A few feet away, Mauric was busy with two more soldiers, and down the street, Brefreton was holding his own. The wizard gestured and two Shads skittered down the street, blown aside like dry leaves. They slammed, headfirst, into an obelisk dedicated to some long-dead merchant lord, and went still. Brefreton motioned again, and another soldier shot into the air. The man sailed high over the tents and fell, shrieking, his arms and legs wind-milling. He slammed into the unforgiving ground with a bone-cracking thump.
“Do you mind, Bree?” Raven said, finishing off two more Shads. “That one almost landed on me.”
The Shads broke ranks and melted into the market like bats fleeing daybreak. “No matter,” Brefreton said, dropping his wizard stone. “Looks like they’ve had enough.” He picked up a large bundle from the street and tossed it to Mauric. “You dropped this.” Straightening his cloak, the wizard sauntered over to Raven. “Nice little fight—glad you showed up. What brings you to Gambollia?”
“I was headed home and was . . . er . . . persuaded to turn back.” Raven wiped his blade on a corpse. “Who’s the woman? She took off like a startled doe.”
Though he’d gotten but a brief glimpse of the slim, trembling figure, something about the woman had caught his attention. Then the fight had started, and the killing calm washed over him.
“She’s with me, and I need to find her,” Brefreton said. “Did you happen to see which way she went?”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you sent her into the Great Market unprotected.” Glory stepped out of the shadows of a large tent. “Not the wisest of moves, Bree.”
“Glory.” Brefreton pasted a queasy smile on his face. “Never expected to see you here.”
“Of course, you didn’t expect to see me. You are not a seer. I am. On the other hand, I knew we were destined to meet.”
“You’re a seer? Silly of me to have forgotten. Seem to recall you mentioning it before.” Brefreton shot Raven a sympathetic look. “Persuaded, huh? Gods be good, I can only imagine.” He edged away. “Well . . . lovely to see the two of you again. Must be going. Find the girl, and all that.”
He whirled and fled as if the hounds of Skelf were at his heels.
Ilgtha slunk out of the alley. The troll gave Raven a reproachful glare and growled something to Glory in Trolk.
“Yes, I know, he lied to you,” Glory said, “but it was for your own good. If he’d allowed you to kill the trapper, there would have been trouble.” She turned to regard Raven. “Why are you still standing there? Go after the girl. I don’t know what Bree was thinking. The place is positively crawling with Shads.”
“Why should I go after her? She’s nothing to me.”
“She’s the reason we are here. Hurry.”
Raven shook his head and strode off after Brefreton, but there was no sign of the wizard. Bree, like the girl, seemed to have vanished. He stopped a fishmonger to ask for directions.
“You after the gal in the red cloak, too?” the fat woman said. “Soldiers were chasing her, the poor lamb. The ruffians knocked me for a loop and spilled my cart. Tried to run off without paying for the fish they spoiled, but the mister soon set them straight.”
“He’s fortunate to have such an excellent lady wife.” Raven slipped the woman a coin. “Did you happen to see which way the girl went?”
“The mister did,” the fishwife said, fisting the coin. “Told that feller in the tatty cloak she went that a-way.”
She directed him a few streets down, and Raven left her with a nod of thanks. A disquieting sense of urgency quickened his pace, though he knew not why. Despite what Glory said, the girl was nothing to him.
He turned down the lane and stopped. A soldier dressed in Shad Amaran red and black lay on the path ahead, his eyes wide and unseeing. Raven knelt beside the dead man. No broken bones or stab wounds. No visible injuries. The man seemed to have simply . . . died.
Mauric came trotting up. “Ho, you killed another one?”
“Nay, I found him this way.” Raven got to his feet. “You seem to have lost your bundle.”
“Gave it to the troll to carry. Thought you might need me.”
“Well, I don’t. You should have stayed with Glory. It’s not safe.”
“She has a troll. Who’d be crazy enough to bother her?” He nudged the Shad with his boot. “If you didn’t kill this one, what happened to him?”
