The Tainted Sword

Chapter V

Flinn had found abelaat tracks in the deep snow during his latest check of the trap line, and he and Jo now rode the griffon to the spot. A light dusting of snow had fallen since Flinn had found the tracks, but he had notched a tree so as to find the area again. Flinn searched the ground for fresh tracks, hoping the abelaat was a creature of habit.

“Two of my traps were damaged,” Flinn said in the silence as Ariac waded through the deep snow, his crippled wings fluttering now and then to maintain balance. Ariac wasn’t accustomed to carrying double weight. The trail they followed was an old and familiar one, however, and the beast moved ahead with confidence.

“Do you think the creature got caught in the traps and escaped?” Johauna asked. She shifted in her seat behind the saddle, trying to get comfortable with Flinn’s bow and quiver and her sword strapped to her back. Jo rubbed her nose, then returned her hands to Flinn’s waist.

“No, I think it’s too smart for that,” Flinn replied. “More likely it tried to eat whatever was in the trap. I think it succeeded, too. The two traps wouldn’t have been so badly damaged otherwise. There was blood around each.” Rounding a break in the woods, the trail curved down around the side of a large, frozen pond. The sky was gray and laden with snow. Flinn felt the girl shudder behind him. “Cold?” he asked, a grim smile forming on his lips. “Scared,” she replied quietly.

The warrior stroked her hand at his waist. “We’ll get the beast, Jo, have no fear,” he said gruffly, his voice low with emotion. “If not for your sake, then for mine. I’ll get more sleep once you stop waking up screaming.”

The girl turned aside, then said, “I am not the only one who wakes up screaming, Fain Flinn.”

Flinn drew in a breath and released it slowly. The old nightmares still dogged him, but over the years he had learned to accept them, albeit reluctantly. “But your nightmares can be dispelled, Jo.” He nodded once and then clasped her hand. “We’ll kill the beast today.”

Unexpectedly, Jo leaned forward and embraced him. “Flinn,” she said, “you are a good man.” Just as quickly, however, she leaned away.

Flinn cocked an eyebrow and looked ahead along the trail. He said nothing and gave Ariac a little squeeze of his legs. The griffon continued at a walk.

The former knight and the would-be squire continued their trek in silence, Flinn pointing now and then to a few landmarks. When they reached the spot where Flinn had seen the creature’s tracks, he didn’t bother to dismount. His keen eyes traced the remains of some creature’s trail. The abelaat’s? Flinn wondered. The outline of the tracks was too decayed to tell for sure.

Ariac clicked his beak, sending a small puff of breath into the breeze. Flinn shushed the griffon immediately, then turned the beast up the incline to their left, following the line of tracks. He patted the sword strapped onto the saddle’s pommel, secure in the knowledge that it was close at hand.

It had been impossible to wear it with the girl riding behind him.

“Be quiet,” Flinn said softly to Johauna. “I think we may be in the abelaat’s territory now.” He fidgeted a little in the saddle, shifting the breastplate on his chest. He had grown accustomed to not wearing armor over the years, and he’d forgotten how cumbersome it was.

The girl nodded, checking the weapons strapped to her back.

They climbed slowly through the rugged, wooded terrain. The brush grew thicker and the trail grew more obliterated. Ariac slowed. Flinn began to wish he had left both the griffon and the girl behind. But Jo needed this kind of experience to prove herself to the council. The woods deepened. Flinn gazed dubiously at the trail. Is it a false track? he wondered. Or perhaps a trap?

The trail led him to a tiny valley, no more than three hundred paces long by fifty wide. There the trail ended, leading into a small stream—not yet frozen over—which ran swiftly through the bottom of the valley. Animal tracks of all sizes and shapes littered the snow-covered ground of the valley’s bottomland. Flinn dismounted and Jo did the same.

“Well,” said Flinn, “we’ve lost the trail. I won’t be able to pick up the abelaat’s tracks through all this. If, indeed, we’ve been following the abelaat. Those tracks were pretty obscure.” He knelt and studied the hopeless muddle of tracks on the ground. Looking up at Jo, he sighed, his breath curling away in white tendrils. “We’ll water Ariac, rest a bit, then make our way back up to that ridge—” he pointed to the northwest “—where we’ll find a little higher ground and maybe easier going.”

