Mercedes Lackey - Anthology (18 page)

 
          
For
one thing, if the owl had swallowed him, she doubted it had managed to remove
his pack first, and that was where the antidote to the shrinking spell was. The
idea of spending her entire life able to meet chipmunks and large spiders
face-to-face did not appeal to her.

 
          
Of
course, when the owl spat out a pellet of Deru's bones and hair, the pack and
bottle might still be in it, but that was really too gross to think about.

 
          
And
besides, how would she find it?

 
          
So
she would assume he was still alive, and that he still had that flask in his
pack. All she had to do was find him and take a sip, and she would be herself
again, and the owl would be no problem at all.

 
          
She
got to her feet and brushed bits of dry leaf from her gown. She was safe enough
here inside this bush, she was sure.

 
          
"Deru!"
she called, as loudly as she could.

 
          
No
one answered; she glanced up to see that the owl had wheeled about and was
soaring overhead again.

 
          
"Deru!"
she shouted again.

 
          
The
owl wavered slightly in its flight, veering toward her.

 
          
"Hush!"
Deru's voice called back from somewhere a good way off. He sounded strained.

 
          
That
was an immense relief; she let her breath out in a rush. He was still alive.

 
          
She
wouldn't have to stay tiny the rest of her life.

 
          
"It
can't get me here," she called back. "Where are you?"

 
          
"Over
here; in another bush," Deru called back. "And are you sure it can't
tear its way right through to you?"

 
          
Kirna
swallowed her reply, suddenly not sure at all. She ducked under one of the
larger branches and looked around for better shelter, just in case.

 
          
There
was a hole in the ground, half-hidden in the darkness; if the owl came for her
she could duck in there. . . .

 
          
She
stopped in mid-thought. Why was there a hole in the ground? Presumably
something lived in it.

 
          
That
might be worse than the owl. She had a sudden vision of meeting a snake while
still her present size.

 
          
"Do
something!" she shrieked. "Grow back to normal size and get me out of
here!"

 
          
"I
can't!" Deru called back. "I dropped my pack. It's out there in the
open somewhere—if I go after it, the owl will get me."

 
          
"Can't
you do something?" She was starting to go hoarse from shouting.

 
          
"The
countercharm needs oak leaves from the very top of a tree ten times the height
of a man," Deru called back, his voice sounding weaker. "That's what
the tea is made from. Even if these trees are oaks, I can't climb that high
when I'm this size!"

 
          
"Can't
you levitate?"

 
          
"Where
the owl can see me? Besides, I lost my lantern."

 
          
"So
what do we do?" Her voice cracked on the final word.

 
          
"We
wait until the owl goes looking for easier prey, and then I fetch my pack from
the clearing."

 
          
That
didn't sound so very difficult, but what if the owl was stubborn? What if Gar
noticed her absence and came looking for them? What if whatever lived in that
hole came out? Kirna eyed the black opening fearfully.

 
          
She
didn't really have much choice, though. She looked up.

 
          
The
owl was still up there. It seemed quite persistent. She wondered if perhaps Gar
had put a spell on it so that it would guard the tower.

 
          
She
waited for what seemed like hours, but which the motion of the greater moon
told her was only minutes; then Deru's voice called, "Your Highness?"

 
          
"What
is it?" she snapped. She was afraid that their conversation was keeping
the owl interested, and that it might wake whatever was in that
hole
.

 
          
"I
didn't want to worry you, but I think I had better warn you—I hurt myself in
the fall. I landed on a thorn. I bandaged it, but I'm still bleeding pretty
badly, and I'm not sure I can walk."

 
          
"What
am I supposed to do about it?" Kirna shrieked.

 
          
"I
thought you should know," Deru called back weakly.

 
          
"Idiot!"
Kirna shouted. She rammed her fist
against a branch of the bush.

 
          
This
was a nightmare. Everything had gone wrong. When she had followed Gar from
Quonmor, she had thought she was bound for love and adventure and a life of
magic, and now . . . well, she had gotten some magic, anyway, but she was alone
in the dark, dirty and bruised, stuck between a monstrous great bird and a
mysterious hole-dweller, with the only one who could help her probably bleeding
to death a few feet away.

 
          
It
wasn't fair! She was a princess. These things weren't supposed to happen to
her. People were supposed to obey her and protect her, not lock her up or steal
her blood and tears or shrink her down to nothing or carry her around like a
sack of onions—and drop her!

