Harpy Thyme (10 page)

Gloha considered. “I think the dragon could have sent another cold draft down this tunnel, and frozen us all, if it had wanted to. So maybe it was a misunderstanding.”

“Yes, that makes sense,” Cynthia agreed. “Maybe we should give it another chance.”

“But if it inhales, I'll transform it,” Trent said grimly. They advanced tentatively around the corner again. The dragon was there. “I say, old chap-we have a pass, you know,” the Magician said.

The dragon nodded. Its snoot was not crafted for apology, but it was evidently making the effort.

“So if you will just let us pass without molestation, we'll just forget this little misunderstanding,” Trent continued.

The dragon nodded again. So the three of them approached it. But Gloha noted that the Magician's hand was ready to gesture, just in case. She doubted that it was the gesture that did it; probably the motion was just to get his hand within transformation range of the target. But it was clear that Trent was not one to be caught twice the same way. He might look young, but he had the better part of a century's experience. Which might be the reason Crombie's magic had pointed him out to help on this quest: Gloha was a trifle short on experience, and this more than made up the difference.

The dragon did not try to frost them again, so Trent did not transform it. They passed it and entered a new network of tunnels. But the dormant green glow fungus still marked the trail, and the farther they got beyond the snow dragon's lair, the warmer the air got and the healthier the fungus became.

In fact the environment went from chill to warm to sweaty. Cynthia removed her jacket and packed it away, retaining the shirt. True, centaurs were of course completely unself-conscious about their bodies, and showed things and did things openly that the Adult Conspiracy forbade to straight humans. But as a transformee Cynthia had more of the human foibles than did most centaurs, or she would not have been embarrassed about having to kiss the Magician back to life. Gloha, as a first-generation crossbreed, was uncertain exactly what social hang-ups she was expected to have, so followed the human ones until she had reason otherwise.

The air got downright hot. Both Cynthia and Gloha flapped their wings to keep their bodies cool, and Trent looked as if he would have liked to remove some clothing. If this got any worse, they would have to have a discussion about whether there were special cases where nudity was tolerable. Were they walking into the lair of a firedrake dragon?

No, it turned out to be a fire pit without a dragon. Dark liquid bubbled up from nether crevices, and formed burning pools. The marked path skirted it by digging a small ledge into the side of the wall. But there was room in the cavern for Gloha and Cynthia to fly, so they had no trouble. Trent was the one who had to navigate the inadequate trail.

“If only you could transform yourself, the way Dolph can,” Gloha told him.

“Dolph?” Cynthia inquired.

“His grandson, Prince Dolph, who can change to any living form he wishes,” Gloha explained. “He's the same age I am, but he's already married, and they have twins.” She tried to keep the envy out of her voice, without a whole lot of success.

“So Magician Trent is a great-grandfather.”

“Yes. But I don't think anyone we meet will believe that.” They both laughed as they hovered. It was good to be flying again, however briefly. That was another thing that Cynthia had clearly learned to do before she retired to the Brain Coral's pool. Maybe that was why she had decided to remain in this form; it did have an ability that her original form had lacked. Gloha could not imagine life without flight; she would rather die than lose her wings.

Meanwhile the man was trying to stay on the tiny path, with diminishing success. There just wasn't enough room for his shoes. He was too likely to fall off it and roll down the steep slope of the wall right into the fire. He paused. “How do you fly, Cynthia?” he called. “You transformed me, and you don't know? I just flap my wings and take off.”

“The reason I inquire is that I have heard that the other winged centaur family has the magic of making things light by flicking them with their tails. When they flick flies, the flies become too light to stay perched, and fly away. When they flick themselves, they become light enough for their relatively small wings to lift. When they flick a person, that person becomes light enough to be carried. If you can do that with me, you can carry me across his hot cavern.”

“No, I don't flick myself, except to tag flies, and that's not to make them light but to knock them off,” Cynthia said. “I never get light, and can't make anything else light. I just fly.”

“Perhaps we should verify this.” He got down off the path and quickly retreated to the end of the cavern before his feet got too burningly hot from the stone.

