Morwen shoved her glasses back onto her nose and snapped, “Killer, stop right where you are. Don’t you take another step toward those vines of yours. If they’re really there, they could be very dangerous.”
Killer looked at her in disbelief. “They’re just plants.”
“Possibly. Kazul, do you see anything?”
“Trees, fog, and mud,” the dragon replied. “Lots and lots of mud. And I agree with Cimorene. We should be trying to find somewhere to camp, not arguing about imaginary vines.”
“Not imaginary,” Morwen corrected. “Invisible. To be exact, invisible dusk-blooming chokevines.” She peered at the trees, wishing she had time to collect one or two of them. Then she shook her head. Cimorene and Kazul were right, and they’d wasted enough time already.
“They don’t look dangerous,” Killer said stubbornly. “And I’m hungry.”
“The last time you said that, you drank Morwen’s wizard-melting water and turned blue,” Scorn said.
“Quiet,” said Trouble. “Go on, Killer. I would if I were you.”
“You hush,” said Morwen. “Keep away from those plants, Killer. They’re called ‘chokevines’ for a very good reason. Try to remember you’re carrying Telemain, and avoid anything dangerous. And let us know if you see any more of those vines.”
“Oh, there are patches of them all over,” Killer said. “We’ve been walking by them for the last hour. You really can’t see them at all? None of you?”
“I can,” Trouble said.
Morwen gave him a look. “We’ll discuss it later.”
As she turned away, a soft globe of light blossomed from the side of one of the trees Killer had pointed out. “What on earth is that?” Cimorene said.
Another light appeared, and another, and suddenly the swamp was full of ghostly radiance. “Invisible dusk-blooming chokevines, all right,” Morwen said. “The sun must be setting.”
“It’s beautiful,” Cimorene said. “How long will it last?”
“An hour, maybe two.” As she spoke, Morwen moved to Killer’s side to check on Telemain’s condition once more. His color was no better, and the skin of his wrist was cold and clammy where she touched it to take his pulse. Of course, everything was cold and damp after hours of laboring through the mud. At least his pulse was strong.
“Will he be all right?” Cimorene asked, joining her.
“Probably,” Morwen said with more confidence than she felt. The worst case of backshock she had ever seen prior to this trip had regained consciousness in a little over an hour. Telemain had already been out more than twice that long and showed no sign of awakening. Bouncing about on Killer’s back should not have delayed his recovery this long.
“Look at the bright side,” Scorn said. “As long as he’s unconscious, he can’t go on about things no one else understands.”
Realizing that Cimorene and Kazul were watching her anxiously, Morwen shook herself. “What he really needs is warmth, rest, and a bowl of hot broth . . .”
“. . . and we aren’t going to find them standing here,” Cimorene finished for her. “Come on, Killer. We’d better keep moving while we can still see.”
In one way, the next half hour of walking was easier than the last couple had been. The invisible dusk-blooming chokevines lit the swamp with a silvery glow, like the light of a hundred miniature moons. As the group went farther along, the vines grew more and more thickly, and their blossoms shone more and more brightly, until even the mud seemed to glisten like liquid silver. Not only was it pretty to look at, but it also made it much easier to see where they were stepping.
After a while, they paused to rest. Morwen checked on Telemain again, with no better results. Frowning, she turned away. If they didn’t find somewhere dry and warm soon . . .
“Cimorene, Morwen,” said Kazul, “look at these lights.”
“I have been, all the time we were walking,” Cimorene said. “They’re useful as well as pretty.”
“No, I mean look at them.” Kazul stretched out her neck and swiveled her head from one side to the other. “They aren’t just growing at random. They’re in rows.”
Morwen studied the lights. “Not quite. The trees aren’t in rows, so the vines can’t be, either. But they’re close.”
“It’s as if someone arranged them to light a path,” Cimorene said after a moment. “I don’t know if I like this.”
“I do,” Morwen said. “Paths lead somewhere. And if someone has gone to the trouble of lighting this one up, there’s a good chance it leads somewhere useful.”
