinn felt for Yvaughan.

As the knights entered the courtyard, their shouts and laughter died down and were replaced by a growing murmur. Flinn looked over at the other knights curiously, wondering what was wrong. Brisbois had been unexpectedly quiet the entire trip home, but was now whispering to the younger knights in their party. A young blond knight, Lord Maldrake, began jabbing his cohorts and pointing toward Flinn. Flinn was about to question Brisbois and the others when he saw Lady Yvaughan in the courtyard, looking over a peddler’s fresh produce. She was surrounded by several of her handmaidens, and she carried her pet bird of the moment, a dazzling white creature with a crest of brilliant green.

Flinn forgot his comrades’ actions and called out, “Greetings, dear heart!” He dismounted and strode toward his wife.

“Halt!” Brisbois shouted, maneuvering his horse between Flinn and Yvaughan.

“What is the meaning of this, Sir Brisbois?” Flinn demanded, trying to walk past Brisbois’ horse.

The knight spurred his horse forward and shouted, “Do not move! You will not taint your wife with your base dishonor!”

Annoyed and not a little affronted, Flinn put his hands on his hips and demanded hotly, “Dishonor? What have you, Sir Brisbois? Why do you keep me from my wife?” Yvaughan’s expression was coolly poised, and he was surprised. His wife was usually volatile, and the slightest incident distressed her. The peddler, a ragged old man who was missing one ear, moved closer to Yvaughan and Flinn. His eyes were alight with overweening interest. Other peasants and servants, hearing the commotion, drew nearer as well.

Brisbois dismounted and signaled for the other knights to do the same. The younger knights, the ones Flinn had seen Brisbois talk to, did so with alacrity. Some of the older knights looked puzzled and frowned at Brisbois, but the younger knights quickly urged their comrades to comply.

Brisbois turned to Flinn and pointed at him. “Knight of the Order of the Three Suns, I accuse you of dishonoring our most sacred code—that of denying mercy,” Brisbois declared, his voice ringing out in the courtyard. Servants and peasants pushed closer. Flinn was too stunned to say anything. “Sir Flinn,” continued Brisbois, “today an ogre beseeched you for mercy on the battlefield, and you did not grant it. Instead you laughed and slew the creature where he lay!”

“You lie!” Flinn shouted, outraged. He advanced on Brisbois, determined to tear the truth from the man’s lips. But at a signal from the knight, two young men interceded and held Flinn at bay. “Why are you lying, Brisbois?” Flinn demanded, trying to pull his arms free. “What foul treachery are you planning?” He managed to free one hand and strike Brisbois with it. The knight staggered back a step.

“It is no lie.” The words, softly spoken, came from the ranks of Flinn’s comrades. The young blond knight, Lord Maldrake, stepped forward. The man had come to the Castle of the Three Suns and been given knighthood status immediately—something rarely, if ever, done. Flinn had seen very little of the man and had never spoken more than a few cursory words with him.

“It is no he,” the knight repeated again, this time more loudly. He pointed at Flinn and said, “I saw Flinn slay the ogre, too. Sir Brisbois is telling the truth.”

“You misunderstand!” Flinn’s voice rang out authoritatively. He struggled against the men who held him. “The ogre didn’t—” one of the knights holding him punched him beneath his breastplate. Flinn doubled over in pain. He fought for breath and shook his head. When he looked up again, Yvaughan stood in front of him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh, Flinn, how could you? You have defiled my house and my name,” she cried out in sad bitterness. “You have shamed the niece of Arturus Penhaligon, a man you profess to revere. How could you deny an enemy mercy? You have committed an act of absolute shame.” Brisbois, Maldrake, and several of the other knights murmured ill-tempered words loudly.

Yvaughan’s voice shook and her tears came faster. “You have dishonored the house of Penhaligon, Fain Flinn, and as a Penhaligon I strip you of your knighthood!” She shook her fists at the knights, her tears mingling with her anger and shame. “Cast him down, O true knights! Cast down this aspersion on the conscience of the righteous!” The older knights, who hadn’t believed Brisbois’ allegation initially, were swayed by loyalty to the house of Penhaligon. Their voices joined the growing roar.