“Do you think we’ll find the creature today, Flinn?” Johauna asked, her voice edgy.

Flinn glanced up at the clouds. The breeze had grown stronger and had shifted behind them. A heavy storm was moving in from the southwest.

He shrugged, the breastplate rising up, “Maybe, maybe not. I’m going to water Ariac. Stay here.”

“I’d rather follow, if you don’t mind,” Jo said nervously. Flinn nodded and led the griffon over the stony ground to the open water. On the bank of the stream, caps of untouched snow marked the presence of boulders, the largest of which was half the height of a man. Flinn gazed toward the swift water that lay just beyond that rock. The warrior stepped cautiously forward, leading Ariac among the large, snow-covered mounds. After passing the first few, the griffon stopped and lowered his beak, his nostrils blowing puffs of white. He sniffed at the path Flinn had made.

Flinn, annoyed, turned to face the griffon. Tugging on the bridle rein, he called sharply, “Ariac!”

Suddenly, the rock behind Flinn moved. The bird-lion reared and screeched in fear. Ariac’s buff-colored wings flapped awkwardly, the tips stretched wide as though to bat back some unseen assailant. Flinn’s scabbard and sword, fouled by the flailing wings, flew to the rocky shore. The braided leather rein broke near the metal bit.

Flinn wheeled about. The “rock” rose up, its scabrous surface unfolding into a towering beast. Thin, almost skeletal arms swung out to its sides as razor-tipped fingers slowly unfurled. Snow dropped in clumps from its knobby back, and its eyes fastened on Flinn.

Flinn dived to one side between adjacent boulders. The corner of his breastplate caught upon one rock, somersaulting him forward. The abelaat lunged, its claws snagging the warrior’s pant leg. Flinn’s boots followed through above his head, striking the beast’s face and driving it back. The warrior rolled to his feet. The creature dived again, its claws arcing toward Flinn’s neck. Flinn fell back against a rock, unable to avoid the blow. The claws stopped short, however, and a blood-chilling howl erupted from the beast. Ariac had reared and sunk his claws into the monster’s shoulders, the leather balls dangled from the cuffs. The abelaat turned, its talons closing around the feathered forequarters of the bird-lion.

For the second time that day Ariac screeched, but this time the sound was terrible to hear. The griffon tore loose from the monster and then stumbled backward, shrill squeals filling the air. Ariac fell thrashing into the shallow stream, the pain in his forequarters driving him into a frenzy. He beat the rocks and water with his crippled wings and clawed at the snowy riverbed. Lunging frantically, he cleared the water and crashed away into the brush.

The abelaat turned and faced Flinn. Slowly it rose to its full height, baring its teeth and as if testing the air. The eight prominent canines dripped rust-colored saliva as the creature hissed.

Flinn eyed his sword, lying two paces beyond the monster. He side-stepped quickly, positioning himself behind one of the boulders. Whichever route the creature took around the large rock, Flinn would run the opposite way and retrieve his sword. Then he saw Jo, stealthily approaching behind the beast, her wooden sword gripped at both the pommel and the center. Flinn grimaced. She doesn’t even remember how to hold a sword! he thought.

Jo shouted “Flinn!” and threw her sword. The abelaat leaped to scramble over the rock. The wooden blade arced over the beast’s head as the first claw sank into Flinn’s left arm. In the breadth of a heartbeat, Flinn snatched the wooden sword from the air and battered back the bloody talons. Flinn stepped back from the beast. The monster lunged forward, but Flinn cautiously backed into the rocky streambed. The abelaat paused, then lunged again. Flinn pulled back once more, his eyes shifting from Jo to the sword she was searching for in the streambed.

“Hurry, Jo,” he muttered under his breath. The abelaat leaped onto the slippery rocks, its sickle-shaped claws scraping across Flinn’s breastplate. He spun, knocking the claws away, and brought the blade smashing down upon the beast’s arm. The creature pulled back, though its arm showed no injury. So much for ironwood, thought Flinn.

