01 - The Tainted Sword

by D. J. Heinrich - (ebook by Undead)

  The sword was a greatsword, nearly as long as Flinn was tall, and Flinn stood over six feet. A goodly portion of its length was given over to the hilt and pommel, its grip designed for two-handed use. Although Flinn could let loose an arcing stroke with but one hand on the blade, the sword was simply too heavy to maneuver without using both hands.

  The metal used in the forging of the weapon had been the finest silver Penhaligon’s armorer could find, for he, too, had a soft heart for the young and valiant Flinn. In fact, the metal was dwarven steel chased with elven silver, and the combination had lent the sword a particular strength, grace, and hue. The blade was extraordinarily attuned to Flinn’s movements, seeming to respond to the very will of its wielder.

  The old baron had said a knight as valiant as Flinn needed no magic to help him in his quests, and Arturus asked that no enchantments be placed upon the blade. Instead, he had taken the partially forged weapon to the church one day. There the baron himself had stood at the altar with the sword and sought the blessings and good wishes of all who would honor Flinn the Mighty. Many folk entered the church that day to give the blade the honor its bearer deserved, and not one befouled the blade with unkind words. The old baron was well pleased with his people, and with a glad heart he returned the half-forged sword to his master armorer and weaponsmith.

  The smith labored tirelessly for a fortnight before the blade was perfect. When finished, its edges gleamed with a sharpness that seemed to never dull. The flat of the blade was ornamented with ancient runes depicting honor, courage, faith, and glory—the Quadrivial of Knighthood. Although gracefully wrought, the quillons were solid and functional and would stop an opponent’s blow. The pommel, too, was fully functional, and would provide a nasty blow of its own if so used. Finally, the grip had been wrapped in steel chain of the finest size.

  The old baron presented the sword the day Flinn was formally initiated into the Order of the Three Suns. From that day forward, Flinn and the silver-white blade were inseparable. Together they purged the countryside of vile monsters and the foes of the land Flinn swore to protect. They banished strife from the estates of Penhaligon. No matter what evil they fought, the sword retained its gleaming whiteness, as if it were newly pulled from the forge. Nothing tarnished that sword—nothing until the day Flinn left the Castle of the Three Suns in shame.

  Flinn joined Braddoc’s mercenaries, his sword for hire. He was no longer Flinn the Mighty, but Flinn the Fallen, Flinn the Fool. Flinn’s fall from grace was bitterly reflected in Wyrmblight, too. No matter how hard he tried to polish the blade, a taint of blackness clung to it and grew greater day by day. Flinn believed that somehow the sword had turned against him and become evil. He despaired at the blackening of his sword, not realizing that his very despair deepened its taint. He believed that when the sword became utterly black, he would die. With fearful deliberation, he gambled the blade away.

  Braddoc Briarblood won the prize. Flinn tried to warn his friend of its evil, but Braddoc would not listen. The warrior’s shame was complete. He left Braddoc’s band that night and became a hermit and a trapper.

  Now Flinn stood in Braddoc’s kitchen, holding Wyrmblight in his hands. He blinked, his eyes suddenly moist. The sword wasn’t evil as he had supposed, only a reflection of his own soul. Flinn’s heart pumped unevenly. He would overcome his fears and the ghosts that dogged his every step. He would regain the rest of the Four Comers of Righteousness and become again the knight he had once been.

  And Wyrmblight, too, would return to its former glory.

  Chapter XI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Or so the wyrm thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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