Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician Read online

  ^|even beyond Quasequa. Perhaps even to your forest."

  •/IY "Then he better not come here," hummed Spin,

  '" l?dardng and jabbing at the air, his wings a blur.

  I'yFlying demons or no flying demons, we'll send him

  ^running without his tailfeathers."

  38 Alan Dean Foster

  Pandro's voice was faint now with distance. "He

  doesn't have any feathers. I told you, he's a human."

  Spin settled back onto his branch. "A human. Now

  what would a human want with us?" He shrugged,

  turned to his companion Oun, "What say we go

  round up Wix and the rest and have ourselves a

  good punch-up anyway?"

  "Yeah, sure!" They zoomed toward the next

  emergent.

  The third member of the trio held back and

  struggled to grasp the import of the raven's words.

  Then he shrugged and flew off to join his friends,

  That's the trouble with being a hummingbird.

  One's attention span is so damned short.

  Ill

  "But I know that she loves me!"Jon-Tom spoke as he

  paced back and forth in the turtle's bedroom. There

  was plenty of headroom even for his lanky six feet

  two inches because Clothahump had thoughtfully

  expanded the internal dimension spell another foot.

  For that matter, the entire tree was filled with

  rooms that shouldn't have been, thanks to Clotha-

  hump's wizardry. The turtle wasn't engaging in any

  wizardry now, though- He was lying on his plastron

  among the mass of strong cushions which served

  him as a bed, his arms crossed under his horny chin.

  Only his eyes moved as he followed the nervous

  progress of the upset young spellsmger.

  "You know, I was once in love myself, lad."

  That revelation was sufficient to halt Jon-Tom in

  his tracks- "What... you?"

  Raising his head, the turtle peered indignantly at

  |jt the tall and tactless young human through hexagonal-

  pi tensed glasses-

  'My "And why not me?" He looked suddenly wistful.

  ij^lt was about a hundred and sixty years ago. She was

  .ytquite attractive- The colors and patterns in her shell

  ^ reminded one of flatly faceted jewels, and her plas-

  ^ tron was smooth as polished granite."

  m 39

  Alan Dean Foster

  40

  "What happened?"

  Ctothahump sighed. "She threw me over for a

  slick-talking matamata. I believe her tastes were rath-

  er kinkier than mine." His attention snapped back to

  the present.

  "So I am speaking from some experience, my boy,

  when I tell you that this Talea does not love you.

  Besides which, you are a spellsinger with a promis-

  ing future and can do better- She is nothing but a

  petty thief."

  Jon-Tom didn't turn away from the wizard's gaze.

  "It's not her profession I'm interested in. She saved

  my life and I saved hers and we love each other and

  that's that"

  "It is not 'that' or anything else," argued the imper-

  turbable turtle. "I do not for an instant deny that she

  is brave and courageous. I wish I could also add that

  she is thoughtful. Brave and courageous do not

  automatically translate into love, however. As for

  thoughtful, if she were that and she did indeed love

  you, she would be here now."

  Jon-Tom looked uneasy. "Well, you remember how

  she is. Flighty, high-strung, nervous, especially around

  you."

  "Me? Now, boy, why should she be in the slightest

  nervous around me?"

  "You are the greatest, most powerful sorcerer in

  the world. You make a lot of people nervous."

  "Do I? Dear me," said the turtle, "I thought I only

  made a lot of people irritable. Take my advice, my

  boy, and put her out of your mind. She will interfere

  with your studies, which you neglect as it is." He

  brushed dust from one ot the bed pillows and frowned.

  "Have to get Sorbl to clean this place up, if I can

  corner the little sot long enough to put a dirt hex on

  him."

  "Damn it, 1 know that she loves me!" Jon-Tom

  THE SSOUKMT OF TOT MAGICIAN

  41

  spoke with unaccustomed intensity. "I know she does.

  1 can feel it. She's just... she's just not quite ready to

  make it permanent, that's all. She needs more

  reassurance, more encouragement." He stared at the

  wood chips carpeting the floor. "Of course, that

  would be easier to do if I had some idea where she

  is."

  "You'll never get a wild type like that to settle

  down." Clothahump removed his glasses and squinted

  through one eye as he gave them a perfunctory

  cleaning, then set them back on his beak. "Why not

  just marry her and then go your separate ways?

  There's so much world left for you to see."

  "I warn to see it all with her." An uncomfortable

  pause followed. Then Jon-Tom moved to the bed

  and knelt before it. "Look, you're the greatest wizard

  alive. Can't you help me?"

  Clothahump shook his head, wrestled himself into

  a sitting position, and crossed his arms over the

  compartments in his plastron.

  "I must say it is hard to refuse the requests of one

  of such perspicacity. I only wish you could find a

  more stable possibility for a mate."

  "Talea's the one I love."

  "What about that Quintera female you brought

  over into this world?"

  Jon-Tom swallowed, turned, and walked away from

  the bed. "Why bring that up? You know it's a sore

  point with me."

