Gertie’s eyes grew round. “Sworn off—no. You don’t say.” She wagged a talon at him. “For shame, son. And you were going to let me give him a bottle of brandy. What were you thinking?”
“Believe it or not, when I bought that brandy I was thinking of myself,” Raven replied, adding at the troll’s look of reproof, “I know. Selfish of me. It won’t happen again.” He strode away, pausing to speak to Brefreton. “Bring your bottle and come along, if you like. We’re headed into the foothills to find a new mast. We’d be glad of your company.”
Brefreton jumped to his feet. “Excellent notion, so long as you don’t expect me to do any work.”
“I shall keep my expectations low,” Raven promised.
They strode away from the camp and the young troll Ilgtha loped after them. She shot past them, kicking up plumes of sand. Confinement to a cabin had tried Ilgtha sorely, and she was delighted to be on dry land. She romped up and down the sand dunes, chasing the sea gulls and growling at the waves.
Brefreton brushed the sand off his tunic and sidled closer to Raven. “Can you keep a secret?”
“I’ve been known to.”
Brefreton glanced back at Gertie. “I saw your mother bury this in the sand a few days ago,” he admitted. “I knew if I irritated her enough, she’d let me have it. Brilliant, huh?”
“I heard that,” Gertie yelled after them.
Brefreton groaned. “A plague on troll ears. Now, I ask you. How am I supposed to enjoy this brandy, when I’ll be looking over my shoulder every moment for Gertie to get even?” He stared at the bottle, and sighed. “And she will settle the score, make no mistake.”
“She has a long memory, even for a troll.” Raven slapped the wizard on the back. “Tell you what, I’ll drink it. As a favor to you. Problem solved.”
Brefreton shook his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it, dear boy. Can’t have you fuzzy-headed and wielding an ax. Gertie will have my head if you break so much as a nail.”
“Let me see if I have the right of it. You’re drinking my brandy for my own good.”
“You always were a perceptive lad. And don’t forget Gertie. I’m doing it for her too.”
“You’re a generous man, Bree.”
“I know. Few people realize how just self-sacrificing I am.”
A league from shore in the timber-rich foothills, Raven found the perfect tree to replace the broken mast. He walked around the towering fir several times, surveying it from every angle, and deemed it straight and true. Satisfied, he slid the ax through a loop in his belt and glided up the broad trunk. He looked down to find Gurnst watching him from below with a queasy expression.
“What ails you?” Raven called down to the burly helmsman.
“I hate when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Shimmy up a tree like a trodyn squirrel.” Gurnst looked away. “Gives me the shivers.”
“Gertie taught me to climb,” Raven said. “If it bothers you so much, take it up with her.”
“Oh, aye, I’ll do that—when I want my head on a platter.”
He stomped away, joining the other men. Raven shrugged and removed the ax from his belt. Scampering around the tree, he lopped off the lower branches to lessen the chances of damaging the trunk when it fell, then climbed down and set to work. With each swing of the ax, the blade bit deeper into the bole of the tree. The fir shuddered and began to topple with a groan.
“’Ware the fell,” Raven shouted, putting down the ax and wiping his brow. The tree crashed to the forest floor, the sound of its fall muffled by the deep carpet of pine needles.
Brefreton sat on a fallen log watching this process from a safe distance. True to his word, he made no offer to help. He took a swig from the bottle of wine and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
“Give me a hand,” Raven said to Mauric.
Mauric nodded. Grabbing a hand ax, he set to work beside Raven, helping to remove the rest of the branches from the downed tree.
“Is Raine still angry with you?” Bree asked Mauric, crossing his feet at the ankles.
“It’s hard to tell.” Mauric chopped at a recalcitrant branch. “You know women.”
Brefreton took a drink of brandy. “No, I don’t. And neither do you, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Why is she riled at me?” Mauric said. “It was Gertie’s story. She should be angry at her.”
“You can be sure she is angry with Gertie,” said Raven, attacking a tree limb with his ax, “though she won’t come right out and say it. Women are complicated creatures, especially in their dealings with one another. I get mad at you—I clobber you. We share a pint and forget about it. Women are subtler.”
