Ben took a moment to let the news sink in. The last thing he needed just now was an encounter with Nightshade. He no longer had the medallion to protect him — if indeed it could protect him anyway from a creature as evil as the witch. If she recognized him, he was dead. Even if she didn’t, she was hardly likely to welcome him with open arms. And she was hardly likely to welcome Willow either — especially once she learned what the sylph was after. She wasn’t about to hand over the golden bridle, however convincing the arguments Willow might offer. She would probably turn Willow into a toad — and turn him into a toad. He thought wistfully of the Io Dust and wished he had just a single handful. That would even the odds considerably.
His eyes fixed intently on Dirk. “What do you think about a quick trip back into the fairy world?” he asked abruptly. “I did it once; I could do it again. The fairies would recognize me, magic or no magic. Maybe they could help me change back again. At the very least, they could give me another pod of the Io Dust to use on Nightshade. After all, I promised the Earth Mother I would do my best to look after Willow, and I can’t look after her if I can’t look after myself.”
Dirk studied him a moment, blinked and yawned. “Your problem is not one anyone else can help you with — least of all the fairies.”
“Why not?” Ben snapped, irritated with the cat’s insufferable smugness.
“Because, in the first place, the magic that has changed you is your own — as you have been told at least half-a-dozen times now. And in the second place, the fairies won’t necessarily help you just because you ask. The fairies involve themselves in people’s lives when and where they choose and not otherwise.” The prim muzzle wrinkled distastefully. “You knew that before you asked the question, High Lord.”
Ben fumed silently. The cat was right, of course — he had known. The fairies hadn’t interceded in Landover’s problems when he had first come into the valley and the tarnish and the Iron Mark had threatened, and they were unlikely to do so now. He was King, and the problems facing him were his.
So how was he going to solve them?
“C’mon,” he ordered suddenly, springing to his feet. “I have an idea that might work.” He pulled on his boots, straightened his clothing, and waited for Dirk to ask what the idea was. The cat didn’t. Finally, he said, “Don’t you want to know the details?”
The cat stretched and jumped down from its perch to stand next to him. “No.”
Ben ground his teeth and silently swore that, all right then, it would be a cold day somewhere damn hot before he would say another word about it!
They walked north through the early morning, skirting the grasslands of the Greensward, veering slightly east toward the foothills that lay below the Melchor. Ben led, but as usual Dirk seemed to know where they were going anyway and often traveled a parallel course, picking his way through the high grasses, seemingly oblivious to what Ben was about. Dirk continued to be a mystery without a solution, but Ben forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand rather than dwell on Dirk, because dwelling on Dirk just made him nuts. It was easier to accept the cat the way one accepted changes in the weather.
The grasslands were still marked from the passing of the hunt. Booted feet had flattened portions of the tall grass and broken down the scrub. Debris from the provision wagons littered the plains, and the ashes of huge campfires scarred the multicolored meadows. The Greensward had the look of a giant picnic ground at the close of July fourth. Ben wrinkled his nose in distaste. Meeks was already using the land selfishly again.
There were other signs of misuse as well. Signs of the wilt that had marked the valley in his early days in Landover had returned to the plants and trees-signs that could only have been brought about by a lessening of the power of the King’s magic. When there was no King in Landover, the land lost strength; he had learned that on his first visit. Meeks was not the true King, despite any outward appearance, and Landover was beginning to show the effects The signs were tiny yet, but they would grow worse. Eventually, the tarnish would return to Sterling Silver and the whole valley would begin to sicken. Ben pressed ahead at a quicker pace, as if somehow speed might help.