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