“Subtle, my hind leg,” Mauric grumbled between swings of his ax. “She gave me a regular bear jaw. I had more hide left after them eaters were done with me.”
Brefreton snorted. “Well, of course she wouldn’t be subtle with you. What would be the point?”
Mauric lopped off another limb. “I don’t understand why she’s so upset.”
Bree gave Mauric a pitying look. “Think on it, dufflehead. We know Gertie is the troll in that story, but Raine didn’t. No one enjoys being made to feel foolish.”
“Thanks, Bree,” Mauric muttered. “When you put it that way, I feel terrible. I guess I’ll try to talk to her. It’s been a few days. Maybe she’s calmed down.”
Brefreton waved the bottle. “That’s the ticket, my boy. A little groveling and a show of remorse, and you’ll be back in her good graces in no time.”
“You’ll grovel from a distance, if you know what’s good for you,” Raven advised, wiping his brow. “Remember what she did to that tracker.”
Mauric blanched. “Tro. I’d forgotten about that.”
Brefreton looked around. “Where’s that dratted troll got off to? We need her help to get this tree back to camp. She’s as strong as three grown men.”
Raven raised his brows. “We?”
“I’m with you in spirit, my boy,” Bree said, taking another pull from the bottle. “Rest assured I have your welfare at heart. I’d feel terrible if one of you lads strained something.”
“I appreciate your concern,” Raven said. “I’ll call her.”
He gave a sharp whistle and Ilgtha bounded out of the woods, her muzzle wet with blood.
“Ah, there you are,” Raven said. “Good hunting, little sister?”
The troll snorted and shot up the tree next to Gurnst, showering the helmsman with bark, and raced back down again.
“Full o’ beans, that one,” Gurnst said. “Frisky as a rabbit.”
“She’s in season and looking for a mate,” Raven said to the hairy helmsman. “I think she’s mistaken you for a boar troll, Gurnst.”
“Tro,” Gurnst said, edging away from Ilgtha.
Raven swallowed a grin. He and the crew cut down several dozen saplings and used them to roll the fir onto a rope sled. Casting Gurnst a winsome glance, Ilgtha grabbed the traces of the sled. Raven draped the ropes over his shoulders and Mauric and the crew fell in beside him. They pulled, working together like a team of draft horses, and began the long trek back to camp. Tucking his bottle under his arm, Brefreton slid off the log and brought up the rear, humming a tuneless ditty.
Raine wandered away from camp and sat on a rock. She glanced back the way she’d come. Gertie was at the fire preparing a hot meal for the men when they returned from the woods. Fish stew, most likely. Raine had eaten so much seafood in the past few days it was a miracle she hadn’t sprouted fins and gills. Glory stood at the troll’s elbow. Handing out gloomy predictions, no doubt. Glory was about as much fun as a bad tooth. They made an odd pair, the slender, graceful elf and the hulking troll. As different as milk and paint, those two, and quarrelsome as geese. Tarin and Chaz played at the edge of the
surf, poking sea oats down crab holes in the sand.
Raine put her back to them and gazed, unseeing, into the wooded hills beyond the dunes. She was a joke, the outsider, the misfit. It had been the same growing up. Too sick to go to school, or participate in sports. Too frail to attend a party or go to a movie. She wasn’t sick anymore. Now her ignorance set her apart.
Gertie was thousands of years old and a freaking legend, and everybody knew it but her.
She had a twin who was engaged to a freaking god.
An evil wizard had it in for her, and for reasons she only dimly understood.
And her favorite? She wasn’t from Earth.
She was tired of being last man out. Kept in the dark about basic facts. The discovery that Gertie was the troll in the story had tipped her bucket.
Morven. Come find me. I am lonely.
Raine clapped her hands over her ears. The childish, insistent voice had been in her head all morning, adding to her foul mood and making it hard to think. Glonoff was toying with her again, though the wistful murmur sounded nothing like the voice she’d heard in the sea. This voice was different. This voice tugged at her heart.
