She didn’t like it.
Jo shook her head, refusing to let her embarrassment ruin today’s sparring lesson. She looked up at the dwarf, who stood calmly before her. Braddoc wasn’t even winded! Jo held out her hands, palms upward. “Braddoc,” she asked, “what am I doing wrong? I was so much better and quicker against Flinn! At least I think I was!”
Braddoc rubbed a balled fist against his milky eye for a moment, then sat beside Jo. He stared at Jo with his good eye and released a long, grim, I-didn’t-want-to-be-the-one-to-break-this-to-you sigh.
“What? What is it?” she asked, her voice rising in pitch. She returned the dwarf’s gaze.
Braddoc’s look grew thoughtful. Carefully he tucked a few stray strands of Jo’s reddish hair, so much like his own, back into her leather practice helmet. Then he said slowly but clearly, “Wyrmblight’s too big for you, Johauna.”
Jo jumped to her feet. “Too big? Too big?” she shrieked. Once again a practicing pair stopped to look at her. Jo lowered her voice. “What do you mean, Braddoc?” she insisted. Her eyes were narrow with annoyance.
The dwarf shrugged but refused to stand. Jo knelt on one knee beside him and peered intently into his face.
“What do I mean? Just what I said, Johauna,” Braddoc said simply. “Wyrmblight’s too big for you. The sword’s too long and too heavy. You haven’t got the—”
“It’s a man’s sword, that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?” Jo said bitterly. She couldn’t deny the truth, however. Sparring with Braddoc the last few weeks had shown her just how poorly she wielded Wyrmblight. Her arm, shoulder, and back muscles ached every day after only a few swings. Her strength seemed to be growing, however, and that had given her hope.
Unexpectedly, Braddoc put his hand on Jo’s knee. “Look. If it makes you feel any better, I couldn’t wield Wyrmblight either,” he said. He gave the girl’s knee a squeeze and then drew his hand away.
Jo frowned and said nothing for several moments. Finally she asked quietly, “Are you saying I should give up Wyrmblight? Perhaps give the sword to Baroness Penhaligon, like she wanted me to?”
Braddoc shook his head adamantly. “No, I’m not saying that at all,” he said, his good eye fixed on her. “Flinn would want you to have Wyrmblight—that much nobody will argue about.”
“Nobody?” Jo asked suddenly. “What about Madam Astwood? What about Arteris? Maybe Flinn would want Wyrmblight put on display for all the people to see. Surely he’d prefer that to having me smash it against the ground all day.” Tiny lines of worry crossed her face.
The dwarf smiled at the squire and patted her hand. “Yes, Flinn would have been pleased about having it on display—” Braddoc paused for effect “—but he would still prefer you to have it. You reminded him of all that was good and right and noble, Johauna. You alone are worthy of his blade.”
Jo hung her head, refusing to meet Braddoc’s eye. “I—I don’t know about that,” she whispered, “but that’s not the point here.” Jo looked at Braddoc. “The point is, Wyrmblight is too big for me—”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t learn how to use a form of Wyrmblight,” Braddoc interjected.
Jo sat down, tucking one leg under her chin. One of the other sparring couples—a sword-wielding human and a half-elf with a polearm—danced nearby, casually avoiding the sitting pair. Jo looked up at them for a moment, then stared at Braddoc. “What do you mean, a form of Wyrmblight?” she asked.
The dwarf shrugged. He gave Jo an appraising stare, from the top of her practice helmet down her lanky form to her burgundy boots. “You’ve a tall enough build. With some work, you could learn to use Wyrmblight as the blade is now.” He held up a cautionary finger as Jo’s face brightened. “Mind you, that would require a lot of work—far more training than I’ll ever be able to give you.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Jo asked, crestfallen.
Braddoc turned away and rubbed his hands, intent on peeling back the loose skin of a callus. “You, er, could consider having Wyrmblight reforged into a smaller—”
“Reforged!” Jo shrieked a second time. This time she ignored the stares her shout garnered. She grabbed Braddoc’s arm and shook him. “Reforge Wyrmblight? Are you crazy?” she shouted.
The dwarf stared at her, his face suddenly, utterly serious. Jo was taken aback by his expression, and her hold on his arm lightened. “No, I’m completely sane, Johauna Menhir,” Braddoc said slowly. “If you search your memory of the calling you had at the spring, I think you’ll agree that that’s the only true answer.”
“The spring …” Jo murmured, her mind reliving the day she had met Braddoc. She remembered the evening she’d spent in the dwarf’s sweat lodge, remembered the wondrously chill water, the swirling vapors, the vision. In it, Jo stood before a forge, waiting for a smith to pull something from the fire. Her stance was strangely expectant, and Jo wondered now if what she so eagerly awaited was the reforging of Wyrmblight, as Braddoc suggested. In the vision, Braddoc stood beside her, and Flinn was nowhere in sight. Jo narrowed her eyes and looked now at Braddoc.
“I can’t believe that’s what the vision means,” she said simply, then shook her head. “I can’t. Reforging Wyrmblight would be sacrilege. I will not dishonor Flinn’s memory so.” Or his spirit, Jo added to herself. She shook her head again. “I will not do it.”
Braddoc returned her gaze, then shrugged. “What will you do with Wyrmblight?” he asked steadily.
“Learn how to use it, of course,” Jo answered. She rose to her feet and pointed at their belongings on a nearby bench. “In the meantime, I have the sword Flinn gave me in Bywater, and I have his bow. Practicing with both will hold me in good stead until I develop the strength and skill to properly wield Wyrmblight.” Johauna extended her hand to the dwarf and helped him rise.
Braddoc grunted, then said, “You are persistent, I’ll grant you that.”
Jo grinned, her first genuine smile since Flinn’s death. “I am nothing if not persistent!” When Braddoc broke into a laugh, Jo did, too, though hers was hesitant and shortlived. A bell sounded nearby, and she frowned and picked up Wyrmblight. “It’s time for my etiquette lesson,” Jo said, her voice edged with irritation. She handed Braddoc his shield as he picked up the battle-axe lying at his feet.
“Just be thankful Sir Graybow got you out of taking those classes with Madam Astwood,” Braddoc replied sternly. “From what I’ve gathered, Johauna Menhir, you’ve been given a lot of leeway in your training here at the castle. Don’t be so quick to mope—someone’ll interpret it as ingratitude.” Braddoc began unlacing the axe’s protective guard.
“Oh, I am grateful, Braddoc,” Jo said earnestly as they began crossing the courtyard. The other squires were doing the same; Jo noted thankfully that none seemed to be listening to their conversation. “It’s just that I’m not understanding all the little intricacies! And, Braddoc, there are so many!” Jo sighed heavily. She stopped at a bench where she had left her belongings, picked them up, and continued onward.
“Give it time,” Braddoc soothed. “You’ll learn. From what I’ve seen of Sir Graybow in the council meetings, he’s a master of etiquette. You couldn’t learn from any better.”