Faun and Games (32 page)

"Miss Nomare?"

"No."

"Can you spell it?"

"No."

Forrest began to get a glimmering.
 
"Does your talent relate to your

name?"

"Yes."

"Is it that it is unspellable?"

"No."

"So you can't spell it because that would reveal your talent?"

"Maybe."

"Miss Gnoma," he said, but realized that he had gotten it wrong again.

"Miss Gnome." Still not right.
 
Then a light bulb flashed.
 
"Is it that

no one gets your name right?"

"Yes!" she cried with realization.
 
"Misnomer."

"That must be very frustrating."

"No, I am used to it.
 
May I go now?"

"Yes, of course."

Then, as the woman departed, Forrest realized that he had gotten two

points ahead, and won.
 
All because he had tried to get the name

straight, and failed.
 
He looked at Contrary.
 
"You must go to your age

thirty."

"Dam," the centaur repeated glumly.
 
"I should have guessed that

talent."

"This was a tougher game than I anticipated," Forrest said.
 
"It was

just luck that I won."

"It's just luck when any ordinary creature beats a centaur."

"Well, let's head west."

But then the dragons reappeared.
 
There was something about their flight

formation that looked angry.
 
"We had better hurry," Imbri said. "I

can't fool them again."

So they ran west, trying to find cover under stray boulders or trees.

But the dragons weren't fooled.
 
They oriented, and prepared to dive

down on their victims.

Contrary unslung his bow.
 
"Run for cover; I'll hold them off."

.
 
"You can't stop a whole flight of dragons!" Forrest protested.

"True.
 
But I can delay them.
 
I am older and stronger now.
 
Go!"

Indeed, he was now about twelve; they had come several years To. He

seemed to have matured somewhat in attitude, too.

For-rest hesitated, not wanting to desert the centaur.
 
But what else

could he do?
 
Then he had half a notion.
 
Maybe there would be a hint on

the Good Magician's list of words.

He dug into his knapsack, but couldn't find it.
 
Oh, no-that must have

been the paper that had fluttered away when he took out his panpipe!

"What's the matter?" Imbri asked.
 
"Aside from the dragons?"

"I lost the Good Magician's list of words."

She looked stricken, but she tried to put a good face on it.
 
"We'll get

through without it."

He hoped so.
 
They were really on their own, now.

The centaur fired an arrow upward.
 
It would have been a remarkable

shot, for anyone but a centaur.
 
It struck the lead dragon on the snout,

pinning it closed.
 
The dragon huffed and puffed, but couldn't dislodge

the barb, and wee-wawed out of control.
 
The flight of dragons followed

their leader, making a crazy display as they all weewowed across the

sky, huffing and puffing.

Then another dragon caught on.
 
Flying dragons were not known for their

intelligence, because the heat of their fire tended to fry their

lightweight brains, but they had some experience with injuries.
 
The

other dragon took the end of the arrow between its teeth and hauled it

out.
 
That freed the leader, who cauterized its wounds with fire, then

resumed the chase.

Meanwhile the fugitives had run farther west, and had a lead.
 
But the

dragons quickly caught up again, and there was still no cover.
 
So

Forrest took his turn.
 
He brought out his panpipes and played a

military melody: reveille.

The dragons were militaristic creatures.
 
They heard the music and

immediately fell into formation for review.
 
Then Forrest played a

marching tune, and the dragons proceeded to march across the sky, their

wing-beats keeping perfect step.

Then the leader, who had been a bit distracted by the fresh holes in its

snout, realized what was happening.
 
It roared, drowning out the melody.

The dragons milled about, then oriented once again on the targets.

But the desperate fugitives had made further progress west-and caught up

to Cathryn Centaur, who had cut south to intercept them.

She was about five years old at this point, with cute pigtails and a toy

bow and quiver.
 
Her white wings, too small at this age to enable her to

fly, were folded, forming a kind of cloak over her body.