The abelaat roared, hurtling itself at Flinn. Tightening his grip upon the hilt, Flinn leaned into the attack, swinging the blade in wide swipes before him. The wooden edge struck the beast’s talons, and a line of blood started down its arms. Still it pushed forward, its claws slashing the side of Flinn’s head. The warrior staggered back, blood running warm down his neck. Apparently smelling the blood, the beast leaped onto the warrior and seized Flinn by the shoulders. The claws sunk in and Flinn shouted in pain. The bony arms lifted him from the ground. Flinn wedged his sword in the creature’s gut and thrust upon it, but it bit shallowly.

Suddenly the creature dropped Flinn, who fell, splashing into the streambed. The abelaat arched its spine and hissed, its claws scraping at its back. Flinn struggled to his feet in time to hear the twang of an arrow. The abelaat fell to one knee. The warrior leaped toward Jo, catching a glimpse of two arrows in the abelaat—one in its shoulder, the other in its thigh.

“Good girl!” he managed to call out as he caught the other sword she threw. He dropped her wooden blade and whirled to meet the abelaat. His arm and the side of his face had gone numb. For the first time, he felt fear. The creature was back on its feet and rushing toward him. Was it unstoppable? Flinn gritted his teeth and raised the steel blade before him.

The warrior met the abelaat’s charge with a flashing flurry of sword strokes, his blade clashing fiercely with the creature’s wicked claws. Flinn drove forward, seeking firmer ground. He entrenched his feet in the rocky streambed, blood dripping into the water around him. The creature swiped at his chest, its claws leaving deep marks in the breastplate. Flinn held his footing, then continued to press forward.

He lunged with a pointed thrust to the abelaat’s chest, which he knew the creature would brush aside. He followed up with an overhead arcing swing, trying to beat past the bony arm and hit the vulnerable neck area. The abelaat deflected the stroke, flinging the blade to its side. Flinn allowed the heavy sword to continue on its new course, and the momentum swung him around. He spun into a crouch and then extended his arm. The stroke arced back, slicing deep into the abelaat’s knobbed knees.

The monster roared in pain as Flinn drew back his blade. The fetid stench coming from the creature’s mouth nearly overcame Flinn, but he stood his ground. Clutching its bloodied legs, the creature snarled, its tiny eyes glinting. Rusty spittle fell from its mouth, dropping into the running water beneath. As Flinn drew back slowly, the creature lunged. Flinn leaped sideways and ducked. An arrow flew at the abelaat, sinking with a solid thud into its bony back.

The creature roared, then advanced on Flinn, its claws whirling within inches of the warrior’s face. Flinn reluctantly backed into deeper water. His feet were numb from the icy water, and now the stream engulfed his calves as well. But he could feel his second wind coming, and his breath came in sure measures. The warrior laughed aloud—a deep, grim laugh that chilled the girl loading her bow with her last arrow. Flinn once again tried to press the attack; with two hands on his sword, he began a series of taxing, brutal blows.

The blade’s bite was keen, and the snow-capped rocks ran red. Yet the monster was drawing blood, too. It caught hold of Flinn’s breastplate and tore it loose. The claws raked across his bare chest, and Flinn’s blood commingled with the abelaat’s. The cold water, the loss of blood, and the fatigue of battle began to take their toll. Bit by bit Flinn felt his strength waning, his reflexes failing. The abelaat, though bloodied, didn’t appear weakened. They circled each other. “Keep the arrows coming, Jo,” Flinn murmured as a shaft narrowly missed the beast.

The words had hardly left Flinn’s mouth when the creature lunged again. With a surge of reckless abandon, Flinn leaped onward to meet it. His sword tip found the beast’s belly and cut through the papery skin. Flinn drove forward, into the creature’s vicious embrace. He thrust his sword through the abelaat’s stomach and up into its chest. Hot blood poured out over his hand. The abelaat released a gurgling roar, its claws raking furrows in Flinn’s back. Flinn gritted his teeth. He twisted the blade, seeking the creature’s heart. The monster’s arms locked about Flinn and pulled him tight.

