Ogre Warlock Healer
Black Lake Book 3
by
R. Mac Wheeler
~

The first time Morgan saw the woman, she tried to crush his skull with a rock. He reached out to the secretive female over the years but she never wavered in her distaste in having an ogre as a neighbor. Beguiled by a creature who could never return his love, he’s mired in affairs outside his world, surrounded by forces preparing to clash. War and plague compel Morgan from recluse to leader, protector, warrior, and negotiator. This is a love story, a tale of the ethereal, friendship, jealousy, mistrust, and caring.

~

CHAPTER ONE
Morgan
~

Flamin’ thatch and cinders fell from the ceilin’. Smoke burned my eyes, seared my throat, choked me. I flailed my arms at the rainin’ fire and screamed, reeled to get out from under the heavy quilts and furs pressin’ on me. I rolled onto the rough-hewed planks of the floor strikin’ an elbow hard. My head bounced good as well.

Still tangled in my beddin’, it took me several seconds to realize the air was breathable. I stopped my strugglin’ and looked into the blackness overhead. No fire. The only break in the night was the glow of embers from my hearth twenty feet away.

I sat up and listened, pryin’ the dark. There was no natural thing awry, but I don’t believe in simple dreams, not since I was an ogreling and dreamed the dream. If I’d heeded that nighttime vision I’d still have a brother, live within the clan, not in exile. Because they called me a warlock.

I pushed against my furs to free myself, rose and sat on the edge of my cot. Throwin’ a blanket around my shoulders, I made my way to the cabin door, findin’ one of my two rickety chairs with a knee in the process.

Outside, the cold nipped at my snout. I stepped off the porch onto soft pine needles, concentrated on the cluster of trees my home nestles within. The forest disappeared in the shiftin’ fog, aglow from the moonlight makin’ it through the thick canopy overhead.

Nothing out of place. Calm. For the moment. But my skin crawled. The ethereal intuition that curses me turned me west. Tragedy loomed. The only homestead west within miles belonged to a peculiar human who cared little for my skinny ogre butt.

Doesn’t matter she distrusts us ogres. I’d learned the hard way not to ignore my sight.

I strode inside to dress. My knee found another chair before I managed it. Summer jacket on, I grabbed my staff at the side of the door and plunged into the night. The moon hung high in the sky and nearly full. I ran when the trees were thin enough to allow light to make it to Earth and the terrain permitted it. After two miles of the steep rollin’ banks of the watershed leadin’ to Black Lake, sweat saturated my shirt. I peeled out of my coat.

My legs weighed heavy. A half hour into my rush I paused, heavin’ for breath, and looked down into a glen. I worried I veered north or south and passed unknowin’ly by the human woman’s shanty. It would’ve been easy to err. Racin’ through the brush in the dark made judgin’ both direction and distance difficult if my wits were calm. The far mountains I woulda used to place my whereabouts hid in the dark. One shadowed rise appeared identical to the last.

Holdin’ my staff forward as a focus point, I concentrated.

The spark has already kindled the first straw.

Off again at a sprint, I dove through branches that tore at my cheeks, snagged my clothes and wrenched at my heavy staff. I stumbled often as the ground fell sharply for the dell below. I smelled the smoke clearly now. The orange glare of flames knifed through the dark.

Reachin’ the clearin’ I froze, shocked at the speed the inferno engulfed the shack. The flames leaped ten feet above the thatch roof. Through the shutters of the one window I made out flames within. If the woman remained inside, she was done for. I stared at the door waitin’ for it to fling open. The flames worked down the walls.

I must try.

I dropped my staff, held my jacket over my head and ran to the door. The top of the frame only reached my shoulders, the flames mere inches away from my head. The heat pierced my exposed flesh. I kicked the heavy plank door, but the whole wall rocked, shakin’ burnin’ thatch upon me. I whipped the jacket about to get the fire off.

A barred door—an occupied home.

I needed another way inside. I ran to the window, leaned back, and kicked at its shutters. The two halves crashed inward. My leg caught on the sill, momentarily throwin’ me in a panic. I fell backward, leg painfully draggin’ across the splintered openin’.

The air inside broiled thick with smoke, the searin’ heat near-unbearable. I considered the wisdom of backin’ away. I could die, tryin’ to save a human surely past savin’. Nevertheless, I climbed in, holdin’ my jacket over my head for whatever protection it would offer me. My eyes watered. I squinted against the smoke.

The human stood before me in the center of the room, flingin’ a quilt about as though fightin’ hornets. Flames climbed the hem of her nightgown. The stink of burnin’ hair broke through my ragin’ senses.

I flung my coat around the woman’s legs to smother those flames, and pulled her onto my shoulder. I couldn’t stand erect in the human cabin. Struggled in a crouch toward the door, the smoke so thick I couldn’t breathe, much less see. Amazin’ the woman still survived. I dragged my hand across the rough wood searchin’ for what barricaded the door. My wrist slammed into the heavy plank. I heaved it to the side.

I groped for the latch, lungs achin’ for oxygen. The form across my shoulder wrenched back and forth. I was ready to collapse when my hand found what I sought, yanked the door open as a crashin’ noise provided the last energy I could manage to stagger forward.

The cold night air immediately refreshed, but the fire followed us. Flames flicked from our garments. As soon as I had us safely away from the ragin’ bonfire I whipped the human off my back, hard onto the ground. Even my leather jacket snapped with flames. I threw it aside and used my own body to smother the fire incineratin’ what little remained of the human’s nightgown. She screamed in agony as I flopped across her. The heat spiked through my shirt, burnin’ my stomach.

Those flames out, I struggled at those flickin’ at my own trousers. Knifin’ pain plunged into my back and I rolled to put out fire I knew dug into my flesh there. Flames sprung back up from my legs, and I raked pine needles together to quench those.

The collapse of the human’s hut interrupted her screamin’ and coughin’. Sparks and smoke deluged us anew. I rolled upon my side against her to protect her from the onslaught. Pain pricked every inch of my flesh.

What if the forest catches?

I stood, struck with a coughin’ fit. My head spun. I staggered, only settlin’ the vertigo by leanin’ over, one hand on the ground. I studied the clearin’. The flames from the less-than-humble shack didn’t reach high enough to threaten the limbs of the century-old pines around it. The forest floor was damp enough from the frequent summer showers to resist an expandin’ fire. I decided there was no, new, immediate danger.

The woman had stopped cryin’. I stumbled a long step to her. Her eyes glared straight up, unseein’. Her mouth hung oddly agape. She shook. From the cold, or agony? Maybe both.

“Are ya all right?”

Ignernt question. Of course she isn’t all right.

She didn’t answer, didn’t look up at me. There was little left of her gown below the waist. It could have been the orange glow from the fire, but her skin looked aflame, already blisterin’ from her stockin’ feet to her thighs. There were gaps in her long mane which flowed over the pine needles.

I struggled to focus on the immediate danger.

How do I stop the blisterin’?

“I’ll be back.”

I rose and picked up my smoldering jacket, realizin’ the extent of the burns on my hands. I took the coat to her nearby creek and soaked it. The icy water immediately eased my own pain, but touchin’ anything felt like plungin’ needles into my flesh. I couldn’t stop though. I carried the jacket back to the human and dribbled the cold water over her burns. She groaned, but otherwise didn’t respond.

I repeated the cold treatment five times. I felt the skin of my hands sloughin’ off as I squeezed the coat the last time. I couldn’t go on. In the dim light of the embers fifty feet away I made out my blood mixin’ with the trickle of water flowin’ over her legs. Still she stared straight up.

“Oh, why didn’t ya flee,” I asked, “instead of tryin’ to fight the flames? Couldn’t ya see there was no beatin’ them back?”

Her eyes closed.

Why did a solitary human, a female, live so far from civilization, anyway? How in the world did she survive our highland winters? An outcast, like me? What I’d always assumed.

I thought back, perhaps ten years earlier, when I tried to greet her the first time I encountered her in the forest. She had been diggin’ about the shadows of the trees and stumps for mushrooms and grubs, a good diet for a troll, less appreciated by any human I ever met. On seein’ me, she pelted me with stones usin’ a stinkin’ sling I had no idea she carried. Those stones hurt.

Despite the insult, her unneighborly manner, from time-to-time I left her a deer or swine quarter hangin’ near her cabin where she was sure to find them. Especially once the snows came.

A shudder shook me. Time to focus on the present. Wakin’ up, she wouldn’t want nothing to do with me. But I certainly couldn’t leave her here. She’s half-way on the trek to dyin’ already. In the shape I’m in I couldn’t carry her the twenty miles to the Hamlet on the shore of the Lake. Would they even take her in if I did?

I groaned and folded the tiny woman together. My hands were so numb from the icy water I couldn’t be sure my fingers followed my wishes. I pulled her into my arms, findin’ more burns on my forearms. I grimaced from the pain and stood. Looked over at my staff, reluctant to leave it behind. But had no choice. Not like I could grow a third limb to carry it with—not a warlock skill I’ve acquired—that I know of. I stumbled forward, into the black of the fadin’ moon.

~

Chapter Two
~

The eastern sky reflected the glint of a new sun by the time I staggered into my cabin. I placed the human woman on my cot and fell to the floor to rest. The floorboards knifed at the burns on my back, makin’ me roll onto my side. Arms and hands cramped from carryin’ the human. I trembled—not from the cold. It took a lot of cold to bother an ogre.

I forced myself to rise and walk to the hearth, stirred the ashes with the poker. Blood smeared the cold, iron handle. I groaned and chucked kindlin’ onto the live embers I uncovered. I inspected the raw flesh of my hand and shook my head. Usin’ an axe the next week would be more than a chore.

I knelt and blew at the coals, which renewed my hackin’ cough. I swallowed hard and tried it again. The embers glowed. The smallest kindlin’ lit and I added ever-larger until a good fire blazed. The flickerin’ light made me aware of the human’s—indelicate way. What was left of her gown had ridden above her waist. I leapt to cover her.

She mumbled. Her head turned slowly side to side. I placed my hand to her forehead. She was hot with fever.

How could it take her so fast?

“Were ya already sick, little thing?”

Am I gonna come down with some plague, on top of these burns?

~

I spent the day doin’ what I could to make the human as comfortable as possible. I refrain from callin’ myself an herbalist, but I have a knack for findin’ those remedies that grow in the woods and the plains to the east—it’s as if they call to me. I used them as best I could on the tiny thing lyin’ on my bed. Dribbled tea into her mouth to get fluids into her. Kept her forehead dampened with an aromatic mint, and poulticed the worst of her burns.

