Page 30 of Black Dog

Ram knew he could do it himself if he had to, but something made him hesitate to say no to Helm. Perhaps the idea that the kid who might be King of Ireland needed to prove that he was worthy of that to himself.

Ram drew in a deep breath. “If I call, you pick up.” Helm nodded solemnly. “If you find him, we’ll come to you.”

“Aye. Where’d you see him last?”

Storm and Ram walked Helm and Dol to the gate where Blackie broke out. Ram watched Helm’s eyes go to the dog lying in the cage, but Helm said nothing. He showed the blanket to Dol, handed it off to his father and said, “Later.”

Dol took off quickly, as he had at the farm, moving with nose to the ground.

The darkness swallowed the forms of Helm and Dol within seconds, but Storm and Ram continued to look after them.

“You made the right call,” Storm said.

“Think Elora is goin’ to agree with you?”

Storm laughed. “Not in a hundred years.”

“Aye. ‘Tis what I think as well.”

CHAPTER NINE

The first time Helm stumbled and fell over rocks, he was rethinking the notion that there was romance in being the hero. The twentieth time, he was sure he was an idiot.

Dol never stopped moving. Time and again they came to barriers that they could have climbed or jumped, but Dol followed Blackie’s path. And Helm was with Dol. No matter what.

“Blackie. Where are ye?” he said to the night. The best thing he could think of to say about the mission he’d volunteered for was that the slow, but steady jog was keeping him warm.

Right up until Dol stopped at the water’s edge of the River Foyle. It was fifty feet of rushing water and would have taken an epic effort for Blackie to swim across with his injury. Dolmen seemed to be claiming that’s what happened.

“You havegotto be kiddin’ me!” Helm said to himself, wishing that he’d let his da, thebona fidehero do his job. He thought about calling his da and changing places. A nice warm luxury vehicle instead of a cold, wet river. He entertained that thought for a few seconds. He knew his father would change places with him without saying a word. But he also knew his father would look at him like what he’d be. A quitter.

He looked down at Dolmen. They could find a bridge, but would lose the trail in doing so. “This is no’ goin’ to be fun. But if Blackie did it, we can do it.”

Helm gripped the leash tightly and started into the river. He had to clench his teeth together to keep from yelling out at the bite of the freezing water.

Elora finally called. When Ram picked up she said, “Rammel. What’s going on?”

“He’s alive, Elora. We have a lead and we’re chasin’ it down. Go on to bed. I’ll wake you when I have him.”

“Okay.”

They both knew she wouldn’t go to bed.

“You should teach workshops on partial truths,” Storm said.

“I may be teachin’ workshops on sleepin’ in the kennel.”

Storm silently agreed.

Rammel had his phone plugged into the charger and was watching Helm’s progress on the display. It was the furthest thing from a straight line. It was a zigzag course that doubled the distance.

“He’s swimmin’ across the river, Stormy.”

Storm thought Ram’s voice sounded a little raspy. If it was his child, he knew he’d feel the same way.

Blackie’s wound continually protested against going any further. His body said lie down, curl into a ball, heal yourself. But he ignored it and continued the gait that could only be called a limping jog. He skirted the edge of Lough Foyle until it curved northward away from his trajectory. So he took another drink while he could and pointed his nose toward home.

It was three in the morning when Helm and Dol reached the lough’s edge.

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