towered above him. It swung its foot-long claws toward Flinn. He dropped, hearing the claws whirl above his head. Jo leaped behind the beast, wedging her sword into its bony back. It wheeled, smashing her with the back of its hand. Jo fell, sprawling across the floor, but retaining her sword. Flinn swung Wyrmblight in a whistling arc toward the creature’s overlong muzzle. The monster spun, deflecting the stroke with its scaly shoulder. It hissed at Flinn, baring eight glistening fangs. The monster swung its huge, spidery arm, catching the edge of Flinn’s breastplate with its claws. The blow spun Flinn about, knocking him to the ground. He rolled over quickly, expecting the beast to follow with a killing slash.
But the beast paused, sniffing the air. Council members, their weapons drawn, formed a broad circle to surround the monster. Slowly, awkwardly, it turned and knelt beside Yvaughan’s crumpled form. It sniffed again. Then, tentatively, it reached out to touch the woman who had been Flinn’s wife. A little croon escaped the creature’s lips, but the sound was lost to the shouts in the hall.
“Now!” shouted Flinn to the council members. In accord, the knights of Penhaligon rushed in to attack. Half the knights slashed first at the monster, then fell back to allow the others to strike. The second wave of knights hit just after the first wave. Their onslaught was fierce and mercifully swift. The creature fell almost immediately.
Flinn stepped back, his heart thundering. He felt saddened to witness such a slaughter, but the baroness and all the folk in the chamber had been in danger. Pushing his way through the crowd of knights, he carefully rolled the creature’s bloodied body off Yvaughan and picked her up. Flinn carried her limp form to the council table and laid her to rest there. “She’d been deceived by the dragon all along,” he murmured with sudden belief. “She didn’t willingly betray me.” He stroked her flaxen hair once, then turned to the baroness.
“My heart goes out to you in your sorrow,” Arteris said formally. She clasped her pale hands together, her eyes avoiding the body of her cousin.
“And mine goes out to you,” Flinn replied equally formally. He looked at Yvaughan once and said a silent goodbye as her soul slipped away. The woman who had died in his arms was not the girl he had loved in his youth. Her death he had mourned seven years before. Shaken, he turned around to face the council members. They were all standing near him quietly, as was Jo. Her wide and somber eyes were filled with emotion. Flinn looked away. The people remaining in the hall had grown strangely quiet. A hushed expectation filled the chamber.
Baroness Arteris stepped forward, her hands spread wide in an embracing gesture. “In the name of all that is holy, Fain Flinn, I rescind the accusations levied against you seven years ago. Only a true and valorous knight could have returned to this hallowed hall and revealed the evil that had come to live among us.” The baroness raised her hands and shouted, “People of Penhaligon, what say you?”
Flinn turned around slowly, clutching Wyrmblight tightly against his chest. A chant began-a chant like that which had haunted him for seven years. It spread in a ripple, traveling from one corner of the huge chamber to the other. The chant grew in volume as more and more voices joined. Flinn clenched his jaw, hearing only the remembered taunts of the people:
“Flinn the Fallen! Flinn the Fool!”
He shut his mind to the words the people shouted, unaware that tears were streaming down his face. The people saw those tears and they rose to their feet, their fists pounding their palms with the rhythm of the chant.
Flinn blinked, gripping Wyrmblight more tightly. The pounding of his heart filled his ears, finally drowning out even the remembered taunts of the crowd. Wyrmblight’s hilt felt hot in his hand. Flinn peered down, uncertain, at the blade. None of the beast’s blood remained on it. Flinn’s heart beat faster still, and the people’s clapping kept up with the rhythm.
Flinn took Wyrmblight in his hands and looked at the white silver of the sword. No taint of darkness clung to it anywhere. Slowly, slowly, Flinn lifted the blade sideways above his head, gripping the hilt and the center. The crowd’s frenzy rose. With a shining Wyrmblight in his hands, Flinn finally heard the crowd’s true chant, breaking apart the scars that had festered in his heart for seven years.
