Earth's Magic (13 page)

Behind them, something with many blue, hairy legs galloped along and swept a running lamb from its mother’s side. Heather cried in anger and hacked off three of the creature’s
arms, freeing the lamb. She’d barely lowered her sword arm when she heard a growl behind her.

Spinning around, she stared into the fanged jaws of an enormous spiky furred cat.

Just then something clamped down on her shoulder and yanked her off her feet. There was a blur of snow, movement, and jostling dark shapes. She landed heavily on something soft and spongy, something that was moving.

Hold on!
the voice said, so loudly Heather almost screamed with the pain. With the hand that wasn’t gripping her sword, she clutched the surface she was riding on. It was thick, soft, and curly. She was splayed on the back of a huge sheep! Awkwardly she managed to tuck her sword flat under her body, freeing her other hand to grab another fistful of dark wool. Then she gritted her teeth and held on through an incredible jouncing, terrifying ride.

Through the snow, she glimpsed monstrous shapes, charging sheep, and heard a cacophony of hideous noise. Once she thought she saw a flash of purple, and once something gold whisked overhead that might have been a glowing dragon. Then there seemed to be nothing but running sheep around her. The noise of battle slowly dropped away behind them.

Safe now
, the voice said, still painfully loud.
Go to extra-safe place
.

Heather lifted her head. On the sheep running beside her sat a hairy orange creature no bigger than a five-year-old child. Large eyes surrounded by soft orange fuzz stared at her. Below them, a broad mouth turned up into a shy smile.

Thanks
, Heather thought back.
But can we talk with our mouths? This hurts
.

The dark eyes squeezed shut. “Right,” a squeaky voice replied. “This close, it hurts.”

Heather struggled to raise her head enough to look around her. She was riding in the midst of an undulating dark river of sheep. Spotted around, several of the larger ones were carrying shaggy orange people on their backs. At this jouncing pace, it was difficult to talk, but Heather was overwhelmed with a need to know what was happening.

“You are sheepherders?” she ventured. “Muties?”

“Sure,” her hairy companion replied. “Some farmers hire us to tend sheep. We good at it. Sheep like us. But some scary things like sheep. To eat.”

Sudden realization hit her. She’d just talked to this new person in her mind. And it was a mutie. Probably one of those she’d heard mentioned at the inn. But she’d only talked to regular people before. Or had she? Actually, she’d only personally met a few of them. And Earl had reported that the boy Ivan in eastern Europe was part of a group that had changed a lot after centuries living underground. What was the definition of
mutie
anyway? Was the growing ability to work magic a different kind of mutation?

Her head was spinning now from more than the effects of this wild ride. Cautiously Heather asked, “Do you often talk with people in your mind?”

“Sure. Never you before. But Temesqua mention you. Boy who talk about jaguars.”

“Right,” Heather laughed. “I talk to him lots. And others too. Have you got others?”

“Plenty. All say lots of bad things creeping around now, plus bad weather, bad earthquakes, and scary light in the sky. Bad things like attack us. Hill gets steep.”

Heather dug her fingers into the thick wool. Their angle now tilted sharply up as the stream of sheep zigzagged back and forth along a rough stone-lined trail. She could see that the hairy
orange sheepherders were working hard, through calling and waving sticks, to keep their flock on the narrow, winding route.

Then they were at the top. Her sheep slowed along with the others, and Heather sat up. Before her sword could slip to the ground, she pulled it from under her and slid it securely into its sheath. Looking around, she saw that the hilltop was flat and covered with rings of stone walls. She had glimpsed stone walls snaking up the hillside as well, and the largest wall seemed to circle the outside of the hilltop.

“Me Ravit,” said the high voice beside her. “What your name?”

“Heather. You live here?”

“Sometimes. This safest place for sheep when enemies around.”

Heather scanned the rest of the milling flock. The snow had almost stopped falling, but already dusk was settling in and the light was poor. The last of the sheep seemed to have gotten safely up to the walled hilltop. A half dozen were carrying shaggy orange sheepherders, but with growing alarm, she saw that none was carrying anyone in a dark cloak. Where was Earl? And Rus and the dragons. Where were they?

