9. In Which the Plains Give Us a Stormy Welcome

It was delightful to see the looks of stunned surprise on their faces as we landed gracefully in their midst on a huge white flesh-eating flying monster. To tell the truth, I didn't blame them. They were all there--all except Fiddlesticks—and they were all staring at the roc. Shiara was the first to break the silence.

"And what exactly is that?"

"A roc," answered Olemer immediately. "We tamed it."

"Only temporarily, and what's this about 'we'? I don't seem to recall you being particularly helpful." Brandel directed a contemptuous glance at Olemer, which went unnoticed by the prince, who was busy staring dreamily at the Butterfly.

"Brandel!" said Morwen, the surprise in her voice evident. "I didn't know you still lived in the Forest."

"I found a comfortable place on the west side, undisturbed by princes and heroes."

"I see you kept Aunt Ophelia out of mischief, but where's Fiddlesticks?"

Brandel looked at me and I answered, "He managed to slip off and we couldn't find a trace of him."

Morwen nodded quickly. "Not surprising. He should find his way to the house all right."

"Yes, well, no more chatting; we should decide whether to push on or stay here for the night," Kazul broke in, her long tail swishing impatiently, "We've wasted enough time already."

"Sorry about that," said Daystar apologetically. Interrupting Tyra's protests that he did wonderfully Kazul told him, "It wasn't your fault, boy; we pushed you to try even though you warned us against it." This seemed to lift Daystar's spirits a bit and he gave the dragon a grateful look before turning to the rest of us.

"I say we stay here; the Forest will offer us some protection."

"From the things outside the Forest, sure, but what about the things in it? There are plenty of creatures willing to eat the reckless traveler," I pointed out. I know it sounded a bit cowardly, but a cat's got to watch out for herself.

"Not while I'm around," was Daystar's short reply, and the flash of dragon's teeth in the gathering gloom reminded me that not many creatures willingly take on a dragon.

Having agreed to stay in the clearing for the night we set up camp. We passed an uneventful few hours, someone always awake to keep watch and feed the fire. Morning broke blindingly on the second day of our journey.

It took us fifteen minutes to walk through the last belt of woods before the border. As usual I rode Kazul, and Tyra fluttered aggravatingly around Daystar's head. The roc soared above the trees as Brandel ordered him to.

Then we saw the break in the trees. The edge of the Forest! Before us were spread the grasslands of the North. It looked much larger from the ground than it did from the sky, and it was then that I realized just how long this quest could take.

"Let's keep moving instead of gawking openmouthed like a school of fish," suggested Shiara, apparently impressed as much as I at the task ahead.

So we made the plunge across the border. Daystar shuddered; I had felt it too—the sudden change in the air around us, the emptiness, the absence of magic. It was quite a shock to me since I'd lived in the Forest my whole life. Sure, I'd been to the Mountains of Morning from time to time, but there's dragon magic there. It's not as potent as the Enchanted Forest, but still quite a contrast to this vacuum.

"I had forgotten what it's like without magic," Daystar said quietly. "I haven't been even to the Mountains of Morning in a year."

Olemer didn't pause but continued walking, not having noticed our hesitation. Daystar took a deep breath and started after the other prince with the rest of us close behind. I knew the change in the atmosphere must have been the strongest for him; even though he had only lived in the Forest a couple years, he was a member of the Royal Family and therefore closely connected to its magic.

We were to proceed north across the vast plains until we found the Paradise Puddle, a small body of water that Janar (the hero who hid the Stick in the first place, in case you've forgotten) supposedly drank from, at which point we'd turn west.

So the Quest for the Royal Stick continued north under the brightest of blue skies. Not a cloud was in sight, barring the ever-present mist to the west. The tall grass waved its golden stems in the fresh, light breeze and grasshoppers whirred across our path. It was an altogether perfect day, not that it remained so.

It's a very unfortunate feature of quests that something is bound to go wrong. It's as if everything that can possibly get in your way will as soon as it finds out you've got a task to accomplish.

And so, despite the flawless weather, promptly at ten o'clock the clouds arrived. I'm not quite sure how, only that the sky was blue one moment with a couple distant clouds in the west that could cause trouble in an hour or two. Five minutes later the great black things were on us, bringing with them gifts of lightning, rain, and winds capable of blowing a dragon off course.

As you should know, lightning and flat plains are a bad combination, especially when you happen to be the tallest thing on them. I myself was not, but my companions were, and I did not look forward to seeing them fried. We had to find shelter. But what kind of shelter can you find on empty grasslands?

We struggled on for a few minutes, the wind fighting us at every step. Could it possibly get worse? Yes, as a matter of fact, it could and did so with a will. Hail began to fall. So, with ice balls the size of chicken eggs pelting us, rain drenching us to the skin, wind blowing our whiskers off--those of us who had them, namely me--and lightning threatening to crisp us, you can imagine our ecstasy at seeing a hut appear before us as we topped a small hillock.