D&D - Mystara - Penhaligon Trilogy 02

by The Dragon's Tomb - Heinrich, D. J (v1. 1)

  How long Jo knelt there in the melting snow and spring mud, she didn’t know. She knew only that the sword had been a balm to her spirit, a balm that eased her sorrow. And now, in place of the pain, a new passion rose in Jo’s weary mind: vengeance. At the pyre, she had vowed to avenge Flinn’s death, and now she was suddenly determined to carry out that vow.

  The dragon had brought him death, and the dragon would be destroyed by it. Only then will Flinn s death and my life have meaning, she suddenly realized.

  Jo stood and picked up Wyrmblight. The woman frowned. She was a squire of Penhaligon, owing obedience to Baroness Penhaligon. But that obedience would likely interfere with Jo’s desire to hunt Verdilith. Her thoughts turned grim. Your loyalty lies with Flinn, she mused, for it was he who helped you become a squire in the Order of the Three Suns. Without him, you would never have reached the castle. Or if you had, they would have laughed you back to the rat-infested streets of Specu- larum. Jo shuddered.

  The squire touched the sigils one last time, then she turned and continued down the path. Her steps grew increasingly sure. “Have faith, have faith,” she chanted under her breath. She looked at the trees around her, noting how they burgeoned with buds, waiting to burst into green. But none of their vitality, their hope, seeped into Jo. She felt dead. Hurrying her step, she shoved her thoughts aside. “Have faith,” she said a little unsteadily as she touched the silver bark of a birch.

  Just ahead, at the end of the trail, the midday sun streamed into a glade larger than the one Jo had left. She hesitated before entering the glade, suddenly unsure of how to greet her comrades. You’ve been beastly to them, Jo told herself, callously berating them for “failing” Flinn, ignoring their grief. They’ll understand, her logical half replied. They know I spoke out of anger and sorrow, not truth. Nodding once, Jo stepped into the glade and moved toward the encampment, keeping her eyes averted. If she didn’t look out into the glade, perhaps the memory of her first sight of it wouldn’t return. She quickened her pace, but the images were seared into her mind. She saw, once again, the terrible sight that had greeted her five days ago.

  The crumpled, brutally savaged body of Flinn s griffon lay at this end. All about the creature, a score or more of staves, wands, and rods lay half-buried in snow. The once- pristine whiteness was marred by blood and churned mud from the battle Flinn had waged with Verdilith.

  Jo bit the inside of her cheek. She had to face these memories and drive them from her mind or she would surely go mad. Jo stopped walking and forced herself to look at the glade. Her eyes grew wide.

  Sometime during the last few days, the sun’s rays had melted the snow. Gone was the white spattered with red. Dried tufts of grass and wildflowers lent a new, clean color to the glade. Jo blinked. Tans and yellows and browns and curtains of evergreen lay all about her as she knelt to take it all in. The trees had seemed so cold, so unfeeling the day they had witnessed Flinn s death. Now, spring was coursing through them, and the trees had sprouted buds.

  Jo drew a ragged breath. If I can only endure, like the trees endure, she thought, I’ll weather the winter of Flinn s death. Tears flowed freely from her eyes. “I understand.” Jo slowly covered her face with her hands. The words have faith whispered once more through her mind.

  A gentle touch on her shoulder made Jo look up. The concerned expression of Braddoc Briarblood’s good eye met hers, though his milky eye wandered blindly away. Beneath the blind eye Braddoc s cheek twitched, puckering a deep hatchet scar that ran from his eyebrow to the cheekbone below, just short of the neatly plaited beard. Braddoc of the Cloven Eye had lost partial sight but not his life the day he had been attacked by an axe-wielding frost giant in the Altan Tepes Mountains. The dwarf’s lips compressed a little, and Jo wondered if the usually laconic mercenary was about to say something.

  Instead, Braddoc held out a gnarled hand to Jo. Three purple-and-white blossoms glistened there. They were snow crocuses, the earliest flowers to bloom in the spring.

  “Braddoc . . Jo whispered. She reached out and took the fragile blossoms; she sniffed them delicately, then looked at her friend. “For Flinn?”

  Braddoc shook his head. “No, they’re for you, Johauna,” he said sharply. “Flinn won’t be needing these.” The dwarf took Jo’s arm and helped her rise. “Come, Karleah and Dayin are waiting. The time for mourning is past. It’s time to go.” Braddoc began walking toward the two canvas tents pitched at the other end of the glade. He stopped and eyed Jo quizzically when she didn’t follow.

