The Tainted Sword

Chapter IX

A war-drum sounded from a distance, its single beat reverberating through the early morning air. Its tone left no doubt that a tribe approached from the north, on the near side of the river. The drum sounded a second time, then a third. Each successive beat was louder than the one before, and the third beat was answered by a single piercing tone from a horn to the northwest. Two factions will soon join at the ford, thought Flinn. Jo and Dayin scrambled out of the tent and joined Flinn where he stood. All three gazed northward at the Wulfholdes.

“Orcs!” Flinn hissed, a shiver passing through him. “From the sounds of the drums, two tribes are on the move!” He jerked his thumb behind him and added, “Jo, get the animals ready.” As he and Dayin began tearing down the tent, Flinn kept a sharp eye to the north. If the orcs attacked, he’d give the command to mount up and race back to Bywater. Even without saddles and bridles, Flinn and his friends should still be able to escape with the griffon, the horse, and the mule. He considered leaving behind the shelter and the other supplies and fleeing the moment Johauna had the animals ready, but the orcs’ march seemed unnatural. Why haven’t they attacked? Flinn asked himself anxiously. Breaking camp gave him an excuse to find that answer.

Dawn was breaking, but the overcast sky still revealed little light. Anxiously Flinn eyed the orcs surrounding them to the north and the river that lay to the south. The orcs were agitated. One orc warrior pointed his spear toward the camp. Another orc held up a staff tipped with a tattered red rag. “Banner of the Rooster,” Flinn muttered. The orc with the Rooster staff hit the gesturing orc and shouted something. The scant Orcish he knew told him the orcs were bickering over what to do. “Why are they hesitating?” Flinn wondered aloud. “They could easily overrun us.” He turned and quickly began loading Fernlover. Then Flinn made out the words “…only south of, not north.” The orc clearly spoke of the Castellan, but why? Were they awed by the sight of humans entering the Wulfholdes in winter? Did their orders forbid a fight north of the river? If so, why?

In a sudden flash of intuition, Flinn decided not to break for the ford and return to Bywater. He had already failed to avert the dragon attack—he would not bring two tribes of orcs down upon the beleaguered folk of Bywater. Besides, if Flinn, Jo, and Dayin continued south, the orcs would only dog their heels. By traveling north, they might elude the orcs in the wild roughness of the Wulfholdes. If they kept the Castellan to their right, the river could guard their flank from the tribe to the east. The only orcs that could harry them would be those from the northwest—the Rooster’s tribe. “One orc tribe is better than two,” Flinn observed as he shifted a bundle on Fernlover’s back, “Especially if the northeastern tribe is Greasetongue’s.” They would get no quarter if they met up with Greasetongue.

Flinn tied the last knot and secured the tent on Fernlover’s back. He’d thought again about leaving behind their supplies and racing away to elude the orcs, perhaps to the west. But he had no clue as to what might be coming from that direction. Better to face the known threat than the unknown, he thought. He grimaced. Even if we manage to evade the scouts here at the river and those in the surrounding hills, we’re likely to die in the Wulfholdes, he thought. The hills are treacherous enough at any time of the year, and doubly so during the cruel winter months. “I was stupid to bring Jo and the boy,” Flinn muttered savagely to himself.

Flinn tightened Ariac’s girth strap, hoping they could get moving before the orcs’ argument ended. But then the orcs bunched together and began to move again. Are they clearing a route for us to leave—or preparing a mass attack? Flinn asked himself caustically.

Another drumbeat echoed through the hills, coming from farther west than had the first drum sounds. This drum was answered from the east by three beats in quick succession. Hastily Flinn mounted up.

“Follow me without fail!” he hissed, his eyes flashing at Jo and Dayin. “Don’t show any fear, and whatever you do, don’t break from my side!” Flinn dug his heels into Ariac’s flanks, and the griffon bolted northward. Jo and Dayin followed immediately, though Flinn fancied Jo looked surprised by their heading.

These creatures respect offense more than defense, Flinn thought as he and Jo and the boy galloped past the orc scouts. A number of them brandished their spears, snarling and gesturing to attack, but the leader threatened them with his staff. The orcs cowered and lowered their weapons. Why aren’t they attacking us? Flinn couldn’t fathom the answer, and he wondered how long the creatures would hold off.

