
`**Sage**`

`**Tales from a Magical Kingdom**`

Copyright © 2009-2015 Maria E. Schneider All Rights Reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without prior written permission from the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

**A BearMountainBooks.com Production**

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`**Book Description**

Sword and Sorcery meets Agatha Christie. Three novellas introduce the Kingdom of Sage and those who protect its boundaries. Sometimes it takes a more experienced hand to save an entire Kingdom.

**Toil, Trouble and Rot** finds the Kingdom of Sage under attack from a deadly and mysterious enemy. (First published in Coyote Wild Magazine.) In **Dungeons and Decay** find out just how far a mother will go when her child is in danger--and how much magic it takes to keep him safe. In **Call to Arms** every hand is needed when a ghost invades the kingdom demanding old wrongs be righted.

# **Toil Trouble and Rot**

Everyone thinks heroes are strapping young men and beautiful damsels. If that were true, the kingdom of Sage would no longer be a kingdom because the young don't have the patience or experience to protect important territories. Leave them in charge and Sage would become just another territory under the Rats from the West.

I am the castle's first line of defense. Yes, I know, you are thinking I must man the ramparts or march with the soldiers. Wrong. I am the gardener. I am fifty-five years old with lovely tresses shaped in artful white curls around my dainty head. For a grandma, I sport very few wrinkles and for the record, gardeners never wear skirts whether or not they are Master Magicians, which I am.

When my plants in the garden twittered the tiniest bit of gossip about their far relatives in the valley, I knew instantly who was at fault. "The Rats from the West," I muttered. "What lingers, what complaints?"

Unfortunately, plants viewed the world very simply and weren't terribly helpful when it came to details. The major complaint seemed to be a lack of nutrients, so it was probably just a lazy farmer failing to rotate his crops.

It was a nice morning, so I took myself off to investigate. If the farmer saw me at all, he probably figured I was homeless or looking for a missing kitten. No doubt he failed to guess that I, just five years shy of sixty, was capable of hunting down deviant Rat magic.

And find it, I did. "Drat it all!" The evil magic in the farmer's field was rot. It was draped along the ground, professionally left on an occasional stalk where it could spread on its own.

I touched a healthy looking plant and got zapped backwards on my bony butt. "Oomph. Wha--" Magic was rarely confused by age, and it didn't pull its punches because my hair was already white. Whatever magic was here had enough respect for me to lash out with a surge of black rot that burned my careless fingers but good.

This was far more serious than a lazy farmer forgetting to rotate crops. Fungus enhanced by magic was insidious indeed and dangerous to the entire kingdom. We needed these crops for the coming winter.

I hightailed it for the forest. No doubt I looked as though I had taken a few too many sips from a fermented barley barrel. In my defense, let me say that it hurts to run when you're old. There is no way to do it without gimping along and looking like a deranged fool. My fluffy white bonnet flew off and bounced behind me, attached only loosely to a lone button on my green cape.

Foolish looking or not, I needed to get my hand treated immediately. Magical burns were not to be trifled with and for me, a plant wizard, to be infected with rot spells was not only painful, it was dangerous. This magic was the exact opposite of my own, and my blood corroded quickly as the stuff seeped through my skin. "Blimey!"

Luckily, I knew exactly where thyme grew inside the forest. It was a mild magic so while it kept the fungus from spreading, it was really no more than a compress on a wound.

This vile fungus infection required a visit to the metallurgist and some copper. Rue would have helped also, but the infection was spreading fast, so with only the thyme in hand, I raced to the village to my friend Bridget. The woman was a Master Metallurgist and could work metal like no one I'd ever seen.

She didn't need to be told twice either. "Fungus rot," I panted. "I was reading the energy and it got me. I need to purge it with copper."

By now, my hand was swollen to twice its normal size. The thyme was wrapped well and good around my entire hand, but the magical qualities of the fungus made it very strong. If I didn't stop it soon, I would lose my hand.

"What is needed?" Bridget brought forth a copper pot.

"Boil some of the thyme and leech out copper into the water. I need to drink tea with both." I gasped for air, but not because of the run. It was taking a lot of my personal magic to keep the fungus from spreading past my hand.

Bridget added water to the pot and placed her hands inside. She drew herself into a focused beam, her hands glowing as she rubbed the side lightly. Her energy literally melted the finest molecules of the copper into the water.

When she was satisfied, she pulled her dripping hands out. I grabbed a tea kettle from the stove, poured a half-cup and put in a fresh sprig of thyme. "Fill the cup with the water from your pot," I pleaded.

"No, this is much too strong to drink. Get your hand in there while I dilute some for the tea."

I didn't argue. My hand looked like it belonged on a diseased corpse. The only benefit to this torture as far as I could tell was that my aged veins had completely disappeared underneath swollen skin. The magic pounded my hand and wrapped around my bones as it threatened to take hold.

I swallowed the tea and scalded my tongue.

Bridget held my hand with one of hers and the pot with the other. She easily controlled the flow of copper.

Relief was slow. The swelling didn't go down, but I felt the copper smack into the fungus. I put my own magic into the mix, leaching the fungus of any nutrients. I probably went too far and sucked several good elements from my skin, but I was so angry, I didn't get control of myself soon enough.

When I felt reasonably safe, I closed my eyes and searched for bits that might have broken off. I needed a live rue plant to fight off the rest of the fungus, but I would have to return to my garden to get it.

I opened my eyes. "Thanks."

"It doesn't look that much better." My friend eyed my hand critically.

"I kept it from going outside my hand and that meant the blood pooled. It will get better."

"Do you want to tell me what this is about?" Bridget was younger than me by twenty years. Her hair was still a soft brown that matched the honey color of her gentle eyes. To look at her, you would never guess she could bend metal with her bare hands.

I shook my head. "I may need a suffusion of copper for some plants, but I haven't time to wait for it right now. Shelby's field--I think that is his name--is under attack. I need to get back to my garden and get some additional treatment for my hand. Then I need to find out who infected the field."

Bridget raised a single eyebrow. "Attacked? The entire field?"

"Cleverly infected," I said. "Give it a couple of days and it will spread. It will have to be burned."

She winced. No farmer would take such news lightly or well. But there was no other hope for it. Rue, copper and thyme aside, some of the fungus would escape notice even if I stood in the field for days and hunted it down. It simply wasn't a practical use of my powers. Besides, saving one twenty-acre field would drain me--and whoever had done this probably knew that.

"What can I do?" Bridget asked.

"Alert Rhonda and Garth. Get them started looking at other fields. Any field that is as far gone as his will have to be destroyed." Garth and Rhonda owned the most premier gardening school in all of the seven kingdoms and many of the students would be trained enough to help.

"You think other fields are infected already?" Bridget asked worriedly.

"I don't know. They will all have to be checked." And we both knew that if there were too many of them, we would have a fight on our hands. The farmers wouldn't relish burning their crop. But even if we didn't burn them, we had a problem because rotted fields wouldn't produce food. Perhaps that was the Rat plan all along. A hungry enemy is an enemy willing to deal.

I made my way quickly back home, but I was tired. It was only noon, and I had much work in front of me. Unfortunately, my dear husband, Ward, had also come back to our little cottage for lunch.

He towered in the doorway. Bridget, like most villagers, had access to the messenger pigeons and must have gotten word to him before I arrived.

"Demetria, Demetria." He looked at my hand, his handsome face scowling deeply. You would think that a Dungeon Master would be pale, but Ward spent many an hour in the sun supervising prisoners. His black hair was almost all silver now. As time touched him lightly, making its changes, he grew more handsome and dear to me.

"Oh, Ward," I swallowed pitifully. I tucked myself into his waiting arms, and he held me close until he was satisfied that collapse wasn't imminent.

"I could have come with you." His deep voice rumbled through his chest into my ear.

"It should have been nothing more than a crop rotation problem." I eased myself from his arms. By habit, he reached for my hand to hold it. I winced and yanked away.

Clouds rolled over his face. "I will go with you from now on!" he bellowed.

"Ward," I said, knowing we didn't have time for this argument, "most of the time it is a simple thing. I don't quite understand how this rot was able to establish itself so quickly, but it is magical. The field is halfway from here to the outer wall. It's likely that whoever did it started the disease in a central region that could then leak all over."

His eyebrows remained furrowed. "I'll get the horses. You need to eat."

I grabbed a bit of cheese, but shook my head. "It's rue that I need, and a live plant at that. I want to make sure there's not any fungus or evil magic left in my hand." Rue had anti-magical properties as well as anti-fungal ones. The problem of course was that I didn't want the stuff negating my own magic.

My dear husband growled, "I'll get the horses. You're not walking about in the hot sunshine after what you have been through. No doubt we'll be checking several fields."

He slammed the door when he left, a stern warning for me not to leave without him. Not that I would. I was very worried about the way the fungus had been applied. Rats were extremely intelligent and sneaky, but even a Rat would expect eventual gain. Did they really think to negotiate with us after the crop was destroyed? Was it merely an attempt to weaken the kingdom?

I chewed my food on the way to the garden. Because rue also caused drowsiness, I was extremely careful when I gently rubbed the leaves between my fingers.

Like a bolt, it aimed for me, attracted to my magic and the residual fungus. Rue loves nothing more than to assimilate, coat and smother. Like many magics, its nature is a boon and a curse.

I harvested enough leaves for three large packets. Each bundle had to be specially wrapped in silk to keep the anti-magic properties still.

Next, I went to my favorite oak tree. "There is a fungus growing." I described the valley in terms the tree would understand; a vast ocean where few oak roots lived. It was then a matter of Oak sending the request around root paths that stretched even past the kingdom boundaries.

Oaks do not grow fast, but they do talk quickly. I received images so fast, it blurred. We had to backtrack twice so that I could get my bearings. I had gathered eight landmarks when Oak mentioned in passing, "one of those human marks." My mouth dropped. Normally Oak wouldn't bother with our markers, but even to a tree, the wall that bordered that part of the kingdom was a prominent marker.

For one, the stones went into the ground, and to the tree, this was a root block. For two, the wall was a sun block. "The fungus is all the way to the wall?"

I thanked Oak in a rush, promising a treat later. There really wasn't much I could give a full-grown oak that already had decent sunlight and rain, but Oak was partial to me sitting beneath his generous branches and reading him a story, crazy as it sounds.

I hurried back to the cottage to find my husband waiting. "Ward, the rot is at the wall!"

"Which?"

"The far one." From my agitated state I could well imagine that he had worried that the rot had somehow managed to reach the castle wall.

His lips thinned and he nodded sharply. "Garth and Rhonda set out as soon as Bridget informed them. We will contain it."

As far as magic, Garth was almost my level. That is to say he was already a Master Magician, but I've been around longer so I knew a few more tricks. I taught a class or two at Garth and Rhonda's university when time allowed.

It wasn't allowing right now, and I clenched my jaw even though my husband's next words were meant to be reassuring. "Bridget is making some copper solutions, although she needs you to verify the quantities of copper. At the moment, she is making strong batches for dilution later."

He handed me my leather pith helmet, and I buckled it under my chin. No carefree bonnets this time. With an enemy afoot there would be nothing dumber than relying on magic as my only protection. Too many magicians have been killed by no more than a mundane arrow for lack of preparation.

My husband wore a heavier metal visor. He was a likelier target being bigger, male and more than capable of fighting hand-to-hand combat.

We made a fine and elegant pair. I rode proudly astride my black mare, tall and straight (well, my back curves just a tad), wearing long boots (I would dearly love to get out of them), and a clean, trusty green cape whose pockets were full of packets of thyme and rue.

I told Ward more of what Oak had shared, describing the trees as best I could.

"We'll get it under control," he promised. "Garth will have advanced students out in the fields. They can learn a lot from this and we'll need the help."

"Did you send a message to the king?" I fretted.

"Just a minor note. I had no idea that Oak would reveal this much spread."

Tonight would be soon enough for long discussions. We probably couldn't burn all the affected fields today anyway.

We were not even halfway there when a rider hailed us. "Teacher! Elders!"

As we closed the distance, the rider reigned in heavily, panting nearly as hard as her horse. Her young face was bathed in sweat and, good heavens! Her skin showed at least two black patches along her arm.

"It's...it's...madness!" she shouted.

I reached for the rue and the thyme. "Get hold of yourself," I commanded. "Where is your thyme? Did you bring rue?" The girl was not yet in her teens. She likely hadn't the experience to work with rue, so I performed a scant rubbing, keeping the silk between it and me.

She breathed easier the minute the rue touched her skin. I knew the false energy jolt that she felt. It happened right before the rue tricked you into taking too much and knocking you out cold so that it could continue working its magic. I pulled the chemicals up a bit, choking them back into the silk.

"Oh," the girl swooned.

Damn drugs. Too much and she would only remember the instant relief and the giddy surge of well-being without learning the dangers. "Are there other spots?"

"No," she sighed. "Just the two on my arm." Her eyes widened as she remembered how it had happened. "The spores exploded! I stood well away as I was told. I was only watching, but Mira!" Her breathing began hard again. "Mistress Rhonda said to fly to the castle and sound the alarms. The fungus had Mira almost completely before I could get Mistress Rhonda."

"Where?"

"At the wall! It was worst there and Master Garth was back at the first farm. I looked, but couldn't find him at all and, oh, I do not think Mira will make it!" The tears started, and I couldn't blame her. I had an inkling of what the fungus could do. What I had seen this morning had taken hold and was strong, but if the magic was worse at the wall...

I shuddered. "Ride on, girl! Get the warning out and make sure it is understood that we'll need Fire Masters immediately." It would take magic and fire to get this under control and we had best hurry.

Ward and I rode hard, flying across the hills and into the valley, still green and giving no clue as to the blight. As we closed in, I could see smoke just beginning. Either the Fire Masters had arrived or someone had gotten desperate with a torch.

"Chaos," my husband declared.

I hadn't the breath to agree, and from horseback, I couldn't talk to my plants to get an update. There was nothing to do but pound our way forward.

It did not take a genius to figure out why my garden plants had not reported sooner. As we passed Shelby's field to the next one, there was old burn. A swath of twenty yards where nothing grew delineated the fields. The field to the south was in worse shape than Shelby's, but the dead ground in-between had kept the plants from getting their complaint to me directly.

Ah, even the sides of the next field had been carefully burned, cutting off all but the deepest root systems from reporting. Unfortunately, the greater plants with the best root systems often ignored the complaints from the lesser ones. They might have told me had I asked, but they hadn't gone out of their way to pass along such unworthy news. Oh, insidious magic indeed!

We reached Rhonda near the wall, and thank the stars for it too. Two students fought a dusty, horrible fungus that grew roots up their legs almost to their arms. Before I could leap from my mount, my husband was off and helping me, keeping me carefully away from the black soot.

I admit my balance was a bit shaky, but I do not know if it was shock from the sickened soil or my age. Either way, I thought it was about time that I considered graduating to that fine class of wizards who use a staff, perhaps a fine Redwood from the kingdom of Sparta.

Yes, I know. You thought the magical staff was to focus energy and power. Phlooey. You don't see young wizards pointing staffs here and there, do you? The simple fact is that the young don't need staffs to lean on occasionally like us more mature wizards.

Drat and double drat my ego!

There wasn't time for my regrets. Rhonda was fading fast, unable to free the students. Running to the nearest scrub oak, I pulled, commanding the bush to borrow energy from every link available.

While I worked, so did Ward. He is, of course, a Master Magician that speaks to stones. Who better to guard the dungeon than a Stone Master?

The soil was contaminated here, and he could little use it, but the protective wall surrounding the kingdom was less than two hundred yards away. Under my husband's command, it hummed and vibrated. A fine line of powdered dirt formed and covered the roots that held the children. The soil smothered the treacherous fungus.

Ready at last, I went to Rhonda and fed her the energy I had harvested. When I touched her, she gasped and tried desperately to drag her hand from the student. I had thought she was helping the young man, but instead, he had already become a minion. He was fungus now, and he had a hold of Rhonda and the girl next to him.

"Blimey!" I screeched. "Rhonda, quick." I threw her an entire packet of rue. No young girl, she knew its contents and how to use them, but she was so drained, she could barely hold the packet. Her energy had been sucked nearly dry fighting off the students.

It was too late for them. Their eyes blackened as I stood there helplessly. "Fire Masters," I wished aloud. "Oh...Ward, it is too late."

We needed to free Rhonda and quickly.

My husband was as angry as I. "Curses!" He pushed the soil near her, building it up into a wall. The fungus would have to grow through it to get to her.

I hoisted my packet of thyme and began calling the elements, extracting just the parts I wanted into a rounded ball between my hands. Thyme can't cure fungus, but it is a good inhibitor. We had to form a barrier between the students and Rhonda so that she could escape.

When I had every bit of what I could squeeze from the thyme, the ball glowed a rich green, tinted with the healthy brown of mother earth.

I wished the soil around us were more pure, but there was nothing for it. I would not be able to ground here. Gritting my teeth, I pushed the energy ball to Rhonda, praying the backlash wouldn't send me flying.

The magic slid carefully into place at my command, forming a wall between Rhonda's fingers and that of the student.

Rhonda popped backwards, falling to the earth, sobbing. I knew the burn from the fungus, and it was far worse for her. More than that, she had felt it devour the students, even as she tried to save them.

My husband dragged her to a safe patch of ground. "We need a torch!"

It is nearly impossible to make a torch from fresh wood, but I went back to the bush to get firewood. "Drain back the elements," I commanded, pushing its water, its nutrients, and its life back into the heart of it. I selected several branches and sliced them free.

My husband started a fire. "We'll burn what we can. This entire area has firebreaks because of the burning that was done around this field. Let's hope the breaks are enough to contain the fire."

