A Meddle of Wizards

by Alexandra Rushe

  “We’re ecstatic,” Gertie said. “We’ll send up a flare to celebrate.”

  By the time Mauric and Brefreton had bathed, Gertie had a meal warming by the fire. It wasn’t much—ham and cheese on toasted bread and dried apples—but Raine was ravenous. She wolfed down two sandwiches and eyed Brefreton’s uneaten portion.

  “Here.” He handed her the rest.

  “Thanks.” She bit into what was left of the sandwich. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry.”

  Plagued with persistent nausea, she’d never been much of an eater, and her lack of appetite had worried Mimsie no end. Junk food, whole food, comfort food, fast food, bland food—Mimsie had tried it all, but Raine found none of it appealing. These bits of stale brown bread and dried ham, however? Delicious. Appetite truly was the best sauce.

  “Fighting worgs is hungry work,” Brefreton said, watching her scarf down his portion.

  Raine swallowed the last of the sandwich and smothered a yawn. “I wouldn’t know. I was too busy trying not to get eaten.”

  “I wasn’t much use without my magic,” Brefreton confessed. “Gertie was rather spectacular, though.”

  Raine remembered Gertie’s forward roll down the worg’s throat with a shudder. “Yes, she was, but don’t be too hard on yourself. At least you kept Mauric from diving in after her.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” Brefreton’s expression brightened. “You’re being awfully pleasant. Does this mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

  “Let’s just say we’ve progressed from utter loathing to active dislike.”

  “Active dislike, huh? Say, that is an improvement.”

  “Enough yammering, you two,” Gertie said. “We can’t stay here forever with a dead worg in our laps. Our gooey friend is bound to attract scavengers. Mauric, go see about the weather.”

  “Yes, mor.”

  The warrior ambled out of the cave, returning shortly.

  “Snow’s stopped,” he announced.

  “Good.” Brefreton stretched out in the sand and propped his head in his hands. “Get some rest. We leave at first light.”

  “I’ll stand guard,” Mauric said.

  “We’ll take it in shifts.” Gertie paced in a circle like a big dog, then curled up next to the fire. “Wake me at midnight.”

  “Yes, mor.”

  Raine was exhausted from the adrenaline of the worg attack and her bath, and comfortably full. She crawled under a blanket and was asleep in an instant, too exhausted to care that she was snoozing a few feet away from a giant worm carcass.

  * * * *

  She woke the next morning lying spoon fashion next to the troll, her head resting on Gertie’s furry arm. Gertie made an excellent blanket, and she radiated heat. Asleep, the troll seemed more teddy bear than monster, her long eyelashes resting like big brown spiders upon her downy cheeks.

  The troll was snoring, her black lips quivering with each exhalation. Raine reached out to touch the tip of one of Gertie’s tusks.

  “Wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Mauric said. “There’s an old Finlaran saying. Let sleeping trolls lie. Gertie’s a dear, but she’s not a morning troll.”

  Raine snatched her hand back and carefully disentangled herself from the sleeping troll. Mauric and Brefreton were eating breakfast by the fire. The warrior had braided his pale hair into a single thick plait. A long-sleeved leather coat hugged his broad shoulders and fell below his knees. Split up the side for ease of movement, the coat gave him ready access to his sword. From the snow that dusted his hair and coat, she surmised that he’d already been outside. Brefreton still wore the shabby cloak, now minus a worg-sized chunk of cloth. His hair was brushed back and clubbed at the nape of his neck, and it gleamed like rubies in the firelight.

  She sat down between them and did her customary mental check for symptoms of her illness. There were none. No nausea or headache. No aches and pains. She felt good. No, she felt great, energetic and hungry. Again.

  Her tummy rumbled. “What’s to eat?”

  “Ham.” Brefreton held up a small stick with a piece of bread on it. “And toast. Or worg. We’ve worg aplenty.”

  “Tempting,” Raine said. “But I think I’ll take the ham.”

  Brefreton handed her a stick. “Thought you might.”

  She poked a chunk of bread on the branch and held it over the fire. When it was golden brown, she wrapped it around a piece of cold, salty ham, and took a bite.

  “Been meaning to ask you about something,” Mauric said. “You kept raving about crows when you were sick. Unnerving, I don’t mind telling you, and it made me wonder.”

