“Aye, a minstrel in a world in which magic works by verse and is strengthened by music! Did you think the bards of old Gaul were accounted men of power only for the pleasure their voices gave their tribesmen?”
This was certainly one well-educated monster. “Where did you learn so much history?”
“Learn it? I witnessed it, mortal! Do you think me a mere kitten of a hundred years’ growth?“
Matt felt a chill; he had always tended to react to age with too much respect. “What keeps you going?”
“Only that no sorcerer has commanded my death!”
“Staying alive because you believe you can, huh?”
“Nay-because all of your kind believe I can, and no magician has made it otherwise!”
“Then how come you’re antagonizing me, if you think I’m a magician?”
The grin loosened into silent laughing. “Why, do you think I would fear a sapling’s magic, when the power of century-old oaks sustains me?”
“No, I guess you wouldn’t,” Matt sighed, “and that means it’s useless for me to try to get around you. Guess I’d better give up.” He turned away. “Do not think to cozen me, mortal!” the manticore called after him. “I know you plan to lie low, then cross the border when you think I have forgotten! Be sure you cannot find a crossing point that I cannot! Be sure I shall not forget!”
Matt took a deep breath, counted to ten, then turned back slowly. “Look, Manny-I might have some magical power just by virtue of being a minstrel, but do you really think I’d be dumb enough to take on a manticore?”
“Frankly,” the monster told him, “yes.”
Not only educated, Matt decided, but also perceptive. “Okay, then-just tell yourself I’m going back to get some stronger spells.” And he paced away, toying with the idea of conjuring up a battery-powered amplifier and an electric lute. He didn’t, of course-he already had enough high-powered verses. However, he did put a ridge between himself and the border and hiked a few miles farther east, until he came to a river. It wasn’t much, as rivers went-maybe twenty feet wide, not much more than a stream-but it was going in the right direction: south. So Matt settled down to wait for night, rehearsing a few verses and polishing his magic wand. When dusk had fallen, Matt started out for the border again, following the little river. It cut through the ridge in shadow, and provided the cover of occasional wind-stunted pine trees. Matt followed it down to the border itself-or at least, what he thought was the border: a row of the wind-stunted pines growing across his path, too close to a straight line to be accidental. He thought some long-ago border guard must have planted them, to make his job easier. There were no border guards in sight now, of course. Not in sight… Matt wondered how fast manticores could move. He started muttering as he came up to the row of evergreens, so that he was actually reciting his spell as he went through them.
He felt a sudden tingling all over his skin-nothing major, certainly nothing painful, but enough to let him know he had passed through some sort of magical barrier. He knew he had just crossed the border, and King Boncorro’s Wall of Octroi. Alarm-he felt alarm, and knew he had triggered one; not a bit of doubt that Boncorro knew he was a wizard now, and exactly where he was! But the king must have known that already, as the manticore had demonstrated. Matt kept on reciting-but he felt unseen forces wrap about him as he did. He always had, but this time they were worse, clamping down on him, fighting him: he found himself struggling to set one foot in front of the other as he called out,
A roar seemed to buffet him from all sides, and glowing eyes with multiple glowing teeth beneath came zooming at him out of the gloom. Matt held his ground and started reciting the verse again, waiting for the manticore to collide with his own unseen magical shield… It didn’t It slowed down a little, very suddenly-but it kept coming. Matt stared foolishly, the verse hanging on his lips, seeing the scimitar claws inch forward, the gaping band-saw teeth glitter as they began to speed up again… That did it He turned and ran. The tingling alerted him to his re-crossing of the border, but he didn’t stop to look-he kept running until a splat and a fortissimo yowl told him the manticore had collided with the Wall of Octroi again. Then Matt turned, chest heaving, and risked a look. The manticore was just picking itself up off the ground, glaring at him. “Brave knight indeed, to flee rather than fight!”
“I told you, I’m a minstrel,” Matt panted.
“Oh, aye! A wizard who chants magical verses!”
“So how many knights do you know who do that?” Matt retorted.
“None.” The manticore narrowed its eyes, watching him. “What meat do your thoughts chew, mortal?”
‘Tough and stringy,“ Matt answered. ”If you’re right, and a minstrel reciting verse is going to make magic happen-and it does, I know that from past experience-how come-“
“Your spell only slowed me, but did not stop me?” The manticore’s teeth flashed in the moonlight. “Why, Latruria has been steeped in magic for nearly a century, mortal-but you forget what sort of magic that is!”
“So you’re figuring I use Heaven-based magic, and it doesn’t work so well in a Hell-focused environment?”
“Why else?” the manticore retorted. “Good question,” Matt admitted-but it was better than the manticore knew. His magic had worked well enough in Ibile, and that desolated country had wallowed in the mire of evil magic far longer than Latruria had-at least, going by what little Matt had heard. No, there had to be some other reason. “Cease to gnaw at it,” the manticore advised. “Your magic will brew no foam here, and that is enough to know.”
“For all intents and purposes,” Matt admitted-but he knew it wasn’t enough. The scholar in him may have been stunted, but it was still there, and wanted to discover the answer just for its own sake-but there was a practical side, too. If he could find out why, he might be able to reverse the effect. Suddenly, he was itching to cross the border and try another spell, just to see what happened. But not with the manticore there. “You’re a very repressive presence, you know?”
“Aye.” The steely teeth flashed. “And I shall press you into keeping for supper as well as dinner if you cross again.”
“Oh, yeah?” Matt felt a stroke of inspiration. After all, he hadn’t really used the wand. He stepped forward again, going carefully, and fired a broadside-meaning he pointed his wand to concentrate the magic, and tried singing the spell.
It seemed to be working! The manticore’s eyes narrowed; it yowled in protest; but it backed away step by step as Matt advanced. He set a foot near the border, set the other foot across it… With a yowl of triumph the manticore sprang. Matt gave a yowl of his own and leaped back-but steel teeth clanged, and pain seared his finger. In a panic, he looked down-but all five were there, though his index finger was coated with blood. He waggled it, still feeling the sink of horror-but the nail didn’t fall off. “Aagg! Ptooief”