Chapter Ten

~

I stood ramrod straight studyin’ space before the real world crept within my senses. The tinglin’ in my spine had vanished. Because Morgan, with that staff he carried, had left?

I stood alone smack in the middle of the veranda and those strollin’ the boardwalk had to maneuver around me. I apologized to a human couple and stepped against the banister. The troll bull, Yoso, walked westerly with the two picaroons Ike returned with. What were they gonna do with them? Had the decision been made? Up North, there were few jails. Most every sentence other than drunkenness, I’d heard, was a hangin’ offense.

As though the sight was rivetin’, my brain had nothing else to entertain itself with, I watched Yoso and the two humans steppin’ through the tall grass. Perhaps I wished to put off considerin’ my own, current options.

The three strode unhurried through the rye, followin’ the curve of the Lake. An ogre hen met them on what appeared a neighbor’s stake. The four walked to a cold cellar. The hen must have keyed a lock, for it took her a moment to lift the door. The two men evaporated into the ground without any argument that I could hear, at this distance.

“Psst.”

I looked behind me.

“Psst.”

To the left, ladies sat enjoyin’ the fresh air, chattin’, readin’, doin’ their needle point.

“Over here.”

I leaned over the banister. A human girl, not exactly a girl, a lady, petite thing no bigger than Ruth, waved to me in that come-hither fashion. I pointed to my chest.

She wrenched her face and rolled her eyes. “Who else?”

I hurried down the twelve-foot-wide steps leadin’ toward the Lake, stepped off the boardwalk that led to the pier, and followed her through the grass. She didn’t wait for me. I pushed into a jog to catch up.

“What is it ya want—” The tinglin’ struck me in the spine again. “—from me?”

“Other way around,” she said without slowin’ down. “The ladies have been sewin’ for ya. Best try on everything before ya head into the forest.”

“Who says I’m headin’ into the forest.”

“What else ya gonna do, lad?”

I found myself snortin’ in indignation, as though I had numerous options. Though only the one fluttered to mind. Besides, I’m not so much younger than her. Why’s she callin’ me lad?

“Yeah, right,” she said.

“How do ya know who I am?” I asked.

“I bathed yar stark-white buttocks as ya slept yesterday. Healed ya, all I could.”

I sucked in a deep breath. Embarrassment over her bathin’ remark struck late.

“Just figgered out who I am?” she asked.

“Ya’re, ya’re—”

“Bad with names, are ya? I’m Delia. Don’t feel off about callin’ me the healer witch. I wouldn’t know what else to call me either. Better than bein’ called Lucas’ wench.”

She was certainly a brusque-talkin’ thing.

We walked in silence for ten seconds over trampled grass. Delia turned left, followin’ a trench-of-sort paved with flattened stones, I guess slate, which led into an embankment. Before us a dark entry loomed, under a rounded mound of grass fifty feet wide that was interrupted every five feet with oval windows nestled within granite niches.

“Where’re ya takin’ me?”

“This is Yoso and Eina’s place,” Delia said. “Them trolls like to live within the Earth. Guess this be a concession to livin’ away from the mines.”

A wide door sat wide and I followed Delia inside. The space seemed greater than I expected. As my eyes adjusted from the outside glare, I peered at those about the thirty-foot-wide sittin’ room. Five orc hens sat with the two hamlet matriarchs, Eina and Gladys. All of them held articles of clothing, threaded needles and knittin’ hooks surgin’. None of the hens, includin’ the human woman, looked up from their work.

Delia walked to a broad counter across from the main hearth and picked up a stack of things, shoved them into my chest, and pointed through an open doorway.

“Try all these on. No point in traipsin’ off with them if they don’t fit.”

“They’ll fit,” Eina said, keepin’ her eyes on her needle. “I know how to measure a leg and an arm, troll or human.”

“Of course they will.” Delia turned back to me. “Try ’em on.”

All of these strangers are sewin’ for me?

I stumbled numbly into the adjoinin’ bedroom and examined the things in my arms. One of every kind of undergarment, a shirt, pants, and coat. I’d never owned winter-quilted, long underwear before. My face flamed, thinkin’ about the troll hen measurin’ my every nook and cranny as I slept. I slipped out of my clothes and tested the fit of all. Nary a smidgen of tailorin’ would be necessary. I stepped back into the other room and reported the same.

“Said so,” Eina mumbled.

“A backpack there,” an orc hen hissed, pointin’, almost as though she were angry. “My son crafted it for yar use. Stow away yar things as ya prefer.” Her hand waved, takin’ in another pile of clothes on the floor, and the laps of the females around her.

I picked up the pack, clearly a work of art as much as a useful tool. Three-foot tall, three broad pockets formed the back, two on each side, vigorous closures with droopin’ rain covers, all waxed-canvas double-layered with leather, broad straps. My eyes welled as I studied the leather that edged where the individual compartments were stitched together, which was branded to appear like the threads of a rope.

I can’t accept such a thing. Any of this.

I turned to face Delia. Her eyes turned soft after a moment.

“Everyone in this room,” she said slowly, “came to this Hamlet with little more than the clothes on their back. From the compassion of those who arrived before them, homes were crafted, and now we take our turn to care for every newcomer.”

The slight woman bent down and picked up the short pile on the floor, and commenced refoldin’ each piece in a tight square. One by one she handed them to me, and I found an appropriate place in the pack for it. Teeth clippin’ final threads, the remainin’ articles joined the rest, and the hens and woman stood to leave.

A panic gripped my chest. I had no words to thank them. Tears threatened to escape. I froze, fearin’ to appear weak.

“No need, child, we know,” Miss Gladys said, and left the dugout.

The others followed except for Eina. I threaded my arms through the pack’s straps.

“Stay out of trouble,” Eina said.

My cheeks turned hot. I threaded the troll a grin, and hurried to follow Delia. Outside, the other females had split for different destinations. In silence, Delia and I walked toward the Inn. The path forked. Delia turned right, toward the kitchen entrance, and waved goodbye over her shoulder. I opened my mouth. Mama raised me to voice my appreciation. But no words formed.

After only pausin’ a moment to watch Delia make her way daintily over the arranged steppin’ stones, I turned and headed for the front of the Inn.

The ache in my chest was just beginnin’ to ease as I trudged up the main steps. Morgan stood at the top, gazin’ south. I stopped beside him, turned to see what he studied. The sparklin’ surface of Black Lake spread as far as the eye could see to the west. East, the cove stepped into ever taller peaks spreadin’ north to south, covered in forests purple-thick.

I blew out a long breath of air.

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Morgan asked.

“Aye, it is indeed.”

“Aye. Ya can see why the Northerners put up with us beasts to enjoy the place.”

As though I’d stepped into a giant oven, my skin prickled hot.

The warlock chuckled, in the gravelly ogre-ish way. “Don’t ever forget it lad.”

“I’m sorry,” I squeaked through a tight throat.

“That ya are.” Morgan barked a loud laugh.

I expected a heavy thump on the back. But that must not be every ogre’s way, maybe even unique to Ike. Morgan had just made the point that generalizations belittled.

Learn yar lesson, Paul!

“Louisa packed ya a few things,” Morgan said. “Lunch, by the smell of it, includin’ fresh biscuits and bacon.” He pointed to a near chair, his snout twitchin’.

Next to the flour sack was a pack similar to mine, except twice as broad and half-again as tall, appropriate for an ogre’s back. Before slippin’ it on, Morgan stowed Louisa’s treat in the top of my pack. As though it was gift wrapped with a bow, I wanted to tear into the bag to see what else it held.

