Spellsinger

by neetha Napew

  Jon-Tom threw Clothahump a look, and the wizard subsided in the youth's favor.

  "I'll talk to the commissars of the Polastrindu commune. Perhaps they might

  accept you as a member."

  "Do you think so? I had no idea so enlightened a community existed." Fiery eyes

  stared back down at Jon-Tom hopefully. "That would be wonderful. I'm certainly

  willing to do my share of the work."

  "You've already done more than that this trip, comrade Falameezar. Clothahump is

  right, though, in suggesting you wait here in the river. Even the most educated

  comrades can sometimes react thoughtlessly when confronted by the unfamiliar."

  He leaned forward, and the dragon bent his neck back and down as Jon-Tom

  whispered to him, "There are counterrevolutionaries everywhere!"

  "I know. Be on your guard, comrade Jon-Tom."

  "I will."

  The dragon eased into shore. They marched down his back and tail, passing supply

  packs from hand to hand. A well-used track halfway between a wide trail and a

  small road led over the hills. Jon-Tom looked back for a moment. The others had

  already started up the road. Flor was alive with excitement at the prospect of

  entering the strange city. Her enthusiasm made her glow like the lining of

  clouds after a storm.

  He waved to the dragon. "Be well, comrade. Up the revolution."

  "Up the revolution!" the dragon rumbled back, saluting him with a blast of fire

  and smoke. Then the ferocious head dipped beneath the surface. A flurry of

  bubbles and some fading, concentric ripples marked with a watery flower the

  place where the dragon sank. Then they too were gone.

  Jon-Tom waded, his long legs and walking staff soon bringing him up alongside

  his companions, despite the burden of guilt he carried. Falameezar was far too

  nice a dragon to have been so roundly deceived. Perhaps they'd left him happier

  than he'd been before, though.

  "What do you think he'll do?" Caz moved next to Jon-Tom. "Will he stay and wait

  for you to return?"

  "How should I know? I'm no expert on the motivations of dragons. His political

  beliefs seem unshakable, but he tends more to philosophizing than action, I

  think. He might simply grow bored and swim back downstream to his familiar

  feeding grounds." He looked sharply at the rabbit. "Why? Do you expect trouble

  in Polastrindu?"

  "One never knows. The larger the city, the more arrogant the citizens, and we're

  not exactly the bearers of good news. We shall see."

  An hour's hike had brought them to the crest of the last hill. Finally the

  destination of so many days' traveling lay exposed to their sight.

  It was wonderful, yes, but it was a flawed wonderment. They started down the

  hill. Why should a city here be so very different from any other? he thought

  sardonically.

  There was a massive stone wall surrounding the city. It was intricately

  decorated with huge bas-reliefs and buttressed at ground level. Several gates

  showed in the wall, but the traffic employing them was sparse.

  It was not a market day, Caz explained. Farmers were not bringing produce into

  the city, nor distant craftsmen and traders their wagon-borne wares.

  There was somewhat more activity to the south of the city. The great wall ran

  almost to the river there. At least a dozen vessels were tied to the rotting

  docks. Some were similar to the sail-and-oar-powered keel-type boat that Caz had

  fled from that day on the river. Jon-Tom wondered if that very same ship might

  be among those bobbing gently at anchor below them. Barges and fishing vessels

  comprised the rest of the motley but serviceable flotilla.

  "The main gate is on the opposite side of the city, to the northwest and facing

  the Swordsward."

  "What's that?" Flor wondered aloud. "Have you been there? It seems like you've

  been everywhere."

  Caz cleared his throat. "No, I have not. I've been no farther than anyone else,

  I should say. It is a vast, some say endless, ocean of vegetation inhabited by

  vile aborigines and dangerous creatures.

  "We have no need to march around the whole city. The harbor gate should be a

  quite satisfactory ingress."

  They continued down the winding path, which had now expanded to road size.

  Curious fellow travelers let their gaze linger long on the unusual group.

  Lizard-drawn wagons and carts trundled past them. Sometimes riders on individual

  mounts would run or hop past. There was even a wealthy family on a small riding

  snake.

  Clothahump was enjoying himself. He moved with much less effort downhill than

  up. His glance turned upward. "Pog! Anything to report, you useless miscreant?"

  The bat yelled down to them as he dipped lower in the sky. "Da usual aerial

  patrol. A couple o' armed jays overflew us a few minutes ago. I don't tink dey

  saw us wid da dragon, though. Dey've long since turned 'round and flown back to

  report. Dey didn't act excited."

  Clothahump appeared satisfied. "Good. I have no time for intermediaries,

  Polastrindu is too big for them to bother with every odd group of visitors, even

  if we are a bit odder than most."

  "We may not seem so from the air, sir," Jon-Tom pointed out.

  "Quite so, my boy."

  They strolled into the docks without anyone challenging them. They watched as

  busy stevedores, mostly broad-shouldered wolves, margays, and lynxes,

  laboriously loaded and unloaded stacks of crates and bales. Exotic goods and

  crafts were stacked neatly on shore or loaded carefully onto dray wagons for

  transport into the city.