I’m hungry, Morven, the sad voice cried. Where are you?
Morven. The word was akin to the Trolk term for mother. It meant bondling, friend, and keeper—a morven was these things, and more.
Whoa. How could she possibly know that?
Uneasy, Raine glanced around. That creeper Glonoff was messing with her again, trying to lure her into the woods like some featherheaded idiot from a horror movie. Let’s go into the graveyard for a picnic. It’ll be fun. Cue slasher with machete.
Maybe you should go, the darkest, angriest part of her thought. Face him and get it over with. It would be High Noon, only with wizards. Anything’s better than this waiting game.
Who was she kidding? She could barely levitate a butter dish, much less defeat the Dark Wizard. She would not go into the woods. She would ignore the voice. Better yet, she would stop sulking and tell Gertie she was hearing things.
She rose to her feet, resolved to confess all, and started down the beach. Raven and Ilgtha, the wild troll, came over the dunes in the distance. They were yoked to a harness and dragged a tree behind them, with the help of Mauric and the crew. Bree straggled at the rear, his gait unsteady and a bottle in one hand.
Gertie waved and hurried to meet them. Glory ignored everyone and strolled down the beach, a lonely figure with her face to the sea. Raine looked around for Chaz, fully expecting him to be in the middle of Operation Mast. This was exactly the sort of dangerous thing he would adore. She spotted Tarin, the cabin boy, but Chaz was nowhere in sight. She scanned the dunes and the surf, where she’d seen him tickling crabs from their holes earlier. No Chaz. A trickle of worry slid through her.
Morrrrven.
Raine whirled at the sound. A small figure climbed one of the dunes that bordered the forest.
“Chaz.” Cupping her hands around her mouth, Raine shouted. “Stop. Come back.”
The wind blew her shout out to sea. Chaz trudged up the dune and disappeared over the other side.
Raine lifted her skirts and ran. This was Glonoff’s work. The Dark Wizard had failed to lure her into the woods, so he’d drawn Chaz into the trap instead. The sand pulled at her boots, and she stumbled and fell. She picked herself up again. There were goggins in those woods. They’d eat Chaz like a tasty snack. Raine scrambled up the dune, pausing at the top to get her bearings.
Morrrrven.
The voice flitted out of the gloomy forest—Glonoff urging her onward. Raine hesitated. Every instinct screamed at her to run away. This was madness. She should get help.
She glanced over her shoulder. Gertie and the others were a mile down the beach. She looked back at the woods and caught a glimpse of a tousled head.
“Chaz, stop! Don’t go in there.”
The woods swallowed the child. Raine stumbled down the rise and through the scrubby brush, ignoring the thorns and limbs that tore at her dress and cloak. Scrub grass snagged her boots and burrs clung to the hem of her dress. She reached the woods and stepped into the trees, shaking from head to toe. The steady wash of the ocean faded and wind keened through the thick branches. The eerie sound made her skin prickle and the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
Clutching her skirts, she looked around and saw a faint track leading into the copse. There was no sign of the boy, but logic told her Chaz had followed the trail. She stumbled after him, her feet clumsy with fright. The wind stopped moaning and a suffocating quiet settled upon the woods. A soft scuffling in the underbrush made Raine jump. Someone or something was watching her.
She held her wizard stone aloft and turned, brandishing it like a weapon. “Don’t mess with me. I’m a wizard.”
The stone lay cold in her hand. “Give me a break,” she said, giving the stone a little shake. “I’m trying to act tough here. I could use a little help.”
The wizard stone fluttered against her palm and the hum at the back of her mind swelled. Light flared and a soft haze formed around her.
“That’s more like it,” Raine said. “Thanks.”
The sense of being watched faded. Heartened, Raine moved further down the trail. The trees in the woods were old, and little sunlight filtered through the thick canopy of leaves and branches. She followed the path into the murky gloom, but there was still no sign of Chaz. Where was he? The voice in her head had fallen silent. Glonoff had gotten what he wanted. He’d played the kid card and drawn her into the forest.
