Warlock Apprentice, Black Lake Novel 4

Chapter Eleven

~

“How long ya been part of the Hamlet?” I asked to interrupt the monotony of the hike.

“Not long.”

“How old were ya, when ya realized ya were a warlock?”

“Just put a name to it recently.”

“What’s that thin’ ya mentioned, eth-somethin’?”

“Ethereal. Don’t rightly know. Just a name for the unknown.”

“Ya live alone?”

“Yep.”

“Out here all by yarself?”

“It’s quiet.”

“Ya like quiet?”

“Ya askin’ me if ya talk too much?”

I grinned at Morgan’s back. “So what are we gonna do out here?” I asked.

“Like everyone else. Survive. Place one foot in front of the other.”

“That mean ya don’t have any plans?”

“Do ya have plans?”

“I thought I did. Found out folks north of here, aren’t—”

“Aren’t what?”

I considered a few seconds. Shouldn’t say outright that people from the Valley are different. It sounded—too simplistic. Figger all individuals are of their own mind. So what was it that pulled the folk of the Hamlet together to do for others? While them Northerners ’bout escorted me to my death?

Why had the dragons searched out strangers to aid durin’ the plague? Why would orcs sew for a strange human for two days? Not like orcs and humans had a likin’ for each other—historically. Mama did her best to teach us the past, along with our numbers and letters.

“Good to ask yarself questions,” Morgan said.

“As opposed to askin’ ya questions?”

That growl that’s an ogre’s chuckle floated over Morgan’s shoulder. “My answers are for my questions. Ya need yar own answers. Best to come to them on yar own.”

“But I thought the purpose of apprenticin’ is to learn from the master.”

“I’m no master. Didn’t mean to imply I was.”

“Journeyman, then.”

“Call me a simple mentor if ya’d like. Keep askin’ yar questions. I’ll do my best to help ya find yar answers.”

“Hum. Interestin’ take on thin’s, I guess.”

The last I didn’t shout so the ogre could hear. Morgan didn’t ask me to repeat it. So much for his curiosity. Or maybe the ogre had a sense about these kinds of thin’s, that is, inner wonderin’s.

“I saw ya flick a lot of glances Louisa’s way. Ya sweet on her?”

“We’ve taken a stroll or two together,” he answered.

“So, Lucas is courtin’ that tiny thin’, what’s her name, Dell?”

“Delia.”

“What’s her story?”

“For her to share with them she chooses.”

“Seems a bit opinionated. But nice enough,” I suggested.

Morgan didn’t say anythin’ more about the witch. I would have enjoyed hearin’ about Lucas and Delia. They didn’t seem, for some reason, to be a natural pair. Only thin’ in common at first glance is they both are of slight build. Not yar typical pioneer stock. Despite my curiosity, I tired playin’ thousand-and-one questions.

My back ached. Would have druthered to take a break, but Morgan continued deeper into the forest. The rollin’ hills of the watershed broke into deep gullies separatin’ ever-taller summits. After another hour I broke down and suggested a breather.

Morgan pulled off his pack to answer me, layin’ it against the trunk of a tree. He stood quietly, holdin’ his staff at arm’s length, eyes closed. A whatcha-doin’ ached to come out. From the tinglin’ in my spine, figgered Morgan was doin’ some warlock, majical thin’.

I grinned. First time I connected the two. The tinglin’, and the majicin’. Meetin’ the majial kind sure has energized the annoyin’ tic.

I crumpled onto the needle-covered forest floor to rest, easin’ out of my pack. A half minute later Morgan relaxed, withdrew a flask from his own pack, and took a drink.

“Too quiet out here,” the warlock mumbled. “Somethin’s not right.”

“Quiet all right.”

“No,” Morgan said. “Too quiet.”

Too quiet? I couldn’t grasp what the ogre meant, so I’d have to force another query on the warlock, even if he’s already tired of my questions. “How can a forest be too quiet?”

“Listen.”

I held my breath, cocked my head like Morgan. Far overhead in the peaks, the mountains heaved as though mournin’.

“Regular forest sounds,” I mumbled. “The wind in the trees.”

“No chatterin’ squirrels, jays, crows. No varmints scurryin’ for safety, hearin’ our approach. Rare to go an hour without hearin’ a bull elk callin’ out this time of the season. Ruttin’ season approachin’ in a bit. The bulls will be serious about herdin’ together their harems. The hills are silent. Somethin’s not right.”

