Jo gritted her teeth. Remember the lessons in diplomacy Flinn taught you! she scolded herself. Jo forced herself to nod cordially in the woman’s direction. “Yes, a great tragedy for Penhaligon,” she said. “We have lost the greatest knight the Order of the Three Suns has ever known.” Jo stopped, suddenly aware that absolute silence had befallen the room. “Er, at least in my humble opinion, madam,” she said, hoping to cover her diplomatic gaffe.
Madam Astwood smiled icily. “There are, of course, those who believe as you do, miss—er, Squire Menhir,” the lady said smoothly. “Others, of course, believe differently.” The woman raised her pale eyebrows, flecked with gray. Jo felt suddenly insulted. She bristled.
Baroness Penhaligon interrupted before Jo could make her retort. “Pray continue with your report, Squire Menhir. Sir Flinn is a beloved member of our order—” the baroness glared in Madam Astwood’s direction “—despite his unwarranted fall from grace. We would know what has become of him.”
Jo related her tale, picking up when she, Flinn, and their companions had left the Castle of the Three Suns only a few weeks earlier. Jo told the council of their search for signs of Verdilith’s passing in the Wulfholde Hills northeast of the castle, and how fruitless that search had been. She told the council, too, of Flinn’s departure in the middle of the night to confront Verdilith single-handedly. He did this, Jo told them, so that Karleah Kunzay’s prophecy of doom would not come to pass for any but himself.
Standing in that room, bathed by the light of the magical lanterns, Jo’s eyes misted over with tears as she told them of the final day of Flinn’s life. Her storytelling instincts took over, and Jo’s imagination colored her recounting.
“And Fain Flinn struck one last, final blow with his mighty blade, Wyrmblight,” Jo said softly, her words echoing off the walls in the silent hall. “Not even Verdilith, the great green, could recover from that blow. He turned tail and fled, but so grievous were his injuries—so badly had Flinn harmed the malevolent wyrm—that Verdilith could not fly. Instead, the dragon crashed through the barren winter undergrowth , He left a trail of blood and broken branches that the greenest hunter could follow.
“But it was not such a hunter who followed that trail—it was Fain Flinn, Flinn the Mighty. Grievous, too, were his wounds, but he did not hesitate in his duty. He was a knight in the Order of the Three Suns; he had sworn to kill the dragon who menaced Penhaligon,” Jo swallowed abruptly, disregarding the tear that escaped her eye.
“And so Flinn the Mighty took up Wyrmblight and stumbled after the dragon, determined to slay the wyrm. But at the body of his faithful griffon, Ariac, Flinn fell to one knee. He said good-bye to the crippled bird-lion, and perhaps he thanked him, too, for trying to save his life. We will never know.
“Flinn followed the dragon’s path of blood, his own adding to the trail. He fell, but would not relent,” Jo paused and slowly looked at each council member one by one. All were engrossed and saddened at the tale. Even Madam Astwood look chagrined. “He would not relent,” Jo repeated, “but instead dragged himself through the trampled snow and mud. He would not fail, he told himself, he would not fail.”
Jo’s throat constricted, and she looked down at the sword she held in her hands. She looked back at the council and fixed her gaze on the castellan, warming at the empathy she sensed in him. “We found him late that day,” she said simply, “and he was still alive, though a lesser man would have surely died.” Jo’s hands clenched on Wyrmblight. “He seemed to have clung to life until we could reach him, for shortly after I arrived, he died—” Jo choked on the words before she could embarrass either Flinn or herself by saying “in my arms.”
The council members remained silent while Jo collected herself. Then Madam Astwood spoke up, her tone laced with irony. “How touching,” she said cattily. “It’s a shame the man did not defeat the dragon, for he would surely have attained the fourth point of the Quadrivial then. That was always Flinn’s goal. What a pity he didn’t succeed. But, then, so few knights do really attain all points of the Quadrivial. Such knights are really quite rare.” The woman’s statement set Jo’s teeth on edge, and something close to hatred rose in her breast. She struggled to find a fitting retort.
A hand upon her arm made Jo stop and look down. Braddoc stood beside her, his one good eye fixed on her.
He pursed his lips, and Jo nodded to him. Braddoc took Wyrmblight from Jo’s hands and stalked over to Baroness Penhaligon. Sir Graybow, on her left, remained calm, but the knight on her right rose and drew his sword. Braddoc paused momentarily, grunted in the man’s direction, then dropped the sword on the table in front of Arteris. Jo came to stand by the dwarf.
“There,” Braddoc said and pointed at the blade. “There’s all the proof you need that Fain Flinn attained the Quadrivial ” The council members gathered near and peered at the silver-white sword.
Bit by bit, the four sigils on the flat of the blade began to glow. The runes depicting Honor, Courage, Faith, and Glory released a warm, white light. Then the four spots of light merged and grew brighter still, forcing Jo and the others to squint to see them.
Glory was attained, whispered the blade to Jo. By the stunned look on Sir Graybow’s face, and others’ too, Jo realized the sword had spoken to everyone. The Quadrivial was attained, Wyrmblight whispered.
Suddenly the glow from the sigils diminished one by one, until only Glory was left alight. Then it, too, faded into the sword. Wyrmblight lay on the table, once more simply a sword of renown.
“But, Karleah, I don’t understand!” Dayin protested. The old wizardess was heedless, pacing their chambers, pulling open drawers and rifling through them. Dayin raised his voice. “We just got here! Why do we have to leave?”
“I told you, child,” Karleah snapped, “its just getting worse and worse. My powers have diminished even faster since we arrived. I need my safe valley, my books and things if I’m ever going to find out why. I’ve been jittery ever since we left the dragon’s lair, and I just don’t feel safe here in the castle. Ah ha!” Karleah pulled out a piece of paper, then a quill and a pot of ink from a drawer. She hurried to the table and sat down, spreading the paper before her.
“What are you doing, Karleah?” Dayin asked nervously. He had little tolerance for this agitation from Karleah. It was the same odd mood that had possessed his father those many years ago—had possessed him in those weeks before he’d abandoned Dayin to the harsh wilderness. Now Karleah, whom he loved and trusted more than anyone, was acting the same.
“I’m writing Jo a note,” Karleah began, dipping the quill into the ink. She was poised as if to write, but paused and looked at Dayin. “Does she know how to read, do you suppose? Well, no matter—someone will read it to her, if necessary.” The ancient crone scribbled away in a sprawling hand, dipping frequently into the black ink. Dayin huddled near, peering over Karleah’s thin shoulder.
Johauna—
I must return to my valley immediately, and I am taking Dayin with me. Do not worry—we are both well. We will work on the boy’s training as a mage, and perhaps I can discover a thing or two on my own.
You see, more than merely my teleportation spell failed us at the dragon’s lair. My light spell did, too, and my wind funnel. Further, my staff’s magic has begun to fade. I know these are not mere coincidence, and I intend to discover what—or who—is draining my magic.
We’ll be in touch. Do not worry.