The Tainted Sword

Chapter VI

Flinn, Jo, and Dayin stared at the crystals spread across the table in the cabin. Flinn had grouped them by type: the eight he had pulled from Johauna’s shoulder and the six that had been formed with the creature’s blood at the stream. Several candles added their glow to the lantern light and the wan beams of the winter sun. The inside of the cabin shone brightly.

The stones from Jo’s shoulder were the color of clear red wine. They were about an inch long and spindle shaped, with six lateral edges that slanted to a point at each end. Those from the abelaat’s blood were rougher in line and form, as though shaped too hastily. They were nearly an amber hue, and they were eight-sided.

Flinn picked up one of the crystals he had pulled from Jo’s shoulder, his dark eyes glinting in the bright light. He twirled the stone between his long, scarred fingers, his moustache twitching as he frowned.

“My guess,” he said at last, “is that the ones I removed from you, Jo, are better formed because the creature’s poison was in you longer.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I think the extra time allowed the crystals to draw more blood.”

“Draw blood?” Johauna’s eyes grew wide in sudden horror. “Flinn—Flinn,” she stammered. “Could these things be alive?” Dayin’s eyes also opened wide.

“No, I don’t think so.” He shook his head, his black hair grazing the collar of his tunic. “I’m no sage, but I think the crystals need blood to form, not to eat.”

Cautiously Jo picked up one of the wine-red crystals and peered at it. “It is kind of pretty,” she said after a moment, “though I still think it’s pretty gruesome how it was formed.”

“I wonder what purpose these crystals serve,” Flinn mused, rubbing his neck. “Perhaps they poison the victim.”

“Or maybe they preserve the body,” Jo added with a grimace.

“My father used to put them in fire,” Dayin piped up.

Flinn and Jo stared at each other, then at Dayin.

“Used to put them in fire? Just what did your father do, boy?” Flinn asked, setting the stone aside. “And what happened to him?”

Dayin shivered, and his eyes grew wide. But Jo put a gentle arm around the child and stroked his shaggy hair, saying, “It’s all right, Dayin. Flinn and I are your friends.”

“My—my father died almost two years ago. We… our home was near here, about four days’ walk north, I’d guess. We lived in a tower.” The boy paused for breath.

“Near the River Highreach?” Flinn asked. When the boy nodded, Flinn went on, “I think I saw the tower about a year back when I ran trap lines north. A three-story tower? Red granite?”

The boy nodded again. Jo looked at Flinn questioningly.

The warrior gestured with his hand, his eyes troubled. “Almost half of the tower had been destroyed in some sort of explosion. It was obviously abandoned, so I went in and investigated, thinking I might move there. The damage was too great to fix, though. What’s more,” Flinn paused and his keen eyes turned to Dayin, “the place smacked of wizardry.” The boy’s face blanched, and then he hid in Jo’s arms. She gently pushed him away after only a moment’s comfort. “Was your father a wizard, Dayin?” she asked, her tone serious, though her face was kind.

The boy could only nod, then added slowly, “My father was Maloch Kine, a great and kind mage. I—I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. I was just starting to learn from him.”

Dayin flung his hands into the air and murmured a quick, unintelligible word. A burst of bright red light flashed above the table and was replaced almost immediately by an aromatic, though faintly acrid, smell of roses. There, on the table before the astonished Flinn and Jo, lay dozens of fresh red rose petals. They touched the fragile pieces delicately.

“Dayin, did you do this?” Jo asked. She sniffed the handful of petals she held and smiled.

The boy was despondent. “It didn’t work, Jo. You were supposed to get whole roses—not just petals.” Dayin looked from Flinn to Jo and shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I guess I’m out of practice.”

Flinn laughed and clapped the boy’s back. “Are you interested in coming with us to Bywater, Dayin, when Jo and I leave for the castle? There’s a mage there who’s been looking for an apprentice for some time now. But all the children in Bywater are too stupid to even be considered. What do you say?”

Dayin looked from Jo to Flinn and back again, his eyes wide with fear. The boy turned to the warrior. “I’d rather go with you, Master Flinn, all the way to the castle. There’s bound to be a wizard there who could use me.”