“I don’t know. Dead as a stone, and not a mark on him.” Raven plucked the red cloak from the Shad’s stiff fingers. “Who’s the woman, a relation of Bree’s?”
Mauric shook his head. “Oh, no, you don’t. Not going there. If Bree wants you to know about her, he’ll tell you.”
More and more mysterious. Raven opened his mouth to prod his cousin further, and closed it again at a shout in the distance.
Mauric cocked his head. “That sounded like Bree.”
Raven tossed the cloak at Mauric and took off at a dead run. He hurtled down a side alley past a clockmaker and a saddler and came upon the wizard standing in the road, as though unsure which way to go.
“Did you find her?” Raven asked, loping up.
Brefreton shook his head. “No, and all these streets in this damn rabbit warren look alike.”
Raven jerked his head up at a feminine wail of terror. “This way,” he said, sprinting toward the sound.
He raced down a narrow alleyway and into a small square. What he saw there made his blood run cold. The girl stood with her back to him, and she was in the clutches of a tracker, a revolting creature employed by the Shads to hunt down escaped slaves and those fleeing Magog’s altars. Held fast in the monster’s grip, she desperately struggled to free herself.
Raven drew his sword and charged. He was halfway across the courtyard when the girl struck the tracker with her fists. There was a tremendous thunderclap, and the street tilted at a crazy angle. Raven was thrown to the cobblestones. Chunks of stone and clods of dirt bounced past him like marbles in a giant’s game. Ducking a flying rock, Raven sprang to his feet. The fountain lay on its side, cracked in two. The girl stood on an island of unbroken stone, her arms sunk deep in the tracker’s chest. She blazed with light. The air around her snapped with energy, and a swirling vortex spun over her head. Power poured from the swirling funnel cloud, through the girl, and into the goggin. Her body shook with the force of the torrent.
The tracker shrieked, a keening wail of agony that went on and on. Finally, mercifully, the screaming stopped, and the girl went to her knees. What was left of the creature slopped off her arms and onto the street. The girl swayed and crumpled to the cobblestones.
Sheathing his sword, Raven swiftly navigated the sea of broken stones and knelt beside her. She lay on her side, her dark hair covering her face. Spent magic whirled around her in an acrid haze and drifted through the air like bits of burning ash.
Brefreton and Mauric hurried up.
“Don’t touch her,” the wizard warned.
“It’s all right,” Raven said, checking the girl for injuries. “It only stings a little.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about.”
“Your concern for my welfare is touching, Bree, but she’s not exactly helpless.” Raven jerked his chin at the slimy stain on the pavement. “Ask that goggin.”
“She overreacted. It happens to the best of us. She’ll learn.”
“There’s a dead Shad lying in an alley a few streets back.” Raven ran his hands down the girl’s limbs; nothing broken. “Mind you, I’m not complaining. Generally, I prefer my Shads dead, but I’m curious to know how that one got that way. Care to explain?”
“He had her by the throat when I came up,” Brefreton said. “She said something and kicked him in the knee. She ran off before I could stop her.”
“And the Shad?” Raven asked.
“He got a funny look on his f
ace and fell over,” said Brefreton. “He was dead before he hit the ground.”
Mauric made a sound of satisfaction. “I’m guessing he didn’t like what she had to say.”
Raven ran his fingers along the girl’s scalp. He frowned when he encountered a large lump. “She’s got quite a goose egg on her head. Must have hit it on the cobblestones when the tracker grabbed her.” He gently probed the knot, noting with relief that the skin wasn’t broken. “She’ll have a pounding a headache when she wakes.”
“She’ll be lucky if a headache’s all she’s got,” Brefreton said. “Channeling that much magic can kill you—or make you feel so bad you wish it had.”
“It certainly looked dangerous,” Raven agreed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He smoothed the dark tangle of hair out of the girl’s face and froze. She had a scrape on one cheek and a smudge of dirt on the end of her nose, but her profile was unmistakable.
Raven swore and jumped to his feet. “Hara.”
“It’s not what you think,” Mauric said. “She’s not who you think.”