"The other...students!" Rhonda gasped. She had treated herself as strongly as she dared with the rue, but I could see that she would be no further help. "Garth..." She stared off into the distance. Her body swayed, although she was already sitting on the ground.

"Start the fire," I told my husband. "There is nothing left here. When the Fire Masters come they will have to control it. We must go for the other students." I averted my eyes from the frozen statues that had once been children. Though they were already dead, I could not watch the substance feed on their bodies.

My husband wasted no time. Most of the plants left were nothing but dead stalks. They were dry and easily ignited.

I forced Rhonda onto my own mount with me. She was nearly in a coma. I didn't know if she had gotten too much rue or if the fungus had done the damage. "Where was Garth when you saw him last?"

The only sound she made was a low, miserable groan.

"Drat." She would have fallen had I not been there for her to lean against.

My husband mounted and we began moving north, away from the flames. The whole farm would be gone in minutes. We made our way towards the farmhouse to warn the occupants out.

The back of my shoulders itched, and I had to fight to keep from slapping at my arms and legs. Fungus spores could be landing on me as we rode, and I could not get the picture of the students out of my head.

At my age, I can tell you that you think about death, but one does not ever plan to be smothered and eaten by the equivalent of a giant black mushroom.

When I saw the farmhouse, I pulled up in horror. "Oh, Ward..."

There could be no humans left alive. The soot was on the steps, the walls, and the roof. Large holes had already been eaten out of the wood.

We wheeled our horses and fled. Fear crawled through my limbs, and I muttered spells while clinging to a packet of thyme as if it alone could save me.

Rhonda finally spoke, though it was but a whisper. "We thought to start at opposite ends. I took the two most advanced students and the youngest one to learn. Garth started at Shelby's. We thought that would be the worst of it, but it wasn't!"

"What of this next field?" Ward pulled up as we passed the first old firebreak.

I shook my head. "Good as gone. Torch it too."

As we rode on, I realized that the line of infected farms had been planned carefully. The first, by the wall, had gone with nary a whimper, taking the owners before they had a chance to realize what was happening. The subsequent infections had likely been slower, perhaps taking hold over a week's time.

The line of decay made its way steadily north towards the castle and the heartland of the kingdom. From there, no doubt, the evil would have spread too fast to control. I just prayed that it wasn't already too late. The crop would be meager this year, and that was assuming we could still contain this blight before it took more lives outright.

The next farm in line was in noticeably better shape, and that is where we met the first Fire Master, Egan.

Ward reined in hard and shouted out what had happened. Egan looked grim.

"You cannot go back south alone," I yelled.

"I will stay here and wait for someone to come and guard my back," he agreed. "I'll make sure the fire doesn't get you from behind."

There was nothing else we could do. We had to find Garth and the others before we dared fight an escaped fire. Without more gardeners...oh, I did not like to think of the consequences. The war was upon us and we were not prepared.

I shuddered and felt the aches of my exertions.

It is impossible for a mother not to think of her own children at a time like this, even though mine were grown and through their first apprenticeships. Xylia, my daughter, was a woodsman, although not yet a master. She would be called to help here today and might even now be fighting with the others. My throat tightened, and I nearly wept with worry. Like her brother two years her junior, she had my husband's dark locks, but my green eyes.

My son Gavin was blessed with the magic of the winged ones. He might be called for reconnaissance, but it would be his friends that were in danger as they flew over the fields, not his person.

Within moments, there was no more time for my worries. The real battle lay ahead. As Rhonda promised, Garth had stayed at Shelby's farm, but by this time the fungus realized that stealth was no longer a benefit.

The battle we had fought earlier had been conveyed across the scorched bands, no doubt by the wind-born spores that I so feared. The fungus was ready for the fight.

"We need the Wind Masters also," I shouted, yanking in my mount.

As I slid from the horse, I could feel little plant magic to call on, but any number of students were trying anyway. Bridget was near now also, splashing copper water around the students. There was no time for dilutions and though she might harm the ground for years to come, that was not a priority at the moment. We had lives to save.

I made my way to her and stopped her from spilling the last of the pan. "Don't waste it! Sprinkle the barest amount, and I can have the plants spread it!" Copper kills fungus. It would kill the plant also, but while the plant lived I would direct the plants to ferry the copper through the stalks and free the area.

Garth was drenched from head to toe. I could only surmise that Bridget had doused him in desperation.

I thought one of the students off to my right was too far gone for us to save, but the girl was struggling mightily. There was no doubt she had talent, because not even I could push back the fungus as she was trying to do. I had thought to leave her for last as a lost cause, but the misery on her face, the freckles across her nose and the green, green eyes...

I scorched the very earth by her feet with that copper. It would have been more clever to feed the copper slowly, but my anger was not the reasoning kind.

How dare someone spread this sickness, something so powerful it would take the life of a young, worthy girl? I could not understand it, but I could kill it, plant life or no.

The fungus screamed and the magic protested, but I razed it anyway.

The girl collapsed when freed. With the immediate threat of death gone, she simply stopped, falling where she stood. On to the next I dragged Bridget and her pot, pounding the creeping tendrils with copper. I knew Ward was turning the ground as we moved.

I heard shouting, but I didn't turn. I don't know if I would have continued to free the students had I seen what grew behind me.

I cleared circle after circle until sixteen students and Garth were completely free. My legs trembled, and I wished again for a staff. Without support, I was unable to remain standing. The dirt was not pure, but the spores had died, and the cleansing copper still sparkled.

It was one of the students who brought the new problem to my attention.

"Mistress..." He pointed, his hand shaking as though he were a hundred years older than I.

I sighed and looked around.

Black, creeping, disgusting rot rose behind us. The fungus, propelled by power that I had not begun to imagine, was growing a wall. No longer did it hop from plant to plant. It collected, gathered and grew.

The spores crackled as they built. "Oh...blimey and...and...rot," I whispered. "We should have kept Egan with us!"

I reached for Bridget, but good heavens, half the pot had been leached away, and what could we do against that wall?

"The farmhouse," my husband said. "We must run!"

Of the sixteen, three students were completely immobile. Ward grabbed two of them and struggled under their weight.

"It's no use," I screamed above the noise of the advancing fungus. "The best we can do at the moment is build a ring!"

The front porch was already cut off from us, and the towering spores were beginning to block the sun. My husband despaired for a moment, but in the end, he dropped the students to the ground.

"Quick," I said to Bridget. "We'll have to do the best we can to keep the copper agitated and airborne in a circle around us."

"What can we do to help?" a youth asked. His hair was matted down as though he had been wearing one of those silly pointed black hats. If he had started out with one, it was gone now and so was most of his strength.

"Look for energy," I instructed. Any roots would be far away and deep, but there were enough of us that we ought to be able to call roots all the way to the coastal kingdoms.

I had my own tasks and I got to them, standing next to Bridget and building protection around us.

We barely finished the ring in time. The spores and creeping tendrils were upon us, not liking the ring, but advancing from the ground as plants are wont to do. "Blimey!"

The students found the barest trace of energy and bless their souls, they gave me every drop they could. My cape was torn and tattered by now, but I took time to discard it and retrieve the single packet of rue and thyme that I had left. It was all I had to offer.

"Can we grow the thyme?" one child asked.

I was surprised by the suggestion. I had thought to use it to sooth their burns...it was fresh, not dried...and thyme required copious amounts of water in order to be transplanted. Then again, it was a creeper, and I had just plucked it a few hours ago.

If I couldn't do it, it could not be done. We were going to die unless I thought of something. The copper shimmers formed a dome above us, but the fungus kept falling on it. With each attack, copper was scraped away.

Garth, Rhonda and the students joined hands.

I placed the rue along the side of the ring that faced the tower of disease, hoping to sustain our protection a bit longer. The thyme went just inside the copper ring, our last line of defense. I could feel the energy link that the students had found, and I directed it at the thyme.

It was not true growth. This was calling energy to multiply the powers of the sprigs of thyme. I didn't like this magic and neither did the plant. It was dangerous and unclean. Every one of us would pay for it.

Pulling the nutrients from the ground was bad enough. Forcing a plant that was already harvested to use up its energy to form the right chemicals for growth...

I was tired. Very tired. Sweat dripped across what I usually call my "laugh maps." I guess I didn't have to worry about the roads in my face getting any deeper.

I thought to plunge the last bit of energy I could find into the thyme, but something stopped me. My hands shaking, I realized there was no sense in using magic this way. It would not be enough, and it would leave behind one more problem to be solved by those who lived.

I stopped pulling from the ground. With regret, I formed the thyme that existed into a warm energy ball like I had done for Rhonda. Of course it wasn't enough, but this was what the good earth had given us, and I would use what we had as nature intended. We would take some of the spores with us when we went, but there wasn't enough thyme to save us.

Barely started, I felt the pressure of the fungus beginning to break through the copper dome. The creeping black roots darted at the ring like sharp spears.

When the thin layer of thyme went up, the gentle shield was a cleansing respite, a breath of fresh air, something to cling to magically. But even as we watched, the thyme began to brown.

There was simply not enough.

In the mist of such danger and mind-numbing concentration, I heard a lilting voice, a shout really. I almost didn't recognize Xylia, but when I did, sharp regret coursed through me. I would never see my daughter again. It was too late for her to reach us.

Something, perhaps her voice, or maybe the shrill cry of a hawk, gave my brittle bones enough energy to pull one last bit from mother earth.

Then, it was darkness. Either I had pulled too much or the spores had collapsed over us.

Just before my eyes closed there was a brilliant flash of light, but I did not know if this was heaven's door or a trick of the mind when darkness is all encompassing.

All good farmers are crabby. It's too hot, too dry, too wet, too shady. Pleasant, happy farmers can't be honest farmers because they aren't complaining. Be wary of a happy farmer.

Shelby was a cheerful, pleasant soul. Like the smiling farmers in illusion storybooks, his hay was always first in the barn.

The fact is, the hay is never in the barn. It is drying in the field, it is scattered when it should be rolled, it is rolled when it needs to be scattered. Shelby, I heard from neighbors, always lent a willing hand. For the past three seasons, he had helped at least five neighbors bring in their crops and never asked for any payment. Guess which five they were?

The line led right to the wall.

It had been his idea to start burning areas to protect each farmer from "worms and rot." The other farmers didn't care since he did the work himself. I think maybe they laughed at him at first--Shelby had gone somewhere west to apprentice at a great school, or so it was told.

It was my opinion that the west place was Ratdom, but no one recalled the exact university, so it made it hard to pin this one on the Rats.

Hmph. I knew Rat destruction when I saw it. As far as I was concerned, Rats sold him the magic fungus, and he spread it while he was "helping" bring in the crops.

Before we knew he was guilty, the Fire Masters made every effort to save his farmhouse, and let's just say that he had more wealth than any honest farmer I ever knew.

The fiend had obviously traveled, because he had plenty of gold and silver from Ratdom and illegal leathers from our enemies in the Slithering Kingdom. When the items were sold, they would help the farmers who lost crops.

There was nothing any of us could do for the first farmhouse. It was burned before anything could be recovered. I did not want to hear of the skeletons that might have remained.

Shelby tried to claim the dead farmers by the wall were the cause. For a time it looked as though he would rallying support for the idea. After all, the worst of the blight was closest to the wall.

He got himself into a deep pickle though when he tried to explain the burned areas around the various farms as a way to stop the blight. His story conflicted with what the other neighbors remembered, as well as his first story that he knew nothing of the blight at all.

I was still recovering when the trial started.

Ward is stronger than I in many ways, but even he had not been the one to carry me home. No, that was left to Gavin, gentle son that he is. It had been his birds I heard at the end. Brant, the castle's Fire Master, directed flames per the bird's instructions.

Thankfully the Fire Master was skilled. I heard from at least two of the students that Brant dropped a wall of flames between us and the fungus. Since he was acting on information from Gavin's feathered friends, he was skilled indeed. A foot one way or the other and it would have been us engulfed in flames rather than the enemy.

When I close my eyes, I can still see a brilliant flash. I only wish it were not superimposed with the bodies of the two youngsters that we left behind. Their parents wish for it even harder. We never told them exactly what happened, only that their children died while valiantly battling the enemy.

Shelby is in our Rat-free dungeon. I secretly hope he is rotting, although my plants inform me he is not. I know, you'd think we would allow Rats in the dungeon as part of a torture plan, but ah, never get in bed with the enemy, not even if he promises to only dispense filth on your enemy. My dear husband is the wisest of Dungeon Masters, and he has the cleanest dungeons in all of the kingdoms far and wide.

I worry still, though, late at night. I know Shelby didn't act alone.

These days, even when tired, an old lady with a white bonnet and a long green cape is often seen traversing the outermost fields and getting reports from students who now patrol remote areas where I cannot go. The University for Gardeners is very helpful and active in this mission, and I am ever grateful.

Of course, the sixteen students who stood with me will never lose the edge that haunts them. When they inspect a plant, they are more careful than many students in the past.

The painful lessons will serve them well. It is a wise magician who lives to an old age.

One student in particular has captured my attention. Her green eyes remind me of my own dear daughter, and I spend extra time teaching her. Anyone who fought as she did deserves the best. There is guilt as well that I ever considered leaving her for last.

Theresa is a beautiful girl. We watch out for one another because we both know there is a Rat still out there. We felt it in the power of the disease; a subtle hint of the creator of the filth that is not Shelby.

Yes, there is still a Rat. We may have caught the nasty minion of the moment, but this enemy planned and paid well. He will send others and when he does, I will recognize his signature. The day that he ventures here himself will be the day we will see what happens to those that dare to use plants to ill ends.

While there is breath in my body, I will stop those that come.

# **Dungeons and Decay**

As a Master Gardener for the Kingdom of Sage, it is my job to be attuned to the magic of the earth: to hear it, cultivate it and sometimes feed it. I was thus engaged in churning bits of soil and working the magic along when the birds came. There must have been twenty crows descending in a black swirl, cawing, fighting and looking very unsavory.

"Gavin?" I spun about looking for my son, who had learned to communicate with birds before he could speak to me.

Instead of Gavin, midnight bodies dove and landed on a single tree. I could not remember Gavin ever sending a flock of ugly crows anywhere, not even when his rival in grade school replaced his sandwich with a dead frog.

The Kingdom of Sage was generally a quiet place, although we had our enemies. The Rats in the West dearly loved to cause trouble, sneaking about like cowards, stealing food or magic and leaving behind filth and disease. The Slithering Kingdom to the south wasn't much better.

When the crows were followed by a pair of very territorial hawks, I panicked. "Oh dear." Gavin was a loving son. In fact, sometime after I turned fifty he mistakenly believed I should not be troubled with anything--including his romantic interests. My darling husband, Ward, insisted it was not my fifty-five years that made it so, but rather Gavin's own sixteen years.

I gathered up every possible herb in sight and stuffed them inside the pockets sewn into my cape. I suspected I might need them later.

They say there is nothing more dangerous than a woman scorned, but I can tell you that a mother with a child in trouble is no one to mess with either. I couldn't communicate with the flocks, but I could get information from certain plants.

I went to my favorite oak. By the power of my magic, I could have commanded it to tell me what I wanted, but help given is much stronger than help demanded. Placing my hands on his trunk, I bid Oak to draw from his immense network of roots and find my son.

Of course, there is a vast difference between an Oak's perception of the world and mine. To Oak, a season was readily identifiable, but a single day not worth mentioning. This was unfortunate because I was interested in pinpointing the very _hour_ Gavin had run into enough trouble that every bird within a few miles found it necessary to come and perch on my doorstep.

The closest I could do was zero in on the last decent rain, one week ago. Within that context, Oak began asking which trees remembered seeing Gavin during the time they drank, after they were sated or later when they were thirsty again.

The good news was that many of the trees remembered seeing Gavin, quite possibly as late as yesterday morning. The bad news was that the rain had only been across the valley. The trees farther away had seen Gavin when they were thirsty, but that time frame was useless.

"Thanks, Oak." I patted his rough bark. Oak could do nothing about my worry, but I knew he would be following me in his own way, checking.

By the time I puffed my little frame back to the cottage, Ward had arrived. The birds must have found him also. I hoped that Gavin had not sent the birds to his sister, Xylia; she had a daughter of her own and would just have to stay put.

My darling husband had made the mistake of bringing only one horse. "Do you think I will stay at home and twiddle my thumbs?" I stared up at his silver hair glinting on a sunbeam.

His solid gray eyes met my own angry green ones. "You're staying here, Demetria!"

"Don't be foolish." I drew myself up to my haughtiest five-foot-five height. "We can find him faster together."

"The birds will take me."

Though he said it with finality, I rushed into the cottage with my own brand of determination, plucked my pith helmet from the hat stand and gathered our knapsacks. "The birds can only get you so far. After that, we may well need my plants to help us."

His eyes sparked with protective frustration and for a moment, it blotted out the worry. "Demetria!"

"Nay! He is my son too. I will not sit here and get reports from my plants, telling me of his danger and yours. Already I know more than you," I dared brag. "It is west we need to go."

He winced, just as I had done when Oak had made it clear that Gavin had last been seen heading in the general direction of Ratdom.

Gavin had no reason to go there; no self-respecting human did. That didn't keep humans from going there, but Gavin was not at all prone to stupidity.

Lest you think that Ratdom consists only of Rats, let me set the record straight. Rats are very smart thieves, but they are also lazy and require human labor to live in palatial style. Some humans are slaves, but a good many of them are there by choice. Rats have little need for jewels or gold, and if that is all it takes to get a human to build dwellings, harvest crops and serve, Rats will happily steal baubles for them.

Of course it is crazy to try and sneak into Ratdom. The guards are small, they travel through numerous underground tunnels, and they are far sneakier than any other species. With all this in mind, it might seem foolish for Ward and me to have set off towards the west, but what choice did we have?

