“The Rowan must be informed at once. I will sail for Finlara at first light.”
“I expected you to say that,” Glory murmured. “I have dreamed.”
Raven suppressed a twinge of impatience. Glory was his mother’s sister, the last remaining connection to the woman who’d abandoned him at birth. He loved her, but his aunt was forever prognosticating, and he had little patience for such prattle.
“That is to be expected,” he said. “You are a seer.”
“I dreamed alone. When I refused to tell the High Seer what I had seen, he took my sight. My punishment was just. I broke my vows. Worse, I refused to share my vision.”
“Glory, your precious High Seer has been selling prophecies to the highest bidder for months, including the Dark Wizard.”
Her lips paled with shock. “Are you certain of this?”
“Aye. Kabal has been approached as well. He told me as much.”
To his surprise, Glory chuckled. “’Twould seem the High Seer is not what he pretends to be. But then neither am I.” Her lips curved in a self-satisfied smile. “I would dearly love to have seen Zared’s face when I turned into a bat and flew away. He did not know that I am an adept, you see, and I fancy the discovery came as quite a shock. Zared resents those with a talent for magic. He prides himself on his intellect and understanding, and he hates those with abilities beyond his ken.”
“Zared is a dead man,” Raven said flatly. “I will pluck him from his precious tower and feed him to the crows. On that, you may depend, but why are you here? Why not go straight to the Rowan with your tidings of the Eye?”
“We must journey together. I have seen it.”
More visions. Raven stifled a sigh of irritation. Still, Glory’s resolve and courage were undeniable. She had suffered torture and unimaginable pain. Moreover, the Eska’s palace was a thousand leagues from Shadow Mount, and she had made the journey though blinded.
He stared at her ravaged face, his gut clenched with the burning need for vengeance. Glory was an elf. In taking her sight, Zared had doomed her to an eternity of darkness. Unless…
No. Everything in him recoiled at the thought. It would mean abandoning the habits of a lifetime. He had fought long and hard for acceptance in Finlara as the Rowan’s half-blood son. Finlars had no tolerance for magic, and he had taken pains to conceal his gift. Even his adopted mother was unaware of his talent, the cagey old troll.
But Glory is family. The same blood runs through your veins. Will you allow her to suffer, knowing it is within your power to help? And Finlara is a world away. No one need know.
“You are troubled.” Glory cupped his cheek in her hand. “I sense your disquiet.”
“You are not the only one with a secret, Aunt.”
“What do you mean? What secret have you—”
Raven bent over her and pressed the tips of his fingers upon her torn eyes.
“What are you doing?” Glory’s slim form tensed. “Raven? Raven.”
Raven concentrated, letting the healing force slowly build within him.
Glory bucked like a wild thing on the bed. “Stop! Let me go.”
“Stop fighting me,” Raven murmured. “You’re only making it worse.”
He released the energy pent inside him and poured it into Glory’s ravaged eyes. She screamed and arched in agony. Raven staggered. Pain, white hot and excruciating, swept over him. Gritting his teeth, he threw all his strength into the task, willing Glory’s mutilated tissue and nerve endings to regenerate. It had been a long time since he’d used his peculiar talent and never to restore someone’s vision. For a dreadful moment, he feared he’d lost his touch. Gradually, however, the terrible torment receded and was replaced by the tingling itch of new growth. Long moments passed, but Raven did not release Glory until the last prickling sensation had faded from his fingertips.
At last it was done, and he straightened, swaying. He felt empty, hollowed out, his limbs robbed of their customary strength.
Glory opened her eyes and stared up at him. “I can see.” Her green gaze moved around the room in wonder. “Raven . . . you healed me.”
“Move, Glory,” Raven croaked. “Now.”
She obeyed for once, thank the gods, and rolled out of his way. With a groan of relief, Raven crashed onto the mattress, downed like a mighty oak by a woodsman’s axe.
Chapter 4
Through the Portal
“Answer me, Bree.” Gertie stalked to the altar and grabbed Brefreton by the shoulders, giving him a shake. “What brings you here?”
