with his hands, and dove into the water.
A couple of fast kicks carried him well out into the
open lake. He did not surface but swam hard and
unerringly for the four high islands of the east. Like
the other isles that combined to form the sprawling
city of Quasequa, they were connected to one an-
THE MOMENT or TBB MAOICUJT
19
other by causeways, but this was not the time to walk
openly on city streets.
It was time for stealth and for clinging to the dark
bottom of the lake.
II
Opiode sat in his robes of office, a thin, narrow
upswept cap balanced on the middle of his slick
head, and regarded his visitor. Flute stood quietly by
the front door.
The raven wore the kilt of his clan, colorful material
striped with green, purple, and red. His vest was light-
ly spun lavender. A single gold chain hung round
his neck to rest against his chest feathers. He rubbed
the underside of his beak with a flexible wingtip.
"Let me get this straight, now, sorcerer." He was
studying the papers Opiode had handed him. "You
want me to fly north along this route, turning slighdy
west here, to deliver this message." He shuffled the
papers, held up one filled with writing instead of
diagrams. "It goes to an old turtle named Clothahump
who lives in"—he checked the map briefly—"this ma-
jor tree here. For one hundred coins." Opiode nodded.
"That's a helluva long flight," Pandro said.
"I had heard that you were not afraid of long flights."
"I ain't. 1 ain't afraid of anything, least of all a little
long-distance traveling. But considering how quiet
you're being about this, and the amount you're paying
me, well, no disrespect. Master Opiode, but—what's
the catch?"
20
TBK MQMKNT OF THE KAOICIAN 21
Opiode glanced at Flute, then sighed and smiled,
down at Pandro. "It would not be right for me to
keep it from you. You must know what you are
about, as well as its importance.
"You must have heard that another has assumed
my position as chief advisor to the Quorum."
"Sure. It's all over town. This Markus fella... what's
it to me?"
"Good Pandro, I have reason to believe that this
newcomer intends ill toward our great city. But 1
cannot convince the members of the Quorum of
that. They would think I was making accusations out
of bitterness at my loss- And I cannot move against
this Markus by myself. I need help. This Clothahump
that you will seek out is the only one who can help us.
"The 'catch' is that this Markus the Ineluctable is
crafty as well as skilled in the arcane arts. You are
sure none saw you arrive here?"
"As sure as we can be, Master," said Flute. "I took
every precaution."
"Then, good Pandro, there may be no catch. But
be ever alert as you wing northward, for this Markus
is not stupid. If he believes you are aiding me, it
could be dangerous for you. If he did see you arrive
here, or sees you depart, he may try to stop you
from completing your journey."
"Is that all?" The raven rested his wingtips on his
hips for a moment, then rolled up the message and
the map and slipped them into his backpack. "Then
Acre's nothing to concern yourself with. Master
Optode. There isn't another flier in Quasequa who
Can stay in the air for as long as I can on as little food
as I can. Anybody he sends after me, if he sends
anyone. I can outfly." He flicked his beak with a
;Kringtip.
^ "See here? Been broken twice in fights. I can take
,^care of myself and I'm not worried about anything
Alan Dean Foster
22
this Markus fella might send up after me. If it flies, I
can outrun or outfight it."
"It is good to be confident. Overconfidence is
dangerous."
"Don't worry. I'll use my good judgment, sir. I've a
mate and three fledglings to take care of, and you
can bet I'm coming back to them. That's stronger
motivation than your hundred coins. Relax. I'll get
your message through."
"Can you fly at night?" Opiode asked him.
"Night, day, the air's all the same to me whether
it's light or dark out. But if you'd feel better about it,
I'll leave tonight."
Opiode smiled. "Feel better, I would. The night
must be a friend to us all, now." Flute nodded
solemnly.
"As you wish, sir."
"Caution above all," Opiode counseled him. "This
Markus has spies everywhere. Even among the fliers."
"I'll keep it in mind, sir. Once I'm clear of the lake
district I should have free flying all the way north.
Besides, I know all the'good fliers and fighters in the
high islands. I don't think any are in this fella's
pay."
"I was not worried about your cousins," Opiode
said darkly, "so much as I was concerned about what
this Markus might call forth from another, more
sinister sky to challenge you."
"Can't spend all our time worrying about the
unforeseeable, can we, sir? At least I can't. I sup-
pose that's your job." He tapped his head. "Anyway,
anything I can't outfly or outfight I can sure as hell
outsmart."
"Then be off with you, owner of an unseen cloud,
and hasten back to us safely."
Pandro started for the doorway. "You can bet on
that, sir."
THE MOMENT OF THE MAGICIAN
23
"A raven, you say?" Markus the Ineluctable was
listening with only half his mind to what the mouse
was telling him. He was too busy enjoying the splen-
dor of his new tower quarters, the finest that the
Quorumate Complex could offer.
"Yes, wise one," said the mouse. It had a tendency
to stutter, a condition made worse by its proximity to
the powerful and much-feared new chief advisor to
the Quorum. "It flew s-s-straight away from the
H-Ianding where Mossamay Street and the wizard's
c-c-close join."
"Which direction did it take?"
"It f-f-flew north, wise one. Few city fliers live to
the n-n-north."
Markus turned from contemplation of an exqui-
site wood carving to stare at his bodyguard. The
mouse barely came up to his hip. "Prugg, what's
your opinion of this?"
Prugg was very big, very strong, and not very
bright. Despite his size and strength, people had a
tendency to laugh at him. At least, they used to.