We raided the stables for two more mounts. I needed my own and Gavin would need the other after we found him.

Once the birds were convinced they had our attention, the hawks made it abundantly clear that they were in charge. The various crows, pigeons and other birds scattered. The hawks headed into the afternoon sun. We had no alternative but to follow.

Traveling quickly was impossible because there was no open trail leading to the west border. The mountain range running north and south served as a detriment to passage, not only for legged creatures, but also for weather. Ratdom was a good deal wetter and flatter than Sage; the mountain range stopped many a storm from advancing. As we headed across the valley and into the deep woods I fretted, "Should we have gotten the king to pave the way for us?"

Ward flashed a beautiful smile, and a laugh burst from his chest. "It's like old times, eh? Off we go like young idiots, not even bothering to tell a soul that we investigate in the lowest of pits."

When I frowned my disapproval, he waved a gloved hand. "I did give a message to the stable boy. He will get it to the king if it becomes necessary."

"The _stable_ boy?" We would be skeletons picked clean before anyone would listen to the stable boy.

Ward laughed at me again. "Think you I am so incompetent?"

"Should I not?"

"Charlie may work in the stables, but he practices with the prince. The message will make its way to the father."

"Assuming the prince talks to his parents more than our boy talks to us," I muttered.

It was my last chance to grumble for a while. Crossing the mountain range involved nasty switchbacks that required all of my concentration. While I couldn't complain aloud, my muscles protested heartily.

My mount tried to turn tail for home more than once. The horse could hardly be blamed; the Twin Sister peaks offered nothing but unfriendly rock faces and brutal wind as we scooted across the treacherous pass between them.

As the sunlight dimmed near the end of the second day, we drew close to the border. The birds did not hesitate. They acknowledged the human line with screams of defiance and crossed. I deliberately kept my gaze from Ward's. With such a display from the hawks, we no longer needed the plants to confirm that Gavin was in Ratdom.

Still, I quickly found an older oak. The venerable tree expected us, having received word from my Oak.

"Gavin was on his way by himself," I told Ward. "Going quicker than most humans travel, according to my friend. The next part is a bit confusing. A woman met with him and they argued."

"Why did he go to Ratdom with her?"

I delivered the news slowly. "Rats. Four hundred or so crossed during a low sun--evening--and helped the woman take Gavin across." I swallowed hard, quite unable to meet my husband's eyes.

He lifted my head, his hand steady on my chin. As Dungeon Master he reads people almost as well as I read plants. He knew without looking he would see worry and pain. "And how many linger waiting for us now?"

It took another back and forth with Mr. Venerable to get the answer. The tree was not nearly as anxious to help as my own Oak back home. I offered him what service I could. Mr. Venerable showered me with a few choice acorns, which I promised to scatter. There is nothing more desirable to a great-great-great grandfather oak than to know he might establish himself further and wider.

Once the exchange was complete, I gave my husband the last bit of news. "None wait that he knows of, but he said there are the usual living on this side--nests of perhaps forty or so."

"None? They didn't leave anyone behind to warn when rescuers came?"

I too was perplexed. "There are the border rats. Perhaps that organization is watching for someone to come after Gavin." It was possible, but military Rats generally didn't get on well with other groups of Rats. Just as in any kingdom, Rats paid a tax and that tax went to their king. The military was a direct benefit of taxes, and they tended to lord it over everyone else.

"Mr. Venerable says those who took Gavin scattered once they had," I stopped to swallow back my emotions. "Um, secured..." My hands fluttered. The Rats had tied up my son. _My son!_

After a lungful or two of much needed air, I continued. "A few rats stayed overnight, but he believes they were merely using the opportunity to scavenge."

"As if they were on vacation?" my husband thundered. "Don't they know--how can they think no one will come after him?"

I could not imagine. "Could it be that they do not know who Gavin is?" Unfathomable. For one, anyone kidnapped by Ratdom would be rescued by our king eventually. It was policy. But to kidnap the son of Ward, the Dungeon Master and very powerful advisor to the king...not to mention that his wife was a Master Magician...what could be going on?

"At first light, we go in," Ward said. "We'll be an envoy to discuss an exchange of prisoners. Once in, we'll follow Gavin's trail."

I agreed. Going in at night was not worth the risk. Darkness was the time of Rats. Humans traveling at night, especially on official business, would stand out like lush moss in a sandy desert.

We settled against the oak uneasily, sharing a scant meal warmed by a minuscule fire.

Shortly after the moon had risen and begun to fall, I took over the watch. Ward probably wouldn't sleep, but he always pretended to let me take a share in the responsibility. He had been dozing for perhaps thirty minutes when Oak whispered in my ear, "They come."

Oaks do not move at all since they do not have legs. This tends to make them a little lackadaisical about warnings because they don't consider a threat to be serious until the danger is upon them. I was on my feet instantly, dagger in hand.

Ward knew the minute I moved. He jumped up beside me. We soundlessly pressed against Mr. Venerable.

Not being able to see the enemy made me nervous. We couldn't afford to be at such a disadvantage. I reached into my cape. Normally I don't carry foxfire, but knowing where we were headed, I had stashed the glowing mushrooms along with the decaying wood that is required to sustain them.

To quicken the chemical reaction that allowed the fungus to produce light, I would have to give my own energy. Without my help, twelve fungi would not even create enough light to read by.

Ward had his back to mine when the frantic rustling started. The tree was still whispering, but I hadn't time to listen. The chattering teeth of the enemy and moving undergrowth was a huge distraction.

"How many?" Ward asked through clenched teeth.

"Count quickly!" I gave the order to Mr. Venerable. "Light!" I pushed part of who I am into the foxfire as I uncovered it. Yelling the command wasn't necessary at all, but I wanted to confuse the enemy. The Rats wouldn't likely recognize glowing fungus. Hopefully, they would recognize me as a Master Magician, but assume I was one more lethal than the Master Gardener variety.

Mushrooms don't talk to me, but the little beasties were quite happy to respond to my energy and emit extra light. While my panic demanded something approaching full sunlight, I knew the importance of tempering power and settled for something closer to firelight. The light was a cold glow, and I was so focused on controlling the flow of energy, it took me a moment to use the light to see.

The hiss from my husband as he slashed with his sword got my attention soon enough.

"Blimey!" I screeched.

My husband grunted and threw the first speared Rat from his sword. These were not your normal disgusting, filthy Rats. The creatures that advanced were diseased almost beyond recognition. The greenish-white light from the mushrooms didn't help their appearance any either.

The one in front of me didn't hesitate over mere glowing fungus either, because the Rat could no longer see. One eye was swollen outside its cavity and looked ready to explode. The other was either shut with disease or had been poked out entirely. The creature twitched a half gnawed tail as it snapped diseased incisors at my feet.

I heartily wished for a lengthy staff, a very long sword or fast feet. Being fifty-five, I could forget about fast anything and would have to solve the other deficiencies later.

With extreme distaste and a lot of desperation, I flung my dagger. Thankfully the creature was blind; it might have dodged otherwise. Of course, that left me with the task of needing to _retrieve_ the dagger from the disgusting mass that oozed only inches from my foot. "Eeish."

Leaning over when Rats are coming at you is not very bright. I kicked the dagger loose and ignored the blood and gore that decorated my boot. I fed energy to the mushrooms and listened to the reassuring swish of my husband's sword. The light allowed him to keep ahead of the Rat race, but just barely.

I disliked using fire as a weapon, but it was very effective against most animals, including humans if it came to that. The small fire we had used earlier was covered with sand, but just because the coals weren't visible didn't mean they were useless. Taking a rather dangerous risk, I dropped to my knees, grabbed my dagger and used it to scoop dry leaves towards the old fire.

As it flared, I flung more dry kindling, all the while keeping my glowing fungus as high as possible.

We were doing just fine and would have soon prevailed had I been listening more closely to Mr. Venerable. But when I dropped to start the fire, I was no longer in contact with his bark and didn't hear his shout of distress when the Rats started climbing.

Rats naturally avoided the light and climbed the hidden side of the tree. When the filthy creatures attacked from above, I had just added a cache of dry twigs to the fire, but it wasn't enough. The Rats dropped, their claws tearing and gouging. I shrieked.

The very idea of anything oozing getting that close to me was terrifying. One landed smack on the small of my back. Before it could sink its claws into me, I stood and spun about, nearly flinging the fungus in my haste.

In self-defense I actually jumped into the fire to get the horrid things away from me. I thought I hadn't speed in me, but I can tell you that my little old legs got to kicking and stomping like a young fairy at her first dance. I twisted and lashed out, flinging one Rat directly into the fire.

I needed my dagger again.

Ward split three of the Rats in half in front of my very toes. Another of the creatures landed on his shoulder, but he flung it away from him so quickly, I doubt the thing had time to register that it had landed. Ward kicked more leaves toward the fire. I shoved them in with my feet as I danced about trying to rid the earth of the pestilence of Rats.

Mr. Venerable didn't like the growing fire or the Rats. I finally got close enough to the tree again to hear, "Twenty more."

"Twenty," I panted at Ward.

Then tree informed me, "Running!"

It took us several seconds to figure out that the Rats were running away from us rather than at us. My husband hacked at remaining bodies to make sure each dead Rat was completely dead.

A sorrier bunch of Rats I had never seen. These would not have been goaded to the front line; surely death was more pleasant than living with the sores, half limbs and rot their Rat bodies were hosting.

"Ward?" He looked rather...green, and it wasn't just the light. "Ward?" I said again when he didn't look at me immediately. Granted he was still searching for the enemy, but I have been married to the man forever. Something was not right.

I moved closer with the light. The tree was relaxed now that the Rats had moved off. "They are gone," I whispered.

He faced me at last, a tired look in his eyes and...pain.

"Where?" I asked sharply.

He reached to his shoulder, and I saw it. A long scratch on his neck already festered. It was swollen with dried blood smeared across skin where he had felt it with his fingers.

"I'll make a poultice. We need more light. It's obvious they know we are here so there is no sense in keeping the fire low. I'll make sure the tree gives us more warning." If I had to coerce the tree, I'd get earlier notice next time!

"The horses," he said.

"They are fine." I had already verified this with Mr. Venerable. "Those Rats were strictly after us. There would have been time for them to steal the horses later."

I made my way to the mounts to collect the water and my herbs. Many herbs have antibiotic properties, and I grew mine with a little extra energy and direction. Don't get me wrong; I am not a healer. I cannot "see" into wounds, knit them closed or destroy germs. As a Master Gardener I only grow potential medicines and understand the slim lines between healing potions and poisons.

Ward sat very still while I bathed the wound with water and then gin. I was going to put everything I had on this wound, including colloidal silver. I didn't know what made those Rats so ill, but I didn't want it in my husband.

Colloidal silver was poisonous if over-used, but in this case, I left the liquid silver on the wound. Not only would it kill just about any bacteria, it was a wonderful and potent metal that worked against bad magic. I made Ward some tea with the typical goldenseal, echinacea and garlic. He dutifully drank it under my watchful eye.

Tree informed me that we were still in the clear, so I mixed a sealing formula for the wound from slippery elm bark powder. I didn't like the idea of binding in bad bugs running amok, but some evil magics require air to work, so the sticky solution was probably for the best.

Unfortunately, even after all this was done, morning was still a few hours away. We were surrounded by dead and diseased Rats, and we were both exhausted.

Resolutely, my husband began collecting the nearby Rat bodies and tossed them in the fire. "That was a clever trick with the light. Haven't seen that one before," he said.

"You've seen foxfire." I knew he was trying to distract me from worrying about him.

He pushed a Rat body farther into the flames. "Not like that. Didn't know you were cultivating and enhancing it."

"It's been a long while since we've traveled. I haven't needed it."

"Yes, it's been a while, hasn't it?" He tucked me under his arm, and we sat against Mr. Venerable again.

"Sleep?"

"You go first."

Uh-huh. We sipped tea and stared into the firelight. I fretted and checked his injury every time he moved. It wasn't getting better, but it wasn't spreading. He needed a healer to make sure the truly lethal poisons were drained. A mother shouldn't have to think about choosing between going back to get her husband treatment and going forward to save her son.

When the sun threatened, we packed quickly and rode our horses to the small area designated for passing the border. Though patrolled on both sides, the border sites were generally only manned during daylight hours on our side and any strange combination on the other.

The checkpoints didn't pretend to stop anyone. They were simply the legal way to cross for those who wished to appear on the record.

The hawks were already up, screeching at the border Rats. The birds kept themselves just out of reach of any arrows. It was quite likely they had already made an unlucky Rat or two breakfast.

The Rats, thus preoccupied, were quite distracted when we reported to their side; most were on guard watching the hawks. The main window was high enough that we did not have to dismount. The rat there picked his teeth and belched to acknowledge our presence.

I held my breath so that I wasn't forced to breathe the stench of the place.

The young Rat didn't let my husband finish stating our business before interrupting. "Length of stay?"

"No more than a day, maybe two at worst. You never offer any good reasons for us to negotiate prisoners."

Neither my husband nor I had the ability to communicate with animals. The Rat had the magic in this case. As I said, the filthy creatures are not without talent or brains. Of course, inside Sage Kingdom, we never accepted the word of a Rat translator, no matter how talented. One of our own magicians listened to every negotiation. The rat couldn't know whether we had the talent or not, but he automatically translated rather than speak to us as though we might have talent.

"Nightfall tomorrow," the Rat spat out. "We have no word of anyone meeting you." He squeaked back at the Rats by the windows, but none bothered with a reply. The official handed us leather armbands with a hefty gold ring attached to each. The special rings marked us as King's Advisors on official business. They were meant to guarantee our passage, but the Rats knew darn well we would have to guard the silly passes with our lives if we wanted to get out without paying a fine for a valuable ring gone missing.

They especially liked the irony that the likely thief would be another human. Like everything else to do with the Rats, nothing was quite as simple as it seemed.

"As usual, you'll handle your own translations," the Rat sneered.

If pressed, he would find me out, but I put my plan to work. "Not an issue. Would you like for us to encourage those hawks to find prey elsewhere?" I offered, as though I were the translator and could communicate with not only Rats, but birds.

His beady little eyes lit up. Not all Rats wear clothing, but this one had a dirty bib to denote his station. He straightened it importantly and spared a sneaky glance back at his companions. "We can take care of it ourselves, of course." Then under his breath he murmured, "What do you charge?"

"We were expecting to be met by someone from your king. It's rather unfortunate that we have been treated so poorly." I sounded sour and put out, which wasn't difficult given that I was talking to a Rat.

His fur bristled. "We received no communication." Not unusual in Ratdom. Even though Rats had the ability to network better than my plants, they were too lazy.

"Safe passage," I stressed, still staring straight ahead, "seems important here."

He glared and grumbled, but I did not turn my head. If he were caught striking a bargain with us, his superiors would take it out of his hide. On the other hand, if he didn't get rid of the hawks, he would believe himself in peril later when on foot patrol.

He shuffled through some papers, using the motion to surreptitiously slip us two more rings.

Without any further delay, we nudged our horses forward. I shivered as we passed through the gate. Getting in was easy. Getting out worried me. I did not relish seeing those at the guard gate lined up with their gleaming teeth and claws waiting for a piece of us.

There was no need to communicate with the hawks. Once we started to move again, the hawks took up the lead. I had effectively allowed the hawks to leave without linking them directly to us and gotten extra passes in the bargain.

As we led our horses into the forest, my husband said, "Clever." He dared not say more.

I grinned in spite of trying to maintain a humble appearance. It's not becoming for someone my age to bask in accomplishments; you would think I would be more mature about it.

My dear husband spotted my smile. "Finally I have found a reason to have married you," he teased. "Who could have known what a bargain you would be?"

I patted the extra bands tucked into my boot. One of the gold rings would be for Gavin. The other would act as a replacement in case we lost one. If we didn't use them, we had gold--a fact I cared little about, but the Rat did not know that.

The forest on this side of the border was rattier. It was overgrown with kudzu vines that choked and smothered natural growth. In Sage, woodsmen like my daughter listened to the forest and kept in tune with its growth and needs. As a gardener, it was difficult to ride through such a mess. I could hear the trees suffering even without being in direct contact. With a heavy heart, I knew there was nothing I could do that would help them permanently.

After the first mile, the woods opened up and a few of the vines were scaled back. "Dwelling?" I wondered. We had to be near humans that had been collecting firewood or culling the trees for other use.

"Hard to say. This isn't the route I normally travel."

The next two miles were similar. We had better visibility through the pine trees and there was less growth to hinder our progress. There were no mountains; merely a flat basin that would gradually take us closer to the ocean.

Instead of coming across the expected human homestead, it was a Rat that hissed at us from the cover of a wooden overhang. The platform was six feet up the side of a pine tree. "Have you control of those hawks?" the Rat demanded.

My husband had a dagger ready to slide from his sleeve. I was not quite as prepared and startled, I nearly fell from my horse.

Once I regained my balance, I almost laughed. The Rat, obviously more used to being perched _on_ the platform rather than hiding underneath it, clung to the tree rather worriedly. He wore a little suit of short blue pants with a white shirt closed by shiny silver buttons. On his head he sported a midnight blue saucer-shaped hat. If he didn't get out from under the platform soon, he would probably lose it.

I wasn't certain the birds wouldn't eat the Rat, but they were much more interested in finding Gavin than going after prey at the moment. If we appeared to be talking to the Rat, the hawks weren't likely to attack. "Not too likely to get you," I guessed in my most authoritative voice.

"Don't threaten me," the Rat muttered. He climbed to the platform, keeping his eyes trained on the circling enemy. His coat was a deep brown without a hint of gray, shiny and neatly groomed.

