A Meddle of Wizards

by Alexandra Rushe

  As they worked, Tiny told him about the rescue of the children.

  “So, you see,” the giant said, hefting a huge bundle of bamboo onto his shoulders. “We couldn’t leave the little tykes to starve or fer them eaters to gnaw on.”

  “No, but how did Raine know about the children in the first place?”

  Tiny scratched his head. “That I don’t rightly know. Raine said, ‘Tiny, let’s get them mablets,’ and I be off.”

  Mauric picked up a second bundle of sticks. “I’ll wager the ghost told her.”

  “Eh?”

  “Raine sees ghosts.”

  Tiny whistled in amazement. “She do? Our little Rainey be a wizard, then?”

  “That’s what I think, but Gertie’s not sure.”

  Tiny glanced around. Placing a hand to his mouth, he whispered, “Here be the thing. Gertie be a prime ’un, but she don’t know everythin’.”

  “I wouldn’t tell her that, if I were you.”

  “’Course not.” Tiny’s eyes widened. “And, don’t you go flapping yer gums at her neither. You tells her, I’ll deny it, I will.”

  “Afraid of Gertie, are you?”

  “Positively jellified.”

  “You’re smarter than you look, Tiny Bart.”

  “Well, now, I’d almost have to be, wouldn’t I?”

  They returned to camp the best of friends and quickly fashioned a rough lean-to out of bamboo. The rain was coming down harder, a cold, steady drizzle that made everyone but the giant miserable. They huddled together for warmth under the bamboo shelter and waited for the rain to stop.

  Swaying back and forth, Tiny loomed outside their rickety hut.

  “I be too largish to fit,” he confided, stating the obvious. “But don’t be troubling yerselves on Tiny’s account, no sirree. The rain don’t fash me none. Only the heat what bothers me—Tiny being a frost giant, don’t you know.”

  “Noooo.” Gertie’s yellow eyes widened. “You’re a frost giant? I had no idea.”

  “Aw, Gertie. You be funnin’ ole Tiny.”

  Gertie waved a paw at the entrance to the ravine. “Off with you, then. See if you can find the mablets’ village while you’re at it.”

  Tiny tapped his forehead. “I be thinkin’ the same thing, and thas’ a fact. ‘Tiny,’ I sez to m’self, ‘you make yerself useful and find them little ‘uns’ home.’ I likes to be useful, don’t you know. Handy hands make dandy helpers, thas what me mam always says. A wise, one, me mam.”

  “And full of sayings,” Gertie muttered.

  “She do be at that, and no lie.”

  Humming a happy tune, he trundled off in search of Quill.

  “Not that he’s likely to find it, mind you,” Gertie said when he’d gone. “Quill could be in any of a thousand sluices along the river. But looking for it will keep him out of mischief until the rain passes.” Morosely, she gazed at the unrelenting downpour outside their shelter. “I hate this. I despise being confined.”

  In truth, the inclement weather was affecting them all. Spirits were low and nerves frazzled, and the children wrangled over the least little thing.

  Mauric glanced over at Raine. “You all right, lass?”

  “The roof leaks.” Raine wiped a raindrop off her nose. Her shoulders were hunched, and her lips were pale and set. “And I don’t like the rain.”

  Gog scat, he thought. The lass was frightened. Understandable: the hole they were in was rather like being buried alive.

  A flurry of arms and legs drew Mauric’s gaze outside the bamboo hut. Keron and Chaz were rolling around in the mud.

  “Stop them, Mauric,” Gertie said, “before I pinch their heads off and swear to the gods they died of natural causes.”

  “Yes, mor.”

  He ducked outside to separate the scuffling boys. Tucking a wiggling child beneath each arm, he carried them back under the bamboo roof.

  “Now,” he said, setting them down. “What’s this kerfuffle?”

  “He stole my rock.” Chaz made a grab for the shiny stone in Keron’s hand. “Give it back, Keron. It’s mine.”

  Keron held the rock high. “Not no more, it ain’t. You dropped it. Finders keepers. That’s river law.”

  “Then river law is stupid.”

  Keron scowled. “Is not. You take that back, you cry baby.”

