The Feline Wizard (34 page)

“Uh, thanks, but I think I'll pass on that,” Matt said quickly. “Somehow I suspect those people are a little taller than one inch.”

“No sense of adventure,” Dimetrolas scoffed. “Well, if you are so sure of the people, perhaps you will take pity on them and find ways for them to sally forth.” She turned to Stegoman. “What say you, snake? Would it not be tempting to dive and torch a few of those anthills so that the people could go free during the daytime for once?”

“I had considered it.” Stegoman sounded surprised.

So was Matt. Dimetrolas was being a lot nicer than she had been—nicer, but still tart enough for the transformation to not be suspicious; which meant Matt automatically was.

“Then let us go!” Dimetrolas cried.

“Be not so hasty, slender beauty.”

Dimetrolas stared in surprise at the compliment.

Stegoman, however, ignored it completely, plowing ahead. “I have, as I said, considered the proposition, and bethought me that if the people have not fled this valley, they must have need of these ants in some way—or at least benefit from their deeds.”

It was an interesting idea, Matt thought. He wondered if his friend were quick on the uptake, or quicker at improvising to keep the pretty one—at least in dragon terms—talking.

“A point worth considering.” Dimetrolas sounded surprised at finding a brain inside that hunk of a dragon. “I have flown over this valley before in my wanderings and have seen that when the ants go back into their hills at sunset, the people come out to harvest some sort of crop from the sands of those very hills. They load it on elephants and camels to haul it away.”

That also explained when they did their farming, Matt thought, and wondered what kind of crop the ants provided that was worth hauling away by the elephant-load. “The ants come out again at sunrise?” he asked.

“No—mid-morning,” Dimetrolas replied.

Stegoman turned his head to fix Matt with a glance. “That explains why the traveler who told us of this valley bade us come at noon.”

“At noon!” Dimetrolas cried. “Those ants would have minced you in minutes!”

“I believe that is what the stranger intended,” Stegoman agreed.

“Strange indeed! Show me him, and I will torch
him
for you!”

“I thank you for the thought, lass.” Stegoman sounded surprised, but he inclined his head gravely. “However, his employer already did that.”

“Employer?” Dimetrolas stared.

“How I know not, but he burst into flame before our eyes. It
would seem that, when Matthew cast a spell that made him tell what he knew, his employer had to silence him before he told all.”

Dimetrolas shuddered. “How could such a one command any loyalty?”

“Surely not mine,” Stegoman said.

“Nor that of these people below us.” Dimetrolas looked down. “They are well-guarded, after all, for no invader could besiege their castles for long.”

“True,” Stegoman said agreeably. “It seems the ants may be the jailers, but they are also protectors.”

“Still, there is no one seeking to invade at the moment.” Dimetrolas' mouth spread wide in a dragon's grin; she lashed her tail. “Let us torch just the one anthill nearest that castle below, so that its people may be free for one single afternoon.”

“A charitable thought,” Stegoman said, “but I fear I must not join you. I do not know enough of the way of life here. By doing what I think is a kindness, I might truly upset some sort of delicate balance, inviting disaster.”

“Disaster!” Dimetrolas scoffed. “What disaster could you bring by fusing the sands of this one hill to glass? You would not even kill many of its ants, for they are doubtless deep underground.”

“But other ants might come to defend them,” Stegoman pointed out, “besieging the castle by thousands instead of hundreds, and keeping its inhabitants closed in even by night. I must not act where I do not know.”

“Stodgy old prig!” Dimetrolas' lip curled in disdain. “Must you withdraw from any act that might prove frolicsome?”

“I am indeed boring,” Stegoman acknowledged. “I see little to amuse me in this life. Far better for you to seek the company of someone more gamesome.”

“Oh, you are impossible!” Dimetrolas snapped and peeled off to dive-bomb an anthill, her fire roaring out fifteen feet ahead of her.

Stegoman looked down with regret.

