Читать книгу A Meddle of Wizards - Alexandra Rushe - Страница 17

Chapter 9

A Lesson in Worgs

Raine opened her eyes and waited, as was her habit each morning, to see how her failing body would betray her. Her symptoms varied. Some days she suffered flu-like aches and pains in her joints and bones. Other times, she ran a low-grade fever that left her wrung out and listless, or she was plagued by nausea and muscle cramps. A headache was her constant companion, and she was always, always fatigued.

This morning, however, she felt . . . okay, and in her world “okay” was epic. Granted, she was slightly queasy and there was a foul taste in her mouth—what had she eaten the day before, alligator ass?—but the migraine had subsided to a dull roar. Maybe this would be one of her rare good days.

She stretched and froze. She was lying in sand, not on her bed. Turning her head, Raine saw a small fire and, beyond that, walls of rough stone that rose to a ceiling studded with black stalactites. She bolted upright, taking in her surroundings in stunned disbelief. She was in a cave, which meant—

Gertie stumped out of the shadows, hairy, massive, tusked, and scary as hell. “About time you woke up, laze-about.” She shoved a battered metal cup at Raine. “Here. Drink this.”

The memories flooded back, and Raine recalled standing on the icy ground, barefoot. Mauric had made her a pair of shoes from his vest, then Tiny had arrived on the scene, a moving mountain with guileless blue eyes—holy cow, giants were real—and Brefreton and Gertie had turned into birds and flown away.

Wizards were real, too.

She and Mauric had ridden the giant into the hills, where they’d been attacked by a group of hideous man lizards hungry for their next meal. She’d been terrified, but Mauric had seemed to relish the encounter.

She looked around, indignant. “Where’s Mauric? That imbecile stuck me in a tree while he entertained himself fighting those . . . those things.”

“Ograks,” Gertie said, “and that imbecile saved your life. Kept you from freezing and took care of you until Bree and I arrived. He and Bree are out checking the weather. We had a snowstorm last night.” The troll gave a growl of impatience. “Now take your medicine.”

Raine peeked cautiously over the rim of the cup. The liquid in the mug was an unappetizing watery brown and bits of vegetable matter floated on the surface.

“Um . . . what is it?”

“Deer jerky broth with herbs.”

“Yay. My favorite.”

“Good. Drink it.”

Gertie pushed the cup to Raine’s lips, tipping the contents down her throat. Raine swallowed and gagged.

Her eyes watered and she spat out a chunk of leaf. “Oh, my God, that was disgusting.”

“You’re welcome.” Gertie peered at Raine. “The color’s coming back to your cheeks.”

“I always get red in the face when I’m trying not to hurl. What the hell was that? It tasted like boiled shoe.”

“Just a little something I whipped up to counteract the poison. Mugwort, fennel, a dash of meadowsweet—the usual.”

Raine gaped at the troll. “Poison? I thought I had giant-i-tis.”

“Galumping around on Tiny certainly didn’t help your condition, but that’s not the source of your illness.”

Poison? Raine tried to absorb the notion. Not leukemia or a brain tumor or any of a dozen other diagnoses the doctors had batted around over the years? A spasm of joy shot through her and swiftly died. It was too easy, too good to be true. How many times in her life had a doctor promised a miracle with no results? She’d lost count. There was no cure for what ailed her.

The familiar dull weight of hopelessness settled over her. “If I’d been poisoned, the doctors would have found it.”

“Stop arguing, girl, and hold out your arm.”

Quelled by the troll’s severe tone, Raine obeyed. Gertie shoved the poncho aside and ran her wizard stone from Raine’s shoulder to the tips of her fingers. The stone glowed and Raine felt a pleasant, tingling warmth. She glanced down at her exposed arm and shrieked in horror. Brown and green blotches bloomed on her skin like hideous lichen.

“Easy, pet,” Gertie said. “I was right. The potion’s working. The spots are fading.”

Raine jerked away from the troll. “Stop saying that. I have not been poisoned.”

“Yes, you have. My wizard stone doesn’t lie.”

“Yeah? If I’ve been poisoned, then who did it?”

