The giant’s cheeks and lips were ruddy with cold. “Be that enough?”
Mauric hid a smile. Tiny had brought enough wood to last for weeks.
“Excellent job,” he said. “You have my thanks.”
“You be mos’ welcome. Anythin’ else?”
“Yes, I’d appreciate it if you’d do something with this.” With a shudder of distaste, Mauric handed him the white wizard stone the troll had given him.
Tiny poked the flat stone with the tip of his finger. It looked like a pebble in his hand. “Be mos’ glad to, but what you be having in mind?”
“Place it near the entrance where Gertie can see. That would be helpful.”
“Right-o,” Tiny said cheerfully. “I can do that.”
The giant wedged the wizard stone in a cranny above the cave door and trundled down the mountain, whooping in delight at the snow storm.
Mauric went back inside to check on Raine. To his alarm, her fever was higher. Bloody bleeding Tro, he thought. Don’t let her die on my watch.
Drawing his sword, he slashed the air in frustration. It didn’t help. Digging through the packs, he located a small ax and set to work on the downed birch. After a few minutes of exertion, he stripped off his vest and continued chopping. Wood chips flew. An hour’s work produced a pile of firewood suitable for the night. He stacked the logs against one wall of the cave and started a fire. He rose and stretched, looking around. The physical exertion had calmed him. They were safe and warm. He had done what he could.
A few hours later, his panic returned in full measure when Raine’s fever spiked. Ill-at-ease and unsure what to do, he bathed her brow with melted snow. She roused long enough for him to spoon a little weak tea down her throat, and rewarded him by throwing it up again.
At a loss, he finally sat down on the cave floor and pulled her into his lap. “There, lass.” He smoothed her damp hair from her eyes. “I’ve got you.”
“Cold,” Raine whimpered, shaking.
Mauric wrapped her in the blanket and held her against his chest until the tremors stopped. After a while, she slipped into exhausted slumber. With a sigh of relief, he laid her back down and tucked the blanket around her. With any luck, the worst was over.
The respite was temporary. A short while later, she bolted upright with a shrill scream, her eyes wide and dilated.
The hair stood up on the back of Mauric’s neck, and he leapt to his feet “What is it, lass?”
“Crow.” Raine’s voice was the high-pitched cry of a frightened child. Raising her arm, she pointed to the shadows beyond the fire. “Don’t let the crow get me. Please.”
Mauric’s superstitious soul was shaken to the core. Crows were omens of evil and death, scavengers that fed on the flesh of those slain in battle. He searched the little cavern from top to bottom—nothing. No amount of reassurance, however, could convince Raine. She huddled in a tight ball, sobbing and babbling about dark wings and scary birds until Mauric feared he, too, would have hysterics. To his relief, she finally lapsed back into sleep. Laying his sword across his lap, he sat on the cave floor to await the wizards’ return.
They arrived not long after sunset in a flurry of wings. Lighting on the sandy floor, they resumed their former shapes.
Mauric leapt up. “About time. Raine’s sick, and don’t tell me it’s giant-itis. This is more than that. She’s burning up with fever and delirious. Been rambling for hours about crows.” He shuddered. “Death in feathers, crows.”
Gertie hurried to Raine’s side. Squatting on her massive haunches, she passed her wizard stone over the young woman’s thin body; the stone glowed with a soft light. When she’d finished her examination, she sat back, her black lips pinched with worry.
“Well?” Brefreton demanded. “How bad is it?”
“’Twould appear she’s been poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” Brefreton looked thunderstruck. “Sweet blessed Rebe.”
“Wasn’t me.” Mauric held up his hands. “I swear. All I did was give her a little tea. She garfed it back up.”
“Relax, boy. This poison is severe and of long duration.” Gertie stroked her chin in thought. “The culprit is something she’s ingested over the course of years. Decades, maybe.” She shifted her gaze to Brefreton. “Could Glonoff be responsible?”
“Glonoff doesn’t know she exists, and he’d want her alive, not dead.” Brefreton shook his head. “It must have been someone else. She mentioned an aunt who raised her.”
“Why would she poison Raine?” asked Gertie.