“Yvaughan!” Flinn shouted. “Listen to me!” His words were swallowed up, and Yvaughan never heard them. She picked up a head of lettuce from a nearby peddler’s cart near her and threw it at her husband. It hit Flinn squarely in the chest. The old peddler chuckled and feebly tossed a carrot.

What happened next was something Flinn had always carefully blocked from his memory. But now he confronted the thought, his lips curled in a sneer of grim fear and rage and shame. His eyes narrowed to slits, his shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly, and one arm crossed his stomach as he continued to ride toward the castle.

Flinn’s fellow knights of the Order of the Three Suns—his friends and cohorts who had often fought by his side and who would gladly have given their lives for their commander—beat the man they hailed as Flinn the Mighty. With the flat of their swords they turned on Flinn, but Flinn refused to draw Wyrmblight. Instead he wielded his sheathed sword this way and that, trying to block the blows. He shouted at the men to stop, hoping to seek a council session rather than this mob trial to settle the matter. But Yvaughan’s white bird panicked at that moment and fluttered into his face, scratching Flinn with its tiny claws.

Then Flinn caught sight of Yvaughan, her ladies and the young blond knight hurrying to her side. They grabbed the peddler’s produce and threw it at Flinn. Peasants, servants, and even a few knights joined in. Vegetables and fruits and bitter taunts battered him from all sides.

In a single afternoon, Flinn the Mighty became Flinn the Fool, the Fallen. The shouts that rang that day mortally wounded his spirit. He leaped onto his horse and fled.

A single groan escaped Flinn’s lips, and the sound brought his thoughts back to the present. He looked around warily, fighting back the horror of his memories. He gritted his teeth. I survived being falsely accused, and I will survive whatever pain is to come in overturning that accusation. I will right the wrong done to me, and I will avenge myself of Sir Brisbois.

Flinn sighed and consciously buried the thoughts of his disgrace once again. He sat taller in the saddle and moved his free hand to Wyrmblight’s pommel. His lips were once again grimly pulled together, but a new hardness and assurance marked them.

The Castle of the Three Suns lay just ahead.

Flinn entered the main approach and pulled Ariac to a stop. He was grateful the wyrm Verdilith hadn’t attacked him out on the road; Flinn’s instincts had been right. Two guards flanked either side of the entrance, and a handful more stood nearby. “I’m here to seek council with the baroness and her court today,” Flinn responded to the guard’s inquiry. He jerked his thumb back at Jo and added, “She’s with me.” The guard waved him through, and Flinn nodded for Jo to follow him.

They crossed through the approach and passed under the guard towers flanking the entrance to the castle. Low buildings lined the perimeter of the castle’s grounds. Next came the guards’ dormitories, craftsmen’s dwellings, shops, stables, and the like. Inside the perimeter stretched a huge courtyard, paved in rose granite, leading to the castle proper.

The metalmaker’s wagons were nearby, Flinn noted, and haggling already filled the air around them. Hundreds upon hundreds of people filled the castle’s courtyard, moving from stall to shop to wagon. Open council days always drew big crowds, but Flinn had forgotten just how many people the Castle of the Three Suns could hold. The air rang with bickering voices and laughter. Hawkers and merchants milled about, trying to steal each other’s customers away. Ragged peasant children ran wild, playing games or begging for food. A pair of mages cast minor spells to amuse a small crowd of onlookers. A number of knights and their squires engaged in practice swordplay. A trio of washerwomen sang a ditty as they did their daily scrubbing. Soon a man joined them, lugging his own bundle of clothing, and added a pleasant baritone.

Flinn and Jo tied their mounts to one of many hitching rings lining the courtyard, and Flinn tossed a peasant girl a coin to keep an eye on the animals. Etiquette demanded that those who dwelt outside the keep tie their mounts here.