  “Don’t call me names.”

  “Cry baby.”

  “I’m not a cry baby. You’re a cry baby.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are so. Just wait. You’ll see.”

  The words had hardly left Chaz’s mouth before a bee buzzed in out of the rain and stung Keron on the hand. The boy dropped the rock with an agonized shriek, and flung himself into Raine’s arms.

  Calmly, Chaz retrieved the rock from the ground and slipped it into the pocket of his tunic. “Told him not to call me names. I don’t like it.”

  Mauric squatted down in front of him. “No one does, but a man learns to control his temper. No more fighting, is that clear?”

  “Sure.” Chaz gave him a sunny smile that was unsettling. “No more fighting.”

  Polla and Rosy stood near Raine, arms around one another, watching her comfort the sobbing boy. Tears filled Rosy’s eyes and Polla’s lips trembled.

  Mauric watched them uneasily. He had younger sisters, and recognized the signs. “Oh, Tro. Here we go.”

  Sure enough, the girls screwed up their faces and began to howl.

  Wincing, he turned to Gertie. “What now?”

  “We wait for the rain to stop, and then we head for the Big Shara.” Gertie rolled her yellow eyes at the wailing children. “Precious little sugar lumps, aren’t they? Don’t it make you wish you had a few of your own?”

  “Gods, no.”

  “That a fact? Then keep your jigglestick in your breeches, boy, and don’t plough anything in a skirt.”

  “Mor,” Mauric said, much shocked.

  She gave him a fond whack upside the head that sent him staggering. “Just a friendly warning. You are related to Finn, after all, and they don’t call him the Father of Finlara for nothing.”

  Chapter 19

  The Proper Course

  Raven watched the Plum Islands of Valdaria slide past the starboard bow. It was winter, and the grape vines marched like naked scarecrows along the terraced hills. The clover was in bloom. Planted between the winding rows, the lush growth protected the vines and the thin purple soil from exposure and the winter rains. The bright pink blossoms turned the islands into flower baskets adrift on the Valdar Sea.

  Glory glided from below deck and the sailors in her path scattered like pigeons. Without giving them so much as a glance, she strolled to the rail and stood gazing at the lush islands, her lovely profile cool and composed. The proud tilt of her chin, however, belied her outward calm. Glory had noticed the crew’s aversion and was wounded by it.

  “Poltroons,” Raven remarked to his burly helmsman as two sailors tripped over one another in their efforts to avoid her. “I wish they wouldn’t do that.”

  “Slinks about like a trodyn cat, that one,” Gurnst said. “Even her cloak don’t swish. She makes the men nervous.”

  “She’s an elf,” Raven said. “They aren’t known for thrashing about and making noise.”

  “Uncanny critters, elves, and standoffish. Downright unfriendly, come to think on. Look down their noses at the rest of us, which is fine by me. Let them have their precious wood, I say, and may they keep to it. I, for one, have no use for ’em.”

  “A crushing indictment, to be sure.”

  “It ain’t just that she’s an elf,” Gurnst said. “She’s a seer and a wizard. Bad luck, wizards. I don’t hold with magic. None of us do.”

  It was a very good thing the men were ignorant of his peculiar ability, Raven reflected,
or he’d be looking for a new crew.

  “Glory is my guest,” he told Gurnst. “She has news of import for the Rowan. She will be treated with respect, or the culprit will answer to me.”

  “Aye, no need to get your bowels in an uproar.” Gurnst rolled an eye in Glory’s direction and tensed. “Tro save us, here she comes.”

  Glory had left her solitary post and was wending her way toward them.

  “Go on,” Raven said, taking pity on the nervous sailor. “I’ll take the wheel.”

  Gurnst fled, moving with remarkable swiftness for such a big man, and Raven took the helm. He ran his palms over the smooth, spoked wheel with satisfaction. The wheel was his Tamiran shipwright’s latest innovation and a vast improvement over the clumsy whip staff. Let others mock him for a fool, if they would, for defying tradition. He would have the last laugh. Moska Nartam was a genius, and Raven had already given the builder orders to replace the steering systems on all his ships.