Since we stopped, so did the giant birds. One actually landed in the pine tree with the Rat.

The Rat was not pleased, but I couldn't very well tell the hawk to move. It wouldn't look good if the bird ignored me and blew my cover as an animal communicator.

The Rat righted his felt hat and pressed up against the bark of the tree. "Try to do people a favor and get threatened."

"What favor?" Ward was more at ease than I, but then he dealt more often with Rats. He was also a better negotiator. I hadn't the patience. I was more concerned with getting in contact with one of the trees to find out if we were being surrounded. However, with a Rat this close, I dared not dismount. If there were others lying in wait, I would only be making myself an easier target once off the horse.

"You are here about the lad from Sage?" the Rat asked, twitching his whiskers. He divided his attention between the hawks and Ward.

Ward stared at the Rat without answering. I tried to sidle my horse closer to a tree, but the one oak I could see was quite smothered by vines. A lonely juniper tree had such a bad case of spider mites, I was certain it would do little more than beg for quick mercy were I to touch it.

Pine trees were my best bet in the area, but unlike oaks, shortleaf pine trees were fiercely independent. I might be better off asking the kudzu vines for information, but I didn't want to argue with them. Vines were notorious for attempting to extract payment even whether they helped or not.

"Fine, fine, don't tell me," the Rat grumbled. "The lad came through two days ago with Esmerelda. We'd be grateful if you'd take him back where he belongs."

Ward's eyes narrowed. "And why would you be so grateful?"

"Are you really interested in the politics here?"

That made my husband smile. "Not so much as long as we can get ours." He was careful not to mention Gavin was our son. No sense in letting the world know the very valuable nature of the merchandise.

"Why would you help us?" I queried. "If you don't want him here, why is he here?"

"We don't want him! Esmerelda decided she needed to marry an important, but handsome man, so she kidnapped one. Tricked the lad into thinking she was delivering a set of the king's own falcons, a royal gift as it were. The woman is a menace."

I could see Gavin wanting to free the falcons. Rats had no use for the royal hunting birds and in fact usually killed them.

The Rat dithered back and forth before finally saying, "We would really prefer to slough her off...er, we would rather give her to a fine kingdom and form a valuable alliance, rather than have her take her choice of men and live here. We need her father, not her. You can understand that her father believes we can just work this all out."

"What's wrong with having her here and forming an alliance?" my husband asked shrewdly.

The Rat glared. Even without being an animal reader I could tell this Rat was not only tired, but at the end of his wits. "Having her marry and stay _here_ is not going to work."

"Hmm. I need to walk a bit," I decided. This one Rat wasn't likely to cause me trouble. If he had been sent with mischief in mind, any backup Rats were holding still at the moment.

Since I am not nearly as spry as I used to be and had been riding for days, getting dismounted was a bit of an ordeal. By prior experience, I knew Ward would not help me because in enemy territory, it was more important for him to stay mounted and on guard.

I threw my leg around and slid to the ground. "Uhng." The breath whooshed out of me as my feet hit rather harder than planned.

"You okay there?" the Rat asked solicitously.

For a Rat, he was rather gentlemanly. "Fine." I grit my teeth and held onto my horse until I was more certain my shaking legs would hold me up. I really did need to start carrying a staff of some sort. I actually own two, but hadn't convinced my vanity to actually use them. Fool am I.

Still holding myself rather stiffly, I picked a pine tree away from the Rat and pushed against the tree to help straighten my back. I was immediately reminded that shortleafed pines are disgustingly sappy. I peeled my hand away and set it in a better spot before asking, "Are there many Rats that feel as you do?"

The Rat assumed incorrectly that I was speaking to him. The tree could feel my power and knew better. It hummed underneath my fingertips and launched into a lengthy complaint about the numerous Rat tunnels that interfered with his roots.

When pressed further, the pine admitted that the tunnels were not hiding hordes of Rats. Since the tree gushed about how great the tunnels were when filled with water, I assumed the tunnels were a traveling network, not a living area.

The tree knew nothing of Gavin; if he had passed this way, the tree did not recall. When I whispered the name "Esmerelda," I got more than I bargained for. The tree actually shook. "She-who-takes-and-destroys" was well-known even by a pine whose sole idea of cooperation was to use its neighbor's roots as a ballast against strong winds.

Having gained what useful knowledge as I could, I took myself further into a private area as though I needed a few personal moments. I checked with four other trees, but got no more information. Esmerelda was not loved by any of them. The Rat still talking to Ward was probably telling us the truth about hoping we were here for Gavin.

Of course, not everyone was for getting Gavin home. Otherwise we wouldn't have been attacked last night.

I made my way back to my mount.

"What did you find?" the Rat asked immediately.

I shrugged. "The place is rather overgrown isn't it?"

The Rat's shifty eyes narrowed. "You are the Master Gardener, are you not?"

Learning from my husband's example, I did not answer.

"All right," the Rat sighed. "But here's some more advice. When you get close to the castle, don't take any advice from the River Rats. _None._ " His whiskers twitched a mile a minute. "Randolph Rat is the name you want. He's in the castle, and he can help. Deal only with Tunnel Rats. The River Rats are bad news."

Rats weren't all Rats? They looked like Rats to me.

Ward nodded his thanks. "And whom shall I say sent us to Randolph?"

"Zig. But he knows. I've been on reconnaissance to find someone to take your human off our hands. Esmerelda can't be allowed to stay." His business concluded, the Rat scooted down the tree. In the blink of an eye he disappeared through the underbrush.

I put my hand out and requested that the pine tell me where he was going.

Sure enough, the pine described a tunnel.

The minute the Rat was gone, the hawks took to the skies. We were obliged to follow.

"Do you think we can believe the Rat?" I asked my husband.

"I don't like Ratdom, but I've always wondered if every Rat was made from the same whisker."

I was pretty sure a Rat was a Rat. "He could mean to betray us."

"Even if he isn't an honest Rat, it doesn't mean they don't have the same intrigue here that we do at home. They must need Esmerelda's father for some sort of trade or supplies from another kingdom, but his daughter sounds like a troublemaker. At least one segment of Rats wants her out. There is very likely another group that wants her to stay with the hopes that she'll cause enough trouble that her father will be replaced by a different human deal-maker."

"What could any of this possibly have to do with Gavin?"

"Perhaps she does not want to leave Ratdom and be married off to a foreign prince."

Politics.

We continued following the hawks. When one landed, we stopped also. The other circled nearby as we watched.

"Castle," my husband mused. "River Rats and castle imply moat."

That was bad. We had no way of getting across a moat and into a castle. I grabbed a nearby vine to demand information.

There was no sense in being nice. The vine would start sucking energy from me if I gave it half a chance. I was angry and afraid, and I didn't like the vines anyway.

It was good that I was so aggressive. The vine tried immediately to get a tendril around my wrist. I yanked some energy from the snaking thief, but quick. That tamed it somewhat, but I wasn't done. I grabbed more energy, culling from the chemical and magical reactions that plants use to turn sun and water into plant. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see amazement on my husband's face. I don't generally fight plants because I am on their side, but we don't have the nasty kudzu vines growing in Sage either. I wasn't about to let this upstart plant get a vinehold on me.

Unfortunately, there was an enormous amount of strength in the plant. I could feel the flush of power start to singe my skin. "Drat!"

"You're glowing," my husband warned.

Seething, I dismounted. Dragging the vine with me, I hacked my way through to find an oak tree. Though most oak trees can withstand a light mistletoe infection, the poor specimen I stumbled on was quite overcome by the parasite.

The heat was still on my cheeks. As I fed the oak, the mistletoe dropped. The essential elements of energy for the tree--chlorophyll, sunlight and water--were present in the power flow. The tree wasn't stupid. It quickly created more of itself; tough knots and firm bark, shutting off the holes where the mistletoe had gained roots.

I knew I was killing this particular vine, but I wanted to make sure that the rest of the vines knew I wasn't to be messed with. I couldn't afford to go for information in an emergency and have a vine take advantage.

By the time I was finished, I was near collapse. I think perhaps the residual power was the only thing that kept me standing. The oak probably hadn't looked this good in years. I felt bad that the mistletoe would likely encroach again, but the tree was positively stately with its thanks.

I nodded before pulling away.

My husband had broken our rule and dismounted. "Are you all right?"

"There is a moat." I ignored his question in favor of delivering information. "And a dungeon." The more information the vine had provided, the more my anger had built. It didn't help that the vine laughed the entire time it gave me the requested tidbits. "Damned parasite. The best way in is either the sewers or the Rat tunnels."

"We aren't small enough for the Rat tunnels and Zig specifically warned us about letting the River Rats know what we are up to." And where else would a River Rat be besides a moat or sewer?

"The Rat tunnels the vine spoke of may have been a human escape route at one time," I clarified. "The vine doesn't distinguish between the size of the tunnels, but it saw humans in one of them."

"We will need to leave the mounts," Ward said.

"With the oak," I suggested.

I didn't need my husband to point out that a solid tree couldn't do much to protect the horses, but this Oak would do its best to get word to me if anyone tried anything.

I wished I could leave my cloak behind, because I was sweating profusely from the humid air and my exertions. Knowing I would likely need the contents in my many pockets, I kept the cloak across my shoulders.

As we made a final approach to the castle, the birds landed on a nearby tree. Like guards, they waited, watching us with accusing stares. My heart positively ached at seeing Gavin's birds sitting in that tree without Gavin underfoot.

The castle, as befitted Rats, was crumbling. The moat was sour, muddy and yes, it smelled. In Sage, the moat around the castle was formed from a running river. Water didn't sit long enough to stagnate and become a breeding ground for any number of bad magics. This moat looked as though it had been used as a large latrine.

Ward wrinkled his nose. "Are you sure there are tunnels underneath? That muck looks like nothing but quicksand."

"The vines say it is so." I polled the nearby plants. Since I didn't know what the tunnel looked like it took longer than I planned. The hawks grew restless and so did Ward.

Most of the plants knew about the tunnel, but even the vines were vague about an opening. It finally occurred to me that with so many vines in the area, there probably was no opening _._ The green tendrils smothered everything, forming the finest of camouflages.

My new description yielded instant results. I was pleased until we found the place. "Drat."

The hole behind the greenery was in bad shape. The tunnel was a lumpy hollow worm carved out of clay. Unfortunately, clay shifted with every rain. When it dried, it cracked and moved again. I had zero confidence in the tunnel, not to mention the castle.

Before we could explore farther, a hiss from the intestine depth had Ward's sword at the ready. "From Zag?" a hollow voice asked.

"No, Zig," my husband replied.

A chuckle. "A detailed person, you are. Come on then. Let's get this over with."

Saving the foxfire for an emergency, I instead withdrew a small candle stub from my cloak.

The Rat hissed again. "You humans and your infernal need for light."

Neither of us apologized. My husband used flint to spark a flame, but the flickering candle did nothing to abolish my dread of the tunnel. I knew it contained Rats; one had just spoken to us. "Be you Randolph?" I asked, shamefully delaying the inevitable. My insides were knotted worse than the vines we had just hacked through.

"Who else?"

"Mind you step out here a bit," my husband requested.

The truth was that I couldn't tell a River Rat from any other Rat, but we did have to pretend.

Grumbling, Randolph the Rat edged out into the daylight. Unlike Zig, this Rat was old. His whiskers were nearly invisible and his coat was white, tinted bluish-purple. He was dressed in heavy leathers. It wouldn't do much to stop a sword such a Ward's, but the good news was that the Rat wasn't likely to try and swim in the outfit, which meant he probably wasn't a River Rat. The bad news was that I didn't trust the Rat anyway.

He pulled out a monocle and peered up at us. "Come on then, if you're coming. You've got to get him out tonight." He slipped the piece of glass back into his leathers and waved us on.

The dark tunnel swallowed my husband almost immediately. I stood frozen. For a moment, I couldn't even breathe. If I didn't get going...the light from outside didn't bother to follow me. It was difficult to ignore the urge to clutch the back of my husband's tunic. Even with the stifling humidity, I was glad of my cape. It gave me the illusion of protection, although it was certain to be ruined from steeping in the smells of murk and decay.

The Rat ambled along quickly on all fours, stopping occasionally to sniff the damp air. He sat back on his haunches only once to warn us to hurry. "She'll either get him to wed her tonight or she'll feed him to the prisoners. They have nothing to eat but each other." He held up a paw. "Don't get mad at us either. The lad accepts water from us, but won't take much food. He only takes the water because he'd be dead otherwise. What is it with you humans that lump every Rat into one cage?'

Grumbling, he continued down the passage. Water dripped despicable sewage. Long white roots broke through stones that might or might not keep the tunnel from collapsing. The cavity was barely large enough for anyone to make an escape were the castle actually surrounded by the enemy. Still, given the clay, we were lucky anyone had put in a tunnel at all.

"Esmerelda is the king's daughter," Randolph told us. "That's what started this entire mess."

"Esmerelda is a _Rat_?" I asked.

Randolph snorted. "Of course not. I'd like to say that no Rat would be so stupid, but it was the Rat King's idea to align himself with a human in the first place. Taber the Human is the king's most powerful right-hand. As part of the royal," the rat spit into the muck, " _family_ Taber has earned the title of Human King. Esmerelda is Taber's daughter. According to our esteemed Rat King, she is the key to our future success. He's positive that a well-made match will mean unending grain supplies and riches beyond imaging."

Even in the semi-dark, I could see him waving his arms.

"Can you imagine? The king actually considered aligning himself with the Slithering Kingdom! Which Rats did he think were going to go with her to wait on her hand and foot?" He shook a fisted claw. "Snake bait," he cursed.

Ward glanced at me. "I've dealt with Taber. I didn't know he had a daughter."

"That's because she's useless," Randolph said. "She was causing so much trouble, the king--the Rat King, not Taber--decided she needed her own castle. Or maybe she demanded it, hard to guess. He sent her off with her own battalion about five years ago. Now she's marrying age."

"What does this have to do with Gavin?" I asked.

"She decided that she would decide who to align herself with."

"So she kidnapped her own...uh, husband?"

"Exactly," Randolph snorted. "As if that is the way to get an alignment. Bloody war is more likely."

He was right about that. The King of Sage wouldn't take lightly to any kidnapping, but to run off with Gavin and then try to declare an alliance...well, someone needed to sharpen a whisker or two. I considered asking if Taber and his ilk suffered from mental deficiencies, but then, he lived in Ratdom didn't he?

The roof above our heads narrowed suddenly, banking almost sixty degrees. Huge timbers propped up both sides of the tunnel, but the height of the tunnel was cut in half. I sensed from a root that we were about to go under the moat.

We were forced to step along timbers laid across the bottom of the tunnel. We reached an even smaller section where crawling would be necessary. The floor was drenched in mud and water. Four Rats stood guard at the narrowest spot. I incorrectly assumed that anyone finding the tunnel would be stopped at this point.

"They'll bring warning if there is a collapse," Randolph said. "We've done what work we can, but you need to get him out in a hurry. We don't usually bother to keep the tunnel opened for more than a Rat or two."

It was trust him now or forget our mission. Choice number two wasn't a choice. Ward set his lips and indicated he would go first. He took the candle stub the minute I removed the foxfire from my cape.

Unfortunately, my feeding it energy the night before had allowed the mushrooms to be especially active. The rotting limb I had procured for their home had been eaten down to little more than a stick. "Drat." I hadn't thought to add more fuel for the orbs. "Go. It will have to do." It was hard to hold together, especially since I had to keep my dagger out.

Ward grabbed the back of my neck and looked me in the eye. "It would be best if you wait here. I'll bring him out."

He was probably right. "If he's hurt..."

"There's no time for treatment in there." He leaned over and kissed me soundly. Without another word, he turned and crawled through the tunnel.

In the half-light I watched his back. The guard Rats held their spears steady, their little leather uniforms giving them a soldier look. None were terribly afraid of me although I could tell the youngest of the bunch was fascinated by the foxfire. He squeaked, not bothering to talk in my language. I could guess that he was curious about the green light from the mushrooms.

"It's foxfire." Instinctively I responded to his youthful inquisitiveness, forgetting for a moment that he was a Rat. "Light without heat." As soon as the information was out, I pursed my lips. I knew better than to drop my guard just because of a cute, young Rat. "I follow them now," I said imperiously.

The Rat in charge turned his head sharply. "I thought you were to stay here."

We never split up. I knew that Ward had waited inside the tunnel to make sure I was not attacked after he left. Then, I gave him time to reach the other end and shout a warning if necessary. What the enemy thought was of no consequence. "Watch my back," I muttered with no real expectations.

The crawl through was worse than I imagined. Water drained around my head continuously. I was forced to slosh through on my knees. At least I was old. My back was already bent, so any permanent damage wouldn't be really noticeable.

At the other end, my husband waited. "Come on then."

"I wouldn't want to have to hurry through there," I worried aloud.

He had no answer. I put the foxfire away, even though the candle was almost out.

Randolph twitched impatiently. "This caution and distrust is costly. Would we have led you this far if we didn't intend to help?'

We had no answer. We followed the Rat until the tunnel ended at a broken stone wall.

Where else would we be except the dungeon? The Rat pointed to a torch on the wall. "Quickly, give yourself more light."

"How many guards?" my husband asked.

"Spies, not guards. If they don't report what she wants to hear, she just locks them up. There is no need to guard the dying and forgotten."

Were I alone, a dungeon would make me nervous, but my husband is a Dungeon Master--or I should say, _the_ Dungeon Master. His talents involve stones that bind and locks of any and all kinds. Keeping him captive in a dungeon was quite impossible, I was certain.

Every bone in my back and legs creaked as I trudged stealthily after the Rat until he stopped at a cell door. "If you can get your lad out of here...?"