That night I lie near the hearth on my huntin’ fur. Hands cramped. I couldn’t lie on my back because of my burns. Sleep didn’t come until nearly sunrise.

~

The human periodically startled me with delirious mumbles. She cried out a number of times, “I’m not. I’m not.” The declaration kept my mind busy, guessin’ what her words might mean, since I wasn’t up to doin’ much of anything else. Not that I could leave with her like this, anyway.

So I stayed near and watched over the tiny human, studied her face. Found her gentle features terribly borin’. An attractive face requires a snout. Strong cheekbones. Square chin. The absence of tusks gave her an immature appearance, though I know she’s well past adolescence. Humans aren’t new to me. Trade with them in the Hamlet, but certainly found no reason to ponder their looks before. They are simply lesser creatures. Weak things.

But the soft curve of her cheeks and chin were not unpleasant to look upon. Her hair, what wasn’t singed by fire, shined a glossy clay-red. Freckles flowed across her snowy-white complexion, as though she didn’t spend every day collectin’ in the forest. Her lips were just a slip of peach. That particularly bothered me. An ogre hen would be ashamed of such minuscule lips.

“Why do ya hate bein’ spied in the woods so much, little hen—girl?”

Those thin lips trembled. I refreshed the cloth with the cool mint tea and blotted her forehead.

“Ya were here long before humans came to the Hamlet. How’d ya get here? The nearest human settlement must be a ten-day walk for someone like ya. Ya couldn’t have been more than a child when ya came here.”

I shook my head. How’d ya survive? A single, stinkin’ highland winter.

~

The fourth day I started makin’ up names for her. None fit. Maybe because I’m not well versed in humanish names. I read a book about a human named Victoria. Humans must like a lot of syllables sprinkled in their names. But the game passed the time. I told her about myself, answerin’ unspoken questions. I’m not used to speakin’. Have lived my adult life alone. I broke into my wine to sooth my throat, and to battle my own fever that brought sweat to my brow now. The wine evermore loosened my tongue. To make it feel less like I rambled to myself, I got into the habit of usin’ only one of the many names I tried out on her. She never complained.

She learned much more about me than I imagined willin’ly sharin’ with anyone. It wouldn’t be easy to start over when she wakes. If she wakes. If she even wished to speak to an ogre. My kind aren’t naturally taken fondly to by humans, after all. Though, seems things are changin’ a bit, down on the Lake shore. Lots of new folk gatherin’, in a peaceful manner. Not that I venture into the Valley often. Always good to come back with a bag of salt, flour. I do love to splurge and trade for a book, now and then.

~

The sixth day I woke sick to my stomach, and vomited. Wish it was the wine from the previous day, but know better. I shook, felt freezin’ cold then icy hot, only to shiver a moment later. I struggled to brew what I guessed would best fight the evil coursin’ within my veins. I’m not a trained herbalist. But they do speak to me, some.

She brought it upon me, but I don’t blame her. Just hope she survives. She has a lot to overcome. If she lives, it gives more promise to my own survival. I knelt by the bed and encouraged her to suckle as much from the soaked cloth as she could manage. I might be unable to care for her in the hours to come. I changed her poultices, and lay down. Slept fitfully. Threw up once, but was unable to rise to clean it from the floorboards.

~

I believe it’s the seventh day, since I found her. Perhaps I missed a day. I heard someone callin’ out. I mumbled something, not sure what I even said, before my eyes closed again. I woke in darkness, vomitin’.

~

The next time I woke the sun shone through the open shutters. A fire burned in the hearth. I closed my eyes again assumin’ someone from the Hamlet found us. Had the human woman survived?

I felt a hand under my neck, liftin’ my head.

“Up, you stubborn beast.”

Beast? Who had I angered so much, to call me such a thing? I sensed light filter through my eyelids. A mixed up, swirlin’ world greeted me. My stomach twisted, but I kept from vomitin’.

“Take some broth, ogre, or I’ll pour it in your ear.” The voice was a cross between an oriole and a spring breeze. Certainly not Ogreish.

I groaned, I think.

Never felt so sick in my life. Dyin’ would be best. A relief.

I forced my eyes open. They wouldn’t focus. “Be still. Why ya leapin’ about like an antsy frog?” I asked.

“I’m sitting still, you silly ogre. Drink.”

I felt a cup at my lips and slurped from it. Thin broth. Only a hint of venison. Hunger ripped at my gut equally as strong as the revulsion of takin’ anything in. I closed my lips as nausea swept over me again.

“It’ll go away after a bit. Getting something into my stomach did wonders for me.”

Her words made no sense. Did others from the Hamlet come and get sick too?

“Did the human live?” I asked. A laugh made the pain in my head thump.

“Drink. It won’t do your ear a bit of good.”

I closed my eyes but accepted the broth. A cloth wiped my chin when I didn’t keep up with the stubborn tilt of the cup. My torturer finally allowed me to rest, pullin’ my fur up to my chin. I took slow breaths to calm my stomach.

~

I woke to darkness only broken by the flicker of flames from the hearth five feet away. The nausea was thankfully sufferable, replaced by intense hunger. My head ached, but nothing like it did the last time I tried to open my eyes.

I pulled away my blankets and tentatively rose to my knees. Was startled to find I was stripped down to my flesh. I stood slowly and pulled my fur over my shoulders. Made my way one careful step at a time through the back door, to the outhouse.

I may live. Why am I sleepin’ on the floor, before the hearth? Without a stitch on?

~

Chapter Three

~

Dim slits of light filtered between the closed shutters. I fought achin’ joints to rise, pulled on pants laid out next to me, found a shirt to pull over my head, and stoked the hearth. The bulky bandages on my hands, which I hadn’t wrapped, made it difficult to grip the smaller kindlin’. I sniffed at the strips of cloth. They were soaked with the same poultice I had made for the human.

I guess I did as well as the Hamlet healer.

I looked about the cabin. What happened to the human who cared for me? A dizzy spell bent me over. Knelt until it passed. The growin’ fire brightened the room, revealin’ there was no one else about.

Did that dragon-ridin’ leader of the Hamlet bring someone to care for me?

There was no other bedroll on the floor. Rumpled furs on my cot implied some visitor.

But who?

My hunger redirected my thoughts. I slogged to the larder workin’ to ignore the pain spikin’ through my forehead. Took one of the last two jars of my precious tomatoes and broke the wax seal. Grabbed my dagger off the table and worked the blade through the jar, slicin’ the fruit into sections, before drinkin’ the juice off. The cool, salty liquid felt good goin’ down, but hit my stomach with a jolt, remindin’ me it had been mistreated for days. I enticed a wrinkled wedge into my mouth as the door opened, makin’ me jump.

“So the spirits turned you down, did they?”

A tiny she-human stood in the doorway holdin’ a bucket in one hand. Her other held the flap of a towel in front of her, which was tied behind her back formin’ an apron. The glare of the light behind her made shadows of her face, but I knew who she must be. Not the Hamlet healer. She wore a pair of my britches tied high on her waist, legs rolled up a good twenty times, but still dragged the ground. One of my knotted work shirts hid what would have been left of her night gown.

“Turned me down?”

“Guess St. Peter didn’t need your soul yet.” She shuffled to accommodate the excess of pants intrudin’ on her stride. “Give me a hand.”

I grabbed the pail of water and set it on the table. I started to speak, but was humored when I realized my mouth still held a slice of tomato. Hurried to chew and swallow it down.

“I thought you were going to sleep forever,” the woman continued. “You ogres can right snore up a storm. Not that I’m complaining. I figure muffled thunder is better than the cutting cold at night with no roof overhead. Not proper a woman and a male of any kind residing under the same shingles like this, but considering one or the other of us were sick at the time, I guess I can’t be faulted. Not that anyone would care what I do, nor I care what they think. But now you’re moving about, guess I better be getting back to my stake and figuring what I can do for a roof over my head.”

Her words rushed like a storm. I studied her, disbelievin’ she was the same creature that flung stones at my head simply for catchin’ sight of her in the forest. A moment later I realized her jabberin’ had more to do with discomfort than familiarity. She stood on her tiptoes to get the towel she was holdin’ up to the level of the table, and unrolled it, displayin’ two dozen tiny blueberries, small early-season fruit.

“Not much to fill the gullet, but tangy enough to give grubs a nice flavor,” she said.

I shivered at the thought of the troll snack. The human woman surely wouldn’t normally go for that fare either, if she had other options. I pushed the jar of tomatoes I’d just opened toward her in offerin’, followed by the knife. She jumped back, her eyes widenin’, focusin’ on the blade I held out to her.

“Sorry,” I said, quickly changin’ my grip so I held the blade between my thumb and forefinger.

Her eyes went to the jar. Lips creased together with a swallow. Her stare proved she hungered to taste the fruit. I felt guilty for her reluctance to accept. Took a step toward her and gestured for her to take the jar and knife. She finally did, her hand shakin’ as she prodded with the knife to stab a wedge.

The waif had to be starvin’. Looked like nothing more than flesh-covered bones. I looked away when I realized I stared.

There hadn’t been much of anything in the cabin to eat. I had planned to hunt the mornin’ of the fire. I walked over and checked the kettle. The bottom contained a splash of broth and bits of limp vegetables, cold as ice. I swung it over the fire and busied myself preparin’ two cups for tea.

A slurp drew my eyes back to the female. Her eyes darted up at me for only a moment as she paused her eatin’. She took another bite and held the jar out to me. I shook my head and removed the last jar from the cupboard.

“Let’s spoil ourselves a little,” I said. “Our bodies could use it. Should still be some cornmeal. I’ll bake us a loaf. Have ya collected the eggs lately?”

The woman looked at the floor quickly. “I saw burdock, elderberries, and plenty of edible fungi nearby. I collected pinecones, but haven’t begun harvesting the nuts.”

I set down the spoon I had picked up to mix the cornbread batter. “Something happen to my hens?”

She opened her eyes wide. They reflected the orange flicker from the hearth. There was sincere pain in her expression. “I’m sorry.”

I walked for the door, yankin’ my light jacket off the hook as I opened it. The sun burned my eyes, makin’ me grimace. I rounded the back of the cabin and the damage to the coop stopped me in my tracks. From here I could smell the remnants of a bear family. Mamma had torn the planks off one by one until she got to the grain. After finishin’ that off, she probably demolished the rest of the structure lookin’ for more.