Flinn led Jo and Dayin north along the Castellan, proceeding as quickly as the mounts could over the rocky ground. The river guarded their right flank. Nothing could attack them from that direction without their knowledge. The river was wide and running fast, and its banks—relatively clear of snow—were smooth enough for Flinn, Jo, and Dayin to make good time. To the west, a perimeter guard of Rooster’s orcs kept a keen eye upon them, dispatching runners to stay abreast of them and watch their maneuvers.

“Why are orcs on the move in winter?” Jo called out as she spurred her horse next to Ariac. “Is war afoot?”

Flinn shook his head. “I’m not sure. There’re two tribes, one to the north and west of us and another to the east across the Castellan. If they are massing for war, maybe they’re gathering at the river so they have room to fight.”

“Do you think that’s the reason?” Jo pressed.

“Orcs are a lazy lot. They wouldn’t go to war in the dead of winter without good cause,” Flinn answered back. “The winter’s been a tough one so far, and maybe they’re just joining up to gather food.”

“Why did you turn us north instead of going back to Bywater?” Jo asked.

“I’ll tell you my reasons when we have a chance to stop. Let’s just hope I made the right choice,” Flinn said. “Right now, it’s time to move—and no more talking.” He tapped Ariac’s flanks with his heels, and the griffon responded with a surge of speed. Flinn could still hear, albeit faintly, the drums that the orcs used to convey messages as the tribes converged. Yet what the chieftains had planned, Flinn couldn’t guess.

The warrior watched an orc run north along the line of hills to Flinn’s west. The runner kept the trio in sight until he met up with another orc. The second orc took up the post until he met a third runner. Flinn wondered how long the orcs would keep up their surveillance. He suspected the Rooster’s tribe was moving south somewhere through the hills to their west, while he, Jo, and Dayin rode north. He also suspected the perimeter guard set up by the runners wouldn’t cease until the tribe had passed south of the former knight and his two comrades. Before that happened, however, the orcs would surely send out a patrol to hunt them down. Flinn grimaced. He was surprised they had held off this long.

The hours wore on, and still Flinn maintained the grueling pace he had set in the beginning. Ariac’s feathered chest was wet with sweat, despite the cold, and the bird-lion’s breath came in sharp whistles. The griffon wasn’t suited for cantering, and certainly not for a pace that required both speed and endurance. Flinn glanced back and saw that Jo’s horse was in good shape and that Fernlover, though laboring, was also keeping up. A game creature, Ariac was nevertheless unaccustomed to such prolonged speed. Flinn spurred the lagging griffon forward.

Suddenly, the cloud-laden sky let loose the snow Flinn had predicted the night before. Wave after wave of white flakes fell, dropping from the sky with silent fury. Then the wind picked up, especially along the unprotected riverbanks, hurling the snow horizontally across their path. It whipped through the fur cape Flinn wore and took away his breath, and it smothered sound with its dull roar. Shielding his eyes, Flinn looked at the sides of the river. The rugged bottomland was giving way to steeper hills. Ahead, the Castellan sluiced fast and wild. The river’s embankments would be too treacherous to follow in the growing storm.

Soon Flinn, Jo, and Dayin would be forced into the surrounding Wulfholdes.

Flinn eyed the few orcs he could still see off to the west. Trees, rocks, and snow blurred his view. He had hoped to have reached the end of the orcs’ exodus by now. But the current runner was the seventeenth. “Do these orcs stretch all the way to Duke’s Road Keep?” he asked himself.

Although Ariac strained to maintain the pace, his strength was clearly flagging. The riverbank was growing too steep to negotiate; Flinn turned Ariac toward the hills and slowed the party to a walk. Inland, the winds grew even stronger than at the river. “Certain death on the sheer bank and certain death with the orc tribe,” Flinn said, shaking his head. He wondered briefly just how far north he would have to travel before striking west to find Braddoc Briarblood’s house. He knew that to turn west now with the orcs at hand was suicidal. If the orcs forced him past the Broken Arch, he would simply have to double back after shaking them.