“In that case, why didn’t they pave it?”
“Maybe they like mud. Come on, we’ve only got another hour or so before the lights go out.”
With renewed energy, they went on. Less than a quarter of an hour later, they reached a dead end. The invisible dusk-blooming chokevines covered the trees on either side and hung in swirls of glowing silver across the trunks ahead. The only way out was the way they had come.
“Useful, huh?” said Scorn.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” said Cimorene. “Why would anyone make a path that leads nowhere?” She drew her sword, eyeing the vines doubtfully. “Can we cut our way through, do you think?”
“I don’t know,” said Kazul, “and I don’t care.” Her tail thumped into the mud for emphasis, spattering thick, sticky gobs in all directions.
“Uh-oh,” said Trouble. “Hang on, Scorn.”
The dragon sat back and arched her neck. “I am not going to spend another two hours fighting the same mud we just came through. If I must wade through mud, it is at least going to be new mud. Get out of my way, the rest of you.”
“If you’re thinking of diving through the vines, don’t,” Morwen said, moving sideways. “Invisible dusk-blooming chokevines are very strong, and there are enough of them here to kill even someone as large as you are.”
“Not if they’ve been toasted first.” Stretching her head forward until it was only a few yards from the chokevines, Kazul opened her mouth and blew. Long streamers of bright orange fire shot between the trees. Kazul’s head moved back and forth, sweeping the flames across the end of the path.
Steam hissed from the mud, and glowing silver blossoms winked out in puffs of ash. As Kazul’s flame moved across the tree trunks, it left smaller flickers of fire behind hanging in midair. On the second pass, the flickers spread, outlining leaves and stems in tongues of flame. Blackened spirals slowly materialized around the trees as the fires burned upward and the charred vines lost their invisibility.
“I think that’s enough, Kazul,” Cimorene said at last.
The fire died. “Good,” said the dragon, sounding a little out of breath. “Shall we go on?”
“I think we’d better wait until the mud cools off,” Morwen said. “You got a trifle overenthusiastic, I’m afraid.”
“No kidding,” said Scorn. “Next time, warn us before you do that.”
“Killer!” Cimorene shouted. “Come back here!”
“Why?” said the donkey. He stood in the middle of the path Kazul’s flame had cleared through the chokevines, flecks of ash drifting through the air around him. Beyond, the fog and darkness closed in once more. “You said it was the vines that were dangerous, and they’re gone.”
“Even so, we shouldn’t split up,” Morwen said. “There may be other dangerous things around.”
“We haven’t seen any so far.”
“And that’s supposed to mean it’s safe?” Scorn shook her head. “Rabbit logic.”
“Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?” Trouble said.
Morwen sighed. “We may not have seen anything but the chokevines, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other dangers.”
“All right,” Killer said. “But I thought you wanted to get this wizard of yours somewhere dry.”
“He’s a magician, not a wizard,” Morwen said automatically. “And just because Kazul dried out some of the mud—”
“No, no,
I’m talking about that tall building in the open space.” Killer pointed both ears into the gloom ahead of him and a little to the right. “It looks dry. Why don’t we take him there?”
13
In Which They Make a New Acquaintance
GINGERLY, MORWEN MOVED FORWARD to take a look at whatever Killer had found. The acrid scent of burned chokevines made her stomach feel queasy again, but the mud turned out to be cool enough to wade through without discomfort. Where Killer stood, it was almost dry enough to be solid ground, and the warmth that remained to filter through her shoes was very welcome.
“Now, where—ah, I see.” Dimly visible in the foggy dark, a white tower stood among the trees ahead of them.
“Yes, that looks promising. Let’s go.” Morwen started forward, and the others followed.
Less than five minutes later, they stood at the foot of the tower. It was at least four stories high, and made of something smooth and pale that did not feel like stone. Ten feet from the base of the tower, the mud changed to hard, bare ground. This gave Morwen and Cimorene a comfortably wide area on which to stand, though Kazul was a little cramped.