“Good question.” Gertie sat back and twirled her whiskers. “I suspect it was Glonoff, but Bree disagrees. He says Glonoff doesn’t know you exist. Personally, I find that hard to believe. He is the Dark Wizard, after all.”

“Okay, so who?”

The troll stirred uneasily and looked away. “Bree and I were wondering if . . . That is to say, we’ve considered the possibility that—”

“Spit it out, Gertie.”

The troll cleared her throat. “We think it more than likely that the poisoner was your aunt.”

“What? No way. Mimsie would never hurt me.”

Oh, yeah? Why not? The dreadful suspicion leaked into Raine’s mind and took hold. Think about it. You were constantly ill and a pain in the ass most of the time. You were a financial, physical, and emotional drain on her. You aren’t even her real family. Maybe she got tired of it. Maybe she got tired of YOU.

“Mimsie, huh?” Gertie’s expression sharpened. “Last night, you kept babbling about someone with that name. Course, you were fevered at the time.”

Raine was half listening, her brain scrambling for a logical explanation. Mimsie wouldn’t poison her, and she didn’t give a fig that Raine was adopted. Mimsie said love made a family, not blood. Besides, Mims had been dead for years. If Mimsie had poisoned her, she would have gotten better after her aunt died, not worse. It didn’t make sense.

“Lead poisoning?” Relief flooded through Raine. “Mimsie’s house was old and covered in layers and layers of lead paint.”

That was it. Had to be. Magic and other worlds, trolls, giants and wizards she could accept, but the possibility that Mimsie had poisoned her? Nope. Not possible.

Gertie shrugged. “If you say so.”

Mauric trudged inside, ending the discussion. “Ho, it’s cold out there.”

“That it is, and it’s still coming down hard and the wind has picked up,” Brefreton said, entering the cave behind him. He shook the snow from his cloak. “We’re better off waiting out the storm here.”

Mauric stamped his feet and gave Raine the once-over. “You look better. Less like death warmed over and more like yesterday’s stew.”

“Gee, thanks,” Raine said.

Gertie tossed a pebble at Mauric. “Stoke up the fire. We’re going to sweat the rest of the poison out of her.”

Mauric set to work, throwing more wood on the fire. The flames leapt and gnawed at the dried birch, and soon, the little cave shimmered with heat.

“Think I’ll go check on Tiny,” said Mauric, wiping his streaming brow. “Make sure the old boy hasn’t cried himself into an icicle.”

Brefreton jumped to his feet. “Me, too.”

“Weaklings,” Gertie grumbled as the men bolted from the sweltering cave.

She stomped over to Raine’s pallet. “Get up, girl.”

“It’s hot,” Raine said. “I’ll get sweaty.”

“So? Do you want to get well or not?” Gertie glowered at her. “Or are you one of those humans who enjoys being sick?”

“No, I am not. What a horrible thing to say.”

“Then move your arse, girlie.”

Gertie yanked Raine to her feet and poked her in the ribs. The troll’s claws were sharp, and Raine yelped and broke into a halfhearted jog.

Gertie trotted at her heels, harrying her. “That the best you got, youngster? For shame.”

“Hey, I’ve been sick.”

“Excuses are for whiners. Move.”

Raine picked up the pace.

“Use your arms,” Gertie barked. “That’s it. Faster.”

With a huff of annoyance, Raine began to swing her arms. The heat in the cave was oppressive, and it was hard to breathe. Perspiration trickled between her breasts and down her back, and she was soon winded, but whenever she slowed, the troll was in her face, snapping out orders like a Neanderthal aerobics instructor. Raine broke once more into a reluctant trot. After a lifetime of being bedridden, she had no stamina. Her atrophied muscles burned from the unaccustomed exertion and her limbs felt leaden. Coughing and wheezing, she made two more torturous loops around the cave and stopped.

“That’s it.” She doubled over, clutching her aching sides. “I can’t go another step.”

Gertie placed an enormous paw on Raine’s back and gave her a shove. “You can and you will.”

“But I’m tired, and this blanket is hot.”

“Is it now?” Gertie said. “I can fix that.”

