Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [64]
“A brainy fish,” she whispered, “would not swim back here to get recaptured time and time again. You lot lose the cunning and crafty ribbon of honor.”
A half hour later, a massive tangle of roots bridged the river. Fenworth stood, tapped his walking stick on the ground, and said, “Let’s go.”
He marched forward, leading a parade of two kimens and two tumanhofers across the root bridge.
On the other side, Librettowit took hold of Fenworth’s sleeve, stopping him from continuing down the bank of the other river branch.
“Haven’t you forgotten something, Wizard Fenworth?”
The old man tilted his head, scratched his beard, dislodging a clutch of ladybugs, leaned on his staff, and finally answered, “No, I don’t believe I have.”
He would have started downriver, but the librarian still held on to his sleeve. When Fenworth gave him an impatient stare, Librettowit cleared his throat and nodded toward the root bridge.
“Oh,” said Fenworth. His eyebrows arched, his eyes widened, and he muttered, “Tut, tut. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a thing growing across a river.”
He took a long, studying look downstream and then paid just as much attention to the water flowing above the fork. His gaze fell back on the root structure he had provided.
“Well, someone must do something about that. The water is already backing up. This”—he waved his hand toward the bridge—“would soon make this second little river”—he waved his hand the other direction—“the main water route and reduce the first to a mere trickle. Tut, tut. Oh dear, oh dear. What do you suggest we do, Wit? Some kind of explosive? A fireball? I do love fireballs when they work properly. How about a small tornado or a herd of beavers? No, beavers wouldn’t do. Confound it, man. You’re the librarian. Can’t you remember something you’ve read in a book that would do here?”
Librettowit raised his eyebrows and said nothing.
“What eats tender roots?” asked Fenworth. He put his hand on his chin and pondered the question.
Bealomondore stomped over to the bridge and kicked it. Nothing moved. He put his hands on his hips. “We can’t stay here all day. Tipper is alone.”
“Rayn is with her,” said Maxon.
“And Taeda Bel has probably caught up with her as well,” said Hollee.
Fenworth seemed not to hear them. “Who would profit from the unexpected boon of a root bridge?”
He continued to ponder.
“Aha!” Wizard Fenworth strode forward, tapped his staff on the roots closest to him, and pointed to the other side.
The roots retreated, pulling back into the tree, disassembling the bridge much faster than they had formed it.
Fenworth crossed his arms over his chest and observed the process with pleasure. “The backward spell. Plain and simple. Nothing to it.”
He turned on his heel and hiked along the faint trail beside the smaller river. “Very good, very good. Let’s get moving now. Princess Tipper is getting impatient with us, I’m sure.”
25
Confrontation
The Grawl sat a little higher on the bank of the river than before. He’d moved away from the emerlindian girl. Her smell unsettled him. He found the sweetness of her base odor unpleasant, and the thin overlay of acrid fear irritated him further. Ironic, since his main purpose in staying was to watch her squirm.
He’d left Kulson and his crew to do this work on the River Hannit. Groddenmitersay had given him another assignment, one that suited his solitary nature. Fourteen days ago, he’d helped a unit headed by Bosk overtake the boat stop. Since then, he’d removed freighters from their vessels on the river, dispatching the men and allowing their boats to float away.
He chortled when he thought of the consternation developing as more and more barges arrived at the town of Flat Morgan with no