  The sandwich in Raine’s hand tumbled to the cave floor as the old terror grabbed her with clammy hands. The huge dark shape on the river bridge . . . her mother’s horrified scream as Daddy swerved to miss the thing and slammed into the guard rail. The screech of metal as the guard rail gave way and the car toppled slowly into the water. The river rushing in, cold and relentless.

  Her parents had died that day. Raine had been four years old, and she’d had nightmares about bridges and dark water ever since.

  And crows. To this day, crows terrified the holy bejesus out of her.

  “Raine?” Mauric waved his hand in her face. “Why are you frightened of crows?”

  Raine forced her rigid muscles to relax. “No idea what you’re talking about,” she lied, not meeting his gaze. “So, how’s the weather? Has the storm passed?”

  Mauric gave her a searching look and shrugged. “Aye. The wind is up and blowing the snow around. Temperature’s dropping. Going to be a cold day.” He tossed her a heavy cloak. “Found this at the bottom of one of my packs—a present from one of my admirers. I’d forgotten all about it. It’s yours, if you like. I don’t wear it. Hinders my sword arm.”

  Raine stroked the luxurious fur lining with a trembling hand. “Thanks,” she murmured. “It looks warm.”

  Gertie rolled to her feet with a snort. “Wuzzat? I heard a noise.”

  “You heard yourself,” Brefreton said from the other side of the fire. “You snore.”

  “You are mistaken.” The troll glared at him. “Ladies don’t snore.”

  “Ladies may not snore, but lady trolls certainly do. Loud enough to rattle the rocks.”

  Raine left the wizards arguing and slipped behind the curtain. Closing her eyes, she breathed in and out to regain her composure. She was a grown woman, not a child to be frightened by a bad dream. When she was calm once more, she donned her underwear and pajamas. They were dry from the fire and smelled of smoke and Mauric’s soap. She threw the poncho back on, took down the rope and blanket, and carried them to Mauric. He folded them and stuffed them in one of the packs. Gertie, still groggy from sleep, sat on a stone and watched them break camp.

  They were ready to go in no time. Pausing at the entrance to the cave, Raine fastened Mauric’s cloak around her shoulders. It swallowed her whole but it was blissfully warm. She stepped outside, squinting in the watery dawn light. Her vision cleared and she gasped. A vast expanse of mountains surrounded them like a rumpled green and black carpet. To the east, snow glistened on the mountain tops and dusted the branches of the tall fir trees. To the west, the peaks were a purple smudge crowned by fading stars.

  The air shimmered and Tiny appeared on the narrow trail beside them. They were an odd group, her companions: a giant, two wizards—one a troll—and a young Viking god. The red-headed wizard and the strapping warrior stood together in quiet conference with the giant. The troll stood apart, her squat, powerful body clad in the robe and torn boots. She lifted her snout and sniffed at the breeze like a hound at the scent.

  Raine took a deep breath and blew it out in a frosty puff. This was real. The universe had thrust her, the most unlikely of adventurers, into this strange place with this improbable troupe of fellows. The god stone was lost
, and there was no going back. She could accept it or go mad.

  “Late yesterday afternoon, I saw smoke over that a-way,” Tiny was saying. He pointed to the northwest. “So, I wandered over fer a gander. There be a big fire and lots o’ dead folks.”

  Brefreton nodded. “Gertie and I saw the fire too.”

  “So, that’s where you went,” Mauric said. “Was it Glonoff?”

  Gertie lowered her snout. “Magog. He’s awake and he’s not happy. He shattered the temple and flattened the hills around it. Even the temple stones were burning.” She shifted on her hind legs. “We’d best be moving. Finlars are rare in Shad Amar, red trolls even rarer. Hara will describe us to Glonoff and he’ll be thrunched.”

  “The blizzard will have slowed him down,” Mauric said.

  Gertie grunted. “Yes, but not for long. Every goggin in these mountains will be after us.”

  As if on cue, an eerie howl sundered the peaceful morning.

  “You’re right, mor. Look.” Mauric pointed to a dozen shaggy shadows on the next ridge.

  “Vuks.” Gertie pronounced the strange word with an ooh sound. “Magog’s pet wolves. They’ve caught our scent.” She smirked. “Glonoff thinks he’s got us, but he doesn’t know about Tiny.”

