Читать книгу A Meddle of Wizards - Alexandra Rushe - Страница 13

Chapter 5

Giants and Trolls

Raine swam awake to the smell of wool. Someone was doing their level best to smother her with a blanket. She flailed and clawed at her attacker, but an unyielding arm pressed her back against the stone.

“Careful,” a masculine voice warned. “You’ll swoon again.”

She 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 me. And then you knocked the god stone out of my hand. Thanks to you, it’s lost. Do you have any idea the trouble that’s going to cost me?”

“I don’t give a damn about your stupid rock. Where am I?”

“I told you,” he said with a twinge of impatience. “You’re in Tandara. The mirror was a portal to this world. We went into it. You’re no longer on Earth.”

Raine’s eyes widened. “No longer on. . . but . . . that’s not . . . that’s impossible.”

Brefreton sighed. “Your world lacks magic, so a certain degree of confusion is to be expected, I suppose.” He cut her off when she tried to speak. “Please, allow me to explain.”

Raine took a steadying breath. “Okay. You’ve got five minutes.”

It was an empty threat. She was on his schedule, damn him, but saying it made her feel better.

He clasped his hands behind his back, assuming a professorial stance. “Our world is comprised of diverse countries. Tannenbol, for instance, is my home.” He jerked his chin at the warrior. “Mauric over there hales from a place to the north called Finlara. At present, we are in the Black Mountains of Shad Amar—an inauspicious situation I intend to remedy forthwith.”

Raine struggled to comprehend what he was saying. He expected her to believe that she’d been sucked through a magical portal and plunked down in another world? Outlandish. And yet this irritating man made the pronouncement with casual ease, as if it were no big deal.

She waved her arms to stop the lecture. “Take me back.”

“I can’t, not without the god stone. In any event, I wouldn’t return you if I could. You’re here at Reba’s bidding.”

“Who?”

“Reba, the goddess I serve.” Brefreton made a face. “Perhaps I should say ‘did serve.’ It was her god stone you lost.”

“Right.” Raine snorted in disbelief.

“Your sarcasm is a form of denial, but this is not a dream,” Brefreton said. “Ponder this, if you will. Are dreams this measured and sequential? When you dream, are you aware of the passage of time, aware of being in them? If this were a dream would your feet ache with the cold? Would your skin chafe at the wool that warms you?”

The guy had a point. Her feet felt like popsicles and the damn wool poncho was starting to itch.

“Okay,” she said, her heart thumping to beat the band. “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that I buy your cock-and-bull story. I’m in this . . . this Tandara. Why am I here?”

“An object of terrible power has been stolen from the gods.”

“You mean, like a weapon?”

“Exactly.” He nodded in approval. “It is called the Eye. If it falls into the wrong person’s hand, it could mean the end of our world.”

“Sucks, but what’s that got to do with me?”

“Long ago, it was prophesied that Hara, your twin, would gain mastery over the Eye—”

“Whoa.” Raine held up her hand. “Back up. I don’t have a twin.”

“Yes, you do. Your sister’s name is Hara, and you were separated at birth. You were taken to Earth for safekeeping. How and by whom, I do not know. The gods themselves did not learn of your existence until recently.”

Raine grabbed the stone ledge to steady herself. “You’re telling me I’m from Tandara, and that I have a twin.”

“Yes.”

“And my biological parents?”

“Dead, I fear.”

“And this sister of mine, where is she?”

“Where she has been her whole life—under Glonoff’s thumb.”

Raine stared at him in confusion. So many names, so many revelations. Too many. “Who the hell is Glonoff?”

“A wizard, a dark and mighty sorcerer with an insatiable lust for power.” Brefreton’s expression was grim. “Glonoff is determined to control the Eye and, with it, he means to subjugate Tandara. To that end—and based upon a prophecy that your sister will control the Eye—he has raised Hara from infancy to submit to him. “

“Aye, and made her cruel as a rock troll in the bargain.” Mauric tied off the cord and went to work on the other boot. “She’ll make Magog a fitting bride.”

