Spellsinger 02 - The Hour of the Gate Read online

  ceremonial chair was a pile of smoking ash. Behind it a neat

  hole had been melted through the thick leaded glass where the

  tiny lightning bolt had penetrated. The fact that it was a

  cloudless day made the feat all the more impressive.

  The Mayor disdained the help of one of the other council-

  lors. Brushing himself off and rearranging his clothing, he

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  Alan Dean Poster

  waddled back behind the table. A new chair was brought and

  set onto the pile of ash. He cleared his throat and leaned

  forward.

  "We will accept the fact that you are a sorcerer."

  "I'm glad that's sufficient proof," said Clothahump with

  dignity. "I'm sorry if I overdid it a mite. Some of these old

  spells are pretty much just for show and I'm a little rusty with

  them." The scribe had returned to his sextupal duplicator and

  was scribbling furiously.

  "Plated envoys moving through our city in human dis-

  guise," murmured one of the councillors. "Talk of interspecies

  dissension and war, great and strange magic in the council

  chambers. Surely this portends unusual events, perhaps even

  a radically different kind of invasion."

  The prairie dog leaned across the table, steepling his

  fingers and speaking in high-pitched, chirping tones.

  "There are many forms of magic, colleagues. While the

  ability to conjure thunder and lightning on demand is most

  impressive, it differs considerably from divination. Do we

  then determine that on the basis of a flash of power we cease

  all normal activities and place Polastrindu on war alert?

  "Should the call go out on that basis to distant Snarken, to

  L'bor and Yul-pat-pomme and all the other towns and cities of

  the warmlands? Must we now order farmers to leave their

  fields, young men their sweethearts, and bats their nightly

  hunts? Commerce will come to a halt and fortunes will be

  lost, lives disrupted.

  "This is a massive question, colleagues. It must be answered

  by more than the words and deeds of one person." He

  gestured deferentially with both hands at Clothahump. "Even

  one so clearly versed in the arts of wizardry as you, sir."

  "So you want more proof?" asked Jon-Tom.

  "More specific proof, yes, tall man," said the prairie dog.

  "War is no casual matter. I need hardly remind the other

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  THE HOUR OF THE GATS

  participants of this council," and he looked the length of the

  long table, "that if there is no invasion, no unusual war, then

  it is our bodies that will provide fertilizer for next season's

  crops, and not those of our nomadic visitors." He looked

  back out of tiny black eyes at Jon-Tom. "Therefore I would

  expect some sympathy for our official positions."

  A mild smattering of applause came from the rest of the

  council, except for Millevoddevareen the hummer. He con-

  tinued to mutter, "I want those traitorous humans. Put their

  damn perverted eyes out!" His colleagues paid him no

  attention. Hummingbirds are notoriously more bellicose than

  reflective.

  "Then you shall have more conclusive proof," said the

  weary wizard.

  "Master?" Pog looked down solicitously at the turtle. "Do

  ya really tink anodder spell now, so close ta da odder, is a

  good idea?"

  "Do I seem so tired then, Pog?"

  The bat flapped idly, said without hesitation, "Yeah, ya do,

  boss."

  Clothahump nodded slowly. "Your concern is noted, Pog.

  I'll make a good famulus out of you yet." The bat smiled,

  which in a bat is no prettier than a frown, but it was unusual

  to see the pleased expression on the fuzzy face of the

  normally hostile assistant.

  "I expect to become more tired still." He looked at

  Jon-Tom, then around him at Mudge. "I'd say you represent

  the lower orders accurately enough."

  "Thanks," said the otter drily, "Your Sorceremess."

  "What would it take to convince you of the reality of this

  threat?"

  "Well, ifn I were ignorant o' the real situation and I

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  Alan Dean Foster

  needed a good convincin'," Mudge said speculatively, "I'd

  say it were up t' you t' prove it by showin' me."

  Clothahump nodded. "I thought so."

  "Master... ?" began Pog wamingly.

  "It's all right. I have the capacity, Pog." His face suddenly

  went blank, and he fell into a deep trance. It was not as deep

  as the one he had used to summon M'nemaxa, but it impressed

  the hell out of the council.

  The room darkened, and curtains magically drew them-

  selves across the back windows of the chambers. There was

  nervous whispering among those seated behind the long table,

  but no one moved. The marten Aveticus, Jon-Tom noted, did

  not seem in the least concerned.

  A cloud formed at the far end of the chamber, an odd cloud

  that was flat and rectangular in shape. Images formed inside

  the cloud. As they solidified, there were gasps of horror and

  dismay from the council members.

  Vast ranks of insect warriors marched across the cloud.

  They bore aloft an ocean of pikes and spears, swords and

  shields. Huge Plated generals directed the common troops,

  which stretched across misty plains as far as the eye could

  see. Tens of thousands paraded across that cloud.

