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

Chapter 22.5

REVELATIONS

*

As their armored backs receded in the distance, Harric opened Willard's pouch and peered inside. Within were rusted strips of jerky-like meat. No...scabs. Blue scabs. His eyes widened. Phyros plasters. Willard had harvested the strips of dried blood of Molly's war mask and given them to Harric. His mouth fell open. Ballads sung of Phyros plasters. Their powers were legendary: if you pushed them into a wound, the wound healed; if you ate one, your wounds scarcely affected you, and your limbs and heart filled with strength and courage. Harric snorted. More like violence and rage, he guessed. Nevertheless, it was a valuable gift. Plus, it was the only magic Willard approved of. And he'd given it to Harric.

I'll be damned.

But what did it say about the danger Willard thought they were in?

Brolli was writing in his journal again, his mouth pressed in a grim, tight line. A glance at Kogan revealed even the priest still sullen from Willard's display.

Harric let out a long breath. "Not what you expected of the Blood, eh, Ambassador?"

Brolli did not look up from his work. His Kwendi writing tool scratched across the surface of the paper, leaving a trail of jagged marks that made up the Kwendi alphabet. Somehow today's words looked sharper, cut deeper than others he'd seen.

"I think it might be fair to say that he tried to warn you, Ambassador." Harric smiled. "You asked for this. Begged for this. He didn't want to take the Blood."

Brolli flipped the day-lids onto his forehead. Golden eyes blazed at Harric, pupils black and huge—too big for daylight—but the Kwendi left the lids up.

"I must know how this Blood works." Brolli's voice was tight and hard, his accent more pronounced. "This rage is the thing I must see. This is what rules your people—this fire, this...tyrant Blood, is what rules this land."

Harric's brow pursed. Was the ambassador saying he egged Willard into taking the Blood so he could see what it did to him—to see if it made him like Bannus?

A coal of anger burned under Harric's breastbone. Instead of raising the point, he chose a more diplomatic approach. "The Blood does not rule Arkendia anymore. The Queen rules—"

Brolli swiped his hand through the air as if batting the notion away. "Your queen has no power. Bannus cares not a fig for your Queen. He rides to the north and makes war. He rides across the north and makes terror. She cannot stop him. This—" he pointed after Willard, "—this is the true power in Arkendia. This is the ally or enemy my people must decide for." He gazed after Willard, nose wrinkling as if he wished to spit a bad taste from his mouth. "And it makes the unpredictable ally, and the very bad enemy."

Harric felt something tighten in his chest. Lack of sleep seemed to unmask the ambassador. This was no longer the the wry, practical trail companion and co-adventurer he thought he'd come to know over the past month; this was the Treaty Ambassador of the Kwendi, a man assembling important concepts of Arkendia and its queen for his people—a man whose information and decisions would determine the future of two peoples.

Harric swallowed. "I don't disagree with your assessment. An unpredictable ally, indeed. But a strong one, and a much worse enemy. Worse yet is Bannus and The Old Ones. You think Willard's barely-controlled rage is a hazard? If Bannus had been here just now instead of Willard, do you think he'd restrain his anger at an irritating priest?"

"You'd be covered in my blood" said Kogan. "Bannus don't know how to control the rage. Willard studied with the Blue Order to learn how."

Brolli stared at them, eyes tired and searching. "Bad, Worse, and Worst. These are the choices? There are those among my people who wish to push your settlers from the north. Push them back down the Giant's Gap and seal the Gap so we may live in peace again."