Dragon On A Pedestal Part 8

The baby paused in its swinging. "They fled beyond the witch's tree," it said. "By the time we made a forced-march there, the trail was cold. We've got better things to do than hunt for dummies."

"One of those dummies was my daughter!" Irene exclaimed angrily.

"Tough s.h.i.+ft, sister," the infant retorted.

"I'll tough-s.h.i.+ft you, you fat brat!" Irene cried. She threw down a seed. "Grow!"

The seed sprouted into a cowslip plant. In moments it was depositing slippery and smelly cow-chips all around. Next time the infants marched, they would find themselves slipping in truly s.h.i.+ftless stuff.

"That wasn't nice, Irene," Grundy said smugly. He appreciated dirt, no matter who flung it.

"Just tend to your business, golem, or I'll grow a wart plant on your head!"

Grundy shut up and tended to his business. But the trail was indeed cold. The witch's tree was distracted by an infestation of large bugs or wild animals in its foliage and wouldn't answer Grundy's query. Apparently the bugs had been confined and recently released, for they were raising havoc in the upper foliage. The gra.s.s below the tree was washed out. So the party simply had to go on, casting about as before, hoping to find a plant or tree that remembered a child and a little dragon.

They got beyond the region where it had rained, but still there was no clue. Irene was too stubborn to admit they had lost the trail entirely and were probably going in the wrong direction. Her daughter had to be out here somewhere!

They came to a bleak area, yellowish overall, where normal trees gave way to strange, thick-trunked growths from which grew long, thin, gra.s.slike leaves with upright spikes at the top bearing whitish flowers. Grundy queried one and discovered it was a gra.s.stree named Xanthorrhoed.

"Now this is interesting," Chem said. Centaurs were chronically fascinated by unusual fauna and flora. "Xanthorrhoed is one of the really primitive, fundamental plants of Xanth, as can be told from its name."

"Xanthorrhoed?" Irene asked. "I don't have any seed for that."

"Perhaps you should add some to your collection. I believe this type of plant is a.s.sociated with--"

"Witches," a new voice said. Irene looked around to see a sallow, yellow, old woman. Distracted by the gra.s.stree, she had not seen the woman approach. "What are you creatures doing in my garden?"

"I'm looking for a child," Irene said shortly. "Have you seen her? Three years old, perhaps accompanied by a small dragon--"

"Ah, so," the witch said. "I just may have news of those. They belong to you?"

"My daughter," Irene said. "Where is she? I must reach her before--"

The witch looked Irene in the face. The witch was an ugly old crone, hunched and dirty, with a wart on her nose. "Go to my hut yonder, enter the cage there, and lock yourself in," she said.

Irene tried to resist this ridiculous directive, but found herself compelled. The witch's talent was instant hypnotism, or something stronger; Irene had to obey.

She walked to the hut, entered it, and found the cage inside. She got into it and drew the door closed, hearing the click of its lock.

Now that she had done the witch's bidding, Irene found the compulsion relieved. She was in control of herself again. But she was locked in, and the wooden bars of the cage were too strong for her to break. She had a knife, but knew it would take a long time to saw through one of these bars.

Well, she could cope with that! She dropped a seed on the floor. "Grow!"

The seed sprouted brightly. It was a fire fern. In moments it had set fire to the cage and was burning through several bars.

While she waited, hunched in the corner farthest from the blaze, Irene kept busy. She grew an octopus plant, which she knew would do her bidding. When the witch entered the hut, she would become captive herself. As an added precaution, Irene sprouted a club moss so she could arm herself better.

A few minutes later, the witch entered the hut. The octopus wrapped its tentacles about her, and Irene menaced her with a club. "Now, you illicit creature, I want to know--" Irene began.

The witch looked her calmly in the eye. "Put down the club. Tell your creature to release me."

"Oh, fudge!" Irene swore. "I forgot about the hypno-stare!" But she put down her club, then directed the octopus plant to release the witch. She had some limited powers over the plants she grew, though she still had to be careful with the most aggressive ones. A tangle tree, for example, did not take many orders from anyone. She resolved to turn her back to the witch as soon as the compulsion left her, so that she could not be hypnotized again.

But before that happened, the witch did hypnotize her again. "Sit down, woman. Listen to what I say."

Irene sat down on a rickety wooden chair and listened, seething. She had made such an obvious mistake, letting the witch look her in the eye a second time!

"I shall introduce myself," the witch said. "I am Xanthippe, the wicked witch of the wilderness. I a.s.sociate with the Xanthorrhoed trees, the root plants of Xanth, as their name suggests. You have intruded on my property and you are in my power. I see you are a sorceress yourself, and that pleases me more than you may presently appreciate, but you remain subject to my will. Because I have your daughter."