  As the view shifted and rolled, there was anxious chatter

  from the council. "They seem better armed than before... look

  how purposefully they drill.... You can feel the confidence

  in them . . . never saw that before. .. . The numbers, the

  numbers!"

  The scene changed. Stone warrens and vast structures slid

  past in review. A massive, bulbous edifice began to come into

  view: the towering castle of Cugluch.

  Abruptly the view changed to one of dark clouds, fluttered,

  and vanished. There was a thump, the cloud dissipated,

  together with the view, and light returned to the room.

  Clothahump was sitting down on the floor, shaking his

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  THE HOUR OF THE GATE

  head. Pog was hovering above him, fumbling with a vial. The

  wizard took a long sip of the liquid within, shook his head

  once more, and wiped the back of his mouth with an arm.

  With the bat's help he stood and smiled shakily at Jon-Tom.

  "Not a bad envisioning. Couldn't get to the castle, though.

  Too far, and the inhibitory spells are too strong. Lost the

  damn vertical hold." He started to go down, and Jon-Tom

  barely got hold of an arm in time to keep the turtle from

  slumping back to the floor.

  "You shouldn't have done it, sir. You're too weak."

  "Had to, boy." He jerked his head toward the long table.

  "Some hardheads up there."

  The councillors were babbling among themselves, but they

  fell silent when Clothahump spoke. "I tried to show you the

  interior of the castle keep, but its secrets are too well

  protected by powerful spells I cannot pierce."

  "Then how do you know this great new magic exists?"
<
br />   asked the ever skeptical prairie dog.

  "I summoned M'nemaxa."

  Mutters of amazement mixed with disbelief and awe.

  "Yes, I did even that," Clothahump said proudly, "though

  the consequences of such a conjuration could have been fatal

  for me and all those in my care."

  "If you did so once, could you not summon the spirit once

  more and leam the true nature of this strange evil you feel

  exists in Cugluch?" wondered one of the councillors.

  Clothahump laughed gently. "I see there are none here

  versed in wizardly lore. A pity no local sorcerer or ess could

  have joined us in this council.

  "It was remarkable that I was able to conduct the first

  conjuration. Were I to try it again I could not bind the

  M'nemaxa spirit within restrictive boundaries. It would burst

  free. In less than a second I and all around me would be

  reduced to a crisp of meat and bone."

  "I withdraw the suggestion," said the councillor hastily.

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  Alan Dean Foster

  "We must rely on ourselves now," said Clothahump.

  "Outside forces will not save us."

  "I think we should..." began one of the other members.

  He fell silent and looked to his left. So did the others.

  The marten Aveticus was standing. "I will announce the

  mobilization," he said softly. "The armies can be ready in a

  few months' time. I will contact my counterparts in Snarken

  and L'bor, in all the other towns and cities." He stared evenly

  at Clothahump.

  "We will meet this threat, sir, with all the force the

  warmlands can bring to bear. I leave it to you to counter this

  evil magic you speak of. I dislike fighting something I can't

  see. But I promise you that nothing which bleeds will pass

  the Jo-Troom Gate."

  "But General Aveticus, we haven't reached a decision

  yet," protested the gopher.

  The marten turned and looked down his narrow snout at his

  colleagues. "These visitors," and he indicated the four strang-

  ers standing and watching nearby, "have made their decision.

  Based upon what they have said and shown to us, I have

  made mine. The armies will mobilize. Whether they do so

  with your blessing is your decision. But they will be ready.''

  He bowed stiffly toward Clothahump.

  "Learned sir, if you will excuse me. I have much work to

  do." He turned and strode out of the room on short but

  powerful legs. Ion-Tom watched his departure admiringly.

  The marten was someone he would like to know better.

  After an uncomfortable pause, the councillors resumed

  their conversation. "Well, if General Aveticus has already

  decided so easily..."

  "That's right," said the hummingbird, buzzing above the

  table. "Our decision has been made for us. Not by these

  people," and he gestured with a wing, though it was so fast

  Jon-Tom couldn't swear he'd actually noticed the gesture so

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  Tas HOUR OF THE GATE

  much as imagined it, "but by the General. You all know how

  conservative he is.

  "Now that we are committed, there must be no dissension.

  We must act as one mind, one body, to counter the threat."

  He soared higher above the floor.

  "I shall notify the air corps of the decision so that we may

  begin to coordinate operations with the army. I will also send

  out the peregrines with messages to the other cities and towns

  that the Plated Folk are again on the march, stronger and

  more voracious than ever. This time, brothers and sisters, we

  will deal them a defeat, give them a beating so bad they will

  not recover for a thousand years!"

  Words of assent and a few cheers echoed around the

  council chamber. One came from the cub manipulating the

  scrolls. His scribe looked at him reprovingly, and the young-

  ster settled back down to his paper shuffling as Millevoddevareen

  left via an opened window.

  "It seems that your appeal has accomplished what you

  intended," said the gopher quietly, preening an eyelash.

