The Spellsinger Adventures Volume One

by Alan Dean Foster

  “ONE WHO KNOWS THE WORDS HAS SUMMONED!” came the thunder. Great red-orange skull and galactic eyes looked down upon the squat shape of an old turtle.

  But the wizard did not bend or hide his head. He remained safe within his sun symbol. His shells did not melt and crack, his flesh did not sear, and he looked upon the horse-star without fear. It dug at existence and its hooves burned time, but it moved no nearer.

  “I would know the new magic that gives so much confidence to the Plated Folk of the Greendowns as they ready their next war against my peoples!” Clothahump’s most sonorous sorceral tone sounded tinny beside the world-shaking whisper of the horse.

  “THAT IS OF NO CONSEQUENCE TO ME.”

  “I know,” said Clothahump with unbelievable brashness, “but it is of consequence to me. You have been summoned to answer, not to question.”

  “WHO DARES … !” Then the anger of the stallion spirit faded slightly. “YOU HAVE SPOKEN THE WORDS, MASTER OF A HUMBLE KNOWLEDGE. YOU HAVE DONE THE CALLING, AND I MUST REPLY.” The spirit seemed almost to smile. “BEWARE, LEADER OF AN IGNORANT SLIME, FOR THOUGH THEY KNOW IT NOT THEMSELVES, I FORSEE THEM DESTROYING YOU WITH MIRRORS OF WHAT IS IN YOUR OWN TINY MIND.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Clothahump with a frown. Again the whinny that frightened planets. “AND WHY SHOULD YOU, FOR YOU HAVE NOTHING TO UNDERSTAND WITH. THE DANGER TO YOU IS NOTHING TO ME, AND YOU CANNOT IMAGINE IT.”

  “When will this take place?”

  “THEY ARE UNCERTAIN, AS I MUST BE UNCERTAIN, AS IS EVER THE FUTURE UNCERTAIN. LET ME GO NOW.”

  Suddenly the flaming hooves were another ten feet above the surface. Yet it was not M’nemaxa who had moved, but the earth, which had pulled away in fear at the spirit’s rising fury.

  “Stay!” Clothahump threw up his hands. “I am not finished.”

  “THEN BE QUICK, LITTLE CREATURE, OR, WORDS OR NOT, I WILL MAKE OF THIS WORLD WHITE ASHES.”

  “I still do not understand the Plated Folk’s new magic. If you cannot describe it to me any better, at least tell me how to counter it. Then I will let you go.”

  “I WILL GO ANYWAY, FOR WORDS CAN HOLD ME BUT SO LONG AND NO LONGER. I CAN TELL YOU NO MORE. I CHOSE NOT TO ARBITRATE THE FATE OF THIS WORLD, FOR I HAVE MY OWN JOURNEY TO MAKE AND YOU CANNOT STOP ME.” There was a vast, roaring chuckle. “IF YOU WOULD KNOW MORE, ASK YOUR ENEMY YOURSELF!”

  A violent concussion shook Jon-Tom loose from the tree root. Bark came away in his bloody fingertips. But he was blown only a few feet downslope when the wind began to fade from hurricane to mere gale force.

  The thermonuclear stallion spirit vanished in an expanding ellipse of brilliant light. As the light faded, it left behind a three-dimensional residue. He saw a wavy image of some huge, sinister chamber. It was decorated with red gems, blue metal … and white bone.

  Within the bower stood an insect shape ten feet tall. Chains of jewels and cloth and small skulls of horribly familiar design draped the chitin. The nightmare stood next to a throne with a high curving back decorated with larger jewels and skulls. Some of the skulls still had flesh on them.

  It was talking to someone out of their view. Then something made it turn, and it saw them. A high, vibrating shriek filled the glade, and made Jon-Tom shiver. No dentist’s drill could have made a more excruciating sound.

  A far smaller flash, an echo of M’nemaxa’s blinding passing, obliterated the awful sight.

  And then there was no longer anything within the glade save one very tired wizard, wind, and grass.

  The gale had become a breeze. As if confused by its presence, the wind-cloud vortex that had hung above the glade simply dispersed. Silver phosphorescence shimmied down trunks and branches to run like water back into the soil.

  A light rain began to fall. Hesitantly, the moon peeked through the intermittent clouds, filling the glade with healthy light.

