Warlock Apprentice
Black Lake Book 4
by
R. Mac Wheeler

~

The local warlock claimed Paul can reach the ethereal, but the ruling council wants no ogre or commoner from the Range wielding majic. Paul and Morgan join a wizard who has his own issues with the council and are drawn into Northern intrigue when the ancient queen dragon tells them they’re fated to put down a plot that threatens war. The trio defy a death sentence, rogue wizards, and fickle dragons tempted to snack on them. Paul’s majic must mature quickly if he’s to survive. Amid the drama, Paul learns about character, integrity, and family, that all creatures are individuals despite the prejudices he’s been raised to believe.

~

Chapter One
Paul

~

Not natural, humans livin’ with a pair of ogres, much less the mess of ’em livin’ below a lair where three dragons slumber. Stinkin’ dragons. Cranky ogres.

Can’t fathom why it took me so long to muster the gumption to—

Panic exploded as I slid over the outcroppin’, scrapin’ madly at the rock to find a grip. My shins connected with a juttin’ ledge and that froze me in agony. I closed my eyes against it, but had to continue kickin’, searchin’ for a nitch to wedge my toes. My center of gravity loomed outward and head swam with vertigo. Imagined my carcass tumblin’ for thirty minutes before it hit the plain below. A gust sweepin’ up the cliff face plunged grit into my neck and cheek.

Hands slick with sweat, I lost my grip and dropped another foot. Knees whacked the ledge that already bloodied my shins. But one boot met an agreeable crag. I scrambled to get my other on it before I twisted head-over-arse and plummeted to my death.

I clutched at new handholds and lay my face against sunbaked rock to rest, blew out a deep breath in relief, and thanked God I survived that one. I needed to slow down or I was gonna kill myself. No ogre, witch, or dragon would have to do the honors.

I opened my eyes and looked about. A crease in the granite angled from the right toward me. One more, sheer outcroppin’ to beat and the climbin’ would be easier. On the clear mountain face the dragon might find room to land though. Not that the beast had to land. He could probably swoop down and wrench me cleanly away if the wind calmed. I imagined what the dragon’s talons would feel like penetratin’ my body. The pain wouldn’t last long. Couldn’t survive but a second, surely, bein’ cleaved in two by those jaws.

Hope the wind doesn’t calm.

I swallowed, took a deep breath, and extended a leg for the next step. A hawk screeched. Some varmint hidin’ in the rocks nearby squeaked defiantly in answer. Brave cuss. Not unlike me, runnin’ from a hundred-foot-long dragon snarlin’-snout to slashin’-tail. Twelve-inch fangs. Breath foul enough to scald the hair off a mule’s butt.

Don’t think about the dragon.

I lowered myself to the next ledge, which was wide enough I could turn around. I searched the sky for the first time in ten minutes. Where was the beast? Ah. To the right. He rode the thermals, wings extended like sails. He enjoyed himself, teased, baitin’ me with freedom. But where could I go when I reached the plain below? There’d be no place to hide.

I pressed my back against the rock. Useless. Nowhere to go.

Don’t give up. Never give up.

Three sisters to provide for, a father to find. Can’t give up.

I leapt into the crevasse, eroded angles pokin’ through the worn leather soles of what remained of my boots. Once my father’s boots, handed down, wore them for three years with rags jammed into them so my feet wouldn’t slide around so much.

I gasped hot air. At least it wasn’t as thin as I was used to in the alpine heights, my home since the birth of my youngest sister. How long ago was that? I counted the number of first-of-the-season blizzards. Three. This is my fourth summer. Seemed like twentieth. Am only sixteen years old though. Feel much older.

Focus.

Lungs hurt. Every muscle aches from the four-hour-long race off the peak. The plain below promised freedom. What tipped off the dang dragon? He shoulda been sleepin’, curled inside his lair in his six-foot-deep pile of straw.

I adjusted the strap over my shoulder and pushed back the attached bag containin’ the entirety of my possessions—loaf of bread, wedge of cheese, extra shirt, two pairs of socks, the handkerchief Aedwin gave me, pocketknife from Lucas, harmonica from Ike.

And the bag of gold I stole.

Heat rushed across my face. The ogre should have hidden it, not left it sittin’ on top that cupboard. More coins than my pa ever earned his entire life. If I never found the man, at least I wouldn’t starve.

A twitch in my chest made me look up. The dragon arched north to west. Gold wouldn’t do me any good when the dragon caught up with me. Most folk hang thieves. That dragon wouldn’t bother huntin’ for a rope.

I took another deep breath and continued down the steep, but much easier path within the wedge of the two angled mountain faces, the descent ten times faster since I didn’t have to clamber hand over toehold.

Sweat gushed down my face. That twinge, which often tingles my gullet lately, clenched my spine. Neck cramped from keepin’ track of the dragon.

The terrain leveled. Boulders and loose stones covered the broad plates of bedrock, makin’ my steps treacherous. Boots slid across the debris, scrapin’ and bruisin’ my ankles. A broken leg would end my escape. And my life. Either sweat or blood soaked my threadbare socks.

A whooshin’ sound ripped my mind from my pain. I flinched as a wide shadow crossed my path. The dragon careened in a tight bank. I lurched for stones.

“No! No! Go away!”

I launched my pathetic missiles into the air as though they would ward off the enormous predator. The slate-colored, scarred beast veered north, and away.

Showed him.

But thrown stones wouldn’t put off the dragon for long, nor would the stragglin’ boulders hide me. I shook my head. No place but forward. I jolted into a jog, strugglin’ to avoid head-sized stones that littered the narrow foothills frontin’ the plain.

Sand replaced gravel. Instead of knifin’ spikes makin’ through the thin soles of my boots, the sand snuck in through the holes and ground at my feet.

I pressed into a run. But for what purpose? How far could I run? Outdistance a dragon? Not in this lifetime. A life too short.

A sound like spatterin’ applause, the dragon wingin’ to land, forced me to take my eyes off my path. I stomped to a halt, palms droppin’ to my knees to catch my breath. Three gasps and I reached for more stones to throw. I picked up two fist-sized ones and hurled them one after another at the beast with all my strength. They bounced off the dragon’s shoulder. His hide twitched, like a milk cow thwartin’ flies. He fluttered his enormous wings kickin’ up a swell of dust, double eyelids closin’, as though surprised.

A taloned claw extended.

~

Chapter Two

~

The dragon slapped away the next hurled stone, clasped the next, and dropped it as though it were a nasty thin’.

“Stop it!” he roared.

“I’m not goin’ back.”

“Prefer to die down here?”

My chest tightened. “Ya gonna kill me?”

The dragon lowered his inner eyelids a moment. “When the air cools with the settin’ sun, the lions will come out. Ya’ll not last an hour.”

I swallowed. “Uh uh. Ya’re lyin’. I’ve never seen any lions around here.”

“Ya ever been on this plain at night?”

I slumped forward, hands restin’ on my knees again. Sucked in air against the threatin dizziness’.

At least it doesn’t look like he’s gonna kill me. “Does that mean—ya aren’t gonna kill me?”

“Kill ya?” The dragon’s inner eyelids closed shut slowly, and peeled back. It left the impression of a human archin’ their brow. “I should. Make a dandy snack. Might irritate Lucas, but Ike would prolly be happy to be done with ya.”

“Snack?”

“Ya’re right. They haven’t fattened ya up as much as they intend.”

“I got plenty of meat on me.”

“Two weeks ago,” the dragon rasped, “the lions wouldn’ta even taken two glances yar way. A newborn antelope carries more sustenance.”

A bit of my despair twisted into anger. “My pa and ma weren’t starvin’ us. There were no leftovers, but we had nuff to eat.”

“Why did a farmer ever move to the highlands anyway? Was he insane?”

I grabbed a rock and pulled it back.

“Ya throw that and I’ll slice ya in two.” His talons clenched in the sand.

If he was gonna kill me, he already woulda.

Wasn’t much point in antagonizin’ the thin’ further though, or debatin’ him. “Ya sure are an opinionated beast.”

“Beast? Beast? Who’s the beast? Ya’re a crass, heathen, lesser-bein’. Throws rocks. Never even bothered to learn my name. Demonstrates ya have no social skills. Runnin’ from those who’d care for ya. Means ya’re ignert, too.”

I leaned backward a tad and dropped the stone I held. Looked down to avoid meetin’ the dragon’s glare.

“I’ll give ya a hint,” the dragon said. “I’m not one of the Lake siblings.”

That didn’t help collectin’ the thin’s name. I already knew he was the young queen’s mate, not one of her brothers. All the hint meant was his name wouldn’t be pasted in front of ‘loch, the local clutch’s title.

A thought from the clouds struck me, considerin’ the little I knew about dragons, the local clutch should have used their dam’s clan name. I searched for the name. Was a short one. Yes. ‘et. The elder queen’s name was Ash’et.

“Not comin’ to ya?” The dragon’s enormous head swung back and forth displayin’—pity—maybe.

I asked, “Why don’t the younger queen and her brothers use their mama’s clan name?” Don’t know why the thought made me curious enough to ask.

The hide below the dragon’s eyes wrinkled. “Changin’ the subject is a poor strategy for avoidin’ the truth of yar ignorance.”

“Don’t be rude. Don’t ya know? Ya don’t, do ya.”

A rumble emanated from the dragon’s chest. “I should quarter ya and leave ya for the lions.”

But the dragon didn’t make any kind of outward challenge. In fact he squatted, folded his wings behind him, and twisted, pressin’ a shallow in the loose sand and gravel. Dust billowed around us for a five-count. I waved it away from my face. Evidently the dragon was willin’ to get comfortable to converse. What better did he have to do?

“Ash’et is the last of her clan. The most noble of the draconic families. Perhaps she considered it arrogant to keep the name alive. I’m not sure. Perhaps thought a new dynasty was in order, considerin’ she brought a new queen into the world. Hasn’t been one of those in longer than anyone can remember. And what a grand queen.”

The dragon’s eyes seemed to whirl, which reminded me of a human starin’ at nothin’, mind a million miles away.

“Blessed with a queen in her last clutch,” he continued, “perhaps she considered Iza a new promise. Ash’et is very proud of these nestlings. Proud of the home she created here. Perhaps that’s why she named them for the lake.”

Loch. Lake. How hadn’t that ever occurred to me?

The dragon raised his head, eyes whirlin’ again, but his jaw dropped revealin’ those threatenin’ fangs. I almost wet myself the first time I’d seen a dragon do that. Still disconcertin’, even knowin’ the dragon attempted a human-style smile.