  “I’m not sure the time to mourn ever ends, Braddoc,” Jo said slowly. Her eyes slipped to the crocuses in her hand. “But you’re right—it is time to go.” She joined the dwarf, and together they crossed the ground leading to the camp.

  Jo could see the smoke curl lazily away from the fire beneath the cook pot. Karleah Kunzay, an ancient, withered crone of a wizardess—and also a passable cook—was stirring something in the pot. Karleah ignored the approaching pair and busied herself about the fire. A sudden whiff of rabbit stew reached Jo’s nose, and she sniffed appreciatively. Only then did she realized she was hungry.

  The ten-year-old boy sitting at the camp saw Jo and Braddoc approach, and he stood in quiet anticipation. Dayin Kine had once been a shy wildboy hiding in Flinn’s woods before Jo and Flinn offered him shelter. As Jo entered the camp, the boy brushed back his blond, shaggy hair and smiled tentatively. The smile was sweet in its innocence, and Jo couldn’t help smiling back. Dayin’s eyes were the color of the spring sky above, and they watched Jo intently.

  The squire moved closer to the fire and saw that Karleah, too, was watching her with equal intensity. The creases around Karleah’s black, beady eyes had furrowed more than their usual wont. Her lips were pursed, and the ancient lines crisscrossing her face had sunk deeper over the last week. Why, Karleah’s worried! Jo thought in sudden surprise. About me? A wave of guilt washed over Jo, and she felt her face flush. Her dismay deepened when Braddoc left her to join Karleah and Dayin on the other side of the fire. The three of them looked at Jo silently.

  “I—” Jo began, then coughed. Get a hold of yourself, she thought sternly. “The . . . pyre has finally burned out. Flinn is no more,” Jo finished.

  Braddoc and Karleah glanced at each other. The old wizardess looked down at Dayin, then put her bony arm around her apprentice’s equally thin shoulder. Karleah nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “Have you given any thought as to what to do next, Johauna?” Braddoc asked, his good eye looking up at Jo.

  What to do next? thought Jo suddenly. Next? Why ask me? Jo turned away and placed Wyrmblight reverently on some nearby skins, buying a moment to think. Can it be, she thought, that they expect me to make the decision? She turned back to the others, and all three were looking steadily at her.

  “I . . . hadn’t given it much thought,” Jo said truthfully, “but I know that the first thing I intend to do is find Verdilith.” Seeing their dubious faces, Jo added grimly, “The dragon must die. I won’t rest until Verdilith is dead.” Her gray eyes flashed.

  “While you stood vigil over Flinn’s body,” Braddoc said after a discreet pause, “I followed the path Verdilith made through the woods. It wasn’t hard. He never once took to the sky—I think Flinn must have damaged his wings.” The dwarf grinned savagely.

  Karleah began dishing up plates of steaming stew and bread and handing them to Dayin to pass out. Jo accepted one gratefully and took a place by the fire. She touched the sword lying behind her, and the words have faith seemed to echo through her.

  As Braddoc opened his mouth to speak again, Karleah thrust a bowl into his hands and grunted, “Eat.” Snapping his mouth shut, he, too, sat by the fire. Dayin joined the dwarf and began eating his stew, using his bread as a ladle.

  The fastidious dwarf shot him a censoring glance, then dug in with his spoon. A tiny drop of broth spattered Braddoc s yellow jerkin and leather breeches. He frowned and wiped the spot away immediately. Jo smiled. He’s a strange
fellow, she thought. So brusque and yet so persnickety about his appearance. Though his clothes were travel-stained, they were free of crusted mud, unlike Jo’s and her other companions’. The dwarf spent far more time at the stream washing his things than the rest did.

  “What happened to the trail once the dragon cleared the woods?” Jo prompted the dwarf.

  Karleah harrumphed at Braddoc as she sat down, and Jo turned to the older woman. The wizardess bit into a steaming piece of meat and, seemingly oblivious to the heat, said to Jo, “He lost it. Wouldn’t think a creature so close to the ground could lose a trail—a dragon trail at that—but the dwarf did.”

  “I did not lose the trail!” Braddoc barked.

  “You sure enough did!” the old woman retorted.

