Warlock Apprentice, Black Lake Novel 4

Chapter Forty-Four

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A line of men, perhaps twenty in all, surrounded the manor. They lounged against overturned carts, cords of wood, and farm equipment. Most hunkered down quickly. Those who remained standin’ made a point to display bows.

“Sense no majic,” Rutland and Selene said together.

Rutland’s stallion stamped and twirled around. The man struggled to calm the creature. Stinkin’ horses. I think that may have seeped in my head from Morgan.

“How long you suppose we missed him?” Selene asked.

“Probably left before light,” Rutland said. “No way we could have caught him before he left.” I guess he said that so there was no ruein’ our two-hour break.

The elder wizard spoke with an edge of determination in his voice that was new. It dawned on me the man wasn’t a simple country gentleman. Well of course, a wizard isn’t simple as the garden variety bloke went. But the man had served in a militia, commanded men in the past. Had experience developin’ strategy.

“We must acquire fresh horses,” Rutland said.

“Aye,” Selene said.

And as one, without discussion, I felt the three pull from the ethereal, rippin’ me with that sensation that my spine hates so much. Morgan walked forward with Bacchus held high. Selene waved me to fall behind him and Rutland. That grated, but I did as instructed, fightin’ the mare who wished to stay up with her stable mate. I lifted my walkin’ stick I’d tied to my pommel and focused upon its runes, addin’ my majic to my friends’. I guess friends is a good word. None of them had ever treated me like—well, unkind. Teasin’ doesn’t count. They’ve done plenty of that.

The first arrows flew overhead, a warnin’. Morgan must have found that irritatin’, for he stepped into a jog toward the center of the manor’s men. Selene and Rutland kept near the ogre’s heels, and I followed, keepin’ the aura tight, so the followin’ arrows embedded into it and fell harmlessly to the ground.

The shock displayed clearly on our foes’ faces, farmers and field workers to a one, not a fightin’ man among them. Without hesitatin’ to aim they let lose arrows as fast as they could pull them from their quivers, which emptied quickly. The air in front of me blackened with arrows for a ten-count.

Ammunition depleted, they ran, some for the trees, others for outbuildin’s.

Morgan led us directly to the stable, but the stalls were empty. Rutland grabbed a bucket and found the grain bin. I grinned at the unspoken plan, as we removed the tack from our mounts.

“I’ll stay here,” Morgan muttered. “Make it easier for ya.” Yep, ’cause horses really dislike ogres. Who knows why.

The thoroughbreds in the near pasture already waited at the fence, smellin’ at the air. The ogre’s presence prolly wouldn’t have kept them from the mixture of oats, cracked corn, and molasses.

Selene, me, and Rutland bridled three fine mares, and were back in the stables within ten minutes, minutes that were heaven for my hips. Though every step ached like a sawbones removin’ a leg, the motion eased the overall agony.

An elegantly dressed woman, maybe fiftyish, hair pinned tightly to the top of her head, met us in the yard as we walked the mounts out of the stable. Her face displayed that unease for Morgan most humans seein’ an ogre for the first time does. She flicked past Selene and me, but glared at Rutland with a fire of hate.

“Calm yourself,” Rutland said.

“How can you turn on your friend like this?” she shouted.

For a moment I worried she might fling one of those lightnin’ bolts at the wizard, but then I realized I couldn’t sense the least bit of majic comin’ from her.

“We were misled,” Rutland stammered, clearly uncomfortable facin’ the woman. “We will do our best to avoid the war they plan, from ever starting. It will be up to your husband how badly he wishes to bring about a blood bath.”

She strode toward Rutland and I reeled with a vision of the woman slappin’ the wizard with every ounce of strength in her bein’. The pre-sight ended almost as quickly as it started, and I croaked a warnin’. It was unnecessary. Rutland grabbed her wrist before her arm even moved forward.

“Be calm. I’d rather my lady and I continue as your fast friends tomorrow, but I won’t let you delay us.” He released her and she lifted the plethora of her skirts in a huff, whirled around and stamped away.

The three of us mounted as Morgan finished a long draw from his water skin, and refilled it at a nearby pump. He sprinted forward, and we kicked our mares to fall in line.

There was a scatterin’ of men in the road collectin’ the arrows that fluttered uselessly against our ward earlier. Though Rutland and Selene rebuilt a modicum shield in haste, it wasn’t necessary. The farm workers ran away, unwillin’ to take on any more majic today.

What could the owner of the place have believed he would accomplish instructin’ them to intervene? A spiteful visitor might have done the mob harm. Innocent laborers. That lacks that empathy, I keep hearin’ about. If I’m understandin’ the word right.

Though Rutland stated that he hoped the landowner and his wife would remain their friends, the ease the manor lord put his people in harm’s way for no purpose hindered me from acceptin’ the man we searched for was worth holdin’ as a—friend.

An hour passed in our rushed ride north, and we rested the horses.

The sun rose higher in the sky and the day warmed. Yet Morgan continued a steady pace beside the horses, sweat barely stampin’ his shirt—all while carryin’ that staff that weighs prolly as much as me. The day passed as we rushed after the fleein’ wizard.

Rutland’s emotions spiked. He feared we wouldn’t reach his neighbor until he joined his co-conspirators—whatever that means, but it wandered into my head a lot. Would Rutland have been so easy to convince to change sides if he had supporters at his shoulder the past afternoon, facin’ only one trained wizard? All thin’s in life seem to hinge on contrary happenstance.