  “A pity we’ve no time to visit the islands,” Glory said in her lilting voice, joining him at the helm. “Valdaria is a lovely place, and a shipment of good wine would bring a tidy profit in Finlara.”

  “Aye. Ale flows freely in Finlara, but Valdarian wine is a luxury.”

  “How long until we reach Gambollia?”

  “Three weeks, give or take, depending on the weather.”

  “Excellent. We’ve important affairs there.”

  “We, Aunt? I’ve no business in Gambollia.”

  “You are mistaken. We will stop there. I have seen it.”

  “Then you are purblind and have misread the portents.”

  “Rulers and merchant kings have sought my counsel, yet you misdoubt my ability?” She shook her head. “You are a stubborn man, Raven. There are powers at work here beyond your ken.”

  He snorted. “Spare me the mystical claptrap.”

  Glory sighed. “You baffle me, nephew. You decry all things magical, yet, you are possessed of an extraordinary gift.”

  He glanced around. Thankfully, none of the crew were near. “Lower your voice, or we’ll both be thrown overboard. Finlars don’t hold with magic.”

  “A dull, tedious race, your precious Finlars. Great warriors, but not an ounce of imagination. Thank the gods, you’ve elvish blood in your veins.”

  “So I am told. Where is my dear mother, by the by? Off bedding another king and discarding her leavings?”

  Glory’s lips tightened in disapproval. “Do not judge her. You know not the path she walks.”

  “How could I, when she has ever been absent? Not that I regret the acquaintance. Gertie raised me. She is my mother, not your inconstant jade of a sister.”

  Glory studied him, her expression unreadable. “You were not always so bitter. Perhaps one day, you will know and understand your mother’s choices.”

  “And perhaps one day a troll will sit on the throne of Finlara.”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Not in Finlara.”

  “We shall see. I bid you good e’en.”

  Glory gave him a placid smile and drifted away, leaving Raven to shake his head. His aunt was a master at manipulation and accustomed to getting her way, but this time Glory was doomed to disappointment. He was the captain of the Storm, and he decided their course.

  Chapter 20

  The Wishing Game

  They spent a cold, miserable night huddled beneath the dripping bamboo fronds. When dawn came, greeting them with watery sunshine, Raine was exhausted and eager to leave the cramped shelter.

  “You look knackered, pet,” Gertie said. “Wishing you’d left the brats in a tree?”

  “Of course not. Any sign of Tiny?”

  “No, and I’m done waiting on the great lump.”

  “But—”

  “No need to worry. Tiny will find us. Eventually.”

  They consumed a cold breakfast and set out. The river sparkled in the sunshine and the fresh scent of rain hung in the air, lifting Raine’s spirits. The cart had been left behind, and Gertie and Mauric took turns with Raine carrying the smaller children. They followed the faint track at the top of the cliffs, and by avoiding the muddy riverbank, they made good time. They’d been walking less than an hour when a clump of trees on the path ahead shifted and blurred.

  “There you be,” Tiny said, shedding his glamour. “Couldn’t find Quill, so I passed the gab with some marsh fairies, and guess what? They tole me they’d heared tales of a raid on a floater.”

  “Marsh fairies? Vicious little gadflies,” Gertie said. “You’re lucky they didn’t lure you into a bog and leave you.”

  Tiny gave her an injured look. “I knows better ‘n to follow a marsh fairy, Gertie.” He brandished the flask on his hip. “I put a little brandy into the top of my flask and waited for ’em ter come to me. Fairies love strong spirits better ’n a troll loves ale.”

  “Watch yourself.” Tiny endured Gertie’s glare placidly, and she added with a snap of her jaws, “And?”

  “I asked ’em to spread the word that me and m’ friends rescued three brace o’ mablets from a Shad patrol. Tole ’em we be headed fer the Big Shara.”

  Gertie looked disgruntled, but couldn’t seem to find anything wrong with this. “Not a bad idea. Marsh fairies love to gossip. With any luck, word will reach the parents that we have their children and we can rid ourselves of the bothersome little fidgets.”

  “You talk the talk and walk the walk,” Raine said, “but I think you’re fond of the children. I think you’ll miss them when they’re gone.”