The warrior slowed their pace still further. The stony, snow-covered ground and the obscured vision made any faster pace impossible. Flinn lost sight of the orc runners in the blowing snow. Certain they remained, he didn’t dare relax his guard. Keeping an uneasy watch to the west, Flinn stretched in the saddle.

Then, just above the roar of the wind, Flinn heard the sharp, extended blast of a horn some distance west. Immediately he halted Ariac, and Jo pulled up beside him. Her eyes hung wide as she caught her breath. Flinn held up his hand for silence, then cocked his ears for the response he was sure would come. A single shrill bleat answered back. The echoing hills and muffling snowfall distorted the sound’s origin; Flinn couldn’t discern its direction. But the origin was near.

Too close, in fact. The orcs had gained ground on them and were closer than Flinn had feared.

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Jo asked just above the sound of the storm. “They’re coming after us?”

“Yes,” Flinn nodded. “The tribe to our west is led by an orc named the Rooster. His people are safely south of us by now, and he’s sending out a patrol after us.” Dayin pulled up beside them, the child all but hidden by the supplies and Flinn’s shaggy fur vest.

“Flinn, can we take much more of this?” Jo gestured at the storm overhead and then pointed to the griffon. “Ariac’s about to burst from the strain.”

The griffon dripped with frothy sweat, and his footing had grown less sure with each passing hour. Ariac was trembling with fatigue. Flinn considered his options. The orc patrol would be actively hunting them now, and the storm was fast turning into a blizzard. Night would fall in less than two hours, and they would be unable to see anything then. They had to make a stand or they would never survive.

“The orcs are too close for us to outrun them, at least not in the condition Ariac’s in. Follow me closely, and be prepared for whatever happens,” the warrior said suddenly. Jo drew her sword and rested it on her lap. Flinn nodded his approval. “Jo, don’t use your blink dog’s tail to attack; use it only if you have to retreat. You’ve said the magic is beginning to fade, and I’d rather you learn to trust only yourself and your sword in a fight.”

Jo nodded and then asked, “Do you think they’ll find us in this storm?” Her voice trembled a little but her gaze was determined.

Flinn smiled grimly. “Not if we find them first.” He gave her and the boy a quick nod of reassurance, then dismounted.

Flinn took the griffon’s lead and turned Ariac around. He headed back across the hill the way they had come. In silence, Jo and Dayin followed him.

The warrior drew his sword silently. He patted Ariac’s neck and hoped the griffon’s strength wouldn’t give way. Then Flinn prayed to Tarastia for the opportunity to avenge himself against the orcs who followed him. As a knight in the Order of the Three Suns, he and his men had tangled often with both the Rooster’s tribe and Greasetongue’s. He could right a few wrongs today if the Immortal Tarastia was so inclined.

Though his sense of time was hampered by the ceaseless snowstorm and the incessant roar of the wind, Flinn came upon the orcs far sooner than he had thought he might. Barely twenty minutes after they had turned around, Ariac nibbled his master’s shoulder. Instantly, Flinn spun about and gestured for Jo and Dayin to dismount. He gave Ariac’s rein to the boy and pointed for Dayin to lead the animals off the hill and out of the way. Without a word the child disappeared into the snow. Flinn stepped off the trail, pulling Jo down beside him near a rocky outcropping. If Ariac’s senses were right, they would soon see the orc patrol following their trail in the storm.

Flinn whispered in Jo’s ear, “Wait for them to get by us before we attack. We will surprise them from behind, and with any luck we’ll get most of them right away. There shouldn’t be more than five or six of them. Make your strokes count, and remember what I said about not losing your sword.”

The young woman nodded. Flinn saw that she was shaking, but her eyes were bright and clear. Good—that’s the way to feel, Flinn thought just before one orc, then a second and a third came into view through the swirling snow. They were humanlike—as tall as Flinn, though considerably broader of girth, and clad in misshapen armor. They wore boiled leather helmets, from which their flattened jowls protruded. Stained tusks and beady eyes lay in the shadow of the helmets. The orcs appeared completely oblivious to anything but the trail they followed. The snow and wind were fast obscuring the tracks Flinn’s animals had made only a short time ago, and the three orcs bent over the trail and argued which way to continue.

