Juxtaposition by Piers Anthony Page A

blithely in midair, and popped hastily back into her hole. “Just as well,” the Lady Blue remarked. “That creature’s scratch is poisonous, and they oft resent intrusion into their demesnes.” Clip snorted. Unicorns were invulnerable to most magic and had no fear of harpies. Stile, remembering how the werebitch Serrilryan had died, knew that if the harpy had attacked, he would have reacted with ferocity perhaps un becoming to this occasion.
    Then they passed the cliffside nest of a griffin. Three cubs poked their beaks up to peer at the weird procession.   In the distance there was the birdlike scream of an adult, probably the mother, aware that her babies were being disturbed. A griffin was a fighting animal, almost as fierce as a dragon; unicorns did not normally seek combat with this species. Stile, of course, could handle it—but he elected to hasten their descent, getting well away from the nest before the mother griffin appeared. Why seek trouble?   At the southern foot of the range an extensive plain commenced. Evening was approaching, and in the slanting sunlight they saw shapes in the sky like grotesque birds.   “Dragons,” the Lady Blue murmured. “This is dragon country.”
    “If any come for us, we’ll simply step across the curtain,” Stile said. Again it was easier to avoid than to fight; he had no desire to waste magic or to prove his power. A unicorn, a werewolf, or a vampire could change forms as often as it wished, because that was inherent in such creatures’ nature, while Stile could use a particular spell only once. When he had to, he could accomplish more by magic than any other creature and could change one creature to another—but eventually he would run out of new spells. Magic was best saved for true emergencies.  
    “What of Hinblue?” the Lady asked.
    “Um, yes. Maybe she can cross the curtain too.” “She could not survive in Proton-frame. There is no good air there, no grazing. And what of thine own mount?”
    “Have no fear for me. Lady,” Clip said, changing to man-form. “As a hawk, I can escape. But I cannot cross the curtain. In Proton I would be reduced to but a horse, and unable to cross back.”
    “Then I will use magic if the need arises,” Stile decided.   “My lord, there is no time like the present,” the Lady said. For a shape was winging toward them.   Stile had made up and memorized a number of spells, including some dragon restraints. In this case he would simply cause the dragon to forget it had seen anything interesting here.
    But as the creature flew closer. Stile squinted at it. This was a peculiar dragon. The wings were wrong, the tail, the head—
    “Why, that’s no dragon,” the Lady said.   Clip snapped his fingers. “That’s a thunderbird! I didn’t know there were any left in these parts.”
    “I don’t have a specific spell for thunderbirds,” Stile said dubiously. “I’ll have to go to a general one.”
    “No need,” the Lady said. “The bird is full of sound and fury—“ The creature swooped close, its wings spreading hugely, then sweeping together in a deafening clap of thunder.   “Signifying rain,” Clip finished, as the drenchpour commenced.
    Hastily Stile spelled into existence a large tent, already set up and guyed. The rain beat down on its canvas so heavily that he had to spell additional supports. Water seeped under the edges, and fog drifted through, coating them with condensation. A little frog appeared and croaked contentedly.
    The other three were with him, but soon Clip returned to unicorn-form and moved outside to graze; the rain did not bother his equine form very much. Hinblue followed him out; grazing was always worthwhile, and the dragons would avoid this storm.
    That left the Lady Blue. Stile turned to her. “I had thought of sunshine and sweet music for this occasion.   Still—“
    “Desist thy stalling,” she said, and opened her arms.   Thereafter, the storm disappeared from his