And that’s where we’ll find that—that traitor, Sir Brisbois! Jo thought savagely. It rankled Jo that Brisbois’s title was still intact—at Flinn’s gracious request, the title had never been officially stripped from the man. The “knight” was a menace. Surely discrediting Flinn with lies and betraying Flinn as bondsman were only two of Brisbois’s heinous crimes, Jo told herself. Her fist clenched on Wyrmblight’s pommel, then forcibly relaxed. Calm down, girl, she told herself as she tried to find something else to concentrate on. Duty, not vengeance. She’d repeated the phrase in her head many times already, but still the words rang hollow. Once, she even found herself hoping Brisbois would provoke an attack so they could kill him on the spot.
Shaking her head to clear it of the destructive thought, Jo glanced at Braddoc. “Didn’t you meet Flinn in Rifllian? What’s the village like?” she asked.
Braddoc’s beard, braided into a single plait, bounced up at his pony’s canter. He tucked it back into his wide, silver- and sapphire-studded belt. “Rifllian?” he repeated, then snorted. “It’s not much of a place, that’s for sure. My comrades and I—”
“What were you exactly, Braddoc? You weren’t really mercenaries—you said so yourself to the baroness,” Jo cut in quickly. “What did you do?”
Unexpectedly, Braddoc laughed. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Johauna Menhir!”
“Then tell me,” Jo entreated lightly. “We’ve—what? one? two? days on the road before we reach the village? I’d like to know more about you and how you met Flinn ”
The dwarf looked at Jo oddly for a moment. A sudden break in his pony’s rhythm drew his attention away from Jo. The animal pulled up sharply and halted. “Likely a stone,” Braddoc murmured as he dismounted and looked at the pony’s legs. Jo pulled Carsig to a halt and watched Braddoc.
The pony was favoring her left forehoof. Braddoc leaned against her while facing the animal’s rear. Onyx obediently shifted her weight, and Braddoc slid his hand down her leg and picked up the hoof. He cupped her hoof with one hand and pulled out his knife. Gently he scraped away loose gravel and packed mud with a blunt hook on the knife’s pommel. “Here it is,” he said as he probed deeper. Using the hook, he carefully dislodged and removed a sharp, jagged piece of granite. The dwarf eyed the rock with disfavor, then threw it away. He set the pony’s hoof back down and remounted.
“The sole looks bruised,” Braddoc said to Jo. “Let’s slow to a walk and let Onyx recover.” He added after a moment, “That’ll give me time to answer your questions in a more sensible fashion, rather than bounce along and lose half my words.” The dwarf fell silent.
Jo nudged Carsig into a walk. “Think she’ll pull up lame?” the young squire asked momentarily. She knew she might have to prime the pump to get the reticent dwarf talking about his past. A little banal chitchat could do the trick.
Braddoc shook his head. “I don’t think it’s that bad a bruise, and she’s moving pretty good now.” The dwarf opened his mouth, then closed it suddenly. He glanced at Jo and stroked his beard.
Jo bided her time, taking in the countryside, which was far different from the streets of Specularum, where she had spent her early years. The Wulfholdes gave way to gentler hills and meadowlands. The Hillfollow still curved to the west, and the road matched the river curve for curve.
Overhead, birds flocked here and there, some still heading north to summer ranges. A flock of snowy geese flew high above the ground in a deep V; their cries echoed faintly in Jo’s ears. Then Jo heard the eerie, lonely cry of a solitary loon as it winged its way toward the river’s waters. She smiled in wonder. How different these birds are from Specularum’s raucous gulls! she thought. During her years in the port city, Jo saw only gulls and pigeons. The wealth of birds in this untamed land startled and pleased her.
The terrain leveled into gentle rolls before Jo finally turned to Braddoc. “Well?” she asked tersely. The dwarf had never taken this long to answer her questions before.
“Well what?” the dwarf asked mildly. His good eye caught Jo’s.
Jo sighed elaborately. “You were going to tell me about your life as a supposed mercenary and about how you met Flinn,” she added in a rush. She saw Braddoc tug on his beard—a sure sign of nervousness—and she smiled reassuringly at him. “You’re my friend, Braddoc—” Jo grew suddenly serious and sincere “—probably my best friend in the world, what with Flinn gone. I’d be honored if you’d tell me more about yourself.”
Braddoc looked at Jo thoughtfully, trying to match his pony’s stride with her horse’s. He turned away and said slowly, “I told the truth to the baroness when I said I’m not a mercenary, though I’d pretended to be one. And I told Arteris at least a partial truth when I said my people were interested in opening trade relations with Penhaligon.” Braddoc paused, as if pondering what or how much he should say.
“Go on,” Jo urged.
Braddoc looked away from Jo and patted Onyx’s shaggy neck. Both the horse and pony were still shedding their thick winter coats. Jo groomed Carsig twice daily in an effort to remove the gelding’s thick hair.
“I … I’d prefer if you didn’t ask me any more of my past, Johauna,” the dwarf said so quietly Jo had to lean toward him to hear. “I’ve said more than I should, and anything more might compromise your position at the castle.”
Jo blinked, feeling a mixture of surprise, disappointment, and a little resentment. I thought we were friends, she said to herself, then quelled the thought. We are friends, Jo reminded herself. If Braddoc has something in his past he’d rather not share, so be it. Jo nodded slowly and said, “I’ll respect your wishes for now, Braddoc, but you’ve done the one impermissible thing around me: piqued my curiosity.” Jo smiled roguishly. “I’m giving you fair warning. I intend to know’ all about this by the return trip to the castle.”
Braddoc snorted but didn’t deign to comment.
“Tell me about your meeting with Flinn then,” Jo suggested. The dwarf was with his band of supposed mercenaries then; surely he’ll let slip some clue about his past, Jo told herself. And, besides, I’ll get to hear more about Flinn.
“I’m sure you’ve heard Flinn’s side of the tale,” Braddoc began, then suddenly smiled. “I remember the first time I saw Flinn.” The dwarf laughed aloud.
“Yes? Was it funny?” Jo asked quickly, excitement creeping over her, though her heart shrank with grief and pain at the thought of Flinn. Jo had learned all the tales of Flinn the Mighty and had become a fair storyteller as a result. But she knew next to nothing about Flinn’s life after his fall. Braddoc hadn’t met Flinn until then, and she was determined to draw as much of the dwarf’s information as she could.
Braddoc laughed again and nodded his head. “Oh, yes!” he chortled. “My men and I were at an inn in Rifllian—the Flickertail, if I remember correctly—having an ale, minding our own business. In walked this tall, angry man. Flinn was just spoiling for a fight that night.”
“Did you know it was him?” Jo asked, picturing the scene. She could see Fain Flinn’s tall, muscular form burst through the tavern door, a door that held the weathered image of some unrecognizable bird. Flinn would be grimacing, his eyes glowing like smoldering embers. He would snarl some greeting to the innkeeper as he looked around. Braddoc and his men would be in one corner of the tavern, peacefully minding their own business.
“Oh, we knew it was Flinn, all right,” Braddoc answered. “Everyone knew Flinn the Mighty—newly Flinn the Fallen—by sight back then. People couldn’t help but stop and stare at Flinn. Like I said, he was spoiling for a fight that night, but all he really wanted was a plate of stew and an ale.”