I looked about at the fluff of feathers floatin’ about in the breeze. Fox and bobcats had finished off the hens once they were freed. There wasn’t much left. I felt a severe tug in my chest. The birds were the closest thing to family I had. Half of them had long stopped layin’. I continued carin’ for ’em, as they provided for me. I way prefer deer and elk to chicken, anyway.

“They probably drew attention with their squawkin’ to be fed the days we were both—”

I flinched. Hadn’t heard her follow me. I wiped quickly at my eyes, kicked a stone angrily with a bare toe. The rock rolled ten feet and clunked against one of the planks the bear pulled off the coop.

“You mentioned a hamlet nearby. Think you’ll be able to get new hens there?”

“Ya’ve never visited the Hamlet?” I asked.

She screwed up her face. “They don’t like my kind.”

“What kind is that?”

Her grimace turned angry, and one fist went to a hip. She stared at me a moment. The expression hinted she would have turned and disappeared into the forest if she had fittin’ clothes on her back and shoes on her feet. I’m glad humans require footwear. For some reason I didn’t want her to leave. I felt driven to care for the tiny thing. Enjoy the sound of her voice.

“I don’t even know yar name.”

“You’re not thinking of making me some kind of slave, are you?” Her voice turned raspy, harsh. Her eyes narrowed.

“Nooooo. Why would ya ask such a thing?”

She continued to glare. I sensed a mixture of emotions from her. She did want to dash into the woods. But she seemed to reasonably accept she needed help. I fidgeted at the long quiet between us. She ended it by stickin’ out her hand.

“My name is—” A new look came over her face—shock, almost horror.

She had forgotten her own name? How many years had she been shunned, to forget what others once called her? Her face turned red before she twirled around and ran for the woods the deer in her longed for.

~

Chapter Four

~

I didn’t follow after her right away. Stood frozen, imaginin’ her situation not too unlike my own. But at least I wasn’t afraid to seek out others. Perhaps it’s because my own separation was partly by choice. It would have eventually come to eviction. I never met the clan elders to fight the charges levied against me.

How could I argue them? They were true enough. I often read the thoughts of others, sensed their emotions and intent. Could see game when other ogres couldn’t even smell it. See things that hadn’t yet happened.

No one ever pointed a finger and said, “Out.”

I closed my eyes and saw the bundle of clothing and food left on the family’s threshold. Saw the tiny girl poundin’ on the locked door, rakin’ her fingers over the rough door planks until she left streaks of blood on it. Saw her sobbin’, the doors of neighbors slammin’ shut, beams dropped in place across jambs. She picked up the bundle and trudged into the woods, alone.

Livin’ her loss, fear and guilt, tears streamed down my cheeks. Didn’t bother to wipe them away. I breathed heavily and tilted back my head to catch my breath.

“Her kind. My kind.”

I crossed the clearin’ and followed the human’s scent into the woods leadin’ north. After trackin’ her ten minutes my concern grew. She didn’t slow, and blood blotted the pine needles and stones. I pushed my pace to a full run, despite my weakness and remainin’ queasiness.

I came upon her without ever hearin’ her cries, though she lay slumped over an embankment, face pressed against the sleeve of my shirt she wore. One fist still grasped the waist of my borrowed pants to keep them up. She lay quietly. The pain no longer drove tears. She was numbed by a sense of loss—long lost. I sensed her emptiness.

I stopped and dropped my hands to my knees to catch my breath. My head swam, and I lowered to one knee. I looked over at the female human. A dozen cuts bloodied her feet. For some reason an old image flooded my mind which still disturbs my dreams twenty years after first experiencin’ the sight—the bloody iron trap still attached to the stake, though its chain plowed a trough all around it. The wolf’s dismembered leg lay in the grass, where it had been gnawed off, to escape.

Animals do what they must to survive.

I’ll ensure this slight thing survives. She deserves a life.

I stood and padded softly to the human child—no. She’s a woman, despite her size. She didn’t fight me as I raked her into my arms. She turned and let her face fall into the crook of my shoulder.

Neither of us spoke as I carried her to my home—for now, her home.

“Delia.”

She spoke the single word so softly I first thought I imagined it. She didn’t budge in my arms. I smiled when I realized what she had said.

“Glad to meet ya.” I introduced myself.

“That’s a human name.”

“Is it? I didn’t know that. I’ve never met another Morgan, human or ogre.”

She didn’t say anything else. As the quiet lingered, I feared she would shut back down, and fretted to find something else to say.

“Delia is a very pretty name.” That should be safe.

She snorted. “No it isn’t. I hate it.”

“Then pick another. It’s yars. I suppose ya have the right to choose a name ya like better.”

“Because no one would care if I do?”

“I wasn’t thinkin’ that.” I tensed, worried about provokin’ her depression more. “But here in the woods, if ya’d like me to call ya something different, just say so.”

She remained quiet a moment. “I feel stupid being carried like a child.”

I smiled, sensin’ a new mood envelop her. “Ya aren’t gonna be walkin’ much on those feet of yars. Ya did a job on them. So don’t go complainin’.”

Delia relaxed against my chest, her face wormin’ into the crook between my shoulder and throat. She breathed in deeply. Her fingers casually stroked the soft wool of my collar.

“You smell earthy, like the leaves I turn hunting truffles.”

“Sorry. Haven’t visited the creek with a bar of soap in a while.”

“I didn’t mean to insult,” Delia said. “I like the smell.”

I felt heat spreadin’ across my body despite the mornin’ chill. Humans are a homely breed, spindly little things, with their narrow, pointed noses and soft features. Given a proper snout they wouldn’t look half bad. I was raised to distrust them. They aren’t a reliable sort. But I could get used to the occasional company of this one.

I eased through a clump of brush and stepped into my private little dell.

“You’re one too, aren’t you? Why you live out here alone?”

“One what?” I asked.

“They called me a witch,” she answered, her voice strained, angry. An anger that physically seeped from her.

I stumbled as my shock interfered with my stride. Delia stiffened in my arms. She looked up into my face. I felt the fire of emotion sweepin’ from her.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” she said, her voice raspin’, accusin’.

“No. It isn’t that. It’s just— So that’s what I sensed from ya.”

“Sensed?”

“I— I can— It’s hard to explain.”

I climbed the step to my porch which is just deep enough for a chair, where a tall sort can lean back against the cabin wall and set his feet on the rail to enjoy the surroundin’ sights and sounds of nature. I wiped my bare feet on the woven-grass mat and nudged open the front door.

“Then you’re a wizard.”

Warlock. Word I always use.

I chose not to comment upon her declaration, even though I disagreed with it, somewhat. A sort who merely has a way with wood is not a carpenter. Without trainin’, he’s just another soul without focus. I gently set the tiny female on the table so I could see to her feet first thing.

She fussed for a moment, until I explained my intention.

“Odd,” Delia continued, “with our combined talent we couldn’t put the fire out. If we’d had our wits about us, I might still have a home.”

Her suggestion irked me. Doubt I have any such talent. I can direct my senses enough to determine what riled the jays when they battle in the trees, or feel the distrust of a bear that crosses my path. I have some skill at bracin’ the poultices I mix, but takin’ the life of a flame—that’s silly. Though I can spark kindlin’ with effort.

I used a towel to lift the creosote-layered kettle off the fire. A healthy torrent of steam rose from the spout. I poured into the two waitin’ cups, and pointed instruction for Delia to mind the seepin’ of their tea leaves. I half-filled the nearby basin before replacin’ the kettle back on the hearth where it would stay warm. I ladled a smidgen of cold water into the basin and tested the contents wasn’t too hot. Satisfied, I carried it to the table.

Delia prattled on—I decided from a sudden burst of nervousness—about all manner of things, startin’ with how long it had been since she tasted tea. She worked hard to keep the tremble out of her voice, but it didn’t take an untrained warlock to recognize her unease as I carefully washed her feet. I ignored her repeated complaint that she could bathe herself.

“Part of the healin’ is the nurturin’ of the healer,” I said in a near whisper.

I know her eyes drilled into me, but didn’t look into her face. The water in the basin quickly turned muddy-red. She didn’t once flinch, though removin’ the caked blood and muck revealed purplin’ bruises. Humans are such fragile creatures. I’m not an expert on the race, but Delia has to be more fragile than most.

My mind wandered, rememberin’ how Mama cared for my own nicks and scrapes when I was an ogreling. The bottoms of Delia’s feet, her cuts, sufficiently cleaned, I toweled away a layer of grime off her ankles and toes. They were cute toes, as delicate as one would expect for a fragile little creature. Heat again spread across my body, and I leaned back, carefully dryin’ the female’s feet with the opposite end of my small kitchen towel.

Delia scooped the remainin’ tea leaves out of a cup. I watched her tiny fingers pushin’ the spoon about. I looked into her face. Eyes seemed too big for her petite face. Eyelashes overly long, half-hidin’ eyes that looked amber under the falterin’ flames in the hearth. Her skin silken, white, creamy-soft.

I could get used to a human’s face. Have a lot to overlook, at first.

“Is my face dirty too?” she asked.

I felt my heart stop for a beat. I cleared my throat. “I’ll get ya a clean towel.”

“So it must be,” she said with a smile. “Didn’t expect an ogre could be so gentle. With those big hands of yours.”

She handed me a cup. I accepted it and took a too-quick sip, searin’ my tongue. Worked hard to hide the agony as the hot tea went down. I blinked quickly to clear my vision, and rose and fussed, collectin’ the miniature mugs of herbs I would use in the poultice. I poured a generous dab of my precious oil onto a plate and added the crushed bark, dried leaves and flower petals.

As I blended the mixture together, I summoned the energy I required to instill the ethereal healin’ properties. The sensation eased my own ills as I visualized Delia’s cuts healin’, the bruises fadin’. I reached out for more power than I normally would. Wanted that poultice to be the best I’d ever made. Vertigo dizzied me as the livin’ force passed through me into the aromatic concoction.

“What is that?” Delia asked.

“A poultice.”

“No. The—light. Never mind.”

She shook her head when I turned toward her. A vee etched the space between her brows. I used my fingers to lather the poultice onto the soles of her feet. She squirmed.

“Does it burn?”

“Some. It tingles. Little pin pricks.”

Good. Must be workin’.

