The cloaked figure stopped, and Jo thought it turned around. It said, “It is a crystal, a crystal of the first abeylaut. Through it you may join with Fain Flinn. But beware: if you speak of it to anyone or anything, the stone will shatter into a thousand pieces, which will lodge in your flesh and work their way into your heart.” The figure began walking away again.
Jo bit her lip, unable to believe the infirm being, but unwilling not to. “How do I know this isn’t a hoax?” she called loudly.
The figure did not stop. “Try it,” she heard faintly, “and discover the truth.”
The next moment, only shadows remained in the darksome alley. Trembling, Johauna knelt on the ground and looked at the gem, taking care not to touch it. It glowed faintly, unlike any abelaat stone she had ever seen, and it was larger, too. Whether or not it was an abelaat stone, it was a thing of power. But why give it to me? Why?
Cautiously Jo picked the stone up. It took up most of the palm of her hand and felt warm to the touch. She ran her fingers across the four sigils of her sword and murmured, “Wyrmblight, is this stone an abelaat crystal?” She waited for some sort of response, but the blade remained cool to the touch, and none of the sigils glowed. She tried other questions, all pertaining to the stone or the cloaked figure, and at first received the same silence after each question.
But then, a voice spoke. Keep the stone, Jo. It bears my heart. It bears my love. The words hadn’t come from Wyrmblight, but they had come all the same. Perhaps it was her own weary mind that had spoken. Perhaps it was the stone itself. But an insistent, irrational hope told her it was the voice of Flinn.
Blinking, Jo realized suddenly that dawn was lightening the sky. The alley, which a moment before had been impenetrably dark, now glowed with morning light. A lump in her throat, Jo lifted the stone and gazed, mesmerized, into it.
“Flinn,” she whispered, hoarsely. “You are in this gem, aren’t you?”
Her words were answered only by silence.
Glancing from side to side, hoping no one had seen the precious stone she bore, Jo tucked the crystal inside her belt pouch. She’d worry about it tomorrow, after she’d had some sleep. Maybe she’d talk to Braddoc about it, she thought for a moment, but a suddenly spasm of fear clenched her heart. Braddoc would insist on giving the treasure to the baroness, who would imprison it—the heart of Flinn—in a glass case for all the world to see. No, Jo thought. I will keep it a secret, my silent, constant communion with Flinn. Nodding, she headed down the alley, up the stairs, and into the hallway running the length of the inn.
At the seventh door on her left, Jo stopped and listened through the plain pine door. She heard someone stirring. Good, she thought, Braddoc’s up and I won’t disturb him. Jo opened the door to the room she had planned to share with Braddoc. The castellan had given her money enough for two rooms, but Johauna was frugal to a fault after living so many years on the street.
Jo entered the small room just as Braddoc sat down on the only chair, situated by one of the two narrow beds. A curtainless window behind the dwarf let in a little light, supplemented by a candle on a table between the beds. From the look of the melted wax and the stubble remains of the candle, Jo knew the dwarf had been up the better part of the night. Braddoc looked at Jo and grunted a greeting, then turned to Brisbois.
The squire’s eyes shifted toward the man on the bed. Brisbois’s injuries had been dressed, Jo saw. His broken arm was in splints and a sling, and white strips of bandage nearly covered one side of Brisbois’s face. He was murmuring in his sleep, and his free hand jerked spasmodically. Jo set the battle-axe in the corner with Braddoc’s other things. She undid the harness and stretched her back, then rested the sword next to the bed along the far wall.
Jo sat down on the edge of Brisbois’s bed, but was careful not to touch the man. For some moments, she watched him sleep, then turned to Braddoc. The dwarfs good eye was on her.
Jo gave Braddoc a little smile. “I hope you didn’t have too hard a time bringing him back here by yourself.”
Braddoc snorted. He shook his head. “I’ve had the healer in. Brisbois’ll live, if that’s all right with you.” The dwarf stared at Jo.
The young woman’s eyes widened for a moment, and she turned away from Braddoc’s gaze. “That’s good ” she said quietly. “I’m sorry about how I acted. I want to do what Sir Graybow asked of us.” She turned back to the dwarf. “At least, that’s what I want to do now. Earlier tonight was a different matter.”
Braddoc looked at her and said slowly, “I don’t understand you, Johauna. I don’t.” He turned to the injured man, then reached out and tucked the blanket a little closer around Brisbois’s neck. Beside Braddoc, the candle on the table sputtered and went out. The room was bathed in the half light of the rising sun, and, moment by moment, the light grew in the tiny room. Jo felt it touch her face, and she closed her eyes against its caress.
The squire stood and then lay down on the other bed. She groaned as stiff muscles tried to loosen up. Gesturing at Brisbois, she said. “Is he able to ride in an hour?” she asked.
Braddoc stared at Jo and then said slowly, “Yes … but I think—”
“That’s all I want to know,” Jo said coldly. “That’s all I need to know.”
Chapter X
Not even the dreary, cloud-covered sky could dampen the mood of Squire Menhir as she approached the Castle of the Three Suns, Keeping her victorious smile tightly concealed, Johauna rode behind the young knight who had met them on the approach. She watched the gentle bobbing of the blue plume on his helmet as the knight’s stallion trotted toward the gate. Noting his arched back and broad shoulders, Johauna tried to sit as straight on Carsig as he sat on his horse.
“You’re as bad as Flinn,” Braddoc hissed tersely over her shoulder.
Jo glanced back at the dwarven warrior, riding stern and disgruntled astride his pony. “As good as Flinn, you mean,” she snapped with an indignant smile. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of the pathetic prisoner in the queue behind Braddoc. The man, slumped, shackled atop one of the pack mules. Sir Brisbois. He still holds his title, but not for long, Jo told herself. Vengeance tasted sweet. The very day after Sir Graybow had sent her out to retrieve Brisbois, she returned, her mission complete, her quarry broken and humbled—ready to talk. She would do the same to Verdilith, and Teryl Auroch. The spirit of Flinn would have its vengeance.
The knight at the head of the procession saluted the gate guards and continued on into the main entrance. Jo reined Carsig in for a moment, noting only then that she had been following the knight too closely. It was the excitement of the capture, she told herself, urging Carsig forward.
As the party passed through the gates, entering the slate-paved marketplace, the bustling crowds drew back to make room for them.
“Look! It’s Brisbois, the traitor!” a gray-haired beggar man said.
The cry drew the attention of a fabric merchant nearby, who strayed, incredulous, from his cart. “Never thought I’d see him rounded up!”
“The proud boy’s been humbled!” called a wiry cobbler from a small shop along the wall.
A cluster of peasant washerwomen drifted steadily toward the procession, whistling and whooping as they came.
The knight at the head of the parade tightened his hold on the reins of his steed, who was stamping nervously as the crowd converged.
“Look who done it, too!” the cobbler shouted, rushing forward now. “It’s Flinn’s girl!”
Jo reddened visibly at the remark, uncertain whether to be flattered or angered. But one of the washerwomen answered for her by slapping the cobbler in the face with a wet rag. “She’s not Flinn’s girl! She’s her own girl!”