The largest orc sniffed the snow. Flinn stiffened. This beast was a tracker, an orc who could follow a trail by scent alone. Some trackers could pick up a trail even through rain or snow, or after days or weeks had passed. Flinn bit the inside of his cheek. Here was his first target.

Jo tensed beside the warrior, and Flinn put his hand on her shoulder. Two more orcs came into view. They stopped by the first three orcs, who were kneeling and bickering loudly. Flinn caught the gist of their words: the orcs had come upon the place where he and Jo had parted from Dayin.

Flinn whispered, “The ones on the right are mine; the others are yours.” He tightened his hand upon the hilt of his sword, waiting until the orcs’ argument reached its peak.

“Now!” the warrior hissed, springing forward. His sword sang to the right, and he heard Jo’s on the left connect with orc armor. Flinn’s blow came arcing down on the back of the tracker’s neck. The monster never knew what cleaved his spine. The orc crumpled where he stood, blood staining the snow beneath him.

The remaining orcs cried in anger and surprise. Flinn caught sight of one of them leaping toward Jo, but he had no time to call out. The other three orcs rushed him with their spears. Deftly he dodged their attack and swung his heavy blade, managing to break one spear as he parried the other two. The orc with the broken spear whirled in his charge and jumped on Flinn, a jagged knife in the creature’s gnarled hands.

Flinn tumbled backward. He and the orc rolled into the snow. Flinn grabbed the orc’s dagger hand. He twisted the rubbery wrist until the blade sunk into the monster’s back. The orc cried out in pain. With a roar the other two orcs charged again with their spears. Flinn rolled onto his back, pulling the orc on top of him as he did so. The other orcs’ spearheads sank into the chest of their comrade. Flinn scurried from beneath the dead orc, barely escaping the spears pulled from the new-fallen body. The warrior sprang backward, his sword held before him.

Jo backed up to him. He was glad to see she hadn’t been injured. “There’re two more lurking in the shadows,” she shouted.

Flinn grunted. “They’ll attack, don’t worry.” The rest of his words were cut short, however, because one of the spear-bearing orcs charged Jo. She ducked beneath the thrust and came up with her own attack. Just then, another orc charged Flinn. He leaped forward, grabbing the orc’s spear handle and pulling. The beast stumbled forward into Flinn’s waiting sword. With one quick thrust Flinn dispatched the monster.

From out of the swirling snow, two more orcs leaped toward him. They wielded battle axes, and their heavy blows rained down on Flinn. He parried them, straining to meet the weight of the axes. Jo was busy with her own orc, and Flinn couldn’t expect any help from her. The two who attacked had obviously fought together before, for they timed their attacks well. One swung his blow, and the other would immediately follow that blow with his own. Flinn gritted his teeth and smiled. The fight warmed his blood. He parried both axes and tried to snake his way past the orcs’ defenses.

A ball of bright orange light suddenly burst in the space between Flinn and the two axe-wielding orcs. The monsters’ tiny eyes opened wide at the sudden light. The orcs stammered in fear. The fiery ball hung in the air for a few moments, and then collapsed in on itself, changing into three white doves. The birds dived at the orcs, befuddling the monsters. Dayin! Flinn thought, and from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the boy with his hands spread toward the orcs. The warrior jumped forward, swinging his blade in a shining horizontal arc. One orc fell instantly, his head almost severed from his body. Flinn continued his sword’s swing, but twisted the blade so that the flat hit the second orc. The monster dropped his axe and then collapsed into the snow.

Flinn turned to help Jo with the remaining orc, only to see her draw her sword from her opponent’s belly. A brutal smile hung on her face, a smile uncommon to so inexperienced a squire. The girl had enjoyed this bout. Jo wiped her blade on the orc’s padded leather armor and approached Flinn, her step sure and sound. The young woman had killed two orcs and not been injured. Flinn was pleased. Dayin, too, joined Flinn by the fallen orc.

“Why didn’t you kill him?” Jo poked the orc with her foot when she saw the monster move his head.

