A Meddle of Wizards

by Alexandra Rushe

  Turning, she sank into an armchair across from him. “As I was saying, the Council is pressuring me to marry.”

  “You’re the Queen. Tell them to take a flying leap up a pig’s arse.”

  She gave a shaky laugh. “I think I’ve abused the poor pigs enough for one day, don’t you? Besides, I happen to agree with them.”

  “The pigs?”

  “The Council’s judgment that I should marry.” Her mouth curved in distaste. “Although, I must say I’m less than thrilled with the candidates thus far.”

  “I can imagine. Tell me, how many of the lords on the Council have offered to sacrifice themselves on the matrimonial altar?”

  “Three, so far.”

  His lips twisted. “Let me hazard a guess. Each of these paragons has professed his undying love for you?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Mullet brained, every one of them.”

  She stiffened. “I thank you, sir, for the compliment.”

  Swinging his feet to the floor, he reached out and took her hand. “My dear girl, I meant they are mullet brained to think you would have them.”

  “Of course, I wouldn’t marry a member of the Council.” Balzora trembled at his touch. “Such a move would be politically disastrous.” She tugged free of his grasp before he noticed his effect on her. “Besides, I made up my mind long ago whom I would marry.”

  “Do tell,” Brefreton drawled. “Who’s the lucky fellow?”

  “You, of course, silly.” Seeing his stunned expression, she rushed on before her courage deserted her. “Marry me, Bree.”

  How many times had she rehearsed her lines, determined to sound blasé and sophisticated? Dozens—no hundreds of times, but her preparation was for naught. The words tumbled out in a breathless rush.

  “Don’t be absurd, Zozo,” he said. “I’m old enough to be your grandfather.”

  “Technically, Bree, you’re old enough to be my grandfather ten times over. But if I don’t care, why should you?”

  “You deserve a young man, one who can come to you with a clean heart. Not a cynical old wizard like me.”

  “You’re not old. Well . . . numerically speaking, you are old, but that’s beside the point. You don’t look or act like an old man.” She stamped her foot. “Anyway, I told you, I don’t care about your blasted age.”

  “But I do. Besides, I’m already married.”

  Balzora felt as though she’d been struck. “M-married? I didn’t—I mean, you never told me you’re married.”

  “Was married,” he amended. “Once, and that was enough for me.”

  “She must have been perfectly awful to put you off the idea entirely.”

  “Oh, she was perfect, all right. Perfectly adorable. Perfectly wonderful. Perfectly perfect. I loved her, and I was damn sure I couldn’t live without her.” A muscle in his cheek twitched. “And then she proved me wrong. She died. An annoying little habit you mortals have.”

  “You’re mortal, too.”

  “In literal terms, yes, but as you so kindly pointed out, I’ve lived for thousands of years, whereas the ordinary man or woman is lucky to see a hundred. It’s the curse that goes along with the gift of magic, to watch your loved ones wither and die, while you live on and on, without aging . . . .”

  At nineteen, Balzora found it hard to imagine her own death. Still, to a wizard her lifespan must seem pitifully short. Brefreton could love a score of women like her and outlive them all. The loss of one woman, however, had hurt him so deeply that he no longer cared to try. She turned away to hide her tears.

  “I see. I’m sorry. I wanted—” She collected herself, pride putting steel in her spine. “That is, I hoped you would consider filling the position of consort. From a business point of view, it makes perfect sense. After all, you’ve had ages of experience.”

  “That’s enough about my age for one day, thank you.”

  She shrugged. “Practically speaking, you seemed the best man for the job. I had the good of Tannenbol in mind. I mean, it’s not as if my feelings are involved.”

  He scowled. “Now see here, Zora—”

  A knock on the door interrupted them, and Mumfort poked his bald, wrinkled head into the library.

  “Sorry to disturb, Majesty,” the secretary said, “but Cook wishes to know if you and the wizard will be dining in your private chambers. Or will you be joining the rest of the court in the great hall?”

  “The wizard is leaving, you old puff bladder,” said Brefreton.