He lifted his haunches in the air, shoulders lowered. “See those larger scars runnin’ down my back?”

Vomit rose in the back of my throat. Twelve-foot-long channels a foot wide wove down the dragon’s back. How could he have survived such wounds? Nearly ripped him in two.

A different, gravelly rumble came from the dragon’s chest, a draconic chuckle. Been around ’em nuff to learn that sound.

“Those are from Ash’et, perhaps seven human generations ago. She could have shredded my wings. She let me off easy.”

Easy?

“Ya see, I tried to fly with her, to court her, in yar words.” He displayed more fang. “I considered myself a totally suitable bull. Wasn’t good enough for her, though. I paid for my arrogance. Have ya ever met her mate?”

I searched the past weeks for that dragon’s name. I didn’t expect an exam on all things draconic—hadn’t studied. Didn’t wish to admit I couldn’t identify yet another dragon. That wouldn’t help the situation.

“Don’t try to cover up yar ignorance,” the dragon continued. “I must agree Ash’et found a unique and beautiful mate with Mo’sale. A towerin’ bull. He’s a brindle. Gorgeous. I hate him. Not really. He’s centuries younger than me. No surprise he impressed the finicky queen.”

A smile creased my cheek, despite my personal conundrum, fleein’ an ogre’s lair, almost killin’ myself hurlin’ down a mountain, tracked down by a dragon who now cocked his head, eyes widenin’. A dragon who appeared to enjoy a chat, even with a human on the open plain.

“Ahh. Is it clickin’? I wasn’t good enough for Ash’et, but I snatched up her proudest clutchling, her last queen.”

A rumble, like a cascade of thunder across the valley, vibrated from the dragon’s chest. The ground shook. I imagined it was similar to a cat’s purr in emotion—just much grander. Not a reaction I expected from a giant beast. That tic in my back vibrated.

“I doubt Ash’et recognized me after all those years,” the dragon continued. “I certainly remembered her. She paid little enough attention to me except to run me off. I worried she might kill me when she found me cavortin’ with her Iza’loch. I’m one lucky dragon, on two accounts.”

A wolf howled to the west. The sun had sunk below the peaks and the day’s heat was fadin’. A shiver crossed my shoulders. Wasn’t from the cold. It’s stinkin’ hot, on this plain.

“This is all nice to know—”

“Taiz’lin. Repeat it. Might help to remember my name.”

“Fine,” I muttered. “Taiz’lin. I knew yar name was Taiz’lin.”

“Liar. All humans are liars. Should pay more attention to ogres. They would plunge a dagger into their own eye rather than lie.”

“Not what I’ve heard.”

“Ya’ve heard wrong,” Taiz’lin said, loud nuff to hurt my ears. “My Ike is the most noble creature, second to dragons, of course.”

“Ike stranded me on top of that mountain with nothin’ to do.”

“Ya were half-dead. We’ve given ya time to rest and build up yar strength. Besides, we all have been a little busy if ya haven’t noticed. Lucky the plague didn’t take ya like—”

“Like it took my mama?”

Taiz’lin’s maw clomped shut. At least that lessened the odor.

“Now that I’ve got yar life story, ya mind tellin’ me what ya’re gonna do with me?”

“Take ya home,” Taiz’lin said.

“I have no home.”

“Ike’s lair.”

“I have to find my pa.”

“He’ll return when he’s capable of carin’ for ya and yar hen siblings.”

“We call ’em sisters. Besides, ya don’t believe that. All of ya think he ran away like a coward.”

Taiz’lin’s head soared nearer. He blinked those enormous eyes. “Just gone to get a new start. He’ll be back to collect the four of ya when he has a stake that will feed the lot of ya.”

The dragon spoke softly, but didn’t believe his words any more than I did, considerin’ the way his lyin’ stressed him enough I could sense it.

“I can help him break new fields. I have a strong back. I gotta find him and help him.”

“Ya have no clue where to look.”

I fought the tightenin’ sensation in my throat. Some of the exhaustion of weeks ago returned, aggravatin’ the aches from my rush down the mountain.

“He’ll be in one of the near, human villages north of here.”

“Ya don’t even know he traveled north. He could have headed south for the Wildes for all ya know.”

“Why would he go to the Wildes? There are none of our kind down there. We don’t know anyone there. He doesn’t know anythin’ about the Wildes.”

“He obviously didn’t know anythin’ about the high mountains of the Range either, if he believed he could farm in rock, near the tree line, far from help, two-day march from the nearest settlement.”

“What do ya know of farmin’, dragon?”

“Prolly as much as yar pa, obviously.”

Anger swelled in my chest and I swung a fist up into the dragon’s chin with all the speed and strength I could muster. My shoulder crooked hard, fist wrenched, as though I’d slammed my hand into a rock wall. A wail of pain escaped—not from the dragon. Tears blurred my vision for a ten-count.

“Ya feel better?” Taiz’lin asked.

I cleared my throat and tried to hide the pain that vibrated from my shoulder to the tips of my fingers. I blinked away the tears and flexed my hand, afraid I may have broken it in half.

“Hope I didn’t hurt ya too much, dragon. But stop insultin’ my papa.”

“I think I’ll survive, lad. Ya ready to go home?”

“I’m goin’ north.”

“Thought we worked through that?”

“Ya wasted yar breath.” The embarrassment of stealin’ from Ike revisited my conscience. How could I go back? The gold slung over my shoulder tugged heavily, by more than its physical weight.

Taiz’lin mumbled, “Ya’re barely old enough to wipe yar own snot.”

I tensed, and clenched my fists. My right hand throbbed.

“Oh please, human, don’t beat me again.”

Both anger and an outrageous need to laugh struck. A witherin’ strangulation followed that, squeezed the air out of my lungs. My aches spread through my body. I closed my eyes and took a slow breath to keep from cryin’. Heat flowed across my face a second later, with recognition that Taiz’lin didn’t know my name either.

“What’s so funny?” Taiz’lin asked.

“Ya’re so superior, figger it out.”

Taiz’lin lowered his left shoulder and extended a forelimb. “Up. The lions will be circlin’.”

“Give ya a snack, I’d think.”

“Prefer elk. Nuff talk. Already tread upon my afternoon nap. Get on my back.”

“I said I’m headin’ north.”

Taiz’lin trumpeted his anger. The belch of hot air took me off my feet. I hit the ground hard. Head double-thumped. Rocks scraped my back as I slid over them another two feet. I groaned. Ears rang.

After a full minute Taiz’lin said somethin’.

“What? I can’t hear ya. My ears are ringin’.”

The dragon’s jowls moved again.

“What?”

The dragon shook his head. After a twenty-count the sound of the wind in the crags above returned.

“Ya don’t have to tell them ya found me,” I said.

“Even if my Ike lets ya be, that friend of his, Lucas, would mount a tirin’ search. Tirin’ for me. I’m too old to be soarin’ at the tree tops smellin’ for a stinkin’, ignert human.”

“Why do ya have to be so insultin’?”

Taiz’lin’s jaw dropped in that draconic smile. “I would say it’s a dragon’s prerogative, but in truth, the ways of my Ike have rubbed off on me.”

“Ike and Lucas snipe as though they hate each other.”

“Never believe it,” Taiz’lin said.

I hadn’t after the first few minutes in their company. I’d been in awe over the tight friendship between the ogre and human since the day I met them. Their fellowship had nothin’ to do with the fact their dragons were mates. Their friendship long preceded their dragons even meetin’.

Taiz’lin jerked his massive head, a reminder he waited for me to climb onto his shoulders.

“What if ya helped me find my papa?” I asked.

Taiz’lin’s chest rattled like gravel in a coffee tin. “Why would I do that?”

My chest tightened. Face turned hot, as though the dragon had pressed a torch into it. The wrinkles formed under Taiz’lin’s eyes again.

“Ya gonna live, human? Yar face just turned into an over-ripe red-fruit. What do ya call those things?”

“Tomatoes?”

“Aye. Ya humans love those thin’s, huh. Reason they grow ’em in the Inn’s garden.”

Saw no reason to respond to his blather. The seconds passed painfully.

“Take a breath, human.”

I tried, but seemed incapable of drawin’ in enough air.

“Ya can’t think of a good reason why I should help ya, eh, human?”

“My name is Paul.”

“Of course it is. Not that I care.”

“Ya were insulted I couldn’t recall yar name.”

“But ya’re just an inconsequential human. Yar life is so short, almost not worth me learnin’ yar name. Ya’ll be long gone when—”

“It true Ash’et is as old as they say?” I asked. No idea where that bit of curiosity came from.

“I don’t know how old they say she is, and it’s none of my concern.”

“How old are ya?”

Taiz’lin’s inner lids closed halfway for a three count.

“Ya don’t know?” I asked.

“Shut up. Guess it wouldn’t hurt to shuttle ya north for a day. Not like anyone cares where ya are.”

“Now who’s changin’ the subject?”

“Did ya wish to fly north with me or not?”

I allowed the smile that bubbled inside to fold my face into a smirk.

~

Chapter Three

~

I gripped the neck ridge in front of me and dug my knees in. The first time I rode dragon-back, the unexpected launch made me spot my britches. Wasn’t about to let that happen again. But Taiz’lin lurched far more gently into the air, and his wings lolled, nothin’ like the rushed flurries of my first experience. I let out my breath and looked toward the Earth. Had to close my eyes. The ground rushed by too quickly.

Five minutes later I dared another look. Higher in the sky now, the motion below didn’t yank at my gut, but the darkenin’ shadows hid the detail of the terrain, so I turned back to the horizon.

Taiz’lin headed northeast, toward the darkenin’ washboard of the lowland. Due north, the plains extended to the horizon where they were punctuated with the rough edge of sun-sculpted hills. The Range rose menacingly over my right shoulder, a flurry of purple hues capped by dozens of snow-covered peaks still facin’ the fallin’ sun.

Snow still, though autumn beckoned soon. I’d heard the word glacier, before. What covered the highest peaks.

I tried not to think about the gentle rise and fall of my stomach matchin’ the down thrusts and recovery of Taiz’lin’s wings. His motion was more circular and twistin’ than Iza’s, but still discomforted. I tried to focus instead on the opportunity at hand. Remained beyond my belief one of the Lake dragons helped me search for my papa. An hour earlier I expected to be the dragon’s lunch.

Life flows from one unexpected furrow to another. That tic in my back itched again.