Two thousand voices rang as one in the great hall of the Castle of the Three Suns that day. The roar of the people shook the very rafters. They were shouting Flinn’s name-shouting it in gladness and joy and not the jeering anger of the past.
“Flinn! Flinn the Mighty! Flinn! Flinn the Mighty!”
Flinn the Fallen was no more.
Chapter XV
Later that day, Arteris raised her hand for silence in the small meeting chamber. The council members, Flinn, and Jo ceased their debate and turned toward the baroness. “We’ve been here nearly two hours and not even approached a decision regarding Sir Brisbois.” Arteris pronounced the defamed knight’s name with clipped precision. In the silence that settled, the music of the festival outside the hall intruded. Faint shouts of “Flinn the Mighty!” interspersed themselves with the songs of bards and the sound of lute and pipe. Flinn stifled a smile, hoping that Braddoc, Karleah, and Dayin were enjoying the feast-day Arteris had declared in his honor.
Sir Brisbois certainly was not enjoying the feast-day. He sat in front of the U-shaped council table, his hands resting uncomfortably in his lap. Two guards stood at either side of him.
Flinn smiled wryly. He thought it poetic justice that he had regained his council seat-a spot Brisbois had occupied that very morning. He remembered being in the council sessions many years ago, taking part in the active administration of the estates of Penhaligon. He had believed injustice and goodness then, and he had believed in his ability to help those less fortunate than he. The beliefs that sustained him so long ago had returned. Once again, he believed that justice would prevail and good would defeat evil. This afternoon had affirmed that.
Flinn’s attention returned to the trial at hand. The council members had split into two factions-those who said that Brisbois had been under the malevolent influence of the dragon all along, and those who believed he had willingly bartered with the wyrm. The debate was growing heated. Flinn had said next to nothing in the council, letting the factions wrestle the issue of Brisbois’ guilt. He personally thought Brisbois had willingly sided with Verdilith, but that was a matter for the council to decide.
Flinn turned and looked at Johauna beside him and smiled. She was quiet and, he guessed, a little overwhelmed by all the proceedings. But she was as composed as always; he feared no discredit from her. This closed council session would be a good introduction to the less-glorified aspect of knighthood: political duty. Although protocol stated that no one who was less than the rank of knight could attend a closed council, Flinn had insisted on Jo’s behalf, stating that her future was at stake, too. The baroness had graciously given her consent.
“Sir Flinn,” Arteris said loudly, breaking Flinn’s train of thought, “what say you? This man has defiled your honor, and we may debate the whys of that forever. Although Penhaligon has suffered a blow to its good name, it is you who have suffered most at the hands of this knave. The decision is yours. I repeat, what say you?”
Flinn looked at the baroness, then shifted his gaze to Brisbois. The man sat in the center of the room before the council; he was stiff-backed and unmoving. Brisbois’ gaze reluctantly shifted from the baroness to Flinn.
“Sir Brisbois,” Flinn began, deliberately using the man’s tide, “your honor and reputation as a knight are at stake. You must know that for your disreputable actions you are likely to be dismissed as a knight in the Order of the Three Suns.” Flinn paused for effect. “I am personally in favor of that, but I would like to know the reasons behind your actions.” Brisbois continued to look at Flinn. “I do not defend myself, Sir Flinn,” he said coldly. “I believed Lord Maldrake was my friend, and for him I would do anything-include besmirch your honor. Maldrake told me that Lady Yvaughan was in love with him and that he needed my help in securing a divorce. Accusing you of dishonor on the battlefield and stripping you of your rank as a knight was an easy matter.” “What made you confess your guilt?” Flinn asked equally coldly. “Why today? Why not years before? Or have you developed a conscience after all this time?”
Brisbois flinched, but maintained eye contact. “No. I don’t have a conscience. I admitted my guilt and accused Lord Maldrake of his influence on you to get revenge. The man was betraying me-”
“The dragon, you mean,” Flinn interjected.
“I mean the man. I never knew until today that Maldrake was, in fact, Verdilith. I had been led to believe that the mage Teryl Auroch was the dragon,” Brisbois stated. “I betrayed Maldrake’s trust in me because I was afraid he
