Читать книгу A Meddle of Wizards - Alexandra Rushe - Страница 16

Chapter 8

Fever Dreams

By the time they reached the cave in the mountains Tiny had found, it was snowing. A bitter wind blew through the pass, flinging bits of sleet and grit into their faces. Snow devils whirled around them and danced among the black rocks.

“There it be,” Tiny said, pointing.

From his perch on the giant’s shoulder, Mauric squinted at the opening in the rock. It didn’t look promising, little more than a crack in the side of the mountain.

“How far back does it go?” he asked.

“Dunno. I stuck my arm in and wiggled it about a bit. Plenty o’ room for the two of you, thas’ for sure.”

“Is it empty? I don’t fancy bedding down with a nest of ograks or waking up with a hungry borg standing over me.”

Magog’s ferocious three-headed bears roamed these mountains. Mauric had never encountered a borg, and he wasn’t anxious to make the acquaintance. Borgs were teeth at one end and poisonous, spiny barbs at the other.

“I puts my pie hole up to the opening and hallooed. If there be anything in there, they be terrible sound sleepers.”

A moan drew Mauric’s attention to the unconscious girl in his lap. Raine’s skin was pallid, the color of two-day old porridge. She was obviously unwell; lines of pain and exhaustion etched the corners of her eyes. Hard to believe this gaunt, sickly creature was Hara’s twin. He studied Raine’s drawn features, searching for the likeness that had been so readily apparent to the goggins. All humans must look alike to an ograk, he decided, because he didn’t see the resemblance. True, the profile was similar—the same straight nose and stubborn jaw, but, whereas Hara’s face had been soft and round, with full, pouting lips, Raine’s face was gaunt and angular.

Hara . . . Mauric recalled Magog’s bride with a twinge of regret. Now there was a ripe, inviting lass with a body a man could lose himself in. Her twin, by contrast, was a bag of bones, slight-hipped, flat-chested, and white as a tucker. Raine’s hair was different, too—dull, lank curls. Hara’s tresses, he remembered with a sigh, had swished about her hips in a fall of ebon silk.

Raine shivered and Mauric touched her forehead with the back of his fingers. Her skin was hot and dry, and the pulse at her throat fluttered like a captured bird. Tro, what had Gertie and Bree been thinking to leave him with a sick woman, and a virtual stranger at that?

He adored Gertie, he truly did. The cantankerous old fur ball was a trusted family friend, a confidant and mentor. Why, his fondest childhood memories were of summers spent in the troll’s cabin in the Far Hold, the northern mountains of Finlara. Gertie had taught him to hunt and track, to climb, wrestle, and swim. She’d schooled him in the art of whistling and the proper way to smoke a pipe. She’d given him his first drink. From her, he’d learned Trolk and the history of Tandara before the Maiming. When he was old enough, she’d taught him the art of swearing—the old gal had a mouth that would make a sailor blush.

In truth, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for Gertie, but, by the gods, this inched perilously close to the limit. Like any hale, healthy Finlar, Mauric was terrified of sick people. Add to that the fact that this particular invalid was Hara’s twin and the possible Wielder of the Eye, and you had a recipe for indigestion. What if he did something wrong?

What if he broke her? Damn wizards.

“Warrior?”

“I heard you.” Mauric shrugged aside his ill humor. “Take the girl while I go inside and have a look.”

He handed Raine to Tiny and shimmied off the giant and onto the rocky trail.

“Here.” Tiny handed Mauric a cloth torch. “Fer light.”

“Thanks,” Mauric said. The torch, no bigger than a candle in the giant’s hand, was longer than Mauric’s arm.

The track they were on was narrow, scarcely wider than an ox cart. Cautiously, Mauric peered into the crevice in the cliff face. Watery light spilled into the entrance and faded to black.

He didn’t much care for caves. The thick, suffocating dark and the sense of stone pressing down on him made it hard to breathe. He particularly disliked unexplored caves. Anything could be in there, watching and waiting.