“I’m not a fool,” Raven said. “I know Hara when I see her. Apart from my dear stepmother, a more self-centered, ambitious shrew you’ll never meet. Have the two of you run mad? You’ve kidnapped the Dark Wizard’s ward.”
A bugle sounded in the distance.
“That’s torn it,” Brefreton said. “The Blue Heads are headed this way. You’ve got to help us, Raven. We need to get her out of here.”
“No.”
“Look.” Brefreton cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. “I’ll explain later, but right now, you have to trust me.” He motioned to Mauric. “Get the girl.”
Raven hesitated. He didn’t understand any of this, but Gertie would peel him like a grape if he allowed Mauric and Bree to be arrested.
He sighed and elbowed Mauric out of the way. “Move. I’ve got her.”
“But Bree said –”
“I don’t give a trodyn damn what Bree said. I said, I’ve got her.”
“Whew, touchy.” Mauric threw up his hands up and took a hasty step back. “Suit yourself.”
Raven sheathed his sword and tossed the girl over his shoulder. They hurried from the ruined square and toward the Great Arch. They hadn’t gone far when Glory and the young troll stepped out of an alleyway.
Glory had a strained look in her eyes. “We must hurry. We are needed at the inn.”
“Never say so,” Brefreton muttered under his breath. “And we were having such a wonderful time here.”
“Raven, take the girl and Ilgtha back to the Storm,” Glory said, ignoring his sarcasm. “Brefreton, you and I must go to the inn—”
“No,” Raven said, cutting her off. “Ilgtha is welcome, but the girl—”
“—and get Gertie,” Glory finished.
“Mor?” Raven stared at her. “My mother is here?”
“Of course.” Mauric chuckled. “Who do you think helped us get Raine out of Shad Amar?”
“Who the trodyn hell is Raine?” Raven asked through his teeth.
“The girl, cuz.” Mauric’s eyes gleamed. He was enjoying this, damn him. “She’s Hara’s twin.”
“You have lost your minds,” Raven said. “Hara doesn’t have a twin.”
“Yes, she does,” said Brefreton, “and Gertie is up to her hairy neck in this business, like the rest of us.” He leaned closer. “Glonoff has been trying to capture Gertie for centuries and the reward for her capture grows with each passing year. And now she’s in Gambollia, practically at his doorstep with the place bleeding red and black. But don’t let it worry you. I’m sure we’ll find some other captain willing to give a troll passage. Eventually.”
Raven gave Glory a seething look. “You knew about this?”
“Naturally.” Her mouth thinned. “Me, I knew you might well abandon, but you would never forsake Gertie.”
Raven held on to his fraying temper. “Very well,” he said, reaching a decision, “you may all have passage on the Storm.”
As he turned to leave, Glory stopped him. “Take Mauric with you. He will explain everything.”
“Me?” Mauric gaped at her. “You can’t be serious. I hardly understand it myself.”
“Do your best,” Glory said. “It is imperative you make him understand the situation.” She turned back to Raven. “As soon as the sun sets, have your men bring a long boat to the southwest shore of the Dog’s Body. Take care to avoid the harbor patrols. We will meet you there.”
Raven searched her face. Glory was being evasive. She was up to something. He knew it in his bones. “My mother . . . Glogathgorag . . . she is well?”
“What is it about that big, ugly troll that inspires such affection?” Glory snapped. “Gertie is fine.”
“Good,” Raven said. “See that she stays that way. You and I will talk later, Aunt. You have much to answer for.”
He turned and strode off with the Mauric and Ilgtha in tow, the girl draped across one shoulder. By the bear, Mauric had some explaining to do.
* * * *
Brefreton watched Ilgtha lope after Raven, and breathed a sigh of relief. “I was wondering what to do about her. We’d have a devil of a time explaining a troll to the Blue Heads.” He toyed with his wizard stone. “How long do you think we have before it dawns on Raven that Gertie could simply fly out of here?”
“Not long, which is why we must make haste.”
Now that it was just the two of them, Brefreton and Glory avoided the blue armored city troops with ease and quickly reached the dock, where they boarded a ferry and crossed the bay to the Dog’s Body. There, they caught a garpolla to within walking distance of the inn. Glory climbed out and hurried away without a backward glance.