Blood sprayed between them, gushing into Flinn’s face. Blinking, Flinn saw Jo on the creature’s back. Her short knife shone in her hand as she dragged it across the creature’s neck. Shuddering violently, the creature tottered and staggered deeper into the stream. Its limbs spasmed with convulsions, and it toppled into the shallow water, taking Jo and Flinn with it. Gasping from loss of breath and the icy cold, Flinn and Jo struggled to untangle themselves from the feebly moving monster. Blood filled the water, streaming like crimson banners from the creature’s body. Its eyes grew glassy, and the jittering paroxysms of its limbs stilled.

Jo and Flinn stood and looked down at it, Flinn’s breath coming in great, ragged gulps. In death the beast seemed to have shrunk, and the cruel contortions of its face had eased. The cold water masked the beast’s foul odor and cast a sheen over its mottled skin. The maw lay open, and water circulated gently among the eight fangs.

Flinn knelt by the body. Taking his knife, he used it to maneuver the abelaat’s jaw so that he could see the canines more clearly. As he had suspected, each fang had a hollow tip. The creature’s poison came through tiny tubes in the teeth and mixed with saliva inside the creature’s mouth. It was likely the monster only produced the poison when it was preparing to bite.

Only then did Flinn notice the wind whistling into the valley. Both the warrior and the girl shuddered in their wet clothes. “We’ve got to get back to the cabin,” Flinn said. He moved away slowly, picking his way through the rocky streambed. Jo did not follow, her eyes fixed on the beast.

Flinn turned, approaching Jo from behind. He placed his hands on her shoulders, compassion running through him. “Is this the first time you’ve seen something die?”

“No,” she replied, “but it’s the first time I’ve ever really killed anything. The wharf rats were always dead by the time I collected them. The traps killed them—not me.” She rubbed the beaded handle to her blink dog’s tail nervously. “I ran out of arrows and had to use my knife.”

“You did well, Jo,” he replied, smiling grimly. “Not an arrow left, eh?”

She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the dead abelaat. “Sorry about that. I think I can retrieve some of them—not all of them broke on the rocks I hit.”

Flinn pointed to the tail at her waist. “Good thing you had that, by the way. Proved useful. Your father gave that to you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did.” The girl’s eyes didn’t waver. “A mage made it for my father. I don’t know why he made it, or else I’ve forgotten. The magic’s beginning to fade though; I can’t blink nearly as far as I used to.” With another shudder, she turned to Flinn. He was glad to see that she had recovered her nerves. “Are you hurt bad?” she asked. “Did it bite you?”

“No, I don’t think so anyway. I can wait until we get back to the cabin.” He wiped at the blood on his face and neck. “Much of this is from the abelaat.”

“If its teeth didn’t pierce you, maybe you didn’t get any of its spittle. It was drooling quite a bit, though,” she added matter-of-factly.

Flinn turned, his eyes scanning the ground. “Perhaps some of the abelaat’s saliva mixed with the blood and formed more crystals.” He began backtracking the fight’s route, following the tracks of blood in the snow. He also picked up the undamaged arrows he came across.

“Flinn?” the girl asked, concern in her voice. “Why don’t we just leave? I’m cold.” She, too, began retrieving arrows.

“It was about here,” he mumbled under his breath. He searched several more steps, bending low and coursing back and forth. A few moments later, he stopped. “Ahhh,” the warrior murmured and knelt in the trampled snow and mud. His fingers brushed aside slush and debris, and he picked up six crystalline rocks.

Flinn said slowly, his eyes never leaving the stones in the palm of his hand, “These are like the eight crystals I withdrew from your wounds, only not so dark.” He studied the newly formed rocks for a moment, then looked up at the girl.

Her eyes met his, their expression intense. “What’re they for? If there were eight in me, why are there only six? The abelaat had eight fangs,” Jo asked.

“I’m not sure what they’re for, but we’ll find out. As to there being only six, I’d guess that only six measures of poisoned spittle found blood,” answered Flinn, his eyes returning to the crystals.

Jo shivered again from the cold. The wind was picking up, and the two of them were soaked.