Flinn’s eyes darkened. “We’ll see, Dayin, we’ll see. I’m not sure I want to be responsible for you that long.” He noticed Jo’s disapproving gaze, and his mouth grew grim. Then he looked away; he couldn’t refuse Dayin, not with Jo championing the boy’s cause. “All right, Dayin. If you’d rather come to the castle, then do so.” He glanced at Jo and then turned to the boy. “But that’s the end of the tether for you. I have no need of a wizard apprentice—a would-be squire’s all I can handle.” Flinn smiled, then laughed aloud. “Maybe I should leave Dayin with Karleah Kunzay. She’s batty enough to take on a boy like you.”

To Flinn’s surprise, the boy’s face lit up. “Would you really take me to Karleah? Really?”

“You know the old wizardess?” Flinn asked, incredulous. The boy nodded. “She used to visit us a lot.”

“That’s… interesting,” Flinn said noncommittally. Jo looked at him sharply, a question knotting her brow.

“You said your father used fire on the abelaat crystals?” Flinn asked Dayin in the pause that followed.

“Yes, I think so,” Dayin responded. “At least, I remember him holding a stone in a flame and saying, ‘Ah, this is good.’ He always said that when he was excited. Why it was good, I don’t know.”

Flinn fished out the eight-sided crystal from the mug and stared at it, bemusement written on his face. “Let’s try holding it in the candle flame, then. Jo, hand me my gauntlets, will you?” Jo retrieved the gloves from the cupboard and silently handed them to the warrior, who put them on.

He held the stone lengthwise a finger’s width away from the flame and stared at it, waiting for something to happen. Silence fell. Their heartbeats marked the passage of time. Flinn, impatient at the delay, began to wonder if the boy had mixed up the abelaat stone with some other kind. Slowly the crystal warmed, and he could feel the heat even through his heavy leather and metal gloves.

Then something moved inside the crystal. Flinn hissed, and Jo crowded to his side, leaning over his shoulder. He focused minutely on the plane of the crystal facing him.

A shape was forming within the crystal. The lines around the shape slowly resolved, and the colors grew clearer. Vaguely Flinn realized he was pushing the crystal closer and closer to the open flame. That seemed to clarify the murkiness inside the crystal, though he wondered how long his gloves could protect him.

Flinn’s eyes adjusted to the minuteness of what he was viewing: a scene in exquisite miniature played inside the shell of the crystal. Flinn gasped. “This—this is astonishing,” he muttered aloud. The stone seemed almost Like a stage on which tiny actors could walk. Jo leaned on Flinn to get a better view, and Dayin crowded closer.

The scene within the stone sharpened into recognition. It was the conservatory at the Castle of the Three Suns. The colors were muted and the shapes of the walls and furnishings were distorted. Otherwise, the conservatory looked much like Flinn remembered it from seven years before. Is this a memory? A dream? A prophecy? he wondered. The arrangement of the plants and furnishings were slightly different than he remembered them. “It must be the garden room as it stands now, this very moment,” he murmured excitedly.

Sunlight streamed through the glass ceiling panels in the room and filtered past the leaves of exotic plants that had been transplanted there throughout the centuries. Some ancestor of old Baron Arturus’ had decided to make this room into a conservatory, and the room had been steadily added to and renovated until it had become the pride and glory of the castle. Even in the coldest winter this room retained its tropical heat, allowing the delicate plants and trees inside the chamber to thrive.

Several decades ago, a great mage had populated the conservatory with gold- and jewel-encrusted magical birds that flitted about and sang. They were wonderful to behold, and the old baron swelled their ranks with real birds—native and exotic. Arturus called the magical birds the gold of his crown and the living birds the jewels.

Flinn moved the crystal almost into the candle’s flame, and the scene focused more sharply. The intricately carved stone bench came into view as did the pond beside it, filled with brilliant-hued fish. Sunlight glinted off their purple and blue and scarlet backs as the fish occasionally surfaced. Flinn fancied for a moment that he even heard water splash and trickle.

