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

Chapter 57 - Priest of Arkus

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PRIEST OF ARKUS

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Harric pounded up the trail, spitfire in hand, the weight of the resin in his pack bouncing his back. The trail climbed steeply, winding between the half-dead pines. His boots crunched twigs, and every step took him past new splashes of blood on the pine needles. Red blood painted the roots. Red blood colored the stones. It looked as if someone had run up the trail with sloshing buckets of the stuff, and it made Harric's heart squeeze on itself.

When he finally crested the hill above the waterfall, his lungs and legs burned. Ahead, the empty trail stretched on with no sign of Snapper or anyone else.

Cursing, he stumbled onward, following the dwindling track of blood.

The trail had risen far above the river. He now traversed the side of the canyon at some twenty fathoms above the rushing water. Through occasional gaps in the trees, he glimpsed the opposite side, which was just as steep and choked with pines. But ahead he could see the end of the canyon—no more than a mile away—and beyond it an open valley.

Redoubling his effort, he forced his nerveless legs to move. The trail of blood dwindled, and as he approached each bend in the trail he dreaded what he might find on the other side.

He had run perhaps half a mile when hunting horns sounded again far behind. He guessed they couldn't be more than a mile below the falls, maybe a mile and a half behind him. Moons, I need a horse. He would never escape on foot. Where in the Black Moon was Snapper? Had no one thought to catch the gelding and bring him back to Harric, or had the beast run wild?

He'd just decided to hide up the next creek bed that crossed the trail when a harsh, graveled horn ripped through the canyon behind.

The sound drained the strength from him. Bannus's horn.

There was no mistaking it. But how could that be? Gygon had been swept away and Bannus's gear lost in the river.

The horn sounded again, harsh as the voice of its owner, and Harric groaned out a curse. We're cobbed. Gygon was clearly stronger and luckier than Harric had guessed. Not only had the stallion escaped the roaring waters, but he'd swiftly found his way back to Bannus.

Sir Bannus would catch them all before full dark could hide them.

Full dark. A spark of hope sprang to life in his chest: he didn't need full dark to enter the Unseen...

Harric stopped at a gap in the trees and looked out across the canyon. High above on the opposite ridge, the ridge had finally gone dark. During his frantic run, the sun had set behind the hill and night had officially come.

He could escape into the Unseen.

He fumbled inside his shirt for his nexus and tried to gauge whether he was far enough from the river. Twenty fathoms might not be enough. Was this higher than he'd been the last time he'd approached the water and felt the furious itch and burn of the river strands in the Unseen? He didn't know, but he had to try.

When the glassy stone cooled the palm of his hand, he closed his eyes and relaxed his oculus just enough to open it a crack.

Flashes of spirit light stung his oculus like lashes of fire. Blinded, he cried out. The river strands scored his oculus like white-hot whips, burning but also prying his oculus open like the searching feet of a sea-star on a mussel. He gasped in pain and reflexively clapped his hands to his forehead, and to his immense relief, the assault diminished. It seemed the strands of his own spirit partially shielded it and won him enough respite that he could close his oculus slightly.