Contrary, now thirteen, glanced at her with disdain.
 
"Go away, twirp. I

have no interest in you."

She stared at him.
 
"You mean you're the one?
 
My supposed ideal mate? A

wingless, landbound creature?
 
What a laugh!"

"For sure, brat.
 
Now get out of the way before you get toasted and

gobbled by a dragon."

"Don't quarrel, you two!" Forrest cried.
 
"Can you help, Cath ryn?"

"I think so.
 
There's a forest just north of us; run to that for cover."

She turned to show the way, her little hoofs galloping swiftly.

"The dragons will follow the sound of our hoofs, and close in on us

anyway," Contrary sneered.
 
But he turned to follow her, and For rest

and Imbri ran along behind.

The dragons wheeled in air and looped around to cut them off.
 
But the

fugitives had just enough time, and reached the cover of the edge of the

forest just ahead of the first blast of fire.
 
They turned west to go

into the center of the wood.

Cathryn raised her hands as if throwing something.
 
"What's the matter,

twirp?" Contrary demanded.
 
"Giving up already?
 
Don't worry; in a mo-'

His voice cut off.
 
Forrest looked, afraid something had happened, but

the centaur was still running and still talking.
 
His mouth was moving,

but no sound was emerging.
 
What had happened?

Then a dreamlet voice came 4.n his head.
 
Cathryn threw a blanket of

silence, Imbri explained.
 
Now the dragons can't hear us.
 
They can't

track us by sound.

And with the cover of the trees, the dragons couldn't track them by

sight, either.
 
Now the four of them could make good their escape.

Cathryn's remarkable talent was really helping.

But there were harpies in this forest.
 
The dirty birds came flapping

down, intent on mischief.
 
There were so many of them that there was no

way to avoid them.

Cathryn, now a size larger at age six, raised her hands, drawing in her

blanket.
 
Suddenly the harpies became audible.
 
"We've got you, you

$#&!!'s," one was screeching.
 
"We'll poop your faces!"

"I'd rather face the dragons," Contrary muttered.

"So would I," Forrest agreed.
 
One of the harpies looked a lot like the

one who had tricked him, a century ago, though of course she couldn't be

the same one.

Cathryn made a motion as of throwing something toward the harpies.
 
It

was another blanket, but it was hard to see.
 
It spread out and

surrounded them with a fine sparkling net.
 
At that point their cursing

was silenced, but it hadn't ceased.
 
They were all screeching worse than

ever; it just wasn't getting out.

"I threw a blankety blanket," Cathryn explained.
 
"Now their cussing is

reflecting back on themselves and smirching their own feathers."

Indeed, provocative symbols were appearing, of lightning strikes,

corkscrews, exploding cherry bombs, asterisks, and stars.
 
They were

striking the harpies, who were screeching worse than ever as they felt

themselves tagged by their own expletives.
 
This only intensified the

problem.
 
Scorch marks were appearing on their tail feathers.

"You can do that to harpies?" Contrary asked, amazed.
 
"That's not bad.

"Gee, thanks," little Cathryn said, blushing.

That reminded Contrary of his objection to her.
 
He shut up, so as not

to let slip any other compliment.

The four ran on by, leaving the harpies to their fate.
 
But now the

dragons could hear them again, for the blanket of silence was gone.

Cathryn could throw only one blanket at a time.
 
Still, she had really

helped them to move along.

Imbri ran beside Cathryn.
 
"I'm sure he's much more mature when he's

adult.
 
He has already shown some beginning signs of centaur decency."

"But the wings.
 
He has no wings."

"Nevertheless, I think he is the one.
 
Maybe we can verify it with the

dear horn."

Cathryn nodded as they ran.
 
She lifted the horn and blew on it.

Forrest heard nothing, but the filly nodded again.
 
"It echoes from

him."

"It must know," Imbri said.

"I suppose." But the filly seemed anything but certain.