From a door at the back of the scene, a woman entered the room. She walked slowly, her hand rubbing her pregnant midsection. Reaching the bench, she slowly sat down, her bulk making her movements less than graceful. She began crumbling bread into the pond, leaning toward where the fish frenziedly leaped to the surface. Her pale face, so perfectly composed in miniature, was blank and listless.

“Yvaughan,” Flinn whispered. Jo gasped.

The woman in the crystal looked up expectantly, as if she had heard something, and turned the way she had come. Then, very distinctly, Flinn heard a tiny voice say, “Is someone calling me?”

Yvaughan could hear him through the stone!

“Yvaughan! It’s me—Flinn!” the warrior cried.

The crystal popped and shattered, little pieces of it flying from between Flinn’s fingers and falling to the table. The warrior stood abruptly, his shocked expression tense. His eyes sought Jo’s.

“I—I saw my wife, Jo, in the crystal,” he said, his gauntleted hand trembling. “Or, rather, my former wife. She—she divorced me after… after… Did you see—”

“Flinn!” The girl grabbed his hands. “Calm yourself.” She nodded. “Yes, Dayin and I saw the image, too.”

Flinn’s moustache quivered. He nodded abruptly and squared his shoulders. He sat down again, one hand stroking his chin. “I don’t know what to do now, Jo. She seemed… unhappy. Should I try to see her through the crystal again?” Flinn looked aside. “She’s also with child.”

Jo and Dayin gazed intently at the warrior. “I take it… she’s remarried?” Jo asked.

“I assume so,” Flinn responded, still not looking her way. “I—we never had children.” Flinn found his thoughts skirting that particular hurt. He blinked, shaking the memory from his head. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Let’s test a different stone. The one we used was one of the abelaat’s, I believe.” He handed Jo the gauntlets and a six-sided crystal. “Here, Jo. This stone came from your blood, so you do the honors.”

Jo heated the stone as she had seen Flinn do. The former knight and the wildboy peered over her shoulders into the wine-red depths of the crystal. Flinn expected to see a continuation of the scene they had previously witnessed. But when the scene finally coalesced, it was not the conservatory they saw. Rather, they peered into a dim cavern, a cavern that twinkled with small lights. In the center of the cave lay a dragon, staring intently at his claws—a green dragon in perfect miniature. Flinn hissed, and Jo dropped the crystal, which fell to the table and bounced unharmed.

Jo’s eyes were wide with shock. “I’ve never seen a dragon before, even in miniature,” she said. “Was that Verdilith?”

He nodded once, abruptly. “Continue,” he prompted, pushing the stone toward Jo. She picked it up and again held it to the candlelight. After a moment or two, the image of the cavern came into focus.

Inside the tiny scene, the dragon lifted his head. He began looking about, his tongue flickering between his teeth. It was almost as if the creature sensed he was being watched. Johauna shivered but this time did not drop the stone. Flinn sucked in his breath.

The dragon moved his head sharply back and forth. He rolled off his pile of coins and began lumbering about the cavern. His golden eyes whirled feverishly about, and his tongue continued to test the air.

“Flinn!” came a quiet, powerful rumble from within the stone. All three felt a chill cross their bones. The call had come from the dragon.

The crystal shattered. Jo jumped as the pieces of the stone dropped to the table. Flinn and Dayin sat down in silence. “That dragon knew we were watching it!” Jo cried. Flinn nodded. “It would seem so.”

Johauna frowned. “I understand how your former wife heard us, because you called out to her, but we didn’t say anything to Verdilith. He couldn’t have heard us after I dropped the stone. Could he?”

“He… may have. That wyrm has some… extraordinary perceptions. I rather wish we had tried to call his name, but we might have courted disaster doing that,” Flinn finished.

Jo looked at Dayin. “Do you remember anything else about these stones?”

The boy’s blue eyes looked off into space while he chewed a fingernail. His eyes narrowed. Finally he said, “Sorry, I don’t remember.”

Jo turned to Flinn. “What about the mage in Bywater you mentioned? Can we bring the stones to him and find out what they’re good for? Or crazy Karleah?”