  “And glad I be, too,” Tiny said, his eyes widening in alarm. “‘Tiny, me boy, have no truck with wizards.’ That’s what me mam allus says.”

  “I’m a wizard,” Gertie pointed out.

  “Oh, aye, but that be different,” Tiny said. “You be special, don’t you know. Brefreton, too.”

  “Hear that, Gertie?” Brefreton winked at the troll. “We’re special.” He stared at the pinkening skyline with a thoughtful expression. “It might be wiser to change our plans. Better, I think, to head for Durngaria, instead of going over the mountains into Tannenbol. Glonoff won’t expect that. And, as an added bonus, the vuks won’t venture into the grasslands. The Durngesi tribesmen have no liking for goggins.”

  “Excellent notion, Bree,” Gertie said. “We’ll make for the Shara and catch a barge into Gambollia.”

  “Gambollia?” Raine asked.

  “The largest city in Durngaria and the only civilization, some would say,” Gertie explained. “From there, we’ll secure passage north.”

  “I like it.” Brefreton stroked the reddish bristles on his chin. “But I won’t be coming with you. I need to warn Zora that the Eye has been stolen.”

  “Zora?” Raine asked, swallowing her dismay at the news that Brefreton would not be coming with them. She was just starting to like the wizard, and she didn’t care for the notion of breaking up their little company. “Who’s that?”

  “A slip of a girl and the queen of Tannenbol.” Gertie gave Brefreton a sly look. “Bree’s terrified of her.”

  “You know that’s not true,” Brefreton objected. “I practically raised the child.”

  “Hmm.” Gertie was plainly unconvinced. “We’ll do as you suggest. When do you plan to tell your precious Reba you lost her god stone?”

  Brefreton groaned. “Gods, I’d forgotten about that. She’s going to be angry, isn’t she?”

  “Apoplectic, and I’m glad, the breedbating, trundle-tailed—”

  “Please, Gertie,” Brefreton said, holding up his hand. “We’ve trouble enough without you rousing the wrath of the gods by blaspheming.” He tugged on his auburn ponytail and seemed to reach a decision. “It’s settled then. I’ll catch up with you at the Neatfoot in ten days’ time.” He turned to the giant. “Tiny, I’m counting on you to keep them safe in my absence.”

  Tiny’s eyes filled with tears. “I won’t let you down, and thas’ the truth.” He wiped his face and gave Mauric a watery glare. “And I ain’t crying, if that be what yer thinking. The wind be in my eyes. That be all.”

  “The Neatfoot Inn and don’t be late,” Brefreton said again, and threw himself off the mountain.

  Chapter 11

  An Unexpected Visit

  “Brefreton,” Raine shrieked, rushing to the edge of the cliff.

  She watched in horror as he did a freefall off the mountain, his tattered cloak whipping in the wind. Down he plunged, the rocks rushing to meet him. He opened his arms at the last second and turned into a hawk, soaring away with a keening cry.

  Mauric yanked Raine from the brink. “Please,” he said. “My heart can’t take it.”

  Tiny strung their packs on his belt and Raine and Mauric climbed onto his shoulders. Gertie shapeshifted into a bird and fluttered around the giant’s head.

  “I hears you, Gertie,” Tiny said in response to the bird’s insistent chirping. “You don’t has to keep a-cheep cheep cheeping in m’ ear. Them pesky vuks ain’t gon’ catch old Tiny.”

  With a last twitter, the bird darted away. Raine heard a horrible snarl and looked back. She got a good look at the vuks, and wished she hadn’t. These goggins were big—roughly the size of a large horse and vaguely lupine in shape—with gray, scaly hides. Their eyes were black with burning red centers and their slathering mouths hung open, displaying razor-sharp teeth. The leader threw back its gnarled head and howled, a soulless moan that turned Raine’s bones to jelly.

  “Listen to them pups,” Tiny said with a chuckle. “Right nattered they be.”

  “Get us out of here, Tiny.” Raine nudged the giant’s shoulder. “Now. They frighten me.”

  “Right-o, Rainey.” Tiny jerked forward in his peculiar, mile-eating gait, and they left the vuks behind.

