Warlock Apprentice, Black Lake Novel 4

Chapter Twenty-Three

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I wiped away the sweat that trickled down my forehead. The sun struck with a vengeance in the eastern foothills, and it had barely been up two hours. I studied the humble stake below, the wisp of smoke risin’ from the stone chimney, attached to a cabin little different from Morgan’s. The shelter fifty feet away protectin’ the hewed grass, winter fodder, sang with the song of dozens of sparrows which made the structure their home, high above maraudin’ cats. The shinin’-black mare lumberin’ among the sheep in the pen north of that indeed stood out.

“She looks well,” Selene said.

Easy to figure out whom he meant. A smile washed his face. He would indeed be happy to get in a saddle. His once-shiny boots and the limp from many blisters spoke to his disinterest in any more hikin’. I glanced down at my own footwear. The orc who crafted them is a genius. The brushed and soaped leather had worn well. The hard marchin’ the boots endured did little more than make them more comfortable.

I jerked from the prick of Morgan stampin’ Bacchus with his first step down the slope, followin’ the eager wizard.

Wish he wouldn’t do that.

The ogre remained irritated Selene insisted on a direct route north, as opposed to followin’ Louisa’s trail. That, Selene argued, would enable them to head the Northerners off. Ogres could display a nasty attitude when they don’t get their way. I retained my awe that Morgan went along with the man instead of strikin’ off without him.

I strode after them. How would the residents of the stake take to the sight of the ogre? Those north certainly hadn’t taken kindly to a stranger of the same race. I rubbed my gut where mostly healed scars from a farmer’s pitchfork left me a life-long reminder of the fear others hold for outsiders.

The yap of a pair of dogs interrupted the mornin’ still. Birds flushed into the air. I sensed Morgan’s unease rise. He slowed, allowin’ me to come abreast.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Horses bad enough. They got to have them worthless mutts.”

I grinned. “Not so worthless. Good warnin’ someone’s a comin’.”

“They smell,” Morgan muttered. “Rude they dislike my kind so overly much.”

The dogs rounded the corner of the shack followed by a man wieldin’ an axe in his hand. He lifted it to get a two-handed grip and glared up the slope toward us. He must have recognized Selene, for he relaxed, droppin’ the axe back to the side of his leg.

“Quiet, girls.”

The dogs settled down immediately. He took slow steps to meet us. He didn’t appear overly concerned about the giant a few steps behind Selene.

“Almost hoped ya’d never return,” the farmer said with humor in his voice.

“You would never put her behind a plow, would you?” Selene asked. Maybe tryin’ to hide a smile.

The farmer extended his hand, and the two shook. The black and white spotted dogs slunk twenty feet away, one to the left, the other to the right, lay down without ever takin’ their eyes off their visitors.

“She’s too beautiful to put her to work like that,” the farmer said. “But she would have bought me a full team of mules, and staples enough to last me five years. If’n ya didn’t make it out of the Range by winter.”

“That was my time limit, eh?”

“Figgered ya didn’t make it before the first highland snows, the wolves would be snackin’ on your frozen carcass come spring, anyway.”

Selene rocked his head back in a silent laugh.

“Ya must be that healer warlock,” the farmer said.

Surprise from Selene and Morgan washed over me—the human takin’ the sight of the ogre in stride, and recognition of who Morgan was. Word of Range goin’s on sluices down to the midlands, clearly.

The farmer extended his hand. Morgan took a comical fast-step to shake the human’s hand.

“Surprised ya, eh?” the farmer asked.

I enjoyed the expression on Selene’s face, enjoyin’ Morgan’s discomfort.

“Ike was here yesterday afternoon on that cranky, gray dragon of his. He upset yar mare, I’ll tell ya.”

That explained a lot. That ogre Ike sure gets around.

“What was Ike doin’ here?” Morgan asked.

“Searchin’ for a friend. Disappeared. Supposed to be with ya, he said. Said somethin’ about yar cabin bein’ torched.” The farmer peered up the slope, as though expectin’ to see someone trailin’ us.

Morgan and Selene jerked so hard to look at each other I might have heard their necks crack. Selene reached into his vest pocket and retrieved a money pouch, and handed it to the farmer as he rushed past him.

The farmer’s mouth dropped open, but his expression flowed from Selene’s back to the bag of money. He hefted the thin’, and large coins collidin’ rang out. He dropped his axe and hurried to open the bag. “We agreed to four silvers, gov’na. This is way too much.” He peered dumbly at me.

I offered the pioneer a raised shoulder and hurried to catch up with Morgan and Selene, who had already retrieved the horse’s tack from where it was stashed under the haybarn roof.

“We need to find them before Taiz’lin does,” Morgan muttered under his breath.

“We don’t need any dragons starting a war,” Selene said.

“Aye.”

“If Ike’s searchin’—”

“Be more than one dragon in the air,” Morgan finished for me. “We should have followed their trail.”

Selene darted the ogre a mean look. “I’m telling you the three walked in from the Wildes-side of the Range. We’ll be between them and home.”

“Ya better be right.” Morgan’s chest vibrated in that ogre-ish manner that would make a daemon hesitate.

“Don’t threaten me,” Selene said, tightenin’ his mare’s cinch.

“I’m not what ya should be afraid of.”

My chest tightened from the open emotions of the ogre, and the fear that remained hidden from the wizard’s face. The two of them had no doubt that the dragons wouldn’t separate Selene from the misdeeds of the other three wizards.

All would be held responsible if anythin’ happens to Louisa.

It occurred to me that a fraction of Morgan’s worry was that he would be blamed as well. He cared a great deal about how the hamlet folk thought of him. The worry for Louisa pressed those emotions away after a moment.

I struggled to breathe, and my eyes welled.

“No lolly gagging,” Selene snapped.

I blinked to clear my vision. The wizard held his hand down, his stirrup open for me to step up behind him on the mare. I hesitated. I’d never ridden a horse before. Once a mule, over the plow harness. Papa had yelled at me to get the blazes off. The mule had enough work to do.

“Paul!”

I snapped alert and climbed behind Selene. The horse lunged forward, and I found myself suckin’ for air again, in fear this time, as I threw my arms around Selene to keep from slidin’ off the backside of the horse. I groaned, as my manly self slammed into the back of the saddle, body shook up and down, back and forth like a dried pea in a pod.

Morgan jogged beside us in what appeared a comfortable stride.

The farmer’s voice echoed at our backs, somethin’ about how he didn’t like to be owin’ no man nothin’. But Selene maintained the race for the plateau miles below us, his eyes studyin’ the sky where it opened up between the trees.

“They won’t hurt ya,” I got out between grunts.

“Wouldn’t they?”

“They throw a lot of fertilizer, but don’t like tillin’ the soil.”

Selene laughed a double clap. “You saying they’re full of themselves.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant.

“Don’t underestimate how much they hate us Northern wizards,” he said.

My mind filled with the various sides of the dragons I’d seen. “I’ve watched them dragons purr over the attention Ike, Aedwin, and Lucas pour on their bonded mates. They may call us lesser bein’s to our faces, but they feel tied to us some way.”

“The Hamlet folk, maybe.”

The mare settled into a smoother gait, and I heaved a sigh of relief. The anxiety my friend displayed in his rush still weighed heavily, though. Yet nothin’ like I figgered my backside would pay, by the time our journey is over.

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