“Esald?” Flinn named the village wizard, then shook his head. “He’s quite a run-of-the-mill, garden-variety mage. Doesn’t deal in anything too exotic—or dangerous. No, Karleah’s the only person I’d trust with these.”

“Where is she?” asked Jo.

“She lives near the Castle of the Three Suns, though some distance north. A little northeast, if I remember correctly. She’d know about the crystals, plus no one would believe her if she mentioned I had them. She’s got quite a reputation for eccentricity,” Flinn answered.

“Should we take these stones to her, Flinn?” Jo asked. Flinn frowned. “Probably. I’m leery about testing them again when we don’t really understand how to use them. Obviously, they could prove extremely useful, and I’d rather not waste any more experimenting.” Flinn frowned again. “I think we will visit Karleah, and I think we’d better do it before we get to the castle.”

“Why?” Jo and Dayin asked simultaneously.

“If the stones can be made to show past events, then that will be all the proof I need to present to the council,” Flinn replied. Besides, he added privately, I may be able to check on a certain Sir Brisbois with Karleah’s help. We’ll see if he’s been haunting my woods on horseback. Flinn added, “I think I could have conversed with Yvaughan if the stone hadn’t burst. As to the ones made from your blood, Jo, I think they might be longer lasting and perhaps give a better image.”

Jo looked at Dayin, as if seeking some answer in the boy’s serene gaze. “Why do you suppose we saw those two images? I mean, why didn’t you see Bywater, and why didn’t I see Specularum?”

Flinn shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I do,” Dayin piped. “I remember that much now. Dada said you had to concentrate on what you wanted to see or who you wanted to contact.”

Johauna looked at Flinn closely. “Were you thinking of your former wife before, Flinn?”

“Actually, no. But I was daydreaming about the conservatory at the castle—it’s quite a sight. How about you? Were you thinking of Verdilith?” Flinn queried.

Frowning, Jo tried to remember exactly what she had been thinking. “No, no, I don’t think so, not consciously anyway. But… I was scared for some reason, and I was thinking about danger and the people in Bywater. It was all very jumbled.”

Coincidence? Flinn wondered. Danger for the town, or danger for us? What is that wyrm up to, anyway? He sighed heavily and said, “Well, whatever the case, next time we try the stones, we concentrate on a subject. We’ll do that with Karleah’s help. As to Verdilith, when we get to the Castle of the Three Suns, we’ll find out what plans they have for killing the dragon. They should have something in the works for dealing with Verdilith.”

“What happens if your petition goes as planned?” Jo asked.

The warrior smiled. “Then we join the others in the hunt for a great green.” His eyebrows rose in anticipation.

Five days later, Jo and Dayin carried large, willow-handled baskets down the path to the stream. Their eyes searched the underbrush for redberries. The tart, juicy clusters of fruit kept well all through winter and only fell from the bush come spring. It was one of the few foods that could be harvested in wintertime, and Flinn had suggested they gather the berries in preparation for leaving. They had left Flinn exercising Ariac in the corral. The warrior thought Ariac was coming along well and should be ready again for travel in another day or two.

After a short walk, Jo and Dayin discovered a large break of redberry bushes. Picking the berries was easy because they grew in thick clusters that readily broke from the branches. Redberries liked lowlands, however, which meant that the terrain surrounding the bushes was rough and difficult to traverse. Jo resorted to using her blink dog’s tail to reach some of the more inaccessible bushes, even crossing the stream via the tail. She told Dayin to pick the berries on the outskirts of the marshy area that bordered the stream.

Jo’s thoughts turned inward. She was worried about Flinn. She applauded his desire to confront the council and seek reinstatement as a knight, but she also knew that he was not the man he had been seven years ago. He had become a recluse, a man unused to the ways of men and women. She wondered if he would regret losing his solitude once he became a knight again. Jo smiled. She had absolutely no doubt that the council would reinstate Flinn. None whatsoever.

Jo looked up, seeking the boy. “Are you finished, Dayin?” she called. “My basket’s full.”

“Mine, too, Jo!” the boy answered.

