Diulanna, Patroness of Will, beckoned from the flames in the distance. Flinn, naked, strong, pure in spirit and body, walked toward her.
Karleah came out of the tent and nodded coolly at Braddoc. The dwarf ducked through the flap and looked at Jos sleeping form. Braddoc had carried Jo into one of 1$ the tents and laid her on the sleeping furs, then Karleah had undressed Jo and made sure she was sleeping peace- t fully. The dwarf, however, mistrusted Karleah’s magical powders and ministrations and was determined to check 1 c on Jo himself. Braddoc knelt now by Jo’s bedroll and h pushed a straggling lock of hair from her eyes. He smiled.
For some reason, it pleased him that her hair color so a: closely matched his. Johauna’s was just a shade darker than his red mane.
The dwarf tucked a wolf skin a little closer around Jo’s shoulders. His expression grew grim when he heard the girl moan a little. He slid Wyrmblight within her reach and set her hand lightly on the hilt. Braddoc fancied the girl’s face smoothed a little. In her condition, he thought, she won’t be able to lift the blade, let alone injure herself with it. With a final nod, he turned and left the tent.
Karleah and Dayin looked at him expectantly. “Is she settled?” the old woman asked, her voice neutral.
Braddoc nodded, then joined the others at the fire. Dayin sat at Karleah’s feet. He was sorting a number of dried twigs, some of which still held leaves and berries. Part of his lessons with the witch, Braddoc assumed. “Yes, she’s settled,” Braddoc said flatly. He shook his head. “Poisoning her like that wasn’t such a good idea. I think she’s having nightmares.”
The old woman frowned, then shrugged. “Of course she’s having nightmares; the powder only guarantees sleep, not sweet dreams. But Jo needs to rest. I don’t think she’s slept any since Flinn s death.”
“Will she be any better in the morning, Karleah?” Dayin asked softly. His young face puckered with worry.
Karleah touched the boy’s shaggy hair briefly. “I think so, dear,” she said in a gentle voice Braddoc had never heard from her. The old hag has a heart after all, he thought. Karleah continued, “Jo placed too many of her hopes and dreams on Fain Flinn. She would have discovered that in time—if only she’d had time. But we’ll help her learn how to find new dreams for herself.”
“How long will she sleep, do you think?” Braddoc asked. He pulled out a whetstone and began sharpening his battle-axe. The edge was already keen, but sharpening the blade again gave the dwarf something to do.
Karleah squinted up at the midafternoon sun. “All day today and through the night, I suspect—perhaps longer,” she answered.
Braddoc’s only response was to grunt. He flicked his thumb across the battle-axe and smiled, well pleased with his work. He almost wished something other than wolves would dare return to these woods. But the terrible battle that had been fought between dragon and man had frightened away all creatures, and it would be some time before they would return.
Karleah pointed at a wrapped bundle near one of the tents and said to Dayin, “Let’s try again, boy.”
Silently Dayin retrieved the bundle and unwrapped it at Karleah’s feet. Inside were nearly a dozen wands. All were handsomely crafted, adorned with glittering gems and made of rare, precious metals. All were magical, inscribed with both ancient and recent runes of powers.
And not a one worked.
Verdilith had brought the wands with him in preparation for meeting Flinn, Karleah surmised, but for some reason all the magic had been leached from them. Braddoc frowned. The only logical explanation was that Verdilith hadn’t known the wands were drained when he brought them to the glade. The other obvious answer, that there was something about the glade that negated magicks, had been ruled out by Karleah two days ago. She had tried to use her own spells and magical items to reenchant the wands, but they would not hold the magic.
Dayin picked out a slender wand of silver embellished with mottled turquoise. “Try this one, Karleah,” he suggested. “Let’s see if we can enchant this one.”
Braddoc glanced over with little interest. The workmanship on this particular wand had not captured his fancy, for the silver was crudely cast. “She tried that one the day before yesterday, Dayin,” Braddoc said gruffly. “If you’re intent on being a wizard like Karleah, you’ll have to learn to be more observant of the little details.” He was being pedantic, he knew, but Braddoc was hoping to goad the boy. Dayin’s passivity rankled the dwarf. He blamed Karleah for the child’s behavior—behavior Braddoc thought was far too calm.
