“What happens if your petition goes as planned?” Jo asked.
The warrior smiled. “Then we join the others in the hunt for a great green.” His eyebrows rose in anticipation.
Five days later, Jo and Dayin carried large, willow-handled baskets down the path to the stream. Their eyes searched the underbrush for redberries. The tart, juicy clusters of fruit kept well all through winter and only fell from the bush come spring. It was one of the few foods that could be harvested in wintertime, and Flinn had suggested they gather the berries in preparation for leaving. They had left Flinn exercising Ariac in the corral. The warrior thought Ariac was coming along well and should be ready again for travel in another day or two.
After a short walk, Jo and Dayin discovered a large break of redberry bushes. Picking the berries was easy because they grew in thick clusters that readily broke from the branches. Redberries liked lowlands, however, which meant that the terrain surrounding the bushes was rough and difficult to traverse. Jo resorted to using her blink dog’s tail to reach some of the more inaccessible bushes, even crossing the stream via the tail. She told Dayin to pick the berries on the outskirts of the marshy area that bordered the stream.
Jo’s thoughts turned inward. She was worried about Flinn. She applauded his desire to confront the council and seek reinstatement as a knight, but she also knew that he was not the man he had been seven years ago. He had become a recluse, a man unused to the ways of men and women. She wondered if he would regret losing his solitude once he became a knight again. Jo smiled. She had absolutely no doubt that the council would reinstate Flinn. None whatsoever.
Jo looked up, seeking the boy. “Are you finished, Dayin?” she called. “My basket’s full.”
“Mine, too, Jo!” the boy answered.
Jo used her tail to blink back across the stream and handed Dayin her basket. She had prudently thought to conserve trips, bringing along the buckets and the ash yoke to gather water. Jo decided against using the tail to blink to the center of the stream; she had used it several times this morning, and she felt the familiar fatigue she always did when she overworked the magic. She filled the buckets with water as quickly as she could, then hooked them to the yoke and settled it on her shoulders.
“Can you carry both baskets, Dayin?” she asked. At his nod, she gestured for him to start up the steep hill.
The pair made the return trip slowly, for the path was icy in some spots and filled with snow in others. They kept their eyes on the trail, trying to find the best footholds. Johauna grunted under her load, but she was unwilling to leave a bucket and have to return for it. Dayin, meanwhile, was struggling with the two large baskets of berries. They were breathing hard and making so much noise that they didn’t hear the sounds coming from the encampment until they crested the hill.
They were unprepared for the sight that met their eyes: the cabin was in blazes. Before they could even take in the devastation of their home, they saw Flinn being strangled by a knight clad in armor and a dark blue tunic. Flinn gasped for air, his face turning purple as he tried to pull the mailed grip from his throat.
Flinn had breathed a sigh of relief when Jo and the boy left to pick redberries. He had found himself tongue-tied around the two of them, growing more taciturn than even his usual wont. But Johauna, too, had been strangely silent the past few days. Dayin, surprisingly, had not. He had talked about the nearly two years he had spent alone in the woods, telling of his animal friends, his daily forages for food, and his many brushes with death.
But now the talkative child was gone, and Jo with him. Flinn sighed again, planting his feet in the center of the corral and leaning back upon the lunge rein. At the other end of the rein, Ariac trotted, the scars on his chest rippling as he did. Flinn turned slowly, letting Ariac move in a large circle around him. The griffon’s muscles seemed to be healing well, and his old fighting spirit had returned.
Ah, Ariac! he thought, a little wistfully. How sad it is that you have never flown, and how sad that I haven’t either. He remembered finding the ungainly little fledgling at the bottom of a cliff. It was half-starved and its wings broken beyond repair. Even the griffon’s parents had given Ariac up for dead, an atypical act for griffons. Flinn had carried the feebly squawking creature home strapped to the back of Fernlover.
Flinn smiled, remembering when Ariac, then a little older, had tried to attack Fernlover. The old mule soundly kicked him. To Flinn’s knowledge, Ariac had never tried to attack Fernlover again. Flinn was pleased with the griffon’s restraint, but he still muzzled the bird-lion when approaching horses or their kin.
Flinn whistled to the winged creature, and Ariac pranced toward his master eagerly. The leather balls beneath the griffon’s front claws produced puffing sounds against the packed snow. Ariac squealed and nibbled at the warrior’s pockets, seeking a tidbit of dried meat. Flinn fished it out for him and then left the corral for the barn, where he had left his sword and whetstone. He intended to spend some time now sharpening the blade. He also grabbed a piece of elk-hide to rewrap the blade’s hilt—the grip was beginning to fray. Flinn retrieved the items, then started walking back across the yard toward the cabin. Idly he rubbed the stone against the edge of his blade, whistling some half-forgotten court tune. Ariac screeched and Flinn looked up.
A fully armored knight leading a stout warhorse barred Flinn’s way. The man wore a midnight-blue tunic emblazoned with three golden suns. Instantly Flinn was certain it was the same man he had seen watching the battle with the abelaat. He dropped the whetstone and elkhide and readied his sword.
The knight removed the covered helmet from his head, and looped it over the pommel of his saddle.
“Brisbois!” Flinn gasped.
“One and the same, Flinn, old man,” Brisbois rejoined, an insincere smile gracing his thin lips.
“What are you doing here?” Flinn raised his sword slightly, determined to keep up his guard. As well as instigating the treachery that brought Flinn’s downfall, Brisbois had equalled Flinn at swordplay. Flinn had no doubt that the man could defeat him now, for Brisbois doubtless practiced daily against the other knights. Flinn’s only challenge recently had been Jo.
Brisbois spread his hands expansively, as if making a friendly gesture, but Flinn noted that the knight’s scabbard tab was undone. His sword could be drawn in an instant. “Now, Flinn, is that any way to treat an old—” Brisbois smiled, his pointed canines gleaming “—comrade? I was in the region and thought I’d drop in.”
“Have your say, Brisbois, and let’s be done with it,” Flinn shot back.
Brisbois bowed stiffly. “If that’s the way you feel about it, Flinn, so be it. I bid you good day.” The knight casually put his helmet back on, moved to the left side of his roan horse, and climbed into the saddle.
Flinn looked past Brisbois and stiffened. His cabin door stood open. Flinn hadn’t left the cabin door opened, and Jo and Dayin left before him. Then Flinn saw a wisp of smoke come through the open doorway, followed by a lick of flame.
“You bastard,” Flinn said through clenched teeth. He leaped toward Brisbois just as the knight applied his spurs to the horse. Flinn reached up, curled his fingers around the armor’s neck opening, and pulled savagely.
Flinn and Brisbois fell to the ground heavily, the horse cantering off toward the barn. Flinn rolled lightly to his feet. Holding his sword before him, he waited for Brisbois to stand. A snarl spread across Flinn’s lips, and his heart pounded angrily. Twice his hunger for revenge drove him forward to attack before Brisbois had risen, and twice he backed away.