Flinn stood and scanned the hills around them. His face grew pale. “Did you see which way Ariac headed? If he could make his way out of this valley, I’m guessing he’s not too badly injured. He’s quick to panic once he’s hurt.”

Jo pointed northward. “He went that way; you can see his trail. He was bleeding quite a bit….”

A deafening roar swelled strangely inside Flinn’s head, drowning out Jo’s voice. He shook his head, tapping his ear. Then he spotted a mounted horseman, watching from the southern crest of the valley. The figure wore armor and a midnight-blue tunic. Flinn turned toward it, squinting, but it melted into the forest. Snow began cascading down, and the moan of the wind deepened.

“Come,” he said abruptly, scooping the crystals up and placing them in his belt pouch. He considered whether to tell Jo about the figure he’d seen. The wind howled again. “We’ve got to go, Johauna, or the storm will trap us here.” Already the sky was growing dark.

“Let me at least stop the bleeding here in your side—and your head, and your shoulders.”

He shook his head. “There isn’t time. Gather the things—and hurry! We’re both wet and chilled to the bone, and we won’t last long out here if we don’t move.”

Flinn’s dark eyes scanned the area where he had seen the mounted knight. The snow had begun to fall fast. “We’d die before catching him on foot,” Flinn murmured to himself.

Just why was a knight from the Castle of the Three Suns watching him? And why did the knight let him and Jo fight the abelaat unaided? Why?

“Flinn?” Jo called, breaking his reverie. “Is something wrong? I’ve gathered our things. Shall we go?”

He looked at the girl again, wondering again if he should tell her of the figure he had seen, but he decided against it. Until he could discern why they had been watched, he wouldn’t frighten her. He took his sword and breastplate from her, and then they began following the griffon’s trail out the valley.

“Ariac hasn’t lost his sense of direction—he’s heading for home—which means he’ll be all right. We’ll follow his trail while we can,” he added, flashing a concerned look at the thickly falling snow. The mounting wind promised a terrible storm. Flinn tried to hurry his pace, but felt a sudden pain rip through his side. The abelaat’s claws had done more damage than he had thought.

“Here, let me help,” Jo said. She pulled his free arm over her shoulders, her right arm going around his back. Flinn lurched forward and almost fell.

“Take it easy, Flinn. We’ll get there… we’ll get there,” the girl struggled to hold up his weight. “Let’s just make it up the hill.”

Flinn focused his remaining energy on the task the girl had set him. “I’ll make it, Jo.” His tired eyes looked around the valley once more, both fearing and hoping to see the mailed horseman.

Jo feared they would never top that first hill, or the second, or the third. Snow piled deep in the protected, wooded spaces, impeding their progress. They floundered through the thigh-high snow, uncertain of the footing. The undergrowth tore at them, raking their exposed hands and faces.

Jo and Flinn were both freezing, their clothes drenched from the stream and the snow. Only the struggle of moving forward kept their joints from stiffening and their limbs from going numb. But their strength was waning rapidly. Night loomed in the east, swallowing the thick clouds. The falling snow darkened the sky even more. Jo’s lips drew into a tight line as she studied the snow-choked woods. At least the trees cut the wind, she thought. And though Ariac’s tracks were being covered by the snow, Jo could still make out the depressions and broken branches marking his passage.

“Take another step, Flinn,” she mumbled, hardly aware of the words. “We’ll be home soon. To the top of this hill, Flinn, to the top.”

She tried not to think about how far they had come, for she knew the path ahead was much longer than that behind. The swirling snow and the dark sky confused her sense of direction. Although she was sure they were lost, remaining still meant only freezing death. She gritted her teeth, determined to press on to the cabin or die of exhaustion.

“Another step, Flinn, another step,” she murmured. “One more hill to go.”

A familiar screech broke through the surrounding wind, and Jo stopped. Ariac? she wondered. Could the griffon be coming back to us? She searched the gloom ahead of her, her eyes so tired she could only focus on passing flakes of snow and not beyond.

Jo saw the griffon led by the wildboy, Dayin, appear through the gloom. Seeing them, the boy hurried forward with the steed. Exhausted, Jo leaned against Flinn, hoping he wouldn’t fall. She was certain she would crumple if he did and that neither would rise again. Brushing aside a frozen tendril of hair from her eyes, she pulled her wet vest closer.