Jo used her tail to blink back across the stream and handed Dayin her basket. She had prudently thought to conserve trips, bringing along the buckets and the ash yoke to gather water. Jo decided against using the tail to blink to the center of the stream; she had used it several times this morning, and she felt the familiar fatigue she always did when she overworked the magic. She filled the buckets with water as quickly as she could, then hooked them to the yoke and settled it on her shoulders.

“Can you carry both baskets, Dayin?” she asked. At his nod, she gestured for him to start up the steep hill.

The pair made the return trip slowly, for the path was icy in some spots and filled with snow in others. They kept their eyes on the trail, trying to find the best footholds. Johauna grunted under her load, but she was unwilling to leave a bucket and have to return for it. Dayin, meanwhile, was struggling with the two large baskets of berries. They were breathing hard and making so much noise that they didn’t hear the sounds coming from the encampment until they crested the hill.

They were unprepared for the sight that met their eyes: the cabin was in blazes. Before they could even take in the devastation of their home, they saw Flinn being strangled by a knight clad in armor and a dark blue tunic. Flinn gasped for air, his face turning purple as he tried to pull the mailed grip from his throat.

Flinn had breathed a sigh of relief when Jo and the boy left to pick redberries. He had found himself tongue-tied around the two of them, growing more taciturn than even his usual wont. But Johauna, too, had been strangely silent the past few days. Dayin, surprisingly, had not. He had talked about the nearly two years he had spent alone in the woods, telling of his animal friends, his daily forages for food, and his many brushes with death.

But now the talkative child was gone, and Jo with him. Flinn sighed again, planting his feet in the center of the corral and leaning back upon the lunge rein. At the other end of the rein, Ariac trotted, the scars on his chest rippling as he did. Flinn turned slowly, letting Ariac move in a large circle around him. The griffon’s muscles seemed to be healing well, and his old fighting spirit had returned.

Ah, Ariac! he thought, a little wistfully. How sad it is that you have never flown, and how sad that I haven’t either. He remembered finding the ungainly little fledgling at the bottom of a cliff. It was half-starved and its wings broken beyond repair. Even the griffon’s parents had given Ariac up for dead, an atypical act for griffons. Flinn had carried the feebly squawking creature home strapped to the back of Fernlover.

Flinn smiled, remembering when Ariac, then a little older, had tried to attack Fernlover. The old mule soundly kicked him. To Flinn’s knowledge, Ariac had never tried to attack Fernlover again. Flinn was pleased with the griffon’s restraint, but he still muzzled the bird-lion when approaching horses or their kin.

Flinn whistled to the winged creature, and Ariac pranced toward his master eagerly. The leather balls beneath the griffon’s front claws produced puffing sounds against the packed snow. Ariac squealed and nibbled at the warrior’s pockets, seeking a tidbit of dried meat. Flinn fished it out for him and then left the corral for the barn, where he had left his sword and whetstone. He intended to spend some time now sharpening the blade. He also grabbed a piece of elk-hide to rewrap the blade’s hilt—the grip was beginning to fray. Flinn retrieved the items, then started walking back across the yard toward the cabin. Idly he rubbed the stone against the edge of his blade, whistling some half-forgotten court tune. Ariac screeched and Flinn looked up.

A fully armored knight leading a stout warhorse barred Flinn’s way. The man wore a midnight-blue tunic emblazoned with three golden suns. Instantly Flinn was certain it was the same man he had seen watching the battle with the abelaat. He dropped the whetstone and elkhide and readied his sword.

The knight removed the covered helmet from his head, and looped it over the pommel of his saddle.

“Brisbois!” Flinn gasped.

“One and the same, Flinn, old man,” Brisbois rejoined, an insincere smile gracing his thin lips.

“What are you doing here?” Flinn raised his sword slightly, determined to keep up his guard. As well as instigating the treachery that brought Flinn’s downfall, Brisbois had equalled Flinn at swordplay. Flinn had no doubt that the man could defeat him now, for Brisbois doubtless practiced daily against the other knights. Flinn’s only challenge recently had been Jo.

