But the closer he got to Luc’s house, the more his aggravations gave way to dread. These rolling fields had always felt unsettlingly quiet to him, but now they feltdisturbinglyquiet. There was no familiar plume of smoke rising in the distance to mark the Arcanist’s homestead. The air lay heavy and damp on his skin, the clouds above constipated with rain that would not fall. Despite the feel ofa storm lurking above, not a curl of wind disturbed the sky. Rolan had the sense of walking through a dream world, a place not quite real, where anything could happen. Probably something horrible and nightmarish.
Supper greeted him as he came around the last bend in the road. The goat nearly knocked him over, bouncing in agitated circles.
“What’s your problem, Supper?” Rolan asked, his dread tightening like a rope around his middle. It dragged him forward, step-by-step, up to Luc’s house.
The Arcanist had been at work in Rolan’s absence, partially rebuilding the burnt-down section of his house. Over the still-gaping roof and walls, he’d stretched layers of canvas and burlap.
But no work had been done for a while. There was an air of abandonment in the place that explained Supper’s anxious, needy bleating.
Luc was not home, and hadn’t been for some time.
“Where’d he go?” Rolan looked around, petting Supper’s quivering neck to try to calm the creature, only to snatch his hand away when Supper tried to take a bite out of it. “You’re hungry too, huh?”
Inside the house all was still. Nothing was out of place or broken, so Rolan’s first fear—that Luc had been attacked—was laid to rest. But a film of dust covered everything and the fireplace was cold. Wherever Luc had gone, he’d left days ago.
“Into the forest?” Rolan wondered.
Sure enough, Luc’s sword and belt were gone, with his satchel of truth salve, bandages, and other supplies. He hadn’t taken his knapsack though, which meant he hadn’t planned to be gone overnight. Why, then, did it appear as if he’d been gone fordays?
Chills of dread scurried through Rolan like spiders.
A quick check in the barn confirmed his fears. Apple was still there, munching on a bag of feed he’d torn into. The barn stank, having not been mucked for days.
Luc must have set out on a short trip, intending to be gone for a few hours.
But he never made it back.
Feeling sick, Rolan gave Apple some fresh water, mucked out the worst of the horse’s mess, fed Supper some grain, and kicked rocks that looked liked they needed kicking.
“What do I do now?” he groaned. “Hoff and his miserable friends could show up any time!”
He doubted that when they did, they would settle for simply burning down Luc’s house. They were intent on ridding themselves of the Arcanist permanently, and Rolan was the only thing standing in their way.
Rolan looked at Supper, hoping the goat might secretly be some kind of oracle who would start talking and offer words of wisdom or at the very least, some idea of which way Luc had gone.
But the goat only lipped hopefully at the cuff of Rolan’s boot.
“This isn’t good, Supper,” Rolan sighed, shaking him off. “I guess there’s only one thing to do, huh?”
He still had his cloak on. Going back into the house, he scrounged up another pair of knives to replace the ones Evaine had stolen from him. He twirled them experimentally, but they did not glow blue. Their Arcana reserves were depleted, then.
Taking one of Luc’s extra supply belts, with its useful little straps and pouches, he equipped himself with truth salve, a waterskin, aroll of string for trap making, a small hatchet, a roll of linen for bandages that he hoped he wouldn’t need to use, a flint and striker, and another much larger dagger, just because there was no one there to stop him. He added a slingshot for good measure, but passed on the training bow Luc had carved for him. He’d never gotten the hang of it and would more likely shoot his own toe off than a Cryptic’s horn. Into a small knapsack he dumped as many rations of dried jerky as he could carry.
After a moment’s hesitation, he strapped his satchel of relics onto his belt as well.
Feeling as prepared as he could be, which still felt dismally insufficient against the forest’s horrors, Rolan stood in front of the house and took a deep breath.
“Well, Supper,” he said. “Here I go. You protect the house while we’re gone. If Hoff shows up, headbutt him in the belly for me, will you? And eat his boots too, if you can stand the smell.”
“Bahhh,”Supper replied resolutely.
Giving the goat one final pat, Rolan struck out for the forest.
He had a rough idea of where to look. He knew of the cave where Luc made camp sometimes, and he figured that was as good a target as any. In truth he hoped the Arcanist would findhim. Luc had an annoying way of knowing where Rolan was and what he was up to. If there was ever a time to prove it, it was now.
Guiltily, he wondered how Evaine and Anaya were doing. He hoped they weren’t out looking for him. Maybe they were glad he was gone, given the trouble and worry he’d put them through. Anaya had been angry enough at him, he could imagine she was relieved he’d left. But he couldn’t really believe it. Deep down, he knew theycared about him, even if their methods had been on thesmotheringside.
The problem was, they cared about him but they didn’ttrusthim. Neither did Luc. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure anyone everhadtrusted him, not since Anaya had taken her apprenticeship. They all thought he was too selfish, too reckless, too stupid.