She sat where she was, close by, as I prepared us something to eat. Stood next to her as we took turns slatherin’ butter over slabs of hot cornbread, sinfully crumbly without any eggs to bind it. We finished the tomatoes, as I reluctantly thought about the errands I had to run. I stalled, not wantin’ to leave the human woman’s side. She entertained me with every naive remark.

But I had to retrieve my staff, first of all. In two decades it hadn’t been far from my hand. It collected power every time I pulled from the ethereal. Vibrated in my hand with power. I felt naked, vulnerable, without it.

I also knew I must visit the Hamlet to get clothes more appropriate for the tiny Delia. And food. I don’t mind gnawin’ on dried venison twenty meals straight. But what kind of host would force that on a delicate human woman?

I didn’t look forward to the three-hour hike. Worse—the thought that I should be takin’ Delia to the Hamlet. Wouldn’t she be better off with her own kind? She could be cared for better there. She didn’t deserve to be abandoned in the wilderness. And it wasn’t proper for her to stay in my dark, rank cabin.

“I’m glad you don’t want me to go away,” she said.

I flinched. So she could read the thoughts of others. That could be an irritant. Or ease communication. Bind us with truth, even.

“I’ve cared for myself since I was fourteen,” she said. “No one cared where I lived before. Don’t suppose there’s anything wrong with staying for a while with the ogre who saved my life. If I’m, indeed, welcome.”

Heat radiated across my face. Chest tightened. “Indeed.”

“You’re a good—ogre. A good heart. I can tell. If you don’t mind putting up with me, I would readily accept your hospitality. I can pull my own weight. I know what herbs can soften and make an old elk taste like a yearling calf.”

The most bizarre need to cry overwhelmed me. I took slow, deep breaths until the sensation lessened. Delia’s lashes batted and her face turned red.

“I’ll likely not return from my errands before sundown,” I mumbled.

“I’ll be fine. No. You take the rest of the cornbread. You’re the one who’ll need the energy.”

~

Chapter Five

~

Before settin’ off, I got Delia comfortable between furs on my porch chair, which fit her slight frame more like an angled bed. The heavy bag slung over my shoulder contained all of my extra remedies, enough to stock several healers for months—I may study the undergrowth more than I need to when I hike. In one pouch I held the majority of the gold nuggets I’d collected over the years.

First priority, retrieve my staff. The hike to Delia’s ruined stake took little time and tired me less than I expected, though I did retrieve energy from the ethereal. I told myself my body only needed fresh air and exercise to recover from the ghoul that afflicted me. That and a week sittin’ on the porch with Delia.

The clearin’ around the ash and debris lay quiet, as though the local birds mourned. Even the wind-song through the pines sounded muted. My snout twitched with a scent new to me. It was a stalkin’ creature, neither human, troll, nor ogre. I could make out only one—no pack. I concentrated, separatin’ the natural pheromones from the sweat, the decayin’ venison the bein’ carried with it, perhaps the previous evenin’.

The eeriness of not recognizin’ the creature discomforted enough to make me wish I carried my bow. I stepped farther into the flat patch of earth and searched for my staff. My skin prickled. It wasn’t where I left it. A sense of panic rushed through my body, makin’ me physically ache.

Ohhh.

I walked around the ruined hovel, hopin’ I simply got turned around, but still didn’t find my staff. I stood in the middle of the clearin’ and tried to calm my mind. It’s just wood, but not just a thing. I use it to focus my thoughts, to channel the ethereal energy I use, a bit of which it always retained. It has a persona, speaks to me, enables much of my majic. If that’s what it is. It’s just a word I use for the—kinship we share.

Closin’ my eyes, I reached out mentally for the aura of the staff. I sensed it to my southwest. I rushed forward, followin’ the trail of the bein’. Why had it taken my staff? It made no sense. Was nothing to another soul.

The trail turned southerly, but my staff was near, just to my right. I studied the shadows. Lyin’ near the rugged roots of an ancient black oak, I almost overlooked my old friend. I hurried to it and picked it up. A faint glint billowed from it. My skin tingled. I sensed anger, revulsion.

For what?

I brushed a bit of soil from its oil-buffed surface. “Sorry I had to leave ya. Couldn’t be helped. So who’ve ya been travelin’ with?”

A jolt jarred my arm and shoulder, as though lightenin’ found me through the Earth. But there wasn’t a cloud in the azure sky overhead.

I stumbled, and cursed. “I said I’m sorry.”

A last prick filtered through my palm. I lifted the staff and held it directly in front of me, and grimaced at the carved likeness of a ram’s head like one would an errant youngling. I shook my head, over the devious sensation the staff ridiculed me with.

“Not my fault,” I argued, turnin’ northeast, tryin’ to ignore the sensation of bein’ watched.

~

Homesteads checkered the steep, rollin’ hills south of the Lake. There were less than half as many settlers a year earlier. The Hamlet grew in healthy bounds. I reached the south shore of the eastern cove and stared across the water. The Inn expanded west with a new wing, also four stories. The line of storefronts extended along the waterfront two-hundred more feet, two stories high. Two new enormous residences snuggled close to the tree line, and a team of trolls labored at a third, where granite rose out of the turf.

There were a half-dozen boats sprinkled across the Lake, with another dozen fishermen linin’ two piers stretchin’ a hundred feet into the Lake. The tell-tale whiffs of smoke claimin’ the home of chimneys extended east and west. A flutter of gray yanked my eyes back toward the Inn. At first I couldn’t guess what the object was. A nearby challenge of a jay made me look up. It provoked a memory, and recognition.

I walked on, eyes on the slate-gray, folded wings of the bull dragon. So I’d finally get a close-up look of one of the majestic creatures. My lips smiled around my tusks on their own. Usually the dragons are blots against the sky, flyin’ in formation, as many as six at a time. That’s quite a sight.

A new movement two hundred yards further dropped my jaw. What had blended into the surroundin’ rock and seedin’ grass made the gray dragon look tiny.

The queen.

The golden queen. Her wing tips must reach seventy feet in both directions. My heart rushed. I picked up my pace, tryin’ to wipe the silly grin off my face.

“Wouldn’t Delia get a kick out of this.”

Reachin’ the North Shore, I hiked west. The trolls I passed stopped workin’ and glared down at me. I gave them what I hoped appeared to be a friendly wave. I know their kind are pretty dull-sighted—even worse than us ogres. I tried to convince myself they’re merely tryin’ to identify me, and not challengin’ my presence with their scowls.

Goats followed me along a fence line, showin’ more curiosity than the trolls. As I neared the Inn something stole my eyes away from the two drowsin’ dragons. Bein’s clustered on the Inn’s broad veranda—humans, ogres, trolls, a pair of elves, and another giant species—had to be a goblin. I shivered. Had heard their kind was welcomed hereabouts. Still hard to believe.

Heads tilted in that manner that suggest concern, and it wasn’t because of the goblin, because they leaned toward me, listenin’. In the middle of them all was a youngish ogre, sittin’ on the veranda railin’, arms crossed over his chest. Light-colored dreadlocks reached the middle of his back. He sported shoulders a troll couldn’t scoff at. A barrel chest.

The goblin raised an enormously gangly arm and pointed east, then southwest, across Black Lake. Every face followed the direction of his gesture except the impressive-lookin’ young ogre, and the two elves whose chins barely reached knee-high to the goblin. The elves and ogre’s expressions were locked on each other.

I shivered. Three giant races, humans, and elves speakin’ calmly together. My papa never would have believed it could happen.

They all quieted and looked down at me as I neared. For no reason, I felt guilty of something, my steps shortenin’.

“Good day, friend,” the beefy ogre who looked as though he could easily toss me twenty feet into the Lake, called down.

A half-dozen additional good days followed the ogre’s greetin’.

I answered with a nod and a smile. “It’s turned into a warm one, hasn’t it?” Talkin’ about the weather is always a safe openin’.

Heads nodded. I continued to the set of stairs farther down the boardwalk, but knew every face behind me followed my progress. When I reached the top of the boardwalk I couldn’t keep from lookin’ back. Heads leaned closely together in conversation, several sets of eyes still on me. I nodded to them again. One by one, each looked away.

Perhaps today isn’t the best day to visit the Hamlet.

I turned left and followed the walk, studyin’ the signs hangin’ high over the doors of the various whitewashed storefronts. A few human females strolled along peerin’ back and forth from the Lake and the wares displayed in the windows. The humans ignored me, as though they had been around ogres their entire lives. Their strange footwear made distinctive clatterin’ sounds on the planks of the walk. Reminded me of one other thing I needed to acquire for Delia. I had almost forgotten footwear. Do they come in sizes, like shirts and such? Not a topic an ogre would be versed in. I’m glad the gods graced my kind with feet that didn’t need cumbersome shoddin’. One of the few benefits ogres share with trolls. Well—along with our tusks and practice of wearin’ our hair in dreads.

I glanced back down at the dragons again, and felt a smile again crossin’ my face. It took a lot of effort to turn my attention back to what it needed to focus on. As it is, I wouldn’t get home until well after dark. Hikin’ across Black Lake’s watershed at night is not pleasant. A good way to end up at the bottom of a deep ravine wrong side up.

Signs farther down the boardwalk indicated establishments more in line with what I need, but I was driven to stop at the one nearest the Inn. The Hamlet’s original store, and I know those inside as talkative folk. I could trust them to give me good direction for the things Delia would need. I wasn’t that practiced or confident in my barterin’ skills. But by experience know they won’t take advantage of me.

A high-pitched screech accosted me as I opened the door.

“I don’t want to hear no more such talk.”

The creature pointed a long, bony hand with a finger extended toward a nearly white-haired troll hunkered down on a human-sized chair much too small for her, knees juttin’ into the air. The troll held an unlit pipe between yellowed teeth. The smile nonetheless brightened her face. She casually removed the pipe with a long hand that looked far out of proportion with her body. But then she’s sittin’. Maybe it would have looked more fittin’ if she was standin’.

“I’m just sayin’,” the troll hen said. “Hortense continues to help her with her stride. No reason someone couldn’t help her with her lisp, if she can be helped.”

“A witch!” the orc snapped. “I’ve never heard such a thing. Well it isn’t for ya or me to decide, is it? Welcome, friend,” she continued, her tone unchanged. “How can we help ya?”

I opened my mouth, but words failed to form. The word witch kept repeatin’ in my head. Was the discussion between the two hens a desirable thing, or negative? Was it something I could leverage? Was there good to be done?