“I want to question him as to why the orcs are on the move,” Flinn answered. “Dayin, get some rope, will you? And bring the animals back with you; we’re going to have to find shelter soon. I don’t want to chance questioning him here in the open at the risk of our not finding shelter.” The boy nodded and disappeared into the falling snow.

“But after we question him, he’ll know where our camp is,” Jo protested. “Or will we just have to kill him after questioning him?”

“No, we’ll tie him up and keep watch over him. In the morning we’ll leave him tied to a tree. He’ll escape by next sundown, but we’ll be long gone.” Flinn turned toward the orc. “Jo, watch him—if he looks like he’s coming to, hit him on the head with your sword’s pommel.”

“Where are you going?” Jo asked as Flinn moved away.

“I’m going to hide the dead. My guess is that these orcs won’t be missed, but if they are, I don’t want them found. We’ll have to trust the storm to cover our tracks.” Flinn finished, dragging the first dead orc off the hill. He deposited the body in a deep gully and returned for the next ones. Meanwhile, Dayin brought the animals to the hilltop. When Flinn finished hiding the dead, he returned to Jo. She was holding her blade to the orc’s chest, and she had bound and gagged the now-conscious monster.

“Goodjob, Jo.” Flinn nodded. “We’ve got to find shelter quickly, but we also have to put as much distance as possible between us and this place. I don’t know if any more orcs remain in the hills, and I doubt this one would tell us one way or the other—” Flinn glowered at the orc “—so we’ve got to get out of here. We’ll question him later when we’re in a safer place. Jo, lead Ariac. I’ll walk. You and Dayin follow close. Night’s falling, and we could lose each other easily otherwise.”

Flinn pulled the orc to his feet and held onto the length of rope left over from binding the creature’s arms. He pushed the orc toward what he believed to be north and mumbled “Go!” in orcish. After Jo mounted the horse and Dayin the mule, they both followed Flinn as he led the way. A short distance after they set out, Flinn directed them off the hilltop to escape the snow and wind. His arms, which once tingled with the heat of battle, were now cold and numb.

The landscape of snowdrifts and frozen trees seemed something from a dream. In the vale curving between the hills, the wind didn’t whistle so strongly—didn’t wrap them in violent noise and motion. Snow still fell, but less heavily, and the winds bore it in a billowing arc overhead. Flinn felt as though he were leading the party through a dim cave of snow and ice. Light filtered meekly through the storm that raged above the protecting hillsides. Flinn hoped the light would see them to shelter.

As the group wound its way through the gully, the snow grew deeper and footing became treacherous. The blizzard might protect them from the orcs, but it might kill them in the process. Flinn’s lungs began to ache with the cold air, and his eyes grew weary from squinting. They needed shelter to survive. The orc also appeared to sense their danger, for it moved along with little prodding.

Just as night was beginning to fall, Flinn happened upon a deep, narrow ravine. The roaring wind and falling snow relented in this sheltered area. All noise faded away, and the silence left their ears ringing. The cold, too, seemed not quite so biting. Jo and Dayin both sat up; they had been lying on their mounts for additional warmth. Flinn led the group farther into the ravine, seeking a suitable outcropping of rocks for shelter. When he found such a spot, he halted the orc and tied him quickly to a short, stubby tree. Jo and Dayin gratefully slid off their animals and stretched their legs.

Flinn turned to the young woman and the boy. Snow and ice clung to the long strands of his hair, his moustache, and the fur cape he wore. “I think it’s safe enough to have a small fire here,” he said. “We’ve traveled quite a distance away from the orcs—or at least I think we have—and the ravine should hide the flames from view in this storm. We’ll set up the shelter, warm ourselves, and eat a bit of food. Then I want to ask the orc some questions.”

“Like why the orcs are gathering?” Jo asked between teeth that chattered.

“Exactly,” Flinn answered. “Dayin, you gather some firewood. I’m trusting to your woods’ sense not to get lost. Jo, you take care of the animals, and I’ll set up the shelter. Nobody get too close to the orc. I don’t want him to escape.” Jo and Dayin moved away, eager to finish their tasks and warm themselves. Flinn, too, hurried. None of them had eaten that day, and suddenly Flinn was famished.