  Jo held up her hand for silence, about to speak, but the words died on her lips. The gesture she had just made was one of Flinn’s, and she was shaken. She didn’t know whether to be surprised that she used the gesture or heartened that she was following in his footsteps. Jo managed to say, “That’s—that’s enough bickering, please. Just tell me what happened after you broke through the woods, Braddoc.”

  Braddoc shot Karleah an I-told-you-so look with his good eye, then turned back to Jo. “The trail continued once I was through the woods and into the Wulfholdes,” the dwarf said sharply. He paused, then shook his head. “Flinn severely injured Verdilith, by the looks of the blood trail the dragon left. In fact, I’d wager it was a close fight.

  My guess is Flinn very nearly—”

  Jo winced and put her hand to her eyes. Braddoc halted his words, and Jo silently thanked him. By the Immortals, she thought, Flinn would have lived if I had been there, regardless of Karleah’s prophecy.

  “Johauna . . .” Braddoc said tentatively, his voice quieter than Jo had ever heard. “I’m sorry I said that. I thought you’d be comforted to know that Verdilith paid dearly for—”

  Jo winced again. “Thank you, Braddoc. I know,” she said heavily. “I just wish I’d been at Flinn’s side, like a good squire—”

  “Don’t think that, girl,” Karleah cut in with her high- pitched voice. “Fain Flinn rode to his doom that day, and he knew it. He knew, too, that any who went with him would meet their doom as well. Flinn did a brave deed that day—don’t belittle it by thinking you could’ve saved him.”

  Jo looked at her plate of food and then at Karleah. “You believe your prophecy, Karleah; I’ll believe my instincts. I could have saved him.” Jo frowned bitterly.

  Karleah snorted, and her dark eyes glittered at Jo. “Harrumph! My prophecies have never failed me, girl. Had you been in the glade with Flinn, you both would have died.”

  And how much better that would have been than this! Jo’s heart cried. She gripped her bread tighter and stared at the crone. “Believe what you like, Karleah,” Jo said coldly, “and leave me to do the same.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t die, Jo,” Dayin said softly, his eyes shining at Jo. The young woman stared at the boy, unable to decide if she felt grateful or annoyed at his feelings for her. Dayin’s eyes averted from Jo’s before she could decide.

  The boys shoulders hunched slightly, and Jo turned back to Braddoc.

  “So you were able to follow Verdilith’s trail into the Wulfholdes?” Jo asked briskly, determined to change the conversation. She bit into a piece of bread.

  Braddoc nodded, swallowing some food. He said, “Yes, I followed the trail—it was clear and obvious. Then I rounded a hill and—”

  “—and the trail disappeared! The dwarf lost the trail!” Karleah cackled. She slapped a bony knee beneath the shapeless gray shift she wore.

  A wicked grin slowly crossed Braddoc s face as he fixed his good eye on Karleah. “That’s where you’re wrong, old hag,” he said gleefully.

  “Eh?” Karleah’s tiny black eyes widened suddenly, and her mouth hung open. “That’s not what you said before,” she noted worriedly.

  Braddoc nodded slowly, still grinning. He waggled a finger at Karleah. “I didn’t tell you, old woman, because I wanted to tell Johauna first,” Braddoc said and then turned to Jo. The smile left the dwarFs face. “I may have lost the trail, but I haven’t lost the dragon.”

  “What do you mean, Braddoc?” Jo asked. She placed her cleaned plate by the fire, then licked her lips and frowned. An odd aftertaste lingered in her mouth. I hope the rabbit wasn’t spoilt, she thought, then thought better of it. Karleah never brought home carrion when she hunted in wolf form.

  Braddoc held out his hands toward Jo. They shook slightly. “Johauna! Listen to me!” he said excitedly. “I lost the trail because the trail ended! The trail ended at the hill!”

  “The hill? What hill, Braddoc?” Jo asked, just a shade testily. She blinked rapidly, trying to stifle the sudden urge to close her eyes. The lack of sleep is catching up with me, she thought, but I won’t sleep now. I don’t dare. “The Wulfholdes are all hills!” Jo yawned abrupdy.

  Braddoc glanced quickly at Karleah and then turned back to Jo. “Does one particular hill—a slightly rounded hill, with a stunted pine nearby—interest you?” Braddoc asked quietly. Beside him, Karleah drew her breath in sharply. Dayin looked up from his food, then leaned closer.

