Sir Graybow laughed, a chuckle much like a bark. “What you mean to say, young lady, is that you hope the good dwarf sees you initiated in the order!” The older knight smiled at Jo’s sudden discomfiture. He smiled at her a moment longer, then added, “I’m sorry Karleah and Dayin won’t be here tonight.”
Jo looked down at her hands. She’d received a message from Karleah yesterday to that effect. “Yes, well,” Jo said slowly, “Karleah’s very close to discovering why she’s lost her powers. And I understand her concern… .” Of course, I thought I was a concern of hers, too, Jo thought, then tried to push her disappointment aside.
Somewhere in the tower a bell sounded, ringing the three-bell stroke for assembly. The people will be starting to gather in the great hall for tonight’s ceremony, Jo thought. Her cheeks flushed, and she turned her bright eyes to the castellan.
Sir Graybow stood and said, “Hold on a moment, Jo. I have something for you.” He entered the kitchen.
Jo stood and picked up Wyrmblight. The sigils seemed to glow in the evening light, though Jo fancied it could be simply a reflection from the candle sconces that Jo had lighted at sunset. She held the blade before her and whispered, “Oh, Flinn. Why aren’t you here with me? What is my moment of triumph without you?” Her eyes smarted.
Wyrmblight warmed to the touch, and Jo felt a measure of comfort. Have faith whispered through her mind.
The castellan returned, bearing a burgundy-colored sword sheath in finely tooled leather. He held it out to Jo, who set Wyrmblight aside.
“What’s this?” she asked as she eyed the peculiar arrangement of belts.
“It’s a harness rig for a great sword,” Sir Graybow responded. “Here, let me.” He picked up one part of the harness, which Jo saw served as a belt. It was wider than her palm and studded with grommets. The castellan fastened it at her waist, making sure it rested snugly against her. A second similar construction looped over her shoulder and under the opposite arm. From both dangled leather straps and silver snaps and buckles. Sir Graybow took Wyrmblight and silently began fastening the blade in place.
Jo looked over her shoulder closely. Wyrmblight was too long to actually sheathe, for no one could quickly withdraw a great sword from a case. But the leather straps of this harness were so designed, Jo saw, that a single pull would undo them. It obviously takes much longer to buckle the sword into the harness, Jo thought as the castellan finally finished.
“There,” Sir Graybow said. “A proper harness for a proper sword—” he smiled at Jo, the many wrinkles around his eyes crinkling “—for a proper squire,”
Jo practiced bending and kneeling, checking the balance of the hanging sword. The harness held Wyrmblight securely in place, the tip of the sword about a foot off the floor. She wouldn’t be able to sit with the sword strapped in place, but she doubted she’d have much opportunity of that until after the ceremony. She touched the rich burgundy leather and the silver appointments reverently.
“Thank you, Sir Graybow,” she said simply. “The harness is beautiful.” She looked fondly at the man standing before her. “It will be a relief to have Wyrmblight with me, properly sheathed, tonight. It’s irksome not having my hands free.”
The castellan nodded, a pleased expression on his face. He put his hand on Jo’s arm and turned toward the stairwell. “Come, Jo,” Sir Graybow said gravely. “It’s time for your initiation as a squire in the Order of the Three Suns.” He smiled at the young woman.
Jo’s answering smile was solemn, for her thoughts had turned inward. If Flinn cannot be with me now in my shining moment, she thought, at least his sword and his mentor can. And when the time comes, when I am ready to take on Verdilith, I will find that wyrm and slay him. I will avenge Flinn’s death. Jo nodded to herself, seeing only then the concerned expression in the castellan’s eyes.
Braddoc Briarblood eyed the man in front of him, then kicked his calf with the sharp tip of his boiled-leather boot. The man yowled and turned around, searching for the perpetrator. You’re looking a little too high, mister, Braddoc thought maliciously as he stepped around the man. He wiggled his way between two more humans and breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the upper balustrade’s railing. The balcony overlooked the interior of the castle’s great hall.
At last! Braddoc thought. I didn’t think I’d ever make it in time. He put his battle-axe and knapsack between his feet. The dwarf leaned over the stone balcony and peered into the crowd of people below. The great hall of the Castle of the Three Suns was filled with people, though not as packed as the hall had been during the open council last winter when Braddoc, Jo, Karleah, and Dayin had seen Flinn confront his accusers.
The dwarf’s trip had proven uneventful. His home was still secure, though a pair of raccoons had moved inside the house. After leaving his home, Braddoc had circled back past the dragon’s lair and found no sign of Verdilith there, though of course he hadn’t been able to get inside the lair. Still, the castellan’s report seemed true. Verdilith was gone.
The last task Braddoc had set himself was the most difficult, for he had visited the site of Flinn’s funeral pyre. There the dwarf had scattered the few remaining ashes and said his own good-byes to Flinn. Then he had begun a methodical, diligent search for the one gift he wanted most to give Johauna: her blink-dog’s tail. Braddoc checked his pocket for the bristly fur and again thanked the Immortals that he’d been successful.
All in all, the trip had been most productive and uneventful—until he’d stabled his pony at the castle not half an hour ago. As he had turned from his mount, a large, black crow had fluttered in the stable entrance and dropped a parchment in his hands. The crow had squawked and flapped away before Braddoc could even feel surprised. Remembering the peculiar bird, the dwarf pulled the parchment out again and smoothed it against the stone railing in front of him.
Braddoc—
Dayin and I cannot attend the initiation ceremony; I am close to discovering what has stolen my magic and hope to recover my spells before I return to the castle. The timing is crucial. Even so, I wish I could attend the ceremony, if not for Johauna’s vanity, for her safety. I’ve sent Harrier, my messenger, to deliver a warning to you: Be ever vigilant at the initiation ceremony. I have dreamed of Jo coming to harm that night, and hope this missive reaches you in time to avert it or somehow ease it.
Tell Jo we will see her soon.
“Old witch,” Braddoc muttered into his beard. “What’s ‘harm’ supposed to look like? I wish you’d been a little more specific.”
Braddoc folded the note and stuffed it in his belt. Squinting, he looked out into the great hall, searching for anything or anyone that seemed remotely unusual. His eyes ran along the clean architectural lines of the ribbed vault above, searching for a dark spot or irregular shape that might be hiding a lurking assassin. He saw no such sign, only soot trails from a time when the castle had used torches. Braddoc harrumphed. Four immense chandeliers hung from the vault, attached to it with ornate, wrought-iron housings. Each chandelier carried a dozen sconces, all elaborately chased with touches of gold and silver. Magical light poured forth from the tops and bottoms of the sconces, casting gaunt shadows over the vault. The dwarf smiled grimly. Those massive chandeliers could easily conceal some crossbow-toting villain. Though he strained his eyes to make out such a form, he could see none. The fixtures swayed slowly, silently in gentle eddies of air from the vault.