Confusion twisted Kogan’s thick brows. “An Iberg witch-toy is a friend?”
Harric imagined he saw a flash of residual Blood rage in Willard’s glare. “Mistress Abellia is one of the few Sisters of the Bright Mother Moon that the Queen has licensed in Arkendia. She is a friend of the Queen’s. Therefore, she is a friend of mine—and a friend of yours if you have a brain in that thick skull. Abellia’s tower stands in a grove of fire-cones that produces much of the Queen’s resin, and her magic snuffs lightning before it can set off the fire-cones. I encourage you to consider the importance of that resin in our war against the Old Ones before you murder her servant.”
The priest’s brown eyes turned to flint. “I abide your chimpey friend, Will, because he ain’t a magus. He’s just an ambassador. I abide him because the Queen needs a peace treaty with his people, because now ain’t no time for another enemy at our back.” Kogan gripped the club like he would twist it into splinters. “But there ain’t no treaty with the Ibergs. And I won’t brook no shambling witch-walker made of sticks and rubbish. I’ll crack it to pieces.”
“We aren’t yet sure it is Mudruffle,” Brolli said. “Might it be some other creature?”
Mudruffle’s weirdly hornlike voice bleated from the brush. “It is I! I am without injury,”
“Sounds like it strangles a goose.” Kogan strode toward the sound, tree still in hand. “I’ll bash the unnatural statcha to splinters!”
“Kogan!” Willard boomed, and the priest halted. It seemed to Harric that Willard’s voice had altered, deepened, amplified somehow. Perhaps the priest noticed, too, for he stopped and stared at Willard in surprise. If he suspected the old knight once again hosted the Blood of the God in his veins, however, he said nothing.
Willard stormed to the priest’s side and grabbed him by the smothercoat. Tall as Willard was, he still had to look up to meet Kogan’s eyes. What he then said to Kogan was uttered too softly to be heard, but the tone was clear as a bell on a winter’s morning: Kogan would tolerate Willard’s companions, or he was free to leave.
The irony of Willard defending another magic-using companion while condemning Harric’s assumed use brought a burn of acid to Harric’s throat, but he swallowed it down. There would be no use in arguing with Willard. It would just make the old goat more suspicious.
Caris plowed through the greenery with Harric in tow, until the little golem stood before them, no higher than Harric’s navel, his clay surface shaped and textured in the guise of an Iberg forester, complete with jaunty slouch hat and high boots.
“Harric and Caris,” Mudruffle honked. “I fear I may have startled your gigantic companion. I did not see him until too late, though it staggers the mind to consider how one can overlook a mountain.”
“Kogan is a peasant priest,” said Harric. “It’s his religion to hate magic. It isn’t personal.”
“I am more concerned for your wellbeing than my own,” said Mudruffle. “Last night we heard a great rumbling from the pass, and my mistress sent me to investigate. As I am unable to ride, my progress is slow, but by good fortune you have stopped to rest near my farthest point of progress.”
Caris related the tale of the previous night’s battle, including the blasts that brought down the cliff on Bannus’s army. “You must have heard the blasts and rockfall as far away as the tower.”
“Yes,” said Mudruffle. “But that would not explain all. Since you left, we have heard distant thumps from the northern ridges. Not as big as the sound of your explosion, but many dozens. We fear your enemies may be trying to clear one of the blocked passes there, in order to come around behind you. Abellia wished me to warn you.”
Harric’s stomach twisted. He knew of passes north of Gallows Ferry that had been intentionally blocked in order to isolate access to the fire-cone groves. It was illegal to blast them clear, but Sir Bannus would not let that stop him, and the Queen’s servants in the north were too few and too weak to try.
“Thank you, Mudruffle,” Caris said, sharing a grim look with Harric. “We’ll tell Willard immediately. Come with me and I’ll get you on a horse.”
“I fear the giant, my lady.”
Caris frowned. “I think Willard has spoken with Father Kogan, but I’ll check.” She left Harric with the golem, her armored figure sliding easily through the brush.
“How is your mistress?” Harric asked. “Well, I hope.”