With a flick of her claws, the troll had untied the rope at Raine’s waist and snatched the poncho over her head, leaving her clad in her thin pajamas. The sweat-drenched fabric stuck to Raine like cling wrap.

“Give me that.” She made a grab for the blanket. “What if the men come back?”

“Mauric and Bree have seen bubbies before.” The troll looked her up and down. “In any case, I doubt they’ll notice those wee teats of yours.”

Raine stiffened. “Of all the rude, unpleasant—” Give me my blanket.”

Gertie tossed the blanket to the ceiling, where it stuck like a recalcitrant magic carpet. “You can have your gwankie again after I teach you to troll dance.”

“Teach me to what?”

“Troll dance. It’s an honor seldom bestowed on a yakkth.”

The uvular word rolled off Gertie’s tongue, but before Raine could demand its meaning, the troll had turned to throw another log on the fire. The flames roared and sent a shower of sparks shooting upward. Clapping her paws, Gertie began to dance, her sturdy body moving with surprising grace for a creature of such size and bulk. Throwing her head back, she began to sing in a guttural tongue. The troll’s clear, rich alto surprised Raine almost as much as the creature’s ability to dance.

Gertie paused, her twisted shadow looming on the wall. “Don’t stand there. Move.”

Gertie launched into another verse and flung herself once more into the dance, punctuating the moves with slashes of her claws. The rhythm of the music was contagious. Weariness forgotten, Raine joined in, spinning and whirling about the cave. She wasn’t a very good dancer, but what she lacked in ability, she made up in enthusiasm. Leaping and growling, she curled her fingers, mimicking the troll’s wicked arm movements, and they whirled around the fire, their ragged shadows flickering on the walls.

The tune ended. Spent, Raine collapsed to the sandy floor on her back.

Gertie threw herself down beside her. “You did fine.

Maybe one day, I’ll teach you the troll mating dance.”

“Thanks, but I think I can safely say I’ll never marry a troll.”

“Never say never.” Gertie leaned back on her elbows, her eyes yellow, gleaming slits. She exuded a faint doggy odor, a not unpleasant scent. “Trolls mate for life . . . once they’ve sown their wild oats.”

“Good to know. What about you? Is there a Mr. Glogathgorag?”

Gertie snorted. “Nah. Only boar I ever fancied married another.” She shrugged. “Just as well. We wouldn’t have suited. Too different.”

“I’m sorry.” Raine sat up and sniffed. “Yuck, something stinks.”

“That would be you, pet.”

“Me?” Raine pulled the sticky fabric away from her breasts. “Oh, my God, you’re right. How embarrassing.”

The troll showed her teeth. “Look on the bright side. Once Mauric and Bree get a whiff of you, they’ll be happy to fetch snow for your bath.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel loads better.”

Gertie rolled to her feet. “I’ll get them started on it. Water should be heated in no time, now the fire’s hot.”

Humming to herself, she padded across the cave. She’d nearly reached the entrance when the wall behind Raine exploded in a tumble of rock and an enormous worm plunged into the room, thrusting its mammoth body between Gertie and Raine. The monster was more than a hundred feet long with pale, quivering flesh that emitted an eerie, milky light. Twin stalks sprouted from the ghastly tapered head where the eyes should have been.

“Worg,” Gertie shouted. “Don’t move. It can’t see you. They’re blind as a turnip. They live in the belly of the mountain where it’s dark. The light they give off attracts prey. Old worgy just has to sit and wait for food to arrive.”

“Fascinating,” Raine said through her teeth, resisting the urge to run screaming for the exit. “Any idea why this one didn’t stay put?”

“Must have heard the noise and came to investigate.” The worg’s head swung in Raine’s direction and Gertie hissed in alarm. “It senses your body heat. Quick, girl, put the fire between you. That should confuse it.”

Raine scurried to obey. The worm slithered closer, slime dripping off its gelatinous body and pooling in the sand. Disoriented by the heat from the blaze, the worg screeched and reared, weaving back and forth. It struck without warning, thrusting its broad snout into the bonfire. Embers scattered and showered Raine. She shrieked and scrabbled out of the way, slapping at her smoking pajamas.