While that was likely the most Morgan had ever said to me directly at one time, I couldn’t figger what the ogre meant. Prolly settin’ me up for a prank. A little like a ghost story before goin’ to bed, or Taiz’lin’s tease about lions. I took my own flask out. Before I even had the cork out, Morgan said, “Ya ready to go on?”

“Uh, sure.”

I took a long gulp, replaced the cork, the flask in my pack, and struggled into its straps. Morgan was already out of sight by the time I got settled. To catch up, I clambered into a jog around the boulders makin’ up the path in the gully we followed.

Makin’ it around a sharp outcroppin’ that jutted out of the side of the mountain, which Morgan had disappeared behind, I halted with a jolt. Morgan stood still ten feet in front of me. The tinglin’ in my spine stung as badly as I’d ever felt it. I followed Morgan’s glare. Thirty feet above loomed a human, stone-still, glarin’ back.

The man stood on a raised ledge in a patch of bright sunlight. He wore a full cape, jet black. He had pulled it back on one side and the sun glinted off the hilt of a sword on his hip. Swords are a weapon of them with deep coin purses, so it struck me immediately this human didn’t belong alone, in this forest.

The silent impasse continued. I stole another glance at Morgan but he continued to glare at the stranger. So I turned back to him too. He wore another blade, shorter than the other, on his opposite hip, and what appeared a double-padded leather vest, the kind designed to deflect a knife point, maybe. Odd thought. He held a long bow in his left hand, strung, ready for use, its arrows’ feathers just visible over the man’s right shoulder.

But he was no warrior. His dress was that of an aristocrat—not that I’ve met many of those. More like none. Black pants and jerkin matched the cape, shiny boots to his knees that belonged in stirrups. No short-cropped hair for convenience, like a laborer. It flowed, well kept, over his shoulders. Face mostly clean shaven, though whiskers shaped a diamond on his chin, which elongated, hardened his face.

“We gonna battle or introduce ourselves?” I asked. Sensed irritation, I think, from Morgan for speakin’. What, now I could read folks’ emotions?

The stranger smiled, showin’ bright, white teeth that glimmered in the sun. He stepped into the shadows to his left, and visibly relaxed. Caught in the glare made for a dramatic stance, but actually put him at a disadvantage, havin’ to peer into the gloom at us.

I looked back at Morgan. He gripped his staff with two hands, prepared to use it for more than a walkin’ stick. He dropped his left hand and drew the massive thin’ toward him vertically. As its butt end stamped the earth, a minute lightnin’ bolt flicked from the ram’s head. Pretty sure that’s what I saw.

The stranger flinched, his face tightenin’. After a five-count he seemed to relax again. “I’ve been searchin’ for days. Looks as though he who I’ve searched has found me.”

“What does that mean?” Morgan asked in a tone that made me shiver.

“Durin’ the late spring, durin’, what shall we call it, the threat of war. A warlock is said to have interfered.”

“Interfered?” Morgan’s voice continued in that tenor no human could manage.

“Participated, if you wish.” The man owned a delightful accent. Not from anywhere I’ve ever visited. Not that I’ve been around, much.

Several tense moments of silence gripped us. I had to shift my weight against the discomfort of it.

The gentryman said, “I’m searchin’ for the ogre known as the Black Lake warlock.”

“Never met anyone called that,” Morgan said.

I jerked a glance at Morgan and back at the stranger, whose lips formed the thinnest smile. He knew Morgan lied.

“Then you couldn’t direct me to this gentleman?”

“Can’t say that I could. Couldn’t say he’s man or bull.”

The forest silence shrouded us again for a too-long moment.

“Mind if I near and introduce myself?” the man asked. “I see no reason we have to shout to be heard.”

“Suit yarself,” the ogre said.

The man’s face softened with the hint of a smile, clearly not intimidated by Morgan’s tone. He worked his way down the rock face.

“Ya didn’t drop by the Hamlet,” Morgan stated.

“You find that curious?” the man asked.

“Tis the social center of the Range. If ya be searchin’ for someone, why didn’t ya first inquire there?”

Inquire? What did that mean? In, I know. Quire? Like, require?

The man stopped in front of Morgan. Though standin’ on steeper, high ground, he still looked up at the ogre. He extended his hand. “Selene.”

