Fairy Godmother

flash of light.

There were three beasts on the path now, not two. A great bewildered warhorse, the packhorse tied to its saddle, and —

— and a donkey, standing petrified, all four hooves splayed, still trying to wheeze out a terrified bray.

'Hah,' she said, looking at him with satisfaction. 'I need a donkey. You'll do.'

He was clearly in a great deal of shock, too much so to move — though likely if he had tried, he'd have fallen to the ground, for he was not used to moving on four feet instead of two. She had plenty of time to rummage through his packs, find the rope she was sure was in there, and fashion a crude nose-pinch halter and choke-rope, and get it on him before he even began to react to his much-changed situation.

And by the time he did, she had him right where she wanted him. If he tried to rear, she could choke him at the neck. If he tried to bite, she could pinch off his nose and choke his breathing from that end.

He tried both, not once, but several times, until she finally picked up her staff and pointed it at him again.

He froze.

'You will behave,' she told him, 'Or I'll take your horse instead of you, and turn you into a frog.'

At that, his ears flattened against his head, but it was clear he didn't doubt either her ability or her willingness to do so. Instead he allowed her to lead him, stumbling, into the cover of some bushes and tether him there, the horses beside him. She wasn't going to take any chances, though; she used more of the rope for hobbles, and tethered all four feet.

She waited until she was back on the road before she took a deep breath, paused, and steadied herself. She was still angry with him, and that was no mood to be in to Test the last of the Princes. She counted to ten twice, took another deep breath, and let the anger run out of her. When she was sure she was steady again, she shook herself all over, and took her staff in hand.

Besides, this would be the easy one.

'Right,' she said aloud, to the empty air, and touched the staff to the knot of the tanglefoot spell. 'Julian.'

And for the third time, the spark of light sped away.

Chapter 11

Alexander suspected that the appearance of the old woman was some sort of trick; how had she gotten out here, anyway? She didn't look as if she could travel six feet, much less limp her way into the middle of the wood! She might be the bait for a trap, or something in disguise, and if he stopped for her, the trap would be sprung. All he could think of was that if he charged her, she'd get out of his way, and whatever magic the Sorcerer had been hexing him with might be broken. Then she'd shouted 'You!' and he'd been stupid enough to stop and turn to look back at her. Then he knew, the moment that he saw the old hag pointing a stick at him, that he had been right. Someone had been working magic against him — but it had been her, not some Sorcerer working for King Stancia! But he didn't even have a chance to duck, much less do anything about her, before she shouted out something else. Something about being as arrogant and rude as an ass — And in the next moment, he was engulfed in more pain than he had ever felt in his entire life put together. It felt as if his bones were melting and his insides turning to water; he tried to cry out, but his very voice changed, and he felt himself falling off his horse and hitting the ground on all fours, and —

Well, he really didn't know what it felt like then, for there were no words to describe how it seemed as if he was made of warm wax, and a pair of giant hands was remolding him. Remolding even his head. His eyes felt as if they were going to pop out of their sockets, his mouth like something had hold of his teeth and lips and was stretching his face, and his ears — well, they burned and hurt past all reason. Then as if that wasn't enough, he began to itch.

Finally, as quickly as it had come upon him, the pain left him. But it left him dazed and very confused, because now, although he could see exceedingly well to either side, and somehow actually see behind his head, he couldn't see much of anything that was straight ahead of him. And when he tried to stand up — he couldn't.

And when he looked down at his feet, he saw four hooves.

Four hooves?

The old hag! What she'd said! 'You are as stubborn as an ass! So BE one!'

He blinked. He stared. The sight did not change. Four hooves — and if he craned his head around, he saw a round, barrel-shaped body covered with grey hair, and a tufted tail.

If his legs hadn't been locked at the knees, he'd have fallen to the ground. If his throat hadn't been choked with despair, he'd have howled.

She'd done more than confuse his path. She'd turned him into an animal.

He scarcely noticed that the old hag had come up to him, until it was too late, and she had some sort of fiendish torture device made of his own rope around his neck and nose. Too late, he tried to fight her, and finally, when after the third time she choked off his breathing until he began to black out, he gave up.

He allowed her to drag him into the shelter of some bushes, and watched with even greater despair as she hobbled him so he couldn't move. Then she went back to the crossroads.

So this is what happened to Octavian? he thought, dully. He could not imagine why; what enemy had managed to set a Witch on his family? Had the business with Stancia and the Glass Mountain all been a ruse to lure them into this cursed forest and her clutches? I wonder what she turned Octavian into....

Oh, bloody hell! What if she'd turned him into a bug, or a frog! What if he'd