The knight clenched his fists, noting the strength in his hands. His arms felt stronger than they had in a very long time, perhaps stronger than they had ever been. He glanced at his body, his chest, his thighs; everything was smooth and strong, as though he were a statue freshly chiseled by a master sculptor.
All his scars of battle were gone.
With some effort he stood, noting only then the shadowy trees that towered in a ring about him. The ground beneath his feet crackled and broke, the only sound in this strange place of flickering light. He saw that he stood upon a burned-out pyre of wood and realized this was probably the same wood used to burn his mortal body. He was not surprised to discover that his soul had form, a perfect form of which his body was only a crude simulacrum. And then, with inhuman calm, he knew where he was.
The Realm of the Dead.
Whatever he was doing here, and wherever he was to go would certainly be revealed in time.
As he peered more intently into the flames, Flinn saw one other figure in the clearing. Johauna Menhir. She knelt, frail and fearful, upon the ground, Wyrmblight clutched loosely to her side. She was more beautiful and more graceful than Flinn had noticed with mortal eyes. The knight stood for what he thought must have been a long time, staring at the form of the woman he loved. She was more perfect here than in his memory, and his passions raced the longer he stared. He knew that these were the first feelings he had had since death. He stepped off his grave to embrace her.
Johauna’s image was instantly dispelled as the fires about him spread in a roaring rush that engulfed the whole world. Johauna was gone, the trees, the sky … only the ceaseless flames remained. For a moment Flinn felt rage and pain, but he quickly cooled his feelings. The land of the dead had its own laws. Though he did not feel them yet in his thoughts, his heart knew they would be revealed.
In Johauna’s place, a perfectly spherical boulder as high as Flinn’s waist appeared, a primitive spear thrust clean through its width. It was a perfect stone, and a perfect spear, and the knight recognized the symbol of his most favored Immortal patron.
Diulanna, Patroness of Will, beckoned from the flames in the distance. Flinn, naked, strong, pure in spirit and body, walked toward her.
Karleah came out of the tent and nodded coolly at Braddoc. The dwarf ducked through the flap and looked at Jo’s sleeping form. Braddoc had carried Jo into one of the tents and laid her on the sleeping furs, then Karleah had undressed Jo and made sure she was sleeping peacefully. The dwarf, however, mistrusted Karleah’s magical powders and ministrations and was determined to check on Jo himself. Braddoc knelt now by Jo’s bedroll and pushed a straggling lock of hair from her eyes. He smiled.
For some reason, it pleased him that her hair color so closely matched his. Johauna’s was just a shade darker than his red mane.
The dwarf tucked a wolf skin a little closer around Jo’s shoulders. His expression grew grim when he heard the girl moan a little. He slid Wyrmblight within her reach and set her hand lightly on the hilt. Braddoc fancied the girl’s face smoothed a little. In her condition, he thought, she won’t be able to lift the blade, let alone injure herself with it. With a final nod, he turned and left the tent.
Karleah and Dayin looked at him expectantly. “Is she settled?” the old woman asked, her voice neutral.
Braddoc nodded, then joined the others at the fire. Dayin sat at Karleah’s feet. He was sorting a number of dried twigs, some of which still held leaves and berries. Part of his lessons with the witch, Braddoc assumed. “Yes, she’s settled,” Braddoc said flatly. He shook his head. “Poisoning her like that wasn’t such a good idea. I think she’s having nightmares.”
The old woman frowned, then shrugged. “Of course she’s having nightmares; the powder only guarantees sleep, not sweet dreams. But Jo needs to rest. I don’t think she’s slept any since Flinn’s death.”
“Will she be any better in the morning, Karleah?” Dayin asked softly. His young face puckered with worry.
Karleah touched the boy’s shaggy hair briefly. “I think so, dear,” she said in a gentle voice Braddoc had never heard from her. The old hag has a heart after all, he thought. Karleah continued, “Jo placed too many of her hopes and dreams on Fain Flinn. She would have discovered that in time—if only she’d had time. But we’ll help her learn how to find new dreams for herself.”
“How long will she sleep, do you think?” Braddoc asked. He pulled out a whetstone and began sharpening his battle-axe. The edge was already keen, but sharpening the blade again gave the dwarf something to do.
Karleah squinted up at the midafternoon sun. “All day today and through the night, I suspect—perhaps longer,” she answered.
Braddoc’s only response was to grunt. He flicked his thumb across the battle-axe and smiled, well pleased with his work. He almost wished something other than wolves would dare return to these woods. But the terrible battle that had been fought between dragon and man had frightened away all creatures, and it would be some time before they would return.
Karleah pointed at a wrapped bundle near one of the tents and said to Dayin, “Let’s try again, boy.”
Silently Dayin retrieved the bundle and unwrapped it at Karleah’s feet. Inside were nearly a dozen wands. All were handsomely crafted, adorned with glittering gems and made of rare, precious metals. All were magical, inscribed with both ancient and recent runes of powers.
And not a one worked.
Verdilith had brought the wands with him in preparation for meeting Flinn, Karleah surmised, but for some reason all the magic had been leached from them. Braddoc frowned. The only logical explanation was that Verdilith hadn’t known the wands were drained when he brought them to the glade. The other obvious answer, that there was something about the glade that negated magicks, had been ruled out by Karleah two days ago. She had tried to use her own spells and magical items to reenchant the wands, but they would not hold the magic.
Dayin picked out a slender wand of silver embellished with mottled turquoise. “Try this one, Karleah,” he suggested. “Let’s see if we can enchant this one.”
Braddoc glanced over with little interest. The workmanship on this particular wand had not captured his fancy, for the silver was crudely cast. “She tried that one the day before yesterday, Dayin,” Braddoc said gruffly. “If you’re intent on being a wizard like Karleah, you’ll have to learn to be more observant of the little details.” He was being pedantic, he knew, but Braddoc was hoping to goad the boy. Dayin’s passivity rankled the dwarf. He blamed Karleah for the child’s behavior—behavior Braddoc thought was far too calm.
Dayin turned to the dwarf. “If you remember Karleah trying to use it, what did she do?” Dayin asked, a little testily. The boy’s tanned nose wrinkled. Good, thought Braddoc. Get mad; don’t be so sweet!
“Why, that I don’t recall,” Braddoc said smoothly, “but I do remember the outcome: nothing!” He laughed abruptly, pleased with his little joke.
Karleah smirked at Braddoc. “Harrumph!” she muttered caustically. She turned to Dayin and said, “Pay no attention to him, boy. Dwarves don’t know magic … or humor. Now, let’s try this wand of yours once more.”
The old wizardess held the wand before her and began murmuring an incantation. His attention pulled from the battle-axe, Braddoc watched a scene he had witnessed many times the past few days. Beside Karleah, Dayin began a counterchant. His voice blended with Karleah’s, and the sound swelled and filled the air of the glade. The wizardess’s bony fingers hovered above the wand and traced invisible runes in the air. Dayin pulled powders and other items from the little pouches Karleah had given him and dusted the wand—all to no avail.