“I don’t understand,” the crone muttered, her dark eyes snapping. “I just don’t understand. We’ve established that all the wands in this glade are no longer magical, but that doesn’t explain why I can’t enchant them!” Karleah scratched her chin. “I’ve enchanted empty wands before—even some of my own, now that I think about it.” The old woman’s bushy, peppered brows knitted.
“Is there something wrong with the wands themselves, Karleah?” Dayin asked, staring at the silver item the wizardess had dropped.
Karleah shook her head. “No, they’re fine, for the most part. Oh, a few were trampled in the fight, of course, but most of the wands are perfectly formed—they should serve as fine new vessels for magic. All I need to do is enchant them!”
Braddoc raised one brow and cut in, “Maybe you’re not a good enough mage, old hag.”
Karleah turned on the dwarf and hissed, “Not good enough!” The woman’s voice rose to a shriek. “Not good enough? Why, I’ll show you ‘not good enough’! ” Karleah pushed back one sleeve of her nondescript gray robe, and Braddoc dove for his shield. The dwarf managed to raise it only an instant before a flash of blue light struck the shield and exploded into tiny sparks.
After the last fizzle sounded, Braddoc peered over the shield toward Karleah and Dayin. The crone’s expression was mixed, telling him nothing, and the boy was frowning in disapproval as usual. Braddoc turned the shield over and waved away the last of the smoke. He saw with a measure of satisfaction that Karleah had missed the center of the shield. “We’ll count that as one for me, old crone,” he jeered.
Her ancient features flexing, Karleah waved vaguely toward the shield, and a blue light from her fingertip shone over a blackened scorch mark, “Mark’s closer to the center than to the edge. My point.”
“It’s a tie!” Braddoc protested, pointing out that the latest scorch mark rested squarely on the circular line that divided the iron hub from the wooden rim. Three fainter black marks touched the inner circle of metal, while only two marked the outer wood.
“It’s a tie?” Karleah replied, incredulous. “Ties go to me, eh?”
Braddoc shook his head. “I think not, hag. Ties belong to the dodger. That makes it three to three.” The dwarf shook his head again and laughed. “I just pray one of these days you don’t really miss, Karleah!”
The wizardess sniffed haughtily and then said, “The day I miss, Braddoc, is the day you forget to dodge!” Her black eyes twinkled at the dwarf suddenly, taking away some of the sting.
Dayin broke in, his voice sharp with concern. “I don’t think you two should play this game,” he said urgently. His summer-sky blue eyes flickered between the dwarf and Karleah. “Someone’s going to get hurt.”
“No one’s going to get hurt,” Braddoc rejoined, annoyed at the boy. “Karleah and I both know what we’re doing. Besides, it’s useful practice for me to stay in shape as a fighter. Though, truth to tell—” Braddoc’s good eye winked at Karleah “—the first time the hag took a potshot at me I was a little surprised!”
Dayin glanced at the wand he was holding, his brow wrinkling with anger. Come on, boy! Braddoc thought. Let it out! Show us your anger; show us you’re alive! When Dayin did nothing more than purse his lips, Braddoc frowned. Same reaction as always, Braddoc thought. The boy had plenty to be angry about: his father had maliciously abandoned his young son, he’d had to survive for two years in the wilderness, and only a few weeks ago he discovered his father was the evil mage Teryl Auroch. Even one of these events would send Braddoc on a tirade, he knew, but Dayin always contained his anger.
The boy was faultlessly useful in camp and always pleasant and conciliatory. Braddoc suspected that Dayin blamed himself for his father’s leaving and thus tried to remain as unobtrusive as possible. Perhaps Dayin would not risk losing his temper for fear the others would also abandon him. Whatever the cause, the boy’s manner grated on Braddoc’s nerves, and the dwarf deliberately tried to provoke the boy on more than one occasion. So far, nothing had cracked the child’s resolve.
Dayin held up the wand. “Karleah, you said the wands were drained of magic. I’d say it’s more than drained. They’ve been altered so that they can no longer hold magic, as if every spark of enchantment had been removed,” Dayin conjectured. His young blond brows knitted in imitation of Karleah’s bushy gray-black ones. Braddoc stifled a laugh.
Karleah nodded sagely. “I’m afraid that’s the conclusion I’ve come to, too, Dayin.” She shrugged. “Whatever did it must be powerful indeed. I’ve never run across a spell that could do that!”
“What do you propose to do with them?” Braddoc asked, eyeing one particular wand that had caught his attention with its chased gold filigree set with emeralds that shone in the sunlight.
Again the old woman shrugged. “They’re useless to me. We can bring them back to the Castle of the Three Suns, but the mages there are mere bunglers next to me.”
Braddoc raised a brow at Karleah’s statement but wisely chose to say nothing. He never timed his taunts of the wizardess too closely; he was well aware her magic missiles were of a low-key variety, and he didn’t want to push her to anything more powerful.
Karleah continued, “We’ll find out what’s what at the dragon’s lair. I’m sure of it.” She turned to Braddoc. “If you’ve really found the hill we saw in the crystal, dwarf, then I can find us a way in, even if you couldn’t.”
Braddoc drew the whetstone across the edge of his battle-axe one last time before he looked at Karleah. “I found it, all right, but like I said—” the dwarf shook his head “—there’s no entrance to the lair. None whatsoever.” The crone’s faced crinkled into myriad wrinkles as she suddenly grimaced. “Leave that to me.” Her black eyes glittered in the setting sun.
Chapter II
Johauna awoke late the next morning, feeling sluggish. A strange, twittering sound had awakened her, surrounding her and lifting her from her dreams. She pushed the sound away, unwilling to discern its source. Flinn is dead, she thought, and I’m alive. I’m alive to avenge his death, and avenge it I will. Her teeth clenched, then her hand wandered across the furs until she felt the cold, comforting steel of Wyrmblight. She could hear someone moving about outside the tent, and she knew it was time to join her comrades.
Jo sat up in the furs and looked around the dark canvas tent she had shared with Karleah during their journey through the Wulfholdes. From one tent pole, the old wizardess had hung several knapsacks and bags, brimming with smaller bags, vials, and boxes. Jo swore Karleah must have brought every herb, dried relic, and powdered substance she possessed. It had taken Jo a while to get used to the pungent aroma. Sometimes the odors invaded her sleep and gave her strange dreams, though last night’s dreams were surely caused by the drug Karleah had given her in the stew.
Rubbing her eyes, Jo threw back the furs and dressed herself, the cold air speeding her movements. She tugged on her boots. They were finely crafted of heavy burgundy leather, and they were a source of pride to the poor orphan girl from Specularum. Jo stroked the silver buckles as she tightened the clasps running up the sides. She remembered being given the boots, along with her other clothing, at the Castle of the Three Suns. A faint smile flickered across Jo’s face. The young woman had teasingly displayed her new boots to Flinn in their rooms at the castle, and she remembered now the warm, admiring glance he’d given her.
“Stop it, Jo,” the young woman whispered aloud. Don’t torture yourself. Flinn’s dead, and your memories of him must be, too—at least for a while. You can’t survive if every little thing reminds you of him. Jo fastened the clasps of the other boot hurriedly, struggling to keep her thoughts from Flinn. She stood quickly, picked up Wyrmblight, and left the tent.