Dayin turned to the dwarf. “If you remember Karleah trying to use it, what did she do?” Dayin asked, a little testily. The boy’s tanned nose wrinkled. Good, thought Braddoc. Get mad; don’t be so sweet!
“Why, that I don’t recall,” Braddoc said smoothly, “but I do remember the outcome: nothing!” He laughed abruptly, pleased with his little joke.
Karleah smirked at Braddoc. “Harrumph!” she muttered caustically. She turned to Dayin and said, “Pay no attention to him, boy. Dwarves don’t know magic ... or humor. Now, let’s try this wand of yours once more.”
The old wizardess held the wand before her and began murmuring an incantation. His attention pulled from the battle-axe, Braddoc watched a scene he had witnessed many times the past few days. Beside Karleah, Dayin began a counterchant. His voice blended with Karleah’s, and the sound swelled and filled the air of the glade. The wizardess’s bony fingers hovered above the wand and traced invisible runes in the air. Dayin pulled powders and other items from the little pouches Karleah had given him and dusted the wand—all to no avail.
“I don’t understand,” the crone muttered, her dark eyes snapping. “I just don’t understand. We’ve established that all the wands in this glade are no longer magical, but that doesn’t explain why I can’t enchant them!” Karleah scratched her chin. “I’ve enchanted empty wands before— even some of my own, now that I think about it.” The old woman’s bushy, peppered brows knitted.
“Is there something wrong with the wands themselves, Karleah?” Dayin asked, staring at the silver item the wizardess had dropped.
Karleah shook her head. “No, they’re fine, for the most part. Oh, a few were trampled in the fight, of course, but most of the wands are perfectly formed—they should serve as fine new vessels for magic. All I need to do is enchant them!”
Braddoc raised one brow and cut in, “Maybe you’re not a good enough mage, old hag.”
Karleah turned on the dwarf and hissed, “Not good enough!” The womans voice rose to a shriek. “Notgood enough? Why, I’ll show you ‘not good enough’! ” Karleah pushed back one sleeve of her nondescript gray robe, and Braddoc dove for his shield. The dwarf managed to raise it only an instant before a flash of blue light struck the shield and exploded into tiny sparks.
After the last fizzle sounded, Braddoc peered over the shield toward Karleah and Dayin. The crone’s expression was mixed, telling him nothing, and the boy was frowning in disapproval as usual. Braddoc turned the shield over and waved away the last of the smoke. He saw with a measure of satisfaction that Karleah had missed the center of the shield. “We’ll count that as one for me, old crone,” he jeered.
Her ancient features flexing, Karleah waved vaguely toward the shield, and a blue light from her fingertip shone over a blackened scorch mark, “Mark’s closer to the center than to the edge. My point.”
“It’s a tie!” Braddoc protested, pointing out that the latest scorch mark rested squarely on the circular line that divided the iron hub from the wooden rim. Three fainter black marks touched the inner circle of metal, while only two marked the outer wood.
“It’s a tie?” Karleah replied, incredulous. “Ties go to me, eh?”
Braddoc shook his head. “I think not, hag. Ties belong to the dodger. That makes it three to three.” The dwarf shook his head again and laughed. “I just pray one of these days you don’t really miss, Karleah!”
The wizardess sniffed haughtily and then said, “Th
e day I miss, Braddoc, is the day you forget to dodge!” Her black eyes twinkled at the dwarf suddenly, taking away some of the sting.
Dayin broke in, his voice sharp with concern. “I don’t think you two should play this game,” he said urgently. His summer-sky blue eyes flickered between the dwarf and Karleah. “Someone’s going to get hurt.”
“No one’s going to get hurt,” Braddoc rejoined, annoyed at the boy. “Karleah and I both know what we’re doing. Besides, it’s useful practice for me to stay in shape as a fighter. Though, truth to tell—” Braddoc s good eye winked at Karleah “—the first time the hag took a potshot at me I was a little surprised!”
Dayin glanced at the wand he was holding, his brow wrinkling with anger. Come on, boy! Braddoc thought. Let it out! Show us your anger; show us you’re alive! When Dayin did nothing more than purse his lips, Braddoc frowned. Same reaction as always, Braddoc thought. The boy had plenty to be angry about: his father had maliciously abandoned his young son, he’d had to survive for two years in the wilderness, and only a few weeks ago he discovered his father was the evil mage Teryl Auroch. Even one of these events would send Braddoc on a tirade, he knew, but Dayin always contained his anger.
