The Jack of Souls (Multi-award winner!)

Chapter 6a - Hex

Of all in the Old Ones Sir Grippan was wildest,

And first to be slain in the Cleansing.

Most hated was Bannus, the vilest despoiler,

Who fled to the Isle of Phyrosi.

—From Oral Histories of the Cleansing,

Willard urged Molly from the beach onto the foot of the Hanging Road. In his left hand he held the ponies' leads, so they would follow near the cliff wall, and so he could leave them in a crisis without untying them first from his saddle. The ambassador rocked in his saddle beneath his blanket, but Willard knew he was alert as a cat, the knots binding him to the saddle set to untie with a single tug in emergency. In his right hand Willard cradled Belle, the massive greatsword balanced over the front cantle of his saddle.

"This ought to be fun."

Brolli chuckled. "Remind me to ask what in your language means fun."

Iron-shod hooves rang from the stone as they climbed.

They were ants now, insects tickling the ankles of the mighty granite wall, tiny motes on a scratch above the water.

"Sun has set, yes?" Brolli said. "Your night hex is with us."

"Yes. But that is no guarantee it will wake tonight. Can't be sure until it gives a sign."

"A sign?"

"A victim. We won't proceed until we have one."

The ponies strained up the steep-cut incline of the road, pulling against their leads in Willard's hand. Even Molly snorted with exertion. Willard halted them some sixty paces below the Sapphire, and waited. Ought to be close enough. He'd seen his hex reach men from twice as far.

The nobleman's company maintained their disciplined stillness, lances standing tall in the holders attached to their stirrups; Willard saw no drawn swords flashing. As he anticipated, the nobleman was not planning to attack. Not here, or now. Not yet, anyway.

Molly tossed her head, impatient.

"Soon, girl. We need a sign."

Like Kogan, Willard had a healthy fear of his hex. It struck out randomly, often at him, or his friends. But unlike Kogan, he also recognized that, in a pinch, it could be a valuable ally, for it was generally as destructive to his enemies as it was to him. Generally. That was the problem. It was unpredictable. It might not wake at all, or it might strike him, which could scuttle the whole moon-blasted thing.

Roll the dice, old man.

"Ever wonder why this damned hex never strikes you, ambassador?"

"There is no hex curse among my people." Brolli shrugged. "We are not human. Another sign of Kwendi superior, I think."

Willard heard the humor in his voice, and smiled. "As far as hexes are concerned, it'd be damned hard to argue with that."

The Sapphire stirred. He signaled his men with a wave of his hand, turned his horse, and rode away northward, with his men in tow.

"Ah, they leave," said Brolli. "Is the hex not waking?"

Willard said nothing, his gaze still fixed on the place below the gallows where the Sapphire had been. He counted thirty heartbeats, and was on the brink of giving up when a trio of riders appeared again beside the gallows: a knight and squire, both armored, accompanied by a groom.