The air continued to turn crisper. I risked removin’ my hands from Taiz’lin’s neck ridge for a moment to latch the top two loops of my coat. Right hand back, I pressed my left between my crotch and Taiz’lin’s hide for warmth. I shivered, and hunkered down more to get out of the wind. Taiz’lin’s soft hide beckoned, and I lay my face against the dragon’s neck. The short fur tickled, the constant motion chafed. I rose, surprised how far we’d traveled so quickly. We’d already crossed much of the plain and neared rollin’ lowland, and Taiz’lin angled downward.

A new anxiety thrust into my chest. What was I supposed to do down there? Before movin’ to the Range I’d only passed through a handful of human settlements. Never spent any time there. What could I expect of strangers? The day of a farmer’s son didn’t include lollygaggin’ and socializin’. I toiled in the fields, spring through winter.

Where did I go to ask about Papa? Who’d help me find him? The few folk from the Black Lake Hamlet I’d met were friendly enough, but experience indicated people acted in their own best interest, and weren’t otherwise inclined to aid a stranger.

Below, the last glow of the sun accented the silhouettes of chimney smoke to the left. But Taiz’lin soared away from them. Where was he goin’? The settlement must be farther north.

Taiz’lin overflew the rutted path that made up the main road leadin’ behind us to the Range and Black Lake, far to our south now. The dragon arched clockwise, and thrust hard to land. Momentum flung me against the neck ridge, chest plungin’ into hard gristle, bone. Face luckily ploughed into soft hide though, when Taiz’lin touched down.

“Uhh!” I rubbed my breast. Likely be rewarded with a bruise for that landin’. I swallowed and looked around at the dark groves that surrounded us.

“I thought ya were takin’ me to a human town?”

Taiz’lin replied in a hushed gravel. “Ya don’t necessarily want it known ya’re travelin’ with a dragon, lad.”

“My name is Paul.” The point was important after all, since Taiz’lin made such a big deal of his own name.

“The Northern humans are likely not yet over bein’ forced to accept peace with the goblins. Especially those humans nearest what they consider the threat.”

“But ya stood beside Range ogres and humans to head off war.”

The rumble of a draconic chuckle echoed in the growin’ dark. “Many Northern humans wanted a war.” Taiz’lin leaned forward and extended his forelimb.

I slid down his shoulder, jumped to the ground, and hurried forward to face the dragon.

“Why would they want a war? That makes no sense.”

The dragon made a belchin’ sound and closed both sets of eyelids. I figgered the combination amounted to a human groan of frustration, an eye roll, or both. The followin’ silence indicated Taiz’lin might not be in the mood to explain. But he finally spoke.

“Ya’re on yar own from here. A settlement no more than a mile away. Follow the wagon tracks and even ya can’t get lost.”

“Ya’re rude. Sure ya—”

“Get along. I’ll meet ya north of the settlement tomorrow.”

“Any lions make it up into these hills?” I asked.

Taiz’lin shook his head slowly. “No lions on this continent since dragons settled here, long before humans learned to scrawl runes.”

No lions? But— Lyin’, stinkin’ dragon.

Taiz’lin dug into the loam with all four taloned mitts and an earthy aroma rose with the dust. The dragon settled his torso into his temporary bed. His neck swung right and his head ended up hidden under a folded wing.

He had complained about missin’ his afternoon nap.

I stood watchin’ the still dragon for several seconds. Taiz’lin’s breathin’ settled quickly after a couple loud phoufoughs. The rhythmic hum of sleep mixed with the crickets and frogs, and whatever else found the early dusk the time for courtship and declarin’ territory. A fear of the unknown jabbed me in the chest. Pain radiated through my trunk, down my limbs.

Why’d Mama have to die?

Stinkin’ warlock and witch. They coulda done more. Did that ogre run Papa off, or was it Papa’s doin’?

The six of us were indeed starvin’ up in the high mountains. Me and my three sisters were better off bein’ cared for by the Hamlet folk, truth be told. Despite me fightin’ ’em with every ounce of energy.

Am I a fool for hopin’ to bring Papa back? The man rarely shared a word with me, other than a command to do this or that. If it wasn’t for Mama, the six of us wouldn’t have felt like much of a family at all. Why are these thoughts just now seepin’ into my itty bitty brain?

Manly disgust for weakness was all that kept me from sobbin’ right in front of the dragon. I whirled, situated my inelegant, hand-sewn pack, and headed for the road. Phlegm challenged me to swallow. Hunger added to my discomfort, but I was loath to put off reachin’ the human settlement to stop for a bite to eat. As though, interruptin’ my path would convince me to turn around? Give up my quest? Quest? Stupid thought.

Steppin’ out of the taller weeds, I picked up my pace along the road’s shoulder. The whiff of cook fires reached me within minutes. I passed several structures sittin’ farther off the road that appeared to be homesteads. What of the people who lived within? Be like Mama and Papa. Farmin’ folk? Business types? Considerin’ the orchards on my left and right— Kind? Mean spirited? I didn’t stop to knock on a door to find out.

The first buildin’s abuttin’ the road stood quietly, bottom floors dark, prolly business storefronts. Faint lights hinted families lived above. A boardwalk, unnecessary in the summer drought, connected the half-dozen plank-paneled buildin’s.

I trudged on, unlatchin’ my coat. Had been so wrapped up in my thoughts I hadn’t noticed the difference in the temperature since I transitioned from the cold of the highlands, and the altitude of a flyin’ dragon, to the lowland’s late-summer evenin’.

Past most of what I’d call the village, I stopped and studied the only structure that seemed awake. It set a hundred feet away from the rest of the tiny community, back from the road. The flicker of a fire and maybe a lamp lit the shutters of the near-shanty. My skin crawled, but I neared. A sign out front hung from two posts. I squinted against the gloom at the carved likeness of a runnin’ stag, whitewashed to stand out. The place must be an inn of some sort.

I listened to the murmur of voices from within. Harsh laughter and shouts leached into the gloom. I struggled to raise a foot, even take a breath. Considered turnin’ and fleein’.

The last weeks livin’ with the ogre and his mate, and the human who rode Iza, wasn’t so bad. The place was clean. Plenty of food. They were kind in their way. Though ogres are cranky beasts—I should use the term creature. They don’t care for the other word. Right irritates ’em. The lair was nowhere as cold as the hills Papa selected to settle us.

So why did I nearly kill myself to get here?

Must go on. Unmanly to change one’s mind. Right? Never saw Papa change direction once he’d set his mind to somethin’.

If someone spied me, I’d look the proper fool, to come this far and turn away. Knees near bucklin’, I strode to the inn’s door and reached out to knock, only to stop short. It was a business for goodness sake, a knock unnecessary. I fumbled in the dark to find the door’s hand-hold. The rough wood reminded me of a shovel handle. I pushed, and the voices within quieted.

I froze, and swallowed, considered pullin’ the door closed without enterin’.

I repeated my earlier argument in my head, and strode in.

The heavy air of an oak fire wafted into my face, stingin’ my eyes. I blinked it away, and peered about the thirty-foot-wide room. Hard-lived faces glared back.

Most of the light originated from the hearth, though a lantern with a heavily-sooted globe hung from the ceilin’ in the middle of the room, and another sat on planks of wood, a servin’ platform four-foot long, in the corner.

A man who must be the proprietor stood behind that bar, carvin’ at the remains of a ham that was little more than bone. He shifted the tendrils of fat and tendon he claimed onto two hunks of bread sittin’ to his right. I gave the air a sniff. Under the sharp smell of oak smoke, human sweat and worse lingered.

I sucked up my fear and closed the door behind me. Two long, rough-hewed tables with benches front and back made up the seatin’. I made my way to the left, farthest from the hearth, and the other patrons. The dark seemed more invitin’ than the heavy air from the fire. Why did the others press so close to the heat of the hearth? Maybe the night air felt cooler to the lowlanders, acclimated to this heat.

I rested my hand on the table as I squatted to sit, immediately wishin’ I hadn’t. My flesh slid over a thick layer of slime. I ripped my hand away, throwin’ me off balance. In horror, I sensed myself fallin’. Jammed my shin into the bench as I lurched. There was nothin’ to grab, nothin’ I wished to touch. My shoulder plunged into the dirt floor. New aromas, very unpleasant ones, attacked me, along with a gang of guffaws from every other man in the room.

I hurried to right myself, avoided pressin’ away from the ground with my hand. Dustin’ off I sat on the bench without touchin’ the tabletop. The sideways glances lasted another ten-count past the laughter.

Carryin’ the free lantern with him, the proprietor delivered the—I didn’t know what they would be called, ham fat on bread—to two men. He dropped the trenchers on the table without a word and walked toward me, wearin’ a scowl that tightened my gut. The round-mass of a man grumbled somethin’ I didn’t catch. His aroma folded around me like a fog, interruptin’ my thoughts.

“Sir?”

“Five pence. Ya deaf?”

“Five pence? For what?”

“A trencher, a tankard of ale, and a place by the fire for the night if ya choose to stay. Them who eats by the fire gets first choice to lie. First come and all. That way we has less bloodshed when I shutter the door. An extra two pence would buy ya a table to sleep on, but they already be spoken for.” At least that’s what I think he said. The accent twisted his words up somethin’ horrible.

I couldn’t imagine sleepin’ on either the bare floor of the place, or one of the tables. Somethin’ grabbed my gut and gave it a twist. Why wouldn’t the men prefer to sleep under the stars? It’s a cloudless night.

“I don’t have all night,” the proprietor snarled.

I considered the fresh bread and cheese in my shoulder sack. That sounded much more appetizin’, but perhaps the man would be more forthcomin’ with information if I was a payin’ customer.

“Five pence then it is,” I muttered, my voice risin’ a tad unnaturally.

The man stood still. After a three-count the man’s face oozed inward as though it were a fruit bein’ juiced.

“What?” I asked.

“See yar coin first, lad.” In a softer voice the man said, “Ya haven’t traveled much, have ya?”

I pulled the strap over my head and dug into my sack for the ogre’s coin pouch. Without extractin’ it from the pack I fumbled to open it, and selected a single coin, which I held out. The man squinted and held the lantern nearer. His jaw dropped and he flicked the coin from my hand, put it to his mouth and bit down, and studied the token closer.

“What are ya, a thief?” he shouted. “If this is real gold, I should call the constable. But since we don’t have a constable, I should string ya up myself. Where’d ya get this, lad?”

Other shouts of, “Gold?” reverberated in the room. The proprietor loomed. Benches were knocked over as their occupants rushed to stand. A crowd swirled around me. A fist grabbed my shoulder and pulled me backward. Another pulled at the strap of my shoulder sack. I twisted to hold it, but a fist ploughed into my face and I tumbled backward. Blackness folded over me. Boots collided into my ribs, back, and legs, over and again as the loomin’ din spiked.

