Tara Duncan and the Spellbinders (43 page)

The Labrador sounded so pathetic, they burst out laughing.

For their lunch, Robin replicated what they had saved. It was enough for them, with one exception. After the Beast had put away a third helping of dried meat, he asked her, “Do you plan to eat much more?”

Sparrow looked down at him. “I'm ten feet tall, Robin, with a stomach to match. You don't want me to hunt, which doesn't put me in a very good mood. So yes, I plan to eat more. A lot more!”

“All right, all right! Don't get mad. Just tell me how much you need and I'll take care of it. As long as I have the strength, that is.”

“Replicate me the equivalent of half of one of those stupid oxen,” Sparrow ordered mischievously. “That should do the trick.”

He heaved a resigned sigh and started replicating the dried meat. When he had done a few pieces, Sparrow took pity on him. “That's enough,” she growled. “I'm not hungry anymore . . . ”

Robin flashed her a grateful smile, which vanished when she added: “ . . . for the time being!”

They got underway again, and the plain gradually changed. The grass became sparser and the soil more spongy. Streams often cut across their path and several times Gallant had to carry them across wide expanses of stagnant water. Tara consulted the map often to be sure not to make a mistake, because the paths tended to all look alike.

They figured they weren't far from the island when a familiar voice suddenly yelled, “Stop!”

Manitou, who was ahead and about to put his paw on an oddlooking patch of earth, slammed into reverse—one advantage of having four legs.

“Don't come any closer, whatever you do!” yelled the dwarf. “It's quicksand!”

To their surprise, there was Fafnir, half sunk in the ground. To keep from going under completely she was clinging to a root with the energy of despair.

“What happened?” asked Fabrice.

“What happened is that I walked right into this stuff, and I'm sinking. Get me out of here!”

“Why didn't you use magic?” asked Cal politely, who was a bit mystified.

“It'll be a sad day when a dwarf has to rely on magic to get out of a tight spot. And I knew you weren't far behind me. So, have you stopped for tea or what? Do something!”

Manitou spoke up. “Sparrow, can you reach the tree right next to Fafnir?”

By stretching her body as far as possible, the Beast was able to get a good grip on the tree with her claws, and she pulled the dwarf from her liquid tomb.

When Fafnir emerged from the quicksand they were horrified to see that her arms and legs were covered with dozens of bloodsucking leeches. The dwarf whipped out her knife, but the blade slipped harmlessly on their viscous bodies, and the leeches were so deep in her flesh she couldn't dig them out.

“Wait!” said Sparrow. “Don't try to pull them off. They have to let go by themselves.”

“So what do I do?” cried the dwarf, who was in considerable pain.

“Don't move,” said Sparrow. She quickly changed into human shape, then cried, “By Flamus heat these leeches all, ‘til they give up and off they fall.”

An intense red glow surrounded the dwarf and tongues of flame shot out, hitting the leeches. The instant they felt the heat, they let go and fell to the ground, revealing dozens of open wounds on Fafnir's body.

“Filthy leeches!” she yelled, as she trampled the huge slugs. “I could feel them sucking my blood and there was nothing I could do about it!”

Fabrice gaped at the viscous bodies twisting on the ground. “Do you mean you'd rather be eaten alive than use magic? You really don't like magic, do you?”

“I don't even like the word,” said the dwarf hoarsely. “All right, let's get going. Time's a-wasting. And thanks, Sparrow.”

“Don't mention it. I'm sure that with a little more time you would've gotten out by yourself.” Sparrow could see how much Fafnir hated having to be rescued. She knew the dwarves were individualists, but Fafnir gave a new dimension to the word “independent.”

Over Fafnir's protests, she insisted on casting a Healus spell on the wounds to make sure they didn't get infected, and the bites faded quickly.

She then shape-shifted back into the Beast and they set off again, following Fafnir, who now used her axe to probe the ground ahead of her.

Even moving cautiously, they soon came within sight of the Island of Black Roses. It was located in the very heart of the swamp, surrounded by bogs and quicksand. And it was sinister. Rarely had any of them seen such a desolate island. Aside from the skeletons of a few dead trees whose bare branches waved in the cold wind, the only growing things on the island were some black bushes along the shore. They had huge spines, as if to prevent anyone from approaching.

