The Jack of Souls (Multi-award winner!)

Chapter 16b - A Midnight Visitation

Harric woke to Spook yowling and spitting and clawing at his chest. His hand went to swipe the cat away, only to find a set of cold hands there already, grabbing at his shirt and grasping at the cat. Red moonlight illuminated a cloaking fog and glimpses of pale bodies striving around him.

"Fog!" he cried out, beating the hands back, but they persisted with fiendish strength. The cat staged a yowling frenzy in his arms. Caris cried out, her voice uncannily loud and near in the fog, and the body groping him suddenly crashed sideways and tumbled over him, its bony knees sending daggers of pain through his ribs.

Caris was cursing like a raftsman. Her sword flashed, deadly silent, and the body beside him vanished into mist. Another jolted, her blade transfixing its middle, and vanished before it hit the ground. Harric rolled to his side, the cat still tangled in his shirt, and scanned about, ready to run.

They were alone.

Caris stood over him, sword glinting dully. In the red light of the Mad Moon he caught a glimpse of rage and terror on her face. All around them, the fog was sinking into the earth with uncanny speed. In the space of a half dozen breaths, it was gone.

"Hurric?" Willard's voice slurred from Brolli's sleeping concoction. "Whad in the Black Moon're ya playin' at?"

The old knight tottered into a patch of red light, gigantic whiskers askew, a sword in his hand, still in its sheath. He'd somehow waked and clambered to his feet, despite the sleeping draft Brolli had given him. The act had called forth new blood from his hip, which already filled the bandage. Brolli, was nowhere to be seen; apparently he'd gone to watch their trail for pursuers.

"Just the cat, sir," Harric said. "Must have rolled over on him. Won't happen again."

Willard stared, face slack and groggy. "The cat. Gods leave us. Sounded like the Battle of Arkam."

Caris turned so her body partly concealed the sword in her hand.

"Sorry, sir," said Harric, trying to keep the knight's attention from her. "You can go back to sleep. No problem."

Willard stared at Caris. "Awfully big sword for a cat," he said. "You two aren't fighting, are you?" A wry smile twisted his mouth beneath the crooked mustachios. "If he tried to kiss you, girl, a good slap would do the trick. In your case, it might knock him out. No need for a sword."

Caris didn't seem able to meet his eyes. Her brow furrowed, and Harric sensed she was about to curl up in crisis.

"You're bleeding pretty bad, sir," Harric said, trying to divert Willard's attention.

"Eh? Damned bandages." Willard scowled at the mess of linen.

"We'll have to change those wads out before you go back to sleep," Harric said.

Caris had begun to crouch, hands to ears, but these comments drew her out. She looked up, and Harric followed her gaze to the ruined bandages. The panic drained from her expression, replaced with outward determination rivaling her intensity during combat. Her hands dropped, she stood erect, and strode to Willard.

"Lie down, sir," she said, "I'll fix your bandage."

Willard scowled. "What, you haven't kept me awake long enough?" He limped back to his bed as Caris went for the linen. "Here's a hint, boy," he said, crouching into his bed. "Don't go feeling her up when a sword's near at hand."

"You think I'd need to steal a feel when she's got that ring on?"

Willard grunted as he sank heavily into a seating position. "Probably not. Here's your only warning then: if that cat wakes me again, I'll boil it for breakfast."