A small crowd had gathered in the street. Several nearby booth owners were muttering among themselves, unsure of the situation but reluctant to interfere. Raven shoved the trapper into the dirt and grabbed the key from his belt. He opened the door and the troll slunk out. She shot a wary glance at the crowd of humans and sprang at the trapper.
Raven jerked the man out of reach. “Easy, little sister,” he said in Trolk, shoving the bleeding man behind him. “Right now, this is a fight between two men, ugly but not unusual, but to these humans you are an animal, a commodity to be bought and sold. Violence from you, they will not accept. Kill this miserable lump of gog droppings, and they’ll be screaming for your head.”
“Let them try,” Ilgtha snarled, driving the onlookers back with a slash of her claws. “Death is welcome to take me, so long as I taste the trapper’s blood. He’s drugged and beaten me, treated me as less than nothing. And look what he’s done to my beautiful fur. He deserves to die for that alone.”
“Agreed, but what of me? Would you have my death on your head? I would be duty-bound to defend you, and the onlookers are many.”
The troll stared at Raven for a moment, then her shoulders slumped in defeat. Raven’s pride smarted at the lie. He was a Finlaran warrior. He was in no danger from a bunch of soft merchants, but he wanted no more trouble. The city guards patrolled the market, and he had no wish to cool his heels in a holding cell for disturbing the peace and maiming a vendor.
“The dye will not last forever,” Raven told her. “Return to your home and await your chance.” He shook the trapper by the scruff of the neck. “I know his kind. He won’t be able to resist the lure of the traps for long.”
“He will sneak into our mountains again.” The troll’s eyes blazed with anticipation. “And when he does, the hunter will become the hunted.”
“Just so, but first you must return to Udom.” Raven released the moaning trapper and clasped the troll’s shoulder. “Come with us. I am the captain of a ship bound for Finlara. You are welcome aboard the Storm.”
Leaving the injured trapper to the care of his fellow merchants, Raven ushered Glory and the troll down the street.
“You handled that with aplomb, as I knew you would,” Glory said as they strode away from the chaotic scene. “But we must hurry. You don’t want to be late for your meeting.”
“Meeting? What meeting? So help me, Glory, I’ve had a belly full of your nonsense.”
“Patience, dear. All will be revealed in time.” She gave him an appraising look. “Your color is high. I fear you have become choleric. An excess of meat and ale in the diet, perhaps? When we get back to the ship, I’ll mix you a cleansing draught. That should unlock your bowels and set you to rights.”
Chapter 33
Shads and Trackers
“Put on your cloak and hood,” Brefreton said. “Your attire is scandalous, and we don’t want to draw attention. I should make you change, but I don’t wish to tarry. You’ve upset poor Abbah dreadfully. He’s in a state.”
“I upset him? He called me names and then he attacked us. And, for your information, my britches are not scandalous.”
Brefreton gave her a pained look. “Please. Don’t say ‘britches.’”
Mauric seemed to find this terribly amusing. Raine shot him a glare, which only made him laugh harder. Brefreton was a prude, she decided, and Abbah was an oily little jerk. As for Mauric, he was a braying jackass who thought everything was funny
Feeling ill-used, she jerked on her new cloak, a lightweight garment of red Esmallan wool. She stroked the soft cloth. Abbah was a narrow-minded, obsequious pain in the rump, but she had to admit he knew his way around a needle. The cloak fit to perfection.
“The wool is oh-so-warm and water repellant,” the tailor had told her, “but the cloth breathes, so you will not become overheated.”
She followed Bree and Mauric into the front of the shop, where they found the tailor cowering behind a stack of cloth.
“Ah, there you are,” Brefreton said, peering behind the fabric wall at the slim tailor. “We’ve come to settle our account.”
Abbah slunk out. “There will be no charge,” he said, blowing his nose into a silk handkerchief. “N-not after my unseemly behavior.”
“I insist.” Brefreton handed him a pile of coins. “I’ve included an extra thirty garvons for the damage to the shop.”
“You are too good, narooch,” Abbah said, pocketing the coins. “This one does not deserve your generosity.”