"The key?" my husband hissed as soon as he knew the appropriate door.

Randolph conferred with a rat at the base of the door. It was quite obvious there was a problem.

"She moved him! We don't have the key." Randolph pointed to a new door further down the corridor.

Ward didn't wait. He had his own tools and got to work on the indicated prison. Neither Rat protested, but four more came flying out of the dark, their claws announcing their arrival. Their squeaks rose in volume.

"We must leave," Randolph yelped. "Troops are on the way!"

Ward never looked up. Unless I called out an explicit warning, he would remain focused. As Dungeon Master, all parts of prisons and locks were his business, but the most important part was the structure that upholds them. The ground, including stones, existed in a specific pattern. My husband was tuned to that puzzle; he could feel every link, crack and crevice. He knew which spots were mortar and which solid stone. Within the stone, he sensed which materials were once parts of rivers and which were parts of lava. There was a vibration that came from him when he worked. I felt it underneath my feet just before the mortar around the door crumbled to dust.

The lock did not give, but once the door was freed from its mooring, Ward was able to pry the hinges away from the wall. Randolph looked up at me, his little Rat mouth open in surprise.

I waited outside the cell with my dagger, while Ward got to work on the chain that bound our son. In the dim light I wished heartily for plants rather than a dagger because at least I would know what was coming. "How many come?"

"We must flee." He edged back down the corridor.

I stood my ground, listening to other squeaks from nearby cells. Some of them were translated, begging for mercy and freedom.

Ward finally reappeared holding up a weak and obviously beaten Gavin. My heart protested, but I scrambled back the way we had come. "The third door--" my son's voice broke into the squeaks.

His request stopped Randolph and the other four at his heels. "You can open any door?" Randolph whispered. He started back towards Ward, but then eyed the cell that contained the escape tunnel. "They could help. Stall the troops..."

I could hear the troops now, thousands of claws on the stone stairway. My husband pushed my poor flea-bitten son towards me. Gavin is not a small boy, and he was heavy. I wished again for a long, supportive staff as we limped and dragged ourselves towards the tunnel. I knew we were in trouble when the hardy little Rat called Randolph drew his sword and bared his teeth.

It was a mistake to look back.

Hordes of wet, slithering Rat-bodies pounded towards my husband. I stopped. Randolph did not. He raced to the front of the fighting while I fumbled for my dagger and prepared to fight the impossible.

Just as the tide reached Ward, he danced backwards with a laugh. He had succeeded in opening all the doors, but waited for just the right moment. My feet were suddenly surrounded by hundreds of Rats as they poured out of the prison cells between me and the angry, glistening River Rats.

Blanching, I fled. If those at my feet turned against us now, there was no escape. We would be gnawed to the bone in seconds.

Within two steps, Ward took Gavin's weight. I dropped to my knees to crawl through the tunnel. There was no time for light. I did not know how Ward would get Gavin through. There wasn't room to carry him.

At the other end, the Rats waited, squeaking and shouting, "Hurry!" They pushed on my boots and urged me forward. Several of them ran ahead and held small torches aloft to help us see.

I stood ready to help pull Gavin through, but I wasn't needed. Twenty or more rats formed a stretcher and supported his body. Instead of urging him to stand once through the tunnel, they pushed past me, still carrying him.

Ward grabbed my arm and we ran.

I slipped. When I reached for the wall, there was no support. My hand sank into mud, and I fell before Ward could catch me. He dragged me forward while I tried to find my feet.

We burst into sunlight, a horde of Rats at our feet. Had we not cut the vines so sharply, I could have commanded them to weave the opening shut. Thankfully, in this case it was not my talent that was needed.

"Be they all out?" Ward shouted.

No Rat seemed in charge. One chattered on the way by, but continued running. Suddenly Randolph was there again, dragging his back leg. It was bleeding and looked broken. "By the whiskers," he squealed in pain.

"Are you the last?" Ward bellowed.

"Run," he gasped.

Ward did not. A Dungeon Master is master of locks and of stone and while my vines would have been a door to be hacked through, Ward spoke to the tunnel directly. There was a rumble and a hum. Ward drew energy from the earth, from the deep spots where there is unimaginable fury, raw and liquid. In this case it was less an earthquake and more a simple shift. Clay is almost liquid anyway. The smallest of vibrations caused it to move.

I was already running away with the Rats when a giant sludge of mud squirt out from the moldering tunnel.

"This way!" I waved at the Rats carrying Gavin and headed towards the oak tree and the horses. My voice was nothing in the rumbling of sliding earth and squeaking bodies. Then I heard another dreaded noise. Swords. Small swords and fast teeth. The enemy had been stopped behind us, but the moats were emptying.

Ward caught up and we ran. The Rats were faster, bringing the horses to us. "Flee," one yelled. "Once you are gone, they will care for us no longer."

I wasn't so sure of that, but I wasn't going to argue. Ward threw me on my mount, hoisted Gavin likewise, and we fled at a full gallop.

Out of the corner of my eyes I saw something I had forgotten. Gavin's hawks. Spiraling like lethal bundles of lightning, they dove, throwing Rats from trees and flinging bodies into the air before climbing to do it again. There were more than the two hawks that led us here, perhaps six or seven. I had never seen them fly faster.

Gavin was barely conscious, but he sat his horse. I could tell he somehow informed the hawks that some of the Rats were friends. It was a credit to his talent that he could convince the hawk that some of what was arguably a "food source" was at least temporarily "friend."

The hawks kept the rats in the trees from shooting arrows at us, but I rode low, trying to see Gavin and Ward while keeping an eye on the hawks at the same time.

When Gavin screamed, I thought he had been hit. Ward reached over to make sure Gavin held his seat, but Gavin twisted, his mouth wide, his eyes full of pain. I followed his gaze, just catching the last bit of elegant russet feathers tumbling to the forest floor.

"Blimey," I cursed under my breath. I knew without asking that the hawk was Gavin's bonded. That hawk had flown to Sage and led us to our son. That hawk was Gavin's best friend and the life mate of the one that screeched now in the sky.

Ward wheeled his horse, but I was closest. I crashed through the trees to my right. It was impossible to beat the Rats there physically, but I could still get there first.

I yanked hard on the nearest vine and poured my power into it. Like a river, I opened up a conduit to the vines nearest the hawk. "Net," I commanded. "Weave."

The vine was wary enough of me to use the energy to weave a long curtain around the hawk that not even the Rats could pierce quickly. The heavy drapery snaked from the side, from the forest floors, from the trees. Rats stopped and watched, too stunned to move immediately forward.

I was not so hampered. I rode with everything my horse would give me back towards the hawk.

The Rats rallied.

I had to stop again to command the vines. "Whip," I shouted. The almost electric current of energy I sent along the creeping plant burnt the ends, but the trailing vines snapped forward with enough force to crack across the backs of the unwary enemy.

I needed more practice, but as a weapon the vines were better than a staff. I careened forward again and saw the vines netting the hawk clearly at last. The bird was on its feet, one wing at a disastrous angle, but ready to fight nevertheless. I snapped more vines forward, flicking Rat bodies every which way.

A brown Rat with bloodied pants and a precariously perched blue felt hat stepped out of the vines. He stood to the side of the hawk. I realized we were very near the spot we had first met Zig.

The Rat in blue speared a River Rat.

"Hawk," I shouted. "To Gavin we go." I wasn't certain the hawk understood, but Gavin swore they could take in human intent. Looking at the snapping beak and lethal claws, I certainly hoped so.

Ward was at my back now, swinging his sword effectively. Gavin was too far away and had no weapon, but he whistled a strange song.

The bird was not able to fly to me even if I commanded the vines apart. The only way to rescue it was to go down.

I pulled my feet from my stirrups and like a sack of heavy potatoes landed hard. At last the bird and I were eye to eye.

The vines relaxed their grip without argument. I wrapped part of my cape around my arm and offered it to the hawk. He opened his lethal beak, but accepted my gesture.

"Hold on," I instructed. Without Ward helping, it took all my skill to get back up on that horse. I was already shaking from the expenditure into the vines; I hadn't had enough sleep in days, and...I balanced precariously with one foot in the stirrup, but didn't have enough strength to throw the other leg over.

The hawk chirped encouragingly and grabbed one of the reigns. I fell forward, despairing as the ground came up to meet me. Just as I was about to collapse, my husband grabbed me and dragged me over the horse.

I heard the hawk's mate call.

Ward shouted, "Flee!"

Rats by the thousands came at us.

We rode as I have rarely ridden, even in my youth. Had I the energy, I would have commanded the vines to move aside for us, but I could not. The hawk balanced with one good wing. We were slapped in the arms and face every other step by undergrowth and the whisper of arrows.

When I reached Gavin, he would have taken the hawk, but I didn't even slow. His sallow face didn't need the burden of protecting the bird.

"Ride, son! He is safe." Frankly I was afraid my son would fall over onto the hawk and kill them both.

By the time we made the border, the birds in the sky may very well have outnumbered the Rats on the ground.

I never bothered to reach into my boot to retrieve the rings that we owed the border guards. The rough gate that could have been closed had been abandoned. The guards had decided to provide for their own survival over that of warring factions.

As we tumbled across the border, I heard another sound and smiled. My daughter Xylia and her troops from the woodlands of Sage!

She had heard from the birds after all and had not been content to sit and wait for news of her brother.

Weasels, fox, wolves and other furred bodies snarled and formed an ominous line. I pounded around and through the trees, clearing the defenses. Just before I crossed to safety, I looked back.

As I turned my head, off to my right in a tree...it was no trouble to retrieve the bit of blue felt caught on a branch.

Once across the protective line, I allowed my horse to stop. Gavin, bruised and bloody, reached for the hawk. This time I did not protest.

The bird chirped. I do believe the hawk was more worried about my son than its own broken wing. Gavin certainly looked worse.

"My birds tell me the king's convoy is here," Gavin croaked. "I will ask one of the hawks to send word to get you a carriage."

"And maybe a wagon for yourself?"

He would have vehemently stated his strength, but he didn't have it in him. Thankfully his sister Xylia had not only brought her own troops, she had alerted the entire castle. I saw several soldiers and even a Fire Master. Better yet, Xylia had brought a healer.

The healer was frightfully young, but did have a small wagon. I helped install Gavin in it and offered what herbs I had on my person, but she was well-supplied.

I tried to talk the healer into letting me ride with Gavin, but she took note of the motherly look on my face and declined. I could barely keep from dumping every herb I had onto his prone body. He had more than one swollen Rat bite, and his fever raged into dangerous territory.

Ward was better off; his wound was contained, but still threatening. The healer did her magic and then applied tea tree oil. "It's anti-fungal and anti-bacterial," she explained, giving me the proper doses for later application.

"Hmm." I would have to keep some of this on hand. "Where does this grow?"

"Only on the isle of Wanderlust," she replied with a smile.

"Drat." Wanderlust was a dangerous and unique place. I probably couldn't grow a tea tree, but I could try to import the oil.

Ward dragged me from the healer's capable hands and deposited me in one of the king's silly carriages. Gavin is a dear child. I know he meant well by suggesting a carriage, but men don't spend much time in them.

The contraptions lurch alarmingly, every bump in the road could be felt worse than if I were riding a mount and sleep was impossible. About the only advantage was that I didn't actually have to watch where the horse was going.

"Drat," I groaned. There was nothing to do but nurse my hurts and ignore the new bruising I was getting on my derrière. A mother must do what one must for a son such as Gavin.

Once we were well on the way, I searched my pockets. From deep inside my tattered green cloak, I pulled out the scrap of blue felt and studied it carefully.

One side was missing a chunk where an ear might have poked through. I rubbed the cloth. It might easily have been a hat for a small creature such as a Rat. There was blood on one side. A lot of blood.

It didn't matter. The Rats had only helped us because it was to their benefit. If they hadn't wanted Gavin out, they never would have led us through the tunnel to the dungeon.

I fingered the once soft felt and stared at the dark stain across the top. If the Rats had just killed Gavin, Esmerelda would have been free to marry into some other kingdom. I'm sure that they didn't want to risk the wrath of Sage though. That is quite likely the only reason they helped. All Rats were the same.

I stared out the window at my beloved Sage. A Rat was a Rat. I tucked the blue felt back inside a pocket of my cape and sat back.

Rat or not, I owed an old grandfather Rat if he lived. And somewhere, if a Rat named Zig were still zagging, well, I owed him too.

# **Call to Arms**

The Kingdom of Sage has its problems, but most of them are alive and something we can readily address: enemies from Ratdom or the Slithering Kingdom, castle intrigue or politics. As a Master Magician and Master Gardener, I am one of the lines of defense, listening to plants and making note of where trouble lurks throughout the kingdom. As a gardener I even have ample experience with dead and decaying things.

Dead people, well that's a different story.

Living and working in gardens, I assure you that ghosts are not normally a problem for me. Apparently, no one inside the castle was paying enough attention to this ghost, because it decided the garden was a better place to be.

I was on my knees, digging tubers when I felt a chill. There was nary a sound out of the ghost, but the light sheen of healthy sweat across my face froze just short of a thin layer of ice. The wall of the keep and towering stone of the castle stifled any breeze. I looked up without moving anything except my head.

A transparent human shape hovered in the arched stone doorway that marked the king's private stairs. Perhaps decay in the grave caused the features to be elongated; the features were quite distorted. The giant mouth yawned open, a huge, hungry emptiness. With nothing but dark space behind it, the silent scream took on a power of its own, and I feared that the gaping maw would swallow me.

"Eep!" My startled squeak was barely audible and had no affect whatsoever on the ghost.

A hazy gnarled finger pointed--but then the entire arm cut off at the elbow when sunlight touched it. A hint of faded cornflower blue on one sleeve was swallowed back into the gray shadows.

Accompanied by adrenalin that pushed me to my feet, I started peddling backwards, fast. When I'm in my garden, I have a nice hefty staff or two lying about for various purposes. Wizards often have magical staffs, but mine was really to compensate for my graceful, but fifty-five year old, creaking bones. I grabbed my favorite redwood support and turned to defend myself against the ghost.

As ghosts will do, I was made a fool. Nothing but sunlight shimmered in the garden. Many shapes moved in the shadows, but none resembled a distorted and distressed human.

I didn't loiter about to see if it would return.

In record time, I made it to my peaceful cottage, outside the castle grounds. I was happy that Ward, my darling husband, would be home for lunch.

"I've not seen it," he said when I told him my story. "The servants have been crying about a ghost in the upper rooms. Everyone assumes that ghosts come from the dungeons so the king asked me about it." As Dungeon Master, Ward was quite familiar with ghosts.

"This ghost wouldn't lurk in the dungeons," I proclaimed. "He had to have been a king in Sage's past. Why else would he use the arched doorway that exited into the king's private gardens where I was working?"

Ward gave me a hug, warming me through and erasing the chill that had followed me home. "Ah, Demetria. Perhaps he just wanted to see the best garden in all of Sage," he said with a grin.

I shivered. "Mine may be the best in all of history, but to come back from the dead to see my tomatoes is a bit much for even me to believe."

Ward sat down at the table with a laugh. Around his first mouthful of bread and cheese he asked, "What did the ghost look like?"

I described the creature again and felt compelled to add, "He didn't _really_ threaten me. His arm reached out, and he seemed to scream something. He didn't venture out of the shadows."

"Hmm." Ward kept eating. His silver hair glinted as his head turned, and his deep gray eyes, the color of rain, were lost in thought. "When the ghost made an appearance last week, Selbane suggested calling in a necromancer. He has a niece that he sent to be trained in such arts."

I blanched. Not only did I not like Selbane, but to call in one who specialized in death and disturbing it...it fit that Selbane would make such a suggestion. He was nearly eighty and constantly pushed his way to the center of attention. "He only sent his niece to study necromancy so that someone could pontificate his opinions after he died."

Ward laughed.

"Maybe I should just ask the ghost what he wants."

"It doesn't sound as though your friend," he smiled as he teased me, "is able to communicate properly."

"Too old," I guessed. Still, the phantom wouldn't be visible now if he hadn't a great need and great power. All we had to do was find the right conduit.

Unfortunately, Selbane got his way before I could implement even half of my idea.

My guess about the age of the ghost was confirmed when Selbane's niece, Deirdre, was ferried from the hidden school that taught the darkness of necromancy. Since I had seen the ghost, I felt my attendance was necessary at the midnight ceremony when she attempted to communicate with the dead. I wasn't certain the young chit could actually raise the dead, but if she did, I wanted to be able to confirm whether or not it was the same person I had seen.

"You realize that you might not recognize the ghost anyway?" my husband whispered.

Darkness wrapped around us, his voice another breeze in my ear. Shivers crawled down my spine. "Shh." The night was chilly enough without Ward muttering unhelpful thoughts in my ears.

When the girl beheaded a chicken, I nearly squeezed Ward's fingers off. It's not that I was unfamiliar with butchering, it was that the chicken did not act like a chicken once it had no head. Granted, all chickens continue to run and spurt blood after being killed. However, most do not run in a perfect circle, creating a magical sphere around a grave or two. I say two because Deirdre and the rest of us didn't know which king was haunting the castle. Deirdre simply picked the oldest mausoleum in the church graveyard.

The idea to raise the oldest known king was probably Selbane's, because even if the poor soul knew nothing of the haunting, the feat would still do Selbane proud, albeit through his niece.

Unfortunately for Selbane, Deirdre couldn't do it. Or her chicken couldn't, anyway.

She didn't give up easily. "More sacrifice is needed. They hear my call, but the earth is too strong!" She raised her eyes to the heavens and began chanting again. The chicken had run out of blood, and as headless fowl will do, it stopped and fell into a mess.

Goosebumps crawled around my arms as though Deirdre's muttered incantations called them to life.