Brisbois spread his hands expansively, as if making a friendly gesture, but Flinn noted that the knight’s scabbard tab was undone. His sword could be drawn in an instant. “Now, Flinn, is that any way to treat an old—” Brisbois smiled, his pointed canines gleaming “—comrade? I was in the region and thought I’d drop in.”

“Have your say, Brisbois, and let’s be done with it,” Flinn shot back.

Brisbois bowed stiffly. “If that’s the way you feel about it, Flinn, so be it. I bid you good day.” The knight casually put his helmet back on, moved to the left side of his roan horse, and climbed into the saddle.

Flinn looked past Brisbois and stiffened. His cabin door stood open. Flinn hadn’t left the cabin door opened, and Jo and Dayin left before him. Then Flinn saw a wisp of smoke come through the open doorway, followed by a lick of flame.

“You bastard,” Flinn said through clenched teeth. He leaped toward Brisbois just as the knight applied his spurs to the horse. Flinn reached up, curled his fingers around the armor’s neck opening, and pulled savagely.

Flinn and Brisbois fell to the ground heavily, the horse cantering off toward the barn. Flinn rolled lightly to his feet. Holding his sword before him, he waited for Brisbois to stand. A snarl spread across Flinn’s lips, and his heart pounded angrily. Twice his hunger for revenge drove him forward to attack before Brisbois had risen, and twice he backed away.

The knight rose to his feet, limping and holding his back. “You barbaric imbecile—pulling me from my horse! What has come over you?” The knight hobbled slowly toward the horse, casting a fleeting glance toward Flinn.

“Trying to see if the audience is watching, eh?” Flinn asked, sliding sideways until he was between Brisbois and his mount. Flinn’s eyes narrowed and the humor left his gravelly voice, “You’ll pay for burning my home—you and whoever sent you.”

Warily the knight drew his own sword. “Why, so there is a fire! So quick to blame, are we? Perhaps a log rolled from the hearth.” The two men began circling each other slowly, some ten feet apart.

“Who sent you?” Flinn growled. He leaped forward and swung his sword in a warning gesture. Brisbois flinched and raised his sword to block the move. Flinn smiled wickedly.

Brisbois circled slowly, his limp conspicuously diminished. “I’m here on behalf of Lady Yvaughan. She’s asked me to invite you to the christening of her child. A son.”

Flinn studied the knight’s eyes. Brisbois stared unblinkingly at him, as though daring him to disbelieve the story. The warrior smiled cynically, then raised his sword and charged. The blade met solid metal and not the flesh its wielder had sought. Flinn whirled, swinging his sword behind him in a wide cutting arc. Again Brisbois met the blow. Flinn would have to increase his speed to gain any advantage that way.

Brisbois lifted his own sword and struck for Flinn. The warrior easily avoided the blade. He and Brisbois went into a crouch and began moving in a steadily decreasing circle. Flinn edged away from the corral and barn, careful not to be run up against the wall. He shifted his sword higher, waiting for Brisbois’ next move.

Brisbois smiled evilly. “My dear Flinn,” he said sarcastically, “I’m going to enjoy this so much. I’ve wanted to give you your comeuppance for a long, long time.”

“Go ahead and try, Brisbois,” Flinn rejoined. “Your treachery was never a match for my skill.”

Brisbois leaped at Flinn, his sword singing as it whirled. Flinn blocked the blade, holding his own sword barlike before him. The force of the knight’s blow drove Flinn to one knee, his arms and shoulders aching. But Flinn rose instantly and delivered his own blow.

The two began to parry, each delivering a sword stroke and blocking the other’s in return. Occasionally a stroke would slip past an opponent’s guard. Flinn couldn’t see any harm done yet to Brisbois, for his strikes were only denting the man’s armor. Some of Brisbois’ hits, however, were finding flesh. So far they had only been glancing ones, but Flinn was bloodied in a number of places.

A sudden blast of smoke surrounded the two men as the wind shifted. Flinn coughed and saw that the cabin was now engulfed in flames. The fire had lapped through the log walls and was rapidly licking away at the outside. Ariac screeched in alarm, and even Fernlover brayed at the smell of smoke.