  "Why? Because in the end she preferred that

  sophisticated hare Caz to you?" Ctothahump shook a

  warning finger at him. "That's what comes of

  projecting your own desires onto someone else. She

  may have been your physical ideal, but mentally and

  emotionally she was neither... and neither is this

  Talea."

  "No!" Jon-Tom whirled on the bed. "Talea's the

  Alan Dean Poster

  42

  right one. I'm sure of that, even if our relationship is

  developing a little, uh, slowly. Come on, Clothahump,

  I know you can help if you want to."

  "With what? You want me to mix you up a love

  potion to slip into her drink?" He shook his head. "I

  don't deal in those kinds of petty emotionally manip-

  ulative devices and you know it. If that's what you

  want, go to the chemist in Lynchbany. I'll give you a

  prescription, but I won't mix you anything myself.

  You'll be wasting your money, though. Ninety per-

  cent of that stuffs no better than what you can buy

  over-the-counter."

  "I don't want your potions or prescriptions, Ctotha-

  hump. I want your wise, sage advice."

  "Really? All right. Get a haircut."

  Jen-Tom moaned. His hair was only shoulder-

  length, "Not here too. Or do you have a prejudice

  against fur because you've none of your own?"

  The turtle looked down at himself. "My, my, so

  you've noticed that, hav
e you? I can't imagine how

  one so observant hasn't been able to win the undying

  affection of the woman he thinks loves him."

  "It's not a question of 'winning,'" Jen-Tom muttered-

  "This isn't a war."

  "Isn't it now? Dear me! Perhaps after your first

  two hundred years you'll learn to adjust that view."

  "And don't lay any of that 'venerable ancient' shit

  on me, either! I want your advice, not your sarcasm."

  Clothahump peered over his glasses. "If you want

  to learn what love is all about, my boy, you'd better

  learn to handle sarcasm."

  Jon-Tom shifted to another tack. "I've been work-

  ing on a song for her,"

  "If you think you can spellsing her into love with

  you, my boy, then you—"

  "No, no, just a friendly little song to show her how

  THE MOSfCPiT OF TBS MAGICIAN

  43

  I feel about her. I've always been better at conveying

  my emotions through music. Want to hear it?"

  Clothahump muttered under his breath, "Do I

  have a choice?"

  Jon-Tom walked over to the comer where he'd set

  down his duar and picked up the peculiar, double-

  stringed instrument. He caressed it lovingly. It had

  brought him through some tough spots, that duar.

  It, and his ability to make magic with it, however

  erratic and unpredictable.

  "Just something to put her in the right mood," he

  assured Clothahump. "I've been trying to remember

  what she likes so I can sing about it the next time we

  meet."

  "Sing about a rich drunk lying alone in an alley,"

  Clothahump suggested.

  Jon-Tom ignored the gibe. "I remember her tell-

  ing me one time how much she liked roses. She said

  they were pretty. She'd never use the word 'romantic.'

  Talea's not the romantic type- But she said she liked

  their smell and the way they went with her hair. So

  I've been trying to think of a song about roses. It

  wasn't easy. It's not the sort of thing my favorite

  musicians like to write songs about, and I have to be

  careful or I'll wind up with that amazonic tigress I

  told you about.

  "Anyhow, I finally settled on this. I'd like your

  opinion of it."

  "Hold on a moment, boy. I want none of your

  hit-and-miss spellsinging in my home. If you feel the

  need to practice, do it outside."

  "Oh, it's all right." Jon-Tom found himself a seat

  1 on a strong shelf. "It's just a Hide tune. I'm not going

  to do any spellsinging."

  Clothahump eyed him warily. "Well, if you're sure.."

  Jen-Tom smiled confidently at him. "Sure I'm

  sure. What could be dangerous about a song about

  44 Alan Dean Foster

  something as innocent as roses?" He let his fingers

  fall lightly across the first set of strings, then the

  second, adjusted the control for tremble ever so

  slightly.

  The chords floated through the room, soothing

  and mellow, not nearly as sharp or discordant as

  Jon-Tbm's heavy metal favorites. Clothahump relented.

  "All right, boy." He moved as far back on the bed

  as he was able. "If you're certain you know what

  you're doing and have everything under control."

  Jon-Tom smiled reassuringly and began to sing.

  The music was lovely, but that didn't relax Clothahump.

  He was watching and listening to more than the

  melody.

  Sure enough, there it was: an intense red glow

  near the foot of the bed.

  "Boy, see there, I told you...!"

  But Jon-Tom wasn't listening to his mentor. He

  was transported to the kingdom of love by images of

  how Talea would react to this song, composed specially

  for her by the man who adored her.

  The intense, blood-red ball of light hung in the

  air, throwing off red sparks as Jon-Tom's voice rose

  passionately. Clothahump waved anxiously at it and

  was pleased to see it fall to the floor and disappear.

  He let out a relieved sigh and narrowed his gaze as

  he waited for Jon-Tom to finish his song. So he did

  not see the branches that sprang forth from beneath

  the carpet of wood chips. They grew with astonishing

  speed.

