left the bam, he retrieved some tanned hides from a chest to make her a new shift.
The girl had grown restless in his absence. She had thrown back the covers and curled into a tight ball, her good arm stretched over her furrowed brow. Flinn wondered if she were dreaming about the attack and trying to defend herself. Carefully he returned her to a more comfortable position.
Johauna moaned in protest and pulled her good arm closer across her face.
An hour or so later Flinn felt the poultice; it had grown cold and needed to be replaced. He sat before the fire and returned both pots to the flames. As Flinn waited for the concoction to heat, he wondered about the abelaat. Why is it here? Did it attack Jo deliberately? Or is it after me? Flinn’s thoughts whirled. Who had released it into these woods? Johauna’s wounds bore testimony to the strangeness of the creature; the abelaat’s bite yielded a puncture wound from each of its eight canine teeth.
The mixture had grown suitably hot as had the tea, and Flinn repeated his ministrations. This time the girl seemed nearer consciousness; she struggled as he applied the steaming poultice. Flinn set his jaw, restraining her clawing hands as he fixed the new poultice and administered another cup of the tea.
Jo fell into a deep slumber, exhaustion written across her pale face. Rubbing the scratches Jo had left on his arm, Flinn began pacing the narrow confines of the cabin.
What am I supposed to do with this girl? he thought suddenly. Because I gave her pilgrim’s right, I’m now responsible for her? Then he remembered that it was he who had sent her after kindling. He sighed, dropping into his chair. The girl was awakening in him the old honorable principles he had once championed. Those selfless impulses ran counter to the baser instincts he had developed during his seclusion.
The girl stirred and moaned in her sleep then, her eyes fluttering in an effort to open. At last they did open, and her gray irises struggled to focus on him. She whispered a word, but her voice was too frail to hear. Approaching the bed, he leaned over her and coaxed her to speak a second time.
“Water,” came the hoarse whisper.
Flinn poured water into the tankard he had used for tea. Returning to the bed, he pulled Johauna into a sitting position and set the tankard to her lips. She drank thirstily. Jo sighed and fell asleep in his arms. He laid her back on the fun and then touched her throat gently. The fever had returned. He fetched a bowl of water and a soft rag and began sponging her body, taking special care around the injured shoulder. In the flickering firelight, he saw that the angry red streaks had spread farther across her skin.
Flinn pulled a few of the lighter furs over Jo, then wet the rag and wrung it out one more time. He draped it across Johauna’s throat in an attempt to cool her. Standing, he stretched his weary muscles, feeling the bones along his spine shift into place. Then he moved to the chair before the fire and began his lonely night’s vigil. He prayed to the Immortal Diulanna that the girl would live until morning.
The next day, Flinn stoked the fire in the cabin and looked at the girl lying in his bed. She still breathed, and in time her eyes opened.
“Flinn,” Jo said, her voice frail and labored, “tell me about the Quadrivial…”
Flinn hesitated; the Quadrivial was a code he had failed, a way of life to which he was exiled. Still, he couldn’t refuse her request, not when he had-however indirectly-caused her pain. He didn’t know how much she knew of his fall from grace and his banishment from the Order of the Three Suns, but perhaps he could tell her about the Quadrivial without going into either of those. He fervently hoped so.
Flinn settled himself on the side of the bed and looked down at the pale face before him. Jo’s gray eyes were luminous in the light, and dark shadows of pain circled them.
“As I told you,” Flinn began wearily, “the Quadrivial is the path to righteousness. All knights who are true and noble, good and virtuous, follow the Quadrivial. The path of the Quadrivial leads to four comers-four points of truth. The path is never-ending, and not all knights reach every corner. But these are the goals all true knights strive for. The first point is honor; without honor a knight can never attain the other three points of truth.”
“You fell from honor, didn’t you? The ‘Fall of Flinn’ says you did.” The quiet words cut into Flinn’s heart.
His voice was husky and hesitant. “Aye, I fell from honor, Jo. But the story as you know it is wrong.”