The friends shivered and unconsciously moved closer together.

“Here we are!” Fafnir happily announced, oblivious to the place's sinister aspect. “All we have to do is cross over to it. I seem to remember there are lots of snakes in this water, so it might be smart if we crossed on Gallant.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Tara, who didn't especially like snakes.

“I'm tired,” moaned Angelica, sitting down on a fallen log. “I'd rather stay here. I'll wait for you.”

Suddenly the fallen log came to life, and an enormous pair of jaws swung toward her.

“Aaah! A glurp!” she screamed. “Help!”

The glurp, a saurian whose long, thin head sported a mouth with thousands of teeth, would have swallowed the tall girl in a single bite. But Cal, who was the closest, yelled, “By Carbonus incinerate this vicious snake, its choice of victim was a mistake.”

The same red ray that had wounded Tara's grandmother shot from his finger and hit the snake. It jerked as if it were being electrocuted and raced off to dive into the shallow water.

Angelica collapsed in tears. “I've had enough! I can't stand it anymore. I want to go home.”

“There, there,” said Cal kindly. “We'll be home soon enough. If you try not to sit down just anywhere, I promise we'll bring you home safe and sound.”

The tall girl sniffed and didn't answer. Every minute and every second she cursed the day that Tara had shown up in her life. What in the world could she have done to deserve such a punishment?

“That was fantastic!” said Robin admiringly. “I didn't know you'd mastered the Carbonus.”

“Actually, neither did I,” Cal admitted. “I didn't even think; it just fired by itself. Do you think it could get us detected?”

“No,” said Robin reassuringly. “According to Tara's mother, you have to generate a lot of energy for other spellbinders to feel it. So far nothing we've done has been dangerous.”

“That's a relief,” said Fabrice. “When I saw you cast the spell I really thought the bad guys would be here in two seconds.”

“Well, there was a chance of that,” said Cal, “but I had to save Angelica, didn't I?”

“I'm not saying you didn't,” said Fabrice defensively, “just that I was scared.”

“When you finish your little chat, maybe we can get going,” grumbled Fafnir. “I have an Exordium in a few days, so let's move it!”

Gallant ferried them over the water and set them down on the island. But Cal almost lost Blondin in the crossing.

The fox was getting sick and tired of being up in the air all the time. He wriggled out of Cal's grasp for a moment and fell yelping into the water. No sooner had he hit the lake than the glurps dozing on the shore dove after him, jaws wide. Poor Blondin was screaming in terror when something grabbed him and yanked him out of the water just as the jaws closed on the hairs at the tip of his tail. Gallant's reflexes had saved the poor fox. When he saw him falling, the pegasus dove and snatched him in his teeth to deposit him on solid ground, terrified but safe.

Cal, whose heart was pounding, was so scared that he yelled at Blondin for a good ten minutes.

Sheeba took note and was careful not to move so much as a hair during her own crossing.

It didn't take Fafnir long to find her famous rose. The rosebushes had long black thorns and she had to wrap a blanket around her arm to keep her hand from being torn to shreds. Even so, she was surprised to see that the thorns seemed to cluster in greatest numbers right where she was trying to cut the flowers. The rosebush resisted her fiercely, but she ignored the pain and forced her way through.

As she started to cut the flowers, she sensed something like a dull moaning, and the rosebush trembled. She stopped in surprise, and the moaning stopped. She cut another rose and it revived. The sap from the rose on her hands was so dark it almost looked like blood. Fafnir remembered the story of the curse that struck those who picked the black roses in the Swamps of Desolation and hesitated, feeling a little worried. But then she resumed her work. After all, she wasn't about to let herself be stopped by fairy tales.

While Fafnir was cutting what she needed, Robin built a small fire. He scraped the bark from a tree, made a bowl, and started boiling water in it.

The dwarf handed him the roses mixed with her blood.

“Here you are,” she said, pleased. “This should be enough for the brew. Bring it to a boil, then simmer it until the light brown juice becomes completely black.”

Suddenly Manitou shouted: “Uh-oh, I think we have problems!”