“Ravit, I had other friends back there, where the dark creatures attacked. Are they all right? I’ve got to find them!”

“Be calm. We help. Your friends helped us too.” Abruptly Ravit stood up on the back of her sheep and pulled Heather to her feet as well. Then she tugged her from the back of one jostling sheep to another. Heather gasped and struggled for balance, feeling as if she were walking across the waves of a rippling river. Then they both hopped off onto rocky ground.

“We go to camp now. Others pen sheep for night.” The shaggy orange mutie led Heather through a maze of walls where rough fieldstones seemed to have been carefully fitted together with no mortar other than mud.

At last they came to the center of the maze, a broad opening dotted with stone huts. A large fire circle was in its center, where several short orange people were standing around talking. When they saw Ravit, they cried with joy and rushed toward her. Soon Heather was surrounded by a sea of orange, as the small muties alternately squeaked questions at Ravit and looked curiously at Heather.

After a couple of minutes, Ravit tried to make some introductions, but Heather got hopelessly confused. At the moment all the shaggy people around her looked very alike, and their scant sheepskin clothing looked basically the same. Finally she said, “Yes, good to meet you all. But my friends, I have to go back and find my friends.”

A slightly larger orange person, named Grithex, stepped forward. Heather decided she was a woman because there was only a faint fuzz on her face. “Yes, Ravit say how you all help. We help find friends. But first, you get warm, have nice stew. Over here, come.”

The crowd dragged her over to the fire circle, where several large pots bubbled with delicious-smelling stew. Hunger suddenly made Heather dizzy, but she couldn’t let go of her worry. “My friends, though. I’ve got to find them first.”

“Sure, sure,” the woman said. “We send searchers out soon. But first—”

Her speech was cut short by an odd, penetrating sound. From beyond the encircling wall, two sharp, mournful howls rose into the air. With delight, Heather recognized the sound.

“Rus!”

Pushing clear of the crowd, she rushed to the outer wall and clambered up. Below, against the snow-whitened hillside, she could see the dark silhouette of a two-headed dog.

She turned back to the others. “My dog! He followed me here.” Then she looked back down the hill. “Rus, come on up!”

“Wait!” Ravit cried leaping up beside her. “Can’t come straight up. Hill covered with traps. Only certain ways safe.”

“Rus, stay!” Heather shouted. Then she backed it up by yelling in her mind,
Don’t move, Rus. There are traps. Maybe someone can come guide you
.

At that moment, a shriek sliced through the evening sky. Everyone looked up. The smaller muties dropped to the ground in terror while larger ones grabbed up rocks and began hurling them skyward.

“No!” Heather called. “She’s a good guy, a friend.” Then she yelled louder at the glowing apparition. “Goldie, don’t land on the hillside. It’s full of traps. See if you can help Rus.”

The gold dragonlet plummeted downward and, before Rus could do more than yelp, grabbed the dog in her claws. Laboriously she flapped her way toward the walled hilltop. The muties scuttled back, plastering themselves against whatever sheltering walls they could find. Ignoring them, Goldie sailed over the outer wall and settled down near the fire circle. She let Rus loose, and the dog immediately galloped over to Heather. Goldie fixed her attention on the bubbling pots.

“Mmmm. Do I smell mutton stew?”

Once she had fended off Rus’s welcoming licks, Heather walked toward the fire. Groups of orange muties followed more cautiously. She looked around at the crowd, the tallest one coming no higher than her waist. “Everybody, this is Goldie. She’s a dragon. A baby dragon, really. And she helped back there when your flock was attacked.”

The crowd around her chattered excitedly. Ravit pressed up beside Heather. “A real dragon? We see Otherworld folk sometimes. A few good ones but mostly the ones that join up with the bad muties and bad people. They cause trouble. But never see dragon.” As Grithex and a couple of others cautiously ladled out
a bowl of stew for Goldie, Heather asked the dragon, “Have you seen Earl? Where’s Sil?”