  Balzora quickly stepped in. “I shall dine alone, and so you shall tell Cook.”

  “Yes, Majesty.” Mumfort shot Brefreton a look of dislike and withdrew, leaving Balzora and Brefreton in uncomfortable silence.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, there’s no need to look so whey-faced,” Balzora snapped. “It’s not as if I ordered you to marry me.”

  “Zora . . . “

  She flung up her hand, stopping him. “Please. Let us forget this awkward business and move on. What brings you to Fortenral?”

  Though desperately unhappy, she took care not to let it show in her voice.

  To her annoyance, Brefreton looked relieved. Clearly, he’d been afraid she would make a scene. She should. Oh, yes. She should make a scene of such titantic proportions it would haunt him the rest of his days, but she wouldn’t. She was the queen. She would not cry . . . not in front of him, at any rate.

  “I’ve bad news.” Rising, Brefreton clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace. “Very bad news, I’m afraid.”

  “I knew it,” Balzora said. “The back of my neck has been itching all morning.”

  “Oh, no, not the neck.”

  “Unlike certain wizards, my neck is reliable. It invariably itches when there’s trouble brewing, and here you are.”

  Brefreton turned and held up his hands, as though to ward off a blow. “Ouch, a direct hit.”

  “And as it happens, I have bad news, too,” Balzora added in a repressive tone. “The Shad Amar are raiding our borders.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm? I happen to think the end of five hundred years of peace significant.”

  “Of course, of course.” His tone was placating. “I’ve got . . . other things on my mind. What have you done about the raids?”

  “W-e-l-l . . .” she said. “Whenever I have a problem, I try to imagine what you would do and then I do it.”

  That got his attention. He ceased his pacing and wheeled around, staring at her in horror. “Sweet Rebe, what if I make a mistake?”

  “You haven’t so far.”

  “Zozo . . . I don’t know what to say. Your father never wanted my advice.”

  “Father listened to the wrong people. I don’t intend to make the same blunder.”

  “I see. So what did ‘we’ decide to do about the raids?”

  She ignored his teasing tone. “I sent an ambassador to parlay with Glonoff. He was given the run around, as you can imagine.” Her lips tightened. “He had the effrontery to tell Lord Fallon no raids had been ordered. That he would not breach the sacred trust between Shad and Tan for all the silver in the Moaning Mountains. Utter rubbish, of course.”

  “Glonoff wouldn’t know the truth if it bit him. What then?”

  “The raids occurred regularly for a while, and then stopped.” Balzora looked down at her hands. “That made me nervous. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Glonoff was up to no good. As soon as the passes were clear enough for travel, I sent three spies across the border into Shad Amar.”

  Brefreton stepped closer. “What did they find out?”

  Balzora rose to gaze out one of the large windows that overlooked the city. Her city, Fortenral, the crown jewel of Tannenbol. Twilight had descended, and the first stars twinkled in the sky. In the distance, torches flared on the city walls as so
ldiers began their nightly patrol. The street vendors were closing shop for the day, and the bustle of their day-end activity mingled with the sounds of people hurrying home for dinner. The lyrics of a lewd song drifted to the palace from the street below as a group of young men wound their merry way from one pub to another. She grimaced. The sound of their laughter reminded her of the young men she’d sent to their deaths.

  “Zora?”

  “Two of the spies were captured as soon as they crossed the border.” Her voice was dull. “They died.”

  “And the third spy? Did he learn anything?”

  “Oh, yes. She learned plenty. Unfortunately, she was unable to determine the motive behind the raids.”

  “She? The third spy was a woman? Zora, that was brilliant. Glonoff wouldn’t expect you to trust a woman with so important a mission.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m brilliant.” She turned to face him and, this time, she did not bother to hide her tears. “It’s remarkably easy to be brilliant from the safety of my palace. Those young men didn’t stand a chance, and I knew it. They were decoys. I sent them to their deaths. I killed them, Bree, as sure as I stand here.”

  “It’s done. Stop torturing yourself.”

