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

Chapter 8b

OF MISCHIEF & MAGIC

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Harric hobbled the horses at the foot of the tower so Mudruffle could take the others immediately up to greet their hostess. Before entering, the golem paused at the threshold. Harric saw him motioning with his stick-like hands, then they followed him in side.

Removing wards, Harric realized. The first time they'd entered the tower, weeks before, alarms had sounded as Brolli crossed the threshold. To Abellia's horror, Brolli confessed, "I bear magic from all three moons." To Abellia's credit—or to the credit of her fierce desire to learn more about Kwendi magic—she'd only hesitated a heartbeat before she removed the wards and welcomed him inside. This time Mudruffle made no fuss or announcement, but Harric found himself wondering if Fink could show him how to make similar tricks in the Unseen.

The golem led them up the curving stairway past several living floors to the top, where the kitchen and large windows and ample Ibergian rugs made a fair and gracious living space. Since Mudruffle had no knees, he ascended the stairs in a zigzag fashion, goose-stepping from the far edge of one step to the opposite edge of the next, pivoting and repeating.

Harric had plenty of time to count one hundred and five steps to the top living floor.

When they finally arrived at the landing at the top of the stairs, they found the door open and Abellia awaiting them in a stuffed chair by the fire. Tiny and frail, she peered at them from a face pale as paper. Her white hair seemed so light and thin it virtually floated above her shoulders. Nevertheless, her dark eyes flashed with life when she saw them.

"My Caris!" she crowed in a voice thin to cracking.

Caris crossed the room and touched one knee to the thickly carpeted floor. "We are well, Mistress. I know you worried, but we are well."

The tiny old woman cradled Caris's face in wrinkled hands. Her watery eyes roved the faces of the others as they entered the room, squinting near-sightedly and nodding as if counting until her eyes rested on Brolli. Her kind expression bloomed with relief and joy. "Mio Doso! We worry very much." Her Iberg accent made her r's sound like d's. Wooddy veddy much. "The great thunder we hear! The mountain falling! But here you are!"

She tottered across the carpets for Brolli.

Harric hurried to her side to offer his arm, which she accepted gratefully.

"Good Harric!" she said, black eyes flashing like wet pebbles in a sea of wrinkles. "Kind boy, take me to the ambassador."

When they reached Brolli, she released Harric's arm and took up the Kwendi's huge hand in hers to stare intently into his huge golden eyes. Harric had always sensed a sharp, willful mind in her ancient body, and he felt it again as she searched the golden eyes as if she would read his secrets there. It seemed to Harric she longed to ask him something, but she said nothing.

"You honor me, mistress," said Brolli.

"I wish you to stay here," she said, her voice creaking. She turned her watery eyes to Willard while holding fast to Brolli's hand. "You are to be safe here, Sir Willard. No danger from this Bannus."

"I thank you, good Sister." Willard gave a polite bow. "But we cannot be certain of that. And I would not bring danger to you."

"Then we must to go with you," she said, simply. "We go with to help on your way."

"Mama," Caris said. "Our road is rough and dangerous—"

"That's true," said Willard. "Mudruffle agreed to guide us with his maps, and his help is more than enough. You will be safe here in your tower."