Jo sat close to the fire, her front too hot and her back too cold, despite the fur wrapped around her shoulders. “I wish you had let us camp in the valley, Braddoc, or at least next to the woods,” she said petulantly as the wind howled through their camp again. The dwarf had insisted on camping at the rim of the valley in a stony, barren plain. Although the snow lay shallow on the ground, the wind whistled endlessly and chilled Jo to the bone.
“I told you before, I want to stay as far as possible from that woman, her trees, and her vines!” Braddoc snapped. “At least out here in the open she can’t hurt us.”
The young woman was too distracted to keep up the argument. Instead, she listlessly stabbed the fire’s embers with a stick. Braddoc sat at her side, drinking a cup of mead. Dayin had returned a while ago, eaten his meal, and was already asleep inside the tent Braddoc had supplied for Jo and Dayin to share. Flinn and the dwarf shared the other hastily erected tent.
“What do you suppose is going on down there?” Jo asked for the fourth time that evening.
“Same thing as I told you last time,” Braddoc said tersely. “Relax, Johauna. Flinn is with a friend-at least I think she’s supposed to be a friend-and he’ll return as soon as possible.” He sipped his drink and hummed a little beneath his breath. Jo usually found the bass rumble pleasant, but tonight she found it irritating.
“It’s just that tomorrow we head out for the Castle of the Three Suns,” she said. “What if Flinn doesn’t return? What if the witch does something to him?”
“I see it now,” the dwarf smiled, though not unkindly. “You’re not so much concerned about Flinn as you are about reaching the castle tomorrow. Aren’t you?”
Jo rubbed one of her hands. She broke the stick and threw the pieces on the fire. “You’re right, Braddoc. I’m worried about nothing. Flinn is with a friend, and they’re just talking about old times or whatever. He’ll be back soon and tomorrow we’ll-” Jo choked on her words, her flesh suddenly crawling. She could feel the hair on her neck stand on end. She looked at Braddoc, who glanced back at her curiously. Then very slowly, very carefully, Braddoc’s eyes shifted to the darkness behind Jo, and his eyes went wide.
The would-be squire touched the tail at her side and blinked fifteen paces away. Braddoc rolled aside, but he wasn’t quick enough. The space beside the campfire erupted into a flurry of dragon limbs and wings and teeth as Verdilith leaped from the shadows just beyond the fire’s flames. Giant jaws snapped where Jo had been only a moment before, but she was now beyond the dragon’s reach. A massive and scaly talon fastened around Braddoc, and the claws began to tighten. Struggling within the beast’s grip, Braddoc worked his battle-axe loose and ruthlessly hacked away at the claws.
The dragon stretched his neck toward Jo again, and this time he opened wide his jaws and breathed. But the young woman used the blink dog’s tail again, and she found herself near the dragon’s rear haunches. Immediately she pulled her sword out of its scabbard and began attacking. The tough, leathery scales seemed impervious to her blade, but she continued to attack anyway. She would draw blood. She would. Verdilith turned his head away from Braddoc, whom he had been about to bite, to look at Jo.
“Hah!” she shouted defiantly. “Let go of my friend, and we won’t hurt you!” To back up her threat, she drew her sword high overhead. If bravado worked so well for Flinn the Mighty, perhaps it would work for her, she thought.
Noise rumbled in the dragon’s throat, but Jo couldn’t tell whether the beast was laughing or roaring. Then something crashed into her back and she was thrown to the ground. Somehow, despite the pain, she managed to hang onto her sword and roll over. The dragon’s long, supple tail was waving above her.
Jo heard Braddoc cry out. The dwarf swung his axe wildly as the dragon’s giant maw descended on him. Verdilith ignored the blade and engulfed the dwarf. Jo rose shakily to her knees and then to her feet. Verdilith’s mouth opened slightly and Jo glimpsed Braddoc, hacking at the teeth with his axe. She stumbled forward with her sword straight ahead, like a lance, and stabbed the dragon. The blade tip jabbed between the emerald scales and sunk shallowly into the creature’s haunch. Jo pulled the blade forth to stab again.
