The Knave of Souls - Fantasy - Sequel to The Jack of Souls

Chapter 4

During the Great Betrayal—named the Cleansing by its perpetrators—Sir Gregan led the immortals of the Blue Order. Yet Sir Willard, youngest of their members...most fervent in his derangement against the holy Phyros...slew more of the Old Ones and their Phyros than the rest of the Order combined...therefore bears most blame and is most deserving of his punishment...

—From The Betrayal of the Blue Order, First Herald Milbred of Pelion

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THE HUNTED & THE ABANDONED

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The charred bones of two doves lay scattered before Harric on the table in the mess hall. Despite it being a broad, high-ceilinged room, the space felt crowded as Willard, Brolli, Caris, and a half-dozen guards leaned in to watch him unfasten the anklets from the birds. Someone lit tallow candles and laid them on the table. The tallow smoked badly, giving the place an atmosphere like some card dens Harric had known. As he removed one anklet, and began on the other, he felt like he sat in on a high stakes game as he drew the cards that would leave him flush or busted.

Captain Gren spoke. He kept his voice low, reverent of the tension in the room, but his tone was stern. "The messenger that delivered these birds should never have made it to the postern unseen. Imagine if they'd brought a resin charge. They could have blown that door away."

Farley, who was one of the sleeping watch, looked at his toes.

"We all let our guard down last night," Willard said. "We'd just witnessed the destruction of a besieging army in the time it takes to eat a grape Our victory was decisive and complete, and even I didn't expect Bannus to return so swiftly."

"Tonight we double the watch," Gren said.

"That's wise," said Willard. "And I suggest you pile stone behind the postern as soon as possible, in case they do try to blast it, and reinforce it with timbers. Do the same for the gate."

When Harric cracked open the first tiny anklet, the room fell silent. The roar of the falls sifted into the room from an arrow slit across the hall. He cracked the second, then extracted the tightly folded ribbons of scorched parchment and spread them between his hands upon the table. The messages were identical. He read them aloud. "WILLARD & BROLLI AT HORSETAIL FALLS FORT. BANNUS ATTACKS. SEND BLUE ORDER." He released the rest of his breath in a sigh. "It's my handwriting."

A collective murmur, like a groan, rippled through the room.

The previous night's celebration now seemed hollow and foolish. So much hope had resided in those messages to the Queen. Lane muttered something to his pale-haired companion with the sunken eyes. Harric saw the word "bastard" clearly on his lips. Sunken eyes glared daggers of blame, as if it were Harric's fault the doves hadn't made it. The dove master, Garon, sent a particularly dark look at Harric, which surprised him. Could the man resent him sending his doves off without his notice, even though it might have saved them all?

The danger sense in every Arkendian bastard prickled up Harric's spine. Those three would be trouble. From that moment on, he would try not to walk alone in the fort.

Willard drew so forcefully on his ragleaf that the coal crackled at Harric's ear, returning his attention to the table and the useless messages.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Harric said.

"Don't be. Damned smart of you to send those messages in the first place."

At the sound of the knight's voice, the murmurs fell silent. Everything had changed, and everyone knew it. Without the aid of the Blue Order, the fort would inevitably fall. It was just a matter of time. Yet some would have to hold it as long as possible while Willard escaped to return Brolli to his homeland. The fate of the kingdom very likely depended on Brolli recommending a peace treaty to his people. If he was not returned safely to them, the alternative was war that would weaken the Queen and make it impossible to resist the return of the Old Ones. And when the Old Ones took the throne, many more would die, and everyone would suffer.