“She is well. How goes the Lady Caris, with the Kwendi ring on her finger?”
Harric nearly gave a reflexive “Fine, fine,” but found himself pausing. The golem knew as much about magic as Fink. He was, after all, a servant of the White Moon. And Harric trusted him to hold Caris’s interests in mind as much as anyone, so it could only help to share his concerns. “She suffers,” he said.
Mudruffle nodded. “As do you, I think.”
Despite Mudruffle’s ridiculous honking voice, the words touched Harric. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Only the ordinary kind,” he said. “You know, if I thought it would do her any good, I’d leave her and Willard and strike out on my own.”
“You are correct in assuming it would be worse for her.”
Harric nodded. “I thought so. Have you thought of any way to remove the ring without hurting her?”
“If it were Bright Mother magic, perhaps I could do something. But there is Dark Moon magic in that ring. Of that I am sure.”
Caris returned through the brush, face attractively flushed with exertion. “Come, Mudruffle. Willard guarantees your safety. But I should warn you that your news of the thumps in the north passes has put him in a foul temper—”
“Big surprise,” muttered Harric.
“—and he’s ordered us back in the saddle, immediately, and then he wants to hear the news from you directly.”
“I am happy to tell him as I told you.”
Caris led them back through the aspens toward the shore. “Also, the ambassador is awake,” she said over her shoulder. “And he asked that you be strapped beside him on his pony. He very much enjoys your company, and he says those without knees should ride with those without rumps.”
“I also have no rump.”
“All the more reason. Father Kogan agreed to follow at a distance on his cow, and to sleep the night in the meadow below the gardens.”
“Last time you stayed with us, Sir Willard expressed interest in me guiding you through the mountains beyond our tower. Assuming I go with you, will the priest go with us then?”
“I think so.”
Mudruffle paused. “It is my hope I will not live in constant peril of being smashed to kindling.”
“We all live in awe of the good father’s whim,” said Harric.
*
Caris led them in silence the rest of the afternoon. Twice Harric imagined he heard distant horns behind them, but whenever he looked back, he saw nothing but empty trail. Eyes and ears now strained forward, too, anticipating enemies from some newly opened northern pass. None appeared there, either, but whenever the trial allowed it, Caris urged the horses into a canter to cover more ground. The worst possible outcome would be if they were trapped between Bannus on one side, and men from some north pass on the other.
The tower finally drew into view in the late afternoon. High on its ridge amidst towering fire-cone trees, its yellow sandstone shone gold in the late evening sunlight. Fat resin cones hung like explosive ornaments in the trees’ highest branches, prompting Kogan to jab a stubborn finger at the thunder spire rising from the top of Abellia’s tower. “That thunder spire is truth-solid fact the Queen don’t need no white witch to damp lightning. Magic-free Arkendians already found a way.”
When they reached the meadows below the terraced gardens, Kogan halted and made the sign of the heart before him. “This witch woman,” he said, looking at Willard. “Ain’t you worried about your hex lighting up around her? Ain’t it foes and women what set it off?”
Willard gave a stiff nod. “It is. But Abellia is a crone
. And for whatever reason, my hex is not triggered by crones. Nor is it wakened by attached or uninterested women.” He indicated Caris with a jerk of his head.
“Sounds like a jealous hex. You slight a witch or something, Will? Maybe you slighted a witch and she put a no-love hex on ye.”
“I’ve thought that myself.”
Kogan shook his head and spat. “And that’s why we have the two laws.”
The priest turned the great musk ox aside, and the two of them lumbered away toward a huge weeping willow beside a creek in the middle of the meadow. “Find me at the willow in the morning.”
Willard caught Caris’s eye. “Let’s move, girl.”
Caris hesitated, her eyes on the priest, then looked at the sky, where gray clouds threatened rain.
“Father Kogan,” said Mudruffle, who had been watching Caris and the priest. “Mistress Abellia is sworn to shelter and protect. She took Caris in last winter when she had need, and she welcomed Willard when first he fled Sir Bannus. You would be most welcome in the tower.”
