“Potion?” he asked dreamily, when she finally pulled away. “What kind of potion? Where did you get such a thing?”
“At the festival silly,” she lied through her brilliant smile.
She pushed herself up off of him, then reached down, and pulled him up into a sitting position. As she went to get the potion from her saddle bags, Gerard glanced at the men by the fire.
Three slack-jawed heads quickly turned to study the flames. Cole wasn’t at the fire, nor was the man named Flick, who was a slightly rounder and shorter version of him. Both wore black wizard robes, and had clean shaven heads, and both of them had skin as pale as milk. Greyber was at the fire with the other three men, but his huge tattoo covered back was facing Gerard. Obviously, Greyber had been close friends with Bludgeon. When news of Bludgeon’s death had reached them, the man had roared out in anguish. All during the ride, Gerard had seen his jaw muscles working, and more than once, the big Seawardsman had wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. He, unlike the other swordsmen of the group, had paid little attention to Gerard and Shaella’s open affection.
Trent, Dennly, and the other man, Gerard couldn’t recall his name, were all Valleyan outlaws who had escaped a wagon cage and turned into sell swords. Shaella had called them “glorified bandits.” Glorified lecherous bandits, Gerard thought, with the way they watched her as she went about her business.
Dennly was ogling her backside that very moment. Gerard’s blood burned at the idea of it. It wasn’t so much jealousy, as the blatant disrespect it showed. Before he could change his mind, he silently told Dennly, through his magical ring, to grab one of the pretty red coals out of the fire. Almost instantly, he felt the warm tingle of the ring’s power coursing through his veins.
“AAAUUUGGGHHH!” Dennly screamed.
For a long moment, he just stared stupidly at his blistering hand. Then, he bolted to the river and thrust it into the cool water.
“Don’t do that!” Shaella whispered in Gerard’s ear. She’d returned, and had been watching from behind him. It angered her, and she had to work to master the emotion, but she managed it. Disgusting as he was, Dennly’s sword was needed. He couldn’t wield it properly with a ruined hand. Still, Gerard’s gesture was a sweet one, and its intent was not lost to her. She took a breath, and masked her emotions completely.
“Why did you make him do that? How?” she asked.
She knew the answer of course, that’s why she had chosen him over the other climbers. She would have rather had the older brother, but Gerard was the one with the ring, the one that Pael had said could help her with the dragon.
He wasn’t bad to look it. He could have been a far worse specimen, she told herself. Gerard would do just fine, if she could keep his jealous reactions from maiming all of her soldiers.
Gerard was at a loss for words. He hadn’t thought she knew about his power. The ring’s power, he reminded himself, quickly. Did she know? How could she? She had just asked him why he had done what he did. He felt a slight wave of embarrassment wash over him. He had used the power on her back at the festival. Was he any better than Dennly? She saved him from his thoughts, when she kissed him.
“I…Uh…I…” He stammered, as he attempted to answer her question.
“Shhh!” She touched a finger to his lips, and then squatted down beside him. “It’s all right, my young warlock. Just drink this.”
She tipped a small clay vial to his mouth, and poured the contents in. He swallowed and smiled back at her. It hadn’t tasted bad, like he expected. His ego was swelling out of proportion as he thought about her calling him her warlock. He was so full of himself, that he didn’t realize that he was already growing sleepy.
“Greyber will stay here with you,” she told him, as she stood back up. Her tone had become commanding again.
“Cole, see to the pervert’s hand.”
Gerard felt disappointed as she seemed to forget all about him.
“Flick!” she called out. “Ready the horses. It’s time to ride for the Witch Queen.”
Gerard watched through a thickening fog of slumber as the group hurried back up river. He noticed that they looked different somehow, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. He dismissed the idea, and then took a place in the grass next to the fire across from Greyber. He started to make conversation with the big Seawardsman, but his fuddled mind, and the saddened look on Greyber’s face, kept him from it. Instead, he let the potion take hold of him, and he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep. When he opened his eyes again, Gerard found that it was nearly dark. He had slept the daylight hours away. A panicked jolt shot through him, and he jumped to his feet.