Stile tried again. There was no pain, no constriction in his throat - but he could not vocalize at all. The plant - it had zapped him with a spell of silence!
The animalheads did not know about his power of magic, so did not know what he had lost. They thought him an ordinary man - which he was now. They converged.
Stile quickly brought the harmonica to his mouth. He might not be able to speak or sing, but the instrument's music would summon some protective magic. He blew - and silence came out.
He stamped his foot on the ground and made no noise. He banged his sword against a root - silently. He whistled - without even a hiss of air.
The spell had rendered him totally quiet. Since he could nullify it only by using his own magic, and that required sound, he was trapped.
These tests had been performed rapidly, and the conclusion drawn in a few seconds, for the animalheads were on him. Still he did not use his sword. He had threatened with it, but remained unwilling actually to shed blood. The mystery of these creatures' attack bothered him as much as the threat to himself.
A cathead pounced. Stile ducked, reached up, and guided it into a turning fall. He might be silent, but he wasn't helpless!
But now a tremendously tusked boarhead came at him from the left and an alligatorhead from the right. There was no question of their intent. He could dodge these two - but how long could he hold out against the converging mob?
Meanwhile, Clip had resumed motion. Now the unicorn arrived. His horn caught the alligatorhead and impaled it.
A powerful heave sent the creature flying back over the equine's shoulder. Then a forehoof knocked the boarhead away.
Clip stood beside Stile, giving him a chance to mount. Then they were away in a great leap. Soon they joined Hinblue and the Lady Blue and galloped clear of the animalheads once again.
The Lady Blue realized what was wrong. 'Thou art victim of a silence-spell!' she cried. 'We must take thee back to the Blue Demesnes for a counterspell!'
But the animalheads were already catching up again, cutting off the return - and of course it would be a long ride all the way back to the Blue Demesnes, even cutting directly across to it. Their only avenue of escape at the moment was north, deeper into the jungle.
The steeds plunged on, but the vegetation thickened. Now grasping plants occurred, reaching thorny branches toward them, opening green jawlike processes. This jungle was coming alive - at the time when Stile had lost his power. A single spell could quell every plant - but he could not utter that spell.
The Lady Blue exclaimed as vines twined about her body. Her steed had to halt, lest she be drawn off. Then the vines attacked Hinblue's legs, seeking to anchor the horse to the ground.
Stile nudged Clip. Hie unicorn charged back. His horn touched the vines, and they writhed out of the way, repelled by the countermagic. Meanwhile, Stile used his sword to chop at the nether vines, freeing the horse. The weapon normally carried by men in Phaze was the rapier, but Stile felt more comfortable with the broadsword, and now the cutting edge was useful indeed.
There was a renewed baying of animalheads, catching np yet again. Stile's party moved forward once more.
The plants got worse. Tree branches dropped down to bar their way, dangling poisonous-looking moss. Stile cut the moss away with his sword, clearing the path for the Lady and steeds. Ichor from the moss soon covered the blade, turning it gray-green. The stuff reeked with a pungent odor, almost like dragon's blood. Stile did not like this at all. Yet he had to keep hacking the encroaching growth away, afraid to let any of the party get caught.
At last the sounds of pursuit diminished. The animal-heads had been foiled by this vicious jungle too.
But the trees, bushes, and brambles had closed in behind, forming a virtually impenetrable barrier. Stile's sword was already stained and pitted trader the ichor, and holes were appearing in his clothing where drops had spattered. He didn't want to hack through any more of this!
Clip blew a musical note. Stile dismounted, and the unicorn phased into the hawk and flew up. The sky was the one open route!
The Lady Blue also dismounted and came to him. 'Mayhap I can help thee,' she offered. She laid her hands on his throat, and their healing power warmed skin and muscle deep inside. But the silence was not any constriction in his throat, but a cloud of nonsound that surrounded him. He could not be healed because he wasn't ill; the spell itself had to be abated, somehow.
'Mayhap a potion?' the Lady mused, fishing in her purse. But none of the elixirs she had with her seemed promising, and she did not want to expend them uselessly. 'Clip may find something,' she said hopefully. 'From the air, more can be seen.'
The jungle was not being idle, however. Plants were visibly growing toward them. This time they were ugly, jointed things, with great brown thorns hooked at each juncture. These things were structured to engage a retreating form, and not to disengage, and they looked as if they had hollow points. Bloodsuckers, surely. Stile brought out his knife and sawed оff the nearest thorn stem, severing it with difficulty; the fiber was like cable. By the time he completed the cut, several other tendrils were approaching his boots. He had to draw his sword again, hacking the fibers apart by brute force, clearing a circle around the Lady and horse. He had almost forgotten how formidable nature could be for those who lacked the convenience of magic. It was a reminder in perspective - not that that helped much at the moment.
The hawk returned, changing into man-form. 'There is a domicile ahead, and the land is clear around it,' Clip reported. 'An old man lives there, a hermit by his look; mayhap he will guide us out, can we but reach him. Or we can follow the curtain; it passes through that clearing. I have scouted the most direct approach to the curtain. I can not cross it, but if thou and the Lady and Hinblue can - the clearing is but a quarter mile from there.'
Stile squeezed Clip's arm in thanks. The unicorn had really come through for them! They could hack their way to the curtain, cross to Proton, hurry forward, and recross to recover breath. It would not be fun, but it should be feasible.
They chopped through the undergrowth with renewed will. This time the plants were rigidly fan-shaped leaves on tough stems, the edges of the leaves as sharp as knives. They did not move to intercept people, but they were extraordinarily difficult to clear from the path because the stems were almost inaccessible behind the leaves. When Stile reached under to sever one stem, the leaves of another plant were in his way; if he sliced through anyway, he risked brushing the knife-edges along his wrist or forearm. Without magic to heal cuts, he found this nervous business, though he knew the Lady could help heal him. Progress was slow, and his sword arm grew tired.
Clip stepped in, using the tip of his horn to reach past the leaves to break the stems. This enabled them to go faster, and soon they intersected the curtain.
Stile could not even perform the simple curtain-crossing spell. The Lady did it for him and Hinblue - and suddenly the three of them were in Proton, on a barren plain, gasping for air. Clip changed to hawk-form and flew directly to their rendezvous in the clearing.
They were able to walk on the bare sands, but breathing was labored, and Hinblue, as the Lady had feared, did not understand at all. The horse's nostrils flared, and she was skittish, squandering energy better saved for forward progress. Hinblue was a very fine mare, who could have been a prizewinner in Proton, but she had had no experience with this. The Lady led her, though the Lady herself was gasping.
Stile heard, his own labored breathing - and realized what it meant. 'I'm not silent any more - no magic in this frame!' he exclaimed.
'But when thou returnest-' the Lady responded.
When he crossed again, the spell would still be on him. He could not escape it this way, except by traveling in this frame back to the region of the Blue Demesnes, where he could cross to get the Lady's reserve spells. But no Proton dome was near, even if he wanted to risk entering one, the trip wasn't feasible.
The horse was in increasing trouble. 'My Lord, I must take her back,' the Lady gasped. 'She does not understand.'
Stile had handled a horse in these barrens before. He recognized the symptoms of the growing panic. 'Take her across; maybe we're far enough.'
They willed themselves across at what seemed to be a clearing. It was - but also turned out to be no safe