“Ya up to hikin’ a half-day with what ya’re wearin’?” Morgan asked.

“Ya were pretty sure I’d go with ya.”

Morgan smiled. “Best go tell yar sister ya’ll be gone a while. We can stop by on the other side of the lake to see the little ones.”

~

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 thing ya mentioned, eth-something?”

“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 things, 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 things, 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 thing, 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 anything 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 thing 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 thing.

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. “Somethings 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. Somethings 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 thing 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 anything me or Morgan have. His physical demeanor even hinted a promise of better things 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.”

~

Chapter Twelve

~

“That’s funny,” Morgan said with no smile. “A dandy like yarself protectin’ me. I believe I can protect my young friend as well.”

The ram’s head of Morgan’s staff, which leaned against the wall next to the door, glowed brightly for a moment. It may have even vibrated against the planks. My skin crawled from the energy that moved up and down my back. It was the worst I’d felt it yet.

“Stop it!”

Both Morgan and Selene jerked to look my way.

Something broke the moment, the majicin’, and I took a deep breath in relief.

“You expecting to learn how to manage it with the ogre’s help?” Selene asked.

“It?”

“You know what I mean. I sensed you had it before you ever came in sight. May even be stronger in you than the ogre. Though he may have simply learned to control it out of dumb luck.”

“Don’t talk about me as though I’m not here.” Morgan growled.

Selene turned back to him. “Have you ever been trained?”

Morgan remained deathly still, except for his fists, which clenched and relaxed the tiniest bit.

“This past spring the majic you unleashed rattled the council.”

“Council?”

“They don’t like surprises. The untrained, those with power that can be felt hundreds of miles away, are a danger to all of us. A crazy witch here or there we ignore. But the ethereal surged as though a pair of high wizards battled. Is it true it was all your doing?”

Morgan stood still. How could the ogre know if what this council felt came from him?

“Speak to me,” the man said.

“What are ya?” I asked, breakin’ a bit of the tension in the cabin.

Selene took a dramatic breath. “A wizard lad. One of very few. The council ensures that. Too many and their authority could be usurped, and worse, diluted.”

Diluted? Usurped? Speak Standish.

I glanced back at Morgan, who didn’t press Selene with any more questions. He kept his hands busy on the counter now. Perhaps his disinterest rose from the man ignorin’ his question about that council.

“What’s this council?” I asked for him.

“Exactly what it implies. It rules over all wizards—whether they wish it or not.”

“But Morgan’s a warlock, right?” I asked.

“Warlocks are as benign as witches. Like them, they impress the gentiles with an occasional pre-sight.”

Gentiles?

“The good ones,” Selene continued, “can set a thought into a weak human’s mind. Little more—of concern. What we sensed in the ethereal didn’t derive from any warlock.”

I turned a smile to Morgan but the ogre didn’t appear happy to hear any of this. I worked to clear the emotion from my face. “What’s wrong?”

Morgan’s chest vibrated, not in the ogre-chuckle fashion. The rumble sounded threatenin’, directed at an enemy. “He said his council doesn’t like to share the wealth.”

Selene broke the tense mood with a sharp laugh. “Never considered it that way. I’ve always seen it as cullin’ the herd. How I was taught.”

Morgan reached out and his staff flew through the air into his grasp. Selene lunged sideways to get away from the staff’s path, just as I lurched in shock.

“Let yar council try to cull this ogre!”

The ram’s head glowed sun-bright. Orange spikes shot from it. I blinked away the discomfort of the glare.

“Nice performance,” Selene said after a moment. “But you haven’t seen anything like what the wizards who come after you will unleash.”

“Why are ya here?” Morgan shouted.

“Officially, to assess the danger you represent. But I think the council has already made up its collective mind. They each sensed the same thing I did.”

Morgan glared. “But!”

Selene smiled. “If in some miraculous manner you represent no danger, controlled some specific, meaningless grasp of the ethereal, accommodations could be made. Perhaps I could even provoke one of us to—you may find this ironic—take you on as an apprentice.”

Morgan’s grip on the staff relaxed. “But?” Odd, that didn’t anger him even more.

“That you have your own apprentice inextricably complicates things.”

In-ex-tra— “Why?” I asked, ignorin’ the word that meant nothing to me. It was enough to guess it wasn’t a good thing.

Selene faced me, his expression turning sad. “The common mindset is there are already too many wizards within the fold.”

“Then ya might as well go,” Morgan said. “Tell them what ya’ve seen. Tell them I’ll be waitin’ for them.”

Selene shook his head slowly. “Don’t be so quick to discourage my partnership.”

“Why, because ya’re all I have?” Morgan asked.

“Not only that, but you have a dependent soul relying on you. Are you so willing to discard what help I can lend him?”

Morgan’s face reddened, but not in embarrassment. His eyes narrowed in a hateful glare. No one spoke for a long moment. Morgan dropped his hand, but the staff remained vertical.

Selene grinned. “Have you named it?”

“What?”

“Your staff, ogre, what else would I be talking about?”

Morgan growled again. Ogres must enjoy growlin’. Second nature, like winkin’ is for Miss Gladys. “Bacchus.”

“Ah. Interesting name, choice, for an ogre.”

Morgan shook his head slowly, his eyes hintin’ at a seethin’ anger. Warmth spread across my chest as I remembered my outburst in the dinin’ room. Beasts. Morgan was indeed different, perhaps brusque. Stronger than any human. But not a beast.

“I’ve found ogres are well read,” I said.

Selene peered at me, his grin broadenin’.

“I’m gonna brew tea,” Morgan said, whirlin’ toward the hearth. Bacchus, the staff, found its way back to the wall behind us as though it had a mind of its own.

Perhaps it does. Intriguin’ thought. Love that word. Intriguin’. Never had an excuse to use it before.

I found my mouth hung open after Bacchus leaned again-lifeless in its place next to the door. I met Selene’s glance. He no longer wore a smirk. He pulled his modest pack off and dug inside it, withdrawin’ a package wrapped in cheesecloth. As he walked to the table he selected a strip of dried meat. Selene sat, rippin’ off a length with his teeth, and motioned for me to join him.

Watchin’ the man suckin’ on the end of the jerky made me instantly hungry. My mind raced to the treats Louisa packed for me. I hurried to retrieve my own backpack off the porch. Returnin’, I sat on the overly tall chair, feet propped on the cross support of the chair’s legs as Selene did. Selene watched with interest as I untied the string around my package. I hid the smile that longed to escape.

“How long have you been on the road?” I asked.

“Ten days,” Selene answered. “You wouldn’t believe how bad some inn food is.”

“You’ll enjoy the food at the Black Lake Inn. Mmm. Good cookin’.”

Selene smiled faintly and nodded.

“I thought ya said yar home wasn’t that far away?”

“Started from north of there, and have been wandering around in these woods for a couple days.”

With no night fur, he musta got pretty cold. I laid out Louisa’s fare, opened the lid of a crock containin’ strawberry jam, but stopped, scrunchin’ up my lips.

“What’s wrong, lad?”

“My knife was recently, uh, misplaced.”

Selene reached to his waist and withdrew a huntin’ knife with a ten-inch blade, turned it and handed it to me hilt first. “A little overkill for jam, but it’ll get the job done.”

I sliced open a biscuit and slathered it with jam, gorged on the treat, followed by a second. I wiped the blade on the paper Louisa packed my lunch with, and held it out to Selene.

