A Meddle of Wizards

by Alexandra Rushe

  “We’ll take her to the shore to wait for Raven,” he said. “After we get her settled, I’ll come back and . . .” He rubbed his aching chest. “And make arrangements for Trudy and Kipp.”

  Glory nudged Gertie. “Get up. We’re going for a walk.”

  “Don’t wanna walk. Stay with Trudy.”

  “Bree will take care of Trudy.”

  “Staying,” Gertie said, snapping her jaws at the elf.

  Glory gave Brefreton a helpless look. “What do we do? If she remains here, the humans will likely kill her, but you know how she is. We can’t make her do anything. She’s too strong.”

  “I don’t know,” said Brefreton. “I’m not much good at troll wrangling.”

  “I want to see the water,” Chaz announced abruptly.

  “You do?” Gertie said, shifting her bleary gaze to the boy.

  “Sure do, and you’re coming with me.” Chaz patted the troll on the shoulder. “Right now.”

  Gertie blinked at the boy. “I am?”

  “Yep.”

  To Brefreton’s astonishment, Gertie climbed meekly to her feet.

  “This way,” Chaz said. The boy danced away from the elm, motioning to the troll.

  Gertie swayed and took a stumbling step, as though pulled by an invisible string.

  “Here, lean on me,” Brefreton said, hurrying to help her. “Glory, you take the other side.”

  Glory gave the troll a shoulder to lean upon, staggering a little under the weight. “You’re heavier than I remember.”

  Gertie stiffened. “Are you calling me fat?”

  “Certainly not. Hump-backed, snaggle-toothed, and homely as an ograk pup, but never fat.”

  “Hump backed?” Gertie said. “Now see here, you prissy elf—”

  A man shouted at them from the front of the burning inn. “Here now, where do you think you’re going with that troll?” he demanded, starting across the smoky square. “The Blue Heads will want to talk to that one.”

  Brefreton touched his fingers to his wizard stone and murmured a few words. The man paused, confusion replacing the angry expression on his face. He looked around, as though trying to remember something, then drifted back into the crowd.

  “Nicely done, Bree,” Glory said. “Gertie, dear, be a good troll and disappear. We’re drawing attention.”

  “Don’t you good-troll me,” Gertie snarled, but, all the same, her form began to waver.

  “Excellent,” Glory said when the troll had vanished from view. “I knew you could do it, old girl.”

  “Who you calling old? You’re much older than I am.”

  “Positively ancient,” Glory agreed. “And better looking too.”

  This comment elicited a spirited rejoinder from Gertie and kept her moving forward on animus alone which, Brefreton suspected, had been Glory’s intent. The ensuing and entirely predictable argument continued until they reached the shore.

  “Here,” Brefreton said, spreading his cloak in the sand for Gertie to lie on.

  He made her as comfortable as possible, then plodded back to the smoldering inn and the grim business awaiting him there.

  Chapter 35

  Magic on the Beach

  The longboat scraped against the sand at the southwest end of the Dog’s Body. The moon was up, but the passage of several hours had done little to improve Raven’s temper. Somehow, despite his resolve, the weather and his aunt’s finagling had landed him in Gambollia, when he’d been bound and determined to sail straight for Finlara with the news that the Eye was missing. Granted, some good things had come of the detour. Ilgtha had been saved from torture and captivity, and the street fight had been diverting. Enlightening, as well. The Shads’ interest in the girl had been obvious, and now he knew why. His young cousin was, at times, a heedless rascal, but he was no liar. The girl was Hara’s twin, and a wizard to boot. She’d boiled a goggin—alive. Glonoff wanted her, and she was a passenger on Raven’s ship.

  Adding to his foul mood was the nagging suspicion that something had happened to his mother. He secured the boat and leapt ashore. His men sensed his volatile mood, and gave him wide berth.

  Brefreton stepped out of the darkness. “Raine?”

  “Still out cold,” Raven said. “Mauric is with her. Where’s Gertie?”

  “Shads set fire to the Neatfoot. Gertie was hurt trying to save Trudy and Kipp.”

  Raven swore venomously in Trolk. “I knew it. Trudy and Kipp?”

  Brefreton’s throat worked. “Dead.”