  Gems sparkled around her thick neck and from the rings on

  every finger. "At least among the military-minded among us.

  All the world will react to your cry of alarm." She shook her

  head and smiled grimly.

  "Heaven help you if your prediction turns out to be less

  than accurate."

  "I can only say to that, madam, that I would much rather

  be proved inaccurate than otherwise in this matter." Clothahump

  bowed toward her.

  There were handshakes and hugs all around as the council-

  lors descended from their dais. In doing so, they left behind a

  good deal of their pomposity and officiousness.

  "We'll finish the slimy bastards this time!"

  "Nothing to worry about... be a good fight!"

  There was even grudging agreement from the Mayor, who

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  Alan Dean Foster

  was still irked that General Aveticus hadn't waited for the

  decision of the council before ordering mobilization. But

  there was nothing he could do about it now. Given the

  evidence Clothahump had so graphically presented, he wasn't

  sure he wanted to try.

  "You'll advise us immediately, sir," he said to Clothahump,

  "if you leam of any changes in plan among the Plated Folk."

  "Of course."

  "Then there remains only the matter of a new and perhaps

  more elegant habitation for you until it's time to march. We

  have access to a number of inns for the housing of diplomatic

  guests. I suppose you qualify as that. But I don't know what

  we can do with your great flaming friend back in the court-

  yard, since he so impolitely burned down his quarters."

  "We'll take care of him," Jon-Tbm assured the Mayor.

  "Please see that you do," Wuckle Three-Stripe was recovering

  some of his mayoral bearing. "Especially since he's the only

  real danger we've been certain of since you've appeared

  among us."

  With that, he turned to join the animated conversation

  taking place among several members of the council.

  Once outside the chambers and back in the city hall's main

  corridor Jon-Tom and Mudge took the time to congratulate

  Clothahump,

  "Aye, that were a right fine performance, guv'nor," said

  the otter admiringly. "Cor, you should o' seen some o' those

  fat faces when you threw that army o' bugs up at 'em!"

  "You've done what you wanted to, sir," agreed Jon-Tom.

  "The armies of the warmlands will be ready for the Plated

  Folk when they start through the Jo-Troom Pass."

  But the wizard, hands clasped around his back, did not

  appear pleased. Jon-Tom frowned at him as they descended

  the steps to the city hall courtyard.

  24

  THE HOUR OF THE GATE

  "Isn't that what you wanted, sir? Isn't that what we've

  come all this way for?"

  "Hmnun? Oh, yes, my boy, that's what I wanted." He still

  looked discouraged. "I'm only afraid that all the armies of all

  the counties and cities and towns of all the warmlands might

  n
ot be enough to counter the threat."

  Jon-Tom and Mudge exchanged glances.

  "What more can we do?" asked Mudge. "We can't fighl

  with wot we ain't got. Your Magicalness."

  "No, we cannot, good Mudge. But there may be more than

  what we have."

  "Beggin' your pardon, sor?"

  "I won't rest if there is."

  "Well then, you give 'er a bit of some thought, guv, and

  let us know, won't you?" Mudge had the distressing feeling

  he wasn't going to be able to return to the familiar, comfort-

  able environs of Lynchbany and the Bellwoods quite as soor

  as he'd hoped.

  "I will do that, Mudge, and I will let you know when ]

  inform the others...."

  25

  II

  The quarters they were taken to were luxurious compared

  to the barracks they'd spent their first night in. Fresh flowers,

  scarce in winter, were scattered profusely around the high-

  beamed room. They were ensconced in Polastrindu's finest inn,

  and the decor reflected it. Even the ceiling was high enough

  so Jon-Tom could stand straight without having to worry

  about a lamp decapitating him.

  Sleeping quarters were placed around a central meeting

  room which had been set aside exclusively for their use.

  Jon-Tom still had to duck as he entered the circular chamber.

  Caz was leaning back in a chair, ears cocked slightly

  forward, a glass held lightly in one paw. The other held a

  silver, ornately worked pitcher from which he was pouring a

  dark wine into a glass.

  ROT sat on one side of him, Talea on the other. All were

  chuckling at some private joke. They broke off to greet the

  newcomers.

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  Alan Dean Foster

  "Don't have to ask how it went," said Talea brightly,

  resting her boots on an immaculate couch. "A little while ago

  this party of subservient flunkies shows up at the barracks and

  tells us rooms have been reserved for us in this gilded hole."

  She sipped wine, carelessly spilled some on a finely woven

  carpet. "This style of crusading's more to my taste, I can tell

  you."

  "What did you tell them, Jon-Tom?" wondered Flor.

  He walked to an open window, rested his palms on the sill,

  and stared out across the city.

  "It wasn't easy at first. There was a big, blustery badger

  named Wuckle Three-Stripe who was ready to chuck us in jail

  right away. It was easy to see how he got to be mayor of as

  big and tough a place as Polastrindu. But Clothahump scorched