“Keep it. Every man needs a blade.”

Morgan strode by us carryin’ a bucket. I caught him roll his eyes, but I turned my attention quickly back to the knife. Sucked in my breath, studyin’ the craftsmanship of the tool greedily. “No. I can’t accept this.”

“Of course you can. Besides, I have another just like it at home, and one to use in the meantime.”

He pulled out a narrow one from his other hip, opposite where he wore his sword, which he had removed and laid on the floor before sittin’. No huntin’ knife this one, unless ya were huntin’ for a man’s lung. Six inches long. Not a stiletto exactly, but it was definitely for thrustin’, bulky hilt, double-edged blade.

“I, I—”

“Just say thank you,” Selene said.

I studied the man’s eyes for a moment. They didn’t shift away. “Then, thank ya.”

“You’re welcome. So how did you come to be in the warlock’s company?”

Morgan, returnin’ with a sloshin’ bucket, harrumphed.

“Originally, he came to our cabin to help my mama.” I gestured toward Morgan.

“Why did your— Ahh. The plague?”

I nodded, but turned my eyes to my lunch to avoid the emotion that always wishes to gush out when I think of Mama. I took a deep breath and got the story of Mama’s death and Papa’s departure out of the way quickly.

Selene remained quiet for a respectful time after I finished. I cut open a small wheel of goat cheese, which crumbled. I left it where it fell on the raw planks, motioned to Selene to help himself.

“Tell me about the cities, in the North?”

Selene chose a large chunk of cheese and leaned back. “Hectic pace, the city. Too much noise. Too many people. Wagons everywhere. Warehouses, factories belching smoke, boardwalks, street-side cafes and bordellos, fancy carriages flying by endangering everyone. Gas lights becoming popular. I say they’re dangerous, laying pipes everywhere.”

“What’s a bordello?”

Selene closed his eyes, munchin’ on the cheese as though it was the best he’d ever eaten. Decent enough, I didn’t think it tasted that special. The man rose and joined Morgan at the counter, and snagged a gourd of fresh water. He swallowed heartily, but jolted when a call rose from outside.

“Hail, those in the cabin.”

Bacchus was in Morgan’s hand in a flash and Selene held his sword. I stared. Never saw man or bull move. How did Selene retrieve the blade from the floor?

Morgan and Selene strode for the door. It might have been comical another time as the two jockeyed to get out the door first. The human wasn’t about to out-muscle the massive ogre. I was happy to be a slow third.

A man stood fifteen feet from the tree line. Two others held back in the shadows. The nearer man donned clothes eerily similar to Selene’s, but wore a full beard, clipped short. The other two men did as well.

“Selene,” the newcomer said in greetin’.

“What are you doing here, Blake?”

This Blake was busy studyin’ me and Morgan. His eyes twitched back and forth as though he made an important choice.

“A child and an ogre? Which?” Blake asked.

I had already figgered these three weren’t gonna be friends, but callin’ me a child hastened my distaste for this Blake.

“I was given two weeks,” Selene said.

“That was ten days ago.”

“Two weeks to assess,” Selene hissed. “Not two weeks from the moment the council decided.”

“That’s how you interpret the council’s decision. You shouldn’t be talking about—”

“He has the right to know, if we may be putting him down.”

“I’m not a beast to be put down,” Morgan growled, stampin’ Bacchus.

I winced from the jolt in the middle of my back.

Selene shot out his hand and hissed, “Not now, ogre.”

But Morgan strode toward Blake, who took a step backward. I caught a grin slip out on Selene’s face for a fraction of a second.

“Morgan,” Selene snapped. “Now is not the time.”

“I like settin’ the time of my battles,” Morgan said, continuin’ to stride toward Blake.

The two other men stepped nearer. But Selene waved his arm and Morgan’s bare foot slowed mid-step, hung in the air. His free arm swirled as though he was tryin’ to catch his balance. He leaned back, withdrawin’ that oddly hangin’ foot. He pressed his hand out. It jolted to a stop.

“What is this?” Morgan shouted.

Blake laughed.

Morgan drew back Bacchus and swung it at the— I have no idea what to call whatever held the ogre back. The staff soundlessly bounded back at Morgan.

“Your wizard doesn’t know what a ward is?” Blake asked. “That is not good. For him.”

Morgan turned and glared at Selene. “Did you do that?”

Selene wafted his left hand in a who-else manner.

“Take it down,” Morgan hissed.

“Yes. Take it down,” Blake said. “Let’s get this over with.”

“I have two weeks.”

Blake grinned. “We’ll give you those four days remaining, no more. We tire of sleeping in these cold hills.”

“The council won’t take kindly to—”

“But by then your ogre will be dead, won’t he?” Blake said. “So the argument will get you nowhere. They know we followed you. Think any of them will be surprised we took care of their little problem? As though they ever wanted to be involved.”

Selene shook his head. “I don’t understand what motivates you. This ogre is nothing to you.”

“Ah. But you argued against us, in front of the council. You insist on making enemies instead of allies. That’s enough reason to oppose you, Selene. You’ve erred too often. Two apprentices gone bad, you’re lucky to be alive yourself.”

“You’ve always been jealous of my rapport with Lord Ollimon. You’re pathetic.”

The expressions of Blake and his two comrades turned from smirks to obvious hate.

“You would be dead,” Blake shouted, “if you weren’t his pet.”

“It’s eating you up, you know that, don’t you?” Selene said. “The hate will eventually destroy you.”

“Your naiveté makes you dangerous, Selene.”

Ni-eve— These folk refuse to speak Standish.

“I have no desire to be on the council.”

Blake forced a mirthless laugh. “You’ll join the council over my dead body.”

“Sounds like the two of ya should get yar own battle over with,” Morgan muttered.

Selene threw an angry glance at Morgan, perhaps a warnin’ to stay out of the discussion. With his attention divided, Blake motioned with his hand. The energy—I don’t know what else to call the tinglin’ in my spine—changed. Had Blake removed the—ward?

“Why don’t we do that?” Blake said, drawin’ his sword.

“Blake!” the man’s two comrades shouted at the same time.

One stepped forward and leaned close to Blake, holdin’ a hand in front of his mouth as he spoke softly. Blake’s expression turned from maniacal to simple anger. Whatever the companion said must have restored the wizard’s sanity, but the words weren’t appreciated. Was it tied to this Ollimon person?

Morgan took two steps forward and the two humans stopped their jawin’. Blake jerked his attention toward the ogre. What was the man up to? A mixture of fear and curiosity swelled inside me. Found myself steppin’ forward to stand beside Morgan, though I had no idea why—some kind of—message of support?

“Back, lad,” Morgan hissed.

I stood fast. Behind us, Selene groaned, a frustrated sound.

“Another step, ogre,” Blake said, “and you’ll give me an excuse to slice your heart out.”

“I’ll have split yar skull open long before yar scrawny arm could reach me, human.”

A laugh exploded from my throat. Heat plunged across my body. The laugh may have been inappropriate, but Morgan’s statement continued to rain-funny. I couldn’t wipe away the stupid grin I knew painted my face.

Blake’s companion said, “Your two friends are bold, and arrogant, Selene. You haven’t a prayer with them. Why don’t you walk away now? Go home. Let us take care of this.”

Selene remained quiet.

I wanted to turn around and look at the man. What was he thinkin’? Prolly that the man’s suggestion made sense. Perhaps laughin’ at the wizard wasn’t my best decision today. Well, Papa had told me once durin’ a particularly talkative afternoon in the field, “If ya’re in a corner, your only path is forward.”