“Who knows? Evil sometimes needs no purpose.” Brefreton paced up and down. “Is there an antidote?”
“Almost certainly, but since I don’t know what’s poisoned her, I can’t make one.”
“Rebe,” Brefreton said.
Mauric regarded the wizards anxiously. “Will she live?”
Gertie rubbed one of her tusks. “Broken limbs and ague and fevers of the lungs I know, but this . . .” Her voice trailed off. “All I can do is try.”
Mauric wanted to smash something, preferably something that would fight back.
“Don’t stand there scowling, boy,” Gertie snapped. “Fetch my medicines.”
He complied, watching as Gertie removed a bag of herbs and ground a few leaves with a pestle. She added a little hot water to the mixture and set it aside.
“With any luck, this tonic will bring down the fever and stop the shakes,” Gertie said. “If she lives until morning, we’ll try to sweat the poison out of her.”
If she lives until morning . . .
Mauric recalled his earlier musings with a stab of guilt. Raine might not be a beauty like Hara, but even on short acquaintance, he found her a good sort. Her entire world had been upended, but she’d taken things in stride without complaint. He didn’t want her to die.
When the mixture was cool, Gertie spooned a little of the potion between Raine’s lips. She thrashed about, knocking the bowl out of Gertie’s paws.
“Kron’s hammer, she’s spilled it,” Gertie said. “I’ll have to make more.”
She rose and went back to the fire. Returning with the new batch of tonic, she motioned to Mauric. “Hold her, so I can funnel this down her throat.”
Mauric sat down in the sand and put Raine in his lap.
Gertie placed the bowl against Raine’s lips. “Open your mouth, pet,” she coaxed. “Take your medicine for old Gertie.”
Raine pressed her lips together and fastened her feverish gaze on a point past the troll’s burly shoulder. Mauric braced himself for another shattering scream.
“Naw, sheesh not so bad,” Raine said. “Those things that Mauric killed . . . now they were ugly.”
Gertie looked around. “Who’s she talking to?”
“No idea.” Mauric met the troll’s startled gaze. “Unnerving, isn’t it?”
“Never mind that.” Gertie’s brows lowered. “What mischief have you been up to, boy? What things did you kill?”
“We ran into a few ograks while you were gone. I handled it.”
“Ograks, huh?” Gertie snorted. “So I’m not ugly compared to a goggin, am I?” She held the cup to Raine’s lips. “Damn me with faint praise, would you? Still, I suppose it’s something.”
Raine took a sip and grimaced. “’S’awful. Don’t want any more of thash stuff.” She stared once more at something past Gertie. “Yesh, yesh, I’ll tell him.” With an effort, she fastened her woozy gaze on Brefreton. “Mimsie shesh you should see the gigantic snow men Tineez made.” She hiccupped. “She shesh Tineez done a fine job, but she thinks they might look a little s’picious.”
“Mimsie?” Brefreton looked at Mauric. “Who in Reba’s name is Mimsie?”
“How should I know?” Mauric said. “You’re the wizard.”
Brefreton glanced at the cave entrance. The storm had i
ncreased in fury, and the wind howled like a thousand demons outside their little shelter. Mauric didn’t blame him for not wanting to brave the blizzard.
“It’s probably the fever talking, but I’d better have a look.” With a sigh, Brefreton flung his cloak around his shoulders. “Drat that giant. Making me go out in a blizzard.”
Grumbling, he left the warmth of the cave.
Bit by bit, Gertie cajoled Raine to take the rest of the tonic, and the girl drifted off to sleep.
When Raine’s breathing slowed, Gertie set the empty bowl aside. “You can put her back on the pallet now, Mauric.”
Mauric obeyed. He covered Raine with the blanket and stepped back. Her face was pale, and there was a bluish tint to her lips. Poisoned. Mauric shuddered.
Several hours later, Brefreton returned, covered in snow and half-frozen, and strode straight to the fire to warm his stiff hands. “There were snow men, all right. Big ones. That damn fool giant built a whole village of snow people that resembled the five of us in detail, right down to the hairs on Gertie’s chin.” He shook his head. “Remarkable work, I must say, but it had to go all the same. Might as well send up a flare telling Glonoff where we are. Tiny cried like a baby when I made him tear them down.”
