it up with his free hand and poked at the vine with it, puncturing it.
Thick orange sap welled out. The whole tree shivered. There was a high keening of pain. Reluctantly the vine loosened, and he drew his arm free. Another close call.
He ran on down the beach, searching for whatever would help him. Maybe a sharp-edged stone, to cut off a vine-no, the other vines would get him. Give up that idea. Maybe a long pole? No, similar problem. This peaceful-seeming beach was a morass of danger, really coming alive; anything and everything was suspect.
Then he saw a human body: Trent, sitting cross-legged on the sand, looking at something. It seemed to be a colorful gourd; maybe he was eating it.
Bink paused. Trent could help him; the Magician could change the fatigue tree into a salamander and kill it, or at least render it harmless. But Trent himself was a greater long-term threat than the tree. Which should he choose?
Well, he would try to negotiate. The known evil of the tree might not be as bad as the uncertain evil of the Magician, but it was more immediate.
'Trent,' he said hesitantly.
The man paid him no attention. He continued to stare at his gourd. He did not actually seem to be eating it. What, then, was its fascination?
Bink hesitated to provoke the man, but he did not know how long he could afford to wait. Fanchon was slowly dying; at what point would she be too far gone to be revived, even if rescued from the tree? Some risk had to be taken.
'Magician Trent,' he said, more firmly. 'I think we should extend the truce. Fanchon is caught, and-' He stopped, for the man was still ignoring him.
Bink's fear of the Magician began to change, much as had his attitude toward Fanchon when he thought she was malingering. It was as if the charge of emotion had to be spent one way or another, whatever the cost. 'Listen, she's in trouble!' he snapped. 'Are you going to help or aren't you?'
Still Trent paid no attention.
Bink, still weary from the rigors of the night and unnerved by his recent experiences, suffered a lapse of sanity. 'Damn it, answer me!' he cried, knocking the gourd from the Magician's hands. The thing flew six feet, landing in the sand and rolling.
Trent looked up. There was no sign of anger in his countenance, just mild surprise. 'Hello, Bink,' he said. 'What is your concern?'
'My concern!' Bink cried. 'I told you three times.'
Trent looked at him, puzzled. 'I did not hear you.' The Magician paused thoughtfully. 'In fact, I did not see you arrive. I must have been sleeping, though I had not intended to.'
'You were sitting here looking at the gourd,' Bink said hotly.
'Now I remember. I saw it lying on the beach, and it looked intriguing-' He broke off, glancing at shadow. 'By the sun, that was an hour ago! Where did the time go?'
Bink realized that something was amiss. He went to pick up the gourd.
'Hold!' Trent barked. 'That's hypnotic?'
Bink stopped in place. 'What?'
'Hypnotic. That's a Mundane term, meaning it puts you into a trance, a walking sleep. It usually takes some time to do-but of course a magic-spell hypnosis could be instant. Don't look too closely at the gourd. Its pretty colors must be intended to attract the eye; then it has-yes, I remember now-a peephole. A single glance into its fascinating innards becomes eternal. Very nice device.'
'But what's the point?' Bink asked, averting his gaze. 'I mean, a gourd can't eat a man-'
'But the gourd vine might,' Trent pointed out. 'Or it may be that a quiescent living body might be excellent food for its seeds to grow on. There are wasps in Mundania that sting other creatures, stunning them, and lay their eggs in the bodies. We can be sure it makes some sort of sense.'
Still Bink was bemused. 'How is it that you, a Magician??'
'Magicians are human too, Bink. We eat, sleep, love, hate, and err. I am as vulnerable to magic as you are; I merely have a more potent weapon with which to protect myself. If I wanted to be entirely secure, I would lock myself within a stone castle, like my friend Humfrey. My chances of survival in this wilderness would be greatly enhanced by the presence of one or two alert, loyal companions. This is why I proposed the extension of our truce-and I still feel it is a good idea. It is apparent that I need help, even if you don't.' He looked at Bink. 'Why did you help me, just now?'
'I-' Bink was ashamed to admit the accidental nature of that assistance. 'I think we should-extend the truce.'
'Excellent. Does Fanchon agree?'
'She needs help now. A-she is in thrall to a lethargy tree.'
'Oho! Then I shall repay your favor by rescuing the damsel. Then we shall talk of truce.' And Trent jumped up.
On the way up the beach, Bink pointed out the vine tree, and Trent whipped out his sword and neatly lopped off a length of vine. Again Bink was reminded of the skill this man had with his physical weapon; if Trent's magic were taken away entirely, he would still be dangerous. In fact, he had risen to the generalship of an army, in Mundania.
The vine twisted into shuddering convolutions like a dying serpent, oozing orange sap from the end, but it was now harmless. The tree keened again, cowed. Bink almost felt sorry for it.
They took this vine to Fanchon, looped it about her foot, and hauled her unceremoniously away