The thought I was about to die crossed my mind after a brutal heel slammed down on my face. The onslaught lessened though, as the men towerin’ over me fought among themselves over my belongin’s. A flutter of material fell to the ground—the handkerchief the ogre hen sewed for me. I wrenched to grab it, and received a vicious kick in the ribs for my effort. I fought the pain and lunged again, slappin’ at the grease-coated dirt for the gift. A boot crushed my hand for a moment, but after another instant I found the soft, woolen square, balled it in his fist, and pulled it into my body.

A grander fight ensued above me and feet trampled across my body indifferently.

The unmistakable sound of knives bein’ drawn slithered between shouts. A shriek of pain, another, and flingin’ arms encouraged me to renew my effort to get away. I tucked up and rolled between a break in the bodies as the brawl spread out. A man fell hard against the near wall, hands grippin’ his gut. Coins clinked off wood and a half-dozen bodies dove for the sound.

Another twist and my spine collided into a wall stud. Despite the pain, I forced myself to keep movin’, struggled to my knees and crawled for the door. The shouts grew angrier and deadlier. At least now they ignored me. I staggered to my feet, threw back the door, and ran.

~

Chapter Four

~

With the settlement a mile away, the dark quiet of the woods wrapped around me. I dropped to the ground, leaned against the trunk of a tree, and sobs stole my breath.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I stammered between bouts to claim air.

Maybe, I continued my babblin’ another ten seconds, until I heard my papa’s words in my mind. “Men don’t cry.” They don’t run away either. But that’s exactly what Papa had done. How could he leave the four of us? Immediately after we’d lost Mama?

Why’d I let the Hamlet folk separate me from my sisters? How could I leave them behind in the Hamlet while I lounged about Ike’s lair? Should be with the girls. I’m no better than Papa.

“Why? Why did it all—”

There are no answers. The sobs threatened again. What exactly was I good for? How could I help the girls? Couldn’t even accomplish payin’ for a slab of fat-slavered bread without nearly gettin’ killed. Now I didn’t even have a pouch of stolen coins, nor the loaf or wedge of cheese I’d lifted from Aedwin’s kitchen. I dropped my chin to my chest. My self-loathin’ brought the taste of vomit into the back of my throat.

“Ya’re worthless. What’re ya gonna do now?” That tic itched in the center of my back.

I drew my thumb across the wad of cloth in my fist, forgotten since my escape. I spread it open and wiped my face. The goo was probably blood, considerin’ the nicks of pain. The blood would stain the handkerchief, but that moment I didn’t care. Needed the gentle touch of the wool. Needed a memory that didn’t humiliate me.

I thought back to the evenin’ Aedwin presented me the gift. She gushed about it not bein’ much, but she wished to give me somethin’. Her mate, bein’ the ogres’ clan leader, rider of Taiz’lin, and from what I could see, quite the dealer of goods, is worth many more bags of gold like the one I stole.

Funny, it was important to Aedwin to gift me somethin’ she made with her own hands, loomed in her private workroom. I hadn’t appreciated it much at the time. Resented it even, later, for bein’ such a trifle. That moment on the floor of the inn though, it represented much more than a trifle gift.

Odd. A connection. Or somethin’. A physical thin’, more tangible than a memory of Mama. Every day I struggle more to form a picture of Mama in my mind.

I shook my head. The two ogres have so much. It was no big deal to take me in. Why couldn’t they take in my sisters too? They had plenty of room. Though for the life of me I couldn’t imagine how we would have filled our hours on the top of that mountain.

Anger replaced my earlier fear and humiliation. I lunged to my feet and staggered what I hoped was north. Within two steps I flew forward, shins gratin’ on a log I tripped over. My palms slammed into the ground, back bent awkwardly. I reeled for a moment, before pullin’ myself together, complainin’ about new pains.

I considered remainin’ right there to sleep, but my skin crawled. Imagined the bugs I collected on the floor of the tavern. A creek to bathe in would be nice, no matter how cold the water. But likely I’d crawl into clothes still vibratin’ with vermin. I pounded the ground with my fist, rose slowly, made my way through the trees more carefully, studyin’ the shadows in front of me.

The woods cleared. Across a rough-hewed fence, a farmer’s field sloped away. Somewhere down there, would be a creek. Thereabouts would be a good place to meet Taiz’lin. A new thought crossed my mind. Was it possible? Could the dragon have intended me to traipse on, lost, never to be seen again?

Was the dragon doin’ that ogre Ike a favor, gettin’ rid of an unwelcome house guest? The decision where to meet had been left broadly open.

“So be it,” I mumbled. “At least he got me farther the first day than I could have on foot.”

I didn’t resent my unexpected exit from the little settlement. Loss of my belongin’s was another matter. But if Papa had been about, that very inn would have been the place to find him. Met his standards.

That was a mean judgment.

Maybe the next town. It had to be more consequential than the last.

The silhouette of a buildin’ rose. I clomped to a halt and looked around. No hint of smoke from a cookin’ fire. I edged forward. The structure stretched the breadth and shape of a barn, with the distinctive aroma of farm animals in the air. I inched forward, searchin’ for the entrance.

Reachin’ a corner, I spied the shadow of a farmhouse eighty feet away. Even in the dark with the moon barely up good, the place had the sense of bein’ a step above any farmstead I’d ever visited. I looked forward to sweet straw to snuggle in for the night. The trick would be to rise before the owners, as not to wake to an axe presented between the eyes for my trespass.

The side door, next to the roll-back, creaked softly as I eased it open. A horse snickered and a hoof stamped. The smell of healthy livestock and mowed fodder made me feel at home, the first time since Papa moved us to the Range.

I edged forward, hand extended, and closed the door behind me plungin’ shadows into blackness. I stood still, placin’ the slight sounds. From the breathin’ to my left I visualized a pen full of sheep. No. Not in full summer. They’d be free in the fields. Unless they were havin’ a wolf problem. Prolly a ewe or ewes ready to give birth.

Another stamp identified the stalls.

My eyes adjusted a tad and the odd crease between the wall planks let in slivers of starlight. My palm bumped into somethin’. It took me only a second of investigation to make out the frame of a wagon. I shuffled around it, managed a stall door. The sweet smell of hay at my feet encouraged me. Sleepin’ feet from the reach of a horse’s hooves had its risks, but it seemed worth it. There was naught to frighten the creature.

I knelt, drew loose straw against the wall, and lay down. Stalks tickled my neck. I turned up my collar and shifted to get the ends of stubborn husks out of my back. I lay listenin’ to the snuffle of my neighbor. My mind turned like the page of a book to the altercation in the inn. It took me several minutes to move to a more relaxin’ chapter.

One where I’d own a fine farm, as this one I visited uninvited.

~

My eyes jolted open and my body jerked with the discomfort of not knowin’ what woke me, of where I lay. The previous day flashed back with an unpleasin’ wallop. A voice broke the silence and my neighbor the horse stamped, and turned to face the front of the stall. The sun wasn’t fully up, but would rise above the horizon soon.

A man’s voice sang over the half-wall. “Eo-yo-eo-eo. How are my babies doin’?”

The clank of metal, buckets by the ring of ’em, and the screech of a door swingin’ made me lurch to my knees and press my face against the stall wall, tryin’ to peer between the planks. The shush of tin slidin’ into a bin of oats, once, then a second time, and a third.

“Ready for your breakfast, girls? A smidgen for the mother to be?”

An arm reached over the stall door placin’ a bucket inside a trestle in the corner. The hand paused over the horse’s muzzle before disappearin’. I mentally followed the footsteps in the dry straw and the clunk of another bucket.

“Here ya go, girl.” The sound of a lovin’ clap. “Got some potatoes to turn today. Eat up. Enjoy.”

The thithh of oats thrown into a trough, and the steps turned back toward me.

I cringed in the corner and pulled straw over me, grimacin’ over the smell of horse urine I stirred up. What chance did I have of gettin’ out of here alive? I wished myself intense pain for oversleepin’. Was likely to experience it in reality.

What a fool. What an idjit.

Would make yesterday’s incident at the tavern look like an intelligent social interaction.

Footsteps. A loud clank made me wince. The main door rumbled, rollin’ back, and the level of the light inside the barn rose. Thankfully, the footsteps faded. I took my chance and stood. The farmer would be back in minutes to harness the horses, and bein’ overlooked again, cowerin’ in the straw, was unlikely.

The horse nickered as I pressed by it. “Good girl. Good girl,” I whispered.

I craned left and right before reachin’ over to open the stall gate. The mare pressed forward. I hurried to place my hand over her muzzle and push her back. But the girl was full of her oats and ready for sunshine. She ploughed into me, thrustin’ me into the wagon ten feet away. I bounced off it with a thud and the mare trotted past for the open door.

Three seconds later a startled, “Whoa, girl,” echoed from outside. “How’d ya get out?”

From the stampin’ and footfalls, it sounded as though the man worked his mare toward an outside pen. I raced for the door, but it must have been someone else tendin’ the horse. The wrinkled face of an older man that fit the earlier voice jammed to a halt in front of me. His eyes rounded, before anger spread across his face.

“Thief! Thief! What are ya doin’ in my barn? Thief!”

The man lunged to the left. I lurched to the right. A four-count later pain seared me across the shoulder blades archin’ me backward. My toes stubbed the ground, and I reeled forward, knees connectin’ with the ground, right shoulder collidin’ with a water barrel that didn’t give. Barely kept my face from plungin’ into animal muck.

I groaned, turnin’ over on my back.

The farmer lunged at me with a pitchfork. Every muscle in my body contracted. I jerked my arms up for protection, but the prongs of the fork sunk into the flesh of my stomach.

A mixture of pain from everywhere flooded my senses, includin’ a fire in my throat. A shriek of agony trilled, thundered between me and the angry farmer, who pulled back the implement for another go at me.

The five prongs headed back for me.

I rolled, yet one steel shaft still caught me in the side. I continued rollin’, rippin’ the tine out of my flesh. I pressed hard to get off the ground. Over my shoulder I saw the farmer swingin’ the pitchfork like a club. It whistled as it sailed through the air, caught me in the shoulder first in a glancin’ blow that ended ricochetin’ off my face, takin’ me back to the ground.

“Papa! Papa! Stop!” a hoarse voice shouted.

I thrashed, but everythin’ was dark. Couldn’t sense if I lay face up, face down, or rolled into a ball. Another cascade of agony split my gut at my waist, and I heard my own lungs empty.

