Juxtaposition by Piers Anthony Page B

consciousness. It was a long, ecstatic night. In the morning he woke in a fine bed of hay and feathers, so concluded he must have done some incidental conjuring, but none of that remained in his memory. He had only his awareness of the Lady Blue—his woman at last.
    There was a neat pile of assorted fruits at the tent entrance; Clip had evidently scouted around in the night and harvested what he thought was appropriate. At the top of the mound was passion fruit, and below were apples, cherries, and bananas. Symbolistic humor of the equine kind. They had an excellent meal.
    They resumed their ride. Clip had the sense not to play any more ribald melodies on his sax-hom, but on occasion he could not quite contain a faint musical snigger.   The curtain wandered back up the slope of the mountains, having no regard for the convenience of travelers—as well it might not; Stile’s party was probably the first to make this particular trek. Here on the southern side, flowers of many colors abounded, and the bushes and trees were highly varied. Birds flitted, and squirrels and rabbits scurried. On occasion a grassy round trapdoor would open and a little head would pop out—hermit-elves, harmless.   Then they came to a river. It cut across the curtain, deep and swift—and a formidable steam-breathing water dragon inhabited it.
    They halted, eyeing the monster. The monster eyed them back. Slowly a purple tongue came out and moistened its chops. The mere sight of them made this creature salivate.   This hardly seemed a safe passage.
    Stile pondered which spell to use. Immobilization seemed best; he didn’t want to hurt this animal. Yet that was such a useful spell for emergencies that he hated to use it routinely. Again he was up against the ad hoc nature of magic; once any specific spell was used, it was gone. All Adepts used magic sparingly, never squandering it. Stile, a relative newcomer to the art, tended to use it more freely than was wise; the novelty had not yet worn off. Until recently, there had been so many challenges to his well being that he had hardly worried about wasting spells; what use to save them for a nonexistent future?   Now he was a fairly secure married man, becoming daily more conservative. So he pondered: Was there any mundane way to pass by this dragon? The creature was limited to the water, having flippers in lieu of wings and frogs’ feet. This was, after all, a very restricted threat.   Again the Lady’s thoughts were parallel to his own. She had an uncanny insight into his mind, perhaps because she had had much longer experience with him than he had had with her, odd as that might seem in any other frame than this. He had in fact been momentarily dismayed during the night by her almost-too-ready anticipation of his desires; none of this was really new to her.
    “It would be a long trek around the river, methinks, for the dragon would pace us. Clip could change to hawk-form and fly safely across, but Hinblue has no such magic.”
    “This becomes a challenge,” Stile said. “For most of my life I existed without the benefit of magic. A year ago I would have found a way across without sorcery; I should be able to do it now.”
    “Though it take but a fortnight,” she murmured, smiling.  
    “The curtain—“ Stile began, but cut that off. He kept forgetting Hinblue!
    “Put my steed not through that torture gratuitously,” the Lady agreed.
    Clip changed to man-form. “Thou wilt be all day on this. I can get us across now.”
    “Oh?” Stile asked, not entirely pleased. “How?”
    “By decoying this dragon downstream while the three of you swim. The average dragon is not smart enough for that ruse.”
    Of course! Simplicity itself. “Thou are smarter than I today,” Stile said ruefully.
    “Naturally. I’m a unicorn,” Clip said generously. “I did not dissipate my strength all night in pointless heroics.” He changed back to his usual form and snorted insultingly at the dragon,