Few people appeared to take note of the rough, fur-clad warrior and his young assistant. Flinn’s sharp eyes caught sight of a female knight, however, who seemed to find them of particular interest. She had been watching the swordplay practice but not participating in it. With a nod to her comrades, she excused herself and hurried off. Flinn lost sight of the woman far too soon for his liking, but he gave her no further attention. He was intent on reaching the castle’s large central tower: the donjon.

Someone caught his arm and stopped him midstride. Flinn’s hand flew to Wyrmblight’s hilt.

“Did you see—” Jo said, tilting her head in the direction the knight had gone.

Flinn relaxed his grip on Wyrmblight and nodded curtly. “Yes. I had thought I could get to the keep without being recognized, but apparently I was mistaken. If memory serves me, that was Madam Edwina Astwood. Watch my back!” He continued his way through the crowds, impatiently trying to find the quickest route. Within ten minutes, he stood before the keep.

The donjon was eight stories high, its windows placed at equidistant intervals. The white of the limestone looked grayer, dirtier somehow, than Flinn remembered. He looked at the southern tower and saw that its walls, too, had darkened over the years. Every window of the tower had been fitted with bars of black iron. Behind the bars flitted birds of all colors and sizes. The southern tower had once been Flinn’s home.

So Yvaughan did make the rest of our home into an aviary, Flinn thought. He had always liked Yvaughan’s birds well enough, but her enthusiasm for them had grown into an obsession. Her passion for two birds in particular had bothered him. She would go nowhere, not even the bedchamber, unless one of them went with her. Yvaughan favored the white bird and its buff-colored mate above everything—including her husband. Flinn frowned. Just when had she gotten the two birds? Shortly after he had attacked Verdilith? Was it really that long ago? He shook his head and turned his attention to more important matters.

As Flinn and Jo approached the donjon, he noted a new addition to the castle’s defenses. A steep-sided, deep canal circled the tower. The channel was fully twenty feet deep and twice that wide, with sides that stood at nearly right angles. The far wall of the canal extended straight up to form the walls of the donjon; no ledge ran between them. At the bottom of the canal, thousands of spearheads gleamed, rising from three-foot shafts. “Quite a deadly fosse,” Flinn murmured.

A sturdy wooden and iron bridge spanned the dry moat’s gap. The bridge was lowered now because of all the traffic the castle received on its monthly open council sessions. Long ago, Baron Arturus had reinstated the abandoned practice of arbitrating the common people’s concerns. On council day, the baron had permitted anyone to appear before him and the council to seek judgment or retribution. Flinn was glad to see that Baroness Arteris had upheld her father’s policy.

He turned his attention to a guard standing at the little gatehouse on the near side of the fosse. Flinn and Johauna approached the man.

“I wish to enter the donjon, gatekeeper,” Flinn said decisively.

The guard casually looked at Flinn and sighed, indifferent. “State your name and business, ruffian. We don’t let just anyone into the keep, you know.”

Flinn drew himself to his full height, Wyrmblight resting on the ground between his hands. “I am Flinn, former knight of the Order of the Three Suns,” he said. “Today is the open council, and I wish to speak before Baroness Penhaligon.”

The young guard’s eyes bulged. “I thought you were dead,” he said inanely. He opened the gate leading to the drawbridge and beckoned Flinn through.

“Not hardly,” Flinn growled between clenched teeth. He’d encountered this sort of response before, and he was in no mood for it today. His palm itched, and he rubbed it against the metal-clad pommel of Wyrmblight. He and Jo stepped onto the bridge, Jo following him at the requisite distance. A pair of guards wielding spears strode forward, and Flinn saw more lurking in the shadows of the archway. He halted halfway, as did the guards.

“Is something amiss, good sirs?” Flinn called out pleasantly enough, though a thread of irritation laced the words. Madam Astwood had doubtless informed the castle guard of his presence. Flinn prayed Brisbois wouldn’t be so cowardly as to flee.