“Nonsense. You’ve had a severe shock. Allow me to offer my sincerest apologies.”
“As you say, narooch. I wish you good fortune.” Abbah glanced at Raine and shuddered. “Though I fear you will not find it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Raine demanded, bristling.
“Never mind.” Grinning, Mauric drew her out of the tent. “We got what we came for.”
He slung the bundle containing Raine’s new wardrobe over one shoulder and they set off down the street, with the warrior in the lead. Mimsie’s warning had Raine on edge and she glanced around. She half expected something or someone to jump out at them, but as they strode through the bazaar unmolested, she gradually relaxed. Maybe Mimsie was mistaken about the attack, or maybe she was teasing. This was the same woman, after all, who’d thought it hilarious to put Jell-O in Raine’s shoes.
A group of idle young men loitered in the street, blocking their way to flirt with a shopkeeper’s daughter. Without breaking stride, Mauric lifted the startled youths and flung them aside.
“Do something,” Raine said to Brefreton. “You were worried about me drawing attention, and he’s making a scene.”
“So I noticed. What do you suggest?”
“I don’t know. Can’t you ask him to be a little more inconspicuous?”
“Inconspicuous, a Finlar? You explain the concept to him. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
They passed a cluster of food vendors and the tantalizing smells of roasted meat and grilled onions made Raine’s stomach rumble.
Brefreton stopped in front of a booth. “Was that your stomach, or a tribe of hungry ogres?”
“Me,” Raine said. “I was too upset to eat last night, and we didn’t have time for breakfast.”
“I’m hungry, too,” Brefreton said. “Let’s grab a bite.”
Mauric wheeled around and stalked back up to them. “What are you doing? The shade warned there’d be trouble.”
“Nothing’s happened so far.” Brefreton handed the vendor a coin. “Maybe Mimi was wrong.”
“Mimsie,” Raine said around a mouthful of food. The meat had been coated in spices, and was delicious. “Mimi was my kitty. I don’t think Mimsie would appreciate being confused with a cat.” After giving this some thought, she added, “Don’t think Mimi would like it much, either. She never had much use for Mimsie after the unfortunate dryer incident.”
The two men exchanged a look.
“Don’t ask.” Brefreton shook his head at Mauric. “Something tells me we don’t want to know.”
Raine smiled at the vendor, a short, balding man with a round face and a nose with broken veins. “This is good. What did you put in the rub?”
The man gaped at her without answering, his eyes bulging in his pale, sweaty face.
“What’s the matter?” Raine waved the meatsicle at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
She glanced around. Vendors up and down the street were watching them with expressions of dread.
Raine dropped the skewer and backed away. “Something’s wrong, Bree. Everybody’s staring at us.”
The tents around them erupted without warning, and men in red and black uniforms poured out. Mauric flung the bundle of clothes aside and drew his sword. Two soldiers ran at him, and he skewered them.
“Run,” he shouted, exchangin
g blows with a third. “I’ll hold them off.”
Raine couldn’t move. Her limbs seemed made of sand. Two Shads wrestled Brefreton into a tent. The tent rocked back and forth, and a blue fireball whizzed past Raine’s head. The missile torpedoed down the street, igniting the booths in its path. Terrified merchants screamed and tumbled into the street, and shoppers and peddlers trampled one another in a frenzy to escape.
Raine heard agonized screams. The two soldiers who’d tackled Brefreton burst into the street, on fire. Shrieking, they rolled on the ground. Raine smelled the sickening sweet odor of charred flesh. Horror washed over her, but she couldn’t look away from the writhing, burning bodies.
Brefreton strode out of the blazing yurt. “Raine, don’t just stand there. Move.”
“You burned them.”
“Don’t look at me like that. They surprised me. Don’t like surprises.”
From up the street, there was the clang of steel on steel. Mauric was still fighting the Shads. More of Glonoff’s soldiers poured down the street. Mauric grinned and moved to intercept them.
“Let me help, Mauric,” Brefreton shouted, grasping his wizard stone. “You can’t fight them alone.”
“As it happens, he’s not alone,” a dark-haired warrior said, stepping out of an alley.