  Along the docks the aroma was pungent but something less than exotic. Even the

  river was darker here than out in midstream. The gray coloration derived not

  from some locally dark soil, as Jon-Tom first thought, but from the effluent

  pouring out of pipes and gutters. The raw sewage abraded much of the initial

  glamor, he'd come to associate with Polastrindu.

  Flor's expression twisted in disgust. "Surely it's not this bad in the city."

  "I sure hope not." Talea sniffed once, tried to close down her sense of smell.

  "It is said that the larger the town, the dirtier the habits of its citizens."

  Caz trod lightly on the filthy paving lest it sully the supple leather of his

  enormous shoes. "This derives from the concentration of the inhabitants on the

  making of money. Fastidiousness follows financial independence, not hard work."

  One narrow stone arch bridged an open trench. As they crossed, the stench nearly

  knocked Flor unconscious. Jon-Tom and Caz had to help her across. Once past she

  was able to stand by herself and inhale deep drafts of only partly tainted air.

  "Mierda, what a smell!"

  "It should be less overwhelming once we are inside the city gate." Clothahump

  did not sound particularly apologetic. "There we will be away from the main

  sewer outfalls."

  A rattling warning fell on them as Pog dipped close. "Master, soldiers come from

  da gate. Maybe dat overfly patrol wasn't so indifferent as it seemed. Maybe we

  in for some trouble."

  Clothahump waved him away as one might a large housefly. "Very good, Pog, but

  you worry overmuch. I will deal with them."

  It was a well armed if motley-l
ooking knot of soldiers that soon came into view,

  marching toward them. Between twenty and thirty, Jon-Tom guessed. He slipped his

  club-staff from its lacings and leaned on it expectantly. Other hands drifted in

  the vicinity of sheathed swords. Mudge made a show of inspecting his bow.

  The troop was led by a heavily armored beaver, a thickset individual with a

  no-nonsense gleam in his eyes. Catching sight of the column, sailors and

  stevedores scattered for cover. While at first they had ignored the newcomers,

  they now shied from them as if they carried plague.

  Boots, sandals, and naked feet generated a small rumble of retreat as other

  onlookers scurried for safety. Ten soldiers detached themselves with forced

  casualness from the main body. They quick-marched to the left to get behind the

  newcomers and cut off any possible retreat.

  "That doesn't look promising." Jon-Tom's grip tightened on the staff as he

  watched the maneuver.

  "Easy, my friend." The imperturbable Caz stepped forward. "I will handle this."

  "They would not dare to attack us," said an outraged Clothahump. "I am an

  emissary to the Council of Wizards and as such my person is inviolable and

  sacred."

  "Don't tell me, good sir," said Caz, gesturing at the nearing troops. "Tell

  them."

  Now the walls had become menacing instead of beautiful. Their stone towers cast

  threatening shadows over the travelers. From ships and other places of

  concealment the mutterings of watchful sailors and merchants could be heard.

  Finally the main body of soldiers drew up in a crescent facing them. Their

  leader stepped forward, pushed his helmet back on his furry forehead with a

  muscular paw, and studied them curiously. In addition to his chain mail, helmet,

  and thicker steel plates protecting particularly vulnerable places there was an

  unusual moon-shaped iron plate strapped to the thick, broad tail. It was studded

  with sharp spikes and would make a devastating weapon if it came to

  close-quarter fighting.

  "Well," he said, speaking with a distinct lisp, "what have we here? Two gianth,

  a tough-looking little female"--Talea spat at the ground--"a dithreputable otter

  type, a fop, and an elderly gentleman of the amphibian perthuathion."

  "Good sir." Caz bowed slightly. "We are travelers from downriver on a mission

  that is of great importance to Polastrindu and the world."

  "Thath motht interethting. Whom do you reprethent?"

  "By and large we represent ourselves for now, primarily in the person of the

  great wizard Clothahump," and he gestured toward the impatient turtle. "He

  carries information vital to our survival that he must present to the city

  council."

  The beaver was casually twirling an ugly skull-splitter of a mace, indifferent

  to where the spike-studded ball might land.

  "Thath all very nice, but it remainth that you're not citithenth of thith city

  or county. At leatht, I athum you are not. Unleth of courth you can produth your

  identity chith."

  "Identity chits?"

  "Everyone who liveth in the county or thity of Polathrindu hath an identity

  chith."

  "Well, since we don't come from the county or city of Polastrindu, as you've

  just been informed, obviously we don't have any such thing," Jon-Tom said in

  exasperation.

  "That doth not nethetherily follow," said the beaver. "We get many vithitoth.

  They all have properly thtamped identity chith. To be freely admitted to the

  thity all you have to do ith apply for and rethieve your proper chith." He

  smiled around enormous teeth. "I will be happy to provide you with thom."

  Jon-Tom relaxed a little. "Good. We'll need theven."

  "You very funny, big man. Thinth you have thuch a good thenth of humor, for your

  party it will cotht only"--the beaver performed some silent cogitation--"theven

  hundred silver pietheth."

  "Seven hundred...!" Clothahump sputtered all over the pavement. "That's

  extortion! Outright robbery! I am insulted. I, the great and wise and knowing

  Clothahump, have not been so outraged in a hundred years!"