Cynthia flicked him with her tail. He did not get light. Then he tried holding on to her as she tried to fly, but she couldn't get aloft. Her wings sent a powerful draft of air down, enough to lift her, but not enough to lift very much else. It was evident that her magic was different from that of the other winged centaurs. Her magic was in the power of the downdraft she made, to lift her up.

“That's interesting,” Gloha remarked. “He transformed you, and must have given you the magic to fly, yet he didn't know how it worked.”

“That is the case,” Trent agreed. “I don't understand my talent, I just invoke it. But this leaves me with a problem; I just don't see how I can use that little walkway.”

“Maybe if you flew alongside him, and pushed him against the wall,” Gloha suggested. “So he couldn't fall.”

They tried it, but it was problematical, because Cynthia needed room for her wings. She tried facing away from the wall, so that her rump could brace Trent, and that worked, but then she couldn't fly sideways to pace him across the cavern. Gloha was too small to help at all.

“Could you transform one of us into a form that would be able to help?” Gloha asked.

“Would you want to be transformed?” he countered. “You know, you could find your ideal man quite readily if I transformed you to a suitable form.”

“Oh, no, I like the way I am!” she protested. “I don't want to change, I want to succeed in life my way. But for just a temporary time, I maybe could stand it.”

A cloud of smoke appeared before her. A mouth opened on its vague surface. “You fool.”

“I didn't ask you, Metria,” Gloha retorted, beginning to understand how a person could become annoyed with the demoness.

“Then I won't tell you how to get him safely by,” the smoke said, and dissipated.

“How about a vine?” Trent asked. “You could take root at one end, and Cynthia could hold the tip of the vine at the other end, and I could use it as a rail to hold.”

“A plant?” Gloha asked, dismayed. She hadn't thought of that, and probably never would have.

“The rock's too hot,” Cynthia pointed out. “The plant would wilt.”

“A flame vine wouldn't.”

“That's right,” Cynthia agreed, surprised.

Both of them looked at Gloha. She really didn't care for the notion, but saw no polite way out. She was about to say a grudging yes, when a realization saved her. “You can't transform me when I'm out of your reach, right? But I have to be all the way across the cavern.”

“No, you could be this side, and I could fly you to the other side,” Cynthia said helpfully.

“Or you could carry her to the other side to take root,” Trent said. “Make sure there is a suitable place first.”

The centaur flew across. “Yes, there's even some nice warm dirt here,” she reported. “It looks quite rich. Maybe bats have enhanced it.”

“Bats!” Gloha exclaimed indignantly. But she realized that she was stuck for it. “All right,” she murmured, hoping she wouldn't be heard.

No such luck. Trent reached toward her, and suddenly she was a thing of flames and tentacles and leaves. She felt very insecure, because her roots didn't have much purchase. She was, indeed, a flame vine. She wasn't actually burning; she was merely fire-colored, with the capacity to generate small flames at the tips of her leaves if she chose.

Then Cynthia picked her up and carried her across the cavern. It was pleasantly warm in the center, then cool again at the edge. The centaur set her down on a patch of what her roots tasted as volcanic soil. That was ideal. She sank her roots deep and proceeded to grow. She focused on one long vine, sending it along the wall above the path. Wherever she found a crevice she ran a tendril in, anchoring it. She put out regularly spaced leaves to take in the radiation of the fire along the cavern floor. It tasted almost as good as the soil. This was fun!

Soon she was all the way across, solidly anchored all the way. She didn't need Cynthia to hold her end; no one was going to pull her off that wall until she let go of it herself. For one thing, there were tasty minerals in that wall. She waved a tendril at the Magician: get on with it! He set out again along the path. He put a hand on her vine-and quickly removed it. He dug into his own pack and fetched out a pair of heavy gloves. Then, wearing these, he tried again, and this time was able to maintain a grip on her hot vine.

Toward the center where the ledge got thinnest he had to hold on quite firmly, but she strengthened her tendril anchors and stayed firm. Then he reached the near side. “Thank you, Gloha,” he said. “Now I will change you back. But first we must get you all together, because otherwise parts of you may be stuck to the wall.”