I blinked at the glare. The recognition I had been out, at least for a moment, muddled through the haze. I clearly hadn’t been unconscious long. Scuffin’ feet nearby indicated I was still in a fray.

“Ya done enough, Papa! Stop. He’s done in. Let ’im be.”

The silvery sky focused and I turned my head searchin’ for the origin of the voice. Two men in overalls and floppy hats grasped at each other, the old man who attacked me, and a younger man. Boots shuffled in the dust. They stepped away, but the elder continued to struggle to get free from his son, though it appeared not in earnest. He peered around the other, more fear than anythin’ else scrawled across his face.

“Ya get out’a here, ya thief! Ya hear?” the man shouted.

“Calm down, Papa.”

I turned onto my side. New pain layered over old. I pressed against the ground, but failed to rise.

“He’s just a rag of a thin’, Papa. Calm down.”

“He’s covered in blood,” the older man mumbled. “Not all of it from me. If he dies, it ain’t my fault.”

“Calm down, Papa.”

Somethin’ slammed into my forehead and nose. It took me a moment to realize I’d collapsed, collided with the ground. “Aaaaah.”

“Get goin’,” the younger voice called.

I tried to rise again. Pricks of pain in a dozen places jabbed me, but I made it to my feet. Stumblin’ several steps, time evaporated again. Brought back to the ground, walloped me all over again. I felt the jerk in my neck, the concussion against the side of my head. “Ahh.”

“He don’t look too good,” threaded through the fog.

Somehow I managed to push upright and my feet remained under me. My mind cleared a bit, while the pain intensified. Every step, five prongs of pain in my gut twinged, a worse one stitched my side. I peered up to get my bearin’s. Walked almost directly for the farmhouse. Not where I wanted to go.

The sun peaked through the trees to the left. That meant east, I told myself. The north-south road would be—? It wouldn’t come to me at first. Left. Left. The road would be to the left.

A fence line angled that way, and I followed it, for the end of the pasture. My eyes followed the cleaved timbers strung post to post. I grabbed my gut. Warm blood soaked my shirt.

Considerin’ the agony penetratin’ agony—would I survive?

~

Chapter Five

~

I forced one foot in front of the other and repeated the process mindlessly. The sun cleared the top of the trees. I regrouped what sense I figgered I ever held, which obviously wasn’t much.

Journey couldn’t have started off any worse. Unless I’d careened off the top of that mountain, or become a dragon snack.

The bad news—blood crusted over at least a score of punctures, cuts, and scrapes. The good news if I could really consider it good news—I would survive, for the moment. The wounds were all trifles, if I considered any single one, though painful. Pray they didn’t fester. The nub of it, all together they amounted to a mighty hindrance to more than just my comfort and self-respect. They weighed upon me as heavily as any ton of stinkin’ granite.

I glared at the wooded incline before me. It meant a more challengin’ hike. How far would I have to walk before the next settlement?

One step, then another. Feet stinkin’ ached. Blisters bled. Stomach growled. Patchy stars danced across my eyes from time to time. The sun slowly arched overhead. I paused at every creek crossin’ the road to scoop handfuls of what I expected to be refreshin’ coolness into my mouth. Except the sun-hot water hittin’ my stomach only made me feel hungrier, and thirstier if that’s possible.

A wagon rounded high with goods passed me headin’ south. The man holdin’ the reins avoided eye contact. Nothin’ moved north. Though I doubted anyone would give me a ride. Don’t think I’d give a stray lookin’ like me a ride if the situation were reversed. I’m a thin’ of rags to begin with. Now covered in blood and muck, cut and bruised, one eye swollen half-shut, must be a sight.

The trees pulled away from the road. I’d been walkin’ down a modest slope. The sun hung low in the sky to my left. Had I made it through the foothills? Nestled in the trees in front of me lay another little community. This wasn’t just a cluster of a few hovels. Homes hid among the trees to the left and right. What appeared to be a central park split the road a hundred yards ahead.

I stopped a moment and took a deep breath and my head swam. I withdrew Aedwin’s handkerchief and wiped the sweat from my forehead and used the moisture to wipe a little more of the caked blood from the dent in the side of my skull. The bruise around the wound encouraged me to leave it be, and I ploughed forward, for the next—adventure, jammin’ my sole possession back into my pocket.

A woman sat on a porch behind a white-washed picket fence of the first residence. Before I even reached her gate the woman collected her ball of twine and sewin’ basket and retreated into the house. The curtains across the door’s window pulled tight.

There were few people about, though in the distance voices called out, axes worked. The distinct sounds of a smithy rang. Three doors down I crossed my next villager. The man hoed weeds in a garden that stretched the breadth of his modest but tidy home.

“Good day,” I called out to the man.

He peeked the tiniest glance before turnin’ away, and got more industrious with the hoe.

“Suppose ya could spare a tomato or somethin’?” I asked. “Haven’t eaten in over a day. Anythin’ at all would be appreciated?”

The man didn’t turn around.

“I’d be willin’ to work for food,” I tried again.

The man stood erect and walked for the back of his house.

I continued up the dusty road. Repeated the same futility three more times with the same luck, before I reached the little park. A pine, whitewashed bench sat under a generous elm. I staggered to it and sat. Spied a water pump and horse trough set thirty feet away. Hurried to it and worked the handle of the pump. Water trickled down the flume when a man in cotton pants that looked as though they had never been worked in, stepped in front of me, and I jerked.

“You have business about?” the man asked.

I opened my mouth to speak but a scratchy noise like a heel scuffin’ a stone came out. I swallowed and tried it again. “I’m searchin’ for my papa, sir.”

He wore a hammered-copper emblem pinned to his vest and I remembered the proprietor of yesterday’s inn talkin’ about a constable. Figgered I now stood in a village with such an official.

“If you’ve lost your papa,” the man said in an unfamiliar accent, “I’ll recon he don’t want to be found. We don’t have anyone about like that anyway. I suggest you keep walking.”

“I’m, I’m—” I hung my head, and took a shallow breath, before standin’ erect and meetin’ the man in the eye. “I was robbed on the road last night—”

“That happens to young men alone on the road.”

“I haven’t eaten. Spose there’s somewhere I could get a bite? I’m willin’ to work for it.”

“Don’t wish to sound cold hearted young man, but riff raff don’t bring good news to little hamlets like ours.”

“I don’t mean any—”

“So you get your drink, and I’ll walk you to the edge of town.”

“But—”

“Or I can drag you away before you get your drink.” The man shifted his weight showin’ his right hand danglin’ at his side. He held an eighteen-inch length of iron pipe.

The life seemed to ebb out of my chest. My eyes burned and a new weight dragged at my shoulders. Tried to take a deep breath, but it felt as though someone held their hand clasped over my throat.

“Can’t—can’t I at least rest for a few minutes?”

Without warnin’ the man slashed me in the chest with the end of the pipe, which bent me double in agony.

“I’m trying to be polite,” the man hissed. “Now get going or you’re gonna find more holes to plug.”

I caught a breath and the constable reached out with his free hand and took hold of my coat at the shoulder, dragged me into the road, and gave me a shove. I stumbled, dumbstruck a person could be so mean.

Two houses up, I must have been walkin’ too slowly, for the man clubbed me in the back with the pipe.

I whirled around, eyes waterin’ so badly I could hardly see. But the man pulled back his weapon menacin’ly. By the constable’s expression, he was more than willin’ to commit murder with the shaft of iron. I shook my head. The man pointed, and I continued up the road at a brisker pace, one I wouldn’t be able to maintain for long, considerin’ the way the blotches flashed across my vision.

I didn’t have to, though. The man stopped beside the last picket fence, evidently satisfied I knew I best continue on by myself.

The road edged to the right. Once hidden by the trees, I fell to my knees in the grass and lay down. My stomach turned. Everythin’ hurt.

“Maybe I should have let him kill me.”

A new jolt struck me in the chest and tears welled. I pressed my face into my bent arm and sobbed. Was everyone gonna be like those I’d met so far? How long could I go on?

I lay there a full five minutes, catchin’ my breath. When I stood, the woods wobbled around me. I trudged up the road, only to realize the sun hung over my wrong shoulder. I headed south, not north. Jolted to a stop, turned around, and forced myself to plough forward.

~

Chapter Six

~

The terrain sloped steeply downward, easin’ the effort, but the tall grass beside the road thinned to the occasional weed. Groves had long disappeared, as did the crossin’ creeks, and even with the sun nearin’ the horizon, the heat struck like a mallet and sucked away my energy, what little remained.

I couldn’t remember ever feelin’ so hot and miserable. The threat in the Range was cold. Snowfall wasn’t uncommon in the high passes in the middle of the summer. The sun’s a completely different worry down here.

I couldn’t make my feet move forward any longer. Stopped, dropped my jacket to the ground, and my knees almost buckled. There was nothin’ before me but two tired ruts trailin’ away drunken-straight as far as I could see. The air swirled ghoulishly over hard-packed ground, brown in drought.

I blinked and the blur faded for a moment. Far away, farther than I thought I could walk, the Earth rose again into new hills, dark with the promise of new forests. And water.

“I’ll never make it.”

Maybe, I should turn back. That constable would be less polite a second time. I’d have to cross the fields around the town. But how much longer could I go on without somethin’ to eat? The dragon carried me in two hours a distance that would take me two days to walk. Stumblin’ as I am, it’d take four days. Crossin’ that would only get me back as far as the wee beginnin’-edge of the Range. I couldn’t guess how much farther the Hamlet lay beyond that. Another two days? Five? My body would be bloated with maggots far before then.

A glob of mornin’ porridge two days ago had been my last meal.

“I’m between a mean rock, and a nastier granite slab.” I blew out my breath and closed my eyes against the pain drivin’ between my temples. I slumped over and rested my hands on my knees.

A faint clatter comin’ from behind me interrupted the silence. I turned. A blob of brown and gray hovered over the ruts. I blinked, and covered the glare of the fallin’ sun with my hand. A horse—no a donkey, pulled a wagon. I stared.

A few minutes later the image neared enough to make out the form of at least three, huddled together on some kind of buckboard. I plopped down in the hot sand, and waited.

“Whoa,” a young man not much older than me called out to the old burro as they neared.

Beside him sat another, almost a twin, dressed in the same brown and gray clothes, scuff of bristle claimin’ patches on both their chins. Their narrowed eyes against the sun showed no emotion. Another boy perched on a trunk latched behind the single bench-seat, faced the rear. He jumped to the ground and walked around the wagon. Peered at me with curious eyes.