Mauric cleared his throat. “You might not know it, Bree, but giants are a sensitive lot.”
“So I discovered.” Brefreton said, “Damn near drowned.”
Raine’s fever returned later that night, and she awoke, racked with chills and complaining of pains in her arms and legs.
“Take them out. Take them out,” she moaned.
Gertie bent over her. “What is it, pet? Take what out?”
“The knives, take them out.”
Her anguished cries tore at Mauric. “For Tro’s sake, help her, Gertie,” he begged. “I can’t stand this.”
“Mollycoddler.” She glowered at him and removed several brown twigs from her medicine bag. “If it bothers you so much, go play in the snow with Tiny.”
“Thank you, no.” Mauric peered over her shoulder. “What’s that stuff?”
“Herbs to ease the pain,” she said, grinding the twigs into powder. “Now stop pestering me.”
He withdrew a short distance and resumed his pacing. Keeping one eye on Gertie, he watched the troll mix the brown powder with water. She motioned for him to come closer.
“If you’re going to wear a trough in the floor, you might as well be useful,” she said. “Put the lass in your lap, same as before.”
Mauric nodded and took Raine in his arms. “There, lass,” he said, holding her still. “Gertie will make the knives go away.”
She looked up at him with eyes that were stark pools of pain. Her face was ghastly pale, and her lips were cracked and dry.
“Hurts,” she whimpered.
“Here, sweetling, drink this.” Gertie held the cup to Raine’s lips. “It should help.”
Mauric braced himself, expecting Raine to resist. To his surprise, she meekly gulped the liquid down.
Gertie grunted. “She trusts you, boy.”
“Or she’s parched with thirst.” Mauric smoothed Raine’s fever-damp hair from her forehead.
Within minutes, Gertie’s potion did its work. Mauric met the troll’s troubled gaze over the girl’s head.
“You did it, mor.” He gave her a shaky grin. “She’s asleep. Now what?”
Gertie’s expression was grim. “Now we wait.”
Chapter 9
A Lesson in Worgs
Raine opened her eyes and waited, as was her habit each morning, to see how her failing body would betray her. Her symptoms varied. Some days she suffered flu-like aches and pains in her joints and bones. Other times, she ran a low-grade fever that left her wrung out and listless, or she was plagued by nausea and muscle cramps. A headache was her constant companion, and she was always, always fatigued.
This morning, however, she felt . . . okay, and in her world “okay” was epic. Granted, she was slightly queasy and there was a foul taste in her mouth—what had she eaten the day before, alligator ass?—but the migraine had subsided to a dull roar. Maybe this would be one of her rare good days.
She stretched and froze. She was lying in sand, not on her bed. Turning her head, Raine saw a small fire and, beyond that, walls of rough stone that rose to a ceiling studded with black stalactites. She bolted upright, taking in her surroundings in stunned disbelief. She was in a cave, which meant—
Gertie stumped out of the shadows, hairy, massive, tusked, and scary as hell. “About time you woke up, laze-about.” She shoved a battered metal cup at Raine. “Here. Drink this.”
The memories flooded back, and Raine recalled standing on the icy ground, barefoot. Mauric had made her a pair of shoes from his vest, then Tiny had arrived on the scene, a moving mountain with guileless blue eyes—holy cow, giants were real—and Brefreton and Gertie had turned into birds and flown away.
Wizards were real, too.
She and Mauric had ridden the giant into the hills, where they’d been attacked by a group of hideous man lizards hungry for their next meal. She’d been terrified, but Mauric had seemed to relish the encounter.
She looked around, indignant. “Where’s Mauric? That imbecile stuck me in a tree while he entertained himself fighting those . . . those things.”
“Ograks,” Gertie said, “and that imbecile saved your life. Kept you from freezing and took care of you until Bree and I arrived. He and Bree are out checking the weather. We had a snowstorm last night.” The troll gave a growl of impatience. “Now take your medicine.”
