A Meddle of Wizards. Alexandra Rushe

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.”

      Chapter 10

      Divers Paths

      Mauric grabbed Gertie and pulled her close, heedless of the malodorous gunk covering her hairy body.

      “Don’t ever do that again.” A shudder ran through his big frame. “I thought you were dead for sure.”

      “Not so tight, boy,” Gertie wheezed. “Can’t . . . breathe.”

      “Sorry.” He released Gertie and stepped back.

      “That was a crazy thing to do.” Brefreton slapped the troll on a gummy shoulder. “Mauric tried to go after you, the young fool.”

      “Whatever for?” Her shaggy brows rose. “I was in no danger.”

      “No danger?” Raine stared at Gertie in astonishment. “You let that thing eat you.”

      Gertie ducked her head. “Pish, no need to make a fuss. The main thing is to avoid the choppers going in. A fine specimen and a pity to kill it, but there was no help for it. A worg has five hearts and a brain located near the head. Once inside, it’s simply a matter of stirring things up a bit.” She flexed her claws. “Nothing to it, though a little light would’ve been nice. Dark as Glonoff’s heart in there.”

      “Poor old worgy.” Mauric wrinkled his nose. “Gertie, you know I adore you, but you stink.”

      “You try digging your way out of a worg’s belly and see how you smell.” Gertie rolled an eye at Raine. “But I wouldn’t mind a wash. You, pet?”

      The two men surveyed Raine, taking in her vacuum-sealed pajamas. She blushed and crossed her arms over her breasts.

      “Gog,” Gertie said, noticing her embarrassment. “Reckon you’ll want your blanket back.”

      She whistled sharply and the poncho dropped from the ceiling. Raine scrambled back into the garment.

      Gertie raised her shaggy brows at the men. “Now, about that bath . . .”

      Mauric built up the fire and prepared a bathing chamber by stringing a length of rope between two stalactites. A blanket draped over the line provided privacy. Brefreton produced a large waterproof skin from one of the packs and stretched it across a collapsible frame on legs to form a shallow bag. This device was placed behind the screen to serve as a basin. The men hauled in snow, which Gertie heated for their baths. It was agreed by unanimous vote that Gertie should go first.

      “Here, stinky, try this.” Mauric tossed Gertie a bar of soap from one of the saddle bags. “Lemongrass from the batch you gave me last Trowyn’s Day.”

      Gertie sniffed the bar. “Nice, if I do say so m’self,” she said, padding behind the partition.

      Mauric took a seat in the sand beside Raine. “The soap’s a special blend.” He waggled his brows. “Women love it.”

      “They do?”

      “Of course. I’m irresistible. Surely you’ve noticed?”

      Raine squeezed her eyes shut. “Trying . . . trying . . .” She opened them again. “Nope. Can’t say I have.”

      Gertie let out a whoop behind the curtain. “Good one, gal. Our Mauric fancies himself quite the ladies’ man.”

      “Me?” Mauric said. “What about Raven? He’s left a string of broken hearts from the Citadel to Esmalla.”

      “Raven?” Raine asked, curious. “Who’s Raven?”

      “My cousin.” Mauric raised his voice for the troll’s benefit. “Gertie raised him, and a grimmer, more cheerless fellow you’ve never met.”

      Gertie poked her head around the blanket. “Just because Raven’s not easily amused like you, doesn’t mean he’s grim.”

      Letting the curtain fall back into place, the troll went back to her ablutions.

      “Enough about that.” Mauric leaned closer to Raine. “Let’s talk about me. Admit it. I’m a handsome devil.”

      Of course he was handsome. The question was, why was he flirting with her? Raine had seen herself in a mirror. She knew she wasn’t much to look at; too bony and pale. A lifetime of the pukes did that to a person.

      Maybe Mauric felt sorry for her. The thought was humiliating.

      Gertie stepped around the screen, smelling strongly of wet fur and scented soap. The troll made a sight with her braids unbound and her spiky red fur on end.

      “You’re next,” Gertie said, pointing a claw at Raine.

      Rising, Raine trudged into the bathing chamber to empty the basin. Mauric followed. Taking the leather tub from her, he refilled it with clean snow and more hot water from the fire.

      “There you go,” he said, handing her a square of cloth. “Don’t use all the soap.”

      “Is she pretty?” Raine glanced at Mauric and quickly away again, her cheeks burning.

      “Who?”

      “The other one. My . . . my sister.”

      “Hara? I’d toss her.” Mauric grinned. “Then run like hell. Pretty is as pretty does, Gertie says. Your sister may be a stunner, but she’s not a right one, like you.” He winked. “Need help with your bath?”

      She was a right one? That made Raine feel better. “Thanks.” She shoved him toward the curtain. “I can manage.”

      Once he was gone, she stripped out of the blanket and her clothes. The heat from the fire didn’t reach behind the curtain and it was cold. Shivering, she plaited her hair, wrapped the long braid in a knot on top of her head, and secured it with the string from her pajama bottoms. She examined the bar of soap. Gouge marks marred the surface, mute testament of Gertie’s effort to leave the soap fur free.

      Bending over the leather basin, Raine scrubbed her face and neck, then dipped the cloth in the warm water and lathered it with soap. She was already freezing and she had yet to wash her body. She thought longingly of her warm home back in Alabama with its creaky furnace. Home was worlds away. This was her new reality.

      Gritting her teeth, she scrubbed all over and rinsed, then looked around with chattering teeth

      “Hey, where’s the towel?”

      “Aren’t any,” Gertie said. “Come stand by the fire. You’ll dry in no time.”

      “I’m naked. I don’t have fur, remember?”

      “Oh,” said Gertie. “I forgot.”

      Shivering, Raine grabbed the woolen poncho and yanked it over her head. The cloth was musty and clung to her damp skin, but it was better than nothing. She picked up her pajamas and gave them an exploratory sniff. Phew, they smelled terrible. She should burn the things, but they were another layer against the cold, and the wool blanket chafed. She quickly rinsed the PJs and the panties she’d been wearing in the soapy water and marched to the fire. Spreading the garments on a rock to dry, she sidled up to the blaze, resisting the urge to lift the blanket and warm her frozen backside.

      Gertie gave Mauric a pointed look. “Next.”