“We have orders to escort you to Lord Maldrake’s chambers, peasant,” one guard said stiffly. “Will you come with us peaceably?”

Lord Maldrake? Flinn thought quickly. Why Lord Maldrake? To admit he’d misunderstood Flinn’s actions regarding the ogre? That seemed highly unlikely. Perhaps Maldrake had been promoted to castellan and was in charge of security. Or perhaps Maldrake was trying to protect Brisbois.

“I am here for the open council,” Flinn said as easily as he could. “I will be delighted to meet with Lord Maldrake either at the council hall or later today in his chambers.”

“But, sir, we have—” began one knight. She was interrupted by someone walking up behind the two guards.

“I’ll handle this, Gerune,” an approaching man said gruffly. When the guards hesitated, the man fixed them with an icy stare and said, “You may go now. Lord Maldrake may think this is a peasant matter, but it isn’t. This man will answer to me.” The guards turned and walked quickly away.

Sir Lile Graybow, castellan of the keep, strode forward and grasped Flinn’s wrist in greeting. He wore fine clothes and a gyrfalcon pendant, which signified his office. He had gained an extra chin, Flinn noticed, and his hair was thinner and grayer, but he was still Lile Graybow. Flinn sensed the steel that bound this man’s soul. The castellan’s position had always been, by tradition, filled by the knight most revered in all Penhaligon, and the rule still held true. Flinn had once hoped to take Graybow’s place when the man was ready to step down.

“Fain Flinn. As I live and breathe, I always knew you’d return one day, but events like this are unexpected, nevertheless,” Sir Graybow said.

“It’s good to see you again, Sir Graybow,” Flinn said formally. “I’m on my way to the council to explain the truth about what happened when I left here so many years ago. Aren’t you on the council anymore?”

“Yes, I am. However, I couldn’t pass up welcoming you back personally. I have my spies, and they told me you were here,” Graybow added conspiratorially. “It’s about time you returned. I wish I’d been around when you were accused. You deserved a fair trial and not a mobbing. I’d have kept the young hotheads in tow if I’d been there, believe me. But today will be your chance to amend old wrongs. Be careful—the same people who wished you ill back then are still here.” Sir Graybow gestured toward the donjon, and they began walking into the keep. As they did, the old knight looked over his shoulder at Jo. “See you’ve found yourself a squire. ’Least she knows protocol. Things have gotten a bit slack around here of late, but the baroness is trying. We make do.”

“You mentioned people who wish me no good, Sir Graybow,” Flinn said after a moment’s silence. “Sir Brisbois, for one, obviously. Is Lord Maldrake another? I barely remember him. Exactly who is he?” Flinn stopped abruptly inside the castle. He’d forgotten how lovely the donjon was, with its soaring stone pillars, patterned granite floors, and magnificent tapestries. Warm light beamed from hosts of magical lanterns.

The castellan came to a halt and turned to Flinn. He said slowly, “You mean you don’t know who Lord Maldrake is?”

When Flinn shook his head, Graybow continued, “He’s the man who married your wife.”

Flinn stared in stunned silence at the castellan.

“Come,” Graybow said, nodding toward the council chambers. “Justice is long overdue.”

In silence the two men passed through the giant doors into the great hall where the open council was held. The roar inside the hall was almost unbearable, as was the heat. Nearly two thousand men and women crowded into the great hall, all waiting their turn to state their case before the baroness and her council. Many had arrived in the night and waited for the doors to open at cock’s crow. At that time, pages and squires had immediately begun collecting names and complaints to give to the junior knights, who in turn filtered the more interesting or faster cases on to Baroness Arteris. The fourteen other council members handled the more mundane cases. Matters were swiftly presented to a council member—and swiftly decided. Although many peasants would have their case resolved that day, still more would be turned away once cock’s crow hailed the next morning.