“Ya look as lost as a soul can be,” the boy said.

I didn’t have an answer for him. Considered the harm the three could do to me. There was little they could do to help. The buckboard was a two-man rig. The third sittin’ on the trunk had to be pretty uncomfortable. As I had that thought, the boy rubbed his backside.

It wasn’t as though, if they chose to offer me a ride, they could accommodate me, other than on the donkey’s back. The poor thin’ struggled with its current burden.

“Ya have any water?” I asked.

The three peered north, as though havin’ the same thought. How far before they crossed another creek? One of the boys in the buckboard grabbed a jug that lay between his feet and held it out. I hesitated to get up, and the standin’ boy grabbed the jug and carried it to me.

“Thanks.”

I uncorked it and struggled to lift it to drink. The water tasted muddy, and hot, but it was wet. I took several gulps, of what was probably set aside for the donkey. The three prolly had fresher water they saved for themselves. I stopped, and gazed at the poor animal. Its head hung almost to the ground, sides heaved against the heat, ribs distended.

Couldn’t take any more of the animal’s water. That tic in my back itched.

I struggled to rise, walked to the beast and helped it drink from water I poured into my hand.

“We’re on our way north to make our fortune.”

I looked back at the boy who carried the jug to me. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Maybe even three years younger than me.

The one from the buckboard who made the decision to share the jug, spoke. “Hope to pick up labor in Caern, first, and work our way north. The cities need strong backs, men with an imagination and gumption.”

I rested the jug on the ground. The donkey twitched his long ears, opened his dark eyes wider to show a tinge of blue, and took me in. A shimmer of—I couldn’t put a word to it. The only time I’d felt the sensation before was when the warlock ogre-healer wielded his majical staff when my mama—I quickly worked to put that memory aside. But that moment, I seemed to sense the emotions of the beast, its loneliness, sadness, pain, yet determination to put everythin’ he had to serve his human masters.

The combination of emotion and hurt made me shudder.

The desperation returned to tighten my chest, as the donkey pressed his face forward and snuffed at my soiled shirt.

“Another sip, boy?” I hefted the jug and poured more water into my hand.

The tongue rasped across my palm. Would the creature survive the three boys’ risky journey? The thought twisted inward, as I considered the desperation of my own trek. I was a fool to think I could find Papa. Had no clue how dangerous the world is.

“Ya look like ya’re about to fall over,” the younger boy said.

I grunted. “I been beaten, robbed, stabbed, and clubbed. I’ve had a tough couple days.”

The boy sittin’ to the right on the buckboard asked, “Ya got any money? We might allow ya to ride the ass if ya do.”

I looked into the eyes of the donkey. Even if it might get me farther up the road, and I had a pence or two, I wouldn’t put the creature through that additional strain. In this heat.

“I’ll have to pass.”

“Yar belongin’s were took?”

I nodded.

“No coin at all?”

A hitch caught in my chest. The boy, elder teen, likely considered if it was a worthwhile effort to strip me of any possessions. Another day and I wouldn’t have need for my worthless boots, or Aedwin’s handkerchief. I considered sharin’ the thought.

“Ya best be gettin’ on,” I said instead. “Sun be down in an hour or so.”

The younger lad took the jug from me and hurried to latch back on to his make-do seat. A flicker in the sky caught my attention and I glanced up. A vulture. That’s what my day had lacked. For a moment I connected with the eyes of the lad who seemed to be the threesome’s leader, before turnin’ back to peer up at the vulture again. I sensed the others follow my glance.

“That one of them blasted dragons?” one asked.

“Couldn’t be,” another said. “They know they ain’t welcome north of the Range.”

“Them stinkin’ goblin lovers ride ’em north to do business.”

“Shut up, Amos.”

“Well, they do. I heard it said.”

“When them Northerners get the whole gist of that pact they forced down their throat, they’ll decide too many different kind of folk are movin’ to the Range.”

“What pact?” I asked.

The two older boys looked down at me as though I’d grown tusks and a snout. That made me think of Ike, an ogre of few words, but on the whole not a bad sort, for an ogre.

The lad on the trunk said, “Hope it ain’t huntin’.”

“Let’s get out of here. Maybe it’ll choose to dine on him.” The leader jabbed a soiled mitt my way. All three cackled dryly.

The boy holdin’ the reins gave them a shake. I hurried to get out of the way, but I needn’t. The emaciated donkey was in no rush. Though the road continued to ease toward a desert lowland, the animal struggled to set the cart in motion. It dropped its head to the effort. The buggy creaked and swayed as it passed. If it managed to the next village, it’d be a miracle.

The younger boy facin’ me gave him a wave and a smile. His teeth were blackened and missed an eye-tooth I hadn’t noticed earlier. His friendly partin’ implied the other boy’s hope the dragon feasted on me never sunk into his little brain.

I watched them go, just as the younger boy continued to peer back, for lack of any other entertainment. I thought of the sun’s heat on my left cheek, the exhaustion bendin’ my shoulders—the dragon. Was it Taiz’lin? Why would he be back? He’d left me to suffer. Prolly considered that really funny.

Maybe the ogre wanted Taiz’lin to ensure I continued north, and out of his hair. Maybe with luck, Taiz’lin would put me out of my misery. But the idea of bein’ eaten made me shudder.

Would Taiz’lin kill me first at least, before gnawin’ away? Not a pleasant thought, despite my readiness to accept death. The effort to keep goin’ just wasn’t worth it. Can’t even place what Papa looks like, any more. Tried to imagine Mama’s face, but couldn’t manage that either.

I fell to my knees and leaned into my forearms, pressed my forehead against the hot sand and closed my eyes. Would my sisters forget me? Would they ever learn of my demise? Would Papa ever return and provide for them? If he did, what would the girls’ lives be like with Papa, without Mama? He was a stern one, unknown to share his thoughts, unless they were angry ones, truth be told.

A gust thrust gravel against the side of my face. I closed my eyes tighter. The thrummin’ of wings—not just wind, a landin’ dragon. Seconds to live. Should I say a prayer?

“I love ya, girls. Don’t miss me overly much.”

The Earth jarred, and I flew forward, forehead scrapin’ the ground. I flung my arms out as I realized I’d been pushed hard in the seat of my pants.

“Ya alive, human?”

I fell on my side and rolled onto my back, peered into the whirlin’ slate, then green, blue, purple eyes of Taiz’lin the dragon.

“Must ya heap insult upon injury?” I mumbled.

“It speaks.”

I pulled my arm over my face. “Kill me and get it over with.”

“How did I miss ya, human? I waited beside the road for ya all day.”

Waited? I uncovered my face, blinked at the dust that pierced my eyes.

“Ya don’t look very well.” Taiz’lin growled.

The effort to sit up made the world spin. Maybe it was more a wobble. I tried to focus, but nothin’ seemed to work. The fuzz darkened. To black.

~

I bolted alert. My head hung, arms bound tight against me, and my legs drooped lazily—into nothin’ness. A cold wind quickened the collection of my senses. Eyes focused upon the Earth, I didn’t know how many hundreds of feet below. I opened my mouth to scream, but the wind forced it back in.

~

Chapter Seven

~

I had long exhausted my panic. The pain transitioned into numbness that was no more comfortable. The dragon’s claws dug into my ribs. The only positive aspect of the past hour, Taiz’lin had adjusted his grip to hold up my legs with a second fist, relievin’ the stress of my gut holdin’ up half of my weight, pinched between talons. If only I could pass out again, and not experience the humiliation of bein’ carted like carrion.

My mind returned to a once-forgotten memory, of a hawk sweepin’ down on a creek, talons lurchin’ into the water, the bird liftin’ off, a trout swayin’ in its claws. I appreciated how the fish felt, as it was flown to a nest or nearby outcroppin’ to be fed upon.

But if Taiz’lin intended to feed, he would have done that on the floor of the desert, not carried me more than a hundred miles, over the ogre Ike’s bare mountains, past the massive snow covered peak many called Mother, and downward toward Black Lake.

The Lake was in sight, growin’ larger as the seconds passed. Was Taiz’lin takin’ me to the human doctor, or that stinkin’ ogre warlock-healer? I closed my eyes, but opened them quickly. The mountains below, the shimmer of the black water snakin’ west through the Range, was indeed worth stayin’ alert for, despite the pain.

The air warmed a trifle as Taiz’lin plunged downward, but with the acceleration toward Earth, the wind stung my eyes. They watered, tears flowin’ down my cheek. It was aggravatin’ I couldn’t wipe them away.

The Lake grew faster every fraction of a second until I could see the enormous slate roof of the Inn, and the whiffs of chimney smoke from nearby stakes.

Taiz’lin curved in a long, downward arch, crossin’ the north and south shores four times. I dizzied, until I focused on a single point. The green lawn that spread before the Inn sped at me. Taiz’lin thrust his wings hard.

Bam.

I didn’t even feel bein’ released. It happened too fast to prepare for, to pull my arms up to brace. My face ploughed into the leanin’, tall rye and my body double bounced off the soft loam beneath— which didn’t feel so soft, but as I settled, figgered I wouldn’t have bounced so readily if the ground had been harder.

I tried to move my fingers, but they were numb, the same with my arms and legs. I groaned, disgusted I couldn’t even lift my face out of the grass.

Hands gripped my shoulders and gently turned me on my side.

A strange, guttural accent penetrated my pain. I blinked away tears. A bulbous nose focused first. Snowy dreadlocks flowed over immense shoulders.

“Say again?” I asked.

The giant repeated, “Ya look like blazes. Enjoy yar bounce?”

This was far from my first sight of a troll, but the overly-long fingers that lay softly across my chest were still unsettlin’. The troll gave me a pat.

“I’m Yoso,” he said, as he slid those enormous hands under me and lifted me as though I weighed no more than a gosling-down pillow.

A human woman stood at Yoso’s elbow. “Ya okay, lad? The dragons told us ya were on the way. The doctor’s inside the Inn seein’ to someone else, but he’ll be with ya in a shake.”

I smiled at the familiar face of the human woman—at least I hoped I did. Everythin’ that hadn’t already been numb was numb after plowin’ into the turf.

Her name’s Miss Gladys, the human matriarch of the Hamlet, who first cared for me when discarded at ogre Ike’s lair durin’ the summer plague.

I searched for the troll matriarch. She and Miss Gladys were rarely more than a foot apart, attached at the hip, I believed was the expression Ike used.

As the blood surged through my extremities again, things, everywhere, hurt again, and a half screech, half groan buried whatever Miss Gladys said.

