The Jack of Souls (Multi-award winner!)

Chapter 27a - The Witch's Creature

The gods help none, so help yourself.

                        — Arkendian Proverb

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It was more than an hour before Harric brought Holly to a stall in the barn beside Rag. Since she'd gorged in the meadow, he left her only water and a handful of hay, before wearily plodding up the stairs and into the tower.

The base of the tower formed a single spacious circular room with stalls for animals and barrels below and heavy timber beams above, with a central pillar of stone that Harric deduced encased the base of the thunder-rod.  Stairs curved up the circumference to the right. He climbed toward the sounds of conversation above, and wondered how Abellia managed such stairs when he could barely lift his feet to make it.

He emerged onto a landing with a single doorway through which came smells and sounds of pleasant cooking and conversation, and stepped through into a high-timbered hall with windows as big as doors. The wood floor was entirely carpeted in lush Iberg rugs, and two high-backed stuffed chairs faced each other before the hearth. The window shutters were flung wide to admit the western breeze and the last evening light. Brolli, Willard and Caris lounged with their host in a cozy alcove before the western window, watching an orange sunset over the ridges, upon pillowed benches. They'd washed and combed and each enjoyed a pint of something frothy that Harric imagined must be coolly refreshing.

He felt instantly sweaty, and dirty, and mightily abused.

No one noticed him standing in the doorway. Abellia seemed to be in the middle of a story of Caris's first visit to the tower.

"It gave a horrid wet storming in the sky that day, so she must stay. Mio doso! She looking like the poor wet cat!" The old woman cackled, and beamed at Caris. Caris put on a smile, but Harric could see she was distracted, worried or upset, probably with him for being so late.

When he shut the door behind him, Caris's eyes snapped to him. He fully expected her to scowl, but found instead all the signs of urgent worry in her face. Not surprisingly, though she seemed anxious to speak to him, she had no words to gracefully excuse herself from the table.

Willard noted the intensity of her gaze, and followed it to Harric. "Boy! By Bannus' stinking socks where have you been? Get cleaned up. I can smell you from here." He pointed to a door on opposite side of the hearth and said, "Bathing room."

 The old knight's armor had been removed and replaced with a worn brown doublet and hose. He'd girded the doublet with a clean bandage, over which his considerable guts hung obscenely. It embarrassed Harric to see him out of armor. He felt like he'd walked in on the old man naked — arms and chest strong as firecone roots, but the belly grotesque, and the old legs spindly and weak, like a hermit crab plucked from its shell. More bandages wrapped his ribs beneath both arms, and another embraced his left wrist, but all were clean, without seepage.

"Good to see you in repair, Sir," Harric said, but in truth the medical attentions appeared to have taken their toll; the old knight's face seemed sunken, and the already pale cheeks had lost all trace of color.  The sight made Harric ashamed of his self-pity.

"Molly swallowed Idgit, sir," Harric replied, with his best manservant imitation. "I had a bit of a time making her cough her back up, and when she finally did, I had an even worse time calming Idgit."

The table laughed, and the joke had the desired effect of diverting attention from Caris's obvious need to speak with him in private. She is useless keeping secrets, Harric noted, amused. An open book for all to read. Even Willard.