“Honk not at me, vile whatsit!” Kogan said. “Nor tempt me with magic nor witches. I’ll bunk in the wild with Gerry, like a good Arkendian, and taste no magic vittles, neither.”
Harric pressed his lips tight to keep from smiling; when the good father was roused, his language grew lofty.
“Let him go, Mudruffle,” Willard said. “Don’t goad a mad dog.”
Caris led them up the switchbacks, where they passed through Mudruffle’s terraced gardens and orchards. Harric’s stomach growled in anticipation of the little golem’s cooking. Mudruffle made glorious, crusty breads and delicious white beans in spiced oil that Harric sometimes dreamed about. When he passed an apple tree loaded with yellow fruit, Harric snapped one off and sank his teeth into the sweet flesh. Kogan had forsworn anything touched by the witch or her “witch-walker,” claiming “Geraldine’s milk will keep me whole, and I’ll find forage in the wild wood, too.”
Harric couldn’t help but notice the cow also carried ale casks from the fort.
Forage, my toe. He’ll be just as hungover tomorrow.
Halfway up the terrace switchbacks, they heard a sound like the thump of distant blasting. It came on the wind from the north.
“As I reported,” said Mudruffle, “I fear your enemies are at work in the north pass.”
“You see how badly they want our good ambassador and his wedding ring,” Harric said.
“I am so honored,” said Brolli, who had emerged from his sleeping blanket. Another thump rumbled from the north, and he winced.
“How long have they been blasting?” Harric asked.
“Two days, Master Harric,” said Mudruffle. “It began the day you left us.”
So much for a head start on our pursuers. “Sir Willard,” said Harric, “the Queen’s toolers cleared a rockslide north of Gallows Ferry in two days.”
Willard chewed at a stick shaped like a ragleaf roll. “How far from here is the north pass, Mudruffle?”
“Two days’ walk, a day on horse,” Mudruffle replied.
“That means they could reach us as soon as nightfall tomorrow, at which time we must be long gone. It will be ill news for Captain Gren if he comes this way. Tomorrow we shall leave him a sign on the road below. Tonight, we must provision from Abellia’s stores, and by noon tomorrow I want us down the other side of this ridge and on the trail. Understood?”
Mutters of acknowledgement from the others.
“Harric, pack the saddlebags with provisions. Caris, check the gear and horses.”
“I will go north while you sleep,” said Brolli. “To spy if there be campfires.”
“I can also help in this regard,” said Mudruffle, “as I require no sleep.”
Willard grunted. “The rest of us will be sure to get to sleep early. We wake at dawn to rouse the priest and cut staves for lances in that meadow. I want to be on the road before sun crests those mountains.”
“See, Arkendia, the fruits of thy folly! For your so-called Cleansing hath set a woman to rule. Call it not Cleansing, then, but Defilement. For woman was made in service of man…and to take empire from a man and give it to a woman…seemeth an evident portent of the Chaos Moon…”
—Reportedly said by Second Herald Quort, upon the ascension of Queen Chasia
14
White Moon Servants
Harric hobbled the horses at the foot of the tower so Mudruffle could take Willard and Brolli to greet their hostess. Before crossing the threshold, the golem paused and made several subtle motions with his sticklike hands.
Removing wards, Harric realized. The first time they’d entered the tower, weeks before, alarms had sounded as Brolli crossed the threshold. To Abellia’s horror, Brolli had confessed to bearing magic from all three moons. To Abellia’s credit—or to the credit of her fierce desire to learn more about Kwendi magic—she’d only hesitated a heartbeat before she removed the wards and welcomed him inside. This time, Mudruffle made no fuss or announcement, but Harric found himself wondering if Fink could show him how to make similar tricks in the Unseen.
The golem led them up the tower’s curving stairway past several floors to the top, where the kitchen and large windows and ample Ibergian rugs made a fair and gracious living space. Since Mudruffle had no knees, he ascended the stairs in a zigzag fashion, goose-stepping from the far edge of one step to the opposite edge of the next, pivoting, and repeating.
Harric had plenty of time to count one hundred and five steps to the top living floor.
