A Muddle of Magic. Alexandra Rushe

let him sleep,” said Raven. “The rowan has given orders to bring him into the city after nightfall.” He squinted at the lowering sun. “We’ve a few hours before dark. Raine and I will ride ahead, make sure the gatekeeper has been apprised and the streets are clear. We don’t want a riot.”

      Mauric nodded. “I’ll stay with Flame.”

      Leaving Mauric to watch the snoozing dragon, Raine and Raven continued up the North Road to the city. At the end of the broad causeway, twin towers bracketed a massive iron-bound gate. Braced against each tower was a gigantic stone bear standing upright on its massive hind legs, slavering jaws parted in a frozen snarl.

      “Trowyn’s Gate,” Raven said, motioning to the colossal ursine pair that guarded the entrance. He pulled up. “Hear that? It’s the Wailing Tree.”

      Raine listened and detected the faint doleful ring of a distant chime. “It’s rather pleasant, actually,” she said. “Not at all what I expected.”

      “You grow accustomed to it. When it shrieks, now, that’s something else. ʼTwould wake the dead.”

      The North Road split at the main gate, running abreast the outer wall in both directions to the east and west. They turned east and made their way around the mountain.

      “Reba’s tower,” Raven said as they passed an ivy-covered tower. “It faces Fortenral, the royal seat of Tannenbol. The towers at the market gate commemorate Seth and Kron.”

      They followed the road that curved around the sprawling mountain. Raine lifted her gaze to Rowan Fast, perched high above them in the scudding clouds. To anyone looking down at them from that great height, they would be reduced to ants.

      A league farther on, they encountered a man on horseback hurrying toward them, a tall, raw-boned fellow wearing a sack hat and a harried expression. He drew up beside them.

      “Roark,” he said, removing his floppy hat and wiping his brow. “I heard you were home. I’m the keeper of the east gate. Have you seen the rowan? It’s a matter of some importance.”

      “Not since this morning,” Raven said. “Is aught amiss?”

      “You could say that, sir. Frankly, I’m at my wit’s end. It’s one of the Kronlings, you see.”

      “No, I don’t see. Speak up, man. What is it?”

      “It’s a frost giant, m’ lord.” The man looked close to tears. “He’s blocking the gate and won’t budge. Says he’s waiting on someone called Raine.” He jammed the shapeless hat back on his head, his cheeks blotched with indignation. “I’ve tried reasoning with him, but he’s dim, I tell you. Dim.”

      Raine gasped. “It’s Tiny. Oh, my gosh, it’s Tiny.”

      “I believe your troubles are at an end, my good fellow,” Raven said. “This lady’s name is Raine.”

      “Tro almighty,” the gatekeeper said. “I’d be ever so grateful if you could persuade him to move, milady. There’s a line of folks waiting to get into the city, and they’re nettled at the delay.”

      “I shall do my best,” said Raine.

      The gatekeeper turned and fell in beside them, and they rode on. They rounded the mountain, coming to an abrupt halt when they found the way blocked. The road into the city was choked with carts and wagons of varying sizes. Crates of cheese, fish, and other comestibles sat spoiling in the sun, and large flocks of complaining livestock milled about, adding to the noise and confusion.

      The line at the gate stretched to the south; the crowd shifted and moved, grumbling like an angry animal. Merchants and common folk mingled with strange creatures in noisy communion. Raine stared at a unicorn in amazement. A griffin with an injured wing, a pack of surly trolls, and a hideous little man with green skin, a tonsure of weedy hair, and a beaked mouth were also among those waiting.

      Raven drew up. “You did not exaggerate the situation. Take us to the giant, at once.”

      “Gladly, m’ lord.”

      They skirted the edge of the throng, passing a group of heavy wagons laden with barrels of goods. The oxen hitched to the wagons were huge. Raine noticed, with a ripple of astonishment, that the animals had more than the usual number of legs.

      “They have eight legs,” she said, craning her neck at the huge animals as they rode past.

      “Tannish oxen,” Raven said. “Incredibly strong.”

      “But they—” Raine shook her head. “Never mind.”

      They pushed on through the mob and came in view of the market gate.

      “There he is,” the gatekeeper said. “There’s the giant what’s caused the fuss.”

      Tiny sat in front of the city gate, his tree-trunk legs splayed in front of him. The frost giant was huge, more than twenty-five feet tall and built along mammoth lines. His complexion and long, uncombed hair were pale as milk, and his broad shoulders plugged the opening entirely. His arms were folded across his wide chest, and there was a mulish expression on his face.

      “Call me what you likes,” he rumbled at the impatient crowd, “but Raine be on the way, and I ain’t moving.”

      “You see?” The gatekeeper threw up his hands. “There’s no reasoning with him.”

      Raine was already off the horse and running toward the gate. “Tiny Bartog,” she cried. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

      “Raine?” The giant lumbered awkwardly to his feet. “I knowed you be coming. I jes knowed it. Bless me, this be a happy day.”

      The giant buried his face in his hands and burst into tears.

      “Don’t cry, Tiny.” Raine patted the giant on a hairy ankle. “Lift me up, so we can talk.”

      “Aye, Rainey.” The giant blew his nose on a piece of cloth the size of a bedsheet. Tucking the hanky into a pocket of his hide kilt, he tossed her onto his shoulder.

      “I’ve missed you, Tiny.” Wrapping her hands in his long, pale locks, Raine planted a kiss on the giant’s damp, ruddy cheek. He smelled faintly of ham and cheese, and clean snow. “I have so much to tell you.”

      “I be missing you, too.” Tiny winced. “Belike, you’ve forgotten Tiny be a mite tender headed?”

      Raine laughed and let go of his hair. “See that dark-haired man over there, the one standing by the golden horse? Take me to him.”

      “Sure thing, Rainey. Happy to oblige.”

      “Get some men out here to help the gatekeeper,” Raven was saying to a man in a gray and black cloak when Tiny and Raine clomped up. “There’s bound to be a crush when the gates open. I want the streets cleared by dusk.”

      “By dusk, Roark? It’s a big crowd, and—”

      “See to it. Rowan’s orders.”

      “Yes, Roark. At once.”

      The guard gave the giant a startled glance and hurried away.

      “Roark?” Bending, Tiny set Raine on the ground. “You be the rowan’s son, the one what Gertie raised from a mablet?”

      “The very same.”

      “Hoo, if that don’t beat all. Fancy me, talking to a lord. Wait until I tells Mam.”

      “You’ve caused quite a commotion, good giant.”

      Tiny flushed. “I’d uh waited inside, Your Worship, but the city be cramped and full of squiggies. So, I reckoned it ʼud be best fer me to wait here.”

      Raven’s brow furrowed. “Squiggies?”

      “Non-giants,” Raine said. “Allow me to introduce you. Raven, this is my friend, Bartog Rimefeld.”

      “Call