Taking a deep breath, he eased inside and listened, skin and nerves prickling with unease. Nothing stirred. Heartened, he removed tinder and flint from a pouch on his belt, ignited the torch, and held it aloft. The cave was small and dry. Black sand glittered on the floor and icicles of rock hung from the ceiling. Best of all, there wasn’t a goggin in sight.

Still, he couldn’t be too careful. Drawing his sword, Mauric searched the space from end to end. The cave was unoccupied. Satisfied, he trudged back to the entrance.

Tiny poked his head in the opening, blocking the faint light. “Do it be passable?”

“Aye, for us, but what about you? You’ll never fit.”

“Don’t fash yerself about Ole Tiny. I be fine as feathers. Frost giants loves the cold, don’t you know.” The giant stuck his enormous hand inside the cave. “You’ll be wanting this.”

He unfurled his fingers. Raine lay on the giant’s palm. Her limp, slight form reminded Mauric of one of his younger sister’s cloth dolls. He took her from Tiny and stepped back.

The giant withdrew his hand and stuck his face in the opening. “Be there anything else you needs? I mos’ likely won’t be back afore morning.”

Mauric opened his mouth to say no, and thought better of it. He was used to fending for himself, but he had the girl to think of now. The cave provided protection from the stinging wind and snow, true, but it was cold as a frost giant’s balls—an observation he kept to himself, in the interest of Finlar-giant relations.

“We’ll need firewood and my packs,” he told the giant.

Tiny tossed the saddlebags inside. “I be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” he said, and left.

Moving deeper inside the cave, Mauric made a pallet on the sand for Raine and covered her with a blanket from the saddlebags. A tremendous crash from the trail outside made him jump.

“Here go yer firewood,” Tiny boomed, shoving a dead birch through the narrow opening of the cave.

Hurrying to the entrance, Mauric looked outside in time to see Tiny dump two more trees on the rocky path.

The giant’s cheeks and lips were ruddy with cold. “Be that enough?”

Mauric hid a smile. Tiny had brought enough wood to last for weeks.

“Excellent job,” he said. “You have my thanks.”

“You be mos’ welcome. Anythin’ else?”

“Yes, I’d appreciate it if you’d do something with this.” With a shudder of distaste, Mauric handed him the white wizard stone the troll had given him.

Tiny poked the flat stone with the tip of his finger. It looked like a pebble in his hand. “Be mos’ glad to, but what you be having in mind?”

“Place it near the entrance where Gertie can see. That would be helpful.”

“Right-o,” Tiny said cheerfully. “I can do that.”

The giant wedged the wizard stone in a cranny above the cave door and trundled down the mountain, whooping in delight at the snow storm.

Mauric went back inside to check on Raine. To his alarm, her fever was higher. Bloody bleeding Tro, he thought. Don’t let her die on my watch.

Drawing his sword, he slashed the air in frustration. It didn’t help. Digging through the packs, he located a small ax and set to work on the downed birch. After a few minutes of exertion, he stripped off his vest and continued chopping. Wood chips flew. An hour’s work produced a pile of firewood suitable for the night. He stacked the logs against one wall of the cave and started a fire. He rose and stretched, looking around. The physical exertion had calmed him. They were safe and warm. He had done what he could.

A few hours later, his panic returned in full measure when Raine’s fever spiked. Ill-at-ease and unsure what to do, he bathed her brow with melted snow. She roused long enough for him to spoon a little weak tea down her throat, and rewarded him by throwing it up again.

At a loss, he finally sat down on the cave floor and pulled her into his lap. “There, lass.” He smoothed her damp hair from her eyes. “I’ve got you.”

“Cold,” Raine whimpered, shaking.

Mauric wrapped her in the blanket and held her against his chest until the tremors stopped. After a while, she slipped into exhausted slumber. With a sigh of relief, he laid her back down and tucked the blanket around her. With any luck, the worst was over.

The respite was temporary. A short while later, she bolted upright with a shrill scream, her eyes wide and dilated.

The hair stood up on the back of Mauric’s neck, and he leapt to his feet “What is it, lass?”

