A Meddle of Wizards

by Alexandra Rushe

  The little girl poked her head out of the giant’s long hair and peeked shyly at the troll. “I’m scared. Is the monster going to eat us?”

  “Eat you? No such thing. This here fur ball be Raine’s troll, the one she be tellin’ you ‘bout.”

  “Fur ball? Why, you oversized lump— How’d you like to be a turnip?” Gertie glowered at Raine, who was still sitting on Tiny’s shoulder. “I have a sick warrior on my hands, and you show up with a passel of runny-nosed whelps. What in Kron’s name were you thinking? And what does he mean “your troll’?”

  “Raine be a beautiful princess and we be under her spell.” Tiny gave the troll a broad wink. “Else these fidgets be afraid, don’t you know.”

  “Under her—” Gertie scowled and crooked a claw at Raine. “Come here, girl. You and I are going to have a little chat.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Raine said, climbing down. Reaching the ground, she looked back at the giant. “Tiny, will you watch the children?”

  “Aye.” Tiny knelt. “Down you get, botherkins.”

  The children shimmied to the ground and began to run circles in the grass with the boundless energy of the young.

  “As if we didn’t have trouble enough,” Gertie said, watching the young ones with a surly expression. Wrapping an enormous paw around Raine’s arm, she dragged her aside. “Now, missy, explain yourself.”

  “I told the children you were enchanted to keep them from being frightened,” Raine said. “It was a fib, but it kept them calm.”

  “Never mind that. Where in Kron’s name did you find a bunch of lap monkeys? Younglings don’t fall out of trees.”

  “As a matter of fact, these ones sort of did.”

  The troll’s eyes glittered dangerously. “You’re trying my patience, girl.”

  “Mimsie showed up while you and Mauric were fighting those Shads,” Raine said. “She told me the Shads had kidnapped some children to sell as sacrifices. Tiny and I went back, and we found them in a cage, high up in a tree. They were alone and helpless. I couldn’t just leave them there to die.”

  “Yes, you could have, and Mimsie should mind her own trodyn business.”

  “Gertie. You don’t mean that.” Raine squared her shoulders. “And if you do, that’s on you. I promised the children I’d take them home, and that’s what I mean to do.”

  The troll snorted. “Good luck with that.”

  “What do you mean? It shouldn’t be hard. Their village is not far down the river. Quill, I think Hazla said it’s called.”

  “Quill’s a floater, not a village, Raine.”

  “A . . . a what?”

  “A floater. It’s a moving cluster of four or five families related by blood or marriage. They lash their houseboats together for protection and float up and down the river to avoid the patrols.”

  “Why do they need to avoid patrols?”

  “They’re thieves, Raine. River scum and outcasts, by and large. Folks too poor to join the guild that controls the river. They survive by running stolen goods. You’ve rescued a bunch of river rats.” Gertie fiddled with her whiskers. “No sense fratching—that horse has run. I just hope that busybody spook told you where to find food and shelter for an injured man and six snivelers.”

  “Um . . . no. She told me about the children and disappeared.”

  “Typical,” Gertie growled.

  “Ahem,” Tiny said, sidling up to them. “Beggin’ yer pardon, but I knows a place where there be food a-plenty, and bamboo to make a shelter.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?” Gertie said. “This food wouldn’t happen to be stolen, would it?”

  Tiny rolled his eyes heavenward. “No idee what you be gumming about.”

  “Don’t play innocent with me, you shameless pilferer. You disappear for a night and come back looking remarkably well fed—no small feat for a giant.”

  “I gets peckish, Gertie. A giant has to eat.”

  “Humph. Very well. That’s one problem solved. Now to figure out how to get us there.”

  “We could use the cart,” Raine suggested.

  “What cart?”

  “The cart the Shads used to transport the children.” Raine looked up at Tiny. “Would you mind terribly going back for it?”

  “Course not,” Tiny said. “Be back in two shakes.”

  He waved and lunged down the hill, reappearing in the distance. Another step and he was gone.

