and bit her lip. Obviously Flinn knew the trick.
Flinn coaxed the bird-lion once more, this time pulling on the feathers surrounding one tender ear opening. Ariac stood immediately. The griffon’s lion feet nervously scratched the mud and ice of By water’s only road, and his front claws reluctantly closed upon the leather balls. Flinn leaped into the saddle. He reached forward, tore the muzzle off, and grabbed the mule’s lead rein all in one smooth motion.
He turned to Jo and nodded once, curtly. “My thanks, girl.”
“The name’s Jo-” The rest of her name went unspoken. The man of legend had turned his animals around without a second glance.
Dejected, Jo sat down on the bench outside Baildon’s Mercantile. Flinn’s tall form slowly disappeared down the street. Sighing, Jo nibbled a little more from her loaf, looked at the remaining half, and then prudently packed it away in her bag. She looked down the muddy road once more, listening to horses break pockets of ice to find the water below.
Well, Johauna, she thought, what’s it to be? You have one meal-maybe two if you stretch it. Is it back to Specularum? Her thoughts grew grim at that prospect, and she shook her head. No, no, that won’t do. You set out to do something, and it’s time you did it. And it’s no use to stay here and drum up work, either. No. On to the Castle of the Three Suns. Flinn the Mighty seems to be heading in that general direction. Perhaps he will answer some questions if you catch him.
Jo slung her bag across her shoulder and proceeded down Bywater’s only street. Opposite the mercantile stood a livery, with a narrow inn on one side and a blacksmith’s shop on the other. The smith looked up from the draft horse he was shoeing as Johauna went by. He nodded cordially, his hands holding a tong and a hammer. Not a bad little village, Jo thought, remembering the farrier’s kindness last night in letting her sleep inside his shop in return for a little cleaning.
Next she passed ten or so houses, each with identical thatched roofs and limed walls. Near the edge of the village stood a stone-walled church dedicated to the worship of any Immortal. Jo was tempted to stop and pray, but Odin would understand if she pressed on after Flinn. Odin would be the first to follow his dreams rather than pray about them.
Sharp rocks and jags of ice poked Johauna’s feet through the shoes she wore, and she slowed her pace a little. She came to a stop altogether at the outskirts of the village, where a red and purple tavern proclaimed itself the Will-o’-the-Wisp. In front of the tavern, a smartly armored elf maiden was cautiously approaching her hippogriff, trying to calm the steed.
Jo had handled such creatures before at the hostler’s. This particular hippogriff was of excellent conformation and unusual coloration. Jo stepped forward, her eyes locked on the creature. The feathers of its forequarters glistened whitely in the midmorning sun. Just behind the forelegs, the feathers slowly transformed into a thick coat of roan hair. The merging of feather and hair produced a wide, solid band of fiber, which served as a protective blanket under the saddle and rider.
Suddenly a hand clamped on Jo’s shoulder. Jo reached for the tail at her belt, a low growl instantly on her lips. But the tail was in her bag, and she landed flat on her back in the icy mud.
“It was you! You!” The surly, puffy-eyed youth straddled her, slapping her face hard. “What magic did you pull, coward? I’ll show you!”
Jo had learned a thing or two about brawling during her years in Specularum. She crossed one arm over her face to protect it, then punched the youth’s loins. The boy screamed and scrambled off Jo. He doubled over in pain and lay in the mud, tears in his eyes and curses on his breath. Jo stood up, brushing the cold mud off her clothes.
“That’s hardly fair fighting, miss,” came a lilting, melodic voice. Startled, Jo turned around to see the warrior elf astride her hippogriff Sunlight glinted off her silvery armor, pale white hair, and violet eyes. On her polished breastplate lay an amulet radiating a faint green aura. The maid saluted Jo with a mailed hand and smiled serenely.
Jo found it impossible not to smile in return. She had always loved the elven race, thinking it by far the loveliest to inhabit her world. Specularum catered primarily to humans, but a few elves had crossed her path before. She counted herself lucky anytime they actually spoke to her.
