A Meddle of Wizards

by Alexandra Rushe

  “Gee, thanks,” Raine said.

  Gertie tossed a pebble at Mauric. “Stoke up the fire. We’re going to sweat the rest of the poison out of her.”

  Mauric set to work, throwing more wood on the fire. The flames leapt and gnawed at the dried birch, and soon, the little cave shimmered with heat.

  “Think I’ll go check on Tiny,” said Mauric, wiping his streaming brow. “Make sure the old boy hasn’t cried himself into an icicle.”

  Brefreton jumped to his feet. “Me, too.”

  “Weaklings,” Gertie grumbled as the men bolted from the sweltering cave.

  She stomped over to Raine’s pallet. “Get up, girl.”

  “It’s hot,” Raine said. “I’ll get sweaty.”

  “So? Do you want to get well or not?” Gertie glowered at her. “Or are you one of those humans who enjoys being sick?”

  “No, I am not. What a horrible thing to say.”

  “Then move your arse, girlie.”

  Gertie yanked Raine to her feet and poked her in the ribs. The troll’s claws were sharp, and Raine yelped and broke into a halfhearted jog.

  Gertie trotted at her heels, harrying her. “That the best you got, youngster? For shame.”

  “Hey, I’ve been sick.”

  “Excuses are for whiners. Move.”

  Raine picked up the pace.

  “Use your arms,” Gertie barked. “That’s it. Faster.”

  With a huff of annoyance, Raine began to swing her arms. The heat in the cave was oppressive, and it was hard to breathe. Perspiration trickled between her breasts and down her back, and she was soon winded, but whenever she slowed, the troll was in her face, snapping out orders like a Neanderthal aerobics instructor. Raine broke once more into a reluctant trot. After a lifetime of being bedridden, she had no stamina. Her atrophied muscles burned from the unaccustomed exertion and her limbs felt leaden. Coughing and wheezing, she made two more torturous loops around the cave and stopped.

  “That’s it.” She doubled over, clutching her aching sides. “I can’t go another step.”

  Gertie placed an enormous paw on Raine’s back and gave her a shove. “You can and you will.”

  “But I’m tired, and this blanket is hot.”

  “Is it now?” Gertie said. “I can fix that.”

  With a flick of her claws, the troll had untied the rope at Raine’s waist and snatched the poncho over her head, leaving her clad in her thin pajamas. The sweat-drenched fabric stuck to Raine like cling wrap.

  “Give me that.” She made a grab for the blanket. “What if the men come back?”

  “Mauric and Bree have seen bubbies before.” The troll looked her up and down. “In any case, I doubt they’ll notice those wee teats of yours.”

  Raine stiffened. “Of all the rude, unpleasant—” Give me my blanket.”

  Gertie tossed the blanket to the ceiling, where it stuck like a recalcitrant magic carpet. “You can have your gwankie again after I teach you to troll dance.”

  “Teach me to what?”

  “Troll dance. It’s an honor seldom bestowed on a yakkth.”

  The uvular word rolled off Gertie’s tongue, but before Raine could demand its meaning, the troll had turned to throw another log on the fire. The flames roared and sent a shower of sparks shooting upward. Clapping her paws, Gertie began to dance, her sturdy body moving with surprising grace for a creature of such size and bulk. Throwing her head back, she began to sing in a guttural tongue. The troll’s clear, rich alto surprised Raine almost as much as the creature’s ability to dance.

  Gertie paused, her twisted shadow looming on the wall. “Don’t stand there. Move.”

  Gertie launched into another verse and flung herself once more into the dance, punctuating the moves with slashes of her claws. The rhythm of the music was contagious. Weariness forgotten, Raine joined in, spinning and whirling about the cave. She wasn’t a very good dancer, but what she lacked in ability, she made up in enthusiasm. Leaping and growling, she curled her fingers, mimicking the troll’s wicked arm movements, and they whirled around the fire, their ragged shadows flickering on the walls.

  The tune ended. Spent, Raine collapsed to the sandy floor on her back.

  Gertie threw herself down beside her. “You did fine.

  Maybe one day, I’ll teach you the troll mating dance.”

  “Thanks, but I think I can safely say I’ll never marry a troll.”

