now. So he put the ramwood aside and fumbled with the
duar. An old Moody Blues tune came to mind, suitable for
combating evil. He played and sang.
It had its intended effect. As the smoke began to
dissipate he could hear the ferret moan, see him staggering
backwards clutching at his head.
But Zancresta was not to be so simply vanquished.
268
Alan Dean Poster
Gathering his strength, he glared at Jon-Tom and began to
recite:
“Nails of rails and coils of toil,
Come to me now, rise to a boil,
Become with strength my herpetological foil!”
The sorcerer’s fingers stretched, elongated, became pow-
erful constrictors that writhed and curled toward Jon-Tom.
Whether it was out of fear for Folly or for himself or
sheer anger, he couldn’t say, but now the music flowed
easily through him. Without missing a bar he segued straight
into a slithering song by Jefferson Airplane. The snakes
shriveled and shrank to become ferret fingers once more.
A second time Zancresta threw out his hands toward
Jon-Tom.
“Xyleum, phylum, cellulose constrained,
Hypoblastic hardwood rise up now unrestrained.
Chlorophyllic transformation make thyself known.
Long and strong and sharp and straight
And solid as a stone!”
The wooden stake that materialized to leap at Jon-Tom’s
chest was the size of a small tree. A few branches erupted
from its trunk, and it continued to grow even as it flew
toward him, sending out roots and leaves. He barely had
time enough to switch to a throaty rendition of Def
Lepard’s “Pyromania.”
The huge, growing spear blew up in a ball of fire. The