A Meddle of Wizards. Alexandra Rushe
opened her eyes and found Mauric gazing down at her. “You are mistaken,” she said, sitting up. “I never faint.”
“That so?” His blue eyes twinkled. “Could have fooled me. Limp as a dead eel, you were.”
Ignoring her outraged sputtering, he slipped the blanket over her cotton pajamas and tied it around her waist with a length of rope. His peremptory manner annoyed her, but Raine had to admit that the makeshift robe was warm. It was huge, hitting her above the ankles, and covered all but the tips of her fingers.
Stepping back, Mauric surveyed his handiwork. “That should keep the worst of the chill off.” His gaze went to her feet. “She’s barefoot. What do we do about that?”
The other man rubbed his chin. Golden-red whiskers had started to sprout on his jaw. Raine stared at him in a woozy haze. Her pounding head made it hard to think. She knew this man, too. His name began with a ‘B’—that much she remembered, but the rest eluded her. Brendan? Bartholomew? Buster? No, it was something out of the ordinary.
“I could conjure her a pair of shoes,” the redheaded man offered. “Given the circumstances, though, magic’s not a good idea.”
Raine’s memories came flooding back. Brefreton; his name was Brefreton, and he claimed to be a wizard. Of the order prime, whatever that meant.
“Magic is never a good idea,” said Mauric.
“Spoken like a true Finlar,” Brefreton retorted.
“Born and bred,” Mauric said, unfazed. “Not to worry. I’ve an idea.”
He shrugged out of this leather vest, and Raine couldn’t help but stare. Jeez Louise, the man was solid muscle.
Stepping closer, he motioned toward her dangling feet and held out the vest. “Give me your foot.”
“Why?” Raine narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you going to do?”
“Eat you, of course, starting at your toes.” He chuckled. “Don’t be daft. I’m going to make you a pair of boots.”
“Out of that?”
“I don’t have fleas. You need boots, princess. Else your trotters will freeze.”
“I’m not a—oh, never mind.”
Reluctantly, Raine allowed him to measure her foot. Dream or no dream, her feet were cold. He scored the garment in several places with the tip of his knife.
“There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said, meeting her worried gaze with a flash of his disarming grin.
Raine watched in bemusement as he strode over to a horse, a magnificent, long-legged animal with a broad, short back and clean lines. The steed’s refined, wedge shaped head and large eyes connoted spirit and intelligence. The animal whickered and nuzzled Mauric; he gave the horse a fond pat in response. Opening a saddle bag, he removed a small pouch, went over to a stump, and sat down. Producing a set of tools that included a small, sharp knife, an awl, and a length of leather cording, he set to work.
Brefreton wandered over to investigate. “You sew?”
“Aye.” Swiftly, Mauric sliced the vest into four stocking-shaped pieces. The inside of the vest was lined with fur. “Every Finlaran warrior is trained in leather craft. Rowan’s orders. You never know when you might need to repair a broken bridle, a knife sheath, or a pair of boots. A man can’t fight with sore feet. And I’ve taken a needle to a few wounds in my time as well.”
“Indeed?” Brefreton’s brows rose. “I thought the mighty Finlars healed too fast to need stitches.”
“I didn’t say the wounds were ours. We often fight alongside less hardy folk.”
Raine listened to this by-play with growing indignation. “What happened to that thing?” she demanded.
“Thing?” Brefreton shot her a puzzled glance. “I don’t know what you—”
“She means Gertie.” To Raine’s surprise, Mauric’s earlier warmth evaporated, and he shot her a frosty glance. “You’ll mind your tongue when you speak of her. Or else.”
Raine bristled. “Or else what?”
“Or else I’ll turn you over my knee. Beneath Gertie’s hairy breast beats a tender heart. I won’t have you upsetting her again.”
“Me, upset her? She ate a rabbit. Raw. In front of me.”
“What of it?”
“That’s disgusting. And she’s hideous.”
Threading a large needle, Mauric set to work stitching the pieces of cloth together. “By human standards, perhaps, but Gertie’s considered a beauty among trolls.”
“There’s no such thing as a troll.”
“No such thing as—” He shook his head. “Blatherskite. I can’t wait to tell Gertie she doesn’t exist.”
Raine felt a zing of alarm. “She’s coming back?”
“Of course. She only left because of your caterwauling.” He regarded her from beneath lowered brows. “A word of advice. Our Gertie makes a loyal friend . . . or a deadly enemy. Trust me, you don’t want to be on her bad side. Right, Bree?”
“Right.”
As he spoke, the wizard started toward her, and Raine scurried behind the slab of stone. “Stay back, both of you. I mean it.”
Mauric gave her a hurt look. “I haven’t moved, lass, as you can plainly see.”
“Good. See that you don’t.”
“Whew,” he muttered, returning to his work. “Watch yourself, Bree. That one’s right twitchy.”
Raine stiffened. “I am not—” She rubbed her aching temples. “Oh, this is so strange. I don’t understand any of it.”
“Poor Raine,” Brefreton said. “You’ve had a bad time of it. How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts, but that’s nothing new.”
He frowned. “This sickness, what is its nature? Perhaps I can help.”
“Know anything about brain tumors?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t do squat.”
“The Earth physicks have confirmed this tumor?”
“Well . . . no,” Raine admitted. “They don’t actually know what’s wrong with me.” She stuck out her chin. “But a tumor’s as good an explanation as any. At least it explains why I’m seeing things.”
“You are not seeing things,” Brefreton said. “You are frightened and confused, and that is understandable, but it doesn’t mean you are mad. You have questions?”
“Oh, yeah.”
She had questions, all right. Her brain buzzed with them.
“Ask me anything you like,” the wizard offered. “I’ll do my best to answer.”
“Okay.” She climbed back on the stone to keep her feet off the frozen ground. “For starters, where am I?”
“Tandara.”
“Tan what?”
“Tan-da-ra,” he repeated, emphasizing each syllable.
Raine looked around, considering the soaring mountains and the two strangely dressed men. She wasn’t in Alabama—that was for dang sure. That meant—
She swiveled her head around to glare at Brefreton. “You kidnapped me.”
“I most certainly did not.” He looked indignant. “You accosted