Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician Read online

  trade trinkets, and dangling feathers. An elegant

  barbarism, Jon-Tom mused. It was a perfect frame

  for the expression beneath it.

  "Hiya, guv'nor," said Mudge cheerfully. He spread

  his paws in a gesture of innocence. "See, we didn't

  know there was goin' to be a punch-up 'ere, we

  didn't. We were just 'aving a spot o' bath, and we—"

  The one with the skull headdress shifted the point

  of his spear so that the tip hung in the air an inch

  from Mudge's nose.

  "Right you are, mate! We're comin', we're comin'."

  He climbed out and Jon-Tom followed him.

  Their captors backed off a bit, intimidated by

  Jon-Tbm's unexpected size, and allowed them to

  march over the causeway to retrieve their clothes-

  Eyes turned among the rest of the victors as the

  peculiar pair passed among them. High-pitched que-

  ries followed their progress.

  "Where'd you find these?"

  "Down in one of the pools."

  "What were they doing there, you suppose?"

  "Spying, I wager."

  THE MOMBWT or THE MAGICIAHf

  85

  "A good place to spy from, if that was their

  intention."

  "Mighty big human, isn't it?"

  "Doesn't look so tough to me."

  This steady exchange between the four captors

  and their colleagues continued until a cluster of

  older prairie dogs clad in real armor approached.

  The newcomers were led by one white-furred old-

  ster who was taller than Mudge, His helmet was of

  brass, with holes cut on top for ears and curved slats

  to protect the bulging cheeks.

  "I'm General Pocknet," he said in a curious but

  no-nonsense tone. "You two don't belong hereabouts."

  Jon-Tom wasn't about to argue with him. "We're

  travelers, just passing through on our way south."

  "South?" The general frowned. "There's nothing

  to the south of the hills."

  "The city-state of Quasequa," Jon-Tom told him

  helpfully.

  "Never heard of the place," replied Pocknet, shak-

  ing his head. His jowls and whiskers quivered.

  "Still, that's where we're headed." He nodded to-

  ward the bloodstained causeway. "Looks like your

  troops won."

  "We won this day, yes."

  "Glad to hear it."

  "Don't try and ingratiate yourself with me, man.

  We have settled our differences with the Wittens for

  another month. Then we must Fight again to see

  who retains possession of the springs."

  Mudge was frowning as he tried to understand.

  "Let me get this straight now, guv. You lot 'ave this

  same little argument regular-like every month?"

  "Naturally," said the officer behind Pocknet.

  "You two honestly don't know what is happening

  here, do you?" said Pocknet. Man and otter shook

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  86

  their heads in unison. Pocknet gestured across the

  water.

  "Over there is my home, the land of Fault." He

  turned and pointed up the hill pimpled with the

  bodies of the Wittens. "Beyond this rise lies the

  territory of Witten, our hereditary enemy. We fight

  the good fight on the first day of every month.".

  "For fun?" asked Jon-Tom hesitandy.

  "A typically human conceit. Of course not for fun.

  We fight for control of this." He indicated the valley

  of hot springs with a sweep of one hand.

  "Wot do you want with a bunch o' boilin' water?"

  Mudge wondered.

  The general eyed him distastefully. "Civilized folk

  know what to do with heat- It cooks our food, cleans

  our clothing, pleases us in many ways. Whoever

  controls the bridge controls the Mulmun, and who-

  ever controls the Mulmun controls the springs."

  "Uh, pardon our ignorance," said jon-Tom, "but

  what's the Mulmun?"

  The general was shaking his head. "It's true; you

  two are ignorant, unsophisticated travelers, aren't

  you?"

  "That's us, your generalship." agreed Mudge readily.

  "Just a couple of innocent dolts bumbling our way

  southward."

  "That remains to be determined. You've said where

  you are going. Where do you come from?"

  "From the north, from across the Tailaroam. The

  forest known as the Bellwoods," Jon-Tom told him.

  "That would explain your evident ignorance of

  civilized matters," the general agreed. "But I suspect

  this pretense of innocence is nothing more than a

  clever ruse. Obviously you were spying for the Wittens."

  A circle of spears closed in tight around Jon-Tom

  and Mudge.

  "Hey, let's 'old on a minim 'ere, guv'nor! We were

  THE MOMENT OF THE BSAOICSAW

  87

  just 'aving ourselves a spot o' bath is all, wot? Didn't

  know shit about this Wittens-mittens-Smault business,

  we didn't!" One of the encircling soldiers touched

  him with a spear, and Mudge turned to glare angrily

  at him. "Poke me with that again, short whiskers,

  and I'll put it where the sun don't shine."

  A senior officer leaned forward to whisper in the

  general's ear. "Your pardon, sir, but their stupidity

  appears genuine to me. I honesdy believe they have

  no idea what the Mulmun is."

  "Hmmph. Well..." General Pocknet nibbled one

  curling whisker and squinted at the two strangers.