  “I’m sorry, Bree. I know you were close to them.”

  “Yes.” Brefreton seemed older, more careworn. “They’re beyond pain and suffering now, and it’s the living we must care for. Gertie’s in pretty bad shape, I’m afraid.”

  “Take me to my mother.”

  The sailors who’d accompanied him muttered worriedly as they hurried down the dusky beach. Raven’s story was a familiar one in Finlara: that he’d been abandoned at birth by his elvish mother; that Gertie had taken him in, raising him as her own; that the Rowan, upon learning of his existence, had brought him to the Citadel to be trained as a warrior, as befitted the son of a king, regardless of which side of the blanket he’d been born on.

  But the crew’s concern for Gertie was more than mere deference to Raven’s adopted parent. There were trolls by the thousands in Udom, but there was only one Gertie. His mother was a legend in Finlara and universally revered and adored.

  The troll lay on the ground. Kneeling beside her, Raven felt a flicker of alarm when he saw the extent of the injuries to her upper torso. Gertie’s arms and chest had been badly burned, and so had her front paws.

  “She went in after Trudy,” Brefreton said in a dull voice. “Pulled her body from the flames.”

  “Merciful gods.” Raven stroked the troll’s muzzle. “What have you done to yourself, mor?”

  “Raven?” Gertie gazed at him, her yellow eyes clouded by pain. “You, too? What in Skelf are you doing in Gambollia?”

  “Let’s say I’m a victim of Glory’s visions and leave it at that.”

  His men crowded around Gertie, exclaiming in dismay at her injuries.

  Raven got to his feet. “Don’t stand there squawking like a bunch of hens. How do we get her aboard?”

  “We could lower a net for her,” one man suggested.

  “A net?” Gertie tried to sit up and failed. “Not on your trodyn life.”

  “You can’t climb, mor. Your front paws are scorched.”

  “Dump me in the harbor for the crabs to eat then. You aren’t putting me in a net like a load of stinking fish.” She swatted at the sailors encircling her. “Stop hovering. You’re sucking up all the air.”

  “Where’s Glory?” Raven looked around and spied the elf. She stood apart from them down shore, lonely and aloof. He stalked over. “You lied to me. You said my mother wasn’t hurt.”

  “I did what was necessary to protect Raine,” Glory said. “Had you known Gertie was hurt, you would have gone to the inn. I could not allow the girl to fall into Glonoff’s hands.”

  “You’ve used me from the start. Moved me like a tile in a game of talfluk,” Raven said through his teeth. “But I am willing to let it pass, if you help my mother.”

  “Don’t you think I would have done so already, if I could?” she cried. “I would never willingly let Gertie suffer.” She lowered her voce. “You can help her, Raven. You must. I’ve seen what you can do.”

  “I can’t do magic in front of my men. I’ll be an outcast.”

  “What is that compared to Gertie’s life? Raven Half-Finn cannot help her. Raven Half-Elf can.”

  “The Rowan—”

  “—will forgive your lapse.” Glory’s mouth twisted. “He adores that detestable troll, as much as the rest of you.”

  Someone yanke
d on Raven’s vest. He looked down and saw a small boy.

  “You can do it.” The lad’s gaze was wide and solemn. “You growed back Glory’s eyes.”

  Raven’s eyes narrowed. “How in Skelf do you know that?”

  “Dunno. Just do.”

  “What’s this?” Brefreton strolled over. “What’s the boy prattling about?”

  Glory clasped her hands at her waist. “Zared blinded me and Raven restored my sight.”

  “Raven’s a wizard?” Brefreton said. “I can’t wait to see the Rowan’s face when he hears it.”

  “Hears what?” Raven’s helmsman demanded.

  “Oh, nothing, Gurnst,” Brefreton said. “Just that your captain—the Rowan’s son—is a wizard.”

  “Twaddle,” Gurnst said. “Ain’t been a wizard in Finlara since Finn took the walk, and that was more ’n two thousand years ago.”

  “Raven is no mere wizard—” Glory said.

  “I should he ain’t,” Gurnst blustered.

  “—he’s a dytugg helbredden.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s Trolk,” said Glory. “It means healer adept.”

  Gurnst glowered. “A fancy word for wizard then.”