"A goat..." she mourned, "a whole calf!" Then her eyes found the crowd. The king was present, as were Selbane and the other advisors. "Human blood," she rasped out. "With human blood, they will rise."

"Use your own," I muttered unkindly. Human blood indeed. Sage didn't need any more dark magic marking the kingdom. Enough soldiers had shed blood in its defense; there was hardly need to have them start running in a bleeding circle.

Unfortunately, Selbane took the girl seriously. "How much human blood?"

"Uncle, only enough to close the circle. Not a huge sacrifice, but a worthy one." Her arms reached towards him, beseeching.

It was quite obvious the daft girl thought Selbane was offering his own precious body fluid.

"Well, do you have human blood or not?" He stepped back, his voice a panicked squawk, much like that of a live chicken being plucked.

The king put an end to the debacle by turning to leave. "Until we know which grave is haunting the castle, this is a useless exercise."

Selbane chased after the king, flapping his arms like...too bad his head was still attached.

Ward tucked me under his arm and drew me away. "Foolhardy idiot."

To my dismay, the failure was not the end of the necromancer's visit. Deirdre promised to search about the castle and hold the shadow long enough to get its name.

Well, if she could communicate with it, I probably could and with a lot less blood. Since the phantom had come to the garden, perhaps he had some talent there. I considered not telling Ward of my plan, but my one experience with the ghost had been in daylight. How unpleasant might it be in the dark of night should the ethereal wisp approach?

My dear husband was not particularly enthusiastic about my idea. "What makes you think you can get him to speak? Or that you will actually understand him if he does?"

"If he had any ability to communicate with plants, don't you think that ability might still be there? If he can get the message to the plants, the plants can tell me."

"He likely had the ability to speak out loud when he was alive," Ward, ever the pragmatic, pointed out. "Why would he keep only the ability to speak to plants?"

I sniffed. Conversing with plants didn't require a physical medium. It was a talent of the soul, nurtured through a lifetime. Just because the king had gone back to earth...well, I had my hopes.

After supper, the two of us strolled to the garden. I perched on a stone bench next to my husband and whispered, "Do you think he'll come with both of us here?"

Ward draped his arm around me and scooted closer. "He might not if he realizes you have a suitor already."

"Ward!" I jabbed him in the ribs.

He laughed, the sound booming out loud enough to frighten the dead.

Apparently the dead did not frighten easily. The shadows were long, the dead man's longer still. His robes, or perhaps feet, dragged behind him, the darker cloud extending from the smoky humanoid form.

"Suoom," I sucked in a breath. My husband shot me a glance and though the light was dim, I sensed his amusement. Tempted though I was to smack his ribs again, my attention was riveted on the phantom.

Ward reached slowly beneath the bench and lit the candle inside our lantern. It threw some light, but not enough to eat into the ghost.

Still, the hazy form stopped. Its melted maw wailed silently.

I couldn't stand the open blackness. "Can you speak to the plants? Are you a gardener by chance?"

The maw did stop gaping for a moment, and the thing stared in my direction. I swallowed nervously. "I am Master Gardener." My voice was a bare squeak. I took in more air and tried again. "I can obtain your message through plants." I rested my hand on the bark of the apple tree behind us and tried to look approachable.

Apple trees were a bit frivolous, but oak trees weren't grown in the King's garden, and the pecan was too isolated. I tried to get the apple tree to ask the ghost a question, but the tree seemed completely unaware of the apparition.

That sealed it. The ghost was not a gardener. He could not be, because I refused to look into the realm where I would one day go and face the possibility that my plants would abandon me, unable to sense me at all.

"I'm sorry," I murmured at the wobbling, hopeless form.

The ghost, though, did not stop wailing. Bobbing up and down, it raised its arm towards the tree.

If it was a gardener why didn't the tree sense the ghost?

Said phantom moved then and quickly. In a rush, it dashed at the tree. Had the ghost been alive he may have killed itself all over again. Instead, I was the one that got bashed. Magic, unlike my own, flared through the trunk. Such power, long faded, should have done nothing, but this ghost was desperate. The creature molded with the tree, and my palm, still in contact with the bark, froze solid to the rough surface. I screamed with the shock of pain.

The chill traveled up my arm and into my very brain as I tried to yank away. My body shook. An immense amount of power held me, but I could not interpret the rawness, nor could I free myself.

All I could see was a dark tunnel growing quickly. At the edge of the encroaching blackness, I saw the glint of my husband's dagger as he wielded it with deadly intent towards my wrist.

Better the loss of a hand than my mind. Ward carried me home and called a healer. Luckily, Ward was a great deal more skilled with a blade than my pain-seared brain comprehended. While he had hacked bark and wood from the tree in order to free my digits, he didn't draw blood. The healer was only needed to make sure that no unseen permanent damage had been done.

Since it was difficult to keep a secret in Sage, my two grown children, daughter Xylia and son Gavin, were by my side at noon when I awoke. I was as stiff and sore as though I had been used as a battering ram at the castle gates.

"Blimey," I croaked.

"Father, she is awake!" Xylia called out in her lilting voice, a beautiful song that nearly split my head in two.

I groaned out weakly, "Willow bark."

"No, it was an apple tree," my son informed me. "But you are freed of it."

"For the _pain,"_ Xylia chastised her brother. Patting my hand, she said, "We will steep willow bark. The healer said you will be fine."

I muttered something impolite about healers that made snap judgments. My son made a sour remark about woodsmen, my daughter's talent.

I was quite certain of my ending, at least until Ward brought willow tea. "Any other aches or pains?"

I moaned my way to sitting with his help. "That was awful."

Xylia nodded anxiously. "Father said you were overcome by the castle ghost!"

I sipped the herbs in my cup. "Not exactly. That would have been the end of me, I am certain. The ghost took over a tree when I tried to communicate with it." I nibbled on some bread, hoping that food would dispel the lingering chill that encompassed me. "Since he can return to this medium as a ghost, I thought his talent could also. He should have been able to reach the plants."

"Is the tree dead?" Xylia asked.

Ward shook his head. "It's fine except for a chunk missing where I freed your mother's hand."

"Hmm," Xylia mused. "You say he took over the tree?"

"It was possession!" I shuddered. "Thankfully he missed me and went right into the tree. I could feel..." I wasn't sure exactly what I had felt besides a surge of power.

"Woodsman," my daughter said.

I gaped much like the phantom. "Wha..?"

"The ghost must be a woodsman," she repeated.

Gavin laughed. "If mother couldn't talk to it, why must you decide that you can?"

Xylia flicked long brown hair over her shoulder. "Because woodsmen don't communicate with plants the way mother does. She is an energy line to and from them. But woodsmen are different." She shrugged. "We are the trees."

"Birds live in the forest," Gavin said. "You can't talk to them." His fierce loyalty to his own talent did not allow him to remain silent.

"Not like you can," she agreed. "I can't talk to plants either, not the way mother can, but the trees are the forest's lifeline and woodsmen are a part of that. If the ghost tried to meld with the tree then he must be a woodsman."

I stared at her in shock. "Can you meld with a tree?"

She smiled softly. "I am always melded with the trees. They are forest. I am forest. I am not yet a Master so I cannot...I cannot _become_ the tree, but it can be done."

Ward's brow furrowed with sudden worry. I agreed heartily. Xylia was not going to try talking with this ghost fellow.

Though I should have rested more, I insisted on checking the apple tree. Perhaps the departed king had been able to impart some knowledge that I could interpret. I admit, I prayed it was so because I did not want Xylia trying to speak to the ghost. She had a child of her own already, and she was my dear daughter!

Ward put aside his own duties and accompanied Xylia and I back to the garden. I didn't tell anyone that the tingles along my arms hadn't stopped. A mother does what a mother must.

The apple tree was indeed healthy, and it spoke to me of a visitor. It even had a name. "King Holt," I exclaimed.

"Who?" Ward leaned towards me, but before I could repeat the name, we were interrupted.

"Have you had another sighting? There's a chance that you're related to him, and that is why he chose to visit the gardens." The necromancer stepped from the castle shadows out into the open. Though the day was quite warm, she wore a severe black robe with streaks of a darker color, likely blood.

"Me?" I feigned innocence. "If I were related to any king, wouldn't I know it?"

Dierdre stretched her lips into a sneer. "The king may have had...Many of those from the grave have confessed to me of children not from the marriage bed."

Had this woman just claimed there was a bastard in my family?

My ever-practical husband pointed out, "Perhaps the garden was just a favorite place of his. Maybe he was buried here."

As necromancer's seem wont to do, she soured the theory. "I am quite sure I would sense it, were that the case. Besides, what king would choose to be buried in a lonely garden without any monument?"

Burial in a garden sounded perfect for a woodsman or a gardener, but even if I had had the energy, I wasn't going to explain it to her. "I think I should sit down."

Deirdre must have believed she had sucked the life and hope out of me because she smiled triumphantly and turned to go. "Do let me know if you see him again."

"Uh-huh."

When she had fully retreated, I reported, "King Holt seems to be the man we are looking for."

"The man I am looking for," Xylia corrected.

"Nonsense. We've learned what we wanted. We have his name so there is no more need to have long discussions with him."

Wisely, Xylia said nothing more. Ward broke out some cheese and bread, but I fell asleep in the shade before I finished even a small portion.

Apparently I wasn't the only one suffering from the previous night's activities. Though we stayed in the garden until dark, King Holt did not appear. Such an expenditure of power had likely set him back.

When it started to rain, Ward hurried me home before accompanying Xylia back into the keeping of her own husband.

By late the next morning I felt almost as good as new. My own gardens had been neglected the past three days so with bonnet in hand, I set off to work, knowing there would be time enough later to search out the ghost.

At my age, I am rarely quiet. When I kneel in the garden, it sounds like a pile of sticks snapping. Perhaps because of the recent rain and loamy ground near the raspberry patch, the little one didn't hear me.

Then again, she might not have heard me because she was desperate--and half starved. About a foot high and trembling, she crept out of hiding without ever noticing me working nearby. Her eyes darted everywhere, but I was dressed in my usual green cape and brown leathers. I knelt just underneath an oak tree, picking a few weeds from the berry patch.

The gnarled woman looked like a weathered branch.

I held my breath as she labored to pick a berry. Once the berry was loaded in a sack across her back, she paused underneath a leaf before struggling to stand. Midway up, she caught sight of me, although I had been very careful not to move.

I raised a single finger to my lips. It was the least threatening thing I could think to do.

Quick as a bunny, the woman scampered away. In order to move faster, she dropped her bundle and oh, I was sorry. That woman needed the berry a good sight more than my own pleasantly padded hips.

I came out from the protective oak tree and called out softly, "You come right back here and take what you need!" I knew she wouldn't, so I placed the pack and the berry underneath the bark of a tree close to where she had disappeared. She wouldn't have to venture into the open to retrieve this berry. "I'll bring some cheese and bread shortly. Don't leave it out here long. The squirrels are fierce and the birds impossible."

I made a big show of walking away. "Five minutes," I announced before turning tail and scurrying to my cottage.

"Little people," I muttered. "Haven't heard tales of them in..." Then again, we hadn't been visited by ghosts in a good long while either.

"Do they portend good or bad?" The ghost was too old to do any damage so long as no one with incompatible magic tried to talk to him. The little person in the garden didn't looked healthy enough to be a threat, but with woodsy creatures, it paid not to make assumptions.

Ward dented my plans to hurry.

"She didn't move well," I told my husband as I gathered food from our cottage stores. He helped himself to a couple of snacks, forcing me to rescue the pack from his hungry fingers. "Do you suppose that the ghost is also of the woods and that he brings a message from there?"

My husband didn't know, but he was of a mind to come with me to find out. "You are not going alone."

"Ward, she'll never come round with you clomping about! You're a giant of a man and obviously a warrior."

"I'm as gentle as a child!"

I didn't point out that children weren't particularly gentle. I also didn't mention that he was Dungeon Master, possessing magic over the stones, not just of the dungeon, but also those at our feet. If anyone were a looming threat, it would be he, assuming that the little people had any idea at all how our kingdom functioned.

"You cannot go. Stay within shouting distance, but I vow--"

"What if she means you harm?" he bellowed.

"Why would she have scampered away in such distress?"

"She could come back! With men!" His silver eyebrows slanted towards his stormy eyes.

"They would only be inches tall," I sniffed. "I would run before they could detain me."

"Detain? They could shoot you full of arrows!"

"Oh, very well," I huffed. "Come along, but stand on the other side of the strawberry patch."

Predictably, Ward grabbed up any number of weapons. He also made me wear my leather pith helmet. "I'm going to be late," I grumbled.

The clearing was empty when we arrived. "This is my husband Ward," I said. "I'm Demetria, the gardener." I left off any mention of "Master" status, including my Magician skills. No need to appear a braggart or to warn them should they prove to be hostile. I leaned and picked a few more strawberries. "There are several packages. We mean you no harm."

I placed the bag where the other one still lay. "Please don't hesitate to take this." About to leave I thought of something. "Do you happen to know a King Holt? He has been haunting the castle of late. We fear there is trouble in the woods. If you wish, my cottage is--"

"Demetria," my husband warned.

"Oh, fuss-bucket." But he was right. They wouldn't come out with me here. "You'll have to let us know what you need."

We retreated. Though we wanted to watch, I feared that if we did, the food would be left. The lady looked like she needed it a good deal more than I needed to know why. Besides, I had other resources at my fingertips.

I waved Ward back to his dungeons with a promise not to go exploring on my own. As was my habit when I wanted to know anything about the forest, I went to my friend Oak.

To my surprise, when I asked my question, he rustled his leaves nervously. He did not refuse information about the little people, not outright, but he did not answer. "Oak?" I whispered in shock. "Do you not know who the little people are?" Of course he knew. How could a tree network not know about something that lived in the forest?

Magic, of course. Strong magic. Oak shivered again and sent me shadows. Oh, he knew about the little people. But he would not tell, not even me, Master Gardener and his friend. "Well." Those little people had power...or powerful friends that had coerced Oak into cooperating.

"It's quite all right, Oak," I reassured my friend, although I was a bit jealous. "I understand you might have some split loyalties." I patted his bark and could feel his stress--almost fear. "Oak, you know I would never force you to tell!" Doing so would be unnatural, like cutting off my own arm. While I could probably weave my magic into his bark like a virus and read the maps of time and memories, it would hurt us both and kill one or the other.

With a relieved sigh, Oak showered me with a few leaves, kisses from him to me. His fear puzzled me. I had never forced Oak to tell me anything. I never had to. This nervousness spoke of a spell that could truly cause harm.

I was about to go home when I thought of something else. "Oak, did you know King Holt?"

Oak was much happier with this question. The pictures he sent were not of a man, but of a tree. I wasn't terribly surprised by that, given what Xylia had told me. "Is he involved with the little people somehow?"

Nothing.

Oak would not discuss the little people. But if the phantom had been TREE, just like Oak, he had to know about the little people. King Holt had appeared. The little people appeared. It could not be coincidence. Of course, if the ghost couldn't talk about the little people either, we were really in trouble because how else were we ever going to get to the bottom of all this nonsense?

We would just have to find a way to communicate with him.

Xylia arrived before sunset and though I wished there were some other way, there was no hope of it. The three of us set off to the castle garden. Xylia's husband, Barrett, stayed with their daughter. I grinned, knowing Xylia could have arranged for a sitter, but probably hadn't wanted Barrett's protective interference.

Ward was not so inclined to find the situation amusing. He glowered at me as if I had something to do with the matter. "She knows how to avoid such arguments with her own husband."

Since I was innocent, and the usual babysitter, I held my tongue.

We had barely settled when King Holt appeared. He seemed even more insubstantial than before. His lower half no longer had discernible limbs at all; a trail of vapor petered out behind him as he approached.

I spoke before he could begin wailing. "We believe you are of the woods, a Master in your time. My daughter is not yet a Master, but she too is of the woods. She hasn't the ability to meld, but she can communicate with the tree in the same way you can."

I had not seen Xylia work lately so I was quite startled when I faced her. She was still herself, beautiful and human, but I swear she was not breathing. Perhaps it was the scant light, but she appeared to have grown bark and her arm, reaching to the apple tree, looked like a tree limb.

The ghost hesitated. Having experienced shock and pain only a few nights before, I understood. But what choice had we? From the looks of things, whatever had drawn him forth was losing its grip, and I wasn't about to call the necromancer to see if she could help.

The phantom floated to the tree slowly, but did not touch it. Instead, the wisp of his arm touched my daughter.

Dread that only a mother can know engulfed my every pore.

Ward moved forward, his dagger at the ready. I grabbed his free hand, but he didn't need me to remind him that the smoking wisp could not be harmed by his blade.

Xylia didn't move other than her eyes, which fluttered once.

Movement along the garden wall caught my attention. I reached instinctively for one of my plants to help me discern the new danger. Before I could communicate with one, I recognized the two shadows, one barely a toddler, the other an adult.

Xylia's husband, daughter in tow, waited on top of the garden enclosure. Barrett's choice of weapon, small claw-like knives, gleamed from his fingertips. I should have known that he would not leave Xylia to our keeping. Never mind we had raised her just fine; husbands were like that. The fact that he brought Sylvana along would be a harsh lesson. A sitter would never be forgotten again.

A cold breeze forced me quickly back around. The prickling sensation didn't abate with Xylia's words. "He put a geas on the trees, on the whole forest." Her eyes were full of wonder. "I cannot even imagine the power it took."

"Why did he spell the trees?"

She rubbed her arms. "Long ago, the little people were enslaved by...by us."

"Never!"

Ward lit the lantern. The ghost was gone, at least as far as my eyes could see.