Flinn and Graybow fought their way toward the front of the hall, and the castellan used his office more than once when someone protested their passage. Finally they reached an area that was cordoned off around a long rectangular table on a dais. Only the pages, squires, and knights presenting the commoners’ cases were allowed into the cordoned area. At the center of the table sat Baroness Arteris. Around her, the other council members stood or sat. Flinn bit his inner lip when he saw Sir Brisbois at the far end of the table. The knight had been given Flinn’s seat on the council! Flinn looked at the rest of the members and recognized only a few of them. His eyes paused at an elegantly dressed, blond man who looked strangely familiar. Then realization dawned:

Lord Maldrake.

Lile Graybow touched Flinn’s arm. “Wait here, son. I’m going to have a private word with the baroness. She’ll want to try your case herself, I’m sure.”

Flinn nodded. Behind him Jo tugged on his sleeve, and he turned to her. She pointed off to their left; Braddoc, Karleah, and Dayin had entered behind them and wormed their through the crowd. Flinn nodded to the dwarf, who returned the gesture. Then Flinn turned back toward the front, where Sir Graybow approached the back of the dais to speak privately with the baroness.

“Why aren’t there any guards surrounding the baroness?” Jo asked suddenly. “Does she trust the people that much? Don’t they ever get out of hand?” Setting her hand on her sword, she eyed the people jostling for position around her.

“There are guards, but not as many as you think.” Flinn pointed to the blue velvet ropes surrounding the dais. “You see how no one is standing anywhere near the ropes? That’s because the rope repels people. The cordoned area is laced with magical defenses to keep people out. If you get too close to it, a jolt of fire ripples through you. I hear it’s quite painful. Furthermore, no magic can penetrate that area, and weapons such as ours disappear if we enter the cordon uninvited. Don’t ask me how that works because I’m not a wizard. Ask Karleah; she could answer that one. The ropes are why the guards don’t bother checking weapons at the door.”

“Are the defenses foolproof?” Jo asked curiously.

“As far as I know, yes. Even arrows and crossbow bolts disappear once they enter the cordoned area. My guess is there’re wards other than just the ropes, but I don’t know for sure,” answered Flinn absently. Graybow was talking to the baroness now, and Flinn saw the older man gesture toward him. He glanced at Brisbois and Maldrake, noting that only the latter appeared to see him. Then Flinn saw Edwina Astwood leave Maldrake’s side.

“But if the baroness unknowingly invited a magical beast into the cordon, it could wreak havoc, couldn’t it?” Jo asked, but Flinn shushed her. Sir Graybow was waving him down and would meet him at the entrance to the cordon.

“It’s time to go, Johauna,” Flinn said hastily.

“Already?” Jo’s voice broke, and she coughed. “Already, Flinn?” she said in a lower voice. “I thought we’d have a chance to sit around for a couple of hours and—and get prepared for this!”

“Well, I thought so, too, but Sir Graybow’s called in some favors. He wants us down there, now!” Flinn pushed his way through the last of the crowd. Jo followed so closely behind him that she stepped on his heels. Moments later, they stood before the castellan, who put his hand on Flinn’s shoulder, then looked at the baroness and nodded.

Baroness Arteris Penhaligon rose, and immediately four dozen trumpets sounded. They continued until the crowd fell silent in the great hall. All eyes turned to the baroness, who spread her hands and spoke before the huge audience.

“My people!” she called loudly, and the words, amplified either by architecture or magic, carried to the farthest comers. “A most extraordinary case is about to be presented to us.”

Brisbois cast a vaguely bored expression at the baroness. “He still doesn’t know I’m here,” Flinn muttered under his breath. Just wait, thought Flinn, that expression of yours will soon change. Flinn turned his attention toward Maldrake, who nodded cordially in response.

“Fain Flinn,” the baroness was saying, and the crowd began to murmur at the name, “a man formerly dear to the heart of Penhaligon, is here today to seek justice. Step forward, Master Flinn.” Arteris sat down.

As Flinn strode forward, Jo behind him, someone called out, “Look! It’s Flinn the Fool!” Others took up the shout, and in less than a minute more than half the people inside the great hall were shouting, “Flinn the Fool! Flinn the Fallen!” The warrior clenched his teeth and entered the cordoned area with Graybow and Johauna.