Morgan took his hand, but didn’t share his own name.

“And your name—”

“Ya didn’t say why ya didn’t stop in the Hamlet.”

“Didn’t say I didn’t.”

“Just came from there,” Morgan said. “If ya had, believe me, yar appearance would have been a topic of conversation.”

“Why is that?” Selene asked.

“Small community. Not a lot to talk about.”

Selene’s hinted-grin turned into a softer smile. He leaned right, studyin’ me for the first time. “And you are—”

“My apprentice,” Morgan snapped. “None of yar concern.”

“Didn’t imply he’s a concern. I’m sorry my presence is troubling—”

“Not troubling me,” Morgan interrupted. “We must be goin’.” He shifted his weight as though to walk around Selene, but didn’t take a step.

My gut clenched. This was the most interestin’ human I’d ever met. Dragons and daemons are interestin’, but I sensed drawn to the man. Should I concern myself with what exactly attracted me to him? Despite Morgan’s clear distrust, weapons aside, the man’s appearance implied no ill will, obviously in no need of anythin’ me or Morgan have. His physical demeanor even hinted a promise of better thin’s to come—odd thought. What could Morgan and I possibly have that would interest this rich man?

“We seem to be hikin’ in the same direction,” I blurted. “We might as well accompany one another.”

“My thought exactly,” Selene said.

“Nearly to my stake,” Morgan said. “Never heard of this warlock ya’re talkin’ about. So goin’ my way would be a waste of yar time.”

“Then perhaps you could offer me a cup of coffee.”

“Not an ogre’s drink,” Morgan mumbled. “Wouldn’t find it in my cupboard.”

“Then perhaps a cup of tea.”

“Ya would not find my humble cabin to yar likin’.”

“I’m not a guest who’s hard to please.” Selene lifted his right shoulder.

Beetles scrabbled in my pockets. Couldn’t stay quiet. “A short visit would be pleasant.”

Morgan jerked a clearly displeased expression over his shoulder at me.

“Thank you for the invitation.” Selene stepped past Morgan and extended his hand to me.

Morgan growled—I’m a bit used to ogres now but it even edged dangerous-soundin’ to me—but the man ignored it.

“Selene, of Nador,” he said dippin’ his head.

I knew my grin would irritate Morgan but I couldn’t keep it off my face. I rushed to introduce myself and shake the man’s hand before Morgan crushed his head with that staff of his.

“So the apprentice has a name.” Selene’s own grin formed a crease across his right cheek remindin’ me of a scar. It aged him, but not in an unflatterin’ way. It gave him a more distinguished, worldly appearance, if that was possible.

Morgan must have given up tryin’ to brush off the newcomer, or protect me from him, because he strode up the ravine.

“How long have you been apprenticing?” Selene asked, turnin’ and motionin’ me to walk with him.

I kept my voice low. “Can’t say I’m rightly an apprentice yet.”

Selene twisted a bit and eyed me harder, head cocked.

“I’m, uh, visitin’ with the, uh, with Morgan to see if we, uh—”

“Are compatible?”

Wasn’t sure what that word meant, but figgered the man got the gist of the situation. I nodded. “Where’s Nador?”

“About a week’s ride north,” Selene answered. “Mostly horse ranches. Not a city, but a region. Fancy dudes from the cities travel south for the exceptional stock found there. The best known breeders in the whole continent all live within thirty miles of my home.”

Did he claim a region as a family name, or had the region been named for his family? That would mean a lot. Dare I ask?

“Are ya a breeder?” I heard my own excitement in my voice, but chose not to be embarrassed by it.

“Marginally. I was apprenticed to a gentleman with many dozens of breeding mares, several heavily-sought racing studs.”

I jerked my head in surprise, that the dandy with his shiny boots could have once been an apprentice of any kind. How did he rise in station to a country gentleman?

“The rolling hills of Nador,” Selene continued, “remind me a lot of the lowlands here in the Range, though it doesn’t have estates every other furlong. You must love living here.”

“Winters are cruel and long,” I said. But even the summers can kill. The thought of Mama’s desiccated body lyin’ on her cot gripped me high in my chest.

For months durin’ the winter, my family struggled simply to keep the snow clear between the cabin and the outhouse. The wall of snow didn’t begin to melt until the time we would have been plantin’ on our previous lease on the plains. There, it was heat and drought that nearly killed us.