“There’s no door,” Cimorene announced after circling the tower. “No stairs on the outside, either, but there are four windows at the top. One of them is showing a light, so somebody’s home.”
“But how could anybody get in?” Killer asked.
“Through the windows,” Morwen said. “What a pity I didn’t bring my broomstick.”
“Maybe whoever lives here has some other way of getting inside,” Cimorene said.
“There’s one way to find out,” said Kazul. With Morwen, Cimorene, and Killer in line after her, the dragon edged around the tower until she stood below the single lighted window. Then she sat back and stretched her neck upward, until her head was halfway up the side of the tower.
“Here we go again,” said Trouble, wrapping all four paws tightly around one of Kazul’s back spines.
“Hello, the tower!” Kazul bellowed. “Who’s home? Come out and meet your visitors!”
The window flew open with a force that ought to have shattered the glass. “Go away!” shouted someone inside the tower. “She doesn’t live here anymore, and if you keep pestering me, I’ll burn you to cinders!”
Cimorene’s eyes narrowed and she muttered something Morwen could not hear. Then she motioned Morwen and Killer to move back. After a moment’s consideration, Morwen stayed where she was. If there were any real danger of being burned, her cats would not still be clinging to Kazul’s spikes; their instinct about such things was very good.
“Come out and talk!” Kazul roared again.
A man’s head appeared at the window, silhouetted against the light. “I don’t want—Good lord, a dragon.”
“Don’t go away!” Cimorene shouted. “We need to talk to you.”
“I wasn’t going away,” the man yelled down. “Not yet, anyway. What is a dragon doing in the middle of the Smoking Swamp?”
“So that’s where we are,” Trouble said.
“We missed our way,” Morwen called. “And we have an injured companion who needs to rest in a warm, dry place. We were hoping you could help.”
“Another one?” The man leaned precariously out, peering into the gloom. “How many of you are there?”
“Three humans, a donkey, two cats, and a dragon,” Cimorene said. “Are you going to help or not?”
“Help.” The man sounded mildly surprised by the idea. “I suppose I could. Since you didn’t actually come looking for me.”
“What’s that got to do with it?” Killer whispered. “I don’t understand this person at all.”
“I expect we’ll find out in a little while,” Morwen said. Raising her voice, she called, “Are you going to let us in or not?”
“I think so. Yes, I believe I will. Hold on a minute while I get the laundry basket.”
“Basket?” Killer’s ears waggled. “I don’t like the sound of this.”
“Neither do I,” said Kazul.
“Don’t be unreasonable,” Cimorene said to the dragon. “You can’t expect everyone to be able to accommodate a dragon on short notice.”
“This place doesn’t look as if it could accommodate a dragon on any notice,” Kazul said.
“Here it comes,” said the man’s voice above them. “Look out below.”
Something large and dark poked out of the window, trembled, and fell. Kazul ducked, and her rear legs slid back into the mud. An instant later, a large straw laundry basket jerked to a stop a foot from the ground, bounced once, and swung twisting in the air. Three short ropes stretched from metal anchors around the basket’s rim to a much longer rope that extended upward into the dark.
“One at a time, please,” the man called. “And send somebody light first.”
“I don’t like the sound of that at all,” Kazul said.
Morwen studied the laundry basket, nodded, and reached into her left sleeve. “One person at a time? Nonsense. There is no reason to drag things out.” She withdrew a fat round jar and opened it. “Trouble, Scorn, I’d like your assistance, please.”
Alerted by her tone, the cats slid down Kazul’s sides and bounded over. Purring loudly, they took up positions on either side of the laundry basket without further instructions.
“What’s that?” Cimorene asked, nodding at the jar Morwen was holding.
“Flying ointment,” Morwen said. “It’s a standard spell for broomsticks, but it should work equally well on a straw basket. Be quiet for a moment, please.”