  “An exceedingly rare kind of wizard. Raven will restore Gertie to health ere we sail tonight.”

  “Not with us manning the ship, he don’t. Finlars don’t—”

  “—do magic. Yes, yes, I know.” Glory sighed. “I shall never understand the Finlaran prejudice against magic, given your extraordinary ability to heal.”

  “That ain’t magic,” Gurnst said. “That was a gift from Trowyn.”

  “A magical gift, but I will not argue the point.” Glory regarded the huge sailor. “What is your name?”

  “Gurnst, milady, but—”

  “You have two choices, Gurnst,” she said with ruthless calm. “Come with us, or work your way home on another ship and explain to the Rowan why you abandoned his son and Glogathgorag in their hour of need.”

  Gurnst’s eyes bulged. “That ain’t fair. You can’t—”

  “Enough,” Raven said, taking pity on him. “Take off, the lot of you, if you’ve a mind to, and you needn’t worry the Rowan will hear of it from me.” He paused to let his words sink in, then added, “Or stay and be handsomely recompensed. What say . . . double wages?”

  “Triple,” said Gurnst at once. “No offense, Captain, but we got our reputations to think of.” He shook his head. “A Finlaran wizard is highly irregular.”

  “Triple then.” Raven breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t sail the Storm alone, and would have gone much higher. He crossed the beach and knelt beside Gertie. “Make a circle around Gertie, all of you. What I’m about to do causes a certain amount of light, and we don’t want to be spotted by the night watch.”

  “Wizard glow,” Gurnst said with a knowing nod. He scowled at his mates as they eyed him askance. “What? All the places I been, you think I ain’t seen wizard glow before? You heard the captain. Gather around.”

  Reluctantly, the men shuffled over and formed a tight ring around the injured troll. Brefreton and Glory squeezed in beside them.

  “Use my wizard stone,” Glory said, lifting the long chain at her waist. “It will make the task much easier.”

  Raven hesitated. “I thought a wizard stone was matched to the wizard.”

  “So it is.” She knelt beside him in the sand and placed his hand over hers. “I will act as your channeler. Ready?”

  Raven hesitated, uncomfortably aware of the shocked, disapproving scrutiny of his men. Goggin in a side show, he thought bitterly.

  He shook off his discomfiture, and nodded. “Ready.”

  Light flared. A blue aura bloomed around them and the scent of magic spiced the air. The sailors murmured and swayed, skittish as a flock of sheep at an approaching thunderstorm.

  “Move, and I’ll curse you into next week,” Brefreton growled in warning. The men grumbled and held the circle.

  “Mor?” Raven said softly, but the troll did not open her eyes.

  “Unconscious,” Glory said. “Best to do it now, while she’s out. Should she decide to fight us, we won’t be able to control her.”

  Glory was right. Trolls were incredibly strong, and a troll maddened by pain was unstoppable. He placed his free hand on Gertie’s scorched chest, bracing himself for what lay ahead. Without training or a stone, gathering magic was a tortuous process and exhausting, one he accomplished by sheer force of will alone. Once amassed, the power was erratic and hard to control.

  He opened his mind, prepared to wrest the power into submission. A swirling nimbus formed above them and a finger of light shot toward Glory. The energy flowed through her stone and into Raven, suffusing him. It was like nothing he’d experienced before, a sense of power and exhilaration more intoxicating than battle lust. He held on, letting the current swell inside him until he could contain it no longer, then pushed the swelling force into the injured troll.

  Gertie’s form grew incandescent and her eyes flew open. She cried out and stiffened as the healing tide flooded her bulky body. The sharp odor of magic tinged the air, and the sailors murmured and drew back in alarm.

  “Steady,” Brefreton barked. “Hold the circle.”

  “Just . . . a . . . few moments longer,” Raven said. He was panting with effort now.

  Slowly, the ugly white patches on the troll’s chest and arms faded, and the terrible burns on her front paws began to heal. Healthy tissue formed on the bare spots left by the fire, and tufts of cinnamon-colored hair sprang up, baby soft, and thick.

  At last, it was done. Raven released Glory’s hand and got to his feet

  “Amazing.” Brefreton slapped him on the back. “That was the sweetest piece of magic I’ve seen in many a day. You’ve got hidden depths, my boy.”

