years, and been a recluse for the last three.”
“What makes you think I’ll have trouble getting used to people again?”
She shrugged. “Only that I had trouble adjusting to a life without people. You might have the same problem, but in reverse.”
“Do you miss Specularum?” Flinn asked suddenly. It had never occurred to him that Jo might be homesick.
“I did, but not anymore.”
“And you don’t think I’ll adjust as easily as you did?” Flinn asked laughingly.
“I didn’t say that,” she responded. “I only wanted you to be aware of my thoughts. My only fear is that you will think things would be the way they used to be, and then discover that they’re not. You’ll need to readjust, that’s all.”
“And is that really your only fear?” Flinn asked slowly. He leaned near her. He wanted to make sure Jo harbored no lingering doubts about becoming his squire.
The girl looked at him sharply. Her hands were tightly clasped again. “No… there is one other fear I have.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Flinn’s peered into her eyes. “And what is that?” He lowered his voice, too, though he didn’t know why.
Jo didn’t look away. “My last fear is that Yvaughan will plead for your forgiveness.”
Flinn’s eyebrows knit. “Why should you fear that?”
“Because I’m afraid you will forgive her, and that she will once again mean to you what she used to,” Jo said in a small, tight voice. “Because, if that happens, you won’t need me to-to love you.” The last words were spoken in a broken whisper.
Flinn reached out and took both her hands in his. He gripped them hard. “Jo, Jo,” he murmured. “My feelings for… Yvaughan died a long time ago. My forgiving her-if indeed I do forgive her-won’t change how I feel about her now.”
Jo hung her head. “I think it might.”
Flinn touched her chin and tilted her face upward, but her eyes remained averted. Flinn waited. Finally she looked back at him. Her eyes were clouded, and he couldn’t discern her emotions. He moved as if to hold her, but something held him back. “Jo, dear,” he said, unaware that the endearment slipped out, “you are right. My feelings for Yvaughan might change, but too much time and pain have passed. I will never love her again.”
Jo bit her bottom lip. Flinn felt her hands tremble within his. He could only imagine what it cost her to say her next words. “Do you… do you think you could… love me-someday?” Her voice cracked.
Flinn tightened his grip even more and smiled wistfully. “Jo, my… my feelings for you are too new for me to understand just yet. I must regain my life-my soul-before I can have anything to offer you, or anyone else.” He released one hand and permitted himself to touch her cheek. “It’s not that I’m not tempted…” He shook his head. “It’s that I’m not sure I should.”
Jo took the hand touching her cheek and turned her head so that her lips rested against his palm. She kissed the inside of his hand, and he felt her tremble. She released his hand and nearly ran across the floor to the bedroom door. “Good night, Flinn,” she called over her shoulder without looking back.
Flinn stared at the dying fire. The girl worshiped him. She had from the very beginning, that much Flinn had known. But her feelings had escalated into something much deeper, and he wondered why he hadn’t stopped it. He should never have allowed that. A glowing log shifted position in the hearth, and Flinn used the poker to push it back in place. The fire snapped and hissed in return. “Would I have quelled Jo’s feelings if I had known?” he asked himself. His gaze darkened.
Johauna Menhir had turned his life completely around. She had believed in him wholeheartedly, despite his fall from grace as a knight. She had believed him a man worthy of knighthood; she had believed him honorable and courageous and good. He smiled grimly, shaking his head. Her faith was so groundless, and yet it was her faith alone that nourished his soul.
As the midnight hours slipped slowly by and the fire died completely, Flinn realized that he couldn’t have faced his past disgrace were it not for Jo. She had inspired him to look beyond his misery and petty spite to see that he was still, at heart, a good and honorable man.
Flinn sighed, scanning the elaborate runes that chased the flat of Wyrmblight. He had regained his honor and his courage, and he touched those two shining runes of the Quadrivial. His fingers slipped slowly past to the points of faith and glory. Jo had faith in him. Jo had complete and absolute faith in him. But he needed more than that. He needed to find his own faith in himself, and he needed the faith of the people, too. Confronting those who had wronged him seven years ago and righting that wrong would restore that faith, he was sure.
He picked up Wyrmblight and pointed the tip of it toward the ceiling. He stared down at the last stained sigil and said aloud, “Slaying Verdilith will bring me the fourth point of the Quadrivial: glory.”
The warrior returned the sword to his side and looked about the room, his eyes filled with a restless hunger. “And on that day, I shall once again be a true knight.”
Chapter XII
The crystal shattered, and Verdilith roared in frustration. The shards fell to the sandy floor, adding to the layer of crystalline fragments from other abelaat stones. The dragon flicked his tail angrily. A gold-spangled crown and an emerald scepter flew against the far wall of the lair. The crown crumpled on impact, and the scepter smashed a crack in the rock wall. Verdilith snorted, green fumes roiling from his nose.
The abelaat stones had grown unpredictable in their duration, fouling the dragon’s plans. “Worthless lackeys,” Verdilith growled, his voice rattling hollowly through the lair. He scratched one scaly cheek. “These stones are flawed! They should last hours, not minutes!” He punctuated the words with a thunderous slap of his tail and the cave rumbled like a great drum. The dragon hissed. Once he had watched Flinn for an entire night and day, whispering his magic words of despair over and over and filling Flinn with impotent rage. Previously, Verdilith could use the stones to plant evil thoughts and emotions into Flinn’s mind. The dragon’s seeds of fear and self-loathing had taken root and nearly turned Flinn’s soul black. “Now I can hardly even see him!” Verdilith roared, the sound reverberating through the cavern.
The dragon looked up at the twinkling ceiling far above. If only the woman hadn’t happened by. “Who is she?” he wondered to himself. “Who is this disruptor?” The abelaat’s attack on her had been most untimely-the tiny traces of spittle remaining in her system rendered her nearly impossible to observe through the crystals. And where Flinn was, she was nearby. Since the arrival of the woman, Verdilith had gained only brief, tantalizing glimpses of his most hated enemy. Now only one unshattered crystal remained in Verdilith’s hoard.
The wyrm shifted on his bed of gold and silver. Absently, he licked the coins and gems slipping through his front claws. One claw grasped a single large amethyst and squeezed. The gem shattered and Verdilith smiled hugely. He would be able to crush diamonds in not so many more years.
The dragon let his thoughts drift away to the latest, most disturbing glimpse he had seen through the crystal: Flinn held aloft a greats word and spoke of slaying Verdilith to regain glory.
“He evaded my trap,” the dragon seethed darkly, his sibilant voice echoing over the stone. “Those stupid orcs. I’ll have my revenge on them.” Thoughts of the orcs dispersed when Verdilith remembered Flinn’s shining sword. “Wyrmblight!” Verdilith seethed, a green cloud issuing between his teeth.
Something dug unpleasantly into the dragon’s side. He shifted his bulk on the treasure hoard and pulled out a silver urn. A leer of satisfaction flashed across his spearlike teeth as he looked at the now-crumpled item. Then, flicking the scrap away, he returned to his musings. “I should have killed Flinn the first time,” he roared. The old witch’s prophecy surfaced in his mind -One of you will die when next you meet. “Yes-and that one will be Flinn.”
But he had wanted Flinn’s death to be more than merely physical-he had wanted to kill the man’s very soul. How delicious it has been to corrupt Flinn’s honor from afar rather than simply bite him in two, Verdilith thought. He smiled. And how satisfying the man’s suicide would have been. The dragon slowly licked one claw. “But revenge takes many forms.”
Verdilith looked down at his last remaining abelaat crystal. He needed more. He slid to one corner of his lair,
