The Jack of Souls (Multi-award winner!)

Chapter 8b - Of Hexes and Wedding Rings

Willard rode at an uncomfortable trot so the other horses could keep up at a canter. Molly had never had a smooth trot. Sir Beldan once described it as a runaway cart full of boulders on a badly cobbled hill.

Of course, the roughness of her trot had never mattered when he was immortal. Then, she could have trotted over him, and it wouldn't have much changed his mood. But as a mortal man, it threatened to shake his teeth from their roots and his eyeballs from his skull. Worst of all was the misery it made of his back, where each jolting stride felt like the blow of a fish-club in the hands of a mischievous imp: Clop! Clop! Clop! Clop! Clop!

At least it kept him awake. If he fell asleep now he'd topple from his saddle and fall through twenty fathoms of air before he hit the river.

He looked back to be sure Brolli was still in Idgit's saddle. Happily, she had a smooth, rolling canter, and Brolli had learned to stay seated for it. He was hopeless at a trot, for his legs were simply too short to embrace the animal's sides.

"Glorious!" Brolli called, seeing the knight turn. He gestured with a long arm across to the glittering ribbon of the Bright Mother's moonlight on the river below. His huge, night owl eyes were wide with excitement. "And this road! Cut through the mountains that separate our people for so long."

"Blasted, actually. Our toolers cleared the river in the same way. Used to be log jams as big as islands and older than I am. Now open and clear for waterwheel traffic."

"Magnificent! Your toolers have their own kind of magic, I think."

"Not magic at all. That's the point of toolery. And just wait till you see the cliffs of the Giant's Gorge. That road will make this seem a garden path."

Already they'd come a mile past Gallows Ferry across the sheer cliff face, the river on one side, a mile high wall of soaring granite on the other, the wild wind in their faces as if they were hawks gliding above the moonlit waters.

Far behind them Willard could see a long stretch of the road, and still no sign of pursuit. Kogan's ruse had worked beautifully. Ahead he could see an eastward bend in the cliff marking the place where a tributary river valley joined the Arkend from the east. As they rounded the bend they gained an expansive view of the eastward valley, dark with forest into which the Hanging Road dipped and disappeared. The road crossed the valley, beneath the trees, to the opposite side, where the cliffs of the Arkend rose again, even higher, and the road rose above the trees once again, etched into the cliff face and continuing north.

The Bright Mother illuminated the confluence of the rivers. Willard reined Molly in and strained his eyes upon the water, searching for a waterwheel ship at anchor.

Brolli halted behind him.

"I can't see any ships, Brolli."

Brolli surveyed the new vista. "There are none. I am sorry. That would have been best for your rest." Willard grunted. "But we can hide in there," Brolli said, pointing to the forested valley to the east. "I will find a place."

"Moons, I'm tired of camping and roads."

"Try to think of it as an adventure."

Willard waited for the quip about it being a Sir Willard Ballad, but it didn't come. It seemed the ambassador was learning. "We have no maps of this area, Brolli. I doubt if any exist except for the surveys the toolers made originally. We have no idea where to go in that valley."

"We have no choice."

"True enough."

"A strange expression, True enough. Do your people see truth as something that can be mixed with un-truth, as the teller sees fit?"

Willard waved him off. "I'm too tired for philosophy, Ambassador."

"For a later time, then." Brolli urged Idgit to walk up beside Willard on the cliffside of the road. He extended a hand up to Willard, his thick canines flashing in a grin. "Now that I am awake it is time for me to take over the lead, and time for you to give up the wedding ring for safe keeping."

Willard grunted. "And good riddance to them." He slipped his hand into the saddle purse on the front cantle, found the purse by touch, and drew it forth. He tossed it to Brolli. "So much trouble over so small a trinket."

Brolli threw the purse back. "This is not my ring, old man."

Willard frowned. He slipped a finger in the purse and found two coins. A stab of cold fear pierced his middle. This was the coin purse he'd meant to give the bastard in Gallows Ferry. He searched the saddle again, this time pushing his whole hand in the pocket, but a moan of despair filled his chest even as he did it, for there were only ever two purses, and one of them he'd given to the bastard.

"What is wrong?" Brolli's voice was sharp. "Sir Willard. What is wrong?"

Willard bowed his head. If he weren't so weary he'd weep. "I told you we would rue it if my curse struck me. Well, it did. In the market, in Gallows Ferry."

"I don't understand. What happened?"

Willard turned to Brolli, his heart full of lead, all hope of rest and quiet flown. "I'll tell you what happened: I gave your cursed magic rings to the bastard." 

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