  “Don’t say torture, please. When I think of what they must have suffered . . .” She shivered. “And the worst of it? It was a waste, a waste of time and lives. I still don’t know why Glonoff ordered the raids. They stopped as abruptly as they began.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Brefreton said. “Why would Glonoff raid our borders before the Eye was stolen? Unless he knew it was going to be stolen and the raids were a diversionary tactic.”

  Balzora grasped the windowsill for support. “What is this? The Eye has been . . . been . . .”

  “Stolen,” Brefreton said. “Taken by some thief hired by Glonoff, or I’ll eat my cloak.”

  “But this is dreadful news. I’ve received information that Glonoff has made a pact with the Torgs, and now this? We are a nation of farmers, Bree. How can I protect my people from the wolves and jackals at our door?”

  “No need to panic. Reba assures me Glonoff doesn’t have the Eye.”

  “I have no faith in your goddess.”

  “She’s your goddess too.” Brefreton’s lips twitched. “Don’t tell me you’re still sulking over a little rain.”

  “It wasn’t a little rain. It was a storm. She deliberately ruined my twelfth birthday celebration.”

  “Ridiculous. Why would a goddess spoil a child’s party?” He gave her a coaxing smile. “Don’t be angry. It’s bad for the digestion.”

  She closed the space between them and clutched his arm. “Brefreton, have you considered the prophecy? If the Eye falls into Glonoff’s hands, he will use it and Hara to enslave us all.” She searched his face. “You’re too calm. What are you not telling me?”

  “Hara has a twin.”

  “What?”

  He winced as her nails dug into his arm. “Sit down, and I’ll explain.”

  Balzora sank into a chair, listening as Brefreton launched into a bewildering tale of a place called Earth, and how he’d been sent there to find Hara’s twin and bring her back. He described his encounter with the twin and her illness and, with less composure, confessed that he’d lost the god stone.

  Two Haras? Balzora shook her head. “Does Glonoff know about this . . . this other?”

  “I’m not sure, but I don’t think so, and I mean to keep it that way.”

  She sorted her jumbled thoughts and reached a decision. “We never had this conversation, Bree.” She held up her hand when he tried to speak. “As far as Glonoff is concerned, I’m a silly girl, and I shan’t do anything to disabuse him of the notion. By feigning ignorance, perhaps I can buy time for my people. As for this twin—”

  “Her name is Raine.”

  “Call her what you like, but know this. I will not give her sanctuary. I will not have my city torched for this madness.”

  “Of course, I would not bring her here. I thought I would take her—”

  “No, don’t tell me. What I don’t know, I can’t tell the Dark Wizard.”

  “You amaze me, Zozo. Already you surpass your father in wisdom.”

  “No great feat.” Balzora smiled sadly. “My father was a dear, dear man, but he was weak. I mean to do better.”

  “You already have.” Turning, Brefreton strode for the door.

  “Wait,” Balzora cried, jumping to her feet. “There is still much we have to discuss.”

  He looked back at her with a smile. “As you so wisely pointed out, it’s better if you remain ignorant of my plans.”

  Balzora clenched her fists. “Never mind. I can guess where you’re going. You’re going to see her. Run to your precious goddess, then. I hope she turns you into a door knob.”

  Brefreton made a face. “That, my dear, is a distinct possibility.”

  Balzora felt a stab of panic as he opened the door. “Wait, Bree. Don’t go. War is coming, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “The Council will guide you, and I am needed more elsewhere.” He grinned. “Look on the bright side, your Majesty. War means derring-do, and derring-do means heroes. Think of the dashing young men you’ll have to choose from as your royal consort.”

  The door closed behind him with a soft click. Furious, Balzora picked up the nearest figurine and hurled it with all her strength. It shattered against the door with a satisfying crash.

  She marched over to survey the damage, and nudged a shard of glass with the toe of her slipper. Until a moment ago, the broken statuette had been a remarkably fine likeness of the goddess Reba, a coronation gift to her great grandfather by the renowned glass blower Sandifer, if memory served. Now it was shattered beyond repair.