The stranger was big, like Mauric, maybe bigger, and carried a sword strapped across his back. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but Raine’s stunned brain couldn’t place him. The horde of soldiers swept down the street, and the dark-haired warrior drew his sword.
Raine knew that Mauric could fight, but this man was lethal, his sword dancing too fast for the eye to follow. Each stroke was merciless and efficient, and he moved with a kind of predatory grace, removing limbs, cleaving necks, and opening wounds in bellies and chests. Mauric did his share of bloodletting, too, and the market street was soon choked with body parts and gore. Raine’s stomach churned. The smell of blood and death, the crumpled hunks of bleeding meat that had once been men, the groans of the dying, were all too familiar.
“Forget the Finlars,” the hard-pressed leader of the Shads shouted. “Get the girl.”
A group of soldiers broke away and pounded down the street toward Raine and Brefreton.
“Run.” Brefreton lifted his wizard stone. “I’ll take care of this lot. Meet me back at the Great Arch.”
“But—”
“Run, dammit.”
The urgency of his tone broke Raine’s paralysis, and she took off, the hood of her cloak flapping behind her as she ran. She heard screams and glanced back. Two more men were on fire and Brefreton held another fireball at the ready.
“There she is,” someone shouted. “After her.”
Raine kept running. Footsteps thudded behind her. She looked over her shoulder. Four Shads had somehow evaded Bree and were in pursuit. One of them, a wiry soldier with squinty black eyes reached for her, his lips peeled back in a snarl. Raine yelped and ran faster, dodging through the crowd. There was a clatter and a shout. Raine risked a second look back. Two of the soldiers had gotten tangled up with a stout woman selling fish, spilling her wares. The soldiers sprawled in the road amid the fallen fish. A thickset man—the fishwife’s husband, perhaps?—stood over the Shads, beating them with a large cod.
Two down, two to go, Raine thought, her legs pumping faster.
The two remaining, a tall, ferret-faced man and a thick-shouldered soldier with a crooked nose and an angry scar on one cheek, pounded after her. Raine sped up, but she was tiring and they were gaining on her. She realized that she couldn’t outrun them, and darted into a rug merchant’s tent, ignoring the outraged curses of the startled owner. The Shads plowed inside after her, knocking over a table of sheepskins and patterned runners.
“Stop, stop,” the rug maker shouted, stepping in front of them. “This is an outrage.”
The beefy Shad shoved him to the floor. “Out of the way, old man.” The Shad grinned, showing blackened teeth, and crooked a finger at Raine. “Come here, girl. Make me keep chasing you and you’ll be sorry.”
“Bite me,” Raine said.
She overturned a stack of rugs, burying the Shads underneath, and slipped out the back. She sprinted down the lane. Shouts behind her told her the Shads had followed. A boy selling beef ribs and meat pies stepped out of an alley. Raine slammed into him and sent him spinning.
“Watch where you’re going, you daft puffkin,” the boy yelled, righting his wobbling tray.
The Shads stormed out of the tent and hotfooted after her. Raine darted away, squeezing between an old lady hawking tallow candles and a rickety display of cooking pots. She hurtled around a fishmonger’s wagon laden with mackerel, herring, eels, and cod, leapt over a barrow of wet hay packed with clams and oysters, and dashed into a cheesery, her sides aching from exertion. She ducked behind a huge wheel of cheddar to catch her breath. Rows of salted hams and garlic sausage hung from the ceiling. She crouched there until her heart stopped pounding, then slipped out the back door of the cheesery. To her surprise, her flight had brought her to a wide avenue of brick buildings. She spotted a wine shop, a draper, a jeweler, and a cobbler, but nothing that looked familiar.
Her heart thudded again, and not from exertion. The market was a rabbit warren, and she’d been separated from her companions. What if she couldn’t find them again? She looked around and spied the rim of the Great Arch in the distance. The icy fingers of panic clutching her heart eased. She could do this. She’d outwitted the Shads, hadn’t she? All she had to do was keep the Arch in sight, and she’d be fine.