“The god of Shad Amar,” Brefreton said, in answer to Raine’s unspoken question. “One of the Nine. There were ten gods until Magog murdered his twin over an imagined slight. That was several millennia ago. He’s been barking mad since.”

Raine’s head swam. Good Lord. She had an evil twin. It was absurd. And yet . . . As a child, she’d had an imaginary friend, a pretty little girl, pampered and spoiled, and glowing with health. As the years passed and Raine’s sickness had worsened, the little girl faded away. A childhood fantasy, Raine had told herself, the product of her longing to be well and strong. To run and play with other children her age. To be normal.

“If this . . . this Hara can control the Eye, why not kidnap her instead of me?” Raine asked.

“Gertie and I thought the same thing, so we sneaked into the temple to grab Hara,” Mauric said. “Unfortunately, Magog woke up.” His teeth flashed. “We ran. She’s a looker, your sister, but a nasty piece of work. She disfigured her servants.” He squinted at Raine. “You like to cut people?”

“No,” Raine said, taken aback. “Of course not.”

Mauric grunted. “Good.”

Brefreton made a dismissive gesture. “It is a very good thing you did not succeed. Hara is more trouble than she’s worth. She is Glonoff’s creature, through and through, and a drab to boot.”

“A what?” asked Raine.

“It’s a term wizards have for regular folk.” Mauric grinned. “Like me. All Finlars are drabs and trodyn well proud of it. Might over magic, we say.”

“Brawn over brains, more like,” Brefreton muttered.

“I still don’t get it.” Raine shook her head. “If Hara is a drab, then the Dark Wizard”—Good Lord, did those words just come out of my mouth?—“can’t control this Eye Thingy. No harm, no foul.”

Brefreton gave her a level look. “I don’t think it was your sister the seers saw in their vision. I think it was you.”

“You have got to be kidding.” Raine stared at him in astonishment. “I can’t operate an electric can opener, much less do magic.”

“That remains to be seen. In the meantime, should Glonoff find the Eye, he cannot wield it.” Brefreton’s lips curved in an unholy smile. “He has the wrong twin.”

“Oh, yeah?” Raine leaned forward on the stone. “News flash. I’m not feeling cooperative.”

Brefreton shrugged. “If you are meant to wield the Eye, you will.”

Raine longed to slap him. “Maybe I’ll leave.”

“And go where? Look around.” He threw his arms wide. “You are in the wilderness without a map or a guide. Without our help, you die.”

She lapsed into disgruntled silence. He had a point, damn it. She wouldn’t know where to go or whom to trust. With her luck, she’d get eaten by a dragon.

The thought startled her. Good Lord, what if there were dragons?

“Ahem.” Mauric cleared his throat. “Begging Raine’s pardon, but why not kill them both and be done with it? Problem solved.”

Raine had been secretly wondering the same thing. She held her breath and waited for Brefreton’s answer.

“Hara is Magog’s High Priestess and bride to be,” Brefreton said. “Only a fool goes to war with a god. In any case, Reba has forbidden it.”

Limbs snapped on the hillside, loud enough to be heard over the muffled rush of the waterfall.

“That will be Gertie.” Brefreton looked relieved. “And about time.”

“Aye.” Mauric gave Raine a hard look. “The noise was for your benefit. A troll can sneak up on its own shadow. If Gertie were trying to hurt you, you wouldn’t know she was near until you were dead.” He held out the finished boots. “Here, try these.”

Reluctantly, Raine accepted Mauric’s handiwork. The “boots” were little more than glorified socks, but a sight better than nothing. She brushed the dirt and wet grass off her feet and slipped them on. The fur lining felt like heaven against her icy toes.

Mauric dangled several long strips of leather in front of her. “Straps, to keep them up,” he explained, then showed her how to secure the boots, crisscrossing the leather ties up her calves and tying them at the knees. The boots were too long, so she rolled down the tops. She jumped off the altar and walked around in them. They were too big, but at least they were warm.

“Will they do?” Mauric asked.

He looked so eager, Raine found it hard to stay angry with him.

“Yes, thank you. It was kind of you to make them for me.”