  “The children won’t be a bother, I promise,” Raine said, turning back to Gertie.

  “Know a lot about young ’uns, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  Turning, Gertie stalked back to her patient. After making sure the children were behaving and issuing strict instructions that they were not to wander off, Raine hurried over to check on Mauric. Gertie crouched near the injured warrior, keeping watch. He was shivering and his big body was curled in a knot. Raine was appalled by his condition. Mauric was a strong, vital man. It was horrible and just plain wrong to see him like this.

  “How is he?” she asked, dropping to the ground beside him.

  “Fevered and in pain,” Gertie said with a grunt. “But the young fool refuses to let me give him anything more.”

  Mauric lifted his tattered lids. “I can hear you, you know. The eaters left my ears.”

  Raine stripped off the heavy fur cloak Mauric had given her and held it out. “He’s cold. Cover him with this, Gertie.”

  “You’re skin and bones,” the troll said. “You’ll catch your death, and then I’ll have two patients to care for.”

  “It’s much warmer now we’re out of the mountains,” Raine lied. “And I’ve got my blanket.”

  Gertie hesitated, then snatched the cloak from Raine. “Help me get it on him,” she said. “Finlars make the worst patients. Big babies, the lot of them.”

  “Heard that, too,” Mauric murmured.

  Gertie lifted Mauric to a sitting position as though he weighed nothing, and Raine fastened the cloak around his shoulders. Her hands shook at the simple task. She knew the slightest contact with the oozing wounds must have been excruciating, but Mauric did not complain.

  “There,” she said when she’d finished.

  Mauric closed his eyes with a sigh and pressed his ruined face against Gertie’s furry shoulder. “Warm.”

  Raine and Gertie locked gazes over the injured man’s head.

  “Oh, my God.” Raine’s eyes brimmed with tears. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

  Mauric was going to die. No one could sustain such dreadful injuries and live.

  “He’ll be fine,” Gertie snapped. “Now, stop blubbering and go away. Crying doesn’t help.”

  Chastened, Raine dried her tears and slunk back to the children. She found them asleep on the grass. Sinking to the ground nearby, she crossed her legs and waited for Tiny to return. Long minutes passed. At last, there was a ripple of movement in the hills, like heat rising off hot pavement. The giant appeared in the distance, the wooden cart tucked beneath one arm like a child’s toy.

  Another jump step, and he reached Raine. He plunked the cart on the ground and wiped his sweaty brow. “That there little wagon be heavier than it looks.”

  Raine jumped to her feet with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Tiny. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “You be mos’ welcome, Rainey.”

  Gertie left Mauric and stumped over to examine the rickety contraption. “You call this a cart? It’s a glorified wheelbarrow. It’s much too low for Tiny to pull, even if he stoops.”

  “He could pull it behind him, if we had a rope,” Raine said.

  “Which we don’t, thanks to those infernal birds,” Gertie said. “Doesn’t matter. Mauric can’t ride in that. I won’t have him bounced and rattled about.”

  Raine chewed the end of he
r finger. “We need a horse.”

  “Good luck with that,” Gertie said. “The only horseflesh you’ll find in these parts is in the bellies of those eaters.”

  “You could pull it.”

  “Do I look like a horse to you?”

  “Not a horse, exactly. Another member of the equine family, perhaps.”

  The ruff of hair on the troll’s shoulders stood on end. “Are you calling me a jackass?”

  “Oh, no,” Tiny cried in alarm. “Look what you done, Rainey. She be crabbed.”

  “I don’t care.” Raine glared back at the troll. “You threw a tree around this morning like it was a toothpick. You’re strong enough to pull that cart, and we all know it. I’m sorry if it hurts your pride, but it’s the logical answer.”

  Gertie muttered a curse and stomped off. She returned immediately with Mauric in her arms, and placed him tenderly in the cart.

  She rounded on Raine. “Not one word of this to Brefreton. Not a single word.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The same goes for you, Tiny Bartog,” Gertie said. “Turnips can’t talk.”