“No, it’s not fair, good warrior,” Jo said as graciously as she could. “But he deserved nothing less.” Jo glowered at the boy, who could only grimace in return.
The elf maid laughed. “You are quite right. I saw his churlish attack.” The maid saluted once more and said, “May the Immortals favor you with good fortune. Good day.”
“Go with joy,” Jo replied. She waved when the elf lightly tapped her steed and it leaped into the air.
Jo turned to the youth, who was on his knees. She pointed at him with two fingers. “You!” she barked. “If you follow me any more you’ll get more of the same! Got it?” She stomped past him, splashing icy water from a mud puddle onto him.
Jo shook her head and continued out of town, forgetting the youth completely. Her mind was intent on catching Flinn. She didn’t think he could travel fast with the griffon and the heavily laden mule, and she was confident she could catch up soon. When she did, she would find out from Flinn the Mighty himself just how to become a knight at the Castle of the Three Suns. She headed toward the foothills surrounding Bywater.
After almost an hour’s climb, Johauna began to doubt whether she could overtake Flinn. The mountainous terrain had become dry, hard, and rocky. Although the hostler had taught her the rudiments of tracking on the rare occasions when an animal escaped, the ground yielded not even the slightest clue to follow. Even the snow had thinned away to nothing. Jagged stones bit into the soles of her feet. Twice she had slipped and fallen on loose shale, scraping her hands and knees. The second time it happened, Jo contemplated using her blink dog’s tail to make multiple jumps and cover more ground. But continuous blinking tended to make her ill, and she wasn’t at all sure which direction to proceed.
The foothills grew steeper and harder to traverse, and the shale-strewn ground gave way to soft soil and snow. Jo soon found sign of Flinn’s passage, and she doggedly followed the trail. Ahead, thorny bushes covered the land in thick clumps. Jo lost time trying to walk around the copses rather than through them. At last, she resigned herself to following the animals’ trail, hoping they had broken through the growth so she wouldn’t have to. But the brush still clawed and bit at her.
High noon came and went without Flinn resting the animals or setting up a midday camp. She had hoped to overtake them at lunch so she could charm her way into a bit of food. She had already eaten the last of the flattened pumpkin loaf, and she was still famished. Her thoughts drifted off to the last real meal she had eaten.
Jo had stowed away on a river caravan heading north from Specularum. All had gone well until the day before yesterday, when the captain discovered her in the cargo hold-two hungry, cramped days into the journey. He tossed her overboard into the icy river. Cursing her ill fortune, Johauna swam to shore and hastily built a fire to dry her clothes and warm her blue skin. Afterward, she wandered into the wilderness, intent on reaching the Castle of the Three Suns, even on foot.
She spent two hungry days walking along the wooded banks of the Castellan River. Then she smelled what was surely the world’s most delicious cooking. She stopped to investigate.
One hundred paces from the river lay a deserted camp. In the center of the camp, a fire burned beneath a bubbling cookpot. Jo crept up behind a nearby lean-to and gazed into the pot. Pieces of chicken boiled merrily away in a thick, creamy sauce, along with vegetables and dumplings. A golden loaf of bread sat warming on a rock by the fire. Jo approached the camp warily. No one was in sight, but still she remained hidden.
Her lips wetted in anticipation. She had never stolen before, not even when the temptation had been strong and the moment opportune, like when the drunken lord had accosted her and she bit off his ear instead of taking his purse. But hunger softened her scruples. She couldn’t wait for the cook to return to beg a bite, so she used her blink dog’s tail to appear by the fire. She eagerly spooned the stew onto the waiting plate and tore a chunk from the loaf before blinking away.
The meal was delicious, though she was sure that hunger had flavored it well. Briefly she wondered why someone should leave a camp so unguarded, but she gave it no further thought. Jo wolfed down the food in moments and then debated whether to return the plate and spoon. She told herself she wasn’t a true thief, licked the plate and spoon as dean as she could, and blinked back to the campfire. With any luck, the owner might not even notice the missing stew. Of course, she thought, eyeing the missing chunk of bread, she could only get so