The boy was faultlessly useful in camp and always pleasant and conciliatory. Braddoc suspected that Dayin blamed himself for his father’s leaving and thus tried to remain as unobtrusive as possible. Perhaps Dayin would not risk losing his temper for fear the others would also abandon him. Whatever the cause, the boy’s manner grated on Braddoc’s nerves, and the dwarf deliberately tried to provoke the boy on more than one occasion. So far, nothing had cracked the child’s resolve.
Dayin held up the wand. “Karleah, you said the wands were drained of magic. I’d say it’s more than drained. They’ve been altered so that they can no longer hold magic, as if every spark of enchantment had been removed,” Dayin conjectured. His young blond brows knitted in imitation of Karleah’s bushy gray-black ones. Braddoc stifled a laugh.
Karleah nodded sagely. “I’m afraid that’s the conclusion I’ve come to, too, Dayin.” She shrugged. “Whatever did it must be powerful indeed. I’ve never run across a spell that could do that!”
“What do you propose to do with them?” Braddoc asked, eyeing one particular wand that had caught his attention with its chased gold filigree set with emeralds that shone in the sunlight.
Again the old woman shrugged. “They’re useless to me. We can bring them back to the Castle of the Three Suns, but the mages there are mere bunglers next to me.”
Braddoc raised a brow at Karleah’s statement but wisely chose to say nothing. He never timed his taunts of the wizardess too closely; he was well aware her magic missiles were of a low-key variety, and he didn’t want to push her to anything more powerful.
Karleah continued, “We’ll find out what’s what at the dragon’s lair. I’m sure of it.” She turned to Braddoc. “If you’ve really found the hill we saw in the crystal, dwarf, then I can find us a way in, even if you couldn’t.”
Braddoc drew the whetstone across the edge of his battle-axe one last time before he looked at Karleah. “I found it, all right, but like I said—” the dwarf shook his head “—there’s no entrance to the lair. None whatsoever.” The crone s faced crinkled into myriad wrinkles as she suddenly grimaced. “Leave that to me.” Her black eyes glittered in the setting sun.
Chapter II
ohauna awoke late the next morning, feeling sluggish. A strange, twittering sound had awakened her, surrounding her and lifting her from her dreams. She pushed the sound awray, unwilling to discern its source. Flinn is dead, she thought, and I’m alive. I’m alive to avenge his death, and avenge it I will. Her teeth clenched, then her hand wandered across the furs until she felt the cold, comforting steel of Wyrmblight. She could hear someone moving about outside the tent, and she knew it was time to join her comrades.
Jo sat up in the furs and looked around the dark canvas tent she had shared with Karleah during their journey through the Wulfholdes. From one tent pole, the old wiz- ardess had hung several knapsacks and bags, brimming with smaller bags, vials, and boxes. Jo swore Karleah must have brought every herb, dried relic, and powdered substance she possessed. It had taken Jo a while to get used to the pungent aroma. Sometimes the odors invaded her sleep and gave her strange dreams, though last night’s dreams were surely caused by the drug Karleah had given her in the stew.
Rubbing her eyes, Jo threw back the furs and dressed herself, the cold air speeding her movements. She tugged on her boots. They were finely crafted of heavy burgundy leather, and they were a source of pride to the poor orphan girl from Specularum. Jo stroked the silver buckles as she tightened the clasps running up the sides. She remembered being given the boots, along with her other clothing, at the Castle of the Three Suns. A faint smile flickered across Jo’s face. The young woman had teasingly displayed her new boots to Flinn in their rooms at the castle, and she remembered now the warm, admiring glance he’d given her.
“Stop it, Jo,” the young woman whispered aloud. Don’t torture yourself. Flinn’s dead, and your memories of him must be, too—at least for a while. You can’t survive if every little thing reminds you of him. Jo fastened the clasps of the other boot hurriedly, struggling to keep her thoughts from Flinn. She stood quickly, picked up Wyrmblight, and left the tent.