I strode toward Blake, cockin’ my fists. The world somersaulted around me and a jolt vibrated through my back. Found himself lyin’ on the ground, scannin’ the sky. I recalled a hand, a monstrously strong hand, claspin’ down on my shoulder a moment before everything went crazy, otherwise I would have believed Blake struck me with some kind of majic.

The three humans were laughin’. Selene groaned again.

I peered directly up at Morgan. Upside down, an ogre’s snout and tusks appear even stranger, more frightenin’. The split white and black of his dreadlocks swingin’ nearly to his waist left the sensation of a willow swayin’ in the wind.

Silence returned, along with it the tension. I rolled over and stood quickly, moved behind Morgan. I considered kickin’ the ogre in the shins, but the embarrassment of bein’ so easily put in my place stole any boldness that existed moments earlier. Besides, the pain of the ogre’s grip on my shoulder was sinkin’ in. I’d have a good bruise. Five of them.

Blake’s companion backed toward the third man. Was the standoff over?

Blake pointed a finger at Selene. “When we come back, don’t get in our way.” He turned, joined his friends, and they disappeared into the gloom of the forest.

“Ahhhhh,” Selene hissed a ten-count later.

I turned to look at him. The man pressed his hands into the sides of his head, eyes closed. A dozen scenarios of what Selene could be thinkin’ ran through my mind. My threatenin’ motion probably wasn’t overly bright. Could it have gotten me killed? A new wave of heat passed over me.

Morgan walked away. There wasn’t a sunny expression on his stony face.

“I’m sorry,” I called after him.

The ogre shook his head, before disappearin’ into the dark of the cabin.

“Lad,” Selene said. He stood starin’ at me a moment, before he too shook his head, turned, and followed Morgan.

“Okay, so I was stupid.” Even though a grin crept onto my face, it had been incredibly dumb to challenge a man holdin’ a sword in his hand. A wizard, no less.

~

Chapter Thirteen

~

I shivered from the cold, early-mornin’ air as I walked to the ogre’s outhouse. I revisited the long conversation I had with the wizard the night before. For a man assessin’ my and Morgan’s potential, he certainly hadn’t asked any questions about my majical—skill. Prolly figgered, accurately enough, it’s nil.

The ogre had avoided conversation. He stayed busy all afternoon cleanin’ and fiddlin’ about the cabin, gettin’ it settled after bein’ away for weeks, his excuse for keepin’ his thoughts to himself. A hurried dinner out of the way, Morgan curled up on his cot and left me alone with Selene. Did Morgan say even ten words the rest of the day, after the meetin’ with the wizards?

My business done, I looped my pants together and turned for the cabin. Selene strode toward me for his turn at the outhouse.

“Eh,” the man said in greetin’.

“Mornin’.”

Walkin’ toward the front of the cabin, I peered into the foggy gloom of the forest. Despite the early hour, the birds were well embarked into their day. Crows cawed in every direction, reportin’ whatever it was that interested them to their crew. The hammer of a woodpecker echoed from somewhere, seemin’ly everywhere at once, and a pair of jays complained, prolly about the racket their cousin’s raised.

I turned the corner of the cabin and walked fully into the ogre. Bam. An unmanly screech maybe snuck out.

“Ya should watch where ya’re goin’, or go where ya’re lookin’,” Morgan muttered.

“Good advice,” I answered, makin’ my way around the hulkin’ ogre.

I grinned, watchin’ the shoulders of the giant swayin’ back and forth as he walked away. So started the last four days of my life. Maybe. I couldn’t imagine any dozen men bein’ able to hurt the giant. Maybe that’s why a sense of doom didn’t swirl about me.

I considered my days north of the Black Lake Range, and reminded myself of the fragility of life. Maybe I should be more concerned. Then again, ogre Ike refused to fret over an arrow that penetrated his back. Them ogres are tough critters.

Inside, I rolled up my new sleeping fur, stoked the hearth, and swung the kettle over the growin’ flames. Selene entered, rubbin’ his hands together.

“Dang it’s cold in these mountains.”

“Imagine what a winter’s like. Snow banks up to the limbs of the pines.”

Selene knelt and rolled his own beddin’ up. The man required a proper fur. No wonder he’s cold.

We both leaned over the hearth, arses pointed into the new flames when Morgan strode in. His eyes glanced back and forth between me and Selene, as though irritated he had to share his humble castle. With humans? It wasn’t my idea to be here. I almost said as much, but the ogre’s face remained scrunched up as though he was ready to twist a puppy in two, so I let the idea drop. The ogre’s mood had somehow soured in the last five minutes.

Morgan went to the counter and withdrew tins from the shelves against the wall.

“What can I do?” Selene asked.

“Take yar friends and return north.”

“Wish I could,” Selene said softly.

“Why’s this Ollimon fellow so afraid of me?” Morgan asked.

“Wouldn’t say that man is afraid of much of anything. Can’t say his attitude about unknown talent is that simple.”

“Mob rule, is it?”

Selene cocked his head. “How you mean?”

“I was run out of my clan as a young bull after ill feelings festered, the hens clucked, and the young bulls strutted. The clan leaders I’m certain, had no inclination to expel me, but they couldn’t appear unable to make a tough decision.”

“So they showed you the way out of the village, eh?”

“I didn’t give them the satisfaction.”

Morgan plunked a cast iron skillet onto the counter. He took a side of bacon out of the cold shelf and cut hunks off, layerin’ the pan. He set it on the stones extendin’ from the andiron. In seconds the aroma of cookin’ bacon filled the cabin.

Morgan poured a cup of tea to steep, heftin’ the kettle toward the man. Selene walked to his pack and retrieved a tin, and a shift of cheese cloth. I watched in numbed interest as the man wrapped a smidgen of coffee in the cloth, and poured steamin’ water over it to brew his own coffee.

My papa had always used a sieve to remove the grounds that had simmered in the water, and would sit removin’ bits off his tongue, as he sat savorin’ his brew.

“So what are yar intentions, wizard?” Morgan asked.

“Straight to it, eh?”

Morgan bent over and gave the pan of bacon a shake, and retrieved a second pan. He poured grease from the first into the second, which he stirred with cornmeal for a flapjack.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in headin’ for the Wildes?” Selene asked.

“Not in this lifetime,” Morgan grumbled. “Done all the runnin’ I’m gonna do.”

My mind turned to the ogre hen, Louisa. She would be enough to keep any bull from fleein’ most any danger.

“What do you know of the lad’s abilities?”

“Ya gonna talk about me now like I’m not here?” I asked.

“No more than ya do, probably less, considerin’,” Morgan answered Selene, ignorin’ my complaint. Maybe I’d been a bit whiny.

“Would you accept me trying to find him a new master?”

Yep, they’re gonna discuss me as though I’m not here.

Morgan harrumphed, and pulled one of the two chairs around and sat. “That would be up to the lad.”

“Chances aren’t good.” Selene shook his head the tiniest bit. “But if he were protected by a well-placed wizard, he’d be safe.”

“So ya let them come after me. I can deal with that.”

“I didn’t say I’d given up on you.” Selene grabbed the cloth Morgan used against the heat of the fire, and gave the bacon pan a shake.

“What advice could ya give me in battlin’ three wizards?”

“Not to. Head for the Wildes and don’t look back.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“These three.” Selene hooked his thumb toward the door. “Aren’t the most talented wizards. I wouldn’t even say they’re of average intelligence. But I don’t look forward to facing their combined power alone.”