Flinn poked the orc once with his foot. The orc’s eyes shone at him, but it did not respond. It was gagged and bound tightly to the tree. As Flinn began setting up the tent, he hoped the creature would be able to answer his questions. If the orc responded well, he’d live until the sunrise. If not, a quick, merciful death was the best Flinn could offer.

Jo sat warming her hands before the small but hot fire. Dayin had gathered elm, a wood that gave off a strong, steady heat with minimal flame. She, Flinn, and Dayin had just finished their meal. Jo wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep, but she knew she should wait. Flinn was holding a strip of heated dried meat before the orc, trying to tempt him. The monster’s gag had been removed, but not the bindings.

“Do you speak Common?” Flinn asked slowly in a clear voice. He held up the piece of meat again. “I will give you this if you can speak Common.”

The orc looked from Flinn to the meat and back again. His eyes were bright and tiny and almost obliterated by the folds of fat wrinkling his face. His nose was flattened and pushed back, the bridge of it ridged. Two long, lower canines jutted from his bottom jaw and rested against his upper lip. He had pasty white skin, unlike the ruddy orc captives Jo had seen in Specularum. This particular orc wore rough furs and padded leather armor. Flinn had searched him earlier and piled his belongings to the side. The warrior had found three knives, an assortment of crude orc coins, a bag containing bright pebbles, and a chunk of stale bread.

Jo studied the orc’s crafty expression again. She was certain he understood everything Flinn had said. The warrior waved the piece of meat closer to the orc’s face. The orc snapped at it, straining his jaw as far forward as possible. Flinn easily pulled the meat out of reach.

“Answer the question!” Flinn shouted angrily. “Do you speak Common?” The shout made Dayin shudder and he huddled closer to Jo. She put her arm around the boy’s thin shoulders, not wanting to admit that Flinn’s voice scared her, too. Flinn is just trying to browbeat the orc, she told herself.

Slowly, grudgingly, the orc spoke. “I… speak Common, human pig.” His voice was thick with orcish accents.

Flinn proffered a mouth-size piece of meat on the end of his knife and leaned toward the orc. The monster greedily bit at the meat, but Flinn didn’t stop moving his hand. Only after the knife was mostly in the orc’s mouth and the orc’s eyes were wide with terror did Flinn stop. He drawled, “Watch your tongue, orc, and I may let you keep it to taste another piece of meat.” As if to emphasize his point, Flinn pulled out the knife and lightly drew it across the lips of the orc, though he didn’t draw blood.

The warrior rested on his heels before the orc and slowly, teasingly, cut the remaining meat into bite-size pieces.

“Why did the Rooster’s tribe and Greasetongue’s tribe meet at the river ford?” Flinn cocked an eyebrow and held up a tidbit.

The orc’s eyes fixed on the meat and glistened. His mouth drooled. With thick, almost indecipherable, accents he answered, “To join and go south.” His long white tongue licked his lips in anticipation, and he opened his mouth.

“Why?” Flinn flicked the piece of meat. It landed on the orc’s neck, just beneath the chin, and stuck there. Jo watched the orc twist to reach the meat, and she was suddenly sure Flinn had deliberately missed the orc’s mouth. She wondered when he had learned his interrogation skills: as a knight in the Order of the Three Suns or as a mercenary with Braddoc Briarblood?

The orc squealed in disgust. He couldn’t reach the meat, and his bright, tiny eyes glared at Flinn. “Won’t tell. Not allowed tell,” he hissed.

“Tell me,” Flinn rejoined calmly. He flicked another small piece of meat at the orc. This tidbit landed in the creature’s lanky hair by his ear. Jo watched the orc’s snout wrinkle, and the monster suddenly writhed in his bindings.

The orc hissed, and his tiny eyes darted above him. “To attack village-by-the-water.”

“By-the-water?” Jo exclaimed, leaning forward. “Flinn, the orcs are attacking Bywater!”

“Fliiiin?” the orc hissed again, this time with evident terror. “Flinn has caught Kushik! Flinn will kill Kushik!” The orc tried to bite the cords surrounding him, and he twisted and heaved against the ropes. Unexpectedly, a key cord snapped, and the orc reached out with one long arm. Flinn was on him instantly, and man and orc tumbled backward. Before Jo and Dayin could act, Flinn was withdrawing his knife from the crumpled form of the orc.

