Taj voiced the thought that was common among his friends. 'What we need here is a pathfinder, just as we had good Wiliam to guide us through the Kingdom of Orange.'
Cezer responded with a snort of derision. 'Wake up, Taj. There are no guides to be had in this place. We'll just have to push through on our own, as best we can.' Missing the claws that would have lent the gesture emphasis, he indicated the tall forest blocking their way with a broad sweep of one hand. 'There's nothing here but trees.'
What they needed, Oskar reflected, thinking hard, was help of a kind only Master Evyndd could provide. That something of the sort might be available had already been shown by Cezer's miraculously elongating sword, and by the ability of his former feline companions to slip into subtle shadow-shifting, shadow-fighting shapes. His attention wandered among them. Who else might possess as yet unsuspected capabilities? Might Taj's singing be capable of projecting magic? Not likely, he decided. Who ever heard of making magic merely with music? Well, what about Samm, then? So far the giant had demonstrated no prowess beyond the physical. If sufficiently provoked or prodded, could he do more?
As for himself, he scarce gave a thought to the possibility that any latent talent might lie dormant within him. Certainly, he felt about as sorceral as the cherished old rug by the back door of the house where he loved to lie in the sun.
Remembering the rug and the sheer luxury of doing nothing for an afternoon but lying on his back, feet in the air, tongue lolling, while the warm sun baked him, he was stirred by an unexpectedly strong bout of nostalgia.
Such times had been reduced to naught but memories, he reminded himself firmly. He was a human now, a man, with important responsibilities. As nominal leader of the group, it fell to him to suggest what to do next. Taj was entirely correct, of course. What they needed was a knowledgeable guide to help them penetrate the unknown and demonstrably hostile depths of the forest. A guide who knew the trees—antagonistic, indifferent, and friendly —as well as the trees knew themselves.
He blinked thoughtfully. Who, after all, knew trees better than dogs, with whom there had existed since time immemorial a special and unique relationship? Advancing toward the young sycamore, he walked past carping cat- folk, past a silently staring Samm and an unusually thoughtful Taj, and halted within arm's length of the tree. It was watching him closely, he saw. He tried to remember how Master Evyndd spoke when he was declaiming spells; how he formed the words and emphasized certain phrases. Placing both hands on the smooth trunk, he stared straight into wood-laced eyes and said firmly, 'By the brotherhood that exists and has always existed between your kind and mine, I command you to walk!'
At best, he had decided, maybe something would happen. At worst, he would become once more the laugh magnet he had always been. Well, he could deal with that.
Absorbing the impact of this unexpected behest, the tree hesitated. Then branches twitched, leaves rustled, and—nothing.
'I'm sorry,' the sycamore murmured. Oak, willow, and maple were watching intently. 'Nothing's happening.'
'Try again,' Oskar urged it. 'All of you, try.'
This time the collective thrashing of leaves and twigs drew the attention of his companions. Wandering over, Cezer placed a comradely hand on the other man's shoulder. His tone was unexpectedly sympathetic.
'It's okay, Oskar. Having come so far only to be stuck here, we're all frustrated, not knowing which way to jump.' His strong fingers slid off the dog-man's arm. 'But the Master is dead, pigs don't fly, and trees don't walk. We'll just have to blunder through somehow on our own.' Turning to rejoin the conversation with Cocoa and Mamakitty, he could not resist a teasing smile. 'Unless, that is, you know some magic words, or are holding on to a pouch of magic powder, or a bottle of magic liquid.'
There was nothing more he could do, Oskar realized. No harm had come from the trying, Taj assured him gently, speaking as one would to the village idiot. As if the songster were some kind of expert in matters mystical. Oskar started to rejoin them, when something Cezer had said struck him with more than a little force.
The bond between dogs and trees could not be denied—though as to the inherent enchanted nature of the fluid involved, he was not qualified to say. If anything lay in favor of trying the thing, it was the fact that such an effort would have met with the approval of their former master. Wherever possible, when preparing his potions, Evyndd had always been in favor of employing natural over artificial ingredients. They were, Oskar had once heard him declare, more potent.
Turning back to the sycamore, he proceeded to unfasten his pants and direct a stream of liquid at the base of the young tree. It was an entirely unforced and natural gesture, one he had performed hundreds of times without thinking. This time it was accompanied by thought, an inescapable raising of his right leg, and a reanimated restatement of the requisite command.
'Walk, dammit!'
Wrenching itself away from the flow, the startled tree leaned backward so forcefully that its fore roots ripped clear of the ground. With a twist, it turned away—only to find itself standing, free of the encumbering earth, for the first time in its young life. Hesitantly, it thrust several roots forward at a speed far greater than normal growth would have ordinarily allowed. The decidedly deciduous trunk followed. More of a slithering than a walking, the awkward action nonetheless advanced the astonished tree across the surface.
'I suffered a shower of starlings once,' it declared, 'but this development is more shocking by far.'
'Keep practicing.' Pants still undone, Oskar moved from sycamore to willow and repeated the anointing procedure, complete with command. By the time he reached the expectant maple, the other three trees were rapidly gaining control of their exotic new capability, thromping about with much waving of branches and bowing of crowns. This was fortunate, since his store of surprisingly potent potion was nearly exhausted. Other nearby transplants who could only watch the newly mobile boles were no less stunned by what they were seeing.
'I've got to hand it to you, Oskar,' Taj declared. 'Metaphorically speaking, of course. I never thought this might be what Master Evyndd had in mind on those many occasions when he spoke of the free flow of enchantment.'
Mamakitty was rubbing the back of her neck and grinning. 'Does this mean a plentiful supply of water means unlimited access to necromancy?'
'Now, now, let's have a care not to vex our good friend.' Taking a moment to shake Oskar's hand, a smiling Cezer was careful of which hand he shook. 'I have to admit I never suspected the depths of your innate abilities, old friend.'
'Then we have our guide,' a delighted Mamakitty observed, 'and not just one, but four! You will guide us?' she inquired of the trees.
'We would be thrilled to do so, making use of this new skill we could previously only observe and envy.' The oak hesitated. 'If only what you require was that easy.' Extending a branch toward the woods, the oak drew it back peppered with thorns. 'Though we can find you a path through the forest, we cannot render the way less hostile.'
The willow brought together several dozen branches in a single graceful wave. 'We are of the same substance as the forest, and might well survive such a dangerous journey. You, however, are mere flesh, easily pierced and punctured. Drawing the full attention of nearby growths, you would not last but a few hours before your limbs were torn from your trunks or your life-sap was forcibly spilled out upon the ground.'
Having accomplished so much, Oskar was not about to be put off by new warnings, however dire. 'So long as we have an actual route, and are not reduced to simply stumbling blindly through the maze that is the forest, we have with us the means for making real progress, no matter what spiteful individual trees or thickets may choose to do.'
'Ahh!' the sycamore sighed. 'More magic!'
'That is a matter of opinion.' Eyeing his companions, Oskar accepted their individual nods or words of readiness to press on before turning deliberately and uttering a single word.
'Axe.'
Samm was more than ready: the giant was eager for the opportunity to finally put his exceptional strength and stamina to a real test. Taking the lead, he lumbered resolutely into the woods. Almost immediately, he was struck by a barrage of thorns. Ignoring the pain, monumental axe held high, he waded purposefully into the bosk of crannochs. With his first swing he cut down not one but three of the gnarled, spiny-armed boles. The cry of anger and distress that rose from the bosk was as unmistakable as it was surprised.