The boy halted beside them, and Ariac bent his head to gently nibble at his master. The griffon squealed in distress. His forequarters where the creature had raked him had stopped bleeding, though the wounds had not been dressed.

“Jo,” Flinn said hoarsely, “climb into the saddle. We’re almost home.”

“You’re hurt, Flinn.” Jo’s whispered words emerged from lips so numb she doubted she really said them. “You get on Ariac; I’ll lead.”

The warrior gave her a push. “No, Ariac’s too injured to bear my weight,” he said weakly.

“Then we’ll all three walk.”

“Fine. You get on the other side and loop your hand through the stirrup,” Flinn responded mechanically. He gestured to the boy. “Dayin, lead us home.”

The rest of that trip was lost to Jo’s memory. She knew only that she clung to the griffon’s saddle and that she found a little warmth from his body. The snow fell relentlessly. The wind howled overhead, and dead branches rained down on them. Darkness fell, too, the true blackness of a night let loose to the elements. Jo’s wet garments clung to her coldly. She wanted only to lie down in the white, white snow.

Then, somehow, they found themselves standing before the barn. Johauna fell to the ground, her legs numb from the hips down. A strange haze was engulfing her, and she wanted to sleep. The wind had begun to sing to her.

Someone was shaking her, forcing her to stand again. It was Flinn. “Dayin,” she heard the warrior say, “the lantern’s inside and to the right. Take Jo inside and light a fire. Make sure she doesn’t sleep! I have to tend Ariac.”

The boy led her inside the cabin, quickly lit the lamp, and helped Jo to the chair before the hearth. He removed her icy outer garments and threw one of the bed’s furs around her. The wildboy removed her shoes and briskly rubbed her feet until the white glow had turned pink. Then Jo felt a pewter tankard against her lips, and a little water wet her mouth. Jo could only stare glassily back at Dayin, her thanks mute on lips too cold to even murmur.

“It’ll be warm soon, pretty one,” the boy was saying.

The numbness in her limbs gave way to a painful prickle, like a thousand needles. The pain cut through the fuzziness of Jo’s mind. She wanted nothing more than to crawl to the bed, but that seemed too great an effort. Her bloodshot eyes mechanically followed Dayin’s movements, and a sensation of warmth began to wrap her skin. Instinctively, she turned toward the hearth, cheered by the glow of yellow flames and the smell of smoke. She held out her hands eagerly. Dayin, sitting at the hearth, smiled and did the same.

Flinn entered the cabin with a gust of snow. He closed and barred the door wearily, then leaned against it. Jo watched him look about the room, fatigue lining his face and making him suddenly look old. She stood and helped him with his wet clothing, piling it beside the door with her own. The warrior sank into the chair, and she covered his shoulders with a fur.

“How’s Ariac?” Jo asked, her own strength slowly returning to her. The painful tingle grew stronger across her body. She took some bandages from the cupboard and with slow, measured movements began dressing Flinn’s injuries. Fortunately, most of them weren’t severe, though the one puncturing his arm was still bleeding.

“He’ll live, though it’s going to be the better part of a week before he can be ridden. He’s had a bad scare. Griffons are flighty beasts,” Flinn said heavily, then turned to the boy at his feet. “Dayin, there’s some bread and dried meat in the cupboard. Fetch some, will you?”

Dayin gathered together the simple meal. Flinn, Jo, and the boy huddled around the fire, too tired to move or eat much. They nibbled their cold food in silence.

“You two can take the bed, Jo,” Flinn said when he had finished his last bite. He looked at Dayin and said, with a touch of his old asperity, “Unless you’d prefer to go back to the woods tonight, boy?”

Dayin vigorously shook his head. “No, please.”

“Flinn, you’re injured,” began Jo. “You take the bed.” The warrior waved a hand. “Actually, Jo, the bed’s bad for my back. I’ll be all the better for not sleeping in it.” He stood, shoved the chair to the side, and grabbed an extra fur from the bed. After Jo and Dayin moved out of the way, he spread out one fur and gingerly lay down on the floor. “Good night,” he groaned.

