A Meddle of Wizards. Alexandra Rushe
know she was near until you were dead.” He held out the finished boots. “Here, try these.”
Reluctantly, Raine accepted Mauric’s handiwork. The “boots” were little more than glorified socks, but a sight better than nothing. She brushed the dirt and wet grass off her feet and slipped them on. The fur lining felt like heaven against her icy toes.
Mauric dangled several long strips of leather in front of her. “Straps, to keep them up,” he explained, then showed her how to secure the boots, crisscrossing the leather ties up her calves and tying them at the knees. The boots were too long, so she rolled down the tops. She jumped off the altar and walked around in them. They were too big, but at least they were warm.
“Will they do?” Mauric asked.
He looked so eager, Raine found it hard to stay angry with him.
“Yes, thank you. It was kind of you to make them for me.”
“You’re our guest. It was the least I could do.”
“Hostage, you mean.”
“Hostage is an ugly word.” He flashed his dimples at her, the charming rogue once again. “You will come with us, won’t you?”
“Do I have a choice?” she said.
“None at all.” Brefreton cocked his head, listening. “She’s here. Try not to scream.”
“I screamed once,” Raine said. “It doesn’t mean I go into hysterics over every little thing. I won’t scream again.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Tree branches rustled and swayed, and the monster lumbered out of the woods. The troll’s anxious gaze brushed past Brefreton and Mauric, and found Raine. This fearsome thing was actually nervous of her. Raine found this oddly reassuring.
On impulse, she closed the space between them. “I’m Raine. Sorry about the way I acted before. You’re my first troll.”
The troll’s unease melted into astonishment. “They don’t have trolls on Urp?”
“Nope. Not a single one. We don’t have wizards, either.”
The troll smiled, displaying an alarming set of teeth. “Well, then, that explains it, don’t it? Nice to meet you, Raine. I’m Glogathgorag.”
“Glogess . . . uh . . . what?” Raine said, her tongue tripping over the peculiar syllables.
“Glog-ath-gor-ag,” Mauric said. “It’s Trolk, the language of the trolls. Comes from the root word gertenglogg, which means ‘beautiful one.’ But you can call her Gertie. Everybody does.”
“Thank you, Mauric. When I need your help, I’ll beat it out of you.” Gertie looked Raine up and down, taking in the woolen poncho and her new footwear. “Nice boots.”
“Aren’t they?” Raine wiggled her toes. “Mauric made them for me out of his vest.”
“I can see that. It is to be hoped that Mauric has a spare.”
“Finlars don’t get sick, mor.”
“I’ve heard. Do you have another vest?”
“Yes, mor.”
“Humor me and put it on.”
Mauric heaved a sigh. “Yes, mor.”
He strode over to the horse, pulled another vest from one of the packs, and donned it without protest.
“Much better,” Gertie said when this process was finished. She turned to Brefreton. “You done lollygagging? The sun’s been up this hour and more. Or maybe you were hoping to break your fast with the Dark Wizard?”
“Nope. Not feeling particularly suicidal at the moment.”
“Then we should leave.”
“Agreed,” said Brefreton.
“Where are we going?” Raine asked.
Brefreton pointed to the towering peaks in the distance. “Over those mountains. The sooner we get out of Shad Amar, the better.”
Raine stared at the tall peaks in dismay. “On foot? How long will that take?”
“Hmm.” Brefreton tugged on a lock of his hair in thought. “It’s more than sixty leagues to the border of Tannenbol, so I’m guessing two weeks—if we don’t get snowed in.”
“Two weeks?” Raine did the math. “You expect me to travel nearly two hundred miles through the mountains in a blanket and a pair of fur socks?”
“I intended to use the god stone to take us directly to Tannenbol,” he said. “I didn’t count on losing it.”
“Humph,” Gertie said. “Good thing I’ve got a backup plan.”
Brefreton’s expression brightened. “You do?”
“Course I do. You think I lived this long by being stupid?” Throwing her head back, the troll gave a low, warbling trill. “He’s a little shy,” Gertie explained when there was no response. She trilled again, adding softly, “It’s all right. You can come out now.”
With a rumble, a chunk of the woodsy hillside broke off and barreled toward them like a runaway train.
Mauric cursed and dove into the path of the oncoming landslide, hooking one arm around Raine’s waist as he fell. They landed in an awkward jumble out of harm’s way. Raine disentangled herself and rolled to her knees. Brefreton and Gertie stood directly in the path of the avalanche. They’d be buried alive.
“Look out,” Raine cried.
At the last possible second, the mountain heaved its bulk skyward, reforming into . . .
Raine’s overstimulated brain balked. She was looking at a giant—an honest-to-God-fee-fie-fo-fum-Jack-in-the-freaking-beanstalk-giant.
Remembering her promise to the wizard, she didn’t scream, not even when the giant lifted a foot the size of a coffee table and crashed into the clearing.
Chapter 6
Into the Mountains
Mauric helped Raine to her feet and gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that. It’s only a giant.”
“Only a giant?” With shaking hands, Raine brushed the dirt and grass off her woolen shawl. “Is he going to squash us?”
Brefreton squinted up at the mammoth creature. “No squashing. Right, giant?”
The giant’s answer was a grave nod. Raine couldn’t help but stare. He was, well, gigantic, at least twenty-five feet tall with massive shoulders and legs, bulging arms, and fists like boulders. Flaxen curls hung in ragged disorder down his broad back. The sleeveless vest that covered his wide chest had been fashioned out of animal hides, and a tattered skin skirt reached to his knees. Thick, curly blond hair covered the giant’s huge calves. Rough sandals covered callused feet hard as horn, no doubt from carrying his enormous weight around. His slab-like toes, like his calves and forearms, were hairy.
Raine’s gaze moved to the giant’s face. He returned her scrutiny with an appealing mixture of curiosity and solemnity. He had a long, noble nose, this giant, set above a generous mouth.
“He’s got a name, Bree,” Gertie said. “This is Tiny Bart.”
“Tiny? There’s nothing tiny about him,” said Mauric, folding his arms on his chest. “Course, we can’t see all of him, can we?” Gertie took a swat at him and he ducked. “For shame, mor. I was talking about his ears.”
The giant gave a rumbling chuckle and slapped his enormous thigh with one hand, each blow landing with a sound like plywood hitting pavement from two stories up.
“Tiny be me mam’s pet name for me,” the huge fellow said.