“I won’t bite,” the orc female said. Her lips curled up a fraction, showin’ a hint of her needle-sharp teeth.

“I remember ya,” the troll hen said. “Morgan. Right? Ya stomped into the Inn for a hot tea last season. We had a surprise freeze that caught us all off guard. Ya were hikin’ back from up north, if I correctly recollect.”

I smiled. “Ya have a good memory.”

The orc cackled. “Yar kind have been accused of havin’ too good a memory.”

“Hush, ya old hag.” The troll waved her pipe-gripped hand at her friend.

A laugh came from the far, front-corner of the shop. A bull orc I hadn’t noticed sat perched on a stool, usin’ a knife of some sort, carvin’ on a huge chunk of driftwood. He didn’t turn to face us. His eyes stayed down, but he wore a grin displayin’ those pointed teeth.

“Ya’re the one who brought me that beautiful opal,” the orc bull said. “Treat him well, Mama. A Northerner paid us well for that stone.”

“After ya set it in gold,” she called back.

“Ya mentioned a witch,” I interrupted them. “Did a witch put a spell on someone?” Didn’t know how else to start the conversation. Maybe mentionin’ a negative, not the best first step.

“Heavens no.” The troll waved the pipe again. “A local child was afflicted with a flux that paralyzed her. She’s recovered for the most part. We were just—”

“Ya were, not me,” the orc interrupted. “I won’t sit still for such silly talk.”

“Just talkin’ about the possibility,” the troll continued, “of getting her help beyond what the doctor has been able to do. Ya know a witch here abouts? Of course ya don’t. Don’t listen to this old hen. I ramble on too much. What’s brought ya out of yar forest?”

I hugged my staff against my shoulder and pressed my cheek against the smooth, cool surface of the oiled wood. “Paralyzed her? What a shame. Bet her folk were ’plexed a might.”

“This whole community was. Dear Gladdie is the sweetest thing ya will ever meet. First human child born in the Hamlet.”

“I’ve never heard of a ghoul that paralyzes its prey,” Morgan mumbled.

“We thought she was gonna die. Had a horrible fever, she did. There are those who believe only the constant keenin’ of our dragons brought her back.”

I looked to my left, as though I could see through the wall, the two giant behemoths sleepin’ on the lake gravel outside. Their kind have close ties to the ethereal it’s said. If they indeed helped the child, perhaps—

“So, ya find any more special gems?”

The orc hen’s question pulled my mind back to my more pressin’ need. “No, afraid not. I do have nuggets to trade, though. And I’ve brought medicinal herbs.”

The troll’s face lengthened with arched brows and her smile broadened. “I’ll fetch Gladys. She’ll surely be interested.”

The ancient troll struggled to rise from the low chair. After several grunts she was at the door and disappeared with more energy than I expected. The tiny orc was at my hip, reachin’ up and rudely peelin’ my heavy bag off my shoulder without a word. Her black eyes were slits of intensity.

“I, I—”

The crocks clanked together as the orc set the bag heavily on the floor. I almost laughed as the hen opened the bag, face dippin’ inside before reachin’ in and liftin’ out my home-fired, clay jars, sniffin’ the lid of each as she aligned them on the counter. The limited space began to fill and the hen stopped and opened one of the crocks.

“Dried well. Pre-crushed. Won’t last as long. But convenient for the busy apothecary. Clean. No stems. Good work. But need to be in appropriate containers since they’re already prepared. The clay won’t do.”

She apparently mumbled to herself, but I didn’t disagree with her. She sat on the floor cross-legged and pulled the remainin’ crocks out, settin’ ’em on the floor beside her after inspectin’ each. She obviously knew her remedies well, as her expression changed as she identified the more valuable, hard to find herbs.

The door opened and a human woman entered. I couldn’t help comparin’ her features to Delia’s. The same light-colored eyes, soft-lookin’ skin, but etched in wrinkles that showed years of grimaces and smiles about the eyes and mouth. Her hair was gray, weaved together trailin’ down her back. She was a head and a half taller than Delia, but nearly as fragile lookin’.

“Good to see ya again, Morgan,” she said.

Do they all know my name? “Hello, ma’am. How are ya today?”

She extended her hand. I took it nervously, afraid to hurt her, but she gave me a strong clench I didn’t expect. She welcomed me graciously, and chatted about inconsequential things for too long, until the orc interrupted harshly, drawin’ her attention to her spoils.

The two hens huddled, their excited words flowin’ in a torrent I couldn’t keep up with. I’m a hermit, unused to conversation, after all. The two females askin’ questions at the same time felt like a dozen angry jays battlin’ for the right to claim the same limb.

I flinched as a hand settled on my shoulder. I hadn’t heard the door open, much less sensed the presence of the enormous ogre standin’ next to me.

“Give the bull a breath of air, ya mouthy hens,” the newcomer said. The thinnest grin creased his face.

The orc hefted my bag of gold nuggets she earlier left discarded on the floor and threw it at the barrel-chested ogre, strikin’ him square on. It couldn’t have felt good, considerin’ the vigor the hen chucked it. Instead of growlin’ as I expected, the bull let out a hearty laugh as he caught the leather tote bouncin’ off his chest. His whole body vibrated. He dropped his hand off my shoulder and took two broad steps to lean against the near counter, where he set my gold.

“Ya come up from the south?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Ya come across the path of anyone out of the ordinary?”

I thought about the creature who carried away my staff, only to discard it. I nodded again.

The other ogre’s brows arched. “When yar business is concluded here, would ya be willin’ to show me where?”

“I would. But the trail was at least a half-day old this mornin’.”

“Taiz’lin and I can cover a lot of ground,” the big ogre said.

I couldn’t keep from lookin’ toward the Lake again, where the two dragons slumbered. Was he one of their riders?

“Ya wouldn’t be too timid to sit a dragon’s back, would ya?” An invisible smile, all in the eyes, covered the ogre’s face. His chin inclined against his muscled chest as though darin’ me.

“I— I expect I’ll be carryin’ too much back to—”

The two orcs cackled. The ogre’s smile revealed itself in earnest.

“If ya can carry it, Taiz’lin won’t be bothered by it,” he said.

My face burned and I concentrated on changin’ the subject. “Who’s it ya’re lookin’ for?”

“My friend Maertin got us word this morn’ that a lawless band of goblins crossed his clan’s domain the last fortnight. He followed their trail into the southern mountains.”

“Goblins, goblins, goblins,” the tiny orc interrupted. “That all ya’re gonna talk about, Ike? Talk to him later. We have important business to transact here. Run along, ya little runt.”

I took a hasty step back, expectin’ the ogre to take offense. I didn’t want to be in the way if the two went at it. But a smile freely curled around the young ogre’s tusks. He winked at me. Musta picked that up from humans. Not something ogres do, much.

“Tis fair.” He reached out his hand. As we shook, he said, “Come see me when yar business with this ancient hag is complete. We’ll save ya a few steps on yar trek home.”

He turned and walked out of the shop, ignorin’ the orc’s growl. Through the open door, I could see the troll hen standin’ at the boardwalk railin’, lookin’ out over the Lake. Ike, the orc had called him, spoke softly to the troll as he closed the door. My staff resonated in my hand. Its independent stirrin’ usually warns of danger, but there was something different this time. There was a comfort in the message. The staff embraced the aura of the two outside, as though tellin’ me I could trust them. There was a special—kinship. That’s what it was. Kinship between the ogre and troll.

~

Chapter Six

~

The old human woman’s green eyes were on me when I turned back. “Yar collection here is most impressive. More than I could use in years, but what I can’t use personally, I’m sure I can find buyers for.”

“I want all of this.” The orc’s voice was gratin’, threatenin’, but I assumed it wasn’t intended to be. Just her kind’s way. Never had more than a glance at an orc before.

By the marks on the crocks, I could see she’d selected all the soothing, calmin’ herbs, most of which are very aromatic. Why was she interested in those particular spices, only?

The human’s smile flashed. Her light-colored eyes drew me into her. “Are ya lookin’ for currency, or to barter?”

“I— I—” My face warmed. “A neighbor’s place burned to the ground a few days ago, in the middle of the night. She lost everything. Doesn’t have as much as a smock to wear. She needs—everything.”

The woman’s eyes shot to the bandages wrappin’ my hands, and she stepped forward. “Let me see them,” she demanded. “Was she injured as well?”

I pulled my free hand behind my back, maybe without thinkin’, but her grimace, narrowed eyes, forced me to let it fall back to my side. My mama could smack me with the same glance.

“Janding,” she called over her shoulder. “Would ya please spread the word through the Hamlet that a neighbor is in need? We need clothing for an ogre hen—”

“Human. She’s human,” I blurted. “A tiny thing, a head shorter than ya, with much less meat on her.”

The woman smiled, drawin’ even more blood to my face. I wished to turn and run to Ike, to be around another bull. Hens are scary things. Especially human ones, despite their daintiness.

“Less meat,” she said, cockin’ her head. “I’m not what ya’d call thick in the hips.” She smiled. “We help our neighbors, too. We won’t make ya empty yar coffers.”

She held my hand in her own and unwrapped the bindin’ carefully. I hadn’t even felt her take my hand—she’s thin, and slight of hand. My eyes fixed upon hers, as though she used her own majic to control me, but my quiet staff didn’t warn of any use of the ethereal.

She turned my palm up. “Oh, my. We need to freshen the poultice, but it seems to be healin’ nicely. Follow me. Ya didn’t say if she was hurt.”

She was already walkin’ out the door left ajar by the fleein’ artist-orc—followin’ the woman’s direction to play the town crier. I bent down quickly to pick up the pouch of nuggets the orc hen had thrown at Ike, and hurried after the human.

Ike and the troll no longer stood on the boardwalk, but my eyes were drawn skyward by the sight of another dragon, a dramatic-lookin’ yellow bull, which spiraled to a landin’ near the other two. As it snuggled the others with its muzzle, the artist-orc climbed upon its back. A moment later the yellow leapt into the air. With no more than a double beat of its wings, it rose a hundred feet and glided the remainin’ distance across the black-mirror surface of the Lake.

“Beautiful sight, isn’t it?” the old woman said.

I couldn’t answer immediately as a trumpetin’ from the dragons filled the air. The golden queen layin’ on the lawn below stretched fluidly, her head flowin’ back and forth as she sang. The gray dragon warbled in harmony with her, his neck extendin’ to her, movin’ in concert with the queen’s.

