Читать книгу A Meddle of Wizards - Alexandra Rushe - Страница 14

Chapter 6

Into the Mountains

Mauric helped Raine to her feet and gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that. It’s only a giant.”

“Only a giant?” With shaking hands, Raine brushed the dirt and grass off her woolen shawl. “Is he going to squash us?”

Brefreton squinted up at the mammoth creature. “No squashing. Right, giant?”

The giant’s answer was a grave nod. Raine couldn’t help but stare. He was, well, gigantic, at least twenty-five feet tall with massive shoulders and legs, bulging arms, and fists like boulders. Flaxen curls hung in ragged disorder down his broad back. The sleeveless vest that covered his wide chest had been fashioned out of animal hides, and a tattered skin skirt reached to his knees. Thick, curly blond hair covered the giant’s huge calves. Rough sandals covered callused feet hard as horn, no doubt from carrying his enormous weight around. His slab-like toes, like his calves and forearms, were hairy.

Raine’s gaze moved to the giant’s face. He returned her scrutiny with an appealing mixture of curiosity and solemnity. He had a long, noble nose, this giant, set above a generous mouth.

“He’s got a name, Bree,” Gertie said. “This is Tiny Bart.”

“Tiny? There’s nothing tiny about him,” said Mauric, folding his arms on his chest. “Course, we can’t see all of him, can we?” Gertie took a swat at him and he ducked. “For shame, mor. I was talking about his ears.”

The giant gave a rumbling chuckle and slapped his enormous thigh with one hand, each blow landing with a sound like plywood hitting pavement from two stories up.

“Tiny be me mam’s pet name for me,” the huge fellow said. “I be the runt of the litter, don’t you know. I grew, but the name stuck.” Placing one hand to his mouth he confided, “An’ fer the record, warrior, no lady giant ever complained about the size o’ my ears, if you take my meaning.”

“Congratulations, that makes two of us.” Mauric gave Gertie a quizzical look. “Where’d you get the giant?”

“Never mind where I got him. Tiny’s going to take you and the girl across the mountains into Tannenbol. That’s all you need to know.”

“Raine, maybe,” Mauric said, “but I’ve got a horse.”

“No horses,” Gertie said. “The mountain passes are too treacherous and narrow.”

“Then Goblin and I will go around and meet you on the other side.”

“Out of the question,” Gertie said. “We may have need of your sword arm—we’re certain to be pursued by Glonoff and his soldiers. And the mountains hold other perils.”

“But, mor—”

“Mauric, you insisted on coming with me and I reluctantly agreed—on one condition. You gave me your word to heed what I say.”

Mauric digested this with a scowl. “As you say, mor,” he said at last through his teeth.

He unsaddled the horse and stripped the saddlebags off the big animal. The horse pranced and shivered in delight, frolicking about the glade until the warrior called him. Placing his hands on the stallion’s neck, Mauric spoke to the animal at length. Goblin pricked his ears, listening.

At last, Mauric gave the horse a swat. “Away with you then, and a safe journey home.”

The stallion whinnied and galloped away, disappearing into the trees. Mauric stood with his back to them, unmoving, until the sound of the horse’s hooves had faded.

“Thank you, Mauric.” Gertie laid a gentle paw on his shoulder. “I know that was hard for you. Don’t fret. Goblin will make it home.”

“Of course he will. He’s a canny beast, and I told him what to do.” Mauric straightened. “Let’s get out of here.”

With a creaking of joints, the giant squatted and lowered his hand to the ground. “That’s the ticket, Finlar. Climb up.”

“No, thanks. I’ll walk.”

The giant glanced uncertainly at the troll. “But, Gertie said—”

“I know the air’s thin up there, so listen and listen carefully,” Mauric said. “I. Don’t. Do. Giants.”

“Why?” Tiny’s eyes widened. “Be you afraid?”

Mauric’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not a question you ask a Finlaran warrior if you wish to live.”

“Well, then, what do it be?”

Mauric’s jaw clenched. “I don’t fancy riding a moving mountain, that’s all.”

Gertie growled. “If this is about your precious warrior dignity, Mauric Lindar, forget it.”

“This has nothing to do with my dignity and everything to do with my stomach.”

“Huh?” said Tiny.

Mauric turned red. “I get queasy, all right? I cack. I chunder. I retch. Rode a giant on a bet once, and hawked up my toenails. Suffered no end of teasing for it, too. Not my proudest moment, nor one I wish to repeat.”

“You get motion sick?” Brefreton threw back his head and laughed. “Hoo, that’s rich.”

Mauric’s flush deepened. “I’m not proud of it, but there you go.” He bowed to the giant. “For that reason, I must decline the offer of transport.”

“You’ll ride,” Gertie said. “With Tiny’s help, we can make the journey in days, not weeks.” She leaned closer. “Besides, I need you to set a good example for the girl. She seems a trifle skittish.”

“I am not skittish,” Raine protested. “And stop calling me ‘the girl,’ like I don’t have a name.”

Tiny bent at the waist, engulfing Raine in shadow. “What do it be then?”

“Huh?” said Raine. The giant’s eyes were enormous chocolate pools framed by long, curly lashes.

“Your name. What do it be?”

“Um . . . Raine.”

“Well, Umraine, what say we show the warrior how it be done?”

“Not Umraine. Raine, and what do you mean? How what’s—Yikes.”

Raine’s stomach did a whoopsy as the giant scooped her up and tossed her onto his shoulder. Scrambling for purchase, she grabbed a handful of the giant’s hair and held on with all her might. Regaining her balance, she risked a peek at the ground and gasped. It was a long way down.

“You might not think it from the size o’ me, but I be a mite tender headed,” Tiny said in a plaintive voice. “I’d be ever so grateful if you’d loosen yer grip a wee bit, lass.”