“She expects you to go down there and try to stop her, you know,” Matt told him.

“We do not always do as one expects,” Stegoman returned, unruffled. “Who knows? Perhaps she is right, perhaps she will do those people a favor. Certainly there are enough ants to repopulate that hill quickly enough.”

“I don't think ant welfare is the issue she's really concerned with,” Matt demurred.

“And I am? Well, we must not let her know how foolish she is, then,” Stegoman answered.

Below, Dimetrolas leveled off, blasting the top of the hill into glass, then veered upward, rising away.

“It does kind of look like fun,” Matt said, “especially since she's probably right about the ants being far enough underground to be safe.”

“They will have a longer way to dig in the morning,” Stegoman acknowledged, “but I am sure that they will. In the meantime, they will have difficulty disappearing back into their tunnels.”

A wail of distress rose, clear even so far above the castle. Looking down, Matt saw Dimetrolas making a second torching run on the anthill. The castle's people gathered on the battlements, and it sounded as if they were lamenting.

“It would seem that burning the anthill has upset the people in some way,” Stegoman noted.

“Yes, it surely does,” Matt said. “You're really in for it now, old saur—you were right.”

Sure enough, Dimetrolas came rocketing back, eyes ablaze
with anger. “Did you not see? Or can you not even deign to watch others have fun?”

“It did seem enjoyable,” Stegoman allowed, “the feel of the wind screaming past, the satisfaction of seeing your fire strike the target squarely, the air bearing you up again—all a warrior's delights.”

“Oh, how surely you must mean what you say,” Dimetrolas sneered, “for you are so quick to join in the game!”

“I can at least delight in watching those who can enjoy such frolics,” Stegoman replied with benevolent calm.

It was just the thing to send Dimetrolas into the stratosphere, of course. “Watch? Am I your clown, then, your mummer's play, to sport and juggle for your amusement? Am I nothing more?”

“Am I anything less?” Stegoman countered.

“Less? Aye! You are a wooden sobersides who has absolutely no sense of fun!”

“That is quite true,” Stegoman agreed gravely, “and I would be a fool to deny it. I have attempted such antics in the past but have never understood why it gives others such pleasure. Nonetheless, I wish them joy of it.”

“Joy? What of the joy of battle, of the thrill of conquest? Are you a sobersides or a coward? Surely you seem to lack even the courage to engage in a duel of wits! Nay, surely you would turn tail and run from a real battle!”

“I do not see much to fear in an ant,” Stegoman replied, “but I do fear to upset a balance between Nature and humanity, for Nature has its ways of revenging itself upon those who injure it. In that, yes, I must be a coward.”

“Then you shall live and die a lonely old bore,” Dimetrolas spat, “for cowards deserve nothing more, and those who will not play must live without playmates!” She banked and shot away, arrowing toward the sun.

“Am I supposed to chase after her again?” Stegoman asked wearily.

“Well, now that you mention it,” Matt said, “yes. You're also supposed to explode in wrath at being called a coward.”

“I might, if I were not so sure of my courage,” Stegoman replied, “but you know as well as I, Matthew, that I have fought
in several battles and never shrunk from the fray. I know my courage well and feel no need to prove it again, especially not upon so frail a female.”

Dimetrolas looked about as frail as a bulldozer to Matt, but he did have to admit that next to Stegoman, she looked fragile. “Even so, she meant to hurt enough to anger you, and stings like that are more painful coming from a female. I'm amazed you were able to stay calm.”

“She surely will not anger me by questioning the one virtue of which I am certain. If she insulted me for being cruel or petty, I might indeed respond with anger, for I know myself to be a selfish bully.”

“You could fool me,” Matt said. “In fact, you have—I would have said you always put your friends' welfare before your own, and I don't think you've ever attacked anyone who wasn't a real danger, not even an ant. As to being cruel, the term ‘soft-hearted’ comes to mind.”