“Lad looks like he’s been through a lot,” Yoso the troll said.

I must be dreamin’.

The world wobbled, faces appearin’ and disappearin’. I floated into a cloud and hands pulled at my clothes. My vision cleared for a moment and the face of an ogre hen, roundish snout, pearly tusks, loomed over me. Unusual character for an ogre, light-green eyes, reddish dreadlocks, freckles. My boots slipped off my feet. They struck the floor with a pair of thunks.

I realized I lay on a bed before thin’s turned cloudy again. I should resist the ogre hen’s tug at my pants, but couldn’t. The cool air on my legs indicated I was too late to object anyway. A strong hand slid under my neck, liftin’ me forward, and my shirt and undershirt dragged over my face.

“I’m Louisa,” the ogre hen said. “Ya look like a pin cushion. These are from a pitchfork, aren’t they? Ya really irritated someone, didn’t ya?”

It was impolite not to answer a question, but my tongue, or brain, refused to cooperate. I smacked my lips tryin’ to get a sense of my mouth, and to swallow.

A cup was placed to my lips and I hungrily sipped at the warm broth. Woulda preferred cold well water. The cup pulled away far too soon anyway. But a moment later the liquid I’d managed hit my stomach like a ball-peen, so maybe it was good I only slurped a few sips.

The cloud covered my thoughts and senses again. When I blinked, the sun must have been down for some time, because a lantern on the nightstand glowed warm-yellow.

“Awake, are ya?” a voice said.

I turned to take in a familiar face, but couldn’t place it. For an ogre hen she wasn’t as—I struggled to think of an appropriate expression. She wasn’t as outlandish lookin’ as other ogres. Her features were softer, more human-ish.

“The doc put a hundred stitches in ya it seemed, to close up all those pitchfork holes,” she said. “Care for some broth?”

“Who are ya?” I stammered.

The hen smiled. “Louisa. I should have known ya wouldn’t remember all the conversin’ we did the last four hours.”

“Four—”

“I’ll go get some warm broth. The warlock saw to ya already. Tired him out some. Ya must have needed a lot from the ethereal to bring ya back to us.”

The tic itched. “The warlock—” That stinkin’— Let Mama pass. Shoulda been able to save her. Then let Papa disappear.

“Be right back.” She patted my shoulder with a feather touch.

I managed to press my cheek against that soft hand before she pulled away. My eyes closed on me. Doubted I’d be awake when she returned.

~

Chapter Eight

~

I shook my head to hurry away the cobwebs. Ouch. “Huh?”

“Ya think ya can rise? Better if ya go out to the dinin’ room to eat. Louisa would hand feed ya like a pet rabbit for a month.”

“I, uh—”

“Put these on. Eina sewed ’em up for ya. Took a hundred measurements while ya were sleepin’. Ought to fit like an extra layer of skin, they should.”

My eyes finally focused on the ogre’s face, the ogre who started all of this, made the decision to strand me at ogre Ike’s lair, separated me from my sisters, ran off Papa.

Morgan, the blasted ogre warlock.

I remembered hearin’ somethin’ made the ogre’s dreadlocks on one side of his head turn white, but assumed that meant a streak of gray. But white covered a full, half of his head. The effect reminded me of a set of bone-carved dominos I once saw in a store window, white on the pip-side, painted a glossy ebony on the backside.

Morgan didn’t wait for an answer. He flicked the fluffy bed coverin’ off me and grabbed my shoulder, had me sittin’ up on the side of the bed before I could argue. The ogre slid a soft-cotton shirt over my head. I struggled like a drunken sot to get my arms in the sleeves. I’d barely gotten my head through the proper openin’ before the warlock propelled me to my feet.

Gone was Louisa’s delicate hand. Welcome to the brusqueness of an ogre bull.

I rubbed my cheek against the collar of the shirt. I’d never worn anythin’ so soft in my life. Not rough home-loomed. Not by a long sight.

“Ya awake lad?” the ogre grumbled. “Leg up.”

Morgan held out a pair of long pants, dressy, soft, not suitable for sloppin’ hogs or pitchin’ hay.

“Eina sewed ya some canvas pants and work shirts, though never met a human but one who knew how to bend their back into effort.”

The comment entertained me. Humans mostly deride ogres, trolls too for that matter, for their lack of industriousness. I peered into the ogre’s face.

“What ya grinnin’ about, lad?”

“I guess I was wonderin’ who that hard workin’ human is.” Was the ogre bright enough to catch the sarcasm as I slurred the words, hard workin’?

He must not have caught it, because he answered in a straight enough fashion. “That brother of Lucas’. Never seen the man slow down so long as to drink a full cup of tea. Wish Lucas had some of the man’s gumption.”

Tea. Men wouldn’t drink tea. Good black coffee that oozed out of a soot-caked pot was a man’s drink, Papa said once.

I got my legs into the pants and Morgan walked for the door, leavin’ me to straighten myself out. I searched for my boots. The ogre reached the door and grabbed that staff of his, and that stronger tinglin’ sensation shot up my spine. As I jerked erect, I lost my balance and stumbled.

“Louisa threw yar old boots away,” Morgan said. “Never been able to figure out why ya humans have to wear those horrible things. The orc Kelhin sewed those for ya.” He pointed to a pair of pointy-toed thin’s, the kind molded to easily slip into a stirrup, by the nightstand.

I sat and picked them up. The uppers of the boots were softer than any pair of gloves. The leather was exquisite, fancier than anythin’ I’d ever set eyes on.

“Ya havin’ trouble breathin’?” Morgan asked.

I closed my mouth, shook my head, and tugged on the wool socks left next to the boots. I felt guilty as I slid my feet into the boots. They were too fine to walk in.

Morgan stamped his staff as he turned for the hallway. That spike dashed up my spine again and for an instant I sensed—didn’t know what, as though I flitted off to a dream where I listened to the thoughts of others.

Staggerin’ a tad from the ugly sensation, I hurried to catch up to the warlock. I held onto the jamb of the door as I walked through it.

“Yar head clearin’ up?” Morgan asked.

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“Ike didn’t mention ya were polite. Eina will like that. Ya don’t want to rile that troll. She’s one ya wish to keep on yar side.”

“Eina?” The white-haired troll hen’s face came to me as I stammered.

“Gladys will love ya no matter what. But if ya ever irritate Eina, her bull will make yar life miserable.”

There were too many names comin’ at me too fast. I stopped at the top of the stairs and leaned against the banister, in no hurry to challenge the steps.

I ran the names through my head again.

Louisa’s the ginger ogre hen who cared for me.

Yoso, the troll, carried me inside. Yoso is Eina’s mate.

Trolls don’t distinguish husband and wife, I remembered. They’re mates. Same with ogres and all the other races. Why would only humans need a special word for the ones we commit to live our lives with? Funny.

“Ya need a hand?” Morgan asked from the middle landin’.

My face burned. I’m no little girl requirin’ assistance. I took a step down and my head tilted on my shoulders as though it wished to wander through the forest without me. Maybe I did need help. But I was too stubborn to ask for it. I grasped the banister tight enough knuckles popped, and continued down. My blurred vision cleared somewhat, but it still seemed as though I peered through five feet of water.

I made the first landin’, even though I hadn’t seen my fancy boots land on a single step. I rested a moment, and my vision cleared. Morgan stood in the middle of the huge common area, the lobby of the Inn, looking back at me, a razor-sharp edge of impatience on his face.

“I’m comin’. I’m comin’.”

I glanced about the massive room. Mostly humans sat about. Women held knittin’ in their laps, mostly, while the men clung to a pipe, leanin’ back like kings in their overstuffed chairs. An elf hen tiptoed about the room speakin’ softly to the guests, who would peer down at her and give her a great big smile.

The troll bull with the white dreadlocks, Yoso, sat in the corner with an ogre who wore work overalls. They leaned over a checkerboard.

“Today would be nice,” Morgan said.

I swallowed, and hurried down the last stairs to join Morgan, who didn’t wait for me. I followed the ogre into the dinin’ room. It must have been later in the mornin’ than I assumed. Only five tables held guests, all humans. The three boys from the buckboard had talked about Northerners as though none would be returnin’ to the Black Lake Inn because of some pact. Maybe they overestimated, or exaggerated. Seemed to be plenty of Northerners at the Inn now.

Morgan selected a table at the back near the kitchen entrance. He leaned his staff against the wall and sat, waved at me to replace the ogre-size chair across from him for a human-sized one from the near, empty table. He wasn’t gonna be spoilin’ me as that sweet Louisa had.

After bein’ coddled the last day, it’s funny to be treated such, by Morgan the ogre, but in a way, I appreciated it. I sat and pulled up my chair to the tall table, eyes continuin’ to take in every aspect of the enormous dinin’ room.

Everythin’ was rustic in architecture but finely laid out in amenities, such as white tablecloths, linen napkins, and eyelet doilies. Comfortable. Yet mostly tough. A proper place for the Range, the boundary of the Wildes.

I jerked and studied what had to be the sweetest lookin’ human girl I’d ever set eyes on, excludin’ kin. She actually gave me a wink, as she set a two-foot long platter in the center of the table. Contained sausages, ham, roasted chicken, scrambled eggs, biscuits, with two little tubs of gravy that made my jaws ache, the saliva ran so fast.

Morgan scooped mounds of food onto the plate the girl set in front of him. She stepped away and returned with two steamin’ cups. The aroma of coffee rose in mine, the real stuff, not the burned potatoes Mama served Papa. Morgan took a sip from his mug.

“Ahhh,” he said.

Tea. What do ogres see in tea? Tastes like muddy water to me.

Morgan and I ate in silence for ten minutes.

The front door of the Inn, a hundred feet away, flung open. I wrenched around at the unexpected clamor. A man flew through the entrance, staggerin’ to remain on his feet, arms flailin’. A second one entered the same fashion, clearly aided in his transport.

The bulk of the giant ogre Ike strode in, face less placid than his usual. I’d never seen the ogre irritated, but the way he faced the two bedraggled humans, he obviously held a deep sort of contempt for them. Not a good sign, for them or me. Wasn’t my situation bad enough? Didn’t need the ogre already mad about somethin’ else.

Conversation in the lobby and dinin’ room only paused for a three-count, before everyone went about their business. It was a bit odd, two humans bein’ manhandled in public like that by a giant of an ogre, with no one takin’ any particular worry.

Ike seemed to peer directly into my soul for a moment lastin’ a lifetime. My skin tingled. Didn’t look forward to facin’ my former host after—the memory of the bag of gold seared.