“Ow, not so rough, Gertie. My head aches like the devil.” Brefreton groaned. “Where am I?”
“Shad Amar. A few leagues south of one of Magog’s temples.”
“What? Reba’s girdle, Glonoff catches me and I’m a dead man.”
“You, too?” Mauric looked interested. “How’d you get on the Dark Wizard’s list?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Never mind that.” Gertie poked Bree with her claw. “Out with it. What have you been up to?”
“Me? What about you? Glonoff will skin you for a rug.”
“You first,” Gertie said. “Talk.”
Bree sighed. “Reba visited me a few nights ago.”
“I’m not surprised.” Gertie rocked her hips in a lewd gesture. “Reba’s been trying to bed you for centuries.
Brefreton reddened. “Don’t be crass. It wasn’t like that. She came to warn me. The Eye has been stolen.”
“We know,” Mauric said. “Glory sent word to Gertie from Shadow Mount. We sneaked across the border to kidnap Hara.”
“You what?”
“It was a good plan.” Gertie bristled. “Nobody knows where the Eye is, but we trodyn well knew where Hara was, so we decided to grab her. I figured that way, even if Glonoff recovered the Eye, he wouldn’t be able to use it.”
“Sweet Rebe,” Brefreton swore. “What scares me most is that it makes sense . . . in an insane kind of way. Did you get the girl?”
“No.” Gertie made a face. “Magog woke up and we ran. What else did the goddess of fruits and twigs have to say?”
Brefreton ignored the dig at Reba, and that made Gertie’s ears prick. Bree adored his goddess. The old boy must be seriously rattled not to come to her defense.
“Hara has a twin,” Brefreton said. “Her name is Raine. Reba told me.”
“Nonsense,” Gertie said. “Reba has played you for a fool. What have you been smoking in that pipe of yours? If Hara had a twin, the seers would know. And you can bet my hairy snout Glonoff would have found her by now.”
“Not if she wasn’t here. The girl’s been living in a place called Earth since she was a babe.”
She rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. You went to this Urp to find her.”
“Yes.” Brefreton dropped his head in his hands. “I used Reba’s god stone to open the portals between our worlds. I found the girl, but I . . . I—”
“You what?”
“I lost Reba’s god stone.”
“Bree. You never.”
“It wasn’t my fault. She hit me.” He rubbed his nose. “It hurt.”
“Reba?”
“No, the girl. Reba doesn’t know I lost her god stone.” He swallowed. “Yet.”
“I’d love to be a fly on the wall when you have that conversation. Did you have the girl transfixed?”
“Of course I did. I’m not a gester, casting my first spell. Something went wrong. There was a noise. The next thing I knew, she was free.”
Gertie gave him a sharp look. “The girl has talent? That’s how she got away from you?”
“I don’t think so. She seems an ordinary drab to me.”
“The god stone is still on Urp?”
“I’m not sure.” He hung his head. “She knocked it out of my han
d. Next thing I know, we’re in the portal.”
Gertie tugged on her chin whiskers in thought. “It’s possible the god stone made its way back here. Still, Reba is not going to be happy.”
“I know.” Brefreton looked so miserable that Gertie felt sorry for him. “But, at least I got the girl.”
“You did?” Gertie looked around. “Where is she?”
“On the altar.” Mauric pointed. “By the way, Bree, something wispy followed you out of that hole. Thought you’d want to know.”
Brefreton jumped off the slab of stone and looked around, his expression wild. “Where?”
“I don’t know,” Mauric said. “Whatever it was, it flew away.”
“Great.” Brefreton began to pace. “What am I supposed to tell Reba? Sorry, Goddess. I lost your god stone. Oh, and a creature from the nether regions followed me home. “This is a disaster.”
Gertie listened to his whining with half an ear. Brefreton had ever been excitable. If he hadn’t been born with talent, he’d have made a fine troubadour with his handsome good looks and flair for the dramatic.
Moving closer, she nudged Hara’s “twin.” The lump moaned and rolled over, giving Gertie a good look at her face. It was a girl, all right, and she was obviously ill, all knobs and angles, her skin the unhealthy gray of the severely diseased, her long, curly hair dull and lifeless.