  "I believe that our leader," said Caz quietly, "is somewhat disinclined to pay.

  Now if you will just convey word of our arrival to your superiors, I am sure

  that when they know why we have come--"

  "They won't hear why you have come," broke in the beaver, "until you pay up. And

  if you don't pay up, they won't hear why you were overcome." He grinned again.

  His huge teeth were badly stained by some dark brown liquid. "Actually, ith

  eighty silver pietheth per party for identity cardth, but my men and I have to

  make a living of thom kind, don't we? A tholdierth pay ith pretty poor."

  There were angry murmurs of agreement from the troops standing behind him.

  "We will depart peacefully then," said Caz.

  "I don't think tho," said the beaver. The ten soldiers who had detached

  themselves earlier now moved in tightly behind the travelers, blocking their

  path. "I don't want you going around to the other gateth."

  Flor whispered to Mudge, "Are all your cities so hospitable?"

  Mudge shrugged. "Where there's wealth, luv, there's corruption. There's a lot of

  wealth in Polastrindu, wot?" He eyed the soldiers nervously.

  Some of them were already fingering swords and clubs in anticipation of a little

  corrective head-bashing. They looked healthy and well fed, if not especially

  hygienic.

  " 'Ere now, your wizardship, why don't we just pay up? These blokes look as

  though they'd rather 'ave themselves a good massacre than anythin' else. If we

  wait much longer we won't 'ave ourselves much o' a choice."

  "I will not pay." Clothahump obstinately adjusted his spectacles. "Besides, I

  can't remember that asinine silver spell."

  "You won't pay, eh?" The beaver waddled over until he was glaring eye to eye

  with the turtle. "Tho you're a great withard, eh? Leth thee how much of a

  withard you really are," and he flipped the mace around, snapped his wrist, and

  struck Clothahump square on the beak.

  The sorcerer let out a startled cry and sat down hard. "Why you impudent young

  whelp!" He fumbled for his glasses, which had been knocked loose but not broken.

  "I shall show you who is a wizard. I will disembowel you, I'll... !"

  "Port armth!" the beaver barked. Instantly a cluster of spears and clubs was

  pointed at the travelers. The officer said sourly, "I've had jutht about enough

  of thith foolithneth. I don't know who you are, where you come from, or what

  kind of game you're trying to play with me, but we don't take kindly to vagranth

  here. Ith dragged off to the thellth you're to be, and methily, too, unleth you

  come up with thorn cash."

  There was stone wall to his right and sharp steel ahead and behind, but nothing

  blocked Jon-Tom's path as he'd worked his way to the water's edge. He cupped his

  hands and yelled desperately, "Falameezarrrr!"

  "What, thereth more of you then?" The beaver's whiskers twitched as he turned to

  face the stagnant water. "Where ith thith one? Hiding on a boat? Ith going to

  cotht you another hundredth silver piethes. I'm growing tired of thith. You'll

  pay me right now or elth..." and he twirled the mace menacingly. />
  A great tired creaking drowned out the last words of the threat as two ships

  were bodily shouldered aside. Dock planking gave under irresistible pressure

  from below. A huge black head emerged from beneath, trailing water and shattered

  boards. Great claws dug into broken stone, and coal-eyes glared down at the

  group.

  The beaver stared open-mouthed up at the wet, shiny teeth clashing just above

  him. "D-d-d-d-!" He never did get the whole word out, but managed to outwaddle

  half his subordinates in the race for the main gate.

  Sailors hastily abandoned their ships in the mad rush for the gate. Vendors and

  merchants abandoned their stocks and wharfside businesses in favor of drier

  territory. There was panic on the city wall as rudely awakened troops ran into

  one another in their rush to take up defensive positions.

  The now solitary band of travelers put up their own weapons.

  "A timely appearance, comrade," said Jon-Tom. "I'd hoped you might still be

  nearby, but I had no idea it would be quite this near."

  Falameezar gazed at the terrified faces peeking over the top of the wall. "What

  is wrong with them?" He was more curious than angry. "I heard your call and came

  as promised, but I thought they surely would treat you as fellow

  comrades-in-arms in the great struggle to come."

  "Yes, but you recall what I told you about the presence of

  counterrevolutionaries?" Jon-Tom said darkly.

  "Oho, so that's it!" Falameezar let out a furious hiss and a trio of small shops

  burst into flame.

  "Careful. We just want to get inside, not burn the city down."

  A massive tail lashed at the water and instantly put out the small fires, though

  he did the innocent shops no more good than had the flames.

  "Keep your anger in check, Falameezar," Jon-Tom advised. "I'm sure we'll have

  this all straightened out as soon as we can get to talk with the city's

  commissars."

  "I should certainly think so!" said the dragon huffily. "The idea of letting

  counterrevolutionaries interdict innocent travelers."

  "It's hard to tell the true revolutionaries from their secretive enemies."

  "I suppose that's so," the dragon admitted.

  "There might be even worse yet to come," Jon-Tom informed him as they all

  sashayed across the stones toward the now tightly barred wooden gate.

  "Like what, comrade?"

  Jon-Tom whispered, "Revisionists."