  By the time the panting Jon-Tom and the others had reached the center of the glade the ellipses and suns and arcane symbols and formulae no longer glowed against the ground. Though he sought Clothahump, Jon-Tom’s mind still saw the face of the towering praying mantis, heard once more the grating scream that had issued from it just before it vanished.

  Pog was hovering nervously above them. The rain was steadily washing the powders and rare essences back into the soil from which they’d been extracted. This corner of the web of the world had held.

  They found Clothahump sitting on the grass, his glasses askew on his horned beak.

  “Are you all right, sir?” Jon-Tom spoke with a mixture of anxiety and respect.

  “Who, me? Yes, my boy, I believe I am.”

  “You ought not to have tried it, good wizard.” Talea studied the empty ellipse warily. “There are extremes of magic which should not be touched.”

  He shook a finger at her. “Don’t try to tell me my business, young lady. Pog, give me a wing up.” The bat dipped lower, helped the wizard to his feet.

  “I have learned part of what I wished to know, my friends. Though I must confess I did not expect the spirit M’nemaxa to speak in riddles.”

  “Actually, I don’t see that we’ve learned that much,” said Flor.

  “We have something to work with, my dear, even if it is only couched as a riddle or metaphor. That is a great deal more than we had before.” He sounded pleased. “And if naught else, we have given a scare to the Empress Skrritch that may make her hesitate or delay her attack, for she it was whom we saw in that final moment.

  “We can continue our journey, secure now in the knowledge that this will be a full-scale war led by the Empress of all the Plated Folk herself. That should win over some of muddleheads in Polastrindu!”

  “I hope we don’t have to go through this many more times,” Flor muttered. “Santa Cecilia may not have many more blessings left for me.”

  “Not to worry, child,” he assured her. “I will not attempt it again. Such a conjuration cannot be made more than once in a lifetime, and tonight I have used mine. I employed incantations I will never employ again, spoke words I may not safely speak henceforth.

  “From now on, each day on earth will be one twenty-two thousandth of a day shorter than previously, for in order to draw the immortal from the far depths of his journey I had to utilize the soul-strength of the earth itself.”

  Jon-Tom walked out into the inner ellipse. Every blade of grass within the marked shape had been vaporized. So had the soil. All that remained was a perfect ellipsoidal shape of melted stone. The white granite had been twisted like taffy.

  “You spoke of its journey, sir, and so did it. I … I heard it.”

  “Did you see how furiously it soared, how steadily it galloped, though it did not move beyond my confinement?” Jon-Tom nodded.

  “It was at once here with us and holding its place in its journey.” He checked to make certain his plastron compartments were still tightly closed. “If the legends of wizards and the admonitions of necromants are correct, the spirit M’nemaxa has traveled approximately a thirtieth of its journey. The journey began at the beginning of the first life, life which in making its journey M’nemaxa strews across the worlds behind it.

  “It is galloping around the circumference of the Universe. It is said that when it meets itself coming it will annihilate purpose. Then it can finally rest. ’Tis no surprise it was irritated at our interruption. With a journey of several trillion years still to make, even a little pause is unwelcome.

  “Yet despite all that, the formulae worked. The ellipse held.” He glowed a little bit himself, with pride. “It was contained, and It answered when It was called.” He blinked and slowly sat down on the grass again. “I’m a little tired, all of a sudden.”

  “I think we’re all a little tired,” said Jon-Tom knowingly.

  “Aye, I’ll not argue that, mate.” The afterimage of the enormous winged flame-horse still lingered on the otter’s outraged retinas. “I think we could all do with a bit ’o sleep ’ere.”

  Everyon
e agreed. After a brief mutual examination to insure that no injuries had been sustained, they began to make camp. Sleep finally came to all, but fiery images alternated with visions of a tall green-black horror to provoke less than benign dreams.

  Far above and away a distant pinprick of light flared briefly across the cosmos. The tiny burst faded quickly. It came from the vicinity of NGC 187, where M’nemaxa angrily kicked aside a star or two as he raced back to where he’d left off his eternal race around the infinite bowl of existence… .

  XIV

  THERE WAS PANIC in Cugluch Keep.