“If ya faced ’em with me, ya wouldn’t be alone.”

Selene stared straight through the ogre.

A smile hinted it wished to escape onto Morgan’s face. “Ya sayin’ without sayin’ that would be one and the same.”

“Don’t wish to insult you,” Selene said.

“No offense taken. But I’ve faced a clan of goblins. Those three don’t scare me.”

Goblins. The imagery that flit through my mind made me shudder.

Selene shook his head—again. He bent his neck to take in the entire height of the ogre, as though to help decide if Morgan’s physical stature made any difference. When he dropped his gaze, he wore an expression that looked less than optimistic.

“Perhaps ya should just head north with the lad then,” Morgan said, “and leave me to deal with yar three friends.”

“If you didn’t notice, they aren’t exactly my friends. And, taking Paul north doesn’t, necessarily, make him any safer than he is here.”

I considered remindin’ them I sat in front of them and listened to every word. Decided they were bein’ surprisin’ly candid and my interruption might affect that. Though from the beginnin’, they did an excellent job of ignorin’ me.

“Maybe they didn’t notice he had anything to do with me,” Morgan suggested.

Selene smiled, but it wasn’t with humor. The two turned quiet. Morgan took one of the pans from the hearth, carefully wedged a spatula under the flapjack in it, flipped it, and returned the pan to the hot stones.

The man and ogre perched like hens watchin’ over the breakfast for another ten minutes without speakin’ further.

I took my breakfast out to the porch to eat, less to gather a bit of serenity, mostly because there was only room for two at the tiny table. Perhaps they would work things out if I wasn’t around. But I didn’t hear any voices inside. A pair of crows landed in the pine needles of the clearin’ and lobbed a barrage of complaints at me, but I woke ravenous and wasn’t gonna share my bacon and jacks.

I downed my chunks of bacon first, and sat back savorin’ my grease-soaked slice of cornbread. When I finished lickin’ my fingers clean, I leaned the chair against the wall, and glared back at the crows. They were not impressed with me. But their antics entertained me, what with their hoppin’ about, flickin’ through the pine needles, and cockin’ their heads. I most enjoyed their beady-little, black eyes. Made them look majical. Though the sun wasn’t high enough to shine directly into the clearin’, the birds still glimmered iridescent.

Selene’s boot steps pulled me from my peaceful reverie.

“Let’s walk,” the man said, stridin’ off the porch.

We crossed the clearin’, past the well, and Selene strolled up the gully, along the creek which gurgled at our feet. The forest closed around us, and Selene had yet to speak. I squirmed, uncomfortable with the quiet.

“Yesterday Blake said something about two apprentices. What did he mean?” The tic snaked up my spine.

“Every man—” He grunted, a half-chuckle. “Every bull must experience his failures. I’m no different.”

I listened to the whisper of the pine needles fifty feet above. Didn’t appear Selene wished to tell his story. He’d been plenty open durin’ yesterday’s hike. Whatever his failures had been, they must have been doozies.

“I chose recently to run away,” I said. “It ’bout got me killed.”

“Hum,” Selene mumbled. “Worse when your mistakes get someone else killed.”

My throat felt dry, suddenly.

“I’m afraid I’m not a pragmatist,” Selene said.

“What’s that, a prag—praga—”

“Pragmatist. Deals with bein’ practical,” Selene said. “As in, it wasn’t practical for me to travel two hundred miles to try to save an ogre I’d never met.”

“I don’t follow ya.”

“A practical man endeavors for his own good will. I’ve taken in too many stray cats that will never do me any good. Their battles wake me at night, their feces soils the grounds, irritate the hounds, and gathers more cats to challenge them.”

If that was sposed to clear things up, it didn’t. I scrunched up my face in confusion. “Blake hates ya because ya took in cats?”

Selene smiled. “No, lad.” He shook his head.

The man stopped and looked up the ravine, which grew steeper and rockier. He planted his palms on his hips, like a man restin’ from an hour of labor. I waited beside him, tryin’ to figure out what to do with my hands. Finally settled with foldin’ ’em into the pockets of my pants. I’m not used to pants with front pockets. But seen others stand like this.

“I’ve listened to Ike,” I said, “who’s the ogre clan leader, and Lucas, who’s the elected leader of the Hamlet, major I think it’s called.”

“Mayor.”

“Aye. They talk about the unendin’ politickin’ they face, keepin’ everyone happy, while doin’ what they feel is right for their clans. The pull left and right, every other direction, frustrates them to no end.”

Selene nodded. “You have a better understanding of the way of things than you’re aware.”

After a moment that stretched overly long, I lifted a foot to kick at a stone, only to jerk to a halt. Reminded myself I have nice footwear for the first time in my life. Sure can be hard just to stand still, and wait. Was Selene gonna continue up the ravine, or were we gonna stand here and chew the fat?

“Two separate endowed I took in, hoping to save them—” the man finally said. “I ended up simply teaching them how to be arrogant. Wisdom isn’t something you can teach. They weren’t good candidates for the power they were born with. They lacked the necessary character. A harsh assessment, but true. In my arrogance, I believed I could show them a better path.”

“Endowed? Could touch that ether—uh—”

He nodded. “You Southerners call it the Ethereal. Yes.”

“They did bad things?” I asked.

“They made poor choices.”

“Allman—”

“Ollimon had them smudged out of existence, like ants under a man’s thumb.”

I harrumphed. “Were ya close to them?”

“A teacher puts more than sweat into his efforts. A teacher who cares throws his soul into it. Not something you can do if you don’t care for your students.”

“Hum,” I grunted. Maybe to imply I followed him. Didn’t really, if I had to explain it back to him.

“I may not be a practical man,” Selene said after another long pause. “But I’m not ignorant. This pains me to say it, but I know of no way I can save the ogre. The humans of the Hamlet may accept ogres, but the council certainly won’t allow an endowed ogre among them.”

“They aren’t beasts—”

“You’re spitting into a gale,” Selene said.

“Huh?”

“Do you spit against the wind?” Selene asked.

“Of course not. Blow right—ah. No point in fightin’ nature, ya’re sayin’.”

“Aye.”

My mind maybe caught up with the man’s earlier statement, and my throat tightened. “I’ve not known Morgan long. Honestly, he may be the reason my papa up and left me and my sisters, and if that be true, I ought not owe him allegiance. But he seems a good sort. Means well. I can’t see abandonin’ him.”

Selene met my eyes for the first time since we stopped here. The coal-black centers seemed empty one moment, another they appeared to quiver as though he battled a private demon. They reminded me of the way Taiz’lin’s eyes whirl when he’s deep in thought.

“Will you accept,” Selene said softly, “that my priority will be in saving you?”

A pain, which I assumed is guilt, gripped my gut. “I guess— I may not be a practical sort either.”

~

Chapter Fourteen

~

Selene reached inside his vest slowly, as though tryin’ to come to a decision. He withdrew a fold of leather bindin’ sheets of parchment, and held it out. I sensed discomfort in the man’s bearin’. His knuckles wrenched white on what had to be a small book, which wasn’t much broader than his hand.

“What’s that?”

“The primer every wizard starts out with.” Selene gave it a subtle shake. “Take it.”

Touchin’ the bindin’, a shock numbed my wrist, which continued up my arm, and down my spine, the jolt I told myself I might as well get used to. With shakin’ fingers I drew back the cover to the first page and read the title. Nature’s Runes, An Earthly Testament.