  “Never say never.” Gertie leaned back on her elbows, her eyes yellow, gleaming slits. She exuded a faint doggy odor, a not unpleasant scent. “Trolls mate for life . . . once they’ve sown their wild oats.”

  “Good to know. What about you? Is there a Mr. Glogathgorag?”

  Gertie snorted. “Nah. Only boar I ever fancied married another.” She shrugged. “Just as well. We wouldn’t have suited. Too different.”

  “I’m sorry.” Raine sat up and sniffed. “Yuck, something stinks.”

  “That would be you, pet.”

  “Me?” Raine pulled the sticky fabric away from her breasts. “Oh, my God, you’re right. How embarrassing.”

  The troll showed her teeth. “Look on the bright side. Once Mauric and Bree get a whiff of you, they’ll be happy to fetch snow for your bath.”

  “Thanks. That makes me feel loads better.”

  Gertie rolled to her feet. “I’ll get them started on it. Water should be heated in no time, now the fire’s hot.”

  Humming to herself, she padded across the cave. She’d nearly reached the entrance when the wall behind Raine exploded in a tumble of rock and an enormous worm plunged into the room, thrusting its mammoth body between Gertie and Raine. The monster was more than a hundred feet long with pale, quivering flesh that emitted an eerie, milky light. Twin stalks sprouted from the ghastly tapered head where the eyes should have been.

  “Worg,” Gertie shouted. “Don’t move. It can’t see you. They’re blind as a turnip. They live in the belly of the mountain where it’s dark. The light they give off attracts prey. Old worgy just has to sit and wait for food to arrive.”

  “Fascinating,” Raine said through her teeth, resisting the urge to run screaming for the exit. “Any idea why this one didn’t stay put?”

  “Must have heard the noise and came to investigate.” The worg’s head swung in Raine’s direction and Gertie hissed in alarm. “It senses your body heat. Quick, girl, put the fire between you. That should confuse it.”

  Raine scurried to obey. The worm slithered closer, slime dripping off its gelatinous body and pooling in the sand. Disoriented by the heat from the blaze, the worg screeched and reared, weaving back and forth. It struck without warning, thrusting its broad snout into the bonfire. Embers scattered and showered Raine. She shrieked and scrabbled out of the way, slapping at her smoking pajamas.

  With a high-pitched keen of pain, the giant worm jerked its head from the fire. The rancid smell of scorched meat filled the cave.

  “Roasted worg,” Gertie crowed, jumping up and down. “Weren’t expecting that, were you, you overgrown slug?”

  Panicked, Raine made a dash for the cave entrance.

  “Stop, Raine, stop.”

  Raine skidded to a halt just in time. The worg’s huge head slammed into the sand at her feet, missing her by inches. A geyser of grit spewed into the air at the impact. Wheeling, Raine sprinted back the way she’d come and squeezed through a bristle of stalactites, scraping the skin on her back in her haste. The worm whipped its immense body around and lunged after her, slamming its head against her rocky shelter. The stalactites crumbled and swayed. Too late, Raine realized her mistake. She was trapped like a fish in a barrel.

  “Hey, worgy,” Gertie shouted, waving her long, hairy arms to draw the worm’s attention. “Over here, you ball of snot.”

  The worg hissed in fury and chugged its thick body aro
und.

  “That’s right,” Gertie crooned. “Come to mama.”

  The worg coiled and struck. Gertie sprang aside and landed in a crouch.

  “Too slow, you great lump o’ lard,” she said. “You’ll have to be faster than that if you want troll for breakfast.”

  The worm was bunched for another attack when Mauric and Brefreton burst into the cave.

  “It’s a worg,” Mauric said, sliding to a stop.

  “Your powers of observation astonish me, boy,” Gertie said, placing a towering stalactite between her and the ravening worg. “If you’re done with the lesson, a little help would be appreciated.”

  “Right.” Brefreton tossed back his cloak. “I’ve got this.”

  Grasping his wizard stone, he began to weave a spell.

  “What are you doing?” Mauric slapped the stone out of his hand. “No magic. Glonoff, remember?”

  “Rebe, I forgot.” Brefreton frowned. “Damned inconvenient, that. What do we do?”

  “We kill it.” Mauric drew his sword and rushed the worm.