  Jo blinked, only then aware that she had stopped breathing. Then, with a long intake of air, she asked, “You found the hill? You found Verdilith’s lair? You found the dragon?”

  “You’re sure it’s the same hill we saw in the crystal?” Karleah asked sharply.

  Jo interrupted, “Is it the hill, Braddoc? Did you find the dragon?” She yawned again. A great desire for sleep washed over her, but Jo shook herself mentally. I know you’re tired, she thought, but there are more important things than sleep. You must listen to Braddoc.

  The dwarf stared at Jo, his good eye not blinking. Jo struggled to focus her eyes on him. Nodding, Braddoc said, “Yes, it’s the right hill. But I spent the better part of three days searching and I couldn’t find an entrance anywhere—nothing!”

  Jo’s vision swam. She stood shakily, oblivious of the concern on her three comrades’ faces. “W-we have to find an entrance somehow. We must. Surely we can reach this hill before sundown—”

  Karleah broke in. “Not today, Jo.” The old woman stood, too, and put her hand on Johauna’s arm.

  Jo’s russet eyebrows rose in perplexity as she struggled to understand the wizardess. Then anger knitted her brow.

  “Why n-not today, Karleah?” she stuttered, angry at her sleepiness. “You’re not in charge—”

  “No, I’m not,” Karleah said agreeably. The crone lifted one thin hand and touched Jo’s cheek. She nodded at the younger woman. “No, Jo, you’re in charge. But you’re exhausted and need to rest. I think the powder I put in your stew is beginning to work. . . .”

  Johauna’s eyes rolled backward as she fell into Braddoc’s waiting arms. Karleah drugged me? Jo thought in disbelief. She could hear her friends’ concerned voices, but the voices seemed to come from far away. A roaring filled her ears, and a strange lethargy seeped into her body. She struggled against it, suddenly afraid of what her dreams would bring. No! she cried, unaware that she made no sound. No! I mustn’t sleep! I mustn’t sleep!

  But the sleeping powder and her own exhaustion were too much for Jo. Fatigue descended, surrounding her and dragging her into dreaming. Jo’s last conscious thought was one of mingled dread and longing: she knew that in her dreams, Flinn would live again. She knew, too, that when she awoke, he would not.

  But, for now, she dreamed of Flinn.

  Flinn lay in a world of cold and ceaseless flames. He was naked. He was dead. And the body that he occupied was somehow like his own, and somehow different. It floated numbly about his consciousness, as though his limbs were made of water and sponge. And the world of flames around him seemed to purify his watery form.

  The knight clenched his fists, noting the strength in his hands. His arms felt stronger than they had in a very long time, perhaps stronger than they had ever b
een. He glanced at his body, his chest, his thighs; everything was smooth and strong, as though he were a statue freshly chiseled by a master sculptor.

  All his scars of battle were gone.

  With some effort he stood, noting only then the shadowy trees that towered in a ring about him. The ground beneath his feet crackled and broke, the only sound in this strange place of flickering light. He saw that he stood upon a burned-out pyre of wood and realized this was probably the same wood used to burn his mortal body. He was not surprised to discover that his soul had form, a perfect form of which his body was only a crude simulacrum. And then, with inhuman calm, he knew where he was.

  The Realm of the Dead.

  Whatever he was doing here, and wherever he was to go would certainly be revealed in time.

  As he peered more intently into the flames, Flinn saw one other figure in the clearing. Johauna Menhir. She knelt, frail and fearful, upon the ground, Wyrmblight clutched loosely to her side. She was more beautiful and more graceful than Flinn had noticed with mortal eyes. The knight stood for what he thought must have been a long time, staring at the form of the woman he loved. She was more perfect here than in his memory, and his passions raced the longer he stared. He knew that these were the first feelings he had had since death. He stepped off his grave to embrace her.

  Johauna s image was instandy dispelled as the fires about him spread in a roaring rush that engulfed the whole world. Johauna was gone, the trees, the sky . . . only the ceaseless flames remained. For a moment Flinn felt rage and pain, but he quickly cooled his feelings. The land of the dead had its own laws. Though he did not feel them yet in his thoughts, his heart knew they would be revealed.

  In Johauna s place, a perfectly spherical boulder as high as Flinn’s waist appeared, a primitive spear thrust clean through its width. It was a perfect stone, and a perfect spear, and the knight recognized the symbol of his most favored Immortal patron.