Raine peeked cautiously over the rim of the cup. The liquid in the mug was an unappetizing watery brown and bits of vegetable matter floated on the surface.
“Um . . . what is it?”
“Deer jerky broth with herbs.”
“Yay. My favorite.”
“Good. Drink it.”
Gertie pushed the cup to Raine’s lips, tipping the contents down her throat. Raine swallowed and gagged.
Her eyes watered and she spat out a chunk of leaf. “Oh, my God, that was disgusting.”
“You’re welcome.” Gertie peered at Raine. “The color’s coming back to your cheeks.”
“I always get red in the face when I’m trying not to hurl. What the hell was that? It tasted like boiled shoe.”
“Just a little something I whipped up to counteract the poison. Mugwort, fennel, a dash of meadowsweet—the usual.”
Raine gaped at the troll. “Poison? I thought I had giant-i-tis.”
“Galumping around on Tiny certainly didn’t help your condition, but that’s not the source of your illness.”
Poison? Raine tried to absorb the notion. Not leukemia or a brain tumor or any of a dozen other diagnoses the doctors had batted around over the years? A spasm of joy shot through her and swiftly died. It was too easy, too good to be true. How many times in her life had a doctor promised a miracle with no results? She’d lost count. There was no cure for what ailed her.
The familiar dull weight of hopelessness settled over her. “If I’d been poisoned, the doctors would have found it.”
“Stop arguing, girl, and hold out your arm.”
Quelled by the troll’s severe tone, Raine obeyed. Gertie shoved the poncho aside and ran her wizard stone from Raine’s shoulder to the tips of her fingers. The stone glowed and Raine felt a pleasant, tingling warmth. She glanced down at her exposed arm and shrieked in horror. Brown and green blotches bloomed on her skin like hideous lichen.
“Easy, pet,” Gertie said. “I was right. The potion’s working. The spots are fading.”
Raine jerked away from the troll. “Stop saying that. I have not been poisoned.”
“Yes, you have. My wizard stone doesn’t lie.”
“Yeah? If I’ve been poisoned, then who did it?”
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“Good question.” Gertie sat back and twirled her whiskers. “I suspect it was Glonoff, but Bree disagrees. He says Glonoff doesn’t know you exist. Personally, I find that hard to believe. He is the Dark Wizard, after all.”
“Okay, so who?”
The troll stirred uneasily and looked away. “Bree and I were wondering if . . . That is to say, we’ve considered the possibility that—”
“Spit it out, Gertie.”
The troll cleared her throat. “We think it more than likely that the poisoner was your aunt.”
“What? No way. Mimsie would never hurt me.”
Oh, yeah? Why not? The dreadful suspicion leaked into Raine’s mind and took hold. Think about it. You were constantly ill and a pain in the ass most of the time. You were a financial, physical, and emotional drain on her. You aren’t even her real family. Maybe she got tired of it. Maybe she got tired of YOU.
“Mimsie, huh?” Gertie’s expression sharpened. “Last night, you kept babbling about someone with that name. Course, you were fevered at the time.”
Raine was half listening, her brain scrambling for a logical explanation. Mimsie wouldn’t poison her, and she didn’t give a fig that Raine was adopted. Mimsie said love made a family, not blood. Besides, Mims had been dead for years. If Mimsie had poisoned her, she would have gotten better after her aunt died, not worse. It didn’t make sense.
“Lead poisoning?” Relief flooded through Raine. “Mimsie’s house was old and covered in layers and layers of lead paint.”
That was it. Had to be. Magic and other worlds, trolls, giants and wizards she could accept, but the possibility that Mimsie had poisoned her? Nope. Not possible.
Gertie shrugged. “If you say so.”
Mauric trudged inside, ending the discussion. “Ho, it’s cold out there.”
“That it is, and it’s still coming down hard and the wind has picked up,” Brefreton said, entering the cave behind him. He shook the snow from his cloak. “We’re better off waiting out the storm here.”
Mauric stamped his feet and gave Raine the once-over. “You look better. Less like death warmed over and more like yesterday’s stew.”
A Meddle of Wizards Page 7