"The long and short of it was that he freed them," Xylia said. "By royal decree, he forbid anyone in Sage to own, coerce, sell or even hire their services. They had always been forest creatures, and they returned there the moment freedom was theirs."

"But what happened? Why has the king returned?" I asked.

"Before he died, he spelled the forest to never give the location of the little ones. He thought he was protecting them. But now, the little people are in grave danger and starving. They won't come for help because their own legends have not forgotten the slavery."

"And the forest cannot tell of their misery," I murmured, thinking of Oak. "It must be a strong geas indeed."

"What threatens them?" Ward asked.

Xylia raised her hands, palms out. "He babbled about dragons and serpents and great beasts, but it made no sense."

I looked at Ward. "The Slithering Kingdom," we said together.

"But a dragon?" Xylia said.

"My plants have not complained of such," I admitted. "But I haven't asked about one and a dragon mayn't be a problem for them." A dragon was likely nothing more than a large dung source to most plants. Such a beast wouldn't warrant more than a happy sigh of "nutrients," unless I queried deep enough.

Our mission, instead of being complete, was just beginning.

With the ghost gone for the night, we headed home to plan anew.

Xylia's husband, Barrett, met us at the garden gate. When he aged, his eyebrows would become bushy and hide his eyes entirely, but for now, they merely glowered at his wife. Long black hair was pulled into a neat band at the back of his neck, and his beard hid the rest of his frown.

Xylia was just as annoyed, but Ward was as pleased as though he had invited Barrett himself.

Darling Sylvana was delighted to be out so late and thrilled to see her "papow." I was "ra-ma" and got my share of sloppy kisses. Had I not known her parents, I would have thought she was disguised to look like a tree, all covered in brown cloth and protective leathers.

Since it appeared an argument was imminent, Ward and I took our leave. With promises to meet on the morrow, we went our separate ways, all of us peering into the shadows, knowing that if dragons existed, surely they were nocturnal beasts.

First thing next morning, with traveling packs in hand, we began our search. I found that my faithful Oak was more than happy to talk about dragons. Great beasts and legends came immediately to his mind. Modern day dragons in Sage? He was as puzzled as I.

Thankfully Xylia had better luck. "Snake pits and quite large ones, nearly at our back door. They have moved right into the forest and not a single wood creature breathed a word to me. I never asked, my friends said. Can you believe it?"

Knowing that my own plants could be downright obtuse when it came to human concerns, I believed it easily. "Should we go back for Guthrie?" He was in charge of the Slithering border and its defense. Not all snakes were bad; obviously they served a purpose and they were, after all, sworn enemies of the Rats. Unfortunately, their magics tend to be poisonous and those who trained in the Slithering Kingdom often used their talents for intimidation and power mongering.

Ward shook his head. "If we involve another advisor, he'll have to tell the king about the little people. The snakes are an unpredictable and warring lot. We don't even know which ones we're dealing with."

It was true. The pythons were quite often in power, but every now and then a segment of cobras made a strong political move. Most of the other snakes traded their loyalties between the two groups as frequently as molting. "We should just burn them out and be done with it," I declared darkly.

"What is to keep more of them from coming?" my husband asked. "First we must find what has attracted them here."

He was right of course. If you don't understand the enemy, it's hard to fight them.

Using our gifts, Xylia and I began the arduous task of pinpointing the snake burrow. The woods were dense. What the bushes didn't hide, oak and maple did.

Had I not been asking plants along the way about danger, dragons and snakes, we might well have met our end before we even began.

When an oak tree warned me of a dragon at last, I screamed, "Ware!" My mind conjured up a beast with huge wings, teeth dripping poison and the desire to crush every adversary, especially those I held dear. What my eyes got was a foot-tall lizard with spines protruding from most of its body, sitting at the base of the tree. Its neck and eye-ridges were lined with skeletal plate armor. Scales of mottled brown, black and light green allowed the grotesque creature to blend perfectly into the dappled sunlit forest.

I felt foolish. "Sorry," I began.

Barrett stepped in front of me, the flash of his knives gleaming. "Don't stare it in the eyes. Non-poisonous, but--"

The disgusting filth shot blood all over him.

I thought perhaps Barrett had killed it with his bare hands, but he knew what he was about. "Never look them in the eyes," he said. "Your own will blur for a long time if they score a hit with their blood." He plopped the scaled enemy into a leather sack.

The distraction was costly. I was away from the trees, and Xylia was watching her husband's back.

A black creature with pink and yellow spots darted from a burrow and attached itself to Xylia's leathers, its jaw poised over her calf where her boot ended. Another dropped from a tree limb onto her shoulder. "One good bite and she won't be of much use to any of you," the thing at her knee hissed, its forked tongue flicking rapidly.

I could only assume the dripping mess coming from its jaws was poison.

"Let the little guard go," it demanded.

Barrett set the leather bag on the ground. The horned lizard scampered out and let out a high-pitched laugh. "Stink humans!"

The cottonmouth is not native to Sage, or so I learned later. It would have had a chunk of me had Ward been as focused as I on the lizard monsters.

He took off the snake's head with an almost invisible swoop of his sword. "Watch the jaws! They still have poison!"

Indeed, like the chicken from the necromancer, the fangs snapped as though still attached to the body.

Barrett took his cue from Ward. I never saw him move, but he reached with his blades and dashed the monster lizard from Xylia's shoulder. It flew backwards in two pieces.

Xylia screamed as the monster at her calf attacked. "Aaiii!!!"

Ward hacked, flinging a chunk as long as my forearm, but was too late. The jaws had clamped. Xylia could not shake the half body off. Barrett was by her side, instantly.

"Their jaw strength is legendary. She'll need a healer immediately." Barrett inserted an almost spoon-shaped knife and twisted. It took several tries before he was able to pry the jaws away. Then, before I could protest, Xylia, my eldest child, my dearest heart, was whisked away over his shoulder at a run.

"We need backup," Ward declared grimly. "Let's go."

We were only steps behind Barrett when I realized the first lizard had called backup, and not to help us.

The rattle came from my left. I moved sideways to reach a tree.

"Climb," Ward yelled, only to be stopped by the realization that it was too late.

The trees, those I considered my own plants and friends, were alive with predators. Cottonmouths, their dark bodies still glistening with water, dangled from nearly every branch.

Evil snake magic hit me in the chest and kept me frozen with fear.

"This way," shouted Barrett from our right.

Ward grabbed my hand, unlocking the magic, but barely.

We ran.

"I could shake the ground," he said. "It would confuse them, loose a few." His hands were shaking, not the ground. My husband quite possibly dreaded the earth as much as I dreaded plants at that moment. It was the snake magic; unreasonable fear.

I tried to gasp out a reply, but a slithering beast dropped from a nearby tree, just missing me. Ward chopped it in half without slowing down.

My skin crawled. The rattles were like a drum. The ground vibrated with the power from the snakes. The sound confused me, threatening to turn me into a gibbering pile of hysteria.

Ward didn't stop chopping even though the snake was behind us. He attacked vegetation that was in our way with such force I began to fear that the magic had overwhelmed him.

"Ward--" I gasped.

He stopped so suddenly, I ran right past him. My legs tangled over a bundle on the ground, and I fell.

When I saw what had been in my path, I screamed.

I might never have stopped screeching had Xylia not reached up and slapped me gently. Her nearness helped me battle back the waves of wicked magic, but it didn't help me breathe.

I yanked my dagger from my boot, intent on hacking the giant constrictor to pieces. Xylia's and Barrett's legs were already wrapped beneath the huge bands of the slithering monster. Though their hands were still free, two guard rattlers waited eagerly for a reason to strike.

Puny though my knife was, I swiped at the thick muscle. A rattlesnake I never saw struck from six feet away, dashing my weapon deep into the weeds. I cared not. I beat at the monster with my fists, demanding my daughter's freedom, demanding that it eat me instead.

The constrictor's tongue flicked. "I do believe I will eat you also," it hissed happily.

Sage didn't have any constrictors that I knew of and none this size. "Dragon," I screamed, vaguely aware that Ward was trying to keep the six-foot rattler that had taken my dagger from striking again.

"Desist!" the constrictor bellowed at me. Its tail flicked once and bowled me backwards, pinning me to the ground.

At least this part of the monster's tail would not hold my daughter prisoner before my eyes.

The giant rattler and many smaller minions slithered closer. With poison all around us, knowing that rattlers strike towards motion or heat, we stilled. My shoulder blades, my heart--every part of me ached in protest.

The constrictor laughed and dragged Xylia and Barrett forward. "These two need some help. I'm afraid their circulation isn't what it used to be."

I reached out and clutched at the constrictor's tail. He dragged me along behind my daughter and her husband. I wanted my trees, but my magic was completely stripped away by fear. The snakes slithered closer, and I whimpered, automatically crawling away from the moving bodies, allowing myself to be herded.

I didn't see the cave until we were pushed into it.

Ward dragged Barrett free as the constrictor moved within the darkness. The snake merely laughed again.

Barrett clung to Xylia. Her face was pale and crimped with pain.

How long did she have before the bite on her leg killed her? The spread of poison may have been slowed when the constrictor wrapped itself around her, but even in the dim light I could see that the wound was swollen and ugly.

My hands moved to my pockets for herbs. Xylia's breathing was too rapid, but it could have been from panic rather than the bite. We drew against one side of the cave wall. A sizable lizard zipped up and down each of us in turn, tossing our weapons to the ground.

Holes in the ceiling of the cave illuminated parts of the floor, but every so often a hole went dark as another snake slithered inside. I heard a snap just before a snake landed on the floor in front of us. Within its jaws, a bat was swallowed whole.

Step by painful step, we were forced further inside the cave.

The constrictor lifted its ponderous head, feeling the air, feeling our heartbeats. "You are mine. You are too large for these others to feed on."

The largest rattler, almost half the size of the constrictor hissed. For a few seconds the two danced, their heads swaying and curling, but then the rattler dropped the pose.

The constrictor flicked its tongue, whipping back to face us. "Down," the beast hissed.

I looked down and wished I hadn't. A long trench waited just behind our feet. The weak illumination from the ceiling did not reach the depths.

When none of us moved to obey, the monster struck. Its tail flicked, and Xylia tumbled into the pit. I'd like to tell you I stood my ground, that I called forth the roots of trees and bade them whip this foul evil, but I did not. I dove after my daughter with no other thought than to get away from that tail.

My husband probably would have preferred that I let him go first so that he could cushion my fall, but Xylia unintentionally did the job quite nicely. Ward and Barrett came last.

The pit made my terror worse. I think I would have sat frozen in a corner had Xylia not needed me.

Her whimper of pain reached through the evil fear.

"Xylia!" It took every bit of my trembling willpower to take herbs from my cloak and make a patch for her leg. The rattling beat of the enemy made me a prisoner as though I had already been fatally bitten.

"The monster's bite is neurotoxic," Barrett said. "Only a healer can draw it out."

Though not a healer, I knew plants, and I bade Xylia to chew on bits of valerian and burdock root. It couldn't fix everything, but hopefully the valerian would calm her heart rate. The burdock might help clear her blood.

Engrossed in my task, I didn't notice the holes that branched off our pit. My husband was not so negligent. "The rattlers must come through here to feast on prisoners."

"The little people," Xylia whispered. It was quite dark in the pit. We could have smashed an entire village of small creatures when we jumped in.

"Hmm," my husband muttered. He stroked the rocks. "I can close off the tunnels. The rattlers can still come over the top, but they'll be easier to see and fight off."

Before he could do more, we heard scrambling. A beady little gnome, gaunt and weathered, landed with a clatter at my husband's feet. "Nay, don't bury us!" The poor creature backed against the wall, trembling.

"Don't hurt him," a tinny voice called out from within the hole. A small head, this one belonging to a young woman, peered out from another tunnel. "Don't close the tunnels with us inside!"

"Mimi! Don't talk to the humans," the old gnome muttered hoarsely.

The snakes had only taken our weapons, not our supplies. Barrett immediately offered his water as a sign of our good will.

"What be the point?" the gnome asked.

"No sense in dying until you have to."

The gnome stumbled as he stood, but he drank a few sips.

"Here," I said softly. "Let me add a bit of herbs. It'll be a cold tea, but some substance." I swished in some herbs that would hurt none of us.

Slowly, each side tunnel emptied. There were six more prisoners, and a sorrier lot I have never seen. One lit a series of small torches that were hidden under a rock.

"All?" my husband asked softly.

"Until they finish with us and capture more," the gnome said. His homespun tunic was made from tattered burlap. His leather pants were so moth-eaten they might have come from a corpse. "If we wait here, they come down when they are hungry. If we climb out the tunnels, they eat us at the top. There's no hope."

My husband raised his hands towards the first snake tunnel. He fought the snake magic that curled around us, a part of the damp air condensing on our skin.

"We should have brought Guthrie," he muttered. "He knows the snake song." He shivered, trying to concentrate.

"I know the songs," the one called Mimi said.

A harsh mutter from the old gnome quieted her.

The girl's shoulders drooped. "It does little good against so many. And against the big one, no good at all."

"Would you sing anyway?" Ward asked. " Just a bit so I can do this right. It could buy us time."

The girl glanced at the old gnome. "Even if we get out, there's no food. We can't garden or hunt without being captured."

The gnome waved his hand. "Sing. We've naught else."

Her shoulders didn't exactly lift, but she did put her magic to voice. The faint lullaby was a haunting melody, a beckoning to a peaceful sleep that was but a moment away.

I immediately felt lighter. Ward began working his magic, melting the rocks across the holes. His was deep magic and to save us, I knew that he could bury us in rocks. It would still be death, but preferable to watching the snake coil around my feet, squeezing tighter with each turn until there was nothing but fangs.

I checked Xylia's wounds, gave her more to drink and searched through my pockets. The cranberries were high in calories and the lump of cheese, though hard, was grabbed eagerly.

When Ward had finished his task, the singer stopped singing. "My magic does little but sooth the big one and his ill-temper. The magic would work better with motion and vibrations."

My head snapped round. "Vibrations? What kind?"

"Musical ones. I had a pipe, but it is gone now." Her fingers moved around an invisible flute. "My instrument enhaned the complexity and range of the vibrations. But even the pipe was not enough."

"What about vibrations through the rock itself?" I glanced at Ward.

"I cannot sing through rock. Besides, the leader is so large..." She shrugged helplessly.

Xylia said, "My father can echo the vibration!"

He nodded. "I can copy the vibrations and help them through the ground."

Mimi shivered. "The magic is too diluted for such a creature."

She didn't believe it would work, but I had more faith. "Try." In preparation, I offered a hand to two of the little people. I set one on each shoulder. Barrett did the same.

Ward frowned mightily. He put his hand upon the rock, and tilted his ear towards Mimi.

Staring at us, she shook her head. "This cannot work."

The grumpy leader said, "Even if the song doesn't work, we have these large ones now. I don't care if they have to throw us out of this pit. We go, snakes asleep or no!"

Xylia offered her another drink of water. She took it and then reached out a hand to the rock. "I'll try."

"Xylia," I whispered. "Call your animals. We need a distraction. We must keep the snakes from attacking us all at once."

"The snakes will poison my friends," she protested weakly.

It was true, but we needed all the help we could get.

The girl's song started quietly, but gradually grew stronger. I found my body swaying to the rhythm.

The old gnome tapped my shoulder. I boosted him up as high as I could reach. He grasped rock and began to climb.

Ward quickly saw his need. He continued repeating the vibration of song, but at the same time, he formed tiny steps up the rock.

The little ones scrambled up. When the gnome reached the top, he peered carefully over the edge. If he saw danger, he headed towards it anyway.

The second and third were over the top before Mimi's hand fell. With a gasp, she collapsed. "Oh--"

"Mimi?" I raced to her side. She was breathing, but barely.

"Charmer!" the constrictor bellowed. His tail lashed across the pit at the same time as the evil magic hit again.

Primal fear gripped me. I had no defense now that Mimi wasn't singing.

The tiny girl groaned, her hand batting aimlessly around her face. "Run..."

Rattlers began their own song again. The constrictor arched back, ready to strike. He watched only Mimi, furiously intent on destroying the threat against him.

I grabbed the last little person. "Run," I whispered, catapulting the little guy upwards.

Ward hoisted Xylia up. She caught a nicely formed step that was suddenly large enough to hold her. From there, she jumped. "Keep singing, Mimi, Keep singing!"

My last sight of her was blocked as the constrictor struck.

I flung out an arm, dashing Mimi sideways. It was barely enough.

"Not poisonous," she groaned weakly, blood dripping down her wrist where a fang had not quite missed.

Ward grabbed my waist, and I finally realized that most of the rattlers were stuck inside the tunnels as they tried to reach us. "Hurry, before they backtrack!" he shouted.

The huge beast was now fully in the pit. The tip of its tail flattened Mimi entirely. "Fight--" she murmured.

How could we fight? My feet on Ward's shoulder and my head barely above the rim, I saw nothing but slithering bodies advancing. "Rattlers!" I yelled, forcing Ward to stop pushing me to certain death.

"Run!" Mimi screamed again. Her face spasmed. The snake magic hit her full, taking her last breath and pinning her with fear.

Our weapons were gone, we had no magic, all was lost!

Barrett, however, was not done. In his hand, he held curved knives.

How had he managed to keep them?

He sliced at the beast in the pit. Blood spurted, hot and disgusting. Chunks of the giant tail kept moving, but it couldn't hold Mimi and fight Barrett at the same time.

"Behind the neck," Ward shouted.

I had no time to watch. Rattlers and smaller constrictors came over the top of the pit dropping everywhere.

Ward threw boulders as fast as he could find or carve them free. I finally found the will to move and added stones to the melee, throwing as fast and hard as I could.

The vipers couldn't strike without coiling, but how could we possibly keep up? Ten or more dropped over the side at a time.

