Spellsinger

by neetha Napew

  Jon-Tom why she'd selected it. It was not dissimilar to the baton she was so

  accustomed to. The major difference was the pair of spiked steel balls at one

  end, lethal rather than entertaining.

  "Don't you think," he said uneasily, "it's a mite extreme?"

  "Look who's talking. What's the matter, not what you'd like to see?" She turned

  on her toes and did a mock curtsey. "Is that more ladylike?"

  "Yes. No. I mean..."

  She turned and walked over to him, laughing, and put a comforting hand on his

  shoulder. It burned him right through his indigo shirt and iridescent green

  cape.

  "Relax, Jon. Or Jon-Tom, as they call you." She smiled, and his initial

  irritation at her appearance melted away. "I'm still the same person. You forget

  that you really don't know anything about me. Oh, don't feel bad... few people

  ever really do. I'm the same person I ever was, and now I've been given the

  chance to enjoy one of my own fantasies. I'm sorry if I don't fulfill yours."

  "But the disorientation," he sputtered. "When I first arrived here I was so

  confused, so puzzled I could hardly think."

  "Well," she said, "I guess I've read a little more of the impossible than you,

  or dreamed a little deeper. I feel very much at home, compadre mio." She clipped

  the double mace to her link belt, pushed back her cape, and sat down on the

  floor. Even that simple motion seemed supernaturally graceful.

  "I was explaining to Jon-Tom," Clothahump began, "that the shock or the

  combination of the shock of the explosion and the magic we were working finally

  showed me the source of the evil that threatens to overwhelm this world. Perhaps

  yours as well, young lady," he said to Flor, "if it is not stopped here."

  Talea and Mudge listened respectfully, Jon-Tom uncertainly, and Flor anxiously.

  Jon-Tom divided his attention between the wizard's words and the girl of his

  dreams.

  At least, she had been the girl of his dreams. Her instant adaptation to this

  strange existence made her seem a different person. Moreover, she seemed to

  welcome their incredible situation. It left him feeling very inadequate. How

  many days had it taken him to arrive at a mature acceptance of his fate?

  The insecurity passed, to be replaced by a burst of anger at the unfairness of

  it all, and finally by resignation. Actually, as Mudge had indicated, his

  situation could have been much worse. If Flor was (as yet, he thought

  yearningly) no more than a friend, she was a damn-sight more interesting to have

  around than a fifty-year-old male engineer. And he'd made a friend of Talea as

  well.

  Decidedly, life could be worse. There was ample time for events to progress in a

  pleasant and satisfying fashion. He allowed himself a slight inward smile.

  After all, Flor's enthusiastic acceptance of the status quo might be momentary

  posturing on her part. If what Clothahump believed turned out to be true things

  were going to beeome much worse. They would all have to depend on each other. He

  would be around when it was Flor's turn to do some depending. He accepted her as

  she was and turned his full attention to Clothahump.

  "It is the Plated Folk," the wizard was telling them as he paced slowly back and

  forth before a tall rack of containers that had not been shattered. "They are

  gathering in all their thousands, in their tens of thousands, for a great

  invasion of the warmlands. Legions of them swarm through the Greendowns.

  "I saw in an instant great battle-practice fields being constructed on the

  plains outside Cugluch. Burrows for an endless horde are being dug in

  anticipation of the arrival and massing of still more troops. I saw thousands of

  the soulless, mindless workers putting down their work tools and taking up their

  arms. They are preparing such an onslaught as the warmlands have never seen. I

  saw--"

  "I saw a double-jointed margay once, in a bar in Oglagia Towne," broke in Mudge

  with astonishing lack of tact. For several minutes he'd been growing more and

  more restless. Now his frustration burst out spontaneously. "No disrespect t'

  these ominous foretellin's, Your Omnipotentness, but the Plated Folk 'ave

  attacked our lands too many times t' count. Tis expected that they're t' try

  again, but wot's the fear of it?" Talea's expression indicated that she agreed

  with him. "They've always been stopped in the Troom Pass behind the Jo-Troom

  Gate. Always they 'ave the kind o' impressive numbers you be recitin' t' us, but

  their strategy sucks, and what bravery they 'ave is the bravery o' the stupid.

  All they ever 'ave ended up doin' is fertili-zin' the plants that grow in the

  Pass."

  "That's true enough," said Talea. "I don't see that we have anything unusual to

  fear, so I don't understand your worry."

  The wizard stared patiently at her. "Have you ever fought the Plated Folk? Do

  you know the cruelties and abominations of which they are capable?"

  Talea leaned back in the chair fashioned from the horns of some unknown creature

  and waved the question away with one tiny hand.

  "Of course I've never fought 'em. Their last attack was sixty-seven years ago."

  "The forty-eighth interregnum," said Clothahump. "I remember it."

  "And what were the results?" she asked pointedly.

  "After considerable fighting and a great loss of life to both sides, the Plated

  Folk armies were driven back into the Greendowns. They have not been heard from

  since. Until now."

  "Meaning we kicked the shit out of 'em," Mudge paraphrased with satisfaction.