Flinn looked at Jo, his eyes narrow with anger. “Damn his hide!” he swore. He looked down at the orc and then dropped his knife in disgust. Shaking his head angrily, the warrior took hold of Kushik’s legs and dragged him off into the darkness.

When Flinn returned to the fire, Jo handed him a cup and looked at him. “You did what you had to do, Flinn,” she said calmly. The former knight looked at her and nodded once, curtly. They sat down on spare furs, and Jo shook Dayin’s thin frame. “Dayin,” she called gently, “you’re falling asleep. Why don’t you turn in?” The boy nodded sleepily and crawled into the tent, while Jo picked up her mug of mead and leaned closer to the small fire. Overhead, the blizzard still raged, but only a few snowflakes drifted down into the sheltered ravine.

“The orcs are attacking Bywater, Flinn,” Jo said. “Is there anything we can do?”

Flinn grimly clenched his jaw. “I have failed them twice in as many days.” He turned his gaze toward the dark, stormy sky and slowly shook his head. “There’s no way to help them now. We could never overtake the tribes, and we certainly can’t stop them.” He hung his head, rubbing his temples painfully.

“Flinn, we have to do something! We must warn them. Baildon and the others—they’ve been through too much already,” Jo cried. “First Verdilith and now orcs!”

“Calm down, Jo,” Flinn said gently. He put his arm around her briefly. Jo leaned against him, feeling the warm strength of his large frame. “There is something we can do, but it could be dangerous,” Flinn said.

“The… crystals?” Jo asked in a quieter voice.

Flinn pulled out his little pouch that held the stones. “Yes, the crystals. We can try to contact Baildon through one of the stones and warn him that the orcs are coming.”

“What if they’re already there?” Jo asked. “What if we’re too late?”

“If that’s the case, then,” Flinn said heavily, “we’ll at least know we tried.” He pulled out two stones, one a dark red crystal made with Jo’s blood and the other a light amber crystal of the abelaat’s. “Which should we use?” Flinn stared at the two stones he held up to the light of the fire.

“Yvaughan heard you using the abelaat’s crystal, Flinn, didn’t she?” Jo asked. “I know we have fewer of them, but that’s the one I think we should use.”

Flinn nodded slowly. “I think so, too, but… I mistrust the power inherent in the crystals. I think, somewhere, something knows when we use the stones.” Flinn shook his head. “I wish the orc hadn’t died. I wanted to find out why the tribes are bent on attacking Bywater.” He held out his hand. “Give me your knife, Jo. If I put the stone between two knives, I should be able to hold the stone in the fire long enough to heat it without burning myself.”

Jo handed him her knife. “Isn’t it obvious why the orcs are attacking Bywater? I mean, they must be starving here in the hills. You yourself said it was a bad winter already, and it’s only half over. Aren’t the orcs attacking Bywater for food?” Flinn shook his head and practiced positioning the crystal between the two blades. “Two orc tribes wouldn’t gather together to attack Bywater—maybe each tribe individually, but not the two of them together. No, someone or something is behind this attack, and I wish we had found out before the orc died.” He leaned toward the fire. “Now, let’s both concentrate on Baildon in Bywater.”

Jo leaned next to Flinn, and the two of them watched the amber crystal the warrior was slowly heating. She concentrated on Baildon and wondering what was happening to him now.

The moments crawled by. This stone seemed more resistant to heat than the other two had been. As Jo’s thoughts centered upon Baildon, she counted forty-seven strokes of her heart. Finally the crystal began to glow. Flinn caught his breath, and Jo leaned closer to the fire. A miniature scene began to form inside the amber stone.

It was indeed Bywater, or what was left of Bywater. Several buildings were in flames, and the streets writhed with hordes of orcs. Jo moved closer to the crystal. Literally hundreds of the creatures filled the icy lane, dancing in a ghastly revelry.

“We’re too late,” Jo whispered, her chin quivering. The villagers who had survived Verdilith couldn’t survive two tribes of orcs.

