Chapter Fifty-One
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I ran hard, pushin’ my endurance. Drenchin’ sweat stung the nick in my throat, which burned like a cattle brand. My side stitched. Hand from the bite ached. Breathin’ came in a wheeze. The front slopes of the rollin’ hills challenged my legs, the backside of the hills jabbed at my lower back. Repeated to myself that at least I didn’t have the jaws of a dozen purple ants poisonin’ me. Each time I had that thought, my hand throbbed.
Was I even runnin’ in the right direction?
Tears flooded my eyes, but the sense of majic to my right made me sob in joy.
“Morgan! Morgan!”
I shook my head. They were still too far away. I had to stop and catch my breath. I leaned forward, hands on my knees, gaspin’.
Why had they left me behind?
With a groan, I continued my broken sprint, a little more southerly. Every second my connection with the three wizards’ majic strengthened. Within ten minutes I could place them in my mind’s eye, a narrow valley ahead.
Where were they goin’?
The forest was thick, and I tripped often on limbs and such hidin’ under the dense carpet of leaves and pine needles. I compared my present pain to the agony shortly after bein’ blasted, when I crested a hill.
“Morgan! Morgan! Selene! Over here!”
My shout took the last of my energy, and I fell to my knees. Pain thrust through my chest, and my raspin’ breath blocked any answers to my call. But I sensed them hurryin’ toward me. I fell back on my arse in relief.
“Ya look like hell,” Morgan said as he ran near.
I didn’t have the air to let go the good venom that welled to escape. I’d have to save it for another day. I struggled to rise.
The ogre gave me a hand. “Ya look like ya ought to take the rest of the day off.”
I turned back and waved him to follow. “Louisa—”
“Louisa?”
“—alone with Rutland’s wizard friends,” I managed between a gasp.
“What?”
“And she needs yar healin’,” I added.
The ogre grabbed my shoulder in a painful hold and turned me around to face him. “What happened, boy?”
“Ow.” I shook loose. “Ya care to gab, or ya wanna get to her?” I turned and staggered into a jog.
Morgan fell along side with a glance over his shoulder. I didn’t have to worry. Rutland and Selene would be able to follow our trailin’ majic. Morgan’s mind throbbed with concern, not helpin’ my achin’ head one bit.
I took a gasp. “Nothin’ life—threatenin’—” I gasped again. “More, don’t like leavin’ her with the wizard— She got bolted—”
“Ahh,” Morgan muttered. “I’ll kill that good for nothin’ Blake.”
“Took—care of that—for ya,” I managed, before my chest tightened as I relived in flashes, the demise of the three wizards yesterday.
Morgan laughed, somethin’ soundin’ too similar to the love call of a bull moose. The ogre slapped me on the back so hard I stumbled three steps before I caught my footin’.
“Ya—have to do—that?”
“Ya whine too much, lad.”
“Shut up.” I sucked in three deep breaths. “She also got a nasty slice in her throat.”
“Ahh,” Morgan snapped. “Who did that to her?”
“He’s got—some broken bones—for his insult,” I answered. “But the purple ants—I used to close the gash—will make her pretty sick. She’ll be needin’ ya.”
“Purple—” Morgan shuddered like a little girl threatened with Castor oil, white and black dreadlocks weavin’ across his chest. “I hate those thin’s.”
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