  “No, boy,” Gertie shouted. “For Kron’s sake, don’t—”

  Mauric struck the worg a tremendous blow, his sword biting deep into the gelatinous flesh. The worg shrieked and thrashed, and fountains of green blood spewed from the deep gash. Mauric brought his sword down again, and the worg’s head thudded to the floor, oozing gore.

  “—cut off its head,” Gertie finished, wiping worm goo off her face. “Of all the stupid, idiotic—”

  “What?” Mauric poked the goggin with the tip of his sword. “I killed it, didn’t I?”

  “No, all you managed to do was irritate it.” Gertie jabbed a claw at the twitching worm. “Look.”

  The edges of the bloody stump closed and large knots bulged beneath the white flesh. The fleshy lumps ballooned and split, and three new heads sprang forth, fully formed and bristling with teeth.

  “Tro,” Mauric said leaping back to avoid being eaten.

  “A worg, Mauric, is half hydra, half mountain worm,” Gertie explained sweetly. “That is why you never, never cut off a worg’s head.”

  The middle head snapped at Brefreton and came away with a mouthful of brown cloth.

  “Nibble my cloak, would you?” Brefreton said, outraged. “How do we kill this muck worm, Gertie?”

  “From the inside out,” the troll said, and threw herself head first down the nearest worg throat.

  Mauric lunged after her. “Gertie.”

  Brefreton stepped in front of him. “Steady, lad. The old gal knows what she’s doing. Look.”

  The worm thrashed in agony, its belly heaving and bulging. With a horrible shriek, the goggin pounded its heads against the floor and died.

  Repulsed and fascinated, Raine slipped between the bars of her stony cage for a closer look. A row of thin, red streaks appeared on the worg’s phosphorescent skin and widened. Sharp claws poked through the gooey flesh, curled almost lovingly around the tear in the monster’s belly, and continued their bloody work. With the sound of a bursting melon, the worm split open and Gertie stepped out, covered in slime and worm innards.

  She shook her hulking body, spraying them with worm mucus, blood, and guts, and flicked the sludge from her paws. “And that, my dears, is the proper way to kill a worg.”

  Chapter 10

  Divers Paths

  Mauric grabbed Gertie and pulled her close, heedless of the malodorous gunk covering her hairy body.

  “Don’t ever do that again.” A shudder ran through his big frame. “I thought you were dead for sure.”

  “Not so tight, boy,” Gertie wheezed. “Can’t . . . breathe.”

  “Sorry.” He released Gertie and stepped back.

  “That was a crazy thing to do.” Brefreton slapped the troll on a gummy shoulder. “Mauric tried to go after you, the young fool.”

  “Whatever for?” Her shaggy brows rose. “I was in no danger.”

  “No danger?” Raine stared at Gertie in astonishment. “You let that thing eat you.”

  Gertie ducked her head. “Pish, no need to make a fuss. The main thing is to avoid the choppers going in. A fine specimen and a pity to kill it, but there was no help for it. A worg has five hearts and a brain located near the head. Once inside, it’s simply a matter of stirring things up a bit.” She flexed her claws. “Nothing to it, though a little light would’ve been nice. Dark as Glonoff’s heart in there.”

  “Poor old worgy.” Mauric wrinkled his nose. “Gertie, you know I adore you, but you stink.”

  “You try digging your way out of a worg’s belly and see how you smell.” Gertie rolled an eye at Raine. “But I wouldn’t mind a wash. You, pet?”

  The two men surveyed Raine, taking in her vacuum-sealed pajamas. She blushed and crossed her arms over her breasts.

  “Gog,” Gertie said, noticing her embarrassment. “Reckon you’ll want your blanket back.”

  She whistled sharply and the poncho dropped from the ceiling. Raine scrambled back into the garment.

  Gertie raised her shaggy brows at the men. “Now, about that bath . . .”

  Mauric built up the fire and prepared a bathing chamber by stringing a length of rope between two stalactites. A blanket draped over the line provided privacy. Brefreton produced a large waterproof skin from one of the packs and stretched it across a collapsible frame on legs to form a shallow bag. This device was placed behind the screen to serve as a basin. The men hauled in snow, which Gertie heated for their baths. It was agreed by unanimous vote that Gertie should go first.