Arteris let the chant continue for a few minutes more, and Flinn endured it as patiently as he could. He tried to ignore the awful and relentless chant, but could not. Instead he focused on a point just past the baroness, who sat less than twenty feet away. Arteris had a streak of something less than kindness in her, and it was evident now. Only after Flinn’s expression had grown dark with anger did she signal the trumpeters to silence the crowd. The mob had become so raucous by this time that the trumpeters played long minutes before the crowd quieted.

The baroness rose again. “Fain Flinn, you stand before us. What justice do you seek resolved?”

“I seek retribution for an injustice committed seven years ago,” Flinn called out. The audience quieted still more, straining to hear every word. Grimy peasant faces and clean freemen faces alike shone with hungry interest.

“And what injustice, pray tell, is that?” Arteris asked. Her voice was cool and civil. He wouldn’t receive any quarter from her.

“That of my being falsely accused of dishonor on the battlefield, Your Ladyship,” Flinn’s voice rang out clearly. He pointed to Sir Brisbois. “That man did maliciously and falsely accuse me of denying an enemy mercy!”

“Sir Brisbois!” Baroness Arteris cried, and Flinn saw his enemy’s face blanche. “You have been named in this case. Please stand before Master Flinn!” Brisbois slowly stood and walked with measured paces until he stood between Flinn and the council table. Brisbois turned to face Flinn. “And did anyone else accuse you of such a heinous crime, Master Flinn? You have the right to face all your accusers,” the baroness continued.

Flinn had been about to point out Lord Maldrake, but he remembered that the man hadn’t actually accused him of dishonor. Maldrake had only upheld Brisbois’ position—an understandable mistake. But someone else had directly accused him of dishonor. He paused, then said heavily, “The Lady Yvaughan, Your Ladyship.”

“Bring the Lady Yvaughan to the hall at once!” the baroness cried. Not more than a minute passed before Flinn’s former wife was brought in by a side door and led to stand near Brisbois in front of the council table.

Flinn was saddened at the sight of Yvaughan, for she was obviously ailing. She’s given birth to her child, he thought, but she hasn’t recovered yet. I should have thought of that and not named Yvaughan in my suit. The woman stumbled a little in her walk, and she cradled a white bird in her arms. Refusing to look at Flinn, Yvaughan nervously petted her bird and mumbled beneath her breath.

The man leading Flinn’s former wife was particularly short and particularly nervous. His features were plain—so plain as to be indistinct—save for his eyes, which were a brilliant blue. His hair was a medium brown and modestly cut. His chin was weak, though covered with a tiny goatee, and the flesh beneath it wobbled as the man jerked his head about, which was often. He was dressed in a gray tunic, dark breeches, and a brown cape. Flinn had never seen the man before.

Lord Maldrake stood and addressed the baroness, “Permission to attend my wife, Your Ladyship?”

The baroness said icily, “Permission granted.” The blond knight walked over to his wife and put his hands on her shoulders. Yvaughan momentarily cringed away, then leaned against Maldrake. The young lord gestured for the man who had brought Yvaughan into the council area to leave. The gesture awoke in Flinn a memory: sometime before Flinn’s fall, Lord Maldrake and Yvaughan had stood in the same stance, and Maldrake had made the same dismissing gesture toward Flinn. How could I have been so blind? Flinn thought.

“You may state your case, Fain Flinn, and none may gainsay you until you are through. Speak you now, or the former judgment on you shall stand!” Arteris cried in a voice that carried to the rafters. The people in the great hall rumbled in return, and Flinn fancied he heard some shouts of support.

“I charge you, Sir Brisbois, with falsely accusing me, intending to stain my honor and discredit my reputation as a knight!” Flinn’s voice rang out sternly. He turned to his former wife and his voice trembled. “And I charge you, Lady Yvaughan, with falsely accusing me, intending to divorce me and claim a new husband!” Flinn didn’t want to believe that Yvaughan had been a willing partner in his scene of shame, but the indications seemed irrefutable.