  Glory accepted Raven’s offered hand and rose gracefully to her feet. “He needs his own stone. It’s a pity we’re in such haste. There’s an excellent magical proprietor in the Great Market where one can purchase a quality product. Gertie knows the man, I believe. His name is Parsnip . . . or maybe it’s Rutabaga.” She waved a hand. “I forget.”

  “Turnipseed.” Brefreton’s voice was dry as desert sand. “His name is Turnipseed.”

  “You know him?” Glory asked, brightening. “An amusing old fellow, is he not?”

  “Hardly,” Brefreton said. “More like a pirate in an apron.”

  Gertie rolled to her feet and glared at the befuddled sailors standing around her. “Well? What are you meat bags staring at?”

  “Raven healed you,” Gurnst said. “He’s a . . . a hel-muh-something. A wizard.”

  “Becoming a wizard takes time and practice,” Gertie said. “Raven undoubtedly has talent—I’ve known that since he was a tadling—but he’s had no training.”

  “You knew?” Raven stared at her in surprise.

  “That you could heal things?” Gertie gave him an affectionate cuff. “Of course, I knew. You’re my cub, ain’t you? You were forever healing some sick critter or other when you were young. Then the Rowan took you away to the Citadel to begin your training and . . .” She shrugged. “You stopped.”

  “All these years and you said nothing.” Raven shook his head. “Why?”

  “Talent like yours can’t be ignored forever. Figured you’d tell me when you were ready. Knew you wanted to fit in. Be like the other lads at the Citadel. You had enough to contend with, having a troll for a mother.”

  “Not just a troll.” Raven grinned. “Glogathgorag. The other boys were jealous.”

  “Oh, well.” Gertie looked uncomfortable. “We’ve muddled along, haven’t we?”

  Gurnst shifted, his face creased in thought. “Been thinking. Reckon maybe Gertie’s wizardy ways rubbed off on you, Captain, and that’s how come you can do magic.
Weren’t your fault, see?”

  “Addlepate.” Gertie whacked him upside the head. “Magic isn’t contagious. You’re either born with talent, or you’re not. Which you’d know if you weren’t dumb as a lump of worg dung.” She rubbed her belly. “What’s to eat on that boat of yours, son? I’m starved.”

  “It’s a ship, mor, not a boat.” Raven turned to the crew. “You heard her. We’ve a hungry troll on our hands. You know what that means.”

  The sailors exchanged startled glances and scurried toward the longboat.

  “What’s got into them?” Gertie asked, watching them hurry down the beach.

  “You mentioned food,” Raven said. “There’s an old saying, mor, one every Finlar knows from the cradle—A hungry troll scorns no meat.”

  “I frightened them? The poor loves.” Gertie padded down the beach. “I’ll be sure to set their minds at ease . . . once I’ve eaten.”

  Chapter 36

  The Gathering

  Raine opened her eyes and stared at the paneled ceiling above the bunk bed. Her back and hips ached and her head felt fuzzy. She rolled to her side. The chamber she occupied was Spartan in cleanliness and simplicity, with paneled walls of carved, honey-colored wood. A lantern hanging from a hook on the wall cast a puddle of light on the gleaming wood floor. The few pieces of furniture in the room, including the bed, were bolted down. She drew in a deep breath. The tangy smell of the sea was in the air, unsullied by the stench of rotting fish and sewage.

  Her nose told her she wasn’t in Gambollia, anymore.

  A sail boomed somewhere above. A man launched into song, confirming her suspicion, a crude ditty punctuated by shouts and rough laughter. She pushed back the covers and sat up. Dizziness washed over her, and she grabbed the side of the bed. Ugh, she felt awful, woozy and sick, and her head hurt. Her heart jerked in terror. Had the sickness come back? No. Please, God, no. She couldn’t bear to go back to that.

  A repulsive image flitted to the surface of her mind. The toad thing in the market . . . it had wanted to eat her. She’d tried to escape, but after that things got fuzzy. Frowning, she put her hand to the back of her head, and winced. There was a sore place on her scalp. She must have hit her head, which explained her spotty memory.