Another trumpet sounded far to the left, another from the right. I pressed my hands against my ears. “How many dragons live here?” I shouted.

The woman tilted her head back and laughed. Without answerin’ she waved for me to follow her. The din quieted several moments later after four dragons, half of them ridden, launched into the sky, headin’ in different directions.

“Ya’d think they lived for this.”

“For what?” I asked.

“To serve our kind,” she answered. “What’s yar neighbor’s name?”

“Delia.”

“Ya use the same poultice on her?”

I nodded, but answered out loud when I realized the woman’s eyes followed the path of the golden queen.

“Will ya share the measure with me? It obviously kept infection at bay.”

“Happy to.”

She chatted, leavin’ me required to only nod occasionally, which I was more comfortable doin’. The ominous gatherin’ on the Inn’s veranda had dissolved. In its place were several humans and an odd ogre and troll or two lined up, playin’ checkers, or conversin’ quietly. Each nodded and smiled at the human woman. That moment I recalled her name. Gladys. The Hamlet’s healer. A matriarch of the community—a title I believe she shared with the ancient troll hen that Ike looked so—amiable would be a good word—looked so amiable with.

I followed Gladys through the Inn’s lobby where she retrieved an apothecary’s case behind a low counter. She continued through a dinin’ room where Ike sat at a table leanin’ over a mug of some steamin’ brew. The gangly goblin the crowd swarmed around earlier sat across from the young Hamlet leader. My staff tingled in my hand, but the sensation rang similar to what I felt for Ike and the troll hen.

Gladys disappeared through a set of heavy double-doors and I hurried to catch up. I found myself in the Inn’s kitchen. It was hot, though windows and doors at the far end of the long room set wide open. A half-dozen humans rushed about, and almost as many ogre and troll hens.

Gladys used a kettle on one of the six stove tops to fill a large basin, which she carried to a table in front of the pair of windows. She pointed for me to sit. “Unwrap the other hand. When the water cools enough to stand it, soak them both.”

“They’ll blister,” I complained, but sat, awkwardly slidin’ my staff between me and the table, leanin’ it against my shoulder.

She eyed me strangely, as though squintin’ into the sun. “The salt I’ll use will pull it away.”

I grimaced, but sat patiently, willin’ to learn. The human prepared a fresh poultice, startin’ with contents she was familiar. She worked her face as though she guessed at the additional items my concoction contained, and queried me when her imagination waned. She argued over the benefit of a couple, but was convinced by my answers.

“It’s odd we didn’t hear of the fire,” she said. “Word travels fast through our little community. Odder I’ve never heard of this Delia. Good friends, are ya?”

“Not really. She prefers her own company. I had never spoken to her before—” I froze.

“Before ya took her to yar cabin?”

I nodded.

“No one here will worry she’s stayin’ with ya—if ya’re concerned about that. If she’s lost her home, where else would she go?”

I swallowed hard. Thought of some way to change the topic. I reached out and dunked my fingers into the basin before thinkin’ how hot it would be. Jerked them back, before tentatively testin’ the temperature again. It wasn’t that hot, I decided. Slowly eased my hands in, but had to take them out within seconds. The water stung the burns like a hot andiron.

“Have yar nearby neighbors planned a cabin raisin’ yet?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Can’t say we have neighbors. We’re quite a ways into the hills.”

I glared at the basin, comparin’ it in my mind to an evil stinkin’ spirit. Had no intention of placin’ my hands back into that hot water. Re-burnin’ my hands made no sense.

“It’s just to get yar hands as clean as we can get them,” she said, handin’ me a bar of soap.”

I took in a slow breath and let it out slower.

She chatted as she dribbled hot water onto the dry contents meant for the poultice. She set the bowl on the warmin’ tier of a nearby stove and slowly stirred the mixture. “Ya be sure to tell Delia that if she doesn’t get her new cabin finished by first freeze, she’s welcome to stay here with me and Bick until the thaw.”

Bick. Must be her mate. She shared an uncommonly generous offer. Too generous perhaps, if she knew Delia is a witch. My mind split between the idea of Delia bein’ out of my life again, and the reaction those in the Hamlet would have to learn she was connected to the ethereal—how they would react to my own use of the ethereal.

“Something troubles ya,” she said.

My cheek twitched. Could Gladys read minds?

“It’s fine,” she said, pattin’ my forearm. “Ya keep yar own council. When ya get to know me, ya’ll learn anything ya tell me will stay between us.” She handed me a towel to dry my hands. A moment later a slight grin crimped her cheeks, as though she had another thought.

I studied her face as she carefully wiped my hands. The sincerity, truth of her words echoed in my mind. She scooped half of the contents of her bowl into one of my palms and spread it over my burns with the backside of the spoon. I considered remarkin’ how I use oil to keep my poultice moist, but dismissed the thought.

She wrapped my hand with a long clean bandage strip and treated the other. “Ya relax here a bit. I’ll be back. I have a few things I think Delia would like.”

The woman walked out the near door. She followed a well-tread trail that crossed the grassy clearin’ between the Inn and the imposing granite estate lungin’ from the tree line.

Good people. Subtle in their nosiness.

~

Chapter Seven

~

I used a fraction of the gold offered for my remedies for dry goods I couldn’t scrape from nature—flour, beans, oil, salt, sugar, and ground corn, along with enough canned goods to hold me for two seasons. But, I looked forward to spoilin’ Delia most. Perhaps that way she wouldn’t be in a hurry to be back on her own.

My new friend helped me pick out certain items it wasn’t proper for a bull to ask for, or pick out for a hen, female—frilly things and such I didn’t know the names of. I thanked Gladys and allowed her to slide the articles into a tow sack for me. All the while I grasped my staff for emotional support, wishin’ the heat would dissipate from my face. Doubted my mama ever wore some of the things Miss Gladys hid in the bag.

I did manage to select a few less-personal things I thought Delia could use, includin’ a quarter bolt of a soft cotton material that looked as though it stole its color from the sky, and a fully stocked sewin’ basket containin’ what must have been a million doodads I hadn’t a clue what they served.

My stomach panged as I paid for an item I thought might be overly presumptuous to give Delia—a leather-bound collection of poems the artist’s ogre friend helped me pick out. The young bull turned out to be one of Ike’s elder bull siblings, which I struggled to believe. They hardly looked to be of the same clan, much less the same blood, Ike lookin’ all brawn, his older sibling—much less so.

When I walked down the lawn to meet Ike, I couldn’t believe the pile of bags sittin’ about waitin’ for me. The kind folk who make up the Hamlet, the community of Black Lake, had been more than generous to a human woman they had never met. I held my staff tightly against my chest. Swallowed hard, not believin’ what lay before me, bag after bag of gifts for a woman left homeless.

“Don’t worry,” a human man said. “It won’t weigh Taiz’lin down much. Ya’ll be as safe as can be.”

I flinched. Hadn’t even noticed the man leanin’ against the golden dragon, half-hidden by one folded wing. The human stepped forward and extended a delicate-lookin’, though strong hand, one well-known to an axe handle and plow. His long, yellow hair billowed down his crown. Blue eyes pierced the distance between. A handful of freckles danced across his cheeks. Across his shoulder he held a beautiful bow similar to the one Ike carries.

“My name’s Lucas,” he said. “I ride Iza.” He lovin’ly patted the golden dragon’s shoulder.

The dragon lazily arched a long neck around so she could take me in with a faceted eye half-covered with an inner eyelid. She turned away, as though disinterested in one more ogre visitor.

I caught the glint of a joke in ogre-Ike’s expression, but he didn’t say anything, though I gave him the chin nudge to encourage him.

“And this is Taiz’lin,” Ike said.

The gray dragon the ogre motioned to blinked two enormous eyes, before makin’ a snufflin’ sound as though he got a scent he didn’t like. The creature had to be much older than the queen. His chin whiskers full of silver, and hide containin’ a plethora of old scars. He lifted an upper lip that must have attempted a human-styled smile, but the exposed teeth, many of which were two hands long and yellowed, didn’t portray a friendly disposition.

“Glad to make yar acquaintance,” the gray said.

“Likewise.”

The dragon’s face neared and moved side to side, nostrils flared.

“Don’t be rude,” Ike said without lookin’ up from his task, tyin’ together the well-filled tow sacks.

The dragon snuffled once more and turned away.

“I won’t be able to land near yar stake,” Lucas said, “the way ya described it to Ike. I’m just goin’ along for the ride to keep him out of trouble.”

“More likely to nudge me into it,” Ike mumbled.

“What’d ya say?” Lucas asked.

“Said, yar very good at keepin’ me out of trouble.”

“Someone has to do it,” Lucas said.

The human smiled broadly. He no doubt heard his friend the first time. He leaned back against the queen as though he enjoyed watchin’ the ogre work. He offered a suggestion on what kind of knot his friend should use. The young ogre’s chest vibrated with irritation in that manner I think’s unique to us ogres.

“Ya wouldn’t want to lose any of this valuable load,” Lucas said. His lips pressed together hidin’ a grin, not very well.

Ike changed the knot he was beginnin’ to tie, no doubt from the style Lucas suggested. He mumbled under his breath.

“Pull it nice and tight.”

“Doncha ya have a doily to perl or something?” Ike snarled. “A babe to suckle, a diaper to change?”

“We’ll have several more hours of sun,” Lucas said. “Despite this delay.”

The gray dragon leaned forward and extended a limb. The tinge of energy through my staff indicated the use of majic nearby. I realized the rider communicated mentally with his dragon friend—not sure how I did. Stared at the younger ogre for a moment, as though watchin’ the thoughts travel between him and the dragon.

Ike settled between two deep ridges on Taiz’lin’s back and reached a hand down. Eye contact clued me he waited for me. I hurried forward and stepped up on the dragon’s proffered forelimb to take the bull’s hand.

Actually gonna ride a dragon.

I felt every bite of the excellent food I had in the Inn’s dinin’ room minutes earlier. I nestled behind Ike. A quiver danced across my backside as the dragon adjusted to his two riders. Ike pulled the attached sacks up around us. With a final jerk from Ike to ensure they were secure, the dragon launched without a bit of warnin’.

I almost dropped my staff as I reached around the ogre in front of me. I felt the air escapin’ from my lungs and realized it drove the screamin’ sound floodin’ my mind. I sucked in a quick breath, which immediately re-fed a new scream. Taiz’lin’s wings lifted, blockin’ out the sun, and I felt the sensation of fallin’, before the wings thrust down. They folded together, moved forward again, causin’ a repeat performance of the fallin’ sensation in my stomach, and I maybe repeated my screamin’.