  “Here, stinky, try this.” Mauric tossed Gertie a bar of soap from one of the saddle bags. “Lemongrass from the batch you gave me last Trowyn’s Day.”

  Gertie sniffed the bar. “Nice, if I do say so m’self,” she said, padding behind the partition.

  Mauric took a seat in the sand beside Raine. “The soap’s a special blend.” He waggled his brows. “Women love it.”

  “They do?”

  “Of course. I’m irresistible. Surely you’ve noticed?”

  Raine squeezed her eyes shut. “Trying . . . trying . . .” She opened them again. “Nope. Can’t say I have.”

  Gertie let out a whoop behind the curtain. “Good one, gal. Our Mauric fancies himself quite the ladies’ man.”

  “Me?” Mauric said. “What about Raven? He’s left a string of broken hearts from the Citadel to Esmalla.”

  “Raven?” Raine asked, curious. “Who’s Raven?”

  “My cousin.” Mauric raised his voice for the troll’s benefit. “Gertie raised him, and a grimmer, more cheerless fellow you’ve never met.”

  Gertie poked her head around the blanket. “Just because Raven’s not easily amused like you, doesn’t mean he’s grim.”

  Letting the curtain fall back into place, the troll went back to her ablutions.

  “Enough about that.” Mauric leaned closer to Raine. “Let’s talk about me. Admit it. I’m a handsome devil.”

  Of course he was handsome. The question was, why was he flirting with her? Raine had seen herself in a mirror. She knew she wasn’t much to look at; too bony and pale. A lifetime of the pukes did that to a person.

  Maybe Mauric felt sorry for her. The thought was humiliating.

  Gertie stepped around the screen, smelling strongly of wet fur and scented soap. The troll made a sight with her braids unbound and her spiky red fur on end.

  “You’re next,” Gertie said, pointing a claw at Raine.

  Rising, Raine trudged into the bathing chamber to empty the basin. Mauric followed. Taking the leather tub from her, he refilled it with clean snow and more hot water from the fire.

  “There you go,” he said, handing her a square of cloth. “Don’t use all the soap.”

  “Is she pretty?” Raine glanced at Mauric and quickly away again, her c
heeks burning.

  “Who?”

  “The other one. My . . . my sister.”

  “Hara? I’d toss her.” Mauric grinned. “Then run like hell. Pretty is as pretty does, Gertie says. Your sister may be a stunner, but she’s not a right one, like you.” He winked. “Need help with your bath?”

  She was a right one? That made Raine feel better. “Thanks.” She shoved him toward the curtain. “I can manage.”

  Once he was gone, she stripped out of the blanket and her clothes. The heat from the fire didn’t reach behind the curtain and it was cold. Shivering, she plaited her hair, wrapped the long braid in a knot on top of her head, and secured it with the string from her pajama bottoms. She examined the bar of soap. Gouge marks marred the surface, mute testament of Gertie’s effort to leave the soap fur free.

  Bending over the leather basin, Raine scrubbed her face and neck, then dipped the cloth in the warm water and lathered it with soap. She was already freezing and she had yet to wash her body. She thought longingly of her warm home back in Alabama with its creaky furnace. Home was worlds away. This was her new reality.

  Gritting her teeth, she scrubbed all over and rinsed, then looked around with chattering teeth

  “Hey, where’s the towel?”

  “Aren’t any,” Gertie said. “Come stand by the fire. You’ll dry in no time.”

  “I’m naked. I don’t have fur, remember?”

  “Oh,” said Gertie. “I forgot.”

  Shivering, Raine grabbed the woolen poncho and yanked it over her head. The cloth was musty and clung to her damp skin, but it was better than nothing. She picked up her pajamas and gave them an exploratory sniff. Phew, they smelled terrible. She should burn the things, but they were another layer against the cold, and the wool blanket chafed. She quickly rinsed the PJs and the panties she’d been wearing in the soapy water and marched to the fire. Spreading the garments on a rock to dry, she sidled up to the blaze, resisting the urge to lift the blanket and warm her frozen backside.

  Gertie gave Mauric a pointed look. “Next.”

  Mauric strode behind the curtain. Returning with the basin, he dumped hot water from the fire into the leather bag. “I’m going to wash now.”