 
          
It
just wasn't fair at all. The World was not treating her properly.

 
          
If
she could just find Deru's pack and get the antidote, she would be fine.

 
          
She
could go home to her parents and pretend this was all just some grand lark—but
that owl was out there, and she didn't know where the pack had fallen.
If the owl would just go away. . . .

 
          
But
it was hungry.

 
          
And
whatever lived in that hole might be hungry, too. It might come leaping out at
her at any moment.

 
          
She
frowned and looked at the hole. She had had quite enough unpleasant surprises.
At least if she knew what lived in there she'd know whether it was dangerous.
Whatever it was, it was probably asleep; she could creep down and take a look,
then slip back out.

 
          
She
picked up a big stick—a tiny twig, actually, but to her it was a thick as her
arm and somewhat longer than she was tall. Thus armed, she crept across the
dead leaves and down the sloping earth into the hole.

 
          
She
had only gone a few steps when she stopped; ahead of her, the hole was utterly
black. The moonlight did not reach that far. Going farther suddenly didn't seem
like a good idea.

 
          
She
wanted to cry. Here she was trying her best to do something useful, something
to improve her situation, and it wasn't working. She sniffled.

 
          
Then
she sniffled again.

 
          
There
was a smell here, a smell she recognized.

 
          
Rabbit.

 
          
She
suddenly relaxed. This was a rabbit hole! Rabbits wouldn't hurt her, even at
this size— they were harmless vegetarians. All she had to worry about was the
owl.

 
          
That
was quite enough, though, if it wouldn't give up and go away. Then a thought
struck her.

 
          
The
owl was staying around because it was hungry, and knew there was prey here. All
she had to do was feed it, and it would leave.

 
          
She
gathered her courage, raised her stick— she was trembling, she realized—and
charged forward into the blackness, shouting.
"Hai;
rabbits!
Come out, come out! Get out of here!"

 
          
There
was a sudden stirring in the warm darkness, a rush of air, and she found
herself knocked flat against the tunnel wall as something huge and furry pushed
past. She flailed wildly with her stick, but whatever it was was gone.

 
          
After
a moment the racket subsided. She hoped that at least one of the furry idiots
had fled out into the open.

 
          
She
turned and headed out of the tunnel—or started to. At the mouth of the hole she
abruptly found herself face to face with a rabbit that had apparently decided
its departure had been too hasty.

 
          
"Yah!"
she shouted, jabbing her stick at the rabbit.

 
          
It
turned and fled, kicking dirt and bits of leaf at her; she blinked, trying to
shield her eyes. Then she pursued.

 
          
When
she emerged into moonlight, she saw that the rabbit was still under the bush;
she ran at it, screaming and waving her stick.

 
          
The
rabbit fled again, hopping out into the clearing. . . .

 
          
And
then, without a sound, the owl struck.

 
          
The
rabbit let out a brief squeal, and then bird and prey were both gone, vanished
into the night.

 
          
For
a moment Kirna stared at nothing; the strike had been so fast, so silent, and
so sudden that at first she had trouble realizing it had happened.

 
          
And
when she did, she also realized how close she had come to following the rabbit
out of the bush, trying to herd it further. She flung away her stick and let
out a strangled gasp.

 
          
For
a moment she stood there, looking out into the night—first at the clearing,
then up at the sky.

 
          
The
owl was gone. The rabbit was gone. Everything was still.

 
          
And
Deru's pack was out there somewhere.

 
          
It
was several minutes before she could work up her nerve to go find it.

 
          
She
was still searching when Deru staggered out to join her. His face and bare
chest
were
deathly pale, and one leg was wrapped in a
bloody bandage made from the tunic he had doffed.

 
          
"There,"
he said, pointing.

 
          
She
hurried to the spot he indicated, and a moment later she held the precious
flask. She turned to Deru.

 
          
"Is
there any ritual? Anything special we have to do?"

 
          
He
opened up a palm. "Just drink it.
One sip."

 
          
She
opened the flask and sipped, then handed the rest to Deru—barely in time, as
she began growing the instant she swallowed.

 
          
The
oak-leaf tree had a harsh, slightly nutty taste, but she hardly noticed as she
watched the world around her shrink back to normal. The bush she had sheltered
beneath, which had seemed as big as a castle, barely reached her waist; the
tower wall, while still massive, was no longer the vast World-girdling thing it
had been a moment before.

 
          
It
was also far closer than she had realized.