D. Heinrich - The Tainted Sword

Jo and Braddoc warily approached the mage. Why isn’t Brisbois attacking? Jo wondered, then signaled to the man when she caught his eye. But Brisbois, his hands trembling with fear, only waved her on. The bondsman held his quivering sword in readiness, but he wouldn’t leave the door. Jo turned to Braddoc. The dwarf gestured toward Brisbois, glowered with his good eye, and then shook his head. Retrieving his battle-axe from the floor, Braddoc positioned himself further to one side of the mage and nodded at Jo. This is it! Jo thought quickly, the excitement of impending battle rushing through her. She ran forward at the same time as the dwarf and swung her sword, aiming for the mage’s knees. Braddoc’s battle-axe sought Auroch’s chest.

An incredible jolt of pain ripped through Jo’s fingers, spreading inside her hands and into her arms. The pommel of her sword felt as though a thousand hot needles protruded from it, and each one seared into her hands. Jo gasped aloud in pain. Her fingers wanted to uncurl and drop the sword, but she forced herself to remember Flinn’s maxim: Keep your blade at all costs, or else you die. Though the pain drove Jo to her knees, she drew her sword back for another stroke. Braddoc was also on his knees; he was struggling to regain the axe he had dropped.

The mage lowered his fist and slowly, carefully, uncurled his fingers, forming his hand into a crescent shape. The fiery column leaped toward Flinn. It arched high above the knight’s head, grazing the wooden rafters. It swelled, becoming as wide as Flinn was tall and then growing wider still. The flames swirled violently, the roar of the fire was deafening. Dishes rattled, drifting off the table and breaking as they met the floor. One window’s panes of glass refused to bear the pressure anymore, and the glass exploded outward.

The heat was growing intense; the candles in the room melted. An unreal, shimmering aura hung in the air, distorting Jo’s vision. The spinning column of fire grew more intense, its color shifting from blazing yellow to lightning white. Jo squinted, her hands still numb from the sword. She climbed shakily to her feet and Braddoc did the same, his battle-axe in hand again. Jo nodded at the dwarf, and they prepared themselves for one more attack. Somewhere behind that wall of flame stood Flinn, trapped.

“Stand back!” shouted the old wizardess above the crackling of the flames. Karleah Kunzay jumped onto the table, suddenly spry for such an ancient woman, and more dishes scattered onto the floor. She stretched out her hands toward the fiery tornado. Blue flames streamed from her fingers, their paths fluctuating wildly but seeking the white flames of Auroch’s conjuration.

Incredibly, Jo watched the blue flames circle and entwine the white tornado. Wind rushed in from the broken window and flung small objects into the air. The intense heat began to subside and was replaced by a strange, growing coldness. Jo stared at the blue flames snaking around the tornado of fire. Was that a wall of ice forming at the base of the tornado? She blinked to clear her eyes and looked more closely. Yes! she thought. Karleah’s doing it!

The circle of ice climbed higher. Auroch clenched his fist and goaded on the fiery tornado, but the wall of ice securely trapped the flame. Then, with horror, Jo saw the mage suddenly, chillingly, smile. The man’s evil grimace grew as the wall climbed higher and the flames of fire disappeared inside. He lifted both hands slowly into the hair, one hand wrapped around the buff-colored bird.

Jo bit back the pain as she lifted her sword once again. Her palms felt as though they had been sliced open and salt poured into the wounds. Tears rained across her hot cheeks. Whatever the mage was about to do, whatever treacherous new spell he was about to unleash, she had to stop him. Perhaps his aura would fail him soon, and she and Braddoc could strike a blow against the man.

From the corner of Jo’s eye, she saw Dayin stumble out from beneath the heavy table. The child raised his hands, and his lips moved. Incredibly, a tiny ball of light brighter than the tornado flashed directly in front of Auroch. An instant later, a pair of doves fluttered in the man’s face. At the same time, the wall of ice came to a peak, the tornado of fire contained within. Karleah laughed her old crone’s cackle.

It was the moment Jo had been waiting for. Without hesitation, she and Braddoc stepped forward, weapons raised. Jo brought her sword down against the arm of the mage. Her blade sank into the man’s thin shoulder, and again the jolting pain of a thousand needles ripped through her. Involuntarily, her fingers dropped the sword. Nearby, Braddoc fell. Suddenly the wall of ice exploded, and chunks of ice and bits of fiery coal flew through the room. Jo fell to her knees, hiding her face with her crippled hands and huddling to the floor. The roar crested in one final boom.

Silence.

The young squire dropped her hands from her face and looked around, stupefied. Flinn stood in the far corner, Wyrmblight held before him. Braddoc lay on the floor near his battle-axe, and Dayin huddled next to the dwarf. Karleah stood on the table, her hands still held before her in mid-motion.

Teryl Auroch and Sir Brisbois were gone.

Jo shook her head and blinked. Other than a few dishes that had fallen from the table, nothing was broken. The window was intact, the candles were still lit. For a single instant, Johauna questioned whether Teryl Auroch had ever been in the room.

But the remains of a buff-colored bird with brilliant green markings lay on the floor in a pool of melted ice.

Flinn nodded to the castellan and grabbed the man’s wrist in a final greeting. “Thank you, Sir Graybow, for the provisions, and for your help in regaining my honor.”

The old castellan nodded and smiled. “You’d better be off before dawn breaks. The courtyard’s full of well-wishers who’ll be waking up any moment.”

Flinn turned to Jo, Braddoc, Dayin, and Karleah, who were leading their various steeds out from one of the castle’s minor stables. “Are your mounts prepared?” Flinn asked. They nodded, white breath whirling from their mouths in the predawn air. The lack of morning light lent a sinister feeling to the early departure, but Flinn knew secrecy was necessary. He and his friends had to leave the Castle of the Three Suns without being seen-and without being attacked by Teryl Auroch or Sir Brisbois if either were still around. Karleah Kunzay thought the two men had been consumed by the magicks, but Flinn wasn’t as easily convinced.

“You’re sure no one saw sign of them?” Flinn asked the castellan once more. “I’d rather hunt their master, but if Brisbois and Auroch are still here…”

The older man sighed and said patiently, “No sign, Sir Flinn. None of my guards saw either the knight or the mage. If they are gone, good riddance, I say.” He touched Flinn’s arm briefly. “I’m in charge of the baroness’ safety, Sir Flinn. Tell me truly: have I anything to fear from Teryl Auroch? Or from Sir Brisbois?”

Flinn grunted. “Karleah Kunzay insists Auroch’s magic was weak-that the illusion came from Verdilith through the bird. But, if the mage is still around, he could be anywhere-and he could be dangerous.”

“And Brisbois?” the castellan asked.

Flinn shrugged. “I think he has enough sense not to come back to the castle. From him you won’t have anything to worry about, but Auroch… perhaps yes. Take care, Sir Graybow.”

The older knight gripped Flinn’s wrist again. “I wish you good hunting, my friend. Hurry back, and we’ll teach that squire of yours a few tricks.” He smiled at Jo, then stepped back and waved as Flinn and the others mounted.

“May Thor and his warrior’s honor remain with you always, Sir Graybow,” Flinn said formally, then touched his heels to Ariac’s flanks. The griffon responded immediately and entered the long, winding tunnel that led to one of the minor exits from the castle. Graybow had taken the precaution of dousing nearly all the lights along the route Flinn would take to leave the castle, but the knight trusted his mount’s night vision. Ariac moved forward unerringly, his peculiar-sounding stride marking time. The soft thump from the pads gripped by his front claws alternated with the harder thud of his hind lion’s feet.