“How say you, Sir Brisbois?” the baroness cried, and all eyes in the hall turned on the knight. “How say you? Are you innocent of this deed—or are you guilty?”

Sir Brisbois took a step toward the people, addressing them instead of Flinn or the council. “I am—” he said solidly, then paused. Flinn clenched his jaw, resenting the man’s dramatic pause. Brisbois repeated, “I am—” The words broke off and doubt edged the man’s voice. Flinn looked at the knight closely and saw that he was staring at Maldrake. Brisbois’ face worked, and he clenched and unclenched his hands.

The knight tore his gaze from Maldrake and hurried toward the edge of the blue cordon. “I am—guilty!” he shouted to the great hall. The people erupted into a frenzy of emotion. They stomped their feet where they stood, slapped fists into palms, and shouted. The roar was almost unbearable. Brisbois held up his hands and shouted again, though the words were barely audible, “I am guilty—and he is responsible for that!” Brisbois whirled and pointed at Maldrake.

The lord hissed, “Fool!” Maldrake ripped the white bird from his wife’s arms and threw it at Flinn’s feet. The bird dissolved into a viscous white substance that slowly began to reshape. Jo’s words echoed in Flinn’s mind, “…if the baroness unknowingly invited a magical beast into the cordon…” Flinn drew Wyrmblight and rushed Maldrake.

“Draw your sword, Maldrake! I will avenge my honor!” Flinn shouted.

“I think not, Fool!” Maldrake cried. His hand jerked once, and Yvaughan whimpered in pain. Her eyes glazed over and Maldrake pulled a knife out of her back. The young lord pushed Yvaughan toward Flinn, who caught her. Maldrake backed slowly away, brandishing the dagger as Flinn cradled his one-time wife.

“Yvaughan,” he murmured. For an instant, her pallid form seemed to transform again into the lively and vibrant woman he had once fallen in love with.

“Fain—” she gasped and then grew still. Her eyes rolled back and her eyelids closed. Flinn smoothed the silken hair on her brow once, then laid Yvaughan on the floor. He advanced on her murderer. Maldrake was slowly backing toward the mass of people in the great hall. He swung his bloody knife at a guard who came near.

“Stand still, Maldrake!” Flinn called out, rage pulsing through him. “Your game is up!” He stepped forward.

Maldrake leaped the blue cordons, and as he did a transformation took place. His neck, arms, and legs sprouted horribly, growing to the size of trees. A great tearing noise filled the hall as his torso lengthened and broadened, stretching into a scaly, reptilian body. Gossamer wings unfurled along his back, then solidified into thin membranes of leather. His head warped horribly, bulging and reshaping into a vast skull lined with spearlike teeth. All this transpired in a heartbeat, and then the wyrm’s scream erupted through the hall.

“Verdilith!” Flinn shouted, a thin film of red filling his eyes.

The crowd beneath the dragon broke into shrieks of panic, and the people fell back. Those near the door flooded out in terror, while those trapped within pushed mercilessly to escape.

“Verdilith!” bellowed Flinn again, leaping forward with Wyrmblight overhead. “Turn and face me, wyrm!”

“Another day, Flinn! Face me alone, not with a score of knights at your back!” The dragon shimmered suddenly and then winked out of the air.

“I’ll hunt you to your death!” Flinn roared, shaking his clenched fist at the vaulted ceiling. He charged to the spot where the dragon had been. “Come back! Murderer!”

“Flinn!” Jo shouted. “Behind y—”

A snarl interrupted her voice. Flinn wheeled. A humanlike creature with scaly brown skin and wiry hair towered above him. It swung its foot-long claws toward Flinn. He dropped, hearing the claws whirl above his head. Jo leaped behind the beast, wedging her sword into its bony back. It wheeled, smashing her with the back of its hand. Jo fell, sprawling across the floor, but retaining her sword. Flinn swung Wyrmblight in a whistling arc toward the creature’s overlong muzzle. The monster spun, deflecting the stroke with its scaly shoulder. It hissed at Flinn, baring eight glistening fangs. The monster swung its huge, spidery arm, catching the edge of Flinn’s breastplate with its claws. The blow spun Flinn about, knocking him to the ground. He rolled over quickly, expecting the beast to follow with a killing slash.