“What’s going on down there? Hurry up, or I’ll haul it in without you!”
“Kazul, would you mind?” Morwen flicked a finger at the rope.
“Not at all.” Kazul took hold of the knot where all the ropes met, inserting her claws carefully in the gaps between ropes so as not to damage anything.
Satisfied that the laundry basket wasn’t going anywhere, Morwen dipped a finger in the flying ointment and smeared it along the basket’s rim. The straw soaked it up much faster than a broom handle, so it took longer than she had expected to work her way around the basket. Overhead, the man in the tower shouted again, but Morwen did not bother to listen. Suddenly, as she neared the spot where she had started, Scorn hissed and the laundry basket swayed wildly.
Her concentration broken, Morwen looked up. A palm-size semicircle had disappeared from the rim of the laundry basket in front of her, and Killer was backing rapidly away. A ragged fringe of straw stuck out around the edges of his mouth.
“Killer!” said Morwen.
“I’m sorry,” Cimorene said. “I should have been watching him, but I got too interested in what you were doing.”
“Mm hmph hmphrmph,” said Killer. He swallowed and tried again. “I was hungry. You wouldn’t let me eat those vine things.”
“Straw has no nutritional value,” Morwen said. “And after all that’s happened to you already, I’d think you’d know better than to take a bite out of something while I’m casting a flying spell on it.”
“Oh, I was careful,” Killer said. “I aimed for the part you hadn’t gotten to yet.”
“I think you missed,” said Kazul.
Killer’s ears pricked up, then dropped. “What? No, I’m sure I—ouch! Oh no, now what? Morwen, this hurts!”
“What hurts?”
“My back. Owww! Can’t you do something?”
“In a minute,” Morwen said. Whatever was happening to Killer, it was unlikely to damage him seriously. Finishing the spell was far more important. To break off now might cause difficulties, and even if it didn’t, there wasn’t enough of the flying ointment to start over from the beginning.
Morwen turned back to the laundry basket. With two more swipes, she covered the rest of the rim, including the part Killer had bitten out. She wiped her fingers carefully on the side of the laundry basket, nodded to the cats, and said,
“One of fire, two of light,
Three from ground at dead o
f night.
Four in strands of deep sea foam,
Five that sings and brings them home.”
The cats stretched upward and dug their claws into the straw. With a faint pop, a spark of dim purple light appeared on the rim of the laundry basket. It rolled around the edge, then spread down along the sides to where Scorn and Trouble held on. The cats meowed in harmony, and the light winked out, leaving a smell of burned nutmeg.
“There,” said Morwen. “Now, Killer—”
“Hurry!” said the donkey. “It’s getting worse. Owww! None of the other things hurt like this.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Morwen said after a quick look. “You’re growing wings, and Telemain’s lying across the top of them. Cimorene, give me a hand, please.”
“Wings?” Killer sounded stunned. “Me?”
Trouble snickered. “A bright blue six-foot donkey with wings. What an idea.”
Together, Morwen and Cimorene got Telemain off Killer’s back and into the laundry basket. Killer sighed in relief as the weight lifted, then he craned his neck backwards to get a look at his new appendages.
“They’re awfully large,” he said after a stunned moment.
“They’re not just large,” Cimorene said. “They’re enormous.”
“And they’re still growing,” Trouble pointed out.
“Fertilizer,” Morwen said resignedly. “Magic fertilizer. I thought there’d be trouble over that hay.”
“Can’t you stop them?” Killer asked nervously.
“They’ll stop growing on their own, when they run out of—of the fertilizer magic,” Morwen said. “It shouldn’t take too long. You didn’t eat much of MacDonald’s hay. Now, Kazul, if you’ll let go of the rope and tell our future host to give it a tug—”
Fire ran down the rope from the window to the knot, then flared brightly and died. When Kazul opened her hand, the charred ends of the three short ropes fell into the laundry basket, along with a few horrible-smelling flakes of black ash. There was nothing left of the long rope. Above them, the window slammed shut.