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

Chapter 44 - Preparations

PREPARATIONS

*

Carrying Fink on his back, Harric hurried down the last unexplored corridor from the map room intersection. He passed numerous intersections to the right and left, each of these with smaller passages with lower ceilings. He'd passed a half dozen of these before he began to hear the sounds of life echoing from some of them: Kwendi voices, thumping doors, muffled laughter.

Unwilling to make any turns that would be hard to remember later, he passed these and kept on until the main corridor made a sharp turn to the right. He had just paused at the corner when he heard something approaching from the other side. A moment later a Kwendi swooped above them and Fink seized Harric's neck in fear.

The male Kwendi swung past them on the lowest branches of the trellis, his huge hands moving easily from rung to rung while his feet held tight to the handles of a basket that smelled of fresh fruits or berries. The Kwendi swung down a side corridor and disappeared.

"Mother of moons," Fink hissed. "These things give me chills." His talons pricked as Harric plucked the choking fingers from his throat.

"Maybe you could squeeze my shoulders next time?" Harric wheezed.

"Sorry, kid. If I see any swinging up from behind us, I'll rap the back of your head."

"You rap, I duck. Good plan." Around the corner, the corridor grew wider and louder as Kwendi appeared in the trellis from doors high on the wall, many wearing long, many-pocketed vests and bizarre hats like woolly cones. They barked and grinned and blinked at each other, and swooped away on the upper swing-ways with satchels of belongings beside them or clutched in feet. And unless Harric was very mistaken, these were Kwendi men and children. He couldn't be certain, because he hadn't been looking for them, but he hadn't noticed any Kwendi women since the one he left in the cistern.

If such activity filled the floor beneath the trellises, navigating the corridor would be impossible, but very few Kwendi moved on the ground. A few pushed carts full of baskets or boxes too heavy to carry, but those were slow-moving and easy to avoid. Once he saw a gray-haired Kwendi knuckle walking between doors, but they too were neither numerous nor swift-moving.

Soon the corridor fed into an open air square like the one with the lonely fountain, only in this one, the trellises teemed with Kwendi. The ground beneath the trellises also thronged with Kwendi men and children, all facing the center of the square. If he'd seen such a crowd at Gallows Ferry, it would be for the hanging of a witch or a horse thief, but the Kwendi appeared to be listening to a speaker somewhere in their midst in the trellises.

"Look at all these Kwendi," Harric whispered. The Kwendi clothing and adornment especially drew his eyes, for nothing Brolli wore prepared him for it.

"Did you expect Arkendians?" said Fink.

"Well...in a way, yes."

Unlike Brolli's tunics and breeches—which bore all the marks of an Arkendian tailor down to the style of buttons and fabrics and colors muted by the dictates of Blood Rank—these Kwendi wore things he'd never seen. Most favored bushy fur vests over loose, brightly colored clothes. They wore exotic-looking sashes and wraps. Aside from bare feet, the only thing Brolli had retained from his people's style was the long, braided locks, which appeared to be universal among these Kwendi.

But even there Brolli had muted the expression of Kwendi tastes, for most of these Kwendi had stones or witch-silver worked into their braids, and just as many tied up their braids in huge buns atop their crowns or wrapped these buns in cloths. Loops of witch-silver pierced their ears. Ink or paint adorned their skin.