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

Chapter 33

Arkendian courtship ritual is not designed to facilitate mating, but to discourage it. ...because of the need to identify the father of a child, and because children are... raised by the father's family... Therefore they attempt to confine mating to a single, well-known mate. ...In my estimation, however, Arkendians esteem the act no less than we... so it is no surprise that illicit mating is a common pastime... nor that the island is abundant with "illegitimate" children... —From Stilty Mating Mysteries, Second Ambassador Trumbi

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WORSIC

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Harric woke to the cursing of the priest, and the fearful chortling of Mudruffle.

"My axe!" Kogan cried. "It's a witch-walker! I'll wrassle the shambles!"

"I am a friend," honked the golem. "You're making a mistake. Sir Willard is my friend. Put down that log, please."

Harric stumbled from his blankets, bare feet tender on the chill moss of the forest floor. "Didn't anyone tell you?" he said, looking about in vain for Willard or Caris or Brolli. "We meant to tell you he awoke. He's back. It's okay."

Mudruffle lurched to Harric and hid behind him, as the priest thundered to a halt before Harric, brandishing a huge tree branch in his hands.

"Father Kogan," Harric said, raising his hands as if to bar his way. "Remember what Willard said. This is your last chance."

Eyes puffy and red with sleep, Kogan loomed over them. His face scowled into a mass of wrinkles as he looked from the golem to Harric. Comprehension made a reluctant appearance in his gaze. "Got up to tap the bladder and seen this shamble of sticks watching me again. Near busted a vein. When'd he come back?"

"Last night," said Harric. "You were asleep." Harric motioned with his hands for Kogan to lower the tree limb. "I know it's not comfortable for you, Father. But Willard seemed very serious about this. Remember what he said? And now that he's taking the Blood, he hasn't much patience for...well, anything."

The priest sucked his lower lip into his mouth and nursed on it anxiously, glaring all the harder at Mudruffle. Mudruffle, seeming to sense that the worst of the danger was over, walked cautiously to the fire and resumed stirring as if nothing had happened.

"Thank you, Master Harric," he honked. "Would the Father like a bowl of sweetmeal?"

The priest's eyes widened at the absurd sound of the golem's voice, which in the excitement perhaps hadn't quite registered. "I know Will said so," he muttered, glaring at Harric. His thick brows pinched together as he attempted to tackle thoughts too heavy for one so near waking.

"You'll only be with us another couple days," Harric said, "and then you'll find your flock. And you won't need to worry about this anymore."

Kogan studied the tryst servant, and after many breathless moments, he took a seat on the far end of the log. "Reckon I better," he said. "But see here, Mudshackle, or whatever your infarnal name be, I don't want no witch-walker touching at me when I sleep, or even near me, hear?"

"I will do nothing against your will," honked the golem. "I only wish to be of service. Nevertheless, perhaps Harric would serve the meal."

Mudruffle bowed and lurched out of camp, heading toward the horse camp. Harric let out a long-held breath, and ladled the sweetmeal into a bowl. Kogan set the branch aside, but kept his eyes on the retreating golem.

Harric handed up the meal, and in Father Kogan's huge hand the bowl became a cup. When he caught Harric's eye, he gave him a sheepish frown. "You won' tell Will I almost boshed the little cobber, will you? What with me and Will starting to get along..."