Ike turned his eyes on Morgan. The two offered each other a nod, and Ike gave the two humans a shove toward the dinin’ room. He pointed them to chairs at the next table, gave Morgan a molar-loosening double-slap on the back and dragged one of the ogre-sized chairs to our table.

I almost stood, as Mama taught me to do when an elder came near, but remembered the ogre had asked me one day, “Why ya stand every time I come into the room?” I never did after that, but my sense of responsibility to stand clearly hasn’t escaped.

My face burned, and I felt sweat bead on my forehead. What would the ogre say about me runnin’ away? More importantly, there was that missin’ bag of gold.

“Caught ’em, eh?” Morgan said, not really in query form.

“Any doubt?” Ike said softly.

“Expected ya to carry back bodies, my only surprise,” Morgan said.

“Nah. Let good ole Mayor Lucas worry about what to do with ’em. He want ’em dead, he’s got to do that.”

Somethin’ the size of a fist lodged in my throat. Didn’t like the tone of the conversation thus far.

“What’d they do?” I asked, clippin’ my words. Had no idea how I found the gall to speak to Ike.

“Stealin’ and disrespect.” Ike raised his voice clearly for the benefit of the two men. “Ought to hang ’em now. Don’t hardly seem right to bother with feedin’ ’em.”

Morgan chuckled and took a sip of his tea as the cute human girl set a mug in front of Ike. I smiled inwardly. It was coffee, not the typical ogre’s tea.

“Took ya some time,” Morgan said.

“I was in no hurry. Hadn’t had a minute to enjoy the southern forests since before the plague struck.”

“Uh huh,” Morgan murmured with a grin he maybe tried to hide.

“What’s that mean?” Ike asked. It sounded a little bit like what Taiz’lin did, deep in his chest. An influence from the dragon I guessed, the two bein’ bonded as it were.

Ike finally turned and looked down at me, and heat penetrated every pore. I coughed, and my throat tightened a bit more.

“Had an adventure I hear,” the ogre said.

I nodded. My heart had suddenly pumped every bit of my blood into my head. It would surely pop.

~

Chapter Nine

~

The door leadin’ to the dinin’ room edged inward and the ogre warlock’s voice filtered in. “Ya done with yar family reunion, lad? Got a decision to be made.” The door swung back in place.

“Go on with ya,” Ruth said. “We’ll talk later.” She rose on her toes again and pulled me down to give me a kiss on the cheek.

We’d never been a family that demonstrated affection. What had come over my sister? Heat brushed my cheeks. She pushed away with a wink, and hustled away, climbin’ atop her wood box to whatever effort had her attention earlier.

I sighed. She seemed happy, as though perfectly fittin’ into a niche designed for her. I wish I had that sense of well bein’.

I jerked, rememberin’ the impatient ogre waited for me somewhere. I spun around and exited the kitchen. There were no guests in the dinin’ room any longer. Five of the staff refreshed the tablecloths and flatware. I headed for the lobby.

A man stood behind a counter to the left. An elf stood on a raised platform next to him. They seemed to mull over some kind of ledger together. The man glanced up, the edge of his lips on the right side of his face twitchin’ up. The tiny elf bull stood erect and crossed his arms.

“Stay out of trouble for a while,” the elf said.

The man chuckled, but clamped down his humor quickly and looked back down at their paperwork.

Louisa stood talkin’ to another ogre, the bull who had been playin’ checkers, at the far end of the lobby next to a hearth as big as my former cabin home. The lobby hearth could accommodate a good-size bonfire, though at the present only the center andiron held a pair of lit six-foot-long logs. Louisa gave me a momentary smirk. She no doubt heard about my insultin’ remark. But she raised a hand waist-high and wobbled a faint wave.

I stumbled. When I recovered, Louisa shared a grin with me.

I scanned the room again. So where’d the ogre warlock go?

As though Louisa read my mind, she pointed at the front door.

I rushed over and pulled the fourteen-foot-tall door open, but froze. Morgan stood among a passel of others, includin’ the two trolls I’d met, a dwarf, the ogre Ike, and the human woman, Gladys, as well as another young man I’d met durin’ the—when Mama—before Papa left us.

“If he doesn’t care for the lair,” the dwarf was sayin’, “ya should just send the ingrate back to his papa’s stake and let him try to make a livin’ up there on his own.”

The human woman, Gladys, swatted at the dwarf, but she wasn’t serious. Her gesture was more a wave, and her grimace quickly turned into a grin.

“I hold no grudge,” Ike said. “He’s comin’ into his own, and has to follow where his oats lead him.”

I studied the broad back of the ogre and sucked in a breath. Dried blood encircled a slice in Ike’s shirt just to the left of his right shoulder blade, trailed down his back and soaked the waist of his pants.

Everyone turned to me. That spike flashed up my spine again, and I heard a crowded murmur, though it appeared no one outwardly spoke. My cheeks flashed hot again and sweat beaded my forehead.

“Ya’re hurt!” I heard myself blurt.

“Wasn’t nothin’,” Ike mumbled. “One of those idjits took a chance at persuadin’ me they weren’t worth followin’.” He pointed over the side of the veranda banister. Evidently the two men waited for Ike below.

The white-dreadlocked troll hen, Eina, smiled. “Be cleanin’ him up in a moment. Not the first arrow point to clip him. His papa, inside, is more troubled than the ogreling. He takes slights on his youngest most seriously.”

An instantaneous image of Ike howlin’ angrily as he was struck with an arrow, followed by a familiar-lookin’ ogre bull holdin’ back tears, clouded my vision with a jolt.

Am I losin’ my mind?

I thought of the ogre who Louisa spoke to inside. The bull did seem a bit put out. My mind turned back to Ike’s wound. That wasn’t somethin’ most would dismiss as nothin’—the average man wouldn’t, anyway. The average man would be unconscious on a cot.

“Close yar mouth lad, before ya catch a horsefly,” Morgan said. “And join us while we decide what to do with ya.”

Nice to be included in that conversation. I crossed the threshold and the heavy door clipped me in the heel as it closed. I jerked. Gladys, the human matriarch, gave me a wink. The others didn’t appear to notice, thankfully. I jolted again, glancin’ to the right, and seein’ two of the biggest creatures I’d ever seen in my life.

No doubt what they were. By process of elimination, they couldn’t be trolls or ogres. One had to be a goblin, the other—a daemon. I swallowed hard. The massive creature was—massive. He perched on his troll-sized chair as though it was a too-small stool, hunkered over the checker board between him and the goblin.

“Ya know how to work an axe?” the dwarf barked.

I dizzied as I jerked my attention back to the crowd standin’ near the banister.

“I told ya—”

The dwarf stopped Morgan with an angry wave.

“Ya of course remember Lucas,” Gladys said, noddin’ toward the fair-haired and stinkin’ too-attractive young man next to her.

I shook the man’s hand. He grasped my hand firmly, and held on longer than most men, as though he had all season for the greetin’ alone. His pale-blue eyes bore into mine. A near-smirk creased both sides of his mouth, as though he knew somethin’ I didn’t. Otherwise, the man’s easy looks made him a character to spend time with, without havin’ any reason to. He was the rider of the golden queen, Iza’loch, Taiz’lin’s mate. Though Iza spent a great deal of time at the mountain lair, Lucas, though he had his own room, was rarely there. Odd.

“And Master Coedwig.” Gladys motioned to the dwarf.

The dwarf made no move to either shake hands, or even return my gaze. He hoisted the axe he held in his left hand as though to gesture, “Let’s get on with it.”

“We erred,” Gladys said, “not placin’ yar wishes in the forefront of our decisions before.” She gave Morgan a quick glance. “So before we do that again, time to ask what ya wish to do.”

Ike might as well have clubbed me in the chest with his paw.

What did I want? What do I want?

“Are ya aware ya can reach the ethereal?” Morgan asked. The ogre glanced down suddenly, as though uncomfortable.

Reach the ethereal. What did that mean? The tic raced down my back.

No one spoke for several long seconds.

Gladys cleared her throat. “Morgan tells us he recognized ya were, uh, blessed, the day he met ya. Sensed the—energy within ya. He’s willin’ to apprentice ya, help ya discover yar power.”

“Apprentice?” I tried to swallow past a throat desert-dry. Was Gladys sayin’ I’m a warlock, had the blood of a warlock in me?

Apprenticin’ is a big deal.

“No trivial responsibility,” Gladys continued, “for either party, master or apprentice. Dedication is required. Ya must wish to follow Morgan. Follow where he leads.”

“Yes.” Morgan took his turn clearin’ his throat. “No need to decide immediately. It would be best if we spent some time together, ensure both of us are, uh, sure we want to do this.”

“Just what the Hamlet needs,” Coedwig the dwarf muttered. “Another warlock.”

“Hush,” Gladys said.

Lucas finally spoke. “Ya should go with him to his cabin. Spend some time there, get to know each other. Form the trust required. Then decide.”

“By practice, I’m an herbalist—of sorts,” Morgan said. “Not a traditionally masculine pastime, but it serves me with my gift.”

The troll hen, Eina, spoke. “Ya know he and Lucas’ sweetheart, Delia, saved us all durin’ the recent plague. Both use their gift to heal. Delia and Morgan, that is, not Lucas.”

A healer? An herbalist? A warlock? The blood rushed from my head. I moved my feet farther apart, just in case. “I, I don’t know a weed from a bush—”

Power? The ethereal? The stinkin’ tic danced.

“Ya’ll start the learnin’ of a craft a little later than most of us,” Morgan said softly. “But every bull crawls before he walks.”

“And every hen,” the troll Eina added.

“No farmin’ up here, more than fodder really,” her mate, Yoso, said. “Short growin’ season. Not much topsoil. But the daily summer rains give us a bumper garden here on the Lake’s bank, fattens the rye. If ya’d prefer to work the ground, the Hamlet accepts all willin’ to put their back into any effort.”

“I’m not takin’ on any apprentices,” the dwarf barked.

“For the best.” Gladys snorted. “He’d position an axe through yar forehead ’fore the week is out.”

The dwarf’s face wrinkled like a sunned apricot. “Very funny.”

“I wasn’t makin’ a joke,” she snapped.

“Again, no life-long decisions required this minute, but think quickly if ya wish to follow me to my stake to visit. I leave within the hour, soon as I finish with Ike’s back.”

An hour? To decide to be a warlock? What is the ethereal?

The others spoke, but the words didn’t cross the fog that cloaked me. One by one they stepped away, leavin’ me on the veranda alone.

~