With a high-pitched keen of pain, the giant worm jerked its head from the fire. The rancid smell of scorched meat filled the cave.

“Roasted worg,” Gertie crowed, jumping up and down. “Weren’t expecting that, were you, you overgrown slug?”

Panicked, Raine made a dash for the cave entrance.

“Stop, Raine, stop.”

Raine skidded to a halt just in time. The worg’s huge head slammed into the sand at her feet, missing her by inches. A geyser of grit spewed into the air at the impact. Wheeling, Raine sprinted back the way she’d come and squeezed through a bristle of stalactites, scraping the skin on her back in her haste. The worm whipped its immense body around and lunged after her, slamming its head against her rocky shelter. The stalactites crumbled and swayed. Too late, Raine realized her mistake. She was trapped like a fish in a barrel.

“Hey, worgy,” Gertie shouted, waving her long, hairy arms to draw the worm’s attention. “Over here, you ball of snot.”

The worg hissed in fury and chugged its thick body around.

“That’s right,” Gertie crooned. “Come to mama.”

The worg coiled and struck. Gertie sprang aside and landed in a crouch.

“Too slow, you great lump o’ lard,” she said. “You’ll have to be faster than that if you want troll for breakfast.”

The worm was bunched for another attack when Mauric and Brefreton burst into the cave.

“It’s a worg,” Mauric said, sliding to a stop.

“Your powers of observation astonish me, boy,” Gertie said, placing a towering stalactite between her and the ravening worg. “If you’re done with the lesson, a little help would be appreciated.”

“Right.” Brefreton tossed back his cloak. “I’ve got this.”

Grasping his wizard stone, he began to weave a spell.

“What are you doing?” Mauric slapped the stone out of his hand. “No magic. Glonoff, remember?”

“Rebe, I forgot.” Brefreton frowned. “Damned inconvenient, that. What do we do?”

“We kill it.” Mauric drew his sword and rushed the worm.

“No, boy,” Gertie shouted. “For Kron’s sake, don’t—”

Mauric struck the worg a tremendous blow, his sword biting deep into the gelatinous flesh. The worg shrieked and thrashed, and fountains of green blood spewed from the deep gash. Mauric brought his sword down again, and the worg’s head thudded to the floor, oozing gore.

“—cut off its head,” Gertie finished, wiping worm goo off her face. “Of all the stupid, idiotic—”

“What?” Mauric poked the goggin with the tip of his sword. “I killed it, didn’t I?”

“No, all you managed to do was irritate it.” Gertie jabbed a claw at the twitching worm. “Look.”

The edges of the bloody stump closed and large knots bulged beneath the white flesh. The fleshy lumps ballooned and split, and three new heads sprang forth, fully formed and bristling with teeth.

“Tro,” Mauric said leaping back to avoid being eaten.

“A worg, Mauric, is half hydra, half mountain worm,” Gertie explained sweetly. “That is why you never, never cut off a worg’s head.”

The middle head snapped at Brefreton and came away with a mouthful of brown cloth.

“Nibble my cloak, would you?” Brefreton said, outraged. “How do we kill this muck worm, Gertie?”

“From the inside out,” the troll said, and threw herself head first down the nearest worg throat.

Mauric lunged after her. “Gertie.”

Brefreton stepped in front of him. “Steady, lad. The old gal knows what she’s doing. Look.”

The worm thrashed in agony, its belly heaving and bulging. With a horrible shriek, the goggin pounded its heads against the floor and died.

Repulsed and fascinated, Raine slipped between the bars of her stony cage for a closer look. A row of thin, red streaks appeared on the worg’s phosphorescent skin and widened. Sharp claws poked through the gooey flesh, curled almost lovingly around the tear in the monster’s belly, and continued their bloody work. With the sound of a bursting melon, the worm split open and Gertie stepped out, covered in slime and worm innards.

She shook her hulking body, spraying them with worm mucus, blood, and guts, and flicked the sludge from her paws. “And that, my dears, is the proper way to kill a worg.”