Jo blinked in the sudden light. The sun was nearly straight overhead in a cloudless sky. The sheen of green from a swaying branch caught her attention. Why, she thought, it wasn’t just a dream! Spring is really here! The twittering she had heard earlier was the chirp of birds— thousands of birds. Jo saw blackbirds lining the tree branches above her, their trilling voices filling the air in a celebration of spring. The squire impulsively waved her arms above her head and shouted. The birds, silenced for a moment, abruptly took to the air. Their wing beats were nearly as loud as their singing had been. Almost as one, the entire flock swirled up from the branches and shot into the sky overhead. They descended almost immediately to other trees, farther off. A moment later, the woods again rang with the sounds of ten thousand bird voices.
Jo felt her lethargy leave her. The birds were an omen of healing, of repairing the damage that had been done. Jo stepped toward Karleah, who was sitting near the small campfire.
“Mornin’,” Karleah said tersely. “Or should I say good day?” The old womans brows lifted in mock disapproval. She turned back to the shirt she was mending.
“Blame it on your potion, Karleah,” Jo rejoined. She sat beside the wizardess and pulled off a chunk of the bread warming by the fire. Jo ate greedily, suddenly aware of how hungry she was.
The old woman grunted. She licked the thread attached to her needle and made a stitch or two before she asked, “You feeling better?” Karleah’s tiny, dark eyes were keen.
Jo met the womans gaze without flinching. “Yes,” she said slowly, “I’m ‘better.’ Healed, no—better, yes.”
“Take your time, girl,” Karleah said. The old woman reached out and awkwardly patted Jo’s hand. “You’re young, you’ll heal. I know that’s hard to swallow, but it’s the truth.”
Jo turned her eyes to the loaf of bread as she pulled off a second piece. She felt the muscles of her face constrict and harden. Yes, I’ll heal, she thought. I’ll heal the day I’ve made Verdilith pay for taking Flinn’s life. Aye, and Sir Brisbois and Tervl Auroch, too. They all had a hand in Flinn’s death. Sir Brisbois. Jo grimaced as she recalled the man who had brought about Flinn’s fall from grace, from the knighthood. That smug bastard will pay, just as dearly as the wyrm! Jo vowed.
The young squire added a stick to the fire, though it didn’t need it. She looked back at Karleah, suddenly aware the old woman had been watching her closely. Jo said calmly, “Where’s Braddoc and Dayin?”
“Went to tend the animals,” Karleah said. She tied a knot, then bit the thread off. She held up a rough shirt. “I declare, that boy is hard on clothes.” The old woman grabbed her staff and used
it to stand. “They’ll be back soon. Finish that bite of food, will you? We’ve eaten already. Dayin found some tubers this morning in the softening ground.” Karleah grunted in pain suddenly. “I’m glad it’s finally spring. Winter’s hard on old bones. . . ”
Jo’s thoughts turned inward, and the sound of Karleah’s voice receded and joined that of the blackbirds’. The squire sat cross-legged before the fire and balanced Wyrmblight across her knees. Gently, reverently, she touched the silver blade, her fingertips barely grazing the four raised sigils. Eyeing a speck of dirt, Jo fished through her clothing to find a rag to wipe away the offending spot. The only thing suitable was a small cloth from her belt. Jo stroked the midnight-blue swath with reverence. It was a remnant of Flinn’s first tunic as a knight in the Order of the Three Suns. Flinn had torn up the tunic to bandage her wounds, but Jo pieced the strips together and restitched the three golden suns across the field of blue, the emblem of Penhaligon.
The young woman returned the cloth favor to her belt, tucking it in securely. She brushed away the dirt on the sword with her hands. Wyrmblight, Wyrmblight, she silently besought the sword. I will avenge Flinn’s death, but how? How? Have faith. The words echoed inside her soul. Have faith. Jo sighed and looked up.
Braddoc and Dayin were returning with the mounts. Jo’s horse Carsig, Braddoc s long-legged ponies, and the horse Karleah rode were tied to a lead rein. The animals were tackled, ready to journey. Following without a lead came Fernlover, Flinn’s pack mule. Fernlover was braying, and the sound was heartbreaking. Poor thing, Jo thought suddenly. You miss Flinn, too. You know we’re getting ready to leave, and he still hasn’t come back.
The dwarf handed Dayin the rein, and Dayin tied the mounts to a nearby tree. They began nibbling at the new growth surrounding the campsite. Braddoc strode closer to Jo, who stood and faced him squarely.
“Is it time, Johauna?” Braddoc asked, his one good eye focused on Jo.
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