  Jon-Tom concluded his chorus and looked proud.

  "There, you see? Nothing to worry about. I've

  been working hard on my control, and I think I've

  gotten it to the point where I only conjure up what I

  want to." His expression changed to one of curiosity.

  "That's funny. I don't remember your planting any-

  thing at the foot of your bed."

  TUB MOMENT or THE MAOICIAM

  45

  Fearing the worst, Clothahump tumbled forward

  to peer over the edge of the bed. Growing out of the

  floor was a small, nicely pruned collection of thin

  branches. As they both watched, some two dozen

  American beauty blossoms erupted from the naked

  twigs.

  "Hey, how about that?" said Jon-Tom, delighted.

  "Now I ask you, what girl could resist that?"

  "Well," Clothahump said reluctantly, "1 have to

  admit that's quite a charming little bouquet you've

  called up."

  Jon-Tom netted the duar. "I didn't even get to the

  second chorus. What color would you like this time?

  How about a nice canary yellow?" He sang again,

  and this time the second bush appeared sooner than

  its predecessor. It was also twice as tall and, sure

  enough, heavy with fragrant yellow blooms.

  "Nothing to it. I told you I've been practicing my

  control."

  Clothahump stared at the bush. "Good. Then you

  can stop it now."

  Jon-Tom's jaw hung a little slack. "Uh, stop what?"

  "Stop it from growing."

  "But I have stopped. I'm not singing anymore."

  Clothahump pointed. "Tell it to that rosebush."

  Indeed, it didn't take especially sharp vision to see

  that the bush was continuing to expand. It was

  almost up to the roof. When it hit the ceiling, the

  branches began to spread out sideways, throwing out

  shoots and blossoms in every direction.

  "No sweat. I'll just sing the final chorus. That

  ought to finish it." He proceeded to do so, the words

  falling gentle and sweet on the now heavily aromatic

  air of the bedroom.

  It had absolutely no effect on the fecund rose-

  bush, which continued to spread out across the walls.

  Having covered ceiling and sides, branches began to

  40 Alan Dean Foster

  fill the room, crisscrossing and occasionally running

  into one another. Some of the stems were now as

  thick as birch trunks. The room was shaking.

  "That's enough, boy!" Clothahump was hemmed

  in against the headboard of his bed. Jon-Tom was

  trying to edge his way toward the near doorway, had

  to duck as two sapling-thick branches boasting three-

  inch-long thorns tried to block his exit.

  "I... I don't understand. I'm not singing any-

  more."

  "You bet your ass you're not, lad." C
lothahump

  struggled with one drawer in his plastron, finally

  yanked it open. "Got to lubricate these one of these

  days." The drawer finally popped open and he rum-

  maged around inside himself. "Hope I can stop it

  before..."

  "Before what?" wondered the thoroughly distraught

  Jon-Tom as he stumbled back from an encroaching

  branch. It vomited a three-foot-wide blossom in his

  face, and the burst of perfume made him dizzy.

  "Before these damned things start growing out of

  us," Clothahump shouted at him.

  His path to the door blocked, Jon-Tom scrambled

  across the floor toward the only remaining open

  section of the room . -. Clothahump's bed.

  "Maybe I overdid it a little bit"

  "My boy, your powers of observation and your

  innate ability to intuit the blatantly obvious never

  cease to amaze me. Ah, there!" He removed a small

  box from his plastron, shoved the drawer shut, and

  opened the box. From within he selected a pinch of

  white powder and leaned forward.

  "Roots and shoots and cellulose

  Blossoms that be profane

  Dwell in lands of malathane

  THB MOMENT OF TSW MAGICIAN 47

  Make thy xylum comatose

  Dry up thy tannic staint"

  He threw the powder into the advancing thorns. It

  evaporated. The cluster of branches seemed to

  shudder, to slow... and finally, to petrify.

  They were surrounded, engulfed by beauty. Jon-

  Tom felt sure he was going to throw up.

  He took a step toward the door which led into

  Clothahump's laboratory, found he couldn't move

  more than a few inches off the cushions before

  swordlike thorns pricked his legs. He retreated back

  onto the bed.

  "Sorry," he whispered morosely. The smell of roses

  was overwhelming.

  Clothahump sighed, gave him a fatherly pat on the

  back. 'That's all right, tad. We're all a little overconfi-

  dent now and again. You were right about one thing,

  though. If your ladylove were here, I've no doubt she'd

  be impressed with this little floral tribute of yours... if

  she wasn't cut to ribbons first. I will say this for your

  spellsinging: you don't seem able to do anything in a

  small way" At least a thousand blossoms of all shades

  and hues kept them imprisoned on the bed.

  "There's nothing basically the matter with your

  spellsinging, my boy. But you are going to have to

  work at moderating your enthusiasm a bit." He eyed

  his bedroom appraisingly. "An impressive, though

  difficult to deliver, bouquet."