Oh, I wished I’d used the outhouse before we left, as alternatin’ terror and ecstasy rippled across my chest.

“Don’t worry.” The words entered my mind subtly. “Everyone screams their first time.”

I assumed the thought was my own—at first. Worked to take in a slow breath, realizin’ the dragon spoke to me. Had spoken to me, directly—mind to mind. A dragon. In ten minutes my cheeks cramped from the grin they were locked in.

By the time it occurred to me the view below might be something special, the Lake was already out of view. I wasn’t about to twist around and try to look behind us. I watched forward, around Ike’s shoulder, between Taiz’lin’s broad neck and wings. The forest and hills below looked like a painted canvas representin’ an artist’s whimsical concept of the world. But I didn’t have to pinch myself. Morgan, the Black Lake warlock, sat atop a dragon, watchin’ the forest slip past, far below.

Between lifted wings, I craned my neck to see the outline of the enormous golden dragon to our left and a little behind. Barely the tips of her wings dipped, though the much smaller bull maintained a rhythmic and full extension of his wings to propel us forward.

“Don’t worry,” the dragon’s thoughts reentered my mind. “Ya and yar things aren’t placin’ me under any kind of stress. I could do this for days.”

“How are ya doin’ back there?” Ike asked.

“It’s beautiful, though a bit cold.”

The young ogre laughed. “I guess I forgot to warn ya about that.”

He asked if I recognized my landmarks. The thought struck my chest with a jolt. I hadn’t paid the least attention, forgettin’ the task we were off on. I searched the ground below.

“I have to hike due east for two hours once I get sight of the Lake, three hours to get there,” I explained again.

I watched the terrain below, feelin’ befuddled. It all looked alike, one tree-covered valley like another, one ridge like the last. My stomach lurched as Taiz’lin dove. I cut a scream short, realizin’ the dragon maneuvered so the view made more sense.

They’re not very good at warnin’ a soul.

Taiz’lin dipped his wings and veered westerly. I gripped my staff tighter, diggin’ my nails into the dragon rider’s vest with my other fist. In less than a ten-count we dropped, now flyin’ no more than thirty feet above the tops of the trees, though it helped me little to collect my bearin’s. The movement streamin’ past made me sick to my stomach. A wisp of smoke explained the dragon’s change of direction.

“Could that be yar cabin?” Ike asked, pointin’.

I leaned forward, studyin’ the lay of the land. It was useless. What I saw every day below the canopy looked nothing like the continuous contour of dark green.

“Pay attention to the peaks, the landmarks ya use when ya top a ridge.”

I looked off in the distance. The older, worn crags that made up the spine of the peaks overlookin’ Black Lake were too near.

“Farther south,” I said.

Taiz’lin overflew smoke. The dragon dipped his head to investigate, changin’ the dynamics of the wind curvin’ over us. The rush of air and noise was disconcertin’ for a moment. I overheard the dragon tell his rider it was a clan huntin’ party dryin’ venison. The aroma fillin’ the air didn’t have to be explained to either of us ogres. Smell is a sense our kind is well blessed with.

I smiled as the dragon arced smoothly toward the south. I was happy the movement didn’t further kick up the nausea. I studied the ridges to the west and south, and directed Ike to edge easterly. Two minutes later I was certain we were on the correct latitude. I leaned closer to Ike.

“If Delia has stoked the fire, ya would see its smoke about here.”

As I spoke the words, we overflew the tiniest clearin’ with a hint of smoke on the air.

“That has to be my cabin,” I shouted, excitement jumpin’ into my staff and makin’ it shimmer. “Delia’s place is due west, where I crossed the things path.”

Taiz’lin turned more abruptly than I imagined possible, and the sense of fallin’ ripped through me. I screamed, and reached out and pulled Ike toward me, nearly draggin’ him over the ridge he nestled in.

“Calm down,” Ike screamed back at me. “Ya’re secure. Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

The sensations argued otherwise. I scrambled to get control over my staff again. Energy poured from it, through my body, calmin’ me. I leaned forward closin’ my eyes. If I worked really hard to imagine it, I could have believed I was just sittin’ on a hill, facin’ a pleasant breeze, not racin’ above the forest. But that’s exactly what I was doin’. It wasn’t natural. No ogre should sail hundreds of feet above the forest.

“If ya can judge an hour hike,” I said to Ike, “ya’ll be flyin’ over the debris of Delia’s shack. The clearin’ is even smaller than the one around my place.”

A few minutes later Taiz’lin turned and re-searched an area we had already flown over. We crisscrossed a number of times.

“I was afraid the woods would be too thick to find anything from the air,” Ike said. “And Lucas won’t be able to land anywhere near. He’ll have quite the hike just meetin’ up with me.”

I didn’t miss the sound of a smile on the young ogre’s turned face. Ike looked up at the western sky.

“A couple of hours of light yet,” Ike said. “Depends on how close Iza can land, though. Ya mind puttin’ up with Lucas and me for the night?”

Ike and Lucas were gonna hike out, just the two of them, after who knew how many goblins? That’s insane.

~

Chapter Eight

~

I slipped down the dragon’s shoulder and fell to the ground, goin’ to one knee. I swallowed hard and took shallow breaths tryin’ to keep from losin’ my stomach. Again Ike failed to communicate something I woulda liked to know.

The spinnin’, back-thrustin’, gut-bustin’ maneuver the gray dragon performed at the tree level left my heart hangin’ on a branch somewhere up there. I looked up as though I might see it danglin’, bein’ attacked by hungry black birds. When most of the nausea passed, I grabbed my staff off the ground and held it, ready to plow it into the dragon rider’s head. Only the young bull’s smile kept me from doin’ it.

“That was a blood pumper, wasn’t it?” Ike’s head bobbed like he was an ogreling talkin’ about a bet over a marble game. “Not a lot of space between those ancient limbs.”

“Ya’re dangerous,” I muttered after I mostly controlled myself. I stabbed the butt end of my staff into the Earth. “Do something like that again and I’ll turn yar tusks green.” I drew from the ethereal, inclined the staff toward the ogre, and a jet of electricity rushed from my fist into Ike’s belly.

“Owwww!” After a five-count he shouted, “How’d ya do that?”

The words met my back. I’d already turned for my cabin. Delia stood on the porch lookin’ at me. Her mouth hung open, white showed completely around the dark centers of her eyes.

“You certainly know how to make a dramatic entrance,” she mumbled, pullin’ the fur higher around her shoulders. She glared past me at Ike and Taiz’lin. “Didn’t suspect you’d interrupt the privacy here with others.”

I stopped. Some of the anger rushed out of me as I considered for the first time that the woman might not appreciate the presence of others. I thought of the stones from her sling I barely managed to dodge, the first time I came too near.

“I’m sorry,” I said in a near whisper. “But I was eager to get back with food. And they’ve been so generous to supply ya with everything ya need to get back on yar feet.”

Before I could continue to explain that a dangerous band of goblins might be slinkin’ about the forest nearby, it was my turn to talk to someone’s back. She limped into the cabin and closed the door, hard. My staff hummed with the intensity of my terror, that I may have harmed the fragile trust the woman had begun developin’ for me.

I swallowed. The clinkin’ of packages bein’ lowered from the dragon forced me to put my concerns off for the time bein’. I stepped forward, leaned my staff against the porch rail, and rejoined Ike.

“Ya didn’t say the human hen was such a beautiful creature,” Ike said.

The statement struck me oddly. Was she beautiful? I didn’t even know. I’ve spent most of my life in the forest. Had little to compare to. But I did recognize I didn’t have to struggle to gaze upon her.

“Are ya all right?” Ike asked. “Did ya hit yar head or something when we threaded the needle of yar little clearin’?”

I heard Taiz’lin speak to his rider—silently. “His expression reminds me of how I felt the first time my eyes settled upon Iza.”

“Oh my,” Ike said. He whirled around to make himself busy with the tow sacks full of friendly-plunder.

“What’s he mean?” I asked, bendin’ over to help free packages from the single rope bindin’ them together. Ike peered at me for a moment before he looked away again.

“Ya can hear Taiz’lin? Besides me, only one other soul hears him.” Ike cleared his throat. There was no sarcastic gleam in his eye as there usually is. “Don’t listen to him. Dragons aren’t particularly bright. Most of what they say is nonsense to begin with.”

Taiz’lin snorted loudly. His head swung around catchin’ the ogre hard in his backside, sendin’ him flyin’ into the air. I considered the hard, rough, knobby ridges that run across the top of the dragon’s snout. The strike had to hurt. Ike’s holler of pain didn’t dispute my assumption.

“Ya scarred up has-been,” Ike muttered.

“I wouldn’t make it worse if I were ya,” I whispered. My words were cut off by Taiz’lin’s trumpet.

“With that attitude, ogre,” Taiz’lin said, “ya can walk home. Bring a more compromisin’ mood with ya or ya might not be sleepin’ in my lair for some time.”

The creature hurtled into the air, forcin’ the two of us to leap out of the way of its claw-spiked wings.

“Oh, go act the spoiled baby,” Ike bellowed at the sky.

“Ya need to remember who yar superior is,” shot into my forehead like a knife, makin’ me double over with pain.

“Ahhh. That was uncalled for,” Ike said. His grimace showed the pain that slowly faded from my own head. Ike stood lookin’ at the tiny patch of blue above us. “I can’t believe he did that. He’s threatened to kill me more times than I can count. It just takes a more bitin’ insult to make him laugh.”

“Maybe it was because ya belittled the emotion he holds for Iza,” I said.

Ike’s expression hinted he didn’t really want to hear anyone else’s bit of wisdom. He bent over and picked up his ornate bow and inspected it for damage. He wiped the dust off of it as though he cared for a temple relic. I stood watchin’ him for a moment, until Ike noticed the attention.

“What?”

“Ya aren’t really plannin’ on goin’ after a clan of goblins by yarself, are ya?”

“Of course not. I’ll have Lucas at my side.”

I snorted.

“Ya make it sound like we’re goin’ warrin’,” Ike said. “Besides, we’re only lookin’ to meet up with their scout. Have a chat. Explain how things work here abouts.”

“Oh. That sounds much more reasonable.”

Ike picked up two tow sacks and held them out to me. “Make yarself useful.”