She should go back. Turn and run as fast as she could. She kept moving, slogging up hills and down again, and wandered into a shallow leaf-filled bowl. The trees in the basin grew further apart and sunlight dappled the forest floor. Raine stumbled to the center of the hollow, drawn like a moth to the light, and lifted her face to the sun high above. The golden light gave her courage and quieted her rattled nerves.
She was such a goose. She’d let her imagination run away with her. She’d come this far without a peep from goggins or the Dark Wizard. She’d find Chaz and go back to camp. Gertie would peel her hide for going after him, but she’d had no choice.
“Chaz?” Her voice sounded muffled in the thick forest.
A man stepped out of the trees. “I’m afraid Chaz isn’t here, my dear.”
The man was of medium height, with the lithe, supple strength of an acrobat, and glossy black hair. His eyes were blacker still, his skin pale. The goatee at his chin was neatly trimmed and his tunic, soft suede breeches, and boots were finely made. An enormous ruby rested on his chest—his wizard stone, Raine realized, her heart jerking against her ribs. A matching ruby set on a woven black band glittered on one white hand. He would have been handsome but for his dissolute, bored expression. And his eyes were empty. Shark eyes, Raine thought. Unemotional, focused, and relentless.
She made a grab for her wizard stone.
“None of that,” he said with a negligible lift of one finger.
Raine’s muscles turned to stone. Her mind flashed back to her library. Bree had used a similar spell on her when she’d tried to flee the night he’d come through the mirror, the night her life had changed.
“Glonoff, I presume?” she said through stiff lips.
She could talk, at least. He’d left her that much.
The Dark Wizard bowed. “We meet at last, Rana Bel-a-Zhezar.”
“My name is Raine. Where’s Chaz? What have you done with him?”
“Nothing. The boy was never here. ’Twas an illusion, my dear, the veriest gester’s trick. You’re rather green, aren’t you?”
“So people tell me. How did you find me?”
“A tracker.” Glonoff examined his fingernails. “The eaters I sent didn’t leave much, but a blanket you’d slept on was recovered from a field of bones. It was enough.”
<
br /> Raine stared at him in horror. “The tracker. It followed my scent to the Neatfoot.”
“Clever girl. Much cleverer than your sister, though that’s not saying much.” Glonoff regarded her from beneath drooping lids. “A pretty thing, your twin, but a sad drab and dense as an ograk’s skull. I’ve indulged her, I’m afraid, and she’s dreadfully spoiled.” He held up the hand with the ring, admiring it. “Lovely, isn’t it? The band is woven from your locks. Thank you, child. You made it easy to find you.”
“You turned my hair into some kind of homing device?”
Glonoff arched his brows. “But of course. A simple trick, really. Brefreton should have warned you. Remiss of him, to be sure.”
“He did warn me,” Raine said. “I’d already cut it.”
“Poor Brefreton. He must have been furious when he discovered what you’d done.” Glonoff toyed with the ring. “Would you believe that slattern at the inn actually tried to keep my men from taking your hair?”
“You killed Trudy,” Raine said through her teeth.
“My men killed her, and the boy, too, when he tried to interfere. Personally, I would have let them burn.”
“Why, damn you? Your men got what they came for.”
Glonoff’s blasé expression vanished. “Because they were his.”
“Brefreton’s?” Raine stared at him in bewilderment. “You hate him that much?”
“Hate is too puling a word. Brefreton’s very existence pains me. He is my son, and he abjured me.” Glonoff’s black eyes glittered. “Turned his back on me and all I offered.”
Raine’s mouth dropped open. “Bree’s your son?”
“Was my son. He chose those beet-growing fleaks over me and he befriended her.”
Raine was taken aback by the force of his venom. “Who?”
“Glogathgorag.” Glonoff’s face smoothed once more into a mask of ennui. “The troll and I have . . . a history. But I am a patient man. One day she will be mine.”
“You murdered your own family because you don’t like Brefreton’s friends?”
“He defied me,” Glonoff said. “I am his father. He owed me his allegiance.”
A Meddle of Wizards Page 39