  Balzora smiled.

  Chapter 16

  Harnessing the Troll

  It had taken a good deal of patience on Raine’s part and no small amount of persuasion, but once the children were convinced that the giant was under her spell, they’d clamored to be the first aboard the Tiny Express, cavorting around his cinderblock feet like a litter of kittens.

  “Here now, nipper.” Tiny plucked a child from beneath his skirt and held him aloft. It was the little boy with the dark, wavy hair. “That be private business under there, if you takes my meaning.”

  “Can you carry us all, Tiny?” Raine had asked anxiously.

  “Course I can.” He lowered the giggling tyke to the ground. “Making these mites sit still so’s they don’t fall off . . . that be the challenge, don’t you know.”

  He was right, Raine had realized with a trickle of unease. Oh, dear, something else to worry about. She studied the children. First things, first. Introductions were in order.

  “This is Tiny and I’m Raine,” she’d said. “What are your names?”

  “Hazla.” The blond girl with the attitude reached over and nipped the arm of a timid-looking brunette. “And this is Fenola. She’s shy.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Raine said. “How old are you?”

  “Fee and I are eleven. Way older than these squeakers.” Hazla sniffed and looked down her nose at the other two girls. “Polla and Rosy are only eight.”

  “I’m Keron and I’m seven,” a little boy with a thatch of bright red hair had volunteered, sticking out his chest.

  “Seven? My goodness.” Raine knelt before the little boy who’d gone spelunking up Tiny’s skirt. “What about you? What’s your name?”

  He scuffed his toe in the dirt. “Chazmas.”

  “Chaz is a baby,” Keron said.

  “Am not, you big stupid.” Lowering his head, Chaz charged the bigger boy.

  Raine grabbed him by the back of the tunic. “Goodness, the way you two fight, you must be brothers.”

  Chaz balled up his fists. “He’s not my brother.”

&
nbsp; Keron had glared back at him. “Yeah. We ain’t kin.”

  Raine sighed. Judging from Chaz’s size, he couldn’t be more than five or six. He was her responsibility now—they all were. It was up to her to get them home safe.

  She motioned to Hazla and Fenola. “You two are the oldest. You go first.”

  The girls stuck their tongues out at the younger children and scaled the giant, an undertaking that involved a good deal of pinching and pulling. Tiny had endured the process with admirable stoicism. Rosy and Polla went next, climbing into the older girls’ laps.

  “Here, now,” he’d protested. “That don’t be a hidey hole, mablet.”

  He flicked a bird’s nest out of his ear with his finger. Giving him a grateful smile, Raine had sent Keron and Chaz scampering onto his shoulder. She’d followed, settling the boys on her lap. Wrapping her left arm around them, she laced her right arm through the rawhide lashings on Tiny’s vest.

  “We’re ready, Tiny,” she’d said. “Let’s go.”

  The giant lumbered to his feet and Raine sent a silent prayer heavenward that none of the children took a tumble as Tiny slid into his special distance-eating gait.

  “Hold on,” Raine warned. “This is the tricky part.”

  At Tiny’s first listing step, the children had shrieked in alarm. All except Chaz, that is; the youngest boy kicked his heels and whooped in delight.

  The giant halted. “Little ’uns be all right?”

  Raine had quickly counted heads. “All here.”

  “Whew,” Tiny said with obvious relief.

  Keron whimpered. “My stomach tickles.”

  Oh, dear. Giant-i-tis.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” Raine told them. “It’s not far.”

  A few more giant steps made short work of their journey, and they were soon reunited with Gertie and Mauric in the dun-colored hills.

  The troll rose on her hind legs when she saw them. “What’s this you’ve brought, dinner?”

  Polla squeaked in alarm and ducked under Tiny’s long blond hair, pulling it over her like a curtain.

  “These nippers be stolen from their families by them bad men we met this morning.” Tiny winced as the girl tugged on his hair. “Watch it, ankle biter. Snatch me bald and ole Tiny’s head will freeze come the next snow.”