  “No need to vegetable-ize me, Gertie,” Tiny said, looking hurt. “I ain’t called you a . . . a what she said. And I ain’t gon’ tell nobody you played horsey.”

  Stalking over to the cart, Gertie placed herself between the traces. “Well, what are you waiting for? We’re wasting daylight.”

  Raine hesitated.

  Gertie growled in irritation. “What now?”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to put the children in the cart and let Tiny carry Mauric?” The troll rumbled in annoyance, but Raine pressed on. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought. “Mauric will be jostled less if Tiny carries him . . . so long as Tiny goes slowly and doesn’t hop. It’s the hopping part that makes Mauric queasy.”

  “Giants don’t hop,” Tiny protested. “We don’t has the ankles fer it.”

  Gertie’s brutish face creased in thought. “Blast it, you’re right,” she said at last. “Do as she says, Tiny.” The giant leaned over and picked up Mauric. “Gently, you great lump,” she barked. “He’s not a bag of apples.”

  Tiny settled the warrior in his arms. “I gots him, Gertie. I won’t drop him, I promises.”

  “See you don’t.”

  The children climbed in and Gertie set off with the cart.

  Raine hurried to catch up. “Is it too heavy? Do you need any help?”

  “Not from a scrawny dab of a girl, I don’t.”

  All further attempts at conversation with the troll were sharply rebuffed. Tiny was right. Gertie was definitely crabbed. Raine slowed her steps to walk beside the children in the cart.

  After an hour of frosty silence, Gertie halted. “Get in. You’re slowing me down.”

  “No, thank you. I’ll walk, but I have a question.”

  “Do tell?”

  Ignoring the troll’s saccharine tone, Raine pointed to the grassy track in the distance. “Wouldn’t we make better time on the road?”

  “Oh my, yes, and think of the sight we’d make—a giant carrying a full-grown man in his arms like a suckling babe, a woman dressed in a blanket, and a cart full of tadlings being pulled by a troll. There’s a fine story for some traveler to share over a pint, for sure.”

  “Oh. I didn’t think about that.”

  Gertie bared her teeth. “What a surprise. Now, shut up and do as you are told.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Raine said, and climbed in the cart.

  Chapter 17

  A Tiny Larder

  They avoided the main road and took a narrow, grassy trail that wound through the hills.

  “I don’t like this, not a bit of it,” Tiny confided to Raine in a low voice, slowing his stride to keep pace with the wagon. “I be used to popping in and out of places, not galumping around in the open.” He shot the troll between the traces a quick, nervous glance. “Not that I be thinking of hopping, mind you, but giants don’t likes to be seen. On account of the squiggies, you see. Some squiggies be terrible unfriendly.”

  “Squiggies?” Raine asked.

  Tiny blushed. “Runts. Shorties. Non-giants.”

  “Got it.”

  “Not that I blame ’em. Yer typical squiggie takes one look at a giant and assumes he be up to no good—when, in fact, mos’ giants be quiet, peace-lovin’ sorts.”

  “And a good thing, too.”

  “Eh?’

  “I should think a riled-up giant would be scary.”

  “Aye,” Tiny said with a nod. “There be a few bad giants, and no mistake. Rogues, we calls ’em. But, mostly, we be easygoin’ folk.”

  By midafternoon, the children grew cranky and began to whine. Gertie stopped in a grassy meadow to let them stretch their legs. Raine climbed out and looked around. Gentle hills enclosed the lea on all sides and a cheerful gurgling noise announced the presence of a stream.

  She led the children to the brook for a drink and back again. Gertie lay on her back basking in the sunshine, a troll angel with her limbs spread wide. The children launched into a lusty bout of tag. Satisfied the children were occupied, Raine wandered over to check on Tiny and Mauric. The giant was resting on top of a hillock, his massive legs sprawled before him. He held the warrior in the crook of one arm.

  “Sleeping like a baby,” he told Raine.

  Gertie rolled to her feet and stomped over. “Put him down. I want to have a look at him.”

  “Sure thing, Gertie.”