“Sorry.” Raine forced her fingers to loosen their hold on the giant’s locks.

“Thankee. That be more like it.”

Turning, Tiny took a slow walk around the glade. His vest was slick as a horsehair sofa, and Raine started to slide. She grabbed a rawhide cord that dangled from the giant’s vest and held on for dear life.

“How that be?”

“N-not bad,” she fibbed.

In truth, her head pounded and she wanted to throw up, but she was too proud to admit it.

“You should try it.” She grimaced down at Mauric. “Really. Loads of fun.”

The giant grinned at the warrior. “You heard ’er, Finlar. It be fun.”

“Poke me in the eye with a sharp stick,” Mauric muttered. “I didn’t sign on for this.” He glared at Brefreton and the troll. “What about you? Does he plan on putting you in his pocket?”

“Don’t has a pocket.” Tiny thumped a gunny sack hanging from his belt. “I gots a sack, though.” He peered at Brefreton, looking anxious. “You wanna ride in m’ sack?”

“I thank you,” Brefreton said, “but Gertie and I have other options.”

“Of course you do.” Mauric smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. “How could I forget?”

Grumbling about the mendacity of wizards, the warrior strode up to Tiny Bart and tossed him the saddlebags from the horse. The giant attached them to the belt around his waist, where they dangled like tiny coin purses.

“All right, let’s do it.” Mauric glowered at the giant. “But mind, there’ll be no tossing me about like a sack of flour.”

Tiny raised his brows. “Wouldn’t dream o’ it.”

He knelt and Mauric scaled his enormous knee and climbed onto his other shoulder.

Tiny groaned to his feet. “You be no featherweight, warrior. You must weigh fifteen stone.”

“Twenty and the name’s Mauric.”

“Mauric.” Tiny rolled the name around on his tongue. “I likes the sound o’ that. Don’t care much for the name Bart, though me mam give it to me, bless her bones. Bart be short for Bartog, don’t you know.” He took a deep breath and blew it out. “Mauric the Giant has a dignified ring, don’t you think?”

“I think you’ll have to find yourself another name.”

“I suppose you be right. Folks might get us confused. Still, it be a fine name and all.”

“I’ve always thought so,” Mauric said.

“Catch.” Gertie tossed the warrior a white stone.

He fished the flat, circular rock out of the air and held it at arm’s length.

“It’s not a snake, Mauric,” said Gertie.

“I know what it is, mor.” The warrior’s tone was filled with revulsion. “Don’t you need it?”

“Nah, it’s a spare. Put it someplace nearby when you make camp. That way, we’ll be able to find you.” She turned to the giant. “Best get moving. Days are short in these mountains.”

Tiny nodded. “Right.”

Brefreton slapped the giant on the ankle. “Keep your eyes peeled for trouble. Gertie and I will do a little scouting around and catch up later. Go as fast as you can, but don’t stumble around after sunset.”

“Not to worry,” Tiny promised. “I be a-stopping ’fore it gets too dark to see.”

Fumbling inside her robe, Gertie grasped a white stone identical to the one she’d given Mauric.

“Fugvark,” she said in a loud voice.

Brefreton clasped the green stone around his neck and motioned with his free hand. The air hummed with energy and, in a burst of light, Gertie and Bree turned into a pair of swifts. The birds made a darting pass around the giant’s head and flew away.

“How’d they do that?” Raine squeaked in astonishment.

“They be wizards, o’ course,” Tiny said. “Shape changers, don’t you know.”

“Like you?” Raine asked, remembering the jumble of earth and rock that had turned out to be the giant.

Tiny chuckled. “Bless you, no, not like me. Giants don’t be shape shifters. We has a talent for making ourselves look like what be around us. Glamour, the wizards calls it. Our size makes mos’ folks a mite uneasy. Glamour lets us move about without being seen. When I be in disguise, I may look like a bunch o’ trees or rocks but I don’t really be changing m’ shape. Wizards now, they be different. They has the magic to become anything they likes. That be sumpin’ only an adept can do.”

“Wait,” said Raine, trying to take it all in. “I thought Gertie was a troll.”

“Aye, she be a kolyagga, a troll sorceress.” Tiny stopped at the edge of the clearing. “Hold tight. This may be a mite uncomfortable.”

“You can bet your arse on it,” Mauric muttered.

Not knowing what to expect, Raine clutched the giant’s vest. Fixing his gaze on a point in the distance, Tiny lifted his right leg and jerked forward. The forest melted around them in a blur of dark green that made Raine’s stomach lurch in a horrible fashion. From across the vast expanse of Tiny’s shoulders, she heard Mauric groan.

Tiny paused and the trees and hills shifted and righted themselves. Raine swallowed the brick in her throat and looked back. In one step, they’d traveled several miles.

“That was amazing, Tiny,” she said, trying not to be sick.

“Thankee,” he said, oblivious to her nausea.

Mauric moaned. “Gods, my stomach.”

“Somethin’ wrong wiv yer breadbasket, Finlar?”

“Aye. It’s talking, and I don’t like what it has to say.”

“Giant-sick, be you?” Tiny asked with sympathy. He pointed to a spot further up the mountain. “See that big fir with the scar, the one that be struck by lightning? Fix your peepers on it and keep ’em there. That way, you’ll not be so dizzy.”

The giant took another uneven, shambling step, and the mountain and forest flowed by as before. Following Tiny’s advice, Raine focused on the distant tree.

“Be that better?” Tiny asked when they had reached the fir.

“A little.” It was a lie, but Raine didn’t want to hurt the giant’s feelings.

“Warrior?” Tiny asked.

“Ulgg,” said Mauric.