But the beast paused, sniffing the air. Council members, their weapons drawn, formed a broad circle to surround the monster. Slowly, awkwardly, it turned and knelt beside Yvaughan’s crumpled form. It sniffed again. Then, tentatively, it reached out to touch the woman who had been Flinn’s wife. A little croon escaped the creature’s lips, but the sound was lost to the shouts in the hall.

“Now!” shouted Flinn to the council members. In accord, the knights of Penhaligon rushed in to attack. Half the knights slashed first at the monster, then fell back to allow the others to strike. The second wave of knights hit just after the first wave. Their onslaught was fierce and mercifully swift. The creature fell almost immediately.

Flinn stepped back, his heart thundering. He felt saddened to witness such a slaughter, but the baroness and all the folk in the chamber had been in danger. Pushing his way through the crowd of knights, he carefully rolled the creature’s bloodied body off Yvaughan and picked her up. Flinn carried her limp form to the council table and laid her to rest there. “She’d been deceived by the dragon all along,” he murmured with sudden belief. “She didn’t willingly betray me.” He stroked her flaxen hair once, then turned to the baroness.

“My heart goes out to you in your sorrow,” Arteris said formally. She clasped her pale hands together, her eyes avoiding the body of her cousin.

“And mine goes out to you,” Flinn replied equally formally. He looked at Yvaughan once and said a silent goodbye as her soul slipped away. The woman who had died in his arms was not the girl he had loved in his youth. Her death he had mourned seven years before. Shaken, he turned around to face the council members. They were all standing near him quietly, as was Jo. Her wide and somber eyes were filled with emotion. Flinn looked away. The people remaining in the hall had grown strangely quiet. A hushed expectation filled the chamber.

Baroness Arteris stepped forward, her hands spread wide in an embracing gesture. “In the name of all that is holy, Fain Flinn, I rescind the accusations levied against you seven years ago. Only a true and valorous knight could have returned to this hallowed hall and revealed the evil that had come to live among us.” The baroness raised her hands and shouted, “People of Penhaligon, what say you?”

Flinn turned around slowly, clutching Wyrmblight tightly against his chest. A chant began—a chant like that which had haunted him for seven years. It spread in a ripple, traveling from one corner of the huge chamber to the other. The chant grew in volume as more and more voices joined. Flinn clenched his jaw, hearing only the remembered taunts of the people:

“Flinn the Fallen! Flinn the Fool!”

He shut his mind to the words the people shouted, unaware that tears were streaming down his face. The people saw those tears and they rose to their feet, their fists pounding their palms with the rhythm of the chant.

Flinn blinked, gripping Wyrmblight more tightly. The pounding of his heart filled his ears, finally drowning out even the remembered taunts of the crowd. Wyrmblight’s hilt felt hot in his hand. Flinn peered down, uncertain, at the blade. None of the beast’s blood remained on it. Flinn’s heart beat faster still, and the people’s clapping kept up with the rhythm.

Flinn took Wyrmblight in his hands and looked at the white silver of the sword. No taint of darkness clung to it anywhere. Slowly, slowly, Flinn lifted the blade sideways above his head, gripping the hilt and the center. The crowd’s frenzy rose. With a shining Wyrmblight in his hands, Flinn finally heard the crowd’s true chant, breaking apart the scars that had festered in his heart for seven years.

Two thousand voices rang as one in the great hall of the Castle of the Three Suns that day. The roar of the people shook the very rafters. They were shouting Flinn’s name—shouting it in gladness and joy and not the jeering anger of the past.

“Flinn! Flinn the Mighty! Flinn! Flinn the Mighty!”

Flinn the Fallen was no more.