  Word of the troubles seeped down from servitors to attendants to workers and even to the lowly apprentice workers who toiled in the deepest burrows and worked endlessly to keep the omnipresent ooze from flooding the undertunnels.

  Rumors abounded. Workers whispered of a flaming rain that had fallen from the sky and destroyed hundreds of brood platforms. Or they told of tons of carefully hoarded foodstuffs invaded and ruined by spore rot. Or that the sun had appeared for three consecutive days, or that several of the Royal Court had been discovered feeding on the corpse of a mere worker and had been summarily dismissed.

  The truth was far worse than the rumors. Those who knew hid in fear and went about their daily business always looking over their shoulders (those who could look over their shoulders, for some had no necks … and some no shoulders).

  Hunter packs took every opportunity to get away from the capital city, on the pretext of adding still further to the enormous stocks of supplies. Official auditors bent low over their tallies. All were affected by the panic, a panic that reached beyond sense, beyond normal fears of mortality, to affect even quivering grubs within their incubation cocoons.

  The Empress Skrritch was on a rampage. Blood and bits of loose flesh trailed in her wake as she stormed through the rooms and chambers of the labyrinthine central palace.

  Safe from her wrath, endless legions of mandibled, facet-eyed troops drilled mechanically on the mossy plains outside the city. As if fearful of reaching the ground, the rays of the sun penetrated the dun-colored sky only feebly.

  Guards and servants, scurrying messengers and bureaucrats alike felt the Empress’ temper. Eventually the rage spent itself and she settled herself down in one of the lesser audience chambers.

  Her thoughts were on her own fear. Idly she nibbled the headless corpse of a still twitching blue beetle chamberlain who’d been too slow to get out of her way. Chitin crunched beneath immensely powerful jaws.

  It was some time before Kesylict the Minister dared to stick fluttery antennae around the arched doorway into the chamber. Sensing only simmering anger and the absence of blind fury he poked first his head and then the rest of his antlike body into the room.

  A glance revealed a ruby the size of a man’s head and redder than his blood. In the top facet Kesylict saw the reflection of the Empress. She was squatting on four legs. The body of the unfortunate chamberlain dangled loosely from one hand while the beautifully symmetrical porcelain-inlaid face of the Empress stared out without seeming to see him.

  Though not as lavishly decorated as the main audience chamber or the sinister den of death designated as the royal bedroom, this chamber was still lush with gems and precious metals. The Greendowns were rich in such natural wealth, as though the earth had compensated the land for its noisome, malodorous surface and eternal cloud cover.

  They were much appreciated by the hard-shelled denizens of those lands. In the absence of the sun, their sparkle and color provided much beauty. All the varieties of corundum were mined in great quantities: beryl, sapphire, ruby. Rarer diamond framed the windows in the chamber, and thousands of lesser gems, from topaz to chrysoberyl, studded furniture and sculpture and the ceiling itself.

  But Kesylict had not kept his head by mooning like a bemused grub at commonplace baubles. He waited and was ready when the triangular emerald green skull jerked around and huge multifaceted eyes dotted with false black pupils glared down at him.

  Kesylict debated whether it might not be prudent to retire and wait a while longer before attending his Empress. However, cowardice could cause him to go the way of the chamberlain. That former servitor was now only an empty husk that had been neatly scraped clean by the voracious Empress.

  “Why do you cower in the doorway, Kesylict? Yes, I recognize you.” Her voice was thick and raspy, like sandpapered oil. Useless wings twitched beneath a long flowing cape of pure silk inlaid with ten thousand amethysts and morions shaped by the empire’s finest gem-cutters and polishers, and attached to the cape by a dozen royal seamstresses.

  “Pardon, Your Majesty,” said the hopeful Kesylict, “but I do not cower. I only hesitate because while I have hoped to talk with you for the past several hours, your mood recently has not been conducive to conversation.” He gestured at the corpse-shell of the chamberlain. “Mutual conversation is difficult when one of the participants is forced to function minus his head.”

  That glowering, fixed skeleton shape could not twist her mouth parts into a smile, and such an expression would have been foreign to her anyway. Nonetheless, Kesylict felt some of the tension depart the room.

