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"The answer, mortal," the creature leaned forward, his yellow eyes glowing with unholy light. "I will have the answer or I will have thy soul."

"Give me a minute," Wiz muttered. "Just give me a minute, okay?"

"You do not have a minute, mortal, not even a second." The thing stretched its arms toward Wiz, its fingers spreading like talons. "Answer or you are mine, mortal. Now and forever!"

Panic crushed Wiz’s chest. His mouth tasted like metal and his lips were dry. The thing’s hypnotic eyes rooted him to the spot as firmly as one of the rushes. He could not run, he could not cry out. He could only tremble as the creature moved closer and closer in its mincing gait, hooves tapping on the rock.

"Leave him!" Moira’s voice rang out. "You cannot have him."

The pressure released and with a great gasping sob Wiz fell to the ground. He twisted his head and saw the hedge witch standing behind him.

"But he agreed," the creature howled, dancing up and down on the rock. "Of his own free will he agreed to the bargain!"

"The bargain is invalid. He is under an infatuation spell and has no free will on this."

Wiz simply gaped.

"He made a bargain. A bargain!"

"Trickster and cheat! There could be no bargain and well you know it. Now be off with you! Seek other prey."

Moira threw her arms wide and her cloak billowed behind her like wings in the moonlight. With an awful shriek the creature whirled and dove into the pond. The frogs cut off in mid-croak and waters parted soundlessly to receive him.

"Mortals, mortals, cursed mortals," the thing’s words came faintly and wetly from the pool. "Doomed and dying mortals. One day soon the World will see no more of you. You will vanish like the dew on the grass. Doomed and dying mortals."

Wiz heard the words but he didn’t look. He huddled in his cloak and dug his fingers into the sod as if he expected to be dragged into the pool at any second.

"Oh, get up," Moira said angrily. It’s gone and you’re safe enough for now.

"What in the World ever made you agree to play the riddle game with the likes of that?" she asked as Wiz picked himself up. "Don’t you know you could never win?"

"He promised me my heart’s desire," Wiz said numbly. "He said he could give it to me by magic."

"By magic!" Moira mocked. "You blithering, blundering fool, don’t you know by now to stay away from magic? It’s bad enough I have to leave people who need me to come on this idiot’s errand, but I have to babysit you every second."

"I’m sorry," Wiz said.

"Sorry wouldn’t have saved you if I had been a moment later. You blind fool!"

"Well, you said this place was safe," Wiz said sullenly.

"No, you ninny! I said the wards would keep out most of what was outside. They do nothing against things which already are within the grounds." She stopped, drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.

"Listen to me. There is no place in the Wild Wood that is safe. Do you understand me? No place! You cannot let down your guard for even an instant and if you see or hear anything that even vaguely hints of magic, run from it! Don’t investigate, don’t stay around it, just get away and let me know."

"I’ll try," Wiz said.

"You’ll do more than try if you want to live to reach our destination. Now come with me." She turned on her heel and stalked away with Wiz following.

Moira fumed all the way back to camp. She was furious with Wiz, and, she reluctantly admitted, furious with herself for letting him storm off. Her orders from Simba were to get him to a place of refuge and she had nearly failed because she let her dislike for him overmaster her judgment.

He has spirit, she admitted grudgingly, even with that whipped-puppy air of his. Spell or no, he really would have gone off on his own. Moira couldn’t allow that. I must be more civil to him. The thought did absolutely nothing for her mood.

They ate dinner in uncomfortable silence. The food did little to lighten the atmosphere. The cakes were overbaked and the meat was almost raw on one side for lack of turning. The meal was over and they were settling down for the night before Wiz could summon up the courage to ask the question which had been gnawing at him ever since he recovered his wits.

"Moira, what did you mean when you said I was under a spell?" Wiz finally asked.

The hedge witch looked annoyed and uncomfortable. "Patrius placed you under an infatuation spell."

"Infatuation spell?" Wiz asked blankly.

"The spell that makes you love me," she said sharply.

"But I don’t need a spell to love you," Wiz protested. "I just do."

"How do you think an infatuation spell works?" Moira snapped.

"But…"

"Oh, leave me alone and go to sleep!" She drew her cloak about her and rolled away from him.

Four

Beyond the Fringe

Wiz woke from a dream of home to rain on his face.

Judging from the sodden state of the campfire, it had been raining for some time, but the water had only now filtered through the leaves of the tree they had slept under.

He spluttered, rolled over and wiped the water out of his eyes.

"Awake at last," Moira said. She was already up and had her pack on her back with her cloak on over everything. "Come on. We need to get going."

"I don’t suppose there is any sense in suggesting we hole up someplace warm and dry?"

Moira cocked an eyebrow. "In the Wild Wood? Besides, we have a distance to travel."

Wiz pulled his cloak free of his pack. "How long is this likely to last?"

Moira studied the sky. "Not more than one day," she pronounced. "Summer storms are seldom longer than that."

"Great," Wiz grumbled.

"It will be uncomfortable," she agreed, "but it is a blessing too. The rain will deaden our trail to those things which track by scent." She looked up at the leaden, lowering sky.

"Also, dragons do not like flying through rain."

"Thank heaven for small favors."

Their breakfast was a handful of dried fruit, devoured as they walked. They picked their way through a gap in the ruined wall and struck off into the forest.

It rained all day. Sometimes it was just a fine soft mist wafting from the lowering gray skies. Sometimes it pelted down in huge face-stinging drops. When it was at its worst they sought shelter under a tree or overhanging rock. Mostly it just rained and they just walked.

At first it wasn’t too bad. The rain was depressing but their wool cloaks kept out the water and the footing was. However as the downpour continued, water seeped through the tightly woven cloaks and gradually soaked them to the skin. The ground squished beneath their feet. The carpet of wet leaves turned as slippery and treacherous as ice. Where there were no leaves there was mud, or wet grass nearly as slippery as the leaves.

At every low spot they splashed through puddles or forded little streamlets. Wiz’s running shoes became soaked and squelched at every step. Moira’s boots weren’t much better.

Wiz lost all sense of time and direction. His entire world narrowed down to Moira’s feet in front of him, the rasp of his breath and the chill trickle down his back. He plodded doggedly along, locked in his own little sphere of misery. Unbalanced by the weight of his pack, he slipped and fell repeatedly on the uneven ground.

Moira wasn’t immune. She was also thoroughly soaked and she slipped and slid almost as much as he did. By the time they stopped for a mid-afternoon rest they were drenched and muddy from falling.

Unmindful of the soggy ground, they threw themselves down under a huge pine tree and sprawled back against the dripping trunk. For once Moira seemed as out of breath as Wiz.