  As they tromped along, Raine braced for a recurrence of the giant-itis. To her relief, the roller coaster swell of nausea and the blinding headache did not return. Tiny clumped out of the high reaches and the bitter cold lessened. After a time, Raine relaxed and began to enjoy herself. Riding a giant, she decided, had a rhythm of its own, rather like riding a camel. Or so she imagined. Camels were few and far between where she came from.

  “Stop humming,” Mauric said. He sounded cross. “You’ve been making that racket this hour and more.”

  “The earth is singing.” Raine laughed in delight. “Don’t you hear it?”

  “All I hear is you humming and humming. Stop it. It sets my teeth on edge.”

  Raine peeked around the giant’s head at the warrior on the other side. Mauric’s handsome features were drawn and his skin was a delicate shade of green.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

  “I just did.”

  Whew, trolls didn’t have a monopoly on grumpy. Knowing what it was like to be ill, Raine did her best not to hum, tapping her foot instead in rhythm with the vibration thrumming around them. It was a fine clear day and they made good time. By late afternoon, the mountains were a distant memory and they were plodding through rolling grassland.

  “Thas’ it,” Tiny announced, jerking to a stop as the sun lowered in the sky. “I be tuckered. What say we make camp?”

  Mauric’s only answer was a groan, so Raine took charge, sliding down from the giant’s shoulder to look around. They were in a pleasant hollow sheltered by several large oaks. A gurgling stream nearby provided fresh water.

  “This will do quite well, Tiny,” Raine said, rubbing her hands together to warm them. “Hand me the bags.”

  Tiny unfastened the saddlebags and dropped them onto the grass. Mauric climbed down with a grunt, clutching his belly. Peeling out of his long leather coat, he tossed it aside and slumped to the ground with his head in his hands.

  “Where’s Gertie?” he asked.

  Poor Mauric sounded like he’d swallowed a bucket of frogs.

  “Dunno,” Tiny said. “Reckon she be scooterpootin’ around here somewheres in birdie form.”

  Raine rummaged through the packs and found a cloth. Moistening it in the icy stream, she laid the cool compress across the back of Mauric’s neck.

  “
Thanks.” He put his head between his knees. “I’ll be all right as soon as everything stops spinning.”

  A red swift flitted into the glade and shifted into the troll.

  “Why have you stopped?” Gertie demanded. “We’re but a few leagues from the Durngarian border.”

  “Tiny’s tired and Mauric has giant-itis,” Raine explained. “No offense, Tiny.”

  “None taken.” Tiny wheeled about. “See you lot in the morning.”

  “Wait, you,” Gertie said, stomping after the giant. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Tiny turned. The giant’s face was a study in innocence. “Nowheres in par-tickler, Gertie. Jes thought I’d poke about a bit, don’t you know.”

  “I do know, and that’s the problem,” Gertie snapped. “You’re off to liberate something. See you don’t get caught.”

  Tiny started to protest, but seemed to think better of it. “Yessum.”

  He lumbered off, his hide skirt swinging about his massive, hairy legs.

  “What was that all about?” Raine asked.

  “Giants are a notoriously sticky-fingered lot.” Opening a pack, Gertie removed bread and cheese wrapped in cloth. “With the Shara River a few leagues to the south, there’s bound to be temptation.”

  “What sort of temptation?”

  “Wine, silk, trinkets—not to mention black gurshee out of Esmalla,” Gertie said. “All sorts of goods make their way down the river to Gambollia. And Kron help us if Tiny stumbles across an ale barge. A drunken giant’s the last thing we need.” She rubbed her paws together. “I’ll scrape us up a bite to eat. A little food will set Mauric to rights.”

  Mauric staggered to his feet. “I’ll start a fire.”

  * * * *

  The stars were out by the time they’d finished eating. Supper did much to restore Mauric, but he was still subdued. Stiff and achy from the long journey, Raine stretched out on the cold ground and listened to her companions discussing the next day’s journey. She glanced up at the nigh sky and stifled a gasp. The stars were wrong. A large indigo orb twinkled where the North Star should have been, and the Milky Way was gone. Most disturbing of all, there were two moons. The smaller one was missing a big chunk and hung next to its sister moon like a half-eaten apple. The sight of the unfamiliar firmament made Raine feel unaccountably lost and lonely.