“Too skinny,” Mauric pronounced, joining Gertie at the altar. “She needs fattening.”
“She needs more than that. She’s ill.” Gertie glanced over her shoulder at Brefreton. “What ails the child, Bree?”
“I don’t know. She says she’s dying.”
“Tro.” Mauric jumped back like he’d been bitten.
“Calm down, boy,” Gertie said. “You can’t catch it. Finlars don’t get sick. Go somewhere else if you’re going to have the vapors.”
“Your pardon, mor. It was the shock. I’m better now. Promise.”
Gertie grunted and examined the lump on the girl’s forehead. “She’s taken a blow to the head. For shame, Bree, beating a wisp of a girl.”
“I didn’t beat her. She hit me. I told you.”
“Yes, yes, and knocked the god stone out of your hand.” Gertie gave him a hard look. “You expect me to believe this scrap of hair and bones got the better of you? And a drab at that. I’ve passed pellets bigger than this chit.”
“She’s stronger than she looks,” he protested.
The girl’s breathing was steady and deep. As Gertie watched, the faintest tinge of color spread to her cheeks.
Gertie waved at Mauric. “Watch her while I fetch my bag. She’s sure to have a headache, with Bree knocking her about.”
“Now, see here,” Bree sputtered. “I told you, I did not hit—”
Gertie held up a paw. “Spare me. I’ll make her a tisane for the pain.”
“What about me? What about my pain?” He looked sullen. “I’m pretty sure she broke my nose.”
“Wizard, heal thyself.” Striding over to Mauric’s horse, Gertie opened one of the packs and rummaged about for her medicines. “She’ll need something for her nerves, as well. I know I wouldn’t be happy if I was yanked from my home without a by-your-leave.”
“I didn’t yank anybody,” Brefreton said. “I didn’t get the chance. She knocked the god stone out of my hand, and here we are.”
Gertie paused, one paw deep in the bag. “Are you saying you would you have given her a choice?”
“As much choice as you would have given Hara.”
“That’s different. Hara’s a spoiled little bitch. This gal punched a powerful wizard in the nose. That takes spunk. I like spunk.”
“You wouldn’t like it so much if she punched you in the nose.”
“I’ve had worse. Don’t be such a baby.” Gertie rifled through the bags of herbs. “Ah, here we are. I was worried I’d left it.”
“Mor?”
“Yes, Mauric?”
“Better hurry. She’s awake.”
* * * *
Raine opened her eyes and winced. The light hurt, she was cold, and an army of little men were trying to kick their way out of her head. Little pissed-off men in steel-toed boots. What a crazy dream she’d had. Wizards coming out of magic mirrors, waving glowing stones around. So much for taking up drinking in her declining months. On top of everything else, she couldn’t hold her liquor. She had no memory of climbing the stairs and getting into bed.
She sat up with an effort and swung her legs to the floor. The mattress beneath her thighs was hard as a rock. Making a mental note to purchase a new one, she looked down and received a shock. It was a rock. And there was snow on the ground.
Another nutty dream. Had to be. She was still asleep.
“Mor?” The masculine voice was deep and pleasant. “Better hurry. She’s awake.”
Raine pushed her hair out of her face and twisted around to see who’d spoken. A handsome man crouched a few feet away on muscular thighs. He got to his feet and Raine forgot about her aching head and her cold feet. Lord a-mercy he was huge, one of the biggest men she’d seen—well over six feet tall and packed with muscles. He was a college football recruiter’s wet dream, a goal line stand by himself.
White-blond hair hung in a braid down his back. He wore tight-fitting leather breeches stuffed into a pair of knee-high boots. In spite of the chill, his powerful arms were bare. A leather vest ended in a deep vee, exposing his massive chest. A wicked-looking knife was strapped to one big calf. In one hand, he held a sword, a real, honest-to-God pig sticker.
He smiled at her, and deep dimples bracketed his firm mouth. “Good morning. My name is Mauric.”