Jo blew out the lantern, and by firelight she and Dayin crawled into the bed. She rolled over once to find a better position, then fell asleep listening to the warrior’s heavy breathing.

Flinn awoke to a noise behind him, by the fireplace. He grew suddenly still. Who—? What—? The morning’s disorientation left him when he recognized the low tune Jo sometimes hummed. Slowly he turned over, his muscles protesting, and sat up. Jo smiled at him, then turned back to the porridge she was trying to stir while straddling his legs. Looking toward the cupboard, Flinn spied the boy, who sat on the table’s edge, his feet swinging back and forth. Dayin smiled also.

“Time to get up!” Jo said cheerily. “Are you feeling better today? I am, though my legs are still sore. Quite a walk back last night. The storm’s still raging. It doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon.”

Flinn was irritated by her talkative good humor so early in the morning, but the smell of a warm breakfast appeased him. Jo was a good cook, and even the inevitable porridge was appetizing when she made it. He arched his back and groaned, the bones shifting into place. Then he stood and began stretching his tight muscles.

Jo busied herself at the table, scrubbing it clean and trying to set it with the ill-sorted dishes. The usual braid down her back was replaced with a riotous length of unbound reddish tresses. She was wearing her leather shift and breeches and had cinched her waist with a wide belt.

Flinn was suddenly struck by how different this day would be if she weren’t here in his cabin.

“Quite a walk, indeed,” he agreed, “and quite a fight. It was like the old days—tracking, doing battle, returning to camp frozen and wounded… and happy.” Jo glanced quickly at him, her cheeks flushing and a smile spreading across her face.

Flinn turned away, replacing the fur on the bed and reaching for his dried clothes. Can I do it? he asked himself. Can I return to those days of glory? In that moment, he acknowledged the secret desire that had germinated the day Johauna Menhir entered his life: to be worthy again of the faith and belief she had in him, that other people once had. The Quadrivial is a long and treacherous road to walk, he thought. I’d have to regain each of the four corners as though I were a squire again. And even if I completed the four comers, the Order of the Three Suns would rather spit on me than readmit me.

“Few knights are worthy of the legends told of them,” Jo said quietly as she stirred the porridge. “You proved yesterday that your courage still remains.”

Flinn winced, then looked into her hopeful eyes. I am nothing now, he thought. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. If only I had her faith in me. But I cannot disappoint that faith.

“Jo, I—” Flinn said haltingly “—I’ve a question for you, about… about your petition to the council to become a squire.”

Jo whirled around, her eyes wide with alarm. Without a word, she gestured for him to sit down. When he did, she did the same. Dayin watched them intently. “Is … something wrong, Flinn? Did I do something wrong when we fought the abelaat?”

Flinn shook his head. “No, Jo, it’s not that—not that at all. You were wonderful in the fight. I doubt I would have survived without you.” He played with his food, then said slowly, “I was hoping you might consider something … else.” He took a deep breath and caught her gray eyes. “You see, I’ve decided to petition the council myself, to try to reinstate my knighthood. I want you by my side as my squire. Of course, since I’m technically no longer a knight, you wouldn’t technically be a squire. Whatever—I’d like you there with me.”

“Flinn…” the girl whispered, blood draining from her face.

“Of course,” he said nervously, “if—if they refuse to review my case, I will gladly recommend that the council take you on as a new squire for some other knight.”

He held up his hands, cutting her short when she tried to speak. “Know this, Jo: the decision is yours. I have no right to ask you to become my squire; in fact, I’d caution you against doing so. If the council members refuse my petition—if they refuse to even see me—they may look with less favor on your petition. It’s a risk, Jo, and one you’d probably better not take.”

“Oh, Flinn,” the girl’s voice was tight, fighting back tears. “I’d do anything to be your squire. Even at the risks you mention.” She swallowed convulsively. “When do we leave?”

Jo’s eyes were shining, and Flinn found himself swimming in their gray purity. He looked away.

“As soon as Ariac’s well enough to travel,” he said. “Now, let’s eat before the oatmeal gets cold.”