A sudden burst of color and light appeared in front of the dragon’s face. Surprised, Verdilith dropped Braddoc. The dwarf jumped out of the way, although he groaned after the twelve-foot fall. As the spinning sparks whirled before the dragon, Braddoc gestured for Jo and Dayin to come to him. He gripped the boy’s shoulder briefly in mute gratitude for his timely spellcasting.
“Do you think we should run?” Jo asked as she arrived.
The dwarf shook his head. “Our only chance is to make a stand and hope Flinn’s on his way.”
The colorful sparks faded away, and in their place doves and rose petals fluttered on the wind. Blinking, the dragon turned toward Jo, Braddoc, and Dayin. Again came that low rumble Jo now knew was the dragon’s laugh. She trembled in fear, certain she was about to die, but she remembered Flinn’s words about facing danger even when afraid. She shifted her sword a breadth higher. She couldn’t let Flinn down.
A shining burst of light raced toward them along the rim of the valley. The streak came closer. It was Fain Flinn, bathed in such a white, radiant light that he was both beautiful and terrible to behold. He held Wyrmblight high over his head and prepared to charge.
“Remember the prophecy, wyrm!” heckled a crone’s voice in the darkness. The words were repeated over and over again, in waves that echoed out from the valley. Jo felt the earth beneath her feet begin to slither toward the dragon. The vail vines crept through the snow and onto the barren ground of the camp. The leaves rustled and took up the chant where the echoes left off.
Flinn halted before the dragon, his sword arced back in a formal invitation to battle. He was still bathed in an eerie, white glow that made him seem twice as tall as normal.
“What say you, Verdilith?” Flinn’s voice rang out, deep and penetrating, shaking the ground. Jo felt something akin to awe strike her at the ominous sound. The warrior advanced two steps.
A rumble started in the dragon’s throat, and this time it emerged as a full-fledged laugh. “I say that now is not the time for us to meet, Flinn the Fool,” Verdilith said in heavy, dragon-accented common. “And as they say, tomorrow is a better day to die!” Verdilith launched himself into the air. Three heavy flaps of his wings saw the dragon aloft and out of sight in the night sky. The blasts of air from the gigantic wings buffeted everyone but Flinn to the cold, stony ground. The warrior staggered backward from the wingbeats, but he remained standing.
Jo and the others ran to Flinn when the dragon was gone. The odd, scintillating light around him was fading. He looked tired and strained, and Jo wondered what spells had been cast upon him. Karleah Kunzay came out of the shadows and joined the group at the campfire.
“What did Verdilith mean about tomorrow being a better day to die?” Jo asked anxiously.
Flinn put his arm around her shoulders and shook his head. “I don’t know, Jo, but your guess is as good as mine.” He looked at Jo, then at Bradoc and Dayin and finally Karleah.
“Tomorrow we find out.” Flinn’s lips tightened, and his expression grew grim.
Chapter XIV
Flinn pulled Ariac to a halt and dismounted. The warrior stroked the griffon’s neck, nervously plucking out a few stray feathers. Beside him, Jo, Braddoc, Dayin, and Karleah halted their beasts and dismounted, too. Jo strode through the snow to stand beside Flinn, not saying a word. There, on a promontory that overlooked the Penhaligon valley, stood the Castle of the Three Suns. Its limestone walls glittered whitely in the midmorning sun, and the clay tile roof glowed with red splendor. Flinn’s eyes tightened to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. It has been so long, he thought, so long.
The castle itself was diamond-shaped, the main approach and angle towers comprising the points. Four other towers supported the outer walls, which presented a formidable barricade to the world. These eight outer structures stood four stories high, and a single tower rose twice that height from the center of the castle. The tall structure was the keep, or donjon as some called it in the old tongue.
The castle of the Penhaligons had no moat; the sheer and rocky slopes around it made assaults nearly impossible. The main thoroughfare leading to the castle was a narrow, winding road; nothing larger than two merchant wagons could pass side by side. Approaching the castle from any other direction involved climbing the steep hill on which the castle stood.
An easy trail led from the Wulfholdes down to the curving castle road. In little more than two hours, Flinn
