A Meddle of Wizards. Alexandra Rushe

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