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don’t seem to be any trees around he could catch hold of.”
    â€œNever fear, Comrade. I will find him.” The massive armored body turned southward and bellowed above the wind, “Comrade Pog, Comrade Pog!”
    That steady, confident voice echoed back to them until even it was overwhelmed by distance and wind. Jon-Tom watched until the black shadow shape faded into the night, then drew back inside, wiping water from his face and hair.
    â€œFalameezar’s gone after him,” he told the anxious watchers. “The storm doesn’t seem to be bothering him too much, but I doubt he’s got much of a chance of finding Pog unless the storm forced him down somewhere close by.”
    â€œHe may be leagues from here by now,” said Caz dolefully. “Damn this infernal wind!” He struck in frustration at the wooden wall.
    â€œHe was impertinent and disrespectful, but he performed his duties well for all his complaining,” said Clothahump. “A good famulus. I shall miss him.”
    â€œIt’s too early to talk in the past tense, wizard.” Flor tried to cheer him up. “Falameezar may still find him. Quien sabe; he may be closer than we think.”
    â€œYour words are kind, my dear. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
    The wagon rattled as another blast of near hurricane force whistled about them. Everyone fought for balance.
    â€œBut as our young spellsinger says, the weather is not encouraging. Pog is not very resourceful. I don’t know… .”
    There was no sign of the bat the next day, nor of Falameezar, and the storm continued without abating. Clothahump worried now not only that Pog might never be found but that the dragon might become disoriented and not be able to relocate the wagon. Or that he might find a river, decide he was bored with the entire business, and simply sink out of sight.
    â€œI don’t think the last likely, sir,” argued Jon-Tom. “Falameezar’s made a political commitment. We’re his comrades. He’ll be back. It would take some kind of personal crisis to make him abandon us, and there isn’t much that can affect him.”
    â€œNevertheless, though I would like to have both of them back with us, time is becoming too important.” The turtle let out a resigned sigh. “If the weather breaks tomorrow, as I believe it may, we will wait one additional day. Then we must be on our way or else we might as well forget this entire mission.”
    â€œPraise the weather,” murmured Mudge hopefully, and turned over in his blankets… .

III
    WHEN JON-TOM WOKE the following morning, his first sight was of the rear canvas panel. It had been neatly pinned up, and sunlight was streaming brilliantly inside. Flor knelt and stared outward, her black hair waterfalling down her back. She seemed to sparkle.
    He sat up, threw off his covers. It was eerie after so many days of violence not to hear the wind. Also absent was the persistent drumming of raindrops overhead. He leaned forward and peered out. Only a few scattered storm clouds hung stubbornly in an otherwise clear sky.
    He crawled up alongside her. A gentle breeze ruffled the Swordsward, the emerald endlessness appearing as soft and delicate as the down on a young girl’s legs. The distant yellow puffballs of dandelion trees looked lonely against the otherwise unbroken horizon.
    â€œGood morning, Jon-Tom.”
    â€œBuenos dias. Que pasa, beautiful?”
    â€œNot much. Just enjoying the view. And the sunshine. A week in that damn wagon.” She fluffed her hair out. “It was getting a little squirrelly.”
    â€œAlso smelly.” He breathed deeply of the fresh air, inhaled the rich sweet smell of the rain-swept grasses. Then he stepped out onto the rear wagon seat.
    Slowly he turned a circle. There was nothing but green sward and blue sky in all directions. Against that background even a distant Falameezar would have stood