The Jack of Souls (Multi-award winner!)

Chapter 24a - A Race of Bastards

The existence of the blood-arch is traditionally attributed to moon sprites, woodwives, gods and witchcraft, but it is the task of a tooler to quash such superstition. As our Master Toolers show us, the colors of the blood-arch have nothing to do with such hokum, and are easily created with light through a simple prism of glass....

- From First Tooler's Prentice Manual, Vol. I, Master Erkan of Wend

Chapter Twenty-Four

Harric woke, and peered groggily around him. Spook lay panting beside him, green eyes glazed and twitching in the firelight. His pink tongue licked foam from his whiskers.

"Shut up that cat, boy!" Willard growled from his blankets.

Brolli beckoned Harric to the tiny fire, where he boiled water in a kettle. "Join me. I have tea."

Harric shook his aching head in apology. He felt as though he hadn't slept all night.

"Ragleaf," Brolli whispered. He indicated the kettle. "Drink. Before I rouse Willard."

Harric almost groaned with gratitude. "Gods leave you." He rolled to his knees, and gingerly clambered to his feet.

"I have selfish reasons," Brolli said, handing Harric a steaming mug. "I want your help tonight."

Harric drank, expecting explanation to follow, but Brolli said nothing more. As soon as he'd drained the cup, Harric felt his body relaxing and warming, the bands of pain that held him fast loosened, and fell away. Brolli filled the mug again for Willard and delivered it as he roused the others. When all were gathered at the fire, he told them what he'd found at the pass.

"The gate is shut and the guard house occupied," he reported. "It's not a huge building, but its wall spans the pass. I think the gate is run by a machine inside the walls."

Willard twisted the end of one mustachio between thumb and forefinger. He looked groggy, and weak, but his fever seemed to have broken. "You're sure there's no other way across the ridges than to cross the pass?"

Brolli shook his head. "Caris is right. The toolers take the easiest way when they blast their road through the pass. But I have a plan to pass without notice."

Willard raised one grizzled eyebrow. "Something in your bag of tricks."

Brolli nodded. "Unless you have another idea."

"Go on."

"In some ways it is better the pass is watched," said Brolli. "Then they tell our hunters the pass is secure. One thing only I need for this, and that is assistant; I wish Harric goes with me."

Willard frowned. "Remember what we said about magic and this boy's values."

"He does not touch a bit of magic. That I promise."

"He can't see a lick in the dark, Brolli."

"He does not need to. We set out when the Mad Moon is high, so he sees enough to follow my lead to the gate house. Once we get to the wall, all will still be lit by the Mad Moon."

"All right. When do we follow?"

"Saddle the horses and pack. Snuff the fire. I come back for you when all is ready."

* * *

Harric followed Brolli out of camp as Caris scrambled to saddle the horses and Willard stared into the fire, the dull eye of his ragleaf pulsing red.

The trail now followed the ridge, up and down a ledge carved across its rugged face toward the pass, and rising higher and higher above the valley below. Harric followed Brolli, holding to a lead line they'd borrowed from Idgit's bridle, to guide him in the darkest stretches. Brolli steered the line around the worst obstacles, and warned him with a whispered "rock" or "root" when needed. As the Mad Moon climbed the sky, more and more of its crimson light illuminated the contours of the rock. In one particularly long stretch of illuminated path, Brolli slowed to walk near him, and flashed his toothy grin. "This is a hard few days for you," he said, ambiguously. "I am glad you come with me."