I could be slavin’ away removin’ stones to enlarge a tiny plot, tryin’ to fetch vegetables out of poor, highland soil, pressed twelve hours a day by a disinterested father, if my mama hadn’t been met by the ghoul that infected her, filled her lungs, choked the life out of her.

As easily, I could have fallen to my death climbin’ away from Ike’s home on the peak. That would have only taken one slip of a sweaty hand. I could have been killed at that inn. Others greeted the tip of a knife that night. Could have also died of thirst on that desert plain.

We crested a hill and what we had been killin’ the horses to reach came into view. Maybe my heart beat a bit harder, with my earlier thoughts fadin’ away.

Two riders.

I glanced across at Rutland. He glared ahead. When I looked back, one of the riders wrenched around in his saddle. They no doubt sensed the remnants of our majic behind them. They kicked their mounts into a hard run.

A half-mile on us, on horses that hadn’t been pressed as hard as our three, we had little chance of catchin’ ’em. After two miles Rutland called us to hold up. We walked the horses until Morgan caught up.

“No need to wait on me,” he said.

“No need to kill the horses,” Selene answered.

We allowed Morgan to catch a few more deep pulls of air. He didn’t wait to be asked if he was ready. He took off at a healthy run. Them stinkin’ ogres. Tough. May one never be my enemy.

Reachin’ the next rise, the two riders were nowhere in sight.

“His eldest son you suspect?” Selene said to Rutland.

“Aye. Hasn’t the gift though.”

“How much farther you suppose?”

“Two, three more of those hills,” Rutland said, with a frustratin’ jolt of his fist.

“Might as well come upon them rested,” Selene said.

Morgan glanced up at the two men, but didn’t say anythin’. He likely would have plunged forward, Bacchus wailin’ away, be damned the lightnin’ bolts. Kind of him to allow the two humans to decide.

My eyes latched onto the ogre’s white dreadlocks on the left, black on the right, jigglin’ along as though they belonged on two different bein’s. What caused one side to go white like that? I’d heard it was the stress headin’ off the summer war. But the white hadn’t grown from the roots. I met him just before the conflagration caused by the goblins, and a week later at the lair. One day all of his hair was dark, the next the left side was white.

Strange thin’s went along with leveragin’ the ethereal. Had he done too much? Placed his life in harm pullin’ too much from the ethereal? Funny I had never heard anyone talk about that notion. As much as the Hamlet residents like to gossip. Like their primary duty in life.

Selene and Rutland reined their horses and Morgan and I followed.

“Suppose we can learn who we face?” Selene asked.

Rutland glanced across Selene and studied my face a moment. I didn’t like the examination. Almost like he was callin’ me a liar—or somethin’.

“I’ll bet the apprentice can sense their number,” Rutland suggested. “If we support him.”

“What do you mean by that?” I blurted. At least he didn’t actually call me a liar. But I don’t know what he was callin’ me.

Rutland laughed, head back. He quieted too abruptly after a two-count, as though he didn’t mean his humor.

Selene cleared his throat. “One of Lord Rutland’s talents is pickin’ up falsehoods,” he said softly to me. That went with my whole liar thin’. He coulda warned me about the man’s skill sooner. Jerk.

“And?” Ah. That had to explain somethin’ else, on Selene’s mind. Why the man was so easily convinced the previous evenin’.

A hint of a smile returned to Rutland’s face. “Every time any of us flinch with the ethereal, you squirm like you’ve got a gopher in your pocket.”

The sun felt hotter. Got to learn to squash that, that—weakness. “So ya think—” Don’t know what I was gonna suggest.

“Pretty sure,” Rutland said, his smile expandin’. He extended his hand over his pommel and his signet glowed.

I didn’t have to look at Bacchus, or Selene for that matter, because I felt the majic spike from the staff, and grow within Selene. I shivered from the crawlin’ skin down my back, focused on the whittled image of Giba on my walkin’ stick, closed my eyes, and imagined myself standin’ on a hill miles ahead. Funny, no one had to tell me how to—work—my sorcerin’.

I jerked, the saliva in my mouth almost chokin’ me as I gasped.

I studied a manor three times more extensive than Rutland’s. Halls of the main house reached east and west within the stirrup of the valley, climbed the hill to the north. Outbuildings surrounded it, with two separate stables. Orchards reached in every direction, checker boarded with pastures. Multiple species of stock mingled.

I reminded myself I wasn’t here to gawk. Focused on the main residence and sensed the origin of two strong wielders of the ethereal. A third hurried from one of the stables to join them.

I jolted. Everythin’ shaded black for an instant. The sun returned with the agony of the saddle. I broke out in a sweat everywhere.

“You’ve gone pale on us lad,” Selene said. “You okay?”

“Three,” I stammered.

“What I expected,” Rutland said. “At least that many.”

I wiped a bit of spittle that threatened to run down my chin. “The place is as big as a city. They’ll have a lot more workers to support them than what we came across back there.” I thrust my thumb over my shoulder.

Selene remained quiet. Rutland nodded.

“Best we have a plan,” Morgan said. Which was funny. The ogre has never shown a preponderance to overthink thin’s.

“Aye,” the two wizards agreed in one voice, two distinct accents.

We walked the horses in silence until we reached the crest of the next hill. Rutland reined his mare to a stop and we pulled back. The man just stared forward, glassy eyed. I couldn’t help but glance up the road. There was nothin’ there. Empty road. No threat. Awareness of the man’s thoughts crept into me.

“Ahh, jees.”

“What?” Selene asked.

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