“I thank you.” Stegoman inclined his head. “She did not accuse me of cruelty, though, but of being prudent and careful, which is only true, and anyone who thinks it an insult is obviously someone with whom I desire no further acquaintance.”

But Matt heard pain beneath those words and the fire of anger rumbling deep below, and knew that the last thought, at least, had held nothing of truth.

Anthony and Balkis came to a halt, even though it was only mid-morning. They stared at the gloom of the forest before them for several minutes. Then Anthony said, “I have never seen so many trees together. Is it not threatening somehow?”

“Not a bit.” Balkis' eyes shone. “It is much like the great forest in which I grew up. I am sorry if it bothers you, Anthony, but it will be like coming home to me.”

“Well… if you see no threat, I shall hold myself foolish,” Anthony said. He went ahead again.

As they came under the first boughs, Balkis breathed a sigh of pleasure. “It is so cool after that sizzling sun of the desert! So moist, so fragrant!”

“So dark, and the air so oppressive.” Anthony glanced around him warily. “Is the air always so thick in these lowlands?”

“Yes, my poor friend.” Balkis turned and caught his hands. “I fear this journey will be a sore trial to you, who are used to the brisk, dry air of your mountains.”

“Well, I wanted adventure “Anthony sighed, “and I shall not complain if it becomes somewhat… inconvenient. Still, I think I begin to understand the trader who told me that, after years of travel, the most important thing he had learned was that the best place in the world was the village of his childhood.”

Balkis tried to smother feelings of alarm, telling herself once again that Anthony was a friend and not a possession. She turned away, saying, “Come, then! Before you fare back to your mountains, see a little of my forests!”

After a quarter of an hour, though, even Balkis began to feel that there was a presence about them that did not like them. She looked at Anthony anxiously and saw his lips pressed tight with the determination to ignore his own fears. “I shall recite a spell to protect us,” she told him.

Anthony nodded, obviously relieved that she seemed to feel the danger, too. “Wise.”

Balkis thought a moment, then recited.

“ 'Gainst forest sprites who'd mean us harm We shall raise a warding arm Of unseen shields that all make good This dark impenetrable wood, Deflecting as a buckler should…”

As usual, she ground to a halt, and Anthony said, “I have the final line in mind.”

“I should have known.” Balkis flashed him a smile. “Hold it there until we've need.”

“I shall.” Anthony smiled in answer.

They went on together, feeling the menace grow. Then they saw grass at the bough-arch ahead and a minute later stepped into a sunlit meadow.

Balkis caught her breath and squeezed Anthony's arm, pointing with her other hand. Looking, he froze, staring in wonder.

A unicorn stepped into the meadow from the other end of the path, stepping daintily over a fallen log and lowering its
head to graze. Its coat was white, its mane and tail golden, but its horn was black.

Balkis and Anthony gazed, spellbound by the creature's beauty and rarity.

The unicorn looked up toward the side, then bleated.

Balkis and Anthony looked and saw another unicorn entering the meadow. This one's coat was also white, but its mane and tail were silver and its horn green. It came trotting over to the first unicorn and nuzzled it briefly, bleating in greeting; then both turned to graze side by side.

Balkis squeezed Anthony's arm again, wanting to exclaim, to marvel aloud, but not daring to make the slightest noise.

Another bleat sounded. Both unicorns looked toward the west; so did Anthony and Balkis. There came a third unicorn, its coat golden, its mane and tail silver, and its horn white. The first two lowed in greeting; the third joined them, rubbing noses with them. Finally they turned to cropping grass, all three side by side.

Balkis let her breath out in a whispering sigh and glanced up at Anthony, to find him smiling at her with bright eyes. She smiled back; they might not exclaim, but both proclaimed their wonder silently.

A guttural roar broke the stillness, and a lion paced out of the wood, mane a tawny glory, tail lashing.

All three unicorns whirled to face the beast, heads down and horns leveled, neighing warnings—and two lionesses sprang from the trees to either side, bounding in silence toward the backs of the unicorns.