“As I said, it’s only the starting point. The alphabet of the wizard’s tool box, so to speak.”

“Makes little sense,” I mumbled as I scanned the first lines adjacent to a simplistic, stick-like drawin’.

“When it does—”

“What?”

“Never mind. I have something else we must do.” He turned and peered left and right.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” I asked.

“There,” he said pointin’ fifteen feet up the ravine. He strode quickly along the creek bed as though someone anxiously waited for him to deliver something. “Don’t disturb the water.” He stood over a quiet pool dammed by gravel built up against the flow of water. He squatted and pointed to a boulder across from him. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“What—”

“Be patient,” he said without a bit of that particular emotion in his voice. “It’ll be clear in a moment.”

I sat on the rounded rock and studied the wizard. Selene shuffled his body a tetch, as though gettin’ comfortable, closed his eyes, and flexed the finger which donned that overly large ring.

“Concentrate on the surface of the water,” he whispered.

I maybe rolled my eyes. Ogres have their strange ways. Have nothing on wizards. The tightenin’ muscles in my back stole my haughty attitude. The tic intensified from my neck to my arse, and my vision blurred. I tried to swallow but couldn’t.

“I think I’m gonna black—”

“Shh,” Selene hissed. “Focus. On the water.”

The moments passed. My discomfort worsened.

“Focus,” Selene snapped.

I forced a slow, deep breath, and directed my stare across the twenty-inch basin of water. A wisp, like fog, crossed the surface. I shivered, as day turned to night, and silence fell about us. The rustle of the creek stilled, as did the forest. For a moment I may have blacked out, but should I have my senses about me if I did? I was someplace else, no longer sittin’, but standin’, waitin’, waitin’ for what, I didn’t have a clue.

The sound of a door openin’, dull light cascadin’ upon me, made me jerk. A fear worse than anything I’d ever felt in my life gripped my lungs. I clenched in preparation to escape, but something, maybe my fear, kept me frozen in place.

“Wha—”

“Remain silent,” Selene whispered.

Eyes adjustin’, I realized I stood next to the wizard in a near-blackened room larger than Morgan’s cabin, but there was nothing rustic about the place. It could have been a picture from one of the texts Mama used to teach out of. Three, rich-leather chairs set arranged around us. Against the walls, shelves floor-to-ceilin’ filled with books.

A man rushed toward us from a sunlit hallway, silhouetted in the light. Though his features were invisible, his attire was clear enough. Gentry, polished boots, creased suit and vest, a gold chain indicated a hidden pocket watch, billowin’ red ascot at his throat. He drew the door nearly closed dashin’ us back in darkness. “Selene?”

“Yes.”

“Not a good time.”

“Visitors?”

“None other than Ollimon.”

Did Selene swear under his breath?

“I’ll be quick,” Selene said. “I need your help.”

“Everyone knows that,” the man hissed. “You never—”

“It isn’t one, but two,” Selene said.

The stranger remained quiet.

“One is an innocent, nearly a child. Knows nothing of our kind.”

“I suppose you believe he deserves a chance?”

“Brother—”

“Your good deeds will kill you,” the man said.

“What good is the power if we can’t do good by—”

“Not the same, old arguments. Not now.”

“You must help me find one of us willing to take on the lad,” Selene said in a rush.

“Don’t even think—”

Selene sighed. “I know.”

The man studied me now, and the muscles in my back tightened more.

“What’s your name, boy?”

Boy. I swallowed quickly. “Paul.”

“From a Christian family, eh?”

“We read a bit of the Gospel before Sunday dinner, sir.”

The man smiled. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen, sir.”

“He’s a polite young man,” Selene said. “Curious. Seems brighter than the average.”

My cheeks warmed.

The man turned his attention back to Selene. “You know the outlook—”

“Isn’t good,” Selene finished for him.

“Truthfully, worse than that. Be prepared. What of the other?”

Selene didn’t answer for a long moment. “Problematic,” he finally said.

“A scoundrel, eh?”

“No. An ogre.”

“What!”

“Aye.”

“Tis a first.”

“Aye.”

“I must go, brother. Have you come across Blake?”

Selene chuckled. “Didn’t keep his plans secret, did he?”

“You know our kind can’t keep a secret.”

“Aye. He and his two shadows have voiced their threats already.”

“You’ll never learn.” The man turned.

I found myself squattin’ once again next to the creek. I let out a screech and fell backward off my rock, feet flyin’ into the air. Before the stars cleared from the bang at the back of my head, I heard Selene’s laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, lad. I guess I could have warned you.”

Selene leaned over me, his face grim, no sign of the earlier humor. He held out his hand. I took it, the touch snappin’ with that energy-thing, before the man heaved me skyward.

“That was unsettlin’,” I said, as Selene brushed leaves off my back.

“I suspect.”

“I can’t wait to tell my sisters—”

“You cannot talk to gentiles,” Selene barked, “about our ways. Never! Hear me?”

Gentiles? “Uh, yes, sir. Gentiles?”

“Pick up your primer,” Selene said pointin’ at it on the ground.

When I stood up, Selene pulled me with him, his arm around my shoulder, for Morgan’s cabin. We walked like that a few steps before the man let me go. What was the embrace about? No one had ever held me like that, that I could remember. I tried to recall the man’s words, something about bein’ much worse than not good.

So, maybe, I only have three and a half days. Odd, that didn’t frighten me more. Nothing like that moment in the dark, when I realized my soul was somewhere else, hundreds of miles away.

Spooky. Make a great, fire-side ghost story.

~

Chapter Fifteen

~

Morgan growled at the man as though he might fling himself atop him and choke the life out of him. Them ogres are dramatical folk. I leaned back in Morgan’s dinin’-table chair. Weren’t nothing to get overly excited about.

“I mean it,” Selene said.

“Bacchus needs no wizardly adornment.”

“You stubborn beast,” Selene groused.

Morgan growled even louder. “Don’t call me a beast.”

“Ask him,” Selene shouted. He pointed at the staff leanin’ against the wall.

Morgan jerked his head that way, and the staff’s ram head flashed, a blue glow. “Ask him? You’d have me talkin’ to—”

“To—” Selene challenged him. “You don’t feel he’s alive, as though he speaks to you?”

“How do you know that?” Morgan asked, his voice softer, but still as rough as a carpenter’s rasp.

“Would be far from the first time,” Selene said, “that a wizard’s tool developed a spirit of its own, from the threads of the ethereal it retains.”

“Ya don’t even tote a staff,” Morgan grumbled.

Selene smiled, raised his right hand until his forearm was parallel to the floor. The bold ring he wears on his second finger, which I’ve often admired, glowed, first yellow, gold, then red and blue, before turnin’ quiet again.

“She is marked with all twenty-four runes,” Selene said.

“She?”

“Aye. I sense a feminine presence when I leverage her strength.”

Morgan grinned, his lips pullin’ away from those tusks in that way I could not get used to.

“And does she have a name?”

“Aye,” Selene said. “But—”

“But what?”

Selene glanced at the floor for a fraction of a second. “She’s particular. Doesn’t want me sharing her name with anyone.”

Morgan’s lips curled up his tusks again, and he nodded his head. “Ya say—etchin’ Bacchus with yar runes—will empower her?”

“Not at first. I can’t say it will even help in the next four days, but it can’t hurt. The runes are the platform of our power.”

“Sounds like a lot of superstitious—”

Selene flung a pointed fist at him. “Not wise to blaspheme those things you know naught about, ogre.”

