The Jack of Souls (Multi-award winner!)

Chapter 6c - A Hanging

The tooler lay stunned and gasping like a beached fish beside the cabin.

Sir Willard turned Molly and led Brolli away.

"Ah...thank you, Master Tooler," Brolli said, beneath his blanket. "I think I understand now, how it work. Very nice."

Brolli rode up beside Willard, hugging the cliff wall and bouncing in his saddle like an ill-stowed sack of firewood. He twisted around to peer through the hole in his blanket at the tooler, who sat dazed and choking.

When the tooler was out of earshot, he chuckled grimly. "That was most strange. It was your hex, yes?"

Willard nodded, brows pinched in worry. "I've never seen it so active."

"It is a good sign, though, yes? It still does not strike you. Maybe it will not."

"We can hope."

"Or maybe that is all it does today?"

"Oh, no. It'll strike again. Once it's awake, it's awake till dawn. Near as I can tell, it strikes when I'm in danger. In battle, say, or hunted, like we are now, and the hunter is near. Or when I'm with women - don't ask me why," he said, to head off a chuckling response from the ambassador. "I don't understand it at all, but I've noticed it's so."

"Women are danger, then!" Brolli rocked with pleasure. "And women is why you are exiled from court, yes?"

Willard peered suspiciously at Brolli. "A particular woman, yes."

"The Lady Anna, I think?"

"How in the Black Moon do you know that, Ambassador? You've been among us for, what, a month?"

"A month in your court was long enough for me to learn of the Sir Willard Ballads. 'Sir Willard and the Queen's Maid,' was my favorite. There I learn of Anna." Brolli hummed as if seeking a note.

"Do not sing it," said Willard.

"It is very catchy - "

"Have I told you how I detest those ballads?" He barely kept a snarl from his voice.

Brolli sighed. "I will not sing it."

"You save me much pain. Let's talk about something more pleasant, shall we? Like our present situation. If my hex strikes me in Gallows Ferry, there are many who could be in serious danger. Especially you, Ambassador. If I am lost, you must race through the outpost and find Father Kogan on the road. Tell him what has happened and have him block the road after you pass, as we'd planned."

"Race? I can barely sit a horse when you lead me."

"Run on foot, then, if you have to. The next danger is your identity, Ambassador. That blanket must not slip again. If it does, be ready for a lynch-mob of Arkendians that will make our treatment of Ibergs look hospitable."

The ambassador grunted. "Worse than my reception in your queen's court?"

The knight gave an incredulous look. "We're on the frontier, Ambassador. They hang

Ibergs for sport. And Ibergs are human. No telling what they'd do with you."

#

The apprentice crept to the tooler's side. "Master?"

The tooler coughed and rubbed his neck as the boy helped him sit. When the man had recovered enough to breathe normally, he stared after the Phyros-rider, lost in wonder. "That was powerful strange," he muttered. "Don't hardly know what I just done...."

The man found himself perspiring, his hands trembling.

The cabin door squeaked as his brother and nephew emerged and moved reverently to the tooler's side. "You was witched," his nephew said, eyes wide and earnest. "You was taken by a god." The boy reached down and held up the tooler's sweating, trembling hands, as if in confirmation. The boy's father nodded sagely.

"Taken by a god, master!" the apprentice yelped. "You're lucky she let you go."

The tooler snatched his hands away and boxed his apprentice's ear. "Superstitious fools! Ain't no such thing. A tooler looks for a better explanation than that. A real explanation." He blinked and tried to still the trembling in his hands. "It was the Phyros made me nervous is all," he muttered. "People do things when they're nervous."

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