O-ka-a-y. As hallucinations went, this one was a honey. Raine slid off the stone, her legs wobbling when she hit the ground. Quick as a flash, the blond Adonis was at her side, wrapping a strong arm around her waist. Heat poured off his big body, adding to her confusion. Hallucinations weren’t supposed to feel . . . well . . . so muscular, were they?
“Easy now,” he said. “You’ve had something of a blow. I expect your head aches.”
“As a matter of fact, it does.” Raine lifted her hand to her throbbing head and found a lump the size of a goose egg above her right temple. “Something hit me when I fell through the mirror.”
She faltered at the strange syllables. Dear God, she wasn’t speaking English.
“Ha. You heard her.” The familiar voice was triumphant. “Told you I didn’t hit her.”
Raine clutched the Adonis’s arm, and slowly turned her head. The man who’d stepped out of her library mirror was sitting on a nearby stump looking disgustingly solid, and not at all like a figment of her imagination. No, this was crazy. She would not accept it. She let her eyes go unfocused and concentrated on her feet, on the blood pulsing through her extremities, a trick Mimsie had taught her to control her anxiety when she was little and terrified of needles and doctors.
But, instead of the reassuring sensation of the worn floors in Mimsie’s old house beneath her soles, her feet burned with cold. Bracing herself for the worst, she looked down. Grass, white and crunchy with frost, pushed between her bare toes. Heart thundering, she lifted her head and gazed at her surroundings. She was in a clearing bordered by gigantic trees. A waterfall danced down a rocky slope and ended in a crystal pool. Birds chirped in the branches, as if warming up before bursting into song. Beyond the forest, vast snow-capped mountains disappeared into the clouds.
The beat of her heart quickened to match the sharp pulse in her head. This was a dream. Had to be. She was asleep in her upstairs bedroom having a humdinger of a nightmare. When she woke up, the man, the mountains, and the blond hunk would be gone.
Dear God, please let them be gone.
“Watch out, Mauric. She looks a little green.”
The speaker’s voice was a rumbling purr wi
th a hint of jackhammer thrown in. Startled, Raine whirled around and beheld a nightmarish creature absurdly dressed in a shapeless, brown robe and a pair of boots split at the toes. Wicked claws tipped the monster’s paws, which were the size of baseball mitts. The thing’s misshapen head was covered in long, red hair that had been divided into rough braids. It had more teeth than mouth, and a pair of sharp tusks protruded from its jutting lower jaw. A leather bag dangled from one paw, a dead rabbit from the other.
“Caught it yesterday and stowed it away to ripen.” The monster waved the rabbit in Raine’s direction. “Told Bree I’d fix you a potion for your headache, but it occurs to me you might rather have a bite to eat. You look as though you could use a good meal.”
Raine screamed and tried to run, but Mauric snatched her close, preventing her escape.
“Hush, now.” He clapped a callused hand over her mouth to stifle her shrieks. “You’re all right.”
Brefreton made a grab for the rabbit in the monster’s paw and missed. “Put that thing away.”
“Why?” The monster looked puzzled. “I was trying to be polite.”
“Were you planning on feeding it to her raw?” he demanded. “Light a fire and the Dark Wizard and his men will be on us like stink on a dead man.”
“Oh. I didn’t think about that. I sometimes forget that humans like their meat cooked.” The nightmare lifted a pair of massive shoulders in a shrug. “Oh, well. No sense letting it go to waste.”
The huge jaws parted and the monster bit the rabbit’s head off and chewed, crunching through bone like butter.
Raine’s stomach lurched. The clamor of the little men inside her head reached a crescendo, and the world went gray. With a sigh, she slid into the mist.
Chapter 5
Giants and Trolls
Raine swam awake to the smell of wool. Someone was doing their level best to smother her with a blanket. She flailed and clawed at her attacker, but an unyielding arm pressed her back against the stone.
“Careful,” a masculine voice warned. “You’ll swoon again.”
She opened her eyes and found Mauric gazing down at her. “You are mistaken,” she said, sitting up. “I never faint.”
A Meddle of Wizards Page 3