  "You are an odd pair, no denying it. Too odd even

  for the Wittens to employ, perhaps."

  "Oddest pair you ever set your bloomin* eyes on,

  guv," Mudge assured him readily.

  "I may have erred in calling you spies. Yes, you

  happened to be bathing in the springs, purely out of

  ignorance of reality, only to find yourselves caught in

  the middle of a battle."

  Jon-Tom let out a sigh of relief as the spears

  withdrew slightly. "That, sir, is just about the size of

  it."

  The general waved the spears aside completely.

  "Let them have their weapons." He moved to stand

  close to Jon-Tom, staring up at the much taller

  human. "Since you are not our enemies, I guess you

  have to be our guests."

  "General, sir, if it's all the same to you, we'd just as

  soon... umph!" He grabbed himself and looked an-

  grily at Mudge, who'd quickly elbowed him in the

  ribs. Mudge beckoned him close, and Jon-Tom

  restrained himself long enough to hear the otter out.

  "Listen to me close, mate. I know these tunnel-

  dwellers, I do. They can be real touchy about 'avin'

  their 'ospitality turned down."

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  88

  "Oh. all right." He stood, still rubbing his side. "So

  we're your guests. What does that entail?"

  "A good meal and friendly chatter," the general

  told him. "You can tell us of where you're from and

  where you're going." He turned and barked orders,

  His troops began to regroup and to fall back across

  the causeway. The general and his senior staff flanked

  the visitors, Pocknet striding along brisk
ly with both

  paws clasped behind his back. An armor-bearer walked

  behind him, carrying the general's helmet and sword.

  "Tell me now, how comes an otter and a man to be

  traveling together in our country?"

  "Let's save that for dessert," Jon-Tom told him. "If

  you don't mind, I have a couple of questions of my

  own." Mudge was making shushing sounds in his

  direction. Jon-Tom ignored him.

  "Can't you share the hot springs with the Wittens?"

  The general smiled up at him. "You are a dumb

  stranger, so I will excuse the affront. You see," he

  said, as if explaining to a child, "there is but the one

  Mulmun, the symbol of the springs. That is what we

  fight for control of. Whoever possesses the Mulmun

  has the right to control the springs."

  "But isn't there enough here for both communities?

  Can't you share?"

  "Why share," replied the general, favoring him

  with an odd look, "when one can have it all?"

  "Because it makes more sense than slaughtering

  your neighbors."

  "But we like slaughtering our neighbors, and our

  neighbors feel exactly the same way about us," said

  the general easily.

  "How do you know sharing wouldn't be better?

  Have you ever tried sharing?"

  "Absurd notion. We could never trust the Wittens.

  Wouldn't dare to try. The minute our backs were

  turned, they'd cut our throats and take control of

  THE MOMBHT OF THE MAOJCIAW

  89

  the springs forever. If any of us survived, we'd never

  see the Mulmun again. At least, not for another

  month."

  "You only fight on the first of the month? Nobody

  ever tries a sneak attack on the other side in the

  middle of an off week?"

  The general looked indignant. "Certainly not! What

  do you think we are, uncivilized barbarians? What an

  outrageous notion. Ah, we're home."

  Ahead lay a hole in the side of a hill. The large,

  ornately carved wooden gate had been flung wide to

  reveal the well-lit tunnel beyond. A line of sentries

  stood drawn up in review on either side of the

  pathway. Other, much less spectacularly decorated

  entrances were visible off to the left.

  The general led Mudge and Jon-Tom inside. As

  usual, Jon-Tom was forced'to bend in order to clear

  a local ceiling. Once out of the sun, the gophers and

  moles in the group were able to remove their protec-

  tive sunshades.

  Before long they began to encounter noncombatants,

  citizens engaged in daily chores. Greetings were ex-

  changed between civilians and soldiers. Cubs tagged

  alongside, jabbering at one another and occasionally

  pausing to engage in mock battles. Tunnels appeared

  that branched off in all directions.

  Eventually they turned right and entered a room

  with a ceiling high enough to permit Jon-Tom to

  straighten. He pressed a hand gratefully against his

  complaining lower back. There were half a dozen

  long tables in the room, each decorated with neat,

  miniature place settings. Pennants Tiung from the

  rock overhead, while spears and more exotic weap-

  ons were attached to the walls. Fires burned in

  several fireplaces whose chimneys had to reach all

  the way to the surface above. Kettles and pots simmered

  over the flames.

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  90

  "Officers' mess," General Pocknet informed them.

  He directed them to the head table. Jon-Tom found

  a cushion and tried to balance on it. The low table

  made the thought of trying a chair out of the question.

  Females brought out hors d'oeuvres, platters heaped

  high with fruit and nuts. The general cracked one

  between his front teeth, tossed the shell into a com-

  munal basket in the center of the long table, and

  gnawed on the nutmeat Soon the room was filled

  with sharp cracking noises and Hying shells. Jon-

  Tom felt like a kernel in a popcorn popper.

