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

Chapter 28

Sir Willard was a banished man,

His fair deeds lost to foul,

His many squires a testament,

His many ladies' scowls.

But the Champion's fault was ne'er to love,

But love too close to the Queen.

He should have reserved it for Her that's above,

Or hidden it better, I ween.

—The chorus of the famed Sir Willard ballad "Black Armor Becomes Him"

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FAIR FRACTURE

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Harric ran across the moss as quietly as he could, hunched low behind nurse logs as he picked his way back to their camp. Brolli glided along beside him in his rolling, knuckle-walking lope.

"It has to be Willard and Caris," Harric said. "If it were Bannus, there would be horns."

Brolli flashed him a wry smile. "If it is Bannus, we are fools who run to their deaths."

When they drew within sight of the camp, Harric saw Kogan on top of the hillock, with his back to them as he signaled by waving a blanket over his head. Relief washed through Harric. "He signals to the yoab run," he said between panting breaths. "It's Willard and Caris."

Together they hiked the hillock, and from the top peered through the deepening dusk to see their friends picking their way toward them from the yoab run through the fallen trees.

A glimpse of Caris's profile sent a rush of emotion through Harric. Relief was one emotion. Dread another.

She'd changed—unmistakably—and it had started to scare him. In the last few days, the ring had gone from creating an artificial love she could fight and resist, to making new impulses for petting and hand-holding and laying their bedrolls together, which she didn't seem to have as much control over. At least, she'd never done that before. It was possible she'd given up resisting, but that didn't seem likely; if Caris was anything, she was disciplined and tough as iron. Something must have changed in the ring, and he couldn't wait to consult Fink about it. The imp had to know something.

With a little pulse of panic, Harric realized he hadn't set up his bed yet, and if he didn't, she might arrange another private grotto for them. Hurrying to his saddle bags, he grabbed his bedroll as Caris and Willard climbed up the hillock. Before she could see him, he flopped the roll on the moss in the center of camp, beneath the canvas tarp he'd strung. He let out a sigh of tension. At least that would buy him time to consult Fink about it. It seemed like forever since he had a chance to talk with the imp.

Willard crested the hill first, and with only a stiff nod to Harric took Molly to the far side of their camp. Father Kogan joined Willard and the two spoke about the fire. Harric trotted to the edge of the hillock to locate Caris, and saw her dismounting at its foot and lifting her saddlebags from Rag, as if to make her camp there.

Harric joined her and as she removed Rag's saddlebags, he removed the saddle. As he rounded the mare to where Caris laid out her gear in the moss, he stopped dead in his tracks. There beside her stood Mudruffle—indeed, the little golem walked up to meet Harric and performed a stiff little bow.

"Greetings, Squire Harric," Mudruffle honked. "I did not wish to alarm your priest friend in the dark, so I asked that Squire Caris stop short of the camp where he rests. Willard also thought this best."