Deep within the cave there was a rumbling, and I knew another fear, a horror of being buried alive. Ward could speak to stones, but he could only go by memory when trying to destroy the walls around the snakes' home.

Barrett wielded his weapons, five curved blades. He hacked wildly behind the constrictor's neck, trying to finish it before the other snakes could come to the rescue.

"Demetria!" Ward yelled. "Get behind the beast!"

Was he crazy? Seek protection behind one enemy from the others? Without Mimi to temper the rolling waves of fear, I was nearly helpless. If I just stayed still, I wouldn't be harmed...just stay still...the hypnotic pulse flowed through me, comforting me as I stared into the eyes of a coiled enemy.

Another snake landed on me from above just as Ward threw a rock at the beast hypnotizing me.

I shrieked. My fear wasn't gone, but it was loosed. In complete panic, I flung the beast from around my neck. Screeching, I looked for an exit, but there was none.

Barrett continued to slice at the snake, huge chunks of it flying. Still, the coils slithered up his legs.

Mimi moaned. For the first time, I noticed a smaller snake had her arm in its mouth. "Help me," she begged.

_Touch_ the snake?

I shuddered and clung frozen to the rock wall. Her eyes pleaded, tears of pain rolling down her face. She would be swallowed whole.

There was no choice. With my eyes shut, I stepped on the back of the smaller snake.

Barrett knocked me over on his way to the wall. The desperate lashing of the larger beast pinned him there. Ward rushed forward, jabbing a rock into the already injured neck. The stone in his hand obeyed his command. It melted into a thin, knifed edge.

Barrett shouted, "It can't hold me for long!" His blades twirled mercilessly at the huge flesh that threatened to crush him.

I dared not breathe as I reached out and hacked at the body that was eating Mimi.

Spots danced in front of my eyes as I wrestled the wretched evil up Mimi's arm to loose the fangs. When my vision cleared enough to check progress, my poor overtaxed heart got another shock. Barrett, bloodied but free, reached to help me. He inserted a single claw to push the teeth backwards, laying them flat.

_His weapons of choice were not knives._ They were no more than bear claws, a part of his hand _._ "Barrett--" I had not known my daughter's husband was a shifter, bear of the forest.

The second we worked the head off, I dropped it. The death roll did nothing to diminish its loathsome eyeballs. They looked exactly the same dead as they had alive.

"Mimi..." Her arm was punctured and blood oozed. "Oh my child." Automatically I pressed the wounds, trying not to snap her arm in half from the pressure.

The large rattlesnake was above us then, hissing and rattling.

"Mimi, can you sing?" I asked desperately.

"Perhaps. A last dance." She breathed softly, making almost no sound, but her head swayed rhythmically back and forth. "Your leader is gone."

"I rule now," the rattler hissed. "I won't go back to a dismal kingdom to feed on another's leftovers! You little people are mine!"

Halfheartedly, Mimi raised her voice, but she could not hold the tune properly.

The rattler followed her moving head, intent on striking her down.

The little people may have made better prey than us larger humans, but being threatened had not destroyed their bravery. While we were in front of the monster, the little people struck from behind.

Arrows came first and then a single woman climbed the back of the rattler, injuring every bit of flesh she could reach with her six inch sword.

Ward had me up before I fully understood what was happening. Barrett grabbed Mimi and used the steps that Ward had created.

We climbed.

At the top, Barrett rushed to help the woman warrior, but her anger was so great, the rattler's head was already dangling.

"The snake ranks--they split!" my husband yelled.

I watched as a rattler struck a lizard.

Ward found his own sword near the entrance and put it to use. He was not alone.

The forest was a powerful entity and when Xylia called it her magic was like my husband's, a melding with the earth, a conversation I could hear only as a distant whisper. The trees, instead of darkening and hovering close, opened up. Darkness was the friend of our enemy, and the forest let in light at her command. Even better, Xylia had learned from Mimi's lessons. Branches swayed hypnotically, drawing the snake's attention. Animals arrived, but instead of fighting tooth and nail, their growls mimicked the low hum that Mimi was still trying to sing.

Just as my husband had fed the vibrations through the rock, Xylia echoed the song to the forest. As the foxes sang, they teased back and forth in mesmerizing patterns of reds and browns.

The snakes became sluggish, confused.

"They've no leader now," a little voice sang. "Quickly, this way."

The warrior woman led us through the chaos. Overhead, hunters from the sky arrived. Talons at the ready, they dove into the fray. I knew my son's birds had heard Xylia's cry to the forest, and he had bade them to help.

The warrior woman led me, Ward and Barrett through the forest. I carried Mimi so that the men kept their weapons free to defend.

The tree we stopped at was larger than any I had ever seen in Sage. The people I had thought of as tiny seemed suddenly larger. Mimi became oddly heavier, but I had been carrying her for a long while.

The woman beckoned me as she climbed exposed roots that were the size of branches. I followed her, but it made no sense. I grew dizzy as I tried to figure out how I fit through a tangle of roots.

The warrior, thin as a reed, but determined, welcomed us into an opening that barely held us. I looked out again, unsure whether we had climbed the tree or gone beneath it.

"Healer," the warrior explained before disappearing back outside.

Both Barrett and Ward had been bitten more than once. I do believe my heart had taken a beating from the fear alone. "Already treated your daughter," the healer said cheerfully, pointing to Xylia, lying on a cot inside the opening.

I set Mimi near the healer and went immediately to Xylia. Barrett took up residence on her other side. He took her hands, and then sat as still as she. Xylia was focused on the forest, watching and aiding the battle that still raged there.

The healer talked as she worked over Ward and Mimi. "Our forest magic does not fool the snakes for long. They find us wherever we hide."

"You live in the trees?" I asked in bewilderment.

She did not answer my question, but kept to her own conversation. "We were surviving against the constrictors until this year when the cottonmouths and rattlers came in such large numbers. There was no safe place for our gardens then. Every time we wandered out, we were attacked."

She finished packing Ward's wounds and moved to Barrett. "I'm treating them with antivenin obtained from our finest ponies." Facing me, she handed me two glass vials. "I don't think you'll need more, but just in case."

"I--" I started to tell her that I wasn't a healer, but since I would move heaven and earth to save any of my friends, it was a moot point. "Thank you," I said softly.

She bit her lip. "It is my job to make sure that you forget you know us, but you might need to remember, in case," she waved tiny hands at the vial, hands that trembled. Sunken green eyes and listless gold hair made her look like a desperate child. "We cannot make it through the coming winter without food. I cannot ask you for help, I can only ask you to leave us, forget, but..."

I was angry that she thought we would abandon them. "My daughter will know where to leave food and supplies."

"Only for the season," the woman replied quickly, her hands busy. "Next year we will grow gardens again."

Before I could demand more answers, she raised her hands and clapped.

Within moments the warrior was back. She helped us outside and then, with a quick salute, she was gone, leaving us staring at one another.

I blinked. Looking round, I could not find the tree or the roots we had climbed. It had been large enough for us to fit inside, and now it was gone. As a gardener, I am privy to plant magic, but I am not a forester. "Xylia..."

My daughter was spent, barely standing.

"To home," I said quietly. Ward took my hand. All of us set our feet carefully. The snakes had scattered, but we would have to return to make sure the enemy had fled for good.

It troubled me deeply that the healer could have erased our memories. Did they not see where such secrecy had gotten them?

Then again, according to King Holt, we had never been their friends.

Over the next weeks and days, Ward and Guthrie made sure there wasn't a snake pit left in the royal forest. For my part, I dropped food and packets of healing herbs. I saw no little people.

As the sun set around my raspberry patch, I stared with regret at a garden where no little person dared show her face. Trust broken took generations to heal. Slavery and wars were not soon forgotten. The little people had trusted King Holt, and he had come back to help them. All I could hope was that next time they had a need, they would remember they had more friends to call on than only a ghost.

# Dylan and the Leprechaun

A Short Story for Children

Dylan was lost. Grandpa's ranch was such a fun place to play that he had forgotten to pay attention to where he was going. He had ridden his horse, fought dangerous cactus enemies, and used the sand in an arroyo to build a town. Now, none of the rocks and scrubby trees looked familiar. Even when he climbed on top of the biggest boulder he could find, he didn't see anything he recognized.

Standing on his rock, he felt something that worried him greatly. A giant, wet drop of rain splattered on his arm. It hadn't been cloudy earlier, but now there were big, dark clouds boiling across the sky. He needed a plan.

Luckily, there was a very large juniper tree next to his lookout. Surely its big, bushy branches could soak up any amount of rain that might come along. He would be safe and dry under the tree.

Carefully, he slid off the rock, and then crawled under the tree. The light padding of fallen pine needles made a soft cushion for his knees. It was still completely dry under the branches, and that made him very happy. He checked carefully for snakes. He didn't want to find out the hard way that he was sharing his spot with something dangerous.

He settled near the boulder out of the wind. A small opening in the side of the rock caught his attention. Could he crawl inside and stay even drier? Hmm. The little cave wasn't very big. He could probably only fit one leg inside.

He peered into the opening hopefully. To his surprise, something was moving in there.

Oh no! Was it a snake? Or just a rabbit?

He sat back on his heels. There was no warning rattle from a dangerous snake, but there was a noise. It sounded like Grandpa singing. But Grandpa wouldn't fit in the crack in the rock.

Dylan pondered the problem for a long moment or two. "I know," he exclaimed. "My horse!"

He quickly retrieved the long stick that he had been using as a horse. Now his stick was a trusty sword.

Dylan jammed his weapon into the little cave. Like any good warrior he gave a nice yell. "Hi-yah!"

To his great surprise, a voice answered back, and it didn't sound very happy. "HEY!"

Dylan snatched his sword back in astonishment. "Hello?" Who could fit in the small opening in the rock?

"You shouldn't poke sticks into other people's homes," an angry voice declared.

Dylan peered into the small cave. "What home?" The rain clouds made it too dark for him to see inside. Just as he decided he must use the stick again, a light flared.

"Oh," said Dylan, suddenly able see. "You are rather small, aren't you?"

A little man, tall as three apples high, held a candle stub. "I'm the right size for a leprechaun, you silly boy. How else would I be able to live in a rock?"

Dylan studied the knobby man. His little round face was plumped out like a squirrel with nuts in its cheeks. Bushy black eyebrows nearly hid bright green eyes. The little man wore a vest with three shiny gold buttons. His brown pants looked like grandpa's leather chaps.

"What are you doing in there?" Dylan asked.

"I live here!" the little man replied. "Most leprechauns live under mushrooms, but this is the desert. Where do you expect me to live, if not in a cave?"

Sure enough, Dylan could see a tiny chair and a table tucked back in one corner. There was even a little black pot-bellied stove. "I see," Dylan said.

"Are you here to spy on me, lad?" The little man squinted up at Dylan. "I bet that because it is raining, you thought you would be able to watch me bury my pot of gold at the end of a rainbow!"

"No." Dylan shook his head. "I'm lost. I was playing cowboy, but I forgot to pay attention to where I was riding my stick." He raised the stick in question to show the little man. "Why do you have to mark your pot of gold with a rainbow?"

"HAH!" the little man shouted. He jumped up and down. His green hat slid down his face right into his eyes. He grabbed it with one hand and pointed at Dylan with the other. "You're too early for a rainbow! You'll not find my gold!"

Dylan agreed. "The rainbow won't come out until the sun peeks through the clouds. Is that when you can hide your pot of gold?"

The little man frowned. "You must be here to steal my pot of gold!"

Dylan shook his head. "No, I'm just lost. If I had gold I might pay you to tell me the way back home."

Eagerly, the little man came closer. "Do you have gold? I'm always collecting. As soon as I fill one pot and hide it, I collect another."

Dylan thought hard. "I don't think I have any gold." He dug through his pocket. Out came an arrowhead, a penny and, sure enough, a gold-colored rock! "I forgot about this," Dylan exclaimed. "I found it while I was playing. It looks like gold."

The little man hurried over to inspect the rock. He rolled it this way and that before shaking his head. "You can't fool me. I'm a leprechaun, and leprechauns know all about gold. This is fool's gold," he declared. "It looks like gold, but it isn't."

Dylan's face fell. "Darn." He held up the penny. "Do you collect pennies by any chance?"

The little guy shook his head. "Of course not. I'm a leprechaun. I collect gold."

"Oh." Dylan stared at the leprechaun, and the leprechaun stared back at him. "How will I get home?" Dylan wondered.

Just then, with a last roll of thunder, the clouds began to thin. "Uh-oh," the leprechaun said. "I need to hide my gold. You must leave now!"

Dylan shook his head. "Not unless you tell me how to get home." He crossed his arms stubbornly. "I'm not leaving."

"But you'll see me hide my gold!" the leprechaun cried.

"Then before you hide your gold, you'll have to help me. But we better hurry. The rainbow will come out soon. If you aren't ready, you won't be able to use it to mark the spot where you hide your gold."

The little man dithered back and forth. "Oh, what to do!"

Wind blew gently, another warning that the clouds were moving. "Drat it all, anyway," the leprechaun complained. "Come on then. Give me your hand."

Dylan obediently lowered his hand. The leprechaun climbed onto Dylan's hand and sat himself down. He held tight to Dylan's thumb as Dylan crawled out from under the tree.

When Dylan tilted his hand, the leprechaun almost fell off. "Be careful!"

"Sorry," Dylan apologized. "Which way should I go?"

"Walk up that hill there. And hurry!"

Dylan didn't remember the hill, but he had been playing a long time. Quickly he climbed, being careful not to drop the leprechaun on the ground.

Once he reached the top of the hill, he could see another hill. It looked familiar. "Hey! I live right over that hill, don't I?"

"Of course you do," the leprechaun said. "And you're a right nosy neighbor too, looking into my house. Now, be quick. Study the landscape so that you know how to get back up here without me."

Dylan looked down in the valley where the leprechaun lived. He saw the big rock and the juniper tree. He looked over to the next hill and saw the long fence that he knew would lead straight to Grandpa's house. "I can find my way now," he said happily.

"Well, good. Get me back to my house. Run, lad! I've got gold to hide!"

Jumping and running, Dylan made his way straight back down to the big boulder and the tree. The little leprechaun held tight to his thumb, but bounced up and down. "Yee-haw!" the little man shouted. He slapped a tiny hand against Dylan's fingers and grinned through his beard.

When Dylan arrived at the tree, he put his hand near the dirt so the little man could climb down.

"Lad, I haven't had so much fun in a long while," the leprechaun said. "You can sure run."

Just then, the clouds broke apart. Dylan looked up. The leprechaun looked up. "There!" Dylan pointed. A beautiful rainbow with all the colors in the world built a bridge across the sky.

When Dylan glanced back down, the little leprechaun was gone.

No doubt he had gone back into his cave to retrieve his pot of gold.

Dylan licked his lips. He was very curious about that pot of gold. How was the little guy going to hide it? Dylan stood up, but he didn't walk back up the hill. Quick as a whisker, he climbed the boulder and tucked himself along the top.

He didn't have to wait long.

Within seconds, the leprechaun reappeared carrying a little round black pot. It wasn't much bigger than Dylan's hand, but the leprechaun huffed and puffed as he carried it. Dylan thought about helping, but he was very sure the leprechaun would not want help hiding his gold.

The little man looked up at the sky. Dylan had to duck behind the top of the rock so that the leprechaun didn't spot him.

Dylan could hear the leprechaun complain as he hobbled along with his heavy load. Around the side of the rock the little man went. "Drat it. Drat it all! Have to hurry. Hurry, hurry," he sang in a gruff voice.

Pretty soon Dylan couldn't hear the leprechaun's voice anymore. He dared to peek over the edge. There was no leprechaun. He searched the other side and then crawled down and searched all around.

No leprechaun.

Hmm. He looked high and then low and then he smiled. The rainbow! He found all the colors; a blue so deep it was almost purple, red and fiery orange and the dimmest of yellow bands. He climbed back up on the rock and laughed.

There! Off in the distance, he could see where the rainbow ended. That is where the leprechaun would be.

He climbed down and dusted his hands. It was time to go home. If he wanted to find the pot of gold or the leprechaun, all he had to do was follow the rainbow. The pot of gold would always be waiting at the end of the rainbow because that was where the leprechaun kept it.

# **Other Works**

For more magical adventures, you might want to try my urban fantasy series: Under Witch Moon, Under Witch Aura, Under Witch Curse and Ghost Shadow.

Adriel has her hands full trying to solve a murder and concoct spells to keep herself and her friends out of trouble.

The Sedona OHala books (Executive Lunch, Executive Retention, Executive Sick Days and Executive Affairs are contemporary cozy mysteries: Sedona must solve a few crimes while fighting her way up the corporate ladder; mostly she dangles from her fingertips, just trying to survive.

Dragons of Wendal and DragonKin are fantasy adventures with a mystery, danger and touch of romance.

Catch an Honest Thief is a stand alone mystery, combining a stealthy caper in the New Mexico desert with high-tech gadgets. Alexia must try to save her career--and her life. Soul of the Desert is about a boy on the run from the Harlem mafia. Which is more dangerous--the mafia or surviving the New Mexico desert?

To find out what I'm currently up to, visit me at: BearMountainBooks

Illustrations are copyright of individual artists downloaded from depositphotos.com; all modifications made by Maria Schneider. Bird silhouettes: nebojsa78; Hawk/eagle head: Mijat Mijatovic; Gothic Castle: Photon; Forest Animals in Autumn: scusi0-9; Crown: Volodymyr Dmytriienko; Silhouette rat: halina_photo; Rat with castle: e.kataev; Leprechaun: Andreas Berheide; rainbow/pot of gold: Jut_13; desert cactus: dayzeren 
