Read Online The Hound at the Gate by Darby Karchut - Free Book Online

He watched as Gideon next turned to Lochlan.
    â€œYour arm, eh?”
    â€œNah, it’s all good.” Lochlan grinned up at the Knight with a look of pure innocence that fooled no one.
    As Finn watched over the top of the rag, Gideon tilted his head, studying the other apprentice’s face. “You lie as well as Finn does.” His gaze moved down Lochlan’s arm, held stiffly across his lap. “Move it for me.”
    â€œIt’s fine, Gideon. Really.”
    â€œProve it.” The Knight cocked an eyebrow in disbelief when Lochlan winced as he tried to raise it above his head. Taking the injured limb between his hands, he poked and prodded. Lochlan hissed between his teeth when Gideon pressed a thumb into the apprentice’s upper arm. “I do not believe it is broken, but you most likely have some bruised muscles. It’ll be sore for a few days.”
    â€œGreat,” Lochlan grumbled. “It
would
be my throwing arm, too.”
    Gideon soaked another cloth in the jar and wrung it out. Then, pushing Lochlan’s T-shirt sleeve up higher, he wrapped the arm, tying the ends off.
    At that moment, Mac Roth strolled into camp. “Would you look at that—scarcely the first day of Festival, and we’re already dipping into ajar of potion.” He looked at his apprentice. “Did you start something with your overactive mouth?”
    â€œWhy do you think it’s always me?” Lochlan protested.
    â€œBecause, more often than not, it usually is,” the master pointed out. “What happened?”
    â€œFinn’s cousin Ennis was being a jerk.”
    As Lochlan recounted the events, Finn slumped in his chair. The morning’s events paraded through his head, making it seem like an eternity since he’d dragged himself out of bed. His warm bed in his cozy bedroom in a house that had come to feel like home.
    Weariness pulled him further down in the chair. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back.
And it’s not even lunchtime yet
. A foot nudged his. He peeled open one eye.
    Gideon stood gazing down at him. “Go rest a while.” He poked a thumb over his shoulder to the boys’ tent.
    â€œI’m not tired,” Finn protested out of adolescent habit.
    His master simply stared at him, doing that stoic I-can-outlast-a-rock thing that Finn secretly vowed
he
would never do with
his
apprentice. After a long minute, he rose. “Fine.” He headed to the tent, relieved to have an excuse.
    He pushed his pack off the cot and stretched out. With a long sigh, he folded his hands behind his head and let his body sink into the softness of the sleeping bag.
    A moment later, Lochlan slipped inside in the tent. Groaning with pleasure, he sank down on his own cot and closed his eyes. Within seconds, he was fast asleep.
    For several minutes, Finn lay listening to the sound of Lochlan’s soft breathing. Trying to follow suit, he closed his eyes. The images from the last five hours kept his brain hopping and muscles twitching. Giving up, he rolled off his cot and slipped outside.
    Mac Roth sat in front of his tent, tightening the shaft of his favorite hatchet. Flickers of sunlight flashed from its blade like signals from an old-fashioned heliograph as he turned it to and fro. He smiled as Finn walked over to join him. “Unable to sleep, eh?”
    â€œYeah. My head’s too full.” He plopped down on the ground. Fallen aspen leaves were scattered like coins from a leprechaun’s pot.
Not that leprechauns are real or anything
. Tilting his head back, he took a deep breath. The aroma of pine trees warmed by the sun, mingling with the musty hay-like scent of dying grass, filled his nose.
And the gentle fall of the bright year in the woods
, he quoted to himself.
    He grinned to himself when he recalled sharing that line with his master one evening just a week ago. Sprawled on the sofa, he had been rereading a book Savannah had pushed on him