Jo blinked in the sudden light. The sun was nearly straight overhead in a cloudless sky. The sheen of green from a swaying branch caught her attention. Why, she thought, it wasn’t just a dream! Spring is really here! The twittering she had heard earlier was the chirp of birds—thousands of birds. Jo saw blackbirds lining the tree branches above her, their trilling voices filling the air in a celebration of spring. The squire impulsively waved her arms above her head and shouted. The birds, silenced for a moment, abruptly took to the air. Their wing beats were nearly as loud as their singing had been. Almost as one, the entire flock swirled up from the branches and shot into the sky overhead. They descended almost immediately to other trees, farther off. A moment later, the woods again rang with the sounds of ten thousand bird voices.
Jo felt her lethargy leave her. The birds were an omen of healing, of repairing the damage that had been done. Jo stepped toward Karleah, who was sitting near the small campfire.
“Mornin’,” Karleah said tersely. “Or should I say good day?” The old woman’s brows lifted in mock disapproval. She turned back to the shirt she was mending.
“Blame it on your potion, Karleah,” Jo rejoined. She sat beside the wizardess and pulled off a chunk of the bread warming by the fire. Jo ate greedily, suddenly aware of how hungry she was.
The old woman grunted. She licked the thread attached to her needle and made a stitch or two before she asked, “You feeling better?” Karleah’s tiny, dark eyes were keen.
Jo met the woman’s gaze without flinching. “Yes,” she said slowly, “I’m ‘better.’ Healed, no—better, yes.”
“Take your time, girl,” Karleah said. The old woman reached out and awkwardly patted Jo’s hand. “You’re young, you’ll heal. I know that’s hard to swallow, but it’s the truth.”
Jo turned her eyes to the loaf of bread as she pulled off a second piece. She felt the muscles of her face constrict and harden. Yes, I’ll heal, she thought. I’ll heal the day I’ve made Verdilith pay for taking Flinn’s life. Aye, and Sir Brisbois and Teryl Auroch, too. They all had a hand in Flinn’s death. Sir Brisbois. Jo grimaced as she recalled the man who had brought about Flinn’s fall from grace, from the knighthood. That smug bastard will pay, just as dearly as the wyrm! Jo vowed.
The young squire added a stick to the fire, though it didn’t need it. She looked back at Karleah, suddenly aware the old woman had been watching her closely. Jo said calmly, “Where’s Braddoc and Dayin?”
“Went to tend the animals,” Karleah said. She tied a knot, then bit the thread off. She held up a rough shirt. “I declare, that boy is hard on clothes.” The old woman grabbed her staff and used it to stand. “They’ll be back soon. Finish that bite of food, will you? We’ve eaten already. Dayin found some tubers this morning in the softening ground.” Karleah grunted in pain suddenly. “I’m glad it’s finally spring. Winter’s hard on old bones… ”
Jo’s thoughts turned inward, and the sound of Karleah’s voice receded and joined that of the blackbirds’. The squire sat cross-legged before the fire and balanced Wyrmblight across her knees. Gently, reverently, she touched the silver blade, her fingertips barely grazing the four raised sigils. Eyeing a speck of dirt, Jo fished through her clothing to find a rag to wipe away the offending spot. The only thing suitable was a small cloth from her belt. Jo stroked the midnight-blue swath with reverence. It was a remnant of Flinn’s first tunic as a knight in the Order of the Three Suns. Flinn had torn up the tunic to bandage her wounds, but Jo pieced the strips together and restitched the three golden suns across the field of blue, the emblem of Penhaligon.
The young woman returned the cloth favor to her belt, tucking it in securely. She brushed away the dirt on the sword with her hands. Wyrmblight, Wyrmblight, she silently besought the sword. I will avenge Flinn’s death, but how? How? Have faith. The words echoed inside her soul. Have faith. Jo sighed and looked up.
Braddoc and Dayin were returning with the mounts. Jo’s horse Carsig, Braddoc’s long-legged ponies, and the horse Karleah rode were tied to a lead rein. The animals were tackled, ready to journey. Following without a lead came Fernlover, Flinn’s pack mule. Fernlover was braying, and the sound was heartbreaking. Poor thing, Jo thought suddenly. You miss Flinn, too. You know we’re getting ready to leave, and he still hasn’t come back.
The dwarf handed Dayin the rein, and Dayin tied the mounts to a nearby tree. They began nibbling at the new growth surrounding the campsite. Braddoc strode closer to Jo, who stood and faced him squarely.
“Is it time, Johauna?” Braddoc asked, his one good eye focused on Jo.
She nodded. “Yes,” she said steadily. Jo looked from Braddoc to Karleah and then to Dayin. She nodded again. “Yes, it’s time. We break camp and ride. We’ve a dragon to kill!” Her gray eyes glittered in the spring sunlight.
Johauna held on to Carsig’s rein and knelt beside the dwarf. When speaking with Braddoc Jo often preferred to be on his level. She looked the direction the dwarf pointed. The rugged Wulfholdes surrounded them like great black walls, threatening to close in. The last time Jo had traversed these hills, the ground had been white with treacherous ice and snow. Now touches of green crept through the gray here and there, masking the shale and flint that made up the backbone of the land.
“There,” Braddoc pointed. “That’s where the trail ended. The blood disappeared. Either Verdilith took to the air there, or else he changed into something so small I couldn’t follow his tracks.”
Jo stared up at the large hill directly ahead of them. Carsig snorted and shook his head, and she shushed the gelding. The hill was smoother, more rounded than most in the Wulfholdes, and there was a scraggly pine nearby. “You’re right,” she said slowly. “That is the hill we saw in the crystal the time we asked to see the dragon’s lair. But, Braddoc, I barely recognize it; I don’t think I would have if you hadn’t forewarned me.”
The dwarf nodded. “I know. What with spring here, I hardly recognize it either. I might not have if I hadn’t seen the hill almost a week ago, when it was still under winter snows.”
Jo looked at her friend and smiled. “Thank you for following the trail so promptly and not waiting for me,” she said quietly. “I wanted to come with you . .
Braddoc’s good eye flickered to the silver clasp he had given Jo for her hair the day they had met, then returned to Jo’s face. “You kept the vigil, Johauna,” he said huskily. “You did Flinn proud.”
The squire shook her head and turned back to the hill. “You’re sure there’s no entrance?”
Braddoc said adamantly, “As sure as I’m a fourth cousin twice removed from the King of Dwarves, I am.” Jo smiled at the warrior’s manner. He only invoked his remote tie to royalty when he was at his most resolute. “I tell you, Johauna, 1 searched every square foot of that hill and every hill for a mile around.” He shrugged. “I had nothing better to do, so I searched. There’s no passage large enough for a human or dwarf—let alone a dragon—to get through.”
“Then the dragon must shapechange each time to get into the lair, is that what you’re saying?” Jo asked suddenly. “That makes sense. We know Verdilith can change shape; we saw him change at the great hall in the castle. And Flinn told me once that Verdilith could change without even using magic—‘the damned Anointing of Immortal Alphaks,’ Flinn railed it.” Verdilith’s ability to change form had cost Flinn his honor, and his wife. “Are there smaller passages?” Jo asked.
Braddoc nodded. “Aye—more than just a few, too. I caught sign of a weasels entrance over to the east near the base of the hill.” Braddoc pointed at a small rock pile. “If the weasels hole winds all the way to the center of the lair, Verdilith could get in through there.”