She broke into a trot, turned down a side street, and ran straight into the arms of the man with the scarred cheek.
“Gotcha.” Giving her an evil grin, he grabbed her by the arm and eyed her flushed face and disheveled curls. “I can see now why Glonoff wants you. You could double for Hara.” He grabbed her by the buttock and squeezed. “Bonier, but an eyeful, all the same.”
“Let me go.”
“Not on your life, sweetheart. You’re going to make me rich.”
Raine struggled to escape, but the Shad hauled her down the street.
When she resisted, he rounded on her and grabbed her by the throat. “Stop fighting me, you little bitch,” he snarled, squeezing her windpipe. “I mean to have that reward, if I have to choke you senseless to get it.”
Raine jerked free and spat in his face. The Shad snatched her by the cloak and slapped her hard, once, twice. Her ears rang from the blows and her lips smashed against her teeth. She tasted blood, and something hot and angry rose inside her.
“Drop dead,” she said, kicking him in the shin.
“Gog.” The Shad staggered and released her, taking her cloak with him.
Raine bolted around the Shad and down the street. She heard a shout behind her and a dull thud, but didn’t look back. Turning down first one alley and then another, she lost herself in the maze of streets and shops, terrified that the Shad had given chase. Soon, she was breathless and lost, but she kept on running.
She burst into an empty courtyard and skidded to a halt. The square was small but pleasant, with a sparkling fountain at the center. Squatting in front of the bubbling font was a hideous monster, a slimy, toad-like creature with round, unblinking eyes and a wide slash of a mouth. The monster’s skinny claws rested on a belly that was grossly distended. The toad thing opened its gob and a long, black tongue flicked out, sampling the air.
“Berk,” the monster said, hopping toward Raine.
The thing smelled her. Terrified and repulsed, Raine turned to run. There was a loud crack, like the snap of a whip, and pain seared her left leg. She looked down. The monster’s tongue was wrapped tight around her thigh and saliva ate through her breeches, burning her like acid. She shrieked and tried to pull free, but the elastic band held fast.
The toad jerked its massive head
and yanked Raine off her feet. She landed on her back and the air left her lungs with an audible whoosh. The back of her head slammed into the cobblestones, and her vision went black.
“Berk,” the monster croaked again, dragging her across the pavers on her back.
Gasping for breath and clutching her pounding head, Raine opened her eyes. The toad’s maw yawned, and its fetid breath washed over her, a rancid combination of stagnant water and decomposing meat. Raine kicked out. Her right foot slammed into the monster’s spongy tongue, and a shower of blue sparks shot into the air. The toad squealed in pain and released her. She rolled and scrambled to her knees. Ignoring the searing pain in her left leg, she tried to crawl away. The monster’s tongue shot out again, wrapped around her waist, and dragged her back.
“Let me go,” Raine shouted, pummeling the toad’s slimy flesh with her fists.
To her shock, her arms sank elbow deep into the monster’s chest. The creature’s insides were gooey, like warm gelatin. Raine screamed and tried to free herself, but she was stuck fast. Horror and adrenaline coursed through her, and the ever-present humming at the edge of her mind roared to a crescendo. Her body shone. Energy poured out of her and into the monster. The toad squealed, a horrible, high-pitched sound, and steam whistled from its gaping mouth.
Raine smelled roasted fat and reptilian skin. She tried to pull back, but the searing torrent continued unabated, shaking her like a rag doll and rattling her teeth.
At last, it ended and Raine sank to her knees. The remains of the toad thing slopped off her arms and onto the cobblestones in a puddle of brown ooze. Sparks of light shot from her skin and whizzed around her head like maddened fireflies.
“Mauric’s right,” she said, swaying. “I really do glow.”
She face-planted on the cobblestones and the darkness took her.
Chapter 34
Fire at the Inn
Raven ran his sword through two Shads and cleaved a third one in half. His blood sang. This was what he needed. After weeks of frustration and confinement at sea with Glory, a fight was sweet and satisfying. With a flick of his blade, he opened a fourth man’s belly. The Shad groaned and toppled to the dirt.
A Meddle of Wizards Page 30