Irene could not speak, since she had been ordered to listen. But the news electrified her, and she strained forward attentively.

"She and the little dragon are captives of my thyme plant," the witch continued. "They intruded on my premises, as you did, and indulged in much mischief before they were restrained. They loosed my collection of gargan-tuons. There are tuons rampaging all over my coven-tree, where I keep my most valuable exhibits. So they had to be punished. They will remain enchanted forever, until I decide to free them, or at least a century, whichever comes first." She eyed Irene speculatively.

"Oh, to be sure, with your clever control of plants, you could free them, too--but only I know where my thyme plant is hidden and what menaces are guarding it. I can have your child destroyed before you can rescue her. You must have my cooperation, if you wish to save her--and you shall have that only at my price."

Now Irene could speak. "You have the nerve to hold my daughter hostage? Do you know who I am?"

"No," the witch said. "Who are you?"

Irene suddenly realized that this old crone could be much worse to handle if she learned she had the Queen of Xanth in her power. Better to leave her in ignorance. Irene found that the old hag's power could compel her actions but not her words--except when words were actions, as in directing her plants to grow or let someone go--so she didn't have to say more than she chose. "I am--Irene. What do I have to do to get my child back?"

The witch studied her appraisingly again. "That's the proper att.i.tude. You strike me as a fine, healthy young woman, with good magical power and some practical skills, such as making your own clothing from towels. You should make an excellent mate for my son, and your talent with plants would a.s.sist my own collections."

Irene was aghast. "A m--m--!" She couldn't get the word out. "But I'm married! I have a child! That's why I'm out here looking for her!"

"Yes, I want a woman who can breed. I want my son to settle down, to be a family man. To be under the influence of a competent woman and a proven breeder. You'll do."

"I will not do!" Irene flared. "You may be able to make me do something for five minutes, but you could never get me to stay with a man I don't love!"

"There is much a knowledgeable woman can do with a man in five minutes, with or without love," Xanthippe remarked. "I can see that you do that, and do it again on another day, as many times as are necessary--and once you carry my son's child, you may not be quite so eager to leave him."

Irene was shocked again at the witch's directness and unscrupulousness. "This is impossible!"

"I a.s.sure you it is possible. How do you think I got my son?"

How else, indeed! Even when young, Xanthippe must have been too ugly to attract a man. But her magic made attraction unnecessary; the man would perform at her behest. Irene tried again. "I mean my husband would--"

"What would he do, after he learned you carried another man's child?" the witch inquired.

Irene didn't like to contemplate that, so she didn't. "You can't be serious! The moment you aren't watching me, I'll destroy you!"

"And what, then, will happen to your daughter, who remains in my power?" the witch asked. "You may have her back only after a sibling is on the way."

"A sibling!" Irene found it hard even to grasp the enormity of the witch's design. "I'll never--"

"You were unable to locate your daughter before; can you do so now?"

Irene was silent. She couldn't stand the thought of putting Ivy into any unnecessary jeopardy. She couldn't risk wiping out the witch until she had gotten Ivy out of danger.

"I will introduce you to my son Xavier," Xanthippe said. "Perhaps you will like him, though that really doesn't matter. It would simply make it easier for you. Come this way."

Numbly, Irene followed the witch. She had no further thought of harming Xanthippe directly. Ivy was hostage; the witch was in control, for now.

Xanthippe led the way to an orange tree. The trunk and all the leaves were orange, making it distinctive. Chem Centaur was tethered to it by an iron chain fastened to a hind foot, and Grundy Golem was locked in a small mesh cage. The witch had captured the whole party, except for the zombie.

"Wait here," Xanthippe said. "I will bring my son to you."

And Irene had to obey.

"Go soak your warty snoot, hag!" Grundy called from the cage.

The witch ignored him and walked on to a dilapidated yellow barn.

"She hypnotized you?" Irene asked Chem.

The centaur nodded grimly. "I closed the cuff on my own leg," she admitted. "I couldn't oppose her, though I desperately wanted to. And Grundy climbed into the cage himself. She just looked each of us in the eye--"

"I know. Too bad the Gorgon wasn't traveling with us."

Grundy doubled over with laughter, though Irene's remark had been serious. She could have had the Gorgon in the party, had she but known.

But their time for any exchange of information was limited. "What happened to Zora Zombie?" Irene asked.

"The witch's power didn't work on her," Chem said. "I think the zombie doesn't have enough of an eye or mind to be hypnotized. She wandered off. There's nothing she can do anyway."

"I suppose not," Irene said, testing the chain that held the centaur. It was far too strong for her to break herself, but she knew she could do the job with the right plant.