Gloha saw the logic. Cynthia flew back and carefully pulled the long vine out as Gloha released her tendril grip, stage by stage. Cynthia collected the vine in a bundle and flew slowly back with it as more was released. Gloha hated to do it, because there was still plenty of nutritious mineral there, but she suspected that her winged goblin form would be annoyed if she didn't. Of course why anyone would want to be a goblin when she could be a flame vine-

Then she was herself again, complete with her blouse and skirt in place. She quailed at the thought of remaining a flame vine; obviously a winged goblin was better. Yet now she could appreciate the differing perspective of the plant. Each form of life found itself marvelously compatible, and distrusted all others. Perhaps she should try to remember, that lesson of life, if she didn't get distracted by more important things.

They moved on, following the passage generally down. It didn't seem to be in any great hurry to reach the surface. Now they entered a region of stalag-stalac-those pointed pillarlike things that lived in caves.

“Stalagmites and stalactites,” Trent said. “My, these are very thick-and look where the path goes!”

“How can you remember the difference?” Cynthia asked him. “I mean, between the ones that cling to the ceiling and the ones that grow up from the ground?”

The Magician laughed. “You have solved the riddle already! The ceiling-clinging ones are spelled with a c for ceiling, and the ground-growing ones with a g for ground. StalaCtite and stalaGmite. I think the other distinguishing letters, t and m, also indicate it; t is for top, but I forget what m is for.”

The ball of smoke appeared. “Moron?” it inquired. He batted a hand through it, and it dissipated, leaving a dirty smell. It seemed that the demoness had not quite lost interest in them, and naturally she couldn't get the word.

“Mound,” Cynthia suggested.

“Whatever,” Gloha agreed, trying to look cross. But the effect was spoiled when they both giggled.

But they had a more serious problem to concern them. The C tites and G mites were so thickly spread that it was impossible to squeeze between them. The fungus path went across the points, coating the upward-and downward-pointing tips. There was room between them for the girls to fly, but Trent was out of luck again.

“I am beginning to wonder what the advantage is to being human,” he remarked.

“The problem is not in being human,” Gloha said. “It is in being wingless. If you had wings, you'd be all right.”

“Thank you,” he said. She realized that there was more than one way her statement could be taken, and she felt another faint flush trying to form. Fortunately she hadn't enough left to embarrass her.

“Maybe I can clear a path through these,” Cynthia said. She faced away from the wall of G mites, then let fly with a well-placed kick. The nearest mite broke off and toppled, crashing down between the others.

But almost immediately there was a shower of spearlike C tites from above. The three mortal creatures barely got out of the way in time to avoid getting skewered.

“I think we would never be able to clear that path,” Trent said. “This cave protects its own.”

“Maybe we can find another way,” Gloha said. She flew up and between the needlelike tips of the upper and lower fields of stalacs and stalags (or whatever), careful not to touch any of them. But all she found beyond was a passage angling up to a medium-small river going merrily about its own business. There was no other exit; the passage continued along the river.

She flew back and reported. “I am beginning to wonder whether we are on the right trail,” she concluded. “This one seems entirely too difficult for human folk to manage. It's hard to believe that Tandy traveled this way alone.”

“I suspect she had her ogre husband along before,” Trent said. “These hazards would not have dared to interfere with an ogre.”

That seemed to make sense. But meanwhile what were they going to do? This cave seemed to be even less passable than the others.

“You say there's a river?” Cynthia asked. “Do you suppose it could be diverted?”

“It seemed pretty self-absorbed. Oh, you mean, to change its channel? I suppose that's possible; one bank was sandy. But that would just make it flow into this cave, and fill it up.”

“Yes. Then maybe Trent could swim between the tites and mites without disturbing any of them.”

Trent considered. “Do you know, you may be almost as smart as you are pretty. I think it could be done.”

Cynthia's powers of coloration had evidently regenerated without impairment. She might once have been the Magician's enemy, but that was a long time ago. Now it was clear that she found him rather intriguing. Gloha found it easy to appreciate the feeling. Trent was handsome, intelligent, experienced, disciplined, and had one of the strongest magic talents in Xanth. There wasn't a lot more required of a man.