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

Chapter 21

A maid who tells no lies will never marry.

—Iberg saying

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BEHIND BLACK EYES

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"Molly?" Harric whispered. 

Caris let out a long breath through her nose, and nodded. 

"Step away from the horses along the stable," she said, motioning for Brolli to move aside. "They may not all be Phyros trained."

Brolli joined Harric beside the open cistern that functioned as a general trough as Molly erupted from the trees and trotted into the yard between the tower and stable. Molly held her enormous head high and exultant. Dried streaks of Blood from her eyes still fanned across her face in a windblown mask.

As if on cue, two of the five captured horses screamed in terror and reared against their reins. Caris let them go, and they bolted into the shade of the fire-cone trunks at the opposite end of the yard. The remaining three horses danced sideways and out of the Phyros's way, but did not try to flee. Caris closed her eyes, reaching out to them, no doubt, for they quickly settled into a calm little herd against the barn.

Willard dismounted before Molly had fully stopped. The old knight's face flushed bright purple. His chin and mustachio had been stained with purple Phyros blood, and he panted like an overheated stallion, eyes rolling wildly.

"Help me take this bloody cage off!" he said, stripping gauntlets and tossing them as if they were on fire. He tore at buckles of his breastplate, eyes blazing at his apprentices. "I said help me!"

Before either could move, he fell to his knees at the cistern and scooped the water to his mouth in double handfuls.

Harric and Caris rushed to hastily unbuckle his harness. Willard seemed totally preoccupied with quenching some invisible fire that raged on his head and limbs, shoveling water over his head in spite of it soaking his quilting. Harric and Caris exchanged a worried glance; Brolli watched, brow bent, from the opposite rim of the cistern.

"Take it calm, old man," said Brolli.

Willard nearly snarled his reply, "There is no calm in a wildfire!"

When they finally removed his boots and the last of his armor, Willard plunged face-first into the cistern and under the water. Waves of displaced water sloshed over the rim, sending Brolli skittering back.

"He's mad," Harric said, while the knight's head was under water. "Just like in the stories. But if the stories are true, it'll pass. Right?"

Caris looked briefly at Harric, her lip curled.

"Ah, the joys of Phyros blood." Harric looked across the cistern to Brolli. "Pretty, no?"

Brolli did not smile. He knew if any were to blame for Willard's relapse it was he. "This is the word you call sarcastic, yes? I think it is not a merry thing."

Willard finally raised himself on hands and knees and gulped first at the air, then at the water like an overworked ox. Eventually, head bowed over the surface of the water, his breathing slowed, and with a noisy sigh he rolled to his back, keeping his head out of the water to breathe. His underclothes floated around him, turning the water a dingy gray, and his great belly jutted above the surface like a sweat-stained atoll.

Harric imagined posting "EVIL WATERS" above the cistern, like they did for contaminated pools along the Free Road.

The old knight opened his violet eyes. His skin had settled into a pale blue, deepening to purple in the cheeks. He'd taken the Blood again.