Flinn jumped forward, his anger fueled by the destruction of his home. He swung his blade with reckless fury, battering Brisbois as though his sword were a club. Brisbois deflected the blows, turning each with the flat of his blade, but the volley of steel did not stop. Flinn pressed forward, the rip of his sword striking ever nearer the man’s neck. Flinn’s eyes shone with rage and a strange, savage joy. His wild, reckless onslaught forced Brisbois back.

“My cabin will be your pyre, Brisbois!” Flinn shouted.

The knight’s hands shook as he turned his sword, blocking Flinn’s strokes. Beneath the dark helmet, his eyes showed fear. Flinn growled, slashing in a mighty arc that battered back the knight’s blade. Flinn’s sword sliced through the gap between the breastplate and shoulder-guard. A spray of blood spotted the knight’s armor. The sight spurred Flinn’s anger. His strokes forced Brisbois back against the side of the barn, but there the knight let his armor take the force of some of Flinn’s blows. Flinn smirked in disdain.

Abruptly, Brisbois leaped forward with his own savage blow. With a resounding clang, the knight’s blade bit into Flinn’s, notching it. Flinn wrenched his sword, pulling Brisbois’ weapon from his hand. The knight leaped upon Flinn, toppling him to the ground. Flinn’s sword tumbled loose. The armored weight of Brisbois knocked Flinn’s breath away, but Flinn pushed against Brisbois and twisted out from beneath the knight. Brisbois’ mailed hands seized Flinn’s unprotected throat and clamped tight. Flinn pried at the cold gauntlets, but could not pull them loose. He grew dizzy, and the strength left his hands.

Suddenly, water and hard pellets rained down on them. Flinn and Brisbois sprang apart, shocked by the cold dousing. Flinn lunged for his sword, coughing as he did. He rolled to his feet and turned in time to see Jo swing the ash yoke and bash the knight’s helmeted head. Brisbois staggered backward, one hand pulling an amulet from around his throat. Then the knight leaped for his blade lying in the snow.

Jo swung again, but Brisbois dodged the yoke and dissolved into a thin, wispy mist. The vapor disappeared even as Flinn swung at it with his sword.

“Coward! Coward!” he roared, his dark eyes searching the air above them. “Return and face me, Brisbois!” Rage had revived Flinn’s energy. He stomped about the yard looking for any sign of the knight. The warrior shouted curses for a few minutes more, then drew a deep breath. He turned his attention toward the blazing cabin, now an inferno.

Jo came and stood by him. She put her hand on his arm. “Your home, Flinn, your home. I wish Dayin and I had come back earlier. We might have been able to stop it, or at least salvage something.”

Flinn shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Jo,” he said quietly. “I have the crystals in my belt pouch, so they’re not lost. My breastplate’s in the barn, where I was going to fix it, so that’s at least a little armor. And as to food… well, there’s a bag of oats in the barn and some dried meat I had intended to feed Ariac—and all the berries you and Dayin picked.” Flinn’s eyes grew brighter, for he was very fond of the tart fruit.

“The, ah, redberries were part of our attack, Flinn,” Jo said apologetically and pointed to the smashed red fruit at their feet. “Dayin threw the berries while I splashed the water.” She shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Flinn laughed, albeit ruefully. “It was, Jo, it was.” He gave her a quick hug and turned to the barn. “Now, let’s see what we can do about making this place habitable for the night. We need to salvage what we can because tomorrow we have to go into Bywater. We need supplies, first and foremost. We won’t make it to the castle otherwise.” Flinn cocked an eyebrow. “It’s a good thing I hid my gold in the barn and not the cabin. I haven’t got much, but it’ll get us some things.”

“And then, we go to the castle?” Jo asked, her voice and eyes expectant.

“And then we go to the Castle of the Three Suns—” he paused for wry effect “—and beat Sir Brisbois into smithereens before we become knight and squire. There are rules against knights fighting each other, you know.”

Jo laughed, a happy sound in an otherwise dark moment. Fernlover brayed then, and Brisbois’ horse nickered in response. Jo looked toward the corral. “It looks like we won’t have to ride double on Ariac.”