“Don’t threaten me, human.”

“I—”

Selene clearly struggled to ease the emotion that riffed Morgan. He took a long breath. “Twenty-four tiny marks, anywhere on the shaft you chose. Are you afraid, ogre?”

Morgan smirked. “Little frightens us ogres, human.”

Selene smiled. “Then let’s begin.”

Morgan nodded after a moment, and thrust one of the enormous chairs at me. He carried the other to the porch, lined it beside the chair that remained there. Draggin’ the other chair, I joined Morgan and Selene on the porch, and we all sat.

I opened the primer. Morgan leaned over and studied the first rune, and proceeded to carve it into Bacchus while I read out loud the passages describin’ what Selene called the rune’s life blood.

The primer read like a livin’ biography, the detail, numbin’. Made little sense to me that an idea, represented by a few flicks of a quill pen, could be endowed with so much meanin’. Morgan called it superstition. Seems more nonsense.

“Again,” Selene said, as I finished the passage.

I re-read it.

“What is the rune’s name?”

Morgan and I chanted the name.

“Read it again. You must learn the name of all twenty-four, and the more you understand of the life blood of each, the more power you will eventually gain from it.”

I would have loved to roll my eyes, but feared the wizard might club me in the head with his scabbard, or worse. And maybe, I could understand doubt could be like blaspheme.

I read, and Morgan meticulously whittled the rock-hard surface of the oiled and polished staff.

We were on our seventh rune when a shadow fell across the clearin’. I assumed clouds, but Morgan jerked to his feet, stabbed his knife into the rail, and stepped off the porch peerin’ skyward. He draped his hands over the ram’s head as he waited.

“What is it?” I asked.

Selene scrambled up and to the right, clearly agitated as well.

“Got company,” Morgan said, as a familiar applause-like sound descended upon us.

A second later Taiz’lin’s gray hide filled the breadth of the clearin’. I closed my eyes against the flyin’ debris kicked up by the dragon.

A groanin’ sound from Selene made me look at the man, who leaned against the door jamb as though he’d been punched in the gut. He wore an expression as though a ruffian held a knife to his throat, or a sheriff swung a noose in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

But shouts between dragon and ogre pulled my attention away.

“Good day,” Morgan said.

“And to ya, warlock.” The dragon’s head swung low to meet us eye-to-eye.

Morgan took two steps into the clearin’. “Surprised to see ya. I know how ya love droppin’ down between these trees.”

“Aye.” But obviously Taiz’lin’s thoughts, as his eyes, were on Selene, who appeared as though that sheriff’s noose was around his throat and bein’ pulled taut.

I turned back to Morgan, who was takin’ in Selene too, clearly surprised about the man’s discomfort.

“Who’s yar visitor?” Taiz’lin asked sharply. His head eased closer to Selene. The dragon’s eyes, which often appear multifaceted and glimmer iridescent, burned jet black.

“Ya look ready to feed, dragon,” Morgan said. “What’s on yar mind?”

“Ash’et is unsettled,” Taiz’lin said.

I jerked back to Selene. Had the man repeated the elder dragon’s name?

“Oh,” Morgan said. “That must mean the fledglin’s are in a stir.”

“An understatement.” There was a clear anger in Taiz’lin’s voice. “Be glad I’ve come to investigate and not my mate. Someone near, or something, pulled from the ethereal yesterday, usin’ majic Ash’et hasn’t sensed since the wars. And she has continued to feel wisps of it this mornin’.”

“I can see how that would trouble her,” Morgan said, turnin’ so he faced Selene.

The man straightened up, appeared to work to pull himself together. His Adam’s apple clearly was bein’ given a workout.

“I’ll have yar name!” Taiz’lin belched.

I stumbled backward from the burst of foul air. Selene bounced off the door jamb. I turned to Morgan to get his sense of the situation. He appeared entertained. Not what I expected.

“I’m Selene of Nador.”

“Nador!” The dragon swung a hard glare at Morgan.

I’m certain the ogre and dragon silently communicated, prolly with Ike as well, Taiz’lin’s rider—and who knows who else. The moments passed. Must have talked to each of the Lake dragons, considerin’ the length of their silent jawin’.

“Ash’et knows well the name Nador,” Morgan said softly. He jerked his head a bit, as though re-joinin’ a conversation.

“Are ya bringin’ others of yar kind here, wizard?” Taiz’lin asked.

When the man hesitated, Morgan answered for him. “Three followed him.”

Taiz’lin hit us with a trumpet, the air strikin’ with the force of an ogre-wielded staff. I dropped into the chair behind me. Selene stumbled and fell to his knees. Morgan flung over the porch rail, but righted himself quickly.

“Settle down there,” Morgan shouted, and shook his head, as though to shake the senses back into place, his unmatched white and black dreadlocks dancin’. “I’m startin’ to get an idea why yar mate didn’t care a spit for me.”

“Yar majic is pure,” Taiz’lin said. “But Ash’et—” He paused. His eyes whirled a bit, as he did when he considered a more pleasurable thought. He clearly communicated with one of the Lake dragons—or Ike.

Yep. Much more likely he talked to Ike, the way his demeanor seemed to calm. That ogre can make light of most any foul thing. I had heard Ike mightily insult the giant queen, Iza, even say discourteous things about her dam, Ash’et. Seen him laugh out loud in Iza’s face. Which proves dragons must have a sense of humor, or Iza would have downed Ike in one gulp. Would have served the ogre right. Not wise to be discourteous to a dragon of any nature, much less a queen. At least that’s what I’ve been told.

Taiz’lin’s jaw dropped. There was no mistakin’ this for a grin though. He must have just come from huntin’. There was a jagged hunk of elk, or some such beast, tangled between two of his saber-like teeth. I swallowed hard to get a bitter taste down.

“Morgan?” I half-whispered.

“What?” the bull snapped, holdin’ his glare on Taiz’lin.

“What’d ya mean,” I asked, “about why Iza didn’t like ya?”

The ogre turned to me. “Aye. I guess ya humans don’t entertain the draconian folklore, do ya? There’s a tale that wizards long ago allied with the dwarfs and gnomes against the draconian race.”

“Not just a tale,” Taiz’lin rumbled.

“Long ago,” Selene said. “No wizards alive had naught to do with it.”

“The skunk never lost his stripes,” Taiz’lin said, no more amicable than before.

“The wars hurt all the races,” I said.

“None stung as deep as what them wizards did,” Morgan whispered.

“The goblins burned the elves’ ancient trees,” I said. “There are elves livin’ alongside goblins in the Valley now. I saw a goblin at the Inn.”

Taiz’lin’s head swerved toward me and Morgan. I couldn’t help but think the dragon was considerin’ swallowin’ down the three of us in his ire.

“They managed a more egregious insult that we still live with today,” Taiz’lin hissed.

I turned to Morgan and gave the ogre a queryful nod when Taiz’lin didn’t continue.

“The lore goes,” Morgan said, “dragons once lived in the ethereal, like the gnomes, came and went as they pleased. But the dragons interfered in the ways of our kinds durin’ the wars.”

“Lived in the ethereal?” I asked.

“The wizards aided the gnomes, to punish the dragons, managed their arcane methods to strip dragons of their ability to flow from our world and their own.”

A rush of balmy air hit me as Taiz’lin exhaled hard. “The much grander number of our kind,” he said, “were within our plane at the time. A few of my ancestors—were imprisoned here. Too few to sustain our race, where our vulnerable clutches could be attacked.”

