"Oh-a mock basilisk," Bink said, disappointed.
"I have a good remedy for tanglers somewhere," Humfrey insisted, still sifting through his vials. Whenever a tentacle encroached too closely he stunned it with a magic gesture. Bink had not known such gestures existed-but of course he was not a Magician of Information. "They're all mixed up-"
The tentacles shoved Bink into the mouth. The odor of carrion became strong. Helpless, he stared into his doom.
"Squawk!" sounded from beyond the tree. "Charge!"
Crombie had returned! But what could he do, alone?
Now there was a sound as of the rush of many feet The tangle tree shuddered. The odor of smoke and scorching vegetation drifted in. Bink saw, from the corner of his eye, orange light flaring up, as if a forest fire raged.
Torches! Crombie had marshaled the females of the magic-dust village, and they were attacking the tree with blazing brands, singeing the tentacles. What a brave effort!
Now the tangler had to defend itself from attack by a superior force. It dropped Bink, freeing its tentacles for other action. Bink saw a pretty nymph get grabbed, and heard her scream as she was hauled into the air, her torch dropping.
"Squawk! Squawk!" Crombie directed, and other females rushed to the captive's rescue, forming a screen of fire. More tentacles got scorched, and the nymph dropped.
Bink recovered his sword and resumed hacking, from inside the curtain of tentacles. Now that the tree was concentrating on the outside menace, it was vulnerable to the inside one. With every stroke Bink lopped off another green branch, gradually denuding the tree of its deadly limbs.
"Squawk!" Crombie cried. "Get outside!" the golem translated.
That made sense. If the tree should refocus on the interior, Bink, Chester, and Humfrey would be in trouble again. Better to get out while they could!
In a moment they stood beside the griffin. "Squawk!" Crombie exclaimed. "Let's finish off this monster!" Grundy cried for him.
The ladies went to it with a will. There were about fifty of them, ringing the tree, pushing in with their fires, scorching back every tentacle that attacked. They could have conquered the tree anytime, instead of letting it balk them all these years-had they had the masculine drive and command. Ironic that Crombie the woman-hater should be the organizing catalyst!
Yet perhaps this was fitting. Crombie's paranoia about the motives of women had caused him to resist the siren, finally breaking her spell. Now he was using these females in the manner a soldier understood: as fodder for a battle. They might not have responded as well to a "nicer" man. Maybe they needed one who held them in contempt, who was willing to brutalize them for his purpose.
The tree was shriveling, half its awful limbs amputated or paralyzed. It would take time to kill it, but the victory now seemed certain. Thanks to Crombie, and the brave, self-sacrificing villagers.
"You know, I could get to respect women like these," Crombie murmured as he paused from his exertions to watch the wrap-up proceed. Actually it was squawk-and-translation, but Bink was so used to it now that it made little difference. "They obey orders well, and fight damn near as well as a man, allowing for-" He paused in mid-squawk, listening.
Then Bink heard the siren's call again, no longer drowned out by the battle. Oh, no! He tried to resist it-and could not. The siren had recovered her thrall.
Bink started walking toward that sound. His companions joined him, silently. The villagers, intent on their successful campaign, did not see them depart
Chapter 7
Deadly Distaffs
The sound of the battle faded behind. The males, Crombie included, moved on down the path, lured by the siren's song. The unearthly quality was stronger now, thrilling Bink's inner fiber. He knew the siren meant death, more certainly than the tangle tree-but what a satisfying death it would be!
It was a good path; nothing interfered with their progress. Soon they arrived at the shore of a small lake. In that lake were two tiny islands, like the tips of mountains mostly hidden beneath the surface. The path led over the water to one of these islands. This was the source of the music of the siren.
They started on the path. Bink thought Crombie might balk again, and in his heart hoped he would while fearing that that hope would be fulfilled, but the griffin did not. Apparently his resistance to females had been compromised by the spirit and sacrifice of the village women, and he could no longer master sufficient suspicion. Indeed, he was the first on the water-path, the water depressing slightly under his claws but supporting his weight. The Magician was second, Bink third, and-
There was an angry bleat from the side, A small creature came charging along the small beach. It was four-legged and woolly, like a sheep, with broad curly horns that circled entirely around its head. Evidently the path crossed this creature's territory, and the animal was taking action.
Chester, in the thing's path, paused. "A battering ram," he remarked, recognizing the species. "Not subject to the siren's call because it is a mere animal. No use to reason with it."
A battering ram! Bink paused, his curiosity momentarily overriding the lure of the siren. He had heard of such creatures, and of their relatives the hydraulic rams, but never encountered one before. As he understood it, they existed only to batter, and they loved it. If there were a door to be broken down, or a castle to be breached, such a ram was invaluable. At other times, they were a nuisance, because they never stopped beating their heads against obstacles.
Chester was far larger than the ram-but it had cut him off from the siren's path. Chester dodged it once, nimbly, but the ram screeched to a halt-a neat trick in sand, even with magic-and whirled to recharge. Chester would have been battered in the rear, had he tried to ignore it-and his rear was his proudest feature, despite the recent staining from the tangler's sap-much handsomer than his face. So he whirled to face the ram, and dodged its charge again.
But there was no end to this. The ram would happily go on forever, screeching up more mounds of sand with each miss, but Chester had a siren call to answer. The ram had to be stopped, somehow.
Bink wondered: his talent could have had a part in saving him from the tangler, as it had used the motives and magic of others freely. Was the ram another device to stop him from reaching the siren? In that case, he should be rooting for the ram, not Chester.
Chester, no dummy, maneuvered between charges until he was directly in front of a large tree. He never took his eye of! the ram, lest it catch him by surprise. Next charge would fire the ram right into the trunk that Chester had oriented on peripherally, with luck knocking the animal silly. Or at least starting the process, because it took a lot of knocking to knock a battering ram silly. These creatures were pretty silly to begin with.
Then Bink recognized the variety of tree. "Not that one, Chester!" he cried. "That's a-"
Too late. Why was he always too late? It was getting quite annoying! The ram charged, Chester danced aside, there was a flutelike trill of music, and the ram plowed headfirst into the tree. Such was the force of impact, all out of proportion to the animal's size, that the entire tree vibrated violently.
"pineapple tree," Bink finished belatedly.