  Keron and Chaz were pelting the older girls with rocks. Screeching in fury, Hazla and Fenola chased after them.

  “Oh, yeah,” Gertie said, watching the children with a sour expression. “I get sick just thinking about it.” She twirled a whisker. “We’ve got at least twenty-five more leagues before we reach the Big. What’s got me pothered is how we get there. I can fly, but with the added weight of the children, I’m worried about Tiny.”

  “I can carry the lot o’ them if ’n I walks,” Tiny said stoutly. “It be the jumping with a heavy load wears a body out.”

  “Too slow,” Gertie said, shaking her head. “It would take us three or four days at that rate, and we can’t be late. Brefreton will be in a stew.”

  “Reckon I could jump with ’em in bunches.”

  “No, I don’t want us separated. Too dangerous.”

  Mauric had been lounging on the grass listening to this discussion. He rose to his feet in a single, fluid move. The faint pink blotches on his skin, the lone remnants of the eater attack, had vanished altogether, and he once again exuded the animal vitality of the supremely fit.

  “I’ll run,” he said. “That should ease Tiny’s burden.”

  “That’s more than seventy-five miles,” Raine said, rapidly calculating the distance in her head. “You can’t run that far.”

  “Don’t be a dafty. Of course, I can.” Mauric glanced at Tiny and shuddered. “Besides, I’d run twice as far rather than ride a giant. No offense, Tiny.”

  “None taken. I knows you be belly-fussed.”

  Mauric winced. “I’ll thank you to keep that tidbit to yourself. A warrior has his pride, you know.”

  “What tidbit? I has no idee what you be gumming about.”

  Under Raine’s anxious scrutiny, Mauric helped Hazla and Fenola shimmy onto one of the giant’s broad shoulders. He was settling the younger girls in the older girls’ laps when the troll turned into a bird and took to the sky.

  Polla pointed at the darting swift with a cry of delight. “Look, Gertie’s a birdy.”

  “Never mind that,” Raine said, clapping her hands. “Listen, children, when Tiny moves, try not to stare at the pretty colors. Focus on something ahead of us instead, like a tree.”

  Waving aside the warrior�
��s offer of assistance, she scaled the giant and seated herself on his other shoulder. Keron and Chaz scampered up behind her and sat on her lap.

  She patted the giant’s thick neck. “All right, Tiny. We’re ready.”

  “Right-o, Rainey.”

  The children squealed as Tiny took a shambling step and the world melted.

  “Don’t look at the colors,” Raine said again. “They’ll make you motion sick.”

  Tiny took another five steps and paused. The red swift swooped up, circling the giant’s head. “Take a break at midday,” the bird trilled. “I’ll scout ahead.”

  The bird sped off again, and was soon out of sight.

  Tiny continued at a leisurely pace. Even so, his shifting gait ate up the distance, and by the time they stopped to eat, they’d put more than ten leagues behind them. While Tiny rested, Raine fed the children a meal of ham and cheese from the supplies in the giant’s hoard.

  Keron nibbled on a piece of apple, and made a face. “I’m tired of this old stuff. Ain’t we got nothing else?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Raine sympathized with the boy. She was tired of apples and ham, too. “Why don’t we play a game to pass the time?”

  “What kind of game?”

  “A wishing game. If you could have anything in the world to eat, what would you wish for?”

  “Pudding,” Keron said at once.

  “Fried fish,” cried Polla.

  “Mince pie,” said Rosy.

  “Yuck,” Hazla said. “I’d have hot bread and brambleberry jam.”

  “Me, too,” said Fenola, following the older girl’s lead.

  “What about you?” Raine asked when Chaz said nothing. “What would you have?”

  Chaz shrugged. “What they said, I guess.”

  “Copy cat,” Hazla said. “Make your own wish.”

  Chaz scuffed his foot in the dirt. “Dunno what to wish for.”

  “Stupid baby. Can’t even name your favorite food.”

  “That’s unkind, Hazla.” Raine laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Chaz doesn’t have to play if he doesn’t want to.”

  “What about you?” Chaz asked, looking up at her. “What do you wish for?”