  "You have the usual confidence of the untested," Clothahump muttered.

  "What about the previous battle, and the one before that, and the thirty-fifth

  interregnum, which the histories say was such a Plated fiasco, and all the

  battles and fighting back to the beginning of the Gate's foundations?"

  "All true," Clothahump admitted. "In all that time they have not so much as

  topped the Gate. But I fear this time will be far different. Different from

  anything a warmlander can imagine."

  Talea leaned forward in the chair. "Why?"

  "Because a new element has been introduced into the equation, my dear ignorant

  youngling. A profound stress presses dangerously on the fabric of fate. The

  balance between the Plated Folk and the warmlander has been seriously altered. I

  have sensed this, have felt it, for many months now, though I could not connect

  my unease directly to the Plated Ones. Now I have done that, and the nature of

  the threat at once becomes clear and thrice magnified.

  "Hence my desperate casting for one who could divine and perhaps affect this

  alteration. You, Jon-Tom, and now you, my dear," and he nodded toward a watchful

  Flores Quintera.

  She shook black strands from her face, clasped both arms around her knees as she

  stared raptly at him.

  "Ahhh, I can't believe it, guv'nor," Mudge said with a disdainful sniff. "The

  Plated Folk 'ave never made it t' the top o' the Gate as you say. If they did,

  why, we'd annihilate 'em there at our leisure."

  "The assurance of the young," murmured Clothahump, but he let the otter have his

  say.

  " 'Tis only because the warmlander fighters o' the past wanted some
decent

  competition that they sallied out from behind the Gate t' meet the Plated Folk

  in the Pass, or there'd o' been even more unequal combat than history tells us

  of. I'm surprised they keep a-tryin'."

  "Oh, they will keep 'a-tryin', my fuzzy friend, until they are completely

  obliterated, or we are."

  "And you're so sure this great unknown whateveritis that you know nothin' about

  'as given those smelly monstrosities an edge they've never 'ad before?"

  "I am afraid that is so," said the wizard solemnly. "Yet I am admittedly no more

  clear as to the nature of that fresh evil now than I was before. I know only

  that it exists, and that it must be prepared for if not destroyed." He shook a

  warning finger at Talea.

  "And that, my dear, raises the other important advantage the Plated Folk have,

  one which must immediately be countered. We of the warmlands are divided and

  independent, while the Plated Folk possess a unity of purpose under their

  ultimate leader. They have the strength of central organization, which is not

  magical in nature but deadly dangerous nonetheless."

  "That still hasn't kept them from a thousand years of getting the shit kicked

  out of their common unity," she replied, unperturbed.

  "True enough, but this time... this time I fear a terrible disaster. A disaster

  made worse by the centuries of complacency you have just demonstrated, my dear.

  A disaster that threatens to break the boundaries of time and space and spread

  to all continuui.

  "I fear if this threat is not contained, we face not a losing fight, my friends.

  We face Armageddon."

  XII

  It was silent within the Tree for a while. Finally Talea asked, "What word then

  has come out of the Greendowns to you, honorable magician?" Clothahump's warning

  had quieted even her usually irrepressible bravado.

  "From what I have sensed," he began solemnly, "Skrritch the Eighteenth, Supreme

  Ruler of Cugluch, Cokmetch, Cot-a-Kruln, and of all the far reaches and lands of

  the Greendowns, Commander of all Plated Folk and heir to their allegiance, has

  called upon that allegiance. They have been building their armies for years.

  That and this new evil magic they have acquired has convinced them that this

  time they cannot fail to conquer. That self-confidence, that terrible feeling of

  surety, is what came through to my mind more powerfully than anything else."

  "And you learned nothing more about this new magic," said Jon-Tom.

  "Only one thing, my boy. That Eejakrat, master sorcerer among the Plated Ones,

  is behind it. That is something we could have naturally guessed, for he has been

  behind most of the exceptional awfulness that rumor occasionally carries to us

  from out of the Greendowns.

  "Do not underestimate these opponents set before us, Jon-Tom." He gestured at

  the indifferent Talea and Mudge. "Your friends talk like cubs, through no fault

  of their own." He moved closer to the two tall humans.

  "Let me tell you, the Plated Folk are not like us. They would as soon cut up one

  of us to see what's inside as we would a tree. No, I modify that. We would have

  more concern and respect for the tree."

  "You don't have to go into details," Jon-Tom told him. "I believe you. But what

  can we do from here?" He flicked casual fingers across the duar. "This magic

  that seems to be in my music is new to me, and I can't control it very well. I

  don't know what my limits may be. If you can't do anything, I don't see how an

  ignorant novice like myself could."

  "Tut, my boy, your approach is different from mine, the magic words you employ

  are new and unique. You may be of some use when least you expect it. Both you

  and your companion," he indicated the attentive Flor, "are impressive specimens.

  There will be times when I may be required to impress the reluctant or the

  doubtful."

  "We can fight, too," she said readily, eyes sparkling with uncharacteristic

  bloodthirstiness in that sensual but childlike face.