When they finally arrived at the landing, they found the door open and Abellia waiting in a stuffed chair by the fire. Tiny and frail, she peered at them from a face pale as paper. Her white hair seemed so light and thin that it virtually floated above her shoulders, but her dark eyes flashed with alertness and life.
“Mio Doso,” she exclaimed as they entered. “We worry very much of you.” Her Iberg accent made her Rs sound like Ds. Woddy veddy much. “The great thunder we hear. The mountain falling. But here you are.”
Harric hurried to her side and helped her to rise, which she accepted gratefully.
“Good Harric.” Her black eyes flashed like wet pebbles in a sea of wrinkles. “Kind boy, take me to the ambassador.”
When they reached Willard and Brolli, she released Harric’s arm, took up the Kwendi’s huge hand in hers, and stared intently into his huge golden eyes.
“I wish you to stay here,” she said, her voice creaking. She turned her watery eyes to Willard while holding fast to Brolli’s hand. “You are to be safe here, Sir Willard. No danger from this Bannus.”
“I thank you, good sister.” Willard gave a polite bow. “But we cannot be certain of that. And I would not bring danger to you.”
“Then we must to go with you,” she said. “We go with to help on your way.”
“Mama,” Caris said. “Our road is rough and dangerous—”
“That’s true,” said Willard. “Mudruffle agreed to guide us with his maps, and his help is more than enough. You will be safe here in your tower.”
Abellia let out a brief spark of a laugh. Her eyes flashed as if she had a merry secret. “I am being a Sister of the Bright Mother, Sir Willard. For such important time, these bones may be made to strong again. I go with you.” The door to the kitchen thumped, interrupting her, as Mudruffle emerged with a huge tray of food balanced on his head. “But first, you must to eat,” she said. “Then we hear where you have been these three days.”
“Your table is most welcome, mistress, but I wish to make clear from the start that we stay but one night,” Willard said. “Just long enough to rest and be on our way.”
“To the lands of the Kwendi.” Abellia’s eyes sparked. “For a treaty with the Queen. But we let you to eat first. Eat in peace, and tonight we to speak of news and to plan.”
As soon as Mudruffle set down the tray, which was full of bowls and jugs and loaves and covered pitchers, the ancient woman beckoned to the golem. “Come, I
have much to prepare.”
As Mudruffle crossed the room in his jerking stride, Caris shared a worried glance with Sir Willard. Harric’s sense of the absurd threatened to make him smile. Would there now be three passengers who had to be tied to their horses?
Harric handed Abellia off to Mudruffle, and the golem led her away to her chambers.
“Harric,” said Willard, before Harric could approach the food. “I want you to tend to the horses and clean out the saddlebags in preparation for tomorrow. The Lady Caris will remain here with us.” Willard sat, tore off a hunk of bread with his teeth, and noisily chewed it as he poured a cup of brown ale.
To Harric, the way he’d said “lady” meant “one of noble character.”
He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.
“Will do!” he said, putting on his best happy-to-help tone. “Just let me grab a bite to take with me.” He scooped up a bowl of beans and a loaf of bread, ignoring Willard’s glare and sending Caris a wink. He couldn’t let her worry that something had happened between him and Willard, or she might ask about it, and he’d sworn himself to secrecy about the incident. Nevertheless, he felt her eyes on him as he left, so he kept a cheerful bounce in his step.
Once on the landing of the stairwell, he paused, half expecting her to follow, though he wasn’t sure what he’d do if she did.
“I am glad to be here again.” It was Brolli speaking, his mouth obviously full. “Most delicious fat beans. I missed them.”
“What did Abellia mean by saying she was coming with us?” said Willard. “She can’t weigh seventy pounds. First wind would blow her down. Moons, the wind of Brolli’s beans would send her skyward.”
The Kwendi barked his peculiar laugh.
“Yes.” Caris paused as if chewing. “I hope to talk to her about it.”
“She is most interested in my magic,” said Brolli. “I think she wishes to see my people.”
Willard grunted. “Told you she’d be lulu about that. But it’s out of the question.”
The Jack of Ruin Page 11