A Meddle of Wizards. Alexandra Rushe
lips. She thrashed about, knocking the bowl out of Gertie’s paws.
“Kron’s hammer, she’s spilled it,” Gertie said. “I’ll have to make more.”
She rose and went back to the fire. Returning with the new batch of tonic, she motioned to Mauric. “Hold her, so I can funnel this down her throat.”
Mauric sat down in the sand and put Raine in his lap.
Gertie placed the bowl against Raine’s lips. “Open your mouth, pet,” she coaxed. “Take your medicine for old Gertie.”
Raine pressed her lips together and fastened her feverish gaze on a point past the troll’s burly shoulder. Mauric braced himself for another shattering scream.
“Naw, sheesh not so bad,” Raine said. “Those things that Mauric killed . . . now they were ugly.”
Gertie looked around. “Who’s she talking to?”
“No idea.” Mauric met the troll’s startled gaze. “Unnerving, isn’t it?”
“Never mind that.” Gertie’s brows lowered. “What mischief have you been up to, boy? What things did you kill?”
“We ran into a few ograks while you were gone. I handled it.”
“Ograks, huh?” Gertie snorted. “So I’m not ugly compared to a goggin, am I?” She held the cup to Raine’s lips. “Damn me with faint praise, would you? Still, I suppose it’s something.”
Raine took a sip and grimaced. “’S’awful. Don’t want any more of thash stuff.” She stared once more at something past Gertie. “Yesh, yesh, I’ll tell him.” With an effort, she fastened her woozy gaze on Brefreton. “Mimsie shesh you should see the gigantic snow men Tineez made.” She hiccupped. “She shesh Tineez done a fine job, but she thinks they might look a little s’picious.”
“Mimsie?” Brefreton looked at Mauric. “Who in Reba’s name is Mimsie?”
“How should I know?” Mauric said. “You’re the wizard.”
Brefreton glanced at the cave entrance. The storm had increased in fury, and the wind howled like a thousand demons outside their little shelter. Mauric didn’t blame him for not wanting to brave the blizzard.
“It’s probably the fever talking, but I’d better have a look.” With a sigh, Brefreton flung his cloak around his shoulders. “Drat that giant. Making me go out in a blizzard.”
Grumbling, he left the warmth of the cave.
Bit by bit, Gertie cajoled Raine to take the rest of the tonic, and the girl drifted off to sleep.
When Raine’s breathing slowed, Gertie set the empty bowl aside. “You can put her back on the pallet now, Mauric.”
Mauric obeyed. He covered Raine with the blanket and stepped back. Her face was pale, and there was a bluish tint to her lips. Poisoned. Mauric shuddered.
Several hours later, Brefreton returned, covered in snow and half-frozen, and strode straight to the fire to warm his stiff hands. “There were snow men, all right. Big ones. That damn fool giant built a whole village of snow people that resembled the five of us in detail, right down to the hairs on Gertie’s chin.” He shook his head. “Remarkable work, I must say, but it had to go all the same. Might as well send up a flare telling Glonoff where we are. Tiny cried like a baby when I made him tear them down.”
Mauric cleared his throat. “You might not know it, Bree, but giants are a sensitive lot.”
“So I discovered.” Brefreton said, “Damn near drowned.”
Raine’s fever returned later that night, and she awoke, racked with chills and complaining of pains in her arms and legs.
“Take them out. Take them out,” she moaned.
Gertie bent over her. “What is it, pet? Take what out?”
“The knives, take them out.”
Her anguished cries tore at Mauric. “For Tro’s sake, help her, Gertie,” he begged. “I can’t stand this.”
“Mollycoddler.” She glowered at him and removed several brown twigs from her medicine bag. “If it bothers you so much, go play in the snow with Tiny.”
“Thank you, no.” Mauric peered over her shoulder. “What’s that stuff?”
“Herbs to ease the pain,” she said, grinding the twigs into powder. “Now stop pestering me.”
He withdrew a short distance and resumed his pacing. Keeping one eye on Gertie, he watched the troll mix the brown powder with water. She motioned for him to come closer.
“If you’re going to wear a trough in the floor, you might as well be useful,” she said. “Put the lass in your lap, same as before.”
Mauric nodded and took Raine in his arms. “There, lass,” he said, holding her still. “Gertie will make the knives go away.”
She looked up at him with eyes that were stark pools of pain. Her face was ghastly pale, and her lips were cracked and dry.
“Hurts,” she whimpered.
“Here, sweetling, drink this.” Gertie held the cup to Raine’s lips. “It should help.”
Mauric braced himself, expecting Raine to resist. To his surprise, she meekly gulped the liquid down.
Gertie grunted. “She trusts you, boy.”
“Or she’s parched with thirst.” Mauric smoothed Raine’s fever-damp hair from her forehead.
Within minutes, Gertie’s potion did its work. Mauric met the troll’s troubled gaze over the girl’s head.
“You did it, mor.” He gave her a shaky grin. “She’s asleep. Now what?”
Gertie’s expression was grim. “Now we wait.”
Chapter 9
A Lesson in Worgs
Raine opened her eyes and waited, as was her habit each morning, to see how her failing body would betray her. Her symptoms varied. Some days she suffered flu-like aches and pains in her joints and bones. Other times, she ran a low-grade fever that left her wrung out and listless, or she was plagued by nausea and muscle cramps. A headache was her constant companion, and she was always, always fatigued.
This morning, however, she felt . . . okay, and in her world “okay” was epic. Granted, she was slightly queasy and there was a foul taste in her mouth—what had she eaten the day before, alligator ass?—but the migraine had subsided to a dull roar. Maybe this would be one of her rare good days.
She stretched and froze. She was lying in sand, not on her bed. Turning her head, Raine saw a small fire and, beyond that, walls of rough stone that rose to a ceiling studded with black stalactites. She bolted upright, taking in her surroundings in stunned disbelief. She was in a cave, which meant—
Gertie stumped out of the shadows, hairy, massive, tusked, and scary as hell. “About time you woke up, laze-about.” She shoved a battered metal cup at Raine. “Here. Drink this.”
The memories flooded back, and Raine recalled standing on the icy ground, barefoot. Mauric had made her a pair of shoes from his vest, then Tiny had arrived on the scene, a moving mountain with guileless blue eyes—holy cow, giants were real—and Brefreton and Gertie had turned into birds and flown away.
Wizards were real, too.
She and Mauric had ridden the giant into the hills, where they’d been attacked by a group of hideous man lizards hungry for their next meal. She’d been terrified, but Mauric had seemed to relish the encounter.
She looked around, indignant. “Where’s Mauric? That imbecile stuck me in a tree while he entertained himself fighting those . . . those things.”
“Ograks,”