“It’s not a plant,” Aradin corrected, his gaze still on the bundle of vines.
That started her again, though this time she didn’t shift her stance. It might seem subdued, but there was no point in taking a chance. “It’s not?”
“See those tiny hairs along the vines? And the round little lumps that gleam like dark pearls?” he asked, pointing over her shoulder so she could sight along his arm. At her nod, Aradin explained. “Those are cilia and ommatidia. The little hair-structures, the cilia, detect vibrations, like odd sorts of ears. I think they ‘hear’ only at certain pitches, since it isn’t reacting to our voices, but it did react to the scrape of your foot on the ground. The ommatidia . . . are insect eyes. Insects aren’t as good at seeing as humans are, and nowhere near as good as an eagle or a hawk, but they are watching us for movement and proximity.
“As I said, this is as good as the work of any mad master Hortimancer . . . since only an insane person would try to blend animal and vegetable like this,” he finished.
Saleria stared at the vines in horror. Before, she had simply, if grimly, disliked the thing, dealt with it whenever it grew large enough to menace her, and moved on to the next overgrown whatever. But combined with bits from a bug? Creepy. In a tight, clipped voice, fingers white-knuckled on her staff, she stated, “I am now very uncomfortable, knowing that.”
“The more I think about it, the more I believe the previous abominations we’ve met on just this one walk through the Grove may have had a blend of three characteristics as well. Not the quieter, less aggressive blends,” he murmured, “but the ones that have tried to attack us, yes. You were talking about the three, ah, locus trees each producing magic, and needing to be drained on a rotating schedule? I suspect that, if there are ever hours where you have to skip a round, or are too sick to go out at all that day, the excess magics spill over and warp through each other, surging and eddying and crossing like little whirlwinds of power.”
“That would make some sense,” Saleria admitted. “The few times I have been ill with a cold or fever, the Grove has usually been wilder a week or so later. Uncontrolled, unpurposed magic may be strong, but without a concrete purpose behind it, driving it with the will of the mage, no magic can create whole beasts or bushes in a single day.”
“But it can begin the warping process,” Aradin said. Lifting his staff, he tipped it at the vines. “Shall we prune this bush-beast back a little further and continue on our way, then?”
Nodding, Saleria eyed the vines, then lunged a little, slashing in a sudden attack. More bits of warped plant limbs dropped to the path. She did it again, and a third time. Once it was trimmed back to her satisfaction, she started to tap the vines with the crystal end of her staff, then stopped. Eyes wide, she glanced at Aradin.
“Wait . . . if these are part animal, then . . . then isn’t this blood-magic?”
“They are far more plant than animal, so I think it shouldn’t matter as much as you’d think. Besides, you have been doing this for many years, you and your predecessors, yes? And you are obviously not corrupted by the madness of the Netherhells whispering in your ears?” he added. At her hesitant nod, he shrugged. “Then the Gods have already accepted it as beneficial. I wouldn’t drain that shrew-thing you mentioned, but something that is two parts plant and one part tiny insect shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Right.” She hesitated a moment more, then touched the cuttings, draining the magic still trying to make them twitch. Unlike animals, plant bits did not die within a minute of being severed from the bulk of the original plant; in fact, if conditions were right, they could take in water, grow new roots, and become a new problem. It was therefore best to ensure they shriveled and died completely. “Not to mention the use to which it is purposed does nothing for me personally, but is instead purposed specifically to help others. So . . . it is not evil. So long as I take great care to ensure the energies are not used for evil ends.”
“That is the way magic works in all lands, yes,” Aradin murmured, following her. His staff had a crystal, too, but he intended to let her gather the majority of energies. He didn’t want her having even the slightest suspicion that he was interested in such things for his own ends. He honestly wasn’t—neither of them were, Host or Guide—but it was still wise to conduct themselves circumspectly.
That, and her rump presses rather magnificently against the folds of her trousers and jacket, whenever she bends over a little bit, just like that . . .