Selene shot me a dozen questions, which made me appreciate how Morgan must have felt, earlier. Morgan! I searched for my host. He was nearly out of sight, far up the ravine.

“We best move along,” I told Selene.

I pushed hard to catch up. The weight of the pack, the severe incline, and thin air proved to be more than I could compensate for, as I lost sight of the ogre time and again. Selene did no better. A gentleman from the lowlands, no back for manual labor evidently, he fell well behind me, so we no longer managed to chat.

Morgan stopped now and again. I would catch sight of him, the ogre gawkin’ as if bored. Upon seein’ me still on course, he’d turn and continue his trek.

After an hour race, the long branchin’ ravine leveled onto a highland plateau. Not a plateau as in flat, but instead of steep rises everywhere, gentle hills rolled away from us. The less demandin’ terrain allowed me and Selene not to catch up with, but at least keep Morgan in sight.

Twenty minutes later the ogre led us into a shallow valley. I blinked, searchin’ for Morgan, not at first seein’ the tiny cabin nestled in the trees.

Selene came along side, breathin’ heavy. “Ahh. We must be home.”

I didn’t answer. Knowin’ the hike was over allowed my muscles to accept the ache. I gasped for my high-air and plodded forward.

I dropped my pack to the planks of the narrow porch and plopped down on the rough-hewn, ogre-sized chair there.

Selene leaned against what looked like a hitchin’ post, which ran the length of the porch. The man’s face was red from his exertion. His mouth hung open as well, suckin’ for air. Sweat flowed freely down his cheeks. He lifted one foot and set it on the planks of the porch, and scowled. His boots would never be pretty again. The rocks along the way gave them the sheen of a workin’ man’s boot.

“So where’d ya leave yar horse?” I asked.

The man grinned. “I promised a gent with a stake east of the Hamlet a generous reward for her care.”

I nodded. Made sense not to pay up front, if ya didn’t trust.

Selene draped the cape he had crawled out of an hour earlier over the post he leaned on. He dropped his bow and quiver to the wooden planks.

“Smells as though your master is striking a fire. He might consider that his apprentice’s task.”

“Oh,” I muttered, jerkin’ out of the over-sized chair. Inside, I stopped to allow my eyes to adjust to the dark.

“Cast open the shutters,” Morgan mumbled.

“Aye.”

There were two windows on the front wall of the one room shack. I unlatched each of their shutters and swung them open. The air flowin’ in quickly assisted in breakin’ up the brackishness of the air. Evidently Morgan hadn’t spent a great deal of time at home lately.

I turned and took the place in. Typical, perhaps even grand for a single man. Larger than the cabin my family made home for three seasons. A single cot of ogre dimensions lined the wall on the far left. A broad counter, ogre-height, ten feet long, separated the greater portion of the room from the large hearth. Shelves floor-to-ceilin’ on both sides of the fireplace held earthen-crocks the size of an ogre’s fist, containin’ who-knows what. There was plenty of floor space for a dozen sleepin’ furs. Between the cot and the door set a table with two chairs, all of which looked axe-hewn, smoothed with only the benefit of an adz, no plane.

“Will it do?” Morgan asked.

A twinge of guilt boxed my ears for maybe comparin’ it to the rich surroundin’s of the Inn, or even Ike’s enormous home beneath the dragons’ lair. “Ya’ve got a handsome home here.”

“It serves me,” Morgan said.

“I’m, uh, sorry—”

“I don’t know what for, but if ya must whisper it, can’t be sincere.”

Sincere. Think I knew what that meant. “I am too,” I snapped.

Morgan narrowed his eyes.

“I mean, I’m just bein’, uh, dis, uh—”

“Discrete?” Selene said to my left.

I jerked. I hadn’t heard the man step inside. A different kind of guilt sent a flurry of heat to my cheeks.

“It’s my fault, lad. I take all the blame for pushin’ myself on your master.” Selene motioned toward the hearth which held a log in full flame. “You’re one good fire starter.”

“I know which end of the flint to use,” Morgan mumbled.

“Yes. About that. Now that we’re here, I should be more forthcomin’ about why I’ve searched you out, Morgan, the Black Lake warlock.”

The ogre’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. Looked a bit like he prepared to do battle.

“Hopefully,” Selene said, “I can keep the two of you alive.”

~