Goldie lifted her dripping muzzle from the bowl. “Sil and I, we chased those dark things way over the hills. Burned up a few too. And clawed up a couple. They don’t taste good. When they’d all snuck into dark holes, we went back. I followed Rus’s trail. Sil’s looking for Merlin. Hard ’cause snow covers stuff. This stew good. More, please?”

Heather stared out into the snow-smeared darkness, anxiously chewing her braid. She’d never been able to mind-talk with dragons or with Earl. She just mentally prayed to whatever spirits or gods might be listening.
Find him. Keep him safe
.

T
HE
V
ALLEY

M
erlin woke under a chill blanket of snow. Ice crusted his eyelids. At first the only movement he seemed capable of was shivering. Then he managed to open his eyes. His blurry vision took in a shape looming in the darkness above him. With frozen fingers he fumbled for his sword or staff, anything to fight with. He found nothing.

The shape flapped its wings and settled in the snow beside him. “Not much of a sleeping place. Let’s find someplace warmer.”

“Sil!” Merlin croaked. Struggling to sit up, he saw the tip of his staff protruding from the snow a few feet away. The dragonlet noticed where he was looking and with his tail flipped the staff toward Merlin. The wizard grabbed it and levered himself up. His head and back ached, but his arms and legs seemed to work, except for being stiff and numb with cold.

He ignited his staff with purple light and by its glow surveyed the scene around him.

The snow had largely stopped falling. The fresher fall partly covered a number of dark, heaped bodies. Fearfully, Merlin walked among them. Some were dark-wooled sheep. Others were grotesque creatures from nightmare. By the mangled
remains of one, Merlin found his sword half buried in blood-spattered snow. He wiped off its blade in a snowdrift and stuck it back in its sheath. Looking forlornly around, he finally turned to the dragon.

“Sil, have you seen Heather?”

“Nope. Goldie and I were off chasing the bad guys. Great fun. Goldie’s somewhere looking for Rus now, and girl too, I guess. We go look for them all?”

“Yes. But the horses? Have you seen the horses? It won’t be fast walking in this snow.”

“Horses hiding out in next valley. Saw them when I flew back. Horses big cowards, not brave warriors like us dragons.”

“Maybe, but then they don’t have your flames or teeth or claws either. Could you lead me to them, please?”

The next valley was not far, but the blanket of snow covered rocks and pits equally, making walking difficult even with a staff. When they finally reached the horses in a sheltered spot beside a rocky outcrop, the animals had pawed snow off a patch of brittle grass and were nervously grazing. Merlin wished he had Heather’s ability to calm the animals, but even so, they seemed pleased to see someone they knew. While Sil scraped at the exposed grass, discontentedly sampling some, Merlin mounted his black mare and grabbed the reins of Heather’s bay.

“Where to now, Sil?” Merlin asked. “Any idea where to start looking?”

Immediately the dragon sat down and closed his eyes. He stayed that way so long, Merlin was afraid he’d fallen asleep. He was about to prod the dragon with his staff when Sil’s red eyes popped open. “That way. Goldie’s off that way, so others must be too.”

In the near dark, they followed a winding route through a maze of low hills and small valleys. Sometimes Sil flew ahead,
sometimes he walked, scratching at bushes and stunted trees as they passed, looking for something to eat. Merlin gave him the dried radishes in his pack, but those were soon gone. Merlin himself was too anxious to eat.

The snow clouds eventually blew from the sky, exposing the hazy glow of the moon and a smear of comet light across the southern horizon. On the swaying horseback, Merlin had nearly dropped into an exhausted trance when suddenly he snapped alert. Something else was glowing in the sky.

Sil, who had been scrabbling in a bush, peeped excitedly and launched into the air. Soon two faintly glowing dragons were circling and looping around each other. Merlin smiled with relief and urged the horses to pick up their pace.