  Tiny carefully laid the warrior on the grass and Gertie squatted on her haunches to examine him.

  “Has his fever gone down?” Raine asked.

  Gertie sat back. “Hasn’t gone down. It’s gone.”

  “Really? That’s good, right? So why do you look worried?”

  “Because I can’t rouse him. I gave him a draught to help him sleep, but now I wonder if I gave him too much.”

  “Oh, no. I’m sure you didn’t.”

  Gertie’s only answer was a grunt. Rising, the troll squinted at the sun. “We’ve rested long enough. Up you get, Tiny. I don’t want to be bumping around in the dark, if I can help it.”

  Raine herded the peevish children back into the cart and they set out once more.

  “Try not to fuss,” Raine told them. “Gertie is pulling this heavy cart and you don’t hear her complaining.”

  “But I’m hungry,” Hazla complained.

  “We’ll have a lovely supper tonight,” Raine promised. “Tiny says.”

  She crossed her fingers and sent up a prayer that the giant hadn’t fibbed. She was hungry, too.

  An hour or so later, Gertie drew up. “We’ve crossed the border into Durngaria.”

  The troll sounded relieved, cheerful, even, to have left Shad Amar behind.

  Raine looked around at the rolling hills, tried to discern some difference, and gave up. To her, Durngaria looked much the same as the lowlands of Shad Amar.

  Whistling, the troll picked up the pace, and the cart bumped along the grassy path. In the distance, Raine heard a low, steady rumbling over the creak of the wagon. As the afternoon deepened into early evening, the roar grew louder. They rounded a bluff and came upon a broad river. The rushing water foamed over a shelf of black rock and tumbled into the basin below, rising in tendrils of silver mist.

  The sight of so much water made Raine dizzy, and she clutched the side of the cart, her mind rushing backward. She was in her parents’ car and they were plunging into the river, the cold water pouring through the windows, pushing her down.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Gertie shouted over the noise. “These are the lower falls. They’re a runnel compared to the Deep.”

  “What?” Raine swam to the surface of the nightmare. “The Deep?”

  “The larger falls in the heart of the Black Mountains.
Few people ever see the Deep—the area’s infested with goggins of the worst kind.” Gertie paused thoughtfully. “Not that there’s a good kind, mind you.” She pointed to the rushing water. “The river splits in Durngaria. The locals call the two waterways the Big and Little, but the Shara has dozens of channels. Legend has it, when Magog murdered his brother, Xan fell and shattered the river to pieces.”

  Raine’s heart was pounding. Before Brefreton left, Gertie had said something about a barge, but she hadn’t quite taken it in. Dear God, they would be traveling by water.

  She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat. “Is this where we catch the barge?”

  “Nah, too shallow. We’ll catch one further down.” Gertie peered at her. “You all right, gal? You look a little green.”

  “Fine.” Keep talking, Raine thought. Keep talking or you’ll scream. “Is this the Big Shara or the Little?”

  “This is the Little. Once we reach the Big, barges and ferries will be thicker than fleas on a dog’s belly—it’s a major shipping route controlled by the Durngarian River Guild. Valdarian wines, rare spices, cloth from Esmalla—all sorts of goods are funneled up and down the Big. We’ll catch the first boat we see and head for Gambollia.”

  “I see.” Raine wound her fingers together, tight. “H-how long will that take?”

  “Depends on the captain and the river. With luck and smooth sailing, we should reach the port in a week or so.”

  “A week?” Spots danced in front of Raine’s eyes. Days spent on dark, twisting, serpentine water; tons of it, a hungry behemoth sliding beneath the vessel, waiting to snatch her in its watery claws.

  “Or longer, depending.” Gertie turned to the giant. “The nubbins are restless. Where’s this camp of yours?”

  “A wee bit farther. We be almost there.”

  They trailed after the giant down a path that hugged the river cliffs. The ground was slushy and Gertie grunted, straining to pull the cart through the muck. The sun was hanging low on the horizon when they reached a bend in the river and came upon a stretch of sandy beach.