Anya gabbled out the words of power for The Withering Wind and threw the spell at the sorcerer, at exactly the same time the Grey Mist cast a spell at Ardent. The spells clashed in the air, both becoming something else, not intended by the casters. This happened very occasionally in duels between sorcerers, and was generally acknowledged to be a very bad thing indeed, since the most common result was a catastrophic explosion.
This time, Anya’s spell became greatly more energized. Instead of just making the target think there were withering winds howling around her, it actually created withering winds. They cut into the fog like a woodcarver whittling a stick, sending shreds of mist flying in all directions. There was an awful howl from inside the cloud, and it began to rapidly retreat, losing substance with every step as the winds did their work.
The Gray Mist’s spell, typically, had been a transformation. Even before it was altered by Anya’s spell it probably wouldn’t have worked on Ardent, the royal dogs being so resistant to magic. But this time it bounced off his snout and landed on a nearby palm, and again would usually have done nothing. But changed as it was, it partly transformed the palm. It was unclear what the Grey Mist had been planning for, but the trunk of the palm grew eyes, and its fronds became long grasping arms. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to have grown much of a brain, for the arms whipped the air without intelligence, and were easily avoided.
Ardent kept going, and disappeared growling into the fog. Anya chased after him, drawing her knife. She didn’t know what else to do. At least the withering winds were still withering away, cutting off layer after layer of mist. The princess hoped it hurt the ancient sorcerer, and she couldn’t help but feel some curiosity. If the winds kept going, they would reveal whether there was anything inside the cloud of mist or not.
But that curiosity was not to be satisfied. The Grey Mist reached the far end of the garden, suddenly narrowed into a thin column, and sped through a small grille low in the wall. Ardent, jumping at it, bounced off and landed badly, spinning around to look embarrassed. The withering winds, the spell fading, howled to the ceiling and were gone.
Anya cautiously inspected the grille. She could see another room on the other side, and a moment later heard a woman—presumably the Grey Mist—shouting, “Guards! Guards!”
“Bet she doesn’t c-c-come back,” said Ardent with satisfaction. He jumped up and licked Anya’s face. “Good work, Princess!”
“She’s calling for guards,” said Anya. She looked back from the grille and around the Garden, her mind racing. “The only good thing is I can’t hear any answering yet. We have to get out. But we still have to get the frogs first.”
“There’s a lot of frogs,” said Ardent dubiously. “You’ll never be able to c-c-arry a whole sackful—”
“Just get started! And be gentle, Ardent! Smoothie, you help. Here’s the sack. Shrub! Shrub, where are you?”
“Here,” said the newt, though Anya couldn’t see him.
“Find all the ways out of here we could use, or the guards can get in. I want to go up if we can. Onto the roof.”
“Up?” asked Shrub, emerging from under a low-hanging palm.
“Up,” confirmed Anya. “And open to the air. It’s past midnight isn’t it?”
“Sure,” said Shrub. “Must be.”
“Find us a way up, and let’s get these frogs.”
The next five minutes were full of frantic activity. The frogs, though not as active as the ones back in Trallonia, nevertheless soon worked out what was going on, and tried to escape their captors. They also set up a massive croaking that made it hard to hear, which was unnerving, since this made it impossible to detect approaching enemies.
Anya kept putting frogs in the sack as she strained her ears for other sounds. It would be very useful to hear the guards arriving before they suddenly found themselves at spearpoint. Or transformed, if the Grey Mist was brave enough to come back. Or if one of the other sorcerers happened to be in the meetinghouse.
“This one’s Denholm,” said Ardent, dropping a frog carefully into the sack. “I’m pretty sure. If I had time for a better sniff … ”
It was the third frog he’d said was Denholm, but Anya couldn’t waste time looking at each frog or letting Ardent sniff them. It was much faster to take them all and be sure she’d get the prince. The weight of responsibility from her sister promise felt heavy upon her, mixed with feelings of immediate dread due to the imminent arrival of enemies and the possibility her new escape plan wouldn’t work, as well as a general sense of concern about Morven and everybody else back home.
“Last one,” said Smoothie, throwing a frog in. She was much faster than the frogs, and could grab one in each paw-hand, and had also once got one in her mouth, but Anya asked her not to do that. Those teeth of hers were just too sharp, even though that particular frog seemed to have survived the experience.
“Are you sure?” asked Anya. “Everyone, look around.”
Everyone looked, and Ardent rummaged under every nearby fern with his snout, sniffing wildly.
“Shrub? You found a way out that’s not down?”
“Yes,” called the newt. “Over here.”
Anya tied up the top of the sack and dipped it in the water. It was very heavy, and she almost couldn’t lift it back out again.
“Smoothie, help me with this.”
Between the two of them, they carried the sack over to Shrub, who had been busy pulling vines away to reveal a very large boarded-up fireplace. The boards were old and rotten, so he’d got a few of those away as well, but only enough to make a hole wide enough for himself.
“A fireplace?” groaned Anya. “Shrub, we couldn’t get up a chimney even without this sack of frogs. We’ll have to go back down—”
“Someone coming up that way,” interrupted Ardent, ears pricked. He growled, low and deep. “Hobnailed boots and halberd staves striking the walls. But they’re going slow. Fearful, I’d say.”
“I bet they are,” said Shrub happily. “Having to go up against someone that sent the Grey Mist running will make ’em very cautious. Get these boards off and I’ll show you, Princess.”