"Quick, grow something and spring us!" Grundy exclaimed. "Before the old dame gets back. She told you to wait here, but she didn't tell you not to help us."

True, as far as it went. "I can't," Irene said sadly. "She's holding Ivy hostage."

"Oops, that is trouble," Chem agreed. "What does she want from us?"

Before Irene could answer, the witch returned. Behind her was a hippogryph carrying a young man, evidently the witch's son.

The remarkable thing about both man and animal was their matching color. Both were golden yellow. The hippogryph had the forepart of a griffin, with a great golden bird-of-prey head and splendid yellow-feathered wings, now folded back along his body; the rest of him was equine, with powerful horse muscles and flas.h.i.+ng yellow tail. The man, too, was yellow, at least in his clothing, with vibrant blond hair and beard and a tan that almost glowed like polished gold. He was actually quite handsome.

"What a creature!" Chem breathed with reluctant admiration. Irene wasn't sure which creature the centaur meant, but suspected it was the equine one.

The party arrived. "Get down, Xavier," Xanthippe said. "I want you to meet a woman."

"Aw, Maw," the man said. "Xap and I were just going flying!"

"You ungrateful yellow-bellied wretch!" the witch screamed, showing instant ire that startled Irene because of its contrast to her prior manner. "Get down from there!"

Xavier, the dutiful son, grimaced and dismounted. He seemed to be in his early twenties, and his bronzed muscles bulged. Irene was privately amazed that a woman as ugly as Xanthippe could have a son as robust as Xavier. It must have been some man she compelled to sire her child! But why not? She could afford the best! The witch evidently had excellent taste in human flesh. That thought almost made Irene blush, for the witch had chosen her to--never mind.

"See this woman?" Xanthippe said to her son, indicating Irene. "Do you like her?"

Xavier hardly glanced at Irene. "Oh, sure. Maw," he agreed. "She'd be real pretty if she got out of them towels. Now can I go flying?"

"Not yet, son. Notice the body on her. Good legs, good front, nice face. A sweet one to hold."

"Sure, Maw. She's great, if you like that type. Now can I--?"

"Shut up, you imbecile!" the witch screamed at him, and the powerful youth was cowed.

"What a sharp tongue you have. Granny!" Grundy called from his cage.

"I can make her take off the towels so you can see--"

Xanthippe continued in her reasonable tone.

"Naw, that's too much trouble. Maw. Me an' Xap was just going out--"

"I think she would make a good wife for you," the witch told her son firmly.

"Aw, Maw, I don't want a wife! I just want to fly." Xavier turned again to his steed, ready to mount. Irene didn't know whether to feel relieved at the youth's evident disinterest, or affronted. She wasn't that far over the hill!

"Freeze, you pea-brained creep!" Xanthippe shrieked, and he froze. "You will marry this woman, what's-her-name--"

"Irene, you old hen!" Grundy called helpfully.

"Quiet, you pea-brained creep!" Irene snapped at him in a semiperfect fury.

"This woman Irene," the witch concluded. "She's a good match for you. She's a plant Sorceress, she's got spirit, and she can breed."

"Aw, Maw, I don't know anything about--"

"You don't need to know! This woman has had experience. I'll just give her an order, and she will take it from there. You will find it very easy, even pleasant, to do what is necessary. After that you can go fly."

Aside from the horror of her situation, Irene found a moment to marvel at the naivete of the young man. Was he really that ignorant of the facts of life? Then she remembered that Dor had been almost as innocent at first. Men seldom knew as much about life as they thought they did; perhaps Xavier merely had a better notion of his ignorance than some did.

"Aw, Maw, I want to fly now!" he protested. "Can't it wait for a rainy day or something?"

A rainy day! Irene bit her tongue. It would be just her luck that the fractious cloud would spot her again and make that day come true.

The witch perceived a problem. Obviously she didn't want to be too harsh with her handsome son or to introduce him to the facts of life too abruptly. Irene noticed that Xanthippe did not use her power on Xavier, but employed persuasion instead. She did seem to care about him and genuinely wanted what she thought was best for him. That hardly excused her complete callousness about other people, but did show that she wasn't all bad. Irene would have had more sympathy if her own welfare were not in peril.

Xanthippe tried another kind of coercion. "Your steed needs a good mate, too. I'll breed him to this filly centaur, what's-her-name--"

"Chem, old trot," Grundy filled in.

"Shut up, you imbecile!" Chem snapped, swis.h.i.+ng her tail fiercely.

"This filly Chem," the witch finished. "She's young, but centaurs are smart animals; she'll produce a fine foal. Maybe it will have the brains of a human and the wings of a gryph. Wouldn't you like that?"

The hippogryph, no dummy, backed away nervously and half spread his splendid wings. He didn't want to be bred to a centaur!