“What now?” asked the dwarf in annoyance.

“That,” said the dog, pointing a paw. About a hundred Mud Eaters were silently emerging from their burrows on the shores of the lake.

F
abrice gave a worried look at the long teeth and claws of their attackers, who had started yelping and gesturing when they saw them. “Do you think they're going to cross?” he asked.

“Nah, they're not that crazy,” answered Fafnir. “And I'll bet you dollars to doughnuts those guys take their orders from our pal the Master of Bloodgraves.”

“Darn it!” exclaimed Cal, his gray eyes narrowed. “This is a disaster!”

“Well, we're stuck on this island,” Tara bravely pointed out, “but you aren't, Fafnir.”

“What do you mean I'm not?”

“You can take off with Gallant. Because if we're recaptured, you'll be our only hope!”

“Even if I headed home right away, I'd never be able to send you help in time,” said the dwarf. “Anyway, I'm not about to leave you alone now.”

“Don't be a fool!” said Sparrow angrily, who of them all knew the dwarf people best. “If you aren't home in time for your Exordium, you'll be banished for life. Go on, get out of here!”

Fafnir's answer was laconic, but clear: “No.”

Their discussion was interrupted by Manitou, who had started sniffing very energetically.

“Well, I'll be!” said the Labrador. “I smell . . . I smell something. It's faint, but the dog has a very sharp nose, and I smell . . . ”

He walked over to an especially well defended black rosebush, with thorns nearly as long as daggers.

“There's something in there,” he stated definitely.

Fafnir rolled her eyes. “So what?”

“I feel a kind of tingling at the end of my muzzle that's a sure sign of powerful magic. I'd like one of you to go take a look in there.”

The dwarf chortled. “Master Manitou, it seems to me that of all of us, you'd be the best person to rummage around in there. I just cut myself to ribbons on those thorns. I'm not about to try again.”

He sighed, and wriggled under the rosebush. Oddly enough, where the bushes had furiously resisted Fafnir, they seemed to consider the Labrador just an animal, and he soon emerged with something in his mouth. The moment he came out, the bushes began to move and the thorny branches tried to seize him, but by then he was out of reach.

The travelers were all very curious to know what Manitou had found.

“Itsh a quartch rock,” he managed.

“What?”

“I said it's a quartz rock,” he repeated, after setting down a vaguely translucent stone. “It's odd, but I almost felt the rosebush was trying to keep me from taking it, like it was guarding it. The stone's not much to look at, with all those inclusions and cracks, but we might be able to use it.”

“What do you mean, use it?” asked Fabrice, who was looking at the stone curiously.

Sparrow explained: “It's a piece of rock crystal, which is what we use for our telecrystals.”

“Telecrystals?” asked Tara. “Oh, yeah, those OtherWorld mobile phones, right?”

“Correct,” said Cal. “But right now, this is just a rough piece. To make it into a telecrystal, we'll have to magically polish it.”

“Yuck!” spat the dwarf. “More magic? Well, leave me out, then. I'm off to drink my brew.”

“You're not really going to do that, are you?” asked Cal, shocked. “Not now?”

“And why not now?”

“Because if you get banished by your people, you might need magic. Otherwise, how will you get by?”

The dwarf planted herself firmly in front of him.

“I don't think you get it, little human. I don't like magic, I hate magic, magic has ruined my life, and there's no chance of my ever using it. So if I can get rid of it, I'm going to jump at the chance, banishment or no banishment. My talent for working metal has nothing to do with magic; it's the product of my skill and experience. A good dwarf worker will always earn a decent living, banished or not. See you later.”

Before Cal could say anything, Fafnir turned on her heel and left.

In the meantime, Manitou had set the piece of crystal on one of the blankets.

“Gather round everybody,” he said. “You're going to have to polish the crystal without breaking it.”

“How do we do that?” asked Angelica doubtfully.

“You'll use your magic force like a kind of vice to maintain the crystal's integrity. There are a lot of flaws in that stone, and the slightest slip-up could break it. Keep absolutely focused, because if it shatters, the return shockwave could hurt you. You have to succeed, otherwise we're lost. But if you manage to polish it, we'll be able to contact Travia and they'll come to help us.”