“Baildon?” Flinn whispered. The scene shifted a little, though only slightly. At the edge of town, two orcs stood over the body of a stout, bloodied man who still carried a cleaver in his hand. Although the man was lying face down in the muddy snow, they knew it was Baildon. A spear stood upright in his back.

The two orcs squabbled, one of them putting his foot on Baildon and pointing at the man. The orcs savagely shoved each other and bickered loudly. One wore a red-plumed helmet, and Jo figured he must be the Rooster. The other was probably Greasetongue. She wanted to ask Flinn if he understood anything they said, but his face was so intent that she didn’t dare distract him.

The crystal shattered. Jo had expected that to happen, but it startled her nonetheless. Silence fell on the little camp, broken only by the quiet snapping of the fire. Jo and Flinn both stared blankly into the flame’s depths.

“I should have been there, Jo. I should have been there,” Flinn said at last. “I shouldn’t have let Baildon talk me into leaving. He needed my help. I knew he needed my help.”

“Flinn, don’t talk like that!” Jo turned to him and gripped his arm. “Flinn, look at me! Look at me!”

Jo sensed the effort it took the warrior to turn from the flames and look at his squire. When he did, she grabbed his other arm and locked eyes with him. “Flinn, do you honestly think that you alone—that you, me, and Dayin—could have saved Bywater from all those orcs? Do you?” Her eyes flashed.

The man’s dark gaze narrowed, and his eyes glistened wetly. He reached out and gripped Jo’s arms, his touch painful. “I could have warned them somehow, could have held off the hordes while they escaped,” Flinn said raggedly. She leaned nearer. “Flinn, what do you mean?”

Flinn ground his teeth and glanced to the side. His grip on her arms remained tight. Jo hoped he drew some strength from her in that moment. At last he turned back to her. “That was the Rooster and Greasetongue standing over Baildon’s body,” he said slowly. “I know a little orcish—enough to get the gist of what they were talking about.”

Jo tightened her hands. “What did they say, Flinn?” His face flushed and he swallowed hard. “Tell me what’s wrong, Flinn,” she said. “Whatever it is, tell me.”

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and choked. “The orcs were… sent to Bywater. They were supposed to sack the village.”

“Why?”

“They were arguing because they couldn’t find my body. One said that the man beneath his feet—Baildon—was me; the other disagreed. I was supposed to be there—they’d been told that I would be there, Jo,” Flinn’s hands fell from Jo’s arms.

“Who told the orcs you’d be there?”

Flinn hung his head for a moment, then turned back to Jo. His eyes had grown hard as nails. “Verdilith,” he said, licking his dry Ups. “Verdilith sent the orcs to Bywater and told them I would be there. Verdilith promised them the town to sack as well as my hide. The orcs agreed readily enough, since they have no love of me and they were in need of food. But they didn’t find me, and they found only a portion of the town left for them to savage. Verdilith hadn’t told them what he’d done to By water only a few nights before.” Flinn spat into the fire. “The orcs were supposed to find and kill me.”

“But why would Verdilith think you’d be in Bywater?” Jo asked, removing her own hands from Flinn. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if you know that my home was destroyed the day before,” Flinn answered through clenched teeth. “It makes perfect sense if you know I have no supplies and have to head for the nearest town to get them.”

Jo shook her head. “I don’t understand. How would Verdilith…?” Her voice trailed off as dread welled up within her.

Flinn nodded. “Sir Brisbois.” Jo caught Flinn’s expression in the light of the campfire, and she shivered in fear. The man continued, “The death of Bywater is on my hands now, Jo.” He shook his head when she protested. “They were killed because of me.”

Jo watched Flinn’s face in the firelight, then took his hands in hers and waited for him to look at her. “Flinn, your death would have meant nothing to the people of Bywater. With you still alive there is the chance for goodness to redeem itself. There is the chance of vengeance,” she said slowly, her eyes locked on his. “It’s the only thing I can offer you. Their deaths will not be in vain if you slay Verdilith.”

Flinn pulled her to him and wrapped his arms about her, but Jo knew he wasn’t aware of what he was doing. He stroked her braid and whispered, “Verdilith and Brisbois will both pay for the death of Bywater, Jo—and for the death of my honor.”