  “A sense of humor when one’s own possible demise is at stake is a finer recommendation of courage than the most dry and somber brilliance, my Kesylict.” She tossed the empty shell of the chamberlain into a far comer, where it shattered like an old dish. A couple of legs fell away and rolled up against a far door. The corner was rounded, as were all in the room. The inhabitants of the Greendowns disliked sharp angles.

  She turned away from the window. “Anyway, I am full, and tired. But there is more than that.” Both knife-edged arms crossed in front of the green thorax, and the decorated head rested on the crux they formed, producing a frozen image of an insectoid odalisque.

  “I am worried.”

  “Worried, Your Majesty?” Kesylict scuttled into the chamber, though taking care to try and remain unobtrusively out of her reach. One could not escape the lightning-swift grasp of the mantis unless one remained beyond its range. So Kesylict approached no closer than protocol demanded. None could tell when the mercurial desires of the Empress might change from a request for advice to a craving for dessert.

  “What could possibly be enough to worry Your Majesty? The preparations?” He waved toward the far window. Outside and below were the busy streets of Cugluch, capital of the Empire of the Chosen, their most powerful city. Teeming thousands of dedicated citizens dutifully slaved for the glory of their Empress and their society. Their own lives were filled with the shared glory of their race, and each lowly worker was ready to share in the coming conquests. Preparations were proceeding with the usual efficiency.

  “We ready ourselves better than ever before in the history of the Empire, and this time we cannot fail, Majesty.”

  “There has been no trouble with the stores?”

  “None, Majesty.” Kesylict sounded genuinely concerned. Though fearful for his personal safety, he was nevertheless a loyal and devoted servant of his Empress, and she did indeed seem worried.

  “The training and mobilization also proceeds smoothly. Every day more grubs shed their larval skin and develop arms and the desire to bear weapons. Never has our army been as powerful, never has the desire of its troops been greater. Not one but three great armies stand ready and anxious for the ultimate assault on the lands to the west. Victory is within our grasp. Or so generals Mordeesha and Evaloc have been saying for over a year now. The whole Empire pulses with desire and readiness for battle.

  “Yet by wisdom we wait, grow stronger still, so that we can now overwhelm the hated soft ones with but a third of our strength.”

  She sighed, a low hiss. “Still, we have many thousands of years of failure behind us to show the folly of brave words. I will not give the order to move unless I am certain of success, Kesylict.” Her head twitched to one side and she used an arm to clean a bulging eye.

  “No trouble then with the Manifesta
tion?”

  “Why, no, Majesty.” Kesylict was appalled at the thought. For all his talk of strength and desire, he knew that the Empress and general staff were pinning their ultimate hopes on the Manifestation.

  “What could be wrong with it?”

  She shook a cautionary claw at him. “Where magic is involved, anything is possible. This development is so different it frightens even Eejakrat, who is responsible for it. The greatest care must be exercised to insure its safety and surroundings.”

  “So it has been, Majesty. Any unauthorized who have come within a hundred zequets of it have been killed, their bodies buried without even the meat being consumed. Greater security has never been exercised in the whole history of the Empire.” He peered hard at her.

  “Even still, my Majesty worries?”

  “Even still.” She made as if to rise from her squat. Kesylict took a nervous step backward. She gestured casually, slowly, with an armored arm.

  “Be at ease, my valued servant. I am sated physically. It is my mind that hungers for surcease, and your counsel that I require. Not your meat.”

  “Gladly will I offer my poor advice to Your Majesty.”

  “This is not for you alone, Kesylict. Summon High General Mordeesha and the sorcerer Eejakrat. I have need of their thoughts as well.”

  “It will be done, Your Majesty.” The Minister turned, his cushioned shoes scraping on the extruded stone floor. He was grateful for the respite but at the same time concerned for the health of his Empress.

  Everything was going so well. What could possibly have happened to upset her to the point where she was worried about the outcome of the Great Enterprise?

  Later, squatting with the others, Kesylict felt by far the most vulnerable, to both physical abuse and criticism.

  To his left rested the heavily armored and aged beetle shape of High General Mordeesha. Battle armor drooped from his soft underbody. Insignia of rank and the less symmetrical wounds of war were cut into his thick dorsal wing covers. Sharp curving horns made of metal protruded from the helmet that fit over his own horny skull. Sweeping metal flanges shielded his eyes.