  Mudge was trying to make conversation with one

  of the waitresses, so it was left to Jon-Tom to engage

  the general.

  "This war of yours, it's been going on like this,

  month after month, for a long time?"

  "As far as history tells," Pocknet assured him.

  "We're quite comfortable with the arrangement, and

  so are the Wittens. Gives our lives continuity. All

  disputes between us are settled by control of the

  Mulmun."

  "Exactly what is this 'Mulmung'?"

  " 'Mulmun,'" the general corrected him smoothly.

  He pointed toward one of the fireplaces as he cracked

  another nut.

  Resting on the mantel was a garishly colored,

  three-foot-high blob of regurgitated ceramics, mostly

  maroon, pink, purple and glazed with pearlescent

  white. It was possibly the ugliest piece of sculpture, if

  it could be dignified by such a description, that

  Jon-Tom had ever seen.

  "That," said the general proudly, "is the Mulmun.

  Whoever wins the battle on the first of each month

  retains it. It is the symbol of the springs. While we

  hold it, the Wittens may not come near or make use

  of the warm waters. We've held it for six months

  now, at great expense, but it's been worth it."

  THB MOMENT OF TVS MAGICIAW

  91

  Jon-Tom considered as he chewed on the contents

  of a long, thin nut. The meat was delightfully sweet,

  which was good, because it had taken him at least

  four minutes to break the tough shell.

  "I think I understand. If you didn't possess the

  Mulmun, then you'd have to relinquish your absolute

  control of the hot springs."

  The general nodded. "We carry it with us into

  battle each month. Should the Wittens win, they

  would take it back to Witten with them and dominate

  the springs for a month." He chuckled, obviously

  relishing his opponents' discomforts. "They must be

  very filthy by now."

  "I didn't see it during the fight."

  "Do you think we'd risk putting it in danger?" the

  general asked him, aghast. "The possessors display it

  in its special container, well out of the way of the

  combatants' arms but up where all can see it for

  inspiration. It is quite irreplaceable, quite."

  "Ghastly piece o' puke, ain't it?" Mudge whispered

  to his friend. The otter had found something alcohol-

  ic to imbibe and was draining his mug as fast as the

  dainty prairie lass nearby could refill it for him.

  "Christ, watch your mouth!" Jon-Tom warned him

  anxiously. He smiled at the general. "Being a strang-

  er here, it's not for me to criticize your customs."

  "Then don't," Pocknet advised him blandly. "Enjoy

  your meal and be on your way- Now, tell me about

  your plans." He looked eagerly at his tall guest.

  Jon-Tom regaled their hosts with tales of his many

  adventures, and the underground citizens listened

  politely, for all that they thought
he was the biggest

  Bar to come among them in many a moon. None,

  however, denied the amusement value ofJon-Tom's

  rambling prevarications, and they applauded politely

  at the conclusion of each anecdote.

  The dinner also featured some live entertainment.

  Alan Dean Foster

  92

  Several captive Wittens were dumped in the center

  of the room, hauled erect, and tied to stakes so that

  the ladies, when not serving the tables, could pull the

  unfortunate prisoners to pieces. Jon-Tom found that

  this diminished his appetite considerably. His hosts

  seemed to find it uproariously amusing.

  Several times Mudge had to lean over and warn

  his friend to keep his opinions to himself. You don't

  insult true believers in the middle of their own

  church. Besides, hadn't they seen worse outrages in ^

  their travels? Tomorrow they could leave, none the ^

  worse for the experience. ^

  So Jon-Tom smiled thinly and made a show of ^'

  enjoying himself. There wasn't a damn thing he ^

  could do about it anyway. The "entertainment" over. ^

  everyone repaired to their respective bedchambers. ^

  Their hosts even managed to rig a bed of sufficient

  length for Jon-Tom to stretch out upon.

  Comfortable though it was, it didn't lull him to

  sleep. Instead, he lay wide-awake, thinking hard

  about all he'd seen and heard during the day.

  The situation existing between Witten and Fault,

  two communities of similar size and population, was | ,

  intolerable to a civilized human being. It was worse

  than intolerable: it was sickening, disgusting, a sin

  against common sense! It ought not to exist. It must

  not be allowed to continue.

  Since no one else seemed to give a damn, Jon-Tom

  resolved quietly to do something about it himself.

  VI

  It was pitch-black inside the burrow when he de-

  cided it was safe to move. A good five hours had

  passed since they'd retired, and, Jon-Tom reasoned,

  most of the underground community should be rest-

  ing soundly.

  He fumbled along the wall until he encountered

  one of the ubiquitous oil-soaked torches each hall

  and room was equipped with, struggled with his flint

  until it sprang to life.

  "Mudge." He moved quietly toward the otter's bed.

  "Let's go, move it. We're getting out of here. We're

  going to help these people whether they like it or

  not. Mudge?"

  He put out a hand, feeling for the otter's shoulder

  in the dim light provided by the torch. It went all the