“Crow.” Raine’s voice was the high-pitched cry of a frightened child. Raising her arm, she pointed to the shadows beyond the fire. “Don’t let the crow get me. Please.”

Mauric’s superstitious soul was shaken to the core. Crows were omens of evil and death, scavengers that fed on the flesh of those slain in battle. He searched the little cavern from top to bottom—nothing. No amount of reassurance, however, could convince Raine. She huddled in a tight ball, sobbing and babbling about dark wings and scary birds until Mauric feared he, too, would have hysterics. To his relief, she finally lapsed back into sleep. Laying his sword across his lap, he sat on the cave floor to await the wizards’ return.

They arrived not long after sunset in a flurry of wings. Lighting on the sandy floor, they resumed their former shapes.

Mauric leapt up. “About time. Raine’s sick, and don’t tell me it’s giant-itis. This is more than that. She’s burning up with fever and delirious. Been rambling for hours about crows.” He shuddered. “Death in feathers, crows.”

Gertie hurried to Raine’s side. Squatting on her massive haunches, she passed her wizard stone over the young woman’s thin body; the stone glowed with a soft light. When she’d finished her examination, she sat back, her black lips pinched with worry.

“Well?” Brefreton demanded. “How bad is it?”

“’Twould appear she’s been poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” Brefreton looked thunderstruck. “Sweet blessed Rebe.”

“Wasn’t me.” Mauric held up his hands. “I swear. All I did was give her a little tea. She garfed it back up.”

“Relax, boy. This poison is severe and of long duration.” Gertie stroked her chin in thought. “The culprit is something she’s ingested over the course of years. Decades, maybe.” She shifted her gaze to Brefreton. “Could Glonoff be responsible?”

“Glonoff doesn’t know she exists, and he’d want her alive, not dead.” Brefreton shook his head. “It must have been someone else. She mentioned an aunt who raised her.”

“Why would she poison Raine?” asked Gertie.

“Who knows? Evil sometimes needs no purpose.” Brefreton paced up and down. “Is there an antidote?”

“Almost certainly, but since I don’t know what’s poisoned her, I can’t make one.”

“Rebe,” Brefreton said.

Mauric regarded the wizards anxiously. “Will she live?”

Gertie rubbed one of her tusks. “Broken limbs and ague and fevers of the lungs I know, but this . . .” Her voice trailed off. “All I can do is try.”

Mauric wanted to smash something, preferably something that would fight back.

“Don’t stand there scowling, boy,” Gertie snapped. “Fetch my medicines.”

He complied, watching as Gertie removed a bag of herbs and ground a few leaves with a pestle. She added a little hot water to the mixture and set it aside.

“With any luck, this tonic will bring down the fever and stop the shakes,” Gertie said. “If she lives until morning, we’ll try to sweat the poison out of her.”

If she lives until morning . . .

Mauric recalled his earlier musings with a stab of guilt. Raine might not be a beauty like Hara, but even on short acquaintance, he found her a good sort. Her entire world had been upended, but she’d taken things in stride without complaint. He didn’t want her to die.

When the mixture was cool, Gertie spooned a little of the potion between Raine’s lips. She thrashed about, knocking the bowl out of Gertie’s paws.

“Kron’s hammer, she’s spilled it,” Gertie said. “I’ll have to make more.”

She rose and went back to the fire. Returning with the new batch of tonic, she motioned to Mauric. “Hold her, so I can funnel this down her throat.”

Mauric sat down in the sand and put Raine in his lap.

Gertie placed the bowl against Raine’s lips. “Open your mouth, pet,” she coaxed. “Take your medicine for old Gertie.”

Raine pressed her lips together and fastened her feverish gaze on a point past the troll’s burly shoulder. Mauric braced himself for another shattering scream.

“Naw, sheesh not so bad,” Raine said. “Those things that Mauric killed . . . now they were ugly.”

Gertie looked around. “Who’s she talking to?”

“No idea.” Mauric met the troll’s startled gaze. “Unnerving, isn’t it?”

“Never mind that.” Gertie’s brows lowered. “What mischief have you been up to, boy? What things did you kill?”

