Piers Anthony - A Spell for Chameleon

"What is it, Bink?" Trent inquired. "I know she was following the ignis fatuus-but since we are close on her trail we should be able to-" He broke off, becoming aware of the other thing. It was a shuddering in the ground, as of some massive object striking it. An object weighing many tons.

Trent looked around. "I can't see it, Bink. Can you smell it?"

Bink was silent. The wind was wrong. He could not smell whatever was making that sound from this distance.

"Want me to transform you into something more powerful?" Trent asked. "I'm not sure I like this situation. First the swamp gas, now this strange pursuit."

If Bink changed, he would no longer be able to sniff out Chameleon's trail. He remained silent.

"Very well, Bink. But stay close by me; I can transform you into a creature to meet any emergency, but you have to be within range. I believe we're walking into extreme danger, or having it walk up on us." And he touched his sword.

They moved on-but the shuddering grew bolder, becoming a measured thumping, as of some ponderous animal. Yet they saw nothing. Now it was directly behind them, and gaining.

"I think we'd better hide," Trent said grimly. "Discretion is said to be the better part of valor."

Good idea. They circled a harmless beerbarrel tree and watched silently.

The thumping became loud. Extremely loud. The whole tree shook with the force of the measured vibrations. TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP! Small branches fell off the tree, and a leak sprang in the trunk. A thin jet of beer formed, splashing down under Bink's sensitive nose. He recoiled; even in the human state, he had never been partial to that particular beverage. He peered around the trunk-yet there was nothing.

Then at last something became visible. A branch crashed off a spikespire tree, splintering. Bushes waved violently aside. A section of earth subsided. More beer jetted from developing cracks in the trunk of their hiding place, filling the air with its malty fragrance. Still nothing tangible could be seen.

"It's invisible," Trent whispered, wiping beer off one hand. "An invisible giant."

Invisible! That meant Trent couldn't transform it. He had to see what he enchanted.

Together, silently, steeped in intensifying beer fumes, they watched the giant pass. Monstrous human footprints appeared, each ten feet long, sinking inches deep into the forest soil. TRAMP!-and the trees jumped and shuddered and shed their fruits and leaves and branches. TRAMP!-and an ice cream bush disappeared, becoming a mere patina of flavored discoloration on the flat surface of the depression. TRAMP!-and a tangle tree hugged its tentacles about itself, frightened. TRAMP!-and a fallen trunk splintered across the five-foot width of the giant's print.

A stench washed outward, suffocatingly, like that of a stench-puffer or an overflowing outhouse in the heat of summer. Bink's keen nose hurt.

"I am not a cowardly man," Trent murmured. "But I begin to feel fear. When neither spell nor sword can touch an enemy…" His nose twitched. "His body odor alone is deadly. He must have feasted on rotten blivets for breakfast."

Bink didn't recognize that food. If that was the kind of fruit Mundane trees formed, he didn't want any. Bink became aware that his own hackles were erect. He had heard of such a monster, but taken it as a joke. An invisible-but not unsmellable-giant!

"If he is in proportion," Trent remarked, "that giant is some sixty feet tall. That would be impossible in Mundania, for purely physical reasons, square-cube law and such. But here-who can say nay to magic? He's looking over much of the forest, not through it." He paused, considering. "He evidently was not following us. Where is he going?"

Wherever Chameleon went, Bink thought. He growled.

"Right, Bink. We'd better track her down quickly, before she gets stepped on!"

They moved on, following what was now a well-trodden trail. Where the huge prints crossed Chameleon's traces, the scent of the giant was overlaid, so heavy that Bink's refined nose rebelled. He skirted the prints and picked up Chameleon's much milder scent on the far side.

Now a whistling descended from right angles to the path they were following. Bink looked up nervously- and saw a griffin angling carefully down between the trees.

Trent whipped out his sword and backed toward the black bole of an oilbarrel tree, facing the monster. Bink, in no condition to fight it, bared his teeth and backed toward the same protection. He was glad it wasn't a dragon; one really good tongue of fire could set off the tree explosively and wipe them all out. As it was, the overhanging branches would interfere with the monster's flight, forcing it to do combat on the ground. Still a chancy business, but it restricted the battle zone to two dimensions, which was a net advantage for Bink and Trent. Maybe if Bink distracted it, Trent could get safely within range to transform it.

The griffin settled to earth, folding its extensive glossy wings. Its coiled lion's tail twitched about, and its great front eagle's talons made streaks in the dirt. Its eagle head oriented on Trent. "Cawp?" it inquired. Bink could almost feel that deadly beak slicing through his flesh. A really healthy griffin could take on a medium-sized dragon in single combat, and this one was healthy. He nudged within transformation range.

"Follow the giant tracks, that way," Trent said to the monster. "Can't miss it."

"Bawp!" the griffin said. It turned about, oriented on the giant tracks, bunched its lion muscles, spread its wings, and launched itself into the air. It flew low-level along the channel the invisible giant had carved through the forest.

Trent and Bink exchanged startled glances. They had had a narrow escape; griffins were very agile in combat, and Trent's magic might not have taken effect in time. "It only wanted directions!" Trent said. "Must be something very strange up ahead. We'd better get there in a hurry. Be unfortunate if some part-human cult was having a ritual sacrifice."

Ritual sacrifice? Bink growled his confusion.

"You know," Trent said grimly. "Bloody altar, beautiful virgin maiden…"

"Rrowr!" Bink took off down the trail.

Soon they heard a commotion ahead. It was a medley of thumps, crashes, bellows, squawks, and crashes. "Sounds more like a battle than a party," Trent observed. "I really can't think what-"

At last they came in sight of the happening. They paused, amazed.

It was an astonishing assemblage of creatures, ranged in a large loose circle, facing in: dragons, griffins, manticoras, harpies, land serpents, trolls, goblins, fairies, and too many others to take in all at once. There were even a few human beings. It was not a free-for-all; all were intent on individual exercises, stamping their feet, biting at air, slamming their hooves together, and banging on rocks. In the interior of the circle, a number of creatures were dead or dying, ignored by the others. Bink could see and smell the blood, and hear their groans of agony. This was a battle, certainly-but where was the enemy? It was not the invisible giant; his prints were confined to one quadrant, not overlapping the territory of his neighbors.

"I thought I knew something about magic," Trent said, shaking his head. "But this is beyond my comprehension. These creatures are natural enemies, yet they ignore one another and do not feed on prey. Have they happened on a cache of loco?"

"Woof!" Bink exclaimed. He had spied Chameleon. She had two large flat stones in her hands and was holding them about a foot apart while she stared intently between them. Suddenly she clapped them together, with such force that they both fell out of her hands. She peered at the air above them, smiled enigmatically, picked them up, and repeated the procedure.

Trent followed Bink's gaze. "Loco!" he repeated. But Bink could smell no loco. "Her too. It must be an area spell. We'd better back off before we also fall prey to it."