  "Restrain yourself, my dear," the wizard advised her with a fatherly smile.

  "There will likely be ample opportunity for slaughter. But first... you are

  quite right, Jon-Tom, in saying that there is little we can do here. We must

  begin to mobilize the warmlanders, to assuage their doubts and disbelief. They

  must prepare for the coming attack. A letter or two will not convince. Therefore

  we must carry the alarm in person."

  "The 'ell you say," Mudge sputtered. "I'm not trippin' off t' the ends o' the

  earth on some 'alf-cocked crusade."

  "Nor am I." Talea rose and let her left hand drop casually to the dagger at her

  hip. "We've our own personal business to attend to and care for."

  "Children," Clothahump half whispered. Then, more audibly, "What business might

  that be? The business of being chased and hunted by the police of the Twelve

  Morgray Counties? The business of thievery and petty con schemes? I offer you

  instead the chance to embark upon a far grander and nobler business. One that is

  vital to the future of not one but two worlds. One in which all who participate

  will assuredly go down in the memories of all those who sing songs, for twice

  ten thousand years of legend!"

  "Sorry," said Talea. "Not interested."

  "Nor me, guv'nor," Mudge added.

  "Also," said Clothahump with a tired sigh, "I will make it worth your while."

  "Cor, now that be more like it, Your Imponderableness." Mudge's attitude changed

  radically. "Exactly 'ow worth our whiles did you 'ave in mind?"

  "Sufficiently," said the wizard. "You have my word on it."

  "Now I don't know as that's exactly..." Mudge's sentence floundered like a shark

  in a salt lake as he detected something new and dangerous and very unsenile in

  the wizard's expression. "Wot I mean to say, sor, is that naturally that's good

  enough for us. The word o' a great sorcerer like yourself, I mean." He looked

  anxiously at Talea. "Ain't it, luv?"

  "I suppose so," she said carefully. "But why us? If you're going to need an

  honor guard, or body guard, or whatever, why not seek out some more amenable to

  your crazy notions?"

  Clothahump replied instantly. "Because you two are already here, have already

  been exposed to my crazy notions, are familiar with the histories of these two,"

  and he indicated Flor and Jon-Tom, "and because I have no more time to waste

  with others, if we are to make haste toward distant Polastrindu."

  "Now, guv'nor," said Mudge reluctantly, "I've agreed I 'ave, and I'll stick by

  me word, but Polastrindu? You want that we should go... do you know 'ow far,

  meaning no disrespect, that be, sor?"

  "Quite precisely, my good otter."

  "It'd take months!" shouted an exasperated Talea.

  "Yes it would... if we were to travel overland. But I am not so foolish or so

  young as to consider such a cross-country hike. We must make speed, for while I

  know what is going to happen I do not know when; consequently I am ignorant of

  how much time we may have left to prepare. In such circumstances it is best to

  be stingy with what we may not possess.

  "We shall not trudge overland but instead will make our way up the River

  Tailaroam."

 
"Up the river?" said Talea, eyebrows raised.

  "There are ways of traveling against the current."

  "To a certain point, Your Wonderness." Mudge looked skeptical. "But what 'appens

  when we reach the rapids o' Duggakurra? And I've 'eard many a tale o' the

  dangers the deep parts o' the river possess."

  "All obstacles can be surmounted." Clothahump spoke with confidence if not

  assurance. "They matter not. Obstacle or no, we must hurry on."

  "I think I'd rather go by land after all," said Talea.

  "I am sorry, my dear. Tailaroam's secrets might be better concealed, but it will

  be the cleaner and faster route."

  "Easy for you to say," she grumbled. "You'd be right at home in the water if we

  had any trouble."

  "I have not spent more than occasional recreational time in the water for some

  years, my dear. While I may be physiologically adapted to an aquatic life, my

  preferences are for breathing and living in air. As just one example, scrolls do

  not hold up well at all beneath the water.

  "Furthermore, we have now an excellent means for making our way to the river."

  "The L'borean riding snake." Talea nodded thoughtfully. "Why not take it all the

  way to Polastrindu?"

  "Because the river will be as steady and much faster. Perhaps our young friend

  Jon-Tom can conjure up an equally efficient form of water travel."

  "Conjure up?" The query came from Flores Quintera, and she looked sideways at

  Jon-Tom. "You mean, like magic?"

  "Yes, like magic." He endeavored to stand a little straighter as he held out the

  duar. "Clothahump was casting about for an otherworldly magician to assist him

  with his troubles and he got me. It turns out that my singing, coupled with my

  playing of this instrument, coupled with something--I don't know what--gives me

  the ability to work magic here."

  "That's very impressive," she said in a voice that lit a fire high above his

  boots.

  "Yes, it would be, except that it's kind of a shotgun effect. I fire off a song

  and never manage to hit exactly what I'm aiming at. I was trying for an old

  Dodge Charger and instead materialized the grandfather of all pythons. It turned

  out to be tamed to riding, though." He smiled at her. "No need to worry about

  it."

  "I'm not worried," she replied excitedly. "I love snakes. Where is it? It's