Brefreton paid their fare and strode after her. “What’s the rush?”
“I told you. Trouble at the inn.”
Brefreton quickened his pace. “What sort of trouble?”
“I’m not certain.”
Glory, not certain? Alarm bells chimed in Brefreton’s head. A column of smoke drifted over the housetops.
“Something’s on fire,” he said, breaking into a run.
They reached the inn square and found it in chaos. The hostel was ablaze, and people shouted and ran back and forth. One of the guests, a Tannish farmer, wandered through the crowd in a daze, his clothes singed and a look of blank horror on his face. A bucket brigade worked to douse the surrounding rooftops with water to keep the fire from spreading, but it was too late for the Neatfoot. Orange tongues of flame licked out the windows and ate at the roof, and thick black smoke poured from the structure.
“Trudy,” Brefreton shouted, pushing his way through the crowd toward the burning inn. “Kipp, where are you, boy? Gertie?”
There was a tug at his cloak. He looked down with a pang of guilt. He’d forgotten about the boy.
“Where are the others, Chaz?”
The boy’s dark eyes were sad. “Hurt.”
Brefreton’s heart turned over in his chest. “Show me.”
Chaz took him by the hand and led him through the crowd to the far side of the square, where someone had discarded a bunch of rags under an elm. There was something decidedly odd about the bundle; it hovered above the ground as though held by unseen hands, and it shook visibly. Someone under the tree was sobbing, a racking sound of grief and loss. Brefreton slowed, seized by a sudden sense of foreboding.
The rags shifted, exposing the burned leg of a woman and a charred leather clog. The air shimmered and Gertie appeared.
The troll lifted the clump of rags in her lap. “I couldn’t save them, Bree,” she wailed. “I tried, but I couldn’t get to them. The fire, the smoke . . . I couldn’t . . .” She buried her snout in the bundle, her massive shoulders shaking. “Chaz ran off, and I went after him. They killed
them while I was gone.”
“Killed who?” Brefreton said, uncomprehending.
“Trudy and Kipp. They set fire to the inn.” Gertie held out her arms, offering her burden to him. “I found Trudy, but I couldn’t find Kipp. I’m sorry, Bree. I’m so very sorry.”
Brefreton’s knees buckled and he went to the ground. Taking Trudy’s body from the troll, he held it close. “Who is responsible for this? Who set fire to the inn?”
Gertie looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Shads, damn their black hearts. Chaz and I were almost caught by a troop of them as we returned to the Neatfoot. By the time we got back, the place was in flames. I caught two Shads coming out of the inn. Looters, I’m guessing. I killed them. There was a third Shad with a tracker, but he got away when I went in after Trudy and Kipp.”
“Glonoff.” Brefreton’s throat was tight with unshed tears. “Glonoff did this. He killed the others, one by one, and now he’s killed Trudy and Kipp.” He doubled over with grief. “Gone. All gone. They were the last, damn him.”
Behind him, there was a horrified gasp.
“Gertie, you’re hurt,” Glory cried. “You’ve been burned.”
Brefreton straightened. Glory knelt beside Gertie.
The troll blinked at her with a befuddled expression. “Glo? What in Kron’s name are you doing here?”
“I am here because of you.” Glory smoothed the troll’s singed fur. “I knew you needed me.”
“Says who?” Gertie slapped Glory’s hand away. “Stop fussing. You know I hate it.”
The roof of the inn collapsed with a dull boom, and a cloud of smoke and sparks shot into the air. Several onlookers at the edge of the crowd noticed them under the tree, and began to point and mutter.
“We’ve got to get Gertie out of here,” Glory said to Brefreton in a low voice. “The city troops will be here any minute. You know how narrow-minded people can be about trolls.”
Glory’s words penetrated the veil of Brefreton’s sorrow. Trudy and Kipp were beyond his help, but Gertie was not. He got to his feet, feeling old and unspeakably weary.
A Meddle of Wizards Page 31