“You’re our guest. It was the least I could do.”

“Hostage, you mean.”

“Hostage is an ugly word.” He flashed his dimples at her, the charming rogue once again. “You will come with us, won’t you?”

“Do I have a choice?” she said.

“None at all.” Brefreton cocked his head, listening. “She’s here. Try not to scream.”

“I screamed once,” Raine said. “It doesn’t mean I go into hysterics over every little thing. I won’t scream again.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Tree branches rustled and swayed, and the monster lumbered out of the woods. The troll’s anxious gaze brushed past Brefreton and Mauric, and found Raine. This fearsome thing was actually nervous of her. Raine found this oddly reassuring.

On impulse, she closed the space between them. “I’m Raine. Sorry about the way I acted before. You’re my first troll.”

The troll’s unease melted into astonishment. “They don’t have trolls on Urp?”

“Nope. Not a single one. We don’t have wizards, either.”

The troll smiled, displaying an alarming set of teeth. “Well, then, that explains it, don’t it? Nice to meet you, Raine. I’m Glogathgorag.”

“Glogess . . . uh . . . what?” Raine said, her tongue tripping over the peculiar syllables.

“Glog-ath-gor-ag,” Mauric said. “It’s Trolk, the language of the trolls. Comes from the root word gertenglogg, which means ‘beautiful one.’ But you can call her Gertie. Everybody does.”

“Thank you, Mauric. When I need your help, I’ll beat it out of you.” Gertie looked Raine up and down, taking in the woolen poncho and her new footwear. “Nice boots.”

“Aren’t they?” Raine wiggled her toes. “Mauric made them for me out of his vest.”

“I can see that. It is to be hoped that Mauric has a spare.”

“Finlars don’t get sick, mor.”

“I’ve heard. Do you have another vest?”

“Yes, mor.”

“Humor me and put it on.”

Mauric heaved a sigh. “Yes, mor.”

He strode over to the horse, pulled another vest from one of the packs, and donned it without protest.

“Much better,” Gertie said when this process was finished. She turned to Brefreton. “You done lollygagging? The sun’s been up this hour and more. Or maybe you were hoping to break your fast with the Dark Wizard?”

“Nope. Not feeling particularly suicidal at the moment.”

“Then we should leave.”

“Agreed,” said Brefreton.

“Where are we going?” Raine asked.

Brefreton pointed to the towering peaks in the distance. “Over those mountains. The sooner we get out of Shad Amar, the better.”

Raine stared at the tall peaks in dismay. “On foot? How long will that take?”

“Hmm.” Brefreton tugged on a lock of his hair in thought. “It’s more than sixty leagues to the border of Tannenbol, so I’m guessing two weeks—if we don’t get snowed in.”

“Two weeks?” Raine did the math. “You expect me to travel nearly two hundred miles through the mountains in a blanket and a pair of fur socks?”

“I intended to use the god stone to take us directly to Tannenbol,” he said. “I didn’t count on losing it.”

“Humph,” Gertie said. “Good thing I’ve got a backup plan.”

Brefreton’s expression brightened. “You do?”

“Course I do. You think I lived this long by being stupid?” Throwing her head back, the troll gave a low, warbling trill. “He’s a little shy,” Gertie explained when there was no response. She trilled again, adding softly, “It’s all right. You can come out now.”

With a rumble, a chunk of the woodsy hillside broke off and barreled toward them like a runaway train.

Mauric cursed and dove into the path of the oncoming landslide, hooking one arm around Raine’s waist as he fell. They landed in an awkward jumble out of harm’s way. Raine disentangled herself and rolled to her knees. Brefreton and Gertie stood directly in the path of the avalanche. They’d be buried alive.

“Look out,” Raine cried.

At the last possible second, the mountain heaved its bulk skyward, reforming into . . .

Raine’s overstimulated brain balked. She was looking at a giant—an honest-to-God-fee-fie-fo-fum-Jack-in-the-freaking-beanstalk-giant.

Remembering her promise to the wizard, she didn’t scream, not even when the giant lifted a foot the size of a coffee table and crashed into the clearing.