“We ran into a few ograks while you were gone. I handled it.”

“Ograks, huh?” Gertie snorted. “So I’m not ugly compared to a goggin, am I?” She held the cup to Raine’s lips. “Damn me with faint praise, would you? Still, I suppose it’s something.”

Raine took a sip and grimaced. “’S’awful. Don’t want any more of thash stuff.” She stared once more at something past Gertie. “Yesh, yesh, I’ll tell him.” With an effort, she fastened her woozy gaze on Brefreton. “Mimsie shesh you should see the gigantic snow men Tineez made.” She hiccupped. “She shesh Tineez done a fine job, but she thinks they might look a little s’picious.”

“Mimsie?” Brefreton looked at Mauric. “Who in Reba’s name is Mimsie?”

“How should I know?” Mauric said. “You’re the wizard.”

Brefreton glanced at the cave entrance. The storm had increased in fury, and the wind howled like a thousand demons outside their little shelter. Mauric didn’t blame him for not wanting to brave the blizzard.

“It’s probably the fever talking, but I’d better have a look.” With a sigh, Brefreton flung his cloak around his shoulders. “Drat that giant. Making me go out in a blizzard.”

Grumbling, he left the warmth of the cave.

Bit by bit, Gertie cajoled Raine to take the rest of the tonic, and the girl drifted off to sleep.

When Raine’s breathing slowed, Gertie set the empty bowl aside. “You can put her back on the pallet now, Mauric.”

Mauric obeyed. He covered Raine with the blanket and stepped back. Her face was pale, and there was a bluish tint to her lips. Poisoned. Mauric shuddered.

Several hours later, Brefreton returned, covered in snow and half-frozen, and strode straight to the fire to warm his stiff hands. “There were snow men, all right. Big ones. That damn fool giant built a whole village of snow people that resembled the five of us in detail, right down to the hairs on Gertie’s chin.” He shook his head. “Remarkable work, I must say, but it had to go all the same. Might as well send up a flare telling Glonoff where we are. Tiny cried like a baby when I made him tear them down.”

Mauric cleared his throat. “You might not know it, Bree, but giants are a sensitive lot.”

“So I discovered.” Brefreton said, “Damn near drowned.”

Raine’s fever returned later that night, and she awoke, racked with chills and complaining of pains in her arms and legs.

“Take them out. Take them out,” she moaned.

Gertie bent over her. “What is it, pet? Take what out?”

“The knives, take them out.”

Her anguished cries tore at Mauric. “For Tro’s sake, help her, Gertie,” he begged. “I can’t stand this.”

“Mollycoddler.” She glowered at him and removed several brown twigs from her medicine bag. “If it bothers you so much, go play in the snow with Tiny.”

“Thank you, no.” Mauric peered over her shoulder. “What’s that stuff?”

“Herbs to ease the pain,” she said, grinding the twigs into powder. “Now stop pestering me.”

He withdrew a short distance and resumed his pacing. Keeping one eye on Gertie, he watched the troll mix the brown powder with water. She motioned for him to come closer.

“If you’re going to wear a trough in the floor, you might as well be useful,” she said. “Put the lass in your lap, same as before.”

Mauric nodded and took Raine in his arms. “There, lass,” he said, holding her still. “Gertie will make the knives go away.”

She looked up at him with eyes that were stark pools of pain. Her face was ghastly pale, and her lips were cracked and dry.

“Hurts,” she whimpered.

“Here, sweetling, drink this.” Gertie held the cup to Raine’s lips. “It should help.”

Mauric braced himself, expecting Raine to resist. To his surprise, she meekly gulped the liquid down.

Gertie grunted. “She trusts you, boy.”

“Or she’s parched with thirst.” Mauric smoothed Raine’s fever-damp hair from her forehead.

Within minutes, Gertie’s potion did its work. Mauric met the troll’s troubled gaze over the girl’s head.

“You did it, mor.” He gave her a shaky grin. “She’s asleep. Now what?”

Gertie’s expression was grim. “Now we wait.”