The Jack of Souls (Multi-award winner!)

Chapter 22 - Of Herbs & Hauntings

When asked what he thought of the spitfires so popular with the Order of the Dragon, Sir Willard was reported to say, "Damned unmusical. Don't know how they stand to hear themselves work."

 — Anecdote widely circulated early in the reign of Chasia

Chapter Twenty-Two

Harric tried to stand, but his body had grown so stiff and sore from his recent exertion that he failed miserably, doubling back over in pain. Willard plucked his ragleaf from his mouth and extended it to him.

"Here. You've been roughed up pretty good."

Harric smoked till his mouth stung, and it quelled enough pain to get him back on his feet. When he glanced at Caris he saw softness in her eyes, but when he met her eyes she clenched her jaw and turned away.

Willard said, "How far to the mountain pass you spoke of, girl?"

"It's at the head of this valley."

Willard grunted. "We could reach it tonight, if we pushed."

"There's a fortification and gate in the pass," Caris said.

Harric found that funny. Even if he and Chacks or Remo had packed enough food for their expedition to their grove, they may well have faced a fort wall, too. He must have made an unseemly giggle, because the next thing he knew Willard plucked the ragleaf from his mouth and replaced it between his own teeth.

"You didn't mention a guarded fort, girl," said Willard. "How'd you get past when you came through?"

"It was unmanned in winter, but I suppose it's occupied in summer, to protect the harvest."

Willard frowned. "We might find the guards sympathetic to our cause, and we might not. Is there no other pass?"

"I don't think so. The mountains are awfully rough up there."

"Maybe we worry for nothing," said Brolli. "Night comes, and you camp near the pass while I scout it. Who know? Perhaps the gate is abandon and we worry for nothing."

"Unlikely," Willard said. "The fire-cone represents a lot of revenue for the queen."

The Kwendi grinned his feral grin. "Then I have a way we slip by." The mischievous twinkle in his eye was unmistakable. Harric guessed he planned to use magic to do it, and delivered the proposal like dropping a gauntlet before Willard.

Willard grunted and looked away, but Harric believed the old man knew exactly what the Kwendi was implying, and tacitly — hypocritically — approved. So, magic is okay if it benefits Willard, and he doesn't have to acknowledge it. Harric kept that thought to himself, but it might have leaked out in his look, for Willard avoided his glance.

"Very well," Willard said. "Stop us a mile from the place, girl."

* * *

Harric fell into a rhythmic trudge behind Idgit, staring at the trail and seeing only the next spot he'd place his feet. As the sun sank behind them, and his shadow lengthened before him, Harric slowly emerged from his trance, aware of a strange sound around him. At first he thought Caris might be humming or singing. Or perhaps Brolli was speaking in some pet voice to Spook beneath his blanket. It didn't seem to have a direction, or it seemed to come from near him, accompanied by a hollow kind of echo.

It was a voice. Female. Hysterical. It seemed beside him, a presence at his ear. He flinched, looking about, but saw nothing.

Little fool! You'll ruin everything!