Carryin’ several bags, Ike passed me headin’ for the cabin. “Grow a spine, ogre. Ya’re welcome to come along to protect us from the mean goblin.” He cackled.

The uncharacteristic, high-pitched laugh made me smile. I watched the young ogre walk away in his lurchin’ way, as though each forward step slid a tad. He’s nearly as tall as a troll, with shoulders nearly as wide. If Ike could use his bow as big as he spoke, he’s surely one to pay attention to. But he could probably charm most any creature into submission.

Ike tromped onto the narrow porch and pounded on the door with a knuckle. “Permission to enter, ma’am?”

His voice sounded tinny, younger, unthreatenin’. I had to smile. The ogre had assumed another personality for the benefit of a skittish human. Ike only paused for a second before openin’ the door and traipsin’ in.

“How ya do, ma’am? I’m here to extend the good wishes of the folk of Black Lake.”

I followed Ike into the cabin, not terribly surprised to see Delia sittin’ on my bunk, pressed as far into the corner as she could get. Her eyes were thin slits, unblinkin’. The young ogre bull ignored her countenance, and kept chattin’ as though she had greeted him warmly.

“I have gifts from every household,” he continued. “We hope to be able to help ya create a new home.” He pulled something from his pocket and stepped near the cot, placin’ a small object on the fur. “That’s a gift from a four-year-old friend of mine who lives on the South Shore. It’s his favorite. He’s beat me in many a game with it. He pert near broke into tears when he gave it up. I’m sure ya’ll appreciate it as much as he did.”

Delia stared at the object. Ike remained quiet for a few moments as he pulled other items from sacks and placed them on the table. Delia finally reached out and picked up the first gift. My eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the dim light in the cabin, so only guessed what it might be. She held it up to the light twistin’ it about between two fingers. Her expression softened.

“The pastry chef of the Inn sent these,” Ike said, reachin’ inside his deerskin vest. “I hope they didn’t get too mashed up, the way Morgan yanked on me like a hen.”

He unrolled a thin, linen towel onto the table to display two rolls the size of potatoes, and a large square—chocolate. I could easily distinguish the bitter smell mixin’ with the too-sweet and bready aroma of the other.

“If ya haven’t spent time around ogres, ma’am, understand we don’t have much need for sweets. But these are two of my favorite humanish things in the world. I hope ya enjoy them.”

Ike continued to talk, unpackin’ without lookin’ directly at Delia. Amazed me how expertly the young ogre recognized and dealt with the woman’s sense of discomfort. He explained who sent each of the items he withdrew, told little stories about the previous owners. I moved away and squatted against the front wall, allowin’ Ike to continue in his own way. Delia’s eyes followed his every move, but they shifted from distrust to interest.

Ike walked to the door to retrieve the two sacks I brought in, and Delia rose quickly from the cot and took one of the pastries, returnin’ to her place in the corner. A moment later she uttered her first sound since we arrived, groanin’ with pleasure over the cream puff.

“It has custard inside,” she said softly, dreamily.

She made lickin’ noises. Ike turned to me, a mischievous grin on his face. “Too bad ya won’t get a chance to taste one. They’re both for her.”

My chest tightened as I sensed the woman’s aura change. I struggled to take slow breaths. My staff glimmered, and Ike jerked to watch the emanation. But the young ogre didn’t speak of it. He continued to talk to Delia as he removed more gifts.

Five sacks emptied, Ike left the cabin to retrieve more. While he was gone, Delia rose and retrieved the intricately embroidered skirt the orc hen had sent, with its similarly-trimmed, eyelet-sleeved white blouse. She exited the back door, still lickin’ the remnants of the pastry from her lips.

Ike re-entered with a dozen tow sacks clutched against his chest between two muscled arms. “Where’d she go?” he whispered.

“She’s out back puttin’ on the clothes, I think her name’s Pazeta, sent.”

I barely heard him whisper, “She’s a timid thing. Must have gone through a horrible ordeal.”

My chest tightened more.

~

Chapter Nine

~

Night had blackened the cabin two hours earlier. We would have normally been asleep, but Delia and I remained awake to keep Ike company. He clearly worried about Lucas trudgin’ through the forest in the dark. Ike repeated once too often, considerin’ Delia’s glare, that, “Humans are such delicate creatures.”

We kept the fire goin’ strong so Lucas could use it to locate us. But I expected Ike knew better. Trees tend to spread the smell of fire so well even the snout of an ogre would be hard-pressed to take advantage of it for direction in these steep hills. Nothing but the eyes of a troll managed well at night in the forest, considerin’ two-legged creatures. That early mornin’ a week or so ago, it had been amazin’ I found Delia’s cabin. Maybe my staff directed me somehow. Not outside belief.

Lyin’ on a fur in front of the fire, Delia divided her time examinin’ the detail of her new skirt and peerin’ through the glass of Jacob’s favorite marble. Ike and I sat at the table quietly, grippin’ mugs that hadn’t held tea for an hour. We spoke about the weather, the weevils that are attackin’ the black oak, the number of traders that flow from the north these days, and the local fishin’. Not that I had much to say about that last topic. Seemed, neither did Ike.

I raised each new topic to be sociable, though I sensed the younger ogre needed little entertainin’. He’s a loner at heart, it’s clear—to me. He could glare into the dark without blinkin’, his mind a dozen miles away. So the conversation had lapsed by the time we finally heard Lucas’ hail, warnin’ those inside a soul approached uninvited.

“Finally we can go to sleep without bein’ disturbed,” Ike mumbled.

I smiled at the dry humor the ogre used to hide his relief. Delia moved away from the fire, into the dark corner by the bunk before I opened the front door. The blond-haired human stomped his boots raisin’ an awful racket—maybe it’s a human thing to warn bears to stay away. I watched the man scrape the bottoms of his boots against the edge of the porch.

They should try leavin’ their feet bare as the gods intended. Ike’s right. They are fragile creatures.

“Was afraid I might never find this place,” the newcomer called louder than necessary. “I’ve been hikin’ about in circles, capturin’ the distance fairly well, but the direction unraveled once the sun went down.”

I welcomed him and motioned him in.

“Ahhh. Nice and warm in here. Good to get near a fire.”

“Ya’re gonna be fun campin’ with,” Ike mumbled.

“After the conversation Iza shared with me, I would think you’d be warier about the words ya use.” Lucas chuckled, hammerin’ his friend on the shoulder as he passed on his way to the hearth. “Taiz’lin worked hard to get Iza to promise not to bring ya back, before she pointed out the obvious.”

“And what was that?” Ike grumbled.

“That ya’d enjoy the quiet time in the forest, and the opportunity to do some explorin’.”

I heard more than I saw Ike’s smile. I sensed an inside story. Lucas leaned toward the fire for a few moments, hands out, chasin’ away the chill. Yep. They’re pretty wimpy.

“I thought ya had a human woman stayin’ with ya, Morgan. Was that a sad story just to get the whole Hamlet to empty their pockets?”

“He’s no liar,” Delia snapped, steppin’ out of the shadows.

Lucas jerked before turnin’ toward her. He wore a generous smile, which faded when the fire’s glow lit Delia’s face. The man froze, his mouth open a tad.

“You haven’t been under this roof one minute,” Delia said, “and you’ve insulted two good souls. If that’s your natural way, you will never be welcome under my roof.”

My staff, leanin’ against the wall near the door, hummed, respondin’ to the energy of the two humans. I felt Delia’s—it wasn’t really anger. More like the challenge jays use to bluff for territory. I found the emotion emanatin’ from Lucas the more troublin’ one. Delia must indeed be an attractive human. She locked the man in place.

I recognized my jolt of jealousy for what it is. Inappropriate in too many ways to count. She’s a different race. There could never be anything between us but friendship. She’s a witch and would eventually read my emotion, which could interfere with that friendship.

Was wrong to dislike Lucas merely because he’s beguiled by her beauty. But fantasies of her fondness for me filled my mind since I watched over her durin’ her fever.

“I meant no insult, ma’am.” Lucas’ words were interrupted by pauses, as though his mind were stuck in mud. “Just jests between friends.”

“Apology accepted,” Delia said softly. “Have you eaten?”

I felt a sinkin’ sensation in my chest. The man’s looks entertained her as much as hers moved him.

“I’ve gnawed on jerked venison all day,” Lucas said. “But I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea.”

Delia wiped out two mugs and measured leaves from the tin. She poured hot water and carried the cups to the table. There were only two chairs, so Ike stood, wandered over and uncurled his fur, settled onto the threshes we had set out earlier.

I struggled with bein’ excluded, a castoff, as Lucas and Delia sat across from each other. I shifted my weight a couple times, wonderin’ how to be part of the party of two, before realizin’ the futility of it. I collected my night fur and joined Ike.

Sleep wouldn’t come easily, considerin’ the way my mind spun. Though the two at the table rarely spoke, each soft sentence pricked at my mind. She parried most of the questions Lucas presented her with, just as she had mine. I had learned more unintentionally through her open thoughts than she yet shared. But Lucas held her attention, her eye. It isn’t fair.

I found her first.

I befriended her first.

What if Lucas is killed in the followin’ days, chasin’ goblins? Would she hold me responsible, for allowin’ Lucas and Ike to traipse off alone? If I went with them, would that impress her?

Foolish thoughts.

I turned and pulled the edge of my fur off my shoulder. Delia requires a warmer cabin than I’m used to. So much change. I’d sleep on the floor until she had her own cabin, or followed Lucas to live in the Hamlet. Perhaps that’s best. I’d get my cot back. Privacy. Simple life. A cabin that didn’t feel like a summer midday.

For the best. But it wouldn’t hurt to travel with Lucas and Ike in the mornin’. Three facin’ a tribe of goblins is better than two. Helpin’ to make the region safer’s a noble callin’. It made no difference how Delia would view it.

I listened to Lucas tellin’ her about his brother and sister-in-law, and the tiny niece stricken by the disease that paralyzed her. I grimaced. There went the chance for me to suggest the two of us team together and try to aid the little human girl. I’d be the uncarin’ one for not first raisin’ the idea.

I wrestled onto my side.

Makes more sense to stay here and protect Delia, if goblins are about.

But she’s lived on her own since she was a child. Would find the suggestion that she needed protectin’ an insult.

I turned onto my other side.

I’ll go. The two are good company. Even if the human is a tad too talkative. She may enjoy the quiet.

~