Jo’s breath caught short. “I never believed it. Not for one moment. You wouldn’t deny mercy on the battlefield, not even to an ogre! Surely the baron’s court was wrong, and the people, too!” She gasped for breath and her eyes clenched tight.
Flinn’s heart contracted in pain. For the first time in seven years, he opened his mouth in his own defense.
“The ogre never sought mercy, and I killed him as a matter of course. But a knight who wanted to tarnish my reputation accused me upon our return to the castle, claiming I had denied mercy. Unfortunately, some people chose to believe him-” most notably Yvaughan, Flinn thought bitterly “-and I left the order in disgrace.”
“Why didn’t they believe you when you told them the truth?”
“I-” Flinn swallowed his words. I don’t need to tell her anything, he thought suddenly. But some impulse drove him on. “I didn’t argue my case strongly enough for two reasons. The first, I’ll admit, was pride. I didn’t think the court would believe the other knight over my reputation-I was near to attaining the fourth point of righteousness. The council wouldn’t have believed the knight, either, if it hadn’t been for someone else’s testimony.”
“Whose?”
Flinn paused, gall sharp and bitter on his tongue. “My wife’s.” He swallowed hard. “The second reason why I didn’t tell the truth was because Yvaughan, my wife, sided with the other knight. My telling the truth would have harmed the people’s respect in her, for she is niece to old Baron Arturus Penhaligon. I… I didn’t want that on my conscience.” Flinn shifted his gaze to the floor, then turned back to the girl. Jo doesn’t need to know I held my tongue out of love for Yvaughan, he thought.
The girl’s eyes regarded him thoughtfully, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. At last she spoke, her words hushed, “I believe you, Flinn.”
“Yes. Well,” Flinn faltered, gratitude a long-forgotten emotion to him. “The… ah… second point of righteousness that a knight must attain is courage. Without courage, a knight can’t battle evil in the world. Without courage, he can’t prove himself worthy of the other two points of the Quadrivial.”
“Have you always had courage, Flinn?” The girl struggled to keep her eyes open. Flinn planned to stop talking the moment they closed.
“Always, except for once,” Flinn responded, then grimaced at his immodesty. All his life he had been courageous, knowing what needed to be done and doing it. Until the day of your fall, his inner voice mocked him. You couldn’t face Yvaughan. He quelled the voice. “Only once did I fear a beast so much as to flinch from challenging it. But I did confront Verdilith.”
“Verdilith?” The name caught the girl’s attention. “The great green dragon who’s back in the territory? The same one from the tale?”
“Yes, the same,” Flinn said wryly. “I was much younger when I faced Verdilith, and I was scared. But following the path to courage doesn’t mean a knight can’t be afraid-only that he must overcome that fear, as I did.” Flinn touched the scars on his face. “This is my badge of courage, the result of confronting my fears and facing Verdilith.”
Jo said slowly, “The merchant in Bywater spoke of a prophecy…”
Flinn looked away for a moment and closed his eyes. He blinked, breathing deeply. “There’s a mad wizardess who lives in the hills near the Castle of the Three Suns. Karleah Kunzay, the wizardess, says she dreamed of the fight between Verdilith and me. She prophesied that the next time we meet, one of us will die.”
“Is that why you never fought Verdilith again?” Jo asked slowly, her voice trembling. Flinn studied her face, knowing she feared his response. His answer could shatter her image of him. He felt strangely humbled.
“No. To be quite honest, no,” Flinn answered. “I don’t believe the prophecy. I never have. Verdilith was badly injured in our fight, and he flew off. I thought he was mortally wounded, but he’s returned to Penhaligon in the last year. Green dragons are notoriously slow to heal.” Flinn smiled at Jo, unconsciously seeking her belief in him again. “No, Jo, I fought Verdilith only once, and only once it will be, but not because of the prophecy.”
“Why don’t you go after the green? Like Baildon asked you to?”
Flinn shook his head. “Hunting dragons is a job for knights, not hermits. It’s the order’s duty to protect