The dragon swung his head back toward Selene. “Ash’et is trumpetin’ as we speak, for me to put ya to death.” He glared silently for a moment. “What shall I do with ya, wizard?”

“He had nothing to do with what they did,” I shouted.

Morgan subtly waved his hand for me to calm down. But I wasn’t finished. I recalled how I’d seen gnomes blippin’ in and out of the air majically. Bein’ able to avoid a foe by fleein’ into the ethereal in an instant would indeed be an unfair advantage, without speakin’ to the physical advantage dragons already owned.

“Seems maybe yar race got what was comin’ to ya,” I said.

The dragon’s head swept to within a foot of me. The moisture on Taiz’lin’s breath made me feel as though I had stepped into a steamy rainstorm. The smell turned my stomach.

“Ah, lad,” Morgan said. “Ya tryin’ to get yarself eaten?”

I shouted, as much to extend my voice through the onrush of Taiz’lin’s breath. “Seems dragons comprehend the difference between right and wrong. The concept before us shouldn’t be overly difficult to reconcile.”

“Reconcile?” Morgan harrumphed. “Big word for ya, boy.”

I smiled. Didn’t quite know why, considerin’ a dragon poised to gut me. No point in feelin’ slighted that an ogre insulted my manhood.

“Raises an interestin’ question,” Morgan said. “Why do the gnomes favor Iza so lavishly?”

Taiz’lin withdrew fifteen feet, his neck archin’. His jaws clomped shut. The snappin’ smarted my ears.

No one spoke for a moment. Taiz’lin finally blinked both sets of eyelids. When he opened them, the black was gone, replaced with blue and green facets. So another standoff was done?

“So, why?” Morgan repeated.

“Ya’ll have to ask them.” Taiz’lin turned back to Selene. “What is yar purpose here?”

Selene cleared his throat. His face wore a surprisin’ly calm countenance now. “I’m trying to save your friend’s life.”

Taiz’lin blinked, his inner lids. Mouth opened, but not in threat. Was it a draconian grin? “Someone have issue with Ike? They best not rile him.”

Selene whipped a questionin’ look at Morgan for a split second. “No. Your warlock friend here, and his apprentice.”

Taiz’lin glared down at Morgan. “Since when are ya my friend?”

“Not my claim,” Morgan muttered.

An awful din rose from the dragon’s chest, something like an avalanche. The hunk of elk that had been wedged in his teeth dislodged with the laugh and flew past my head barely missin’ me, slammed against the side of the cabin, and slid down the wall with a sickenin’ glop.

Taiz’lin pulled himself together. But the black ominously returned to his eyes. “Ya said something about three other wizards?”

“They’ve come to kill Morgan and Paul,” Selene said.

“Who’s Paul?” Taiz’lin asked.

“I’m Paul!”

Taiz’lin’s expression turned bored. “Oh.” His head rose slowly, then lowered, as though he’d completed his commiseratin’. “We can’t have outsiders harmin’ our lesser beasts.”

“Lesser beasts?” I hissed.

“Shut up, lad,” Morgan whispered.

“Explain to yar friends,” Taiz’lin said, “the Lake dragons won’t put up with it. And even if we would, Ike would have none of it.”

“That’s all well,” Selene said, “but I don’t think you’ll be convincing them to just go away.”

The sound of a boulder fallin’, a draconic grunt, preceded Taiz’lin sayin’, “Not I who must do the convincin’. That’s yar task, human.”

“You don’t underst—”

“You think I’m simple minded?” the dragon roared.

“Not at all. I—”

“Harm comes to any Valley resident, and none of ya wizards will leave these mountains alive. Ya have my word on that, wizard.”

My shoulders arched from the shudder for the dragon’s anger. My bladder felt suddenly full. There was an edge, a truth, danglin’ just outside my awareness. What was it? Oh. Maybe, that Taiz’lin doesn’t consider Morgan a Valley resident.

Taiz’lin gathered himself up the way a pregnant, one-legged goose does—dragons aren’t the most coordinated on land—and looked to the patch of sky overhead. Morgan rushed to get clear, and it was good that he did, because Taiz’lin’s wings whipped behind him when he launched. The ogre would have at least received a monumental thumpin’, if he managed to miss the stiletto-sharp claws that rim the front edge of the dragon’s wings every ten feet. The air thrust alone was enough to send me staggerin’ against the cabin wall. The whip of Taiz’lin’s tail sounded like an arrow passin’ past my ear.

I caught my breath and Morgan laughed.

“Very funny,” Selene said, “that I’m damned if I battle my peers and damned if I don’t.”

“Taiz’lin did search mightily hard to find an excuse to kill ya,” Morgan said.

“You choose to belittle the man working to save your life?” Selene glared.

“Ya could say I do,” Morgan muttered. “What’s the next rune?” He yanked his knife out of the rail.

~

Chapter Sixteen

~

“Not that I will, but what if I did leave for the Wildes?” Morgan asked.

“Concentrate on your casting,” Selene barked.

Morgan stamped Bacchus into the Earth, and that familiar jolt jabbed me in the back. I probably shouldn’t have even been standin’ with them in the clearin’. I backed up three steps.

“If I did?”

Selene blew out a loud breath, and shook his head. “I know little about their dedication. If they chose to, they could follow you by your majic.”

“How ya found me?” Morgan asked.

Selene nodded. “Start with the ward you already know.”

I grinned. Selene had demonstrated a healthy irritation over Morgan’s existin’ skill. The one he said he tried for the first time when he snuck into the goblin camp the previous spring. They nearly came to blows when Selene questioned his truthfulness. Even after demonstratin’ he could dull the sound around him, Selene glared. The man’s prideful.

“The proof was irritatin’, eh?” Morgan asked.

“Shut up.” Selene glared. “We have much to do before tomorrow. You do remember Blake swore he would be back tomorrow?”

Morgan shook his head, before stiffenin’ in concentration. Bacchus shuddered, its carved head glowin’, as Morgan reached into the ethereal for power. A three count later, I blinked hard. My vision had blurred, as though I stared into a warm breeze too long. But only Morgan’s image blurred, not the forest behind him. A tight excitement tingled in my chest. Two hours Morgan had struggled. This was the first evidence he neared reachin’ the new skill Selene pressed upon the ogre.

“Visualize yourself vanishing,” Selene whispered.

“Shut up! Ya’ve already told me that thirty-two times.”

With the chatter, the fuzziness faltered. Selene swung the branch he had carried out of the woods and struck Morgan in the arm. The ogre growled. Bacchus flashed brightly, and Morgan disappeared—completely. Selene swung the branch again, and it whiffed through the air where Morgan had stood. With that, Morgan’s image fluttered.

Selene shouted, “Hold it,” and slammed the ogre in the arm again with the branch.

By Morgan’s expression, he probably growled. I assumed the silence ward was more active than the invisibility ward. A moment later, Morgan disappeared again.

“Now hold it.

“Hold it.

“Follow me.” Selene walked backward for the forest. “Concentrate. Hold it.” He jabbed the stick in front of him as though it were a sword testing the strength of a battle shield. At the tree line he said, “Excellent, Morgan. Was beginning to wonder if you had it in you. Morgan? Morgan? You can come back now.”

A shout from the forest turned me and Selene to the right. The ogre peeked between the trees and gloom fifty feet away.

“Funny,” Selene said. “Practice opening and closing the ward for the next hour, to shore up the mental process. The lad and I are going to get a bite to eat.”

~