Since he'd become Markus the Ineluctable's personal
servant they'd stopped laughing. Prugg was just intelli-
gent enough to realize this. He was very grateful to
' the magician. Markus made him feel comfortable,
feven though he understood very little of what his
new master had to say.
But he didn't have to think anymore. Markus did
all
his thinking for him, Prugg found thinking
uncomfortable. And nobody laughed at him anymore.
• He was respected and feared. It was a new sensation
'•Steod him, understood his needs. Prugg responded
^with devoted, unquestioning service.
^' So he considered the question carefully before
)lying. "It is true that the lands to the north of the
24 Alan Dean Foster
city are not as thickly inhabited as those in other
directions. Master."
"What's the land to the north of here like?"
"Open forest where live peoples who do not pledge
their allegiance to the city or to any other government,
Master. North of that is the Wrounipai, the first of
many swamps all connected together that run from
west to east. They cut us off from any lands that lie
still farther north."
"And what about those lands?"
"I do not know. Master. I have never been there. I
do not know anyone from the city who has ever been
there."
"And that's the way this bird was heading when he
left Opiode's place." Markus turned his full attention
on his spy. "You're certain of that?"
"Y-y-y-y-for sure, wise one! I am certain of it. He
f-f-f-flew straight away from the wizard's neighborhood.
I followed him with my eyes from the rooftops
nearby."
"Okay, but how can we be sure he was on a mission
for Opiode?"
The visitor moved nearer, anxious to ingratiate
himself with the magician- His whiskers trembled as
he whispered.
"The wizard Opiode has a young assistant named
Flute. I s-s-saw him conversing with the raven before
he took off for the north." Markus was nodding
absently, admiring the polished hardwood inlay of
the table behind him- A single chair rested against
the table.
It needs something, he thought. A gargoyle or
demon or some such carved atop the chair. Some-
thing to draw the visitors' eyes upward. For that
matter, if the table was going to serve as a desk, it
had to be up on a dais. He'd have to get some
TBE MOMENT OF THE MAGICIAN 25
carpenters in here and get them started on the
alterations he wanted.
He was aware of his spy standing hopeful and
silent by his legs. "That's it?"
"That is all, w-w-wise one "
Markus nodded, glanced toward Prugg. "Give him
a gold piece."
"Thank you, wise one!" The spy was unaccus-
tomed to such largess, but Markus had always be-
lieved in paying his help as much as possible. Other-
wise you ended up with garbage working for you,
ready to sell you out to the first high bidder. Even if
he was overpaying for this particular bit of information,
in so doing he was buying himself a valuable servant
forever.
The mouse took the coin; skittered quickly away
from the ominous, silent shape of Prugg; and did
some admirable bowing and scraping as he retreated
from the magician's room.
When the door was closed once more, Prugg turned
to his benefactor. "What will you do now, Master?"
"What would you suggest?"
Prugg strained. Thinking hurt his head. "There
are faster fliers than ravens, Master. I would send
them after this one. Better not to take chances. Kill
it."
"He has nearly a full day's head start," Markus
murmured, "but I agree with your suggestion." Prugg
smiled proudly. "I will send fliers out after him, yes,
faut 1 will not hire them. I will conjure them forth to
do our bidding."
""Yes. Master," said Prugg admiringly, waiting to
see what the magician would do next.
What Markus did was to assume a wide stance in
the middle of the room. The floor there had been
deared of all furniture and decoration. Prugg moved
to one side for a better view. He found it astonishing
Alan Dean Foster
26
that Markus required no special chamber in which to
perform his wizardry. Nothing but a clear floor and
plenty of arm room.
As always, Markus mumbled the incantation. Not
that Prugg would have understood the words any
better than Opiode, but Markus the Ineluctable took
no chances with his secrets.
The room darkened perceptibly and the air grew
very still. Prugg would have been able to see better
with glow bulbs, but Markus would have nothing of
Opiode's around him and insisted instead on using
simple torches for illumination.
Then a faint whine became audible, alien and
harsh, rising slowly in volume. Prugg strained to see.
In the center of the room, in front of Markus,
shapes took form. If was as the magician had said:
fliers, but fliers akin to none Prugg had ever heard
tell of. He found himself backing away. They were
far smaller than he was, but ugly and threatening to
behold.
Markus, on the other hand, seemed delighted by
their appearance. They danced and whirled over his
head as he guided them with words and hands.
"Beautiful, beautiful! Better than I dared hope
for. If only I could've called them up as a child. Ah,
well, Prugg, it takes time to master the art. See,
they're just as I described theml"
The demons continued to pivot and spin over
their master's head, roaring exultantly and gnashing
their long teeth. In the enclosed space the din was
deafening.
They had no faces, Prugg noted.
No eyes, nostrils, external ears, or visible mouths.
Only those mindless, clashing teeth. Fangs without
jaws. Prugg found he was shaking. There were worse
things in the world than one's own nightmares^
"To the north!" Markus cried, pointing with one
Tsss Moanswr or THE WAQSCSAS 2,7
If v!
ft^
^
m
hand. "There flies the raven named Pandro. Where
he's going 1 don't know, but see that he doesn't get
there. Go!"
One by one, in single file, the faceless demons tore
through the open window. Only when the last of the
growling chorus had faded into the light of mideve
did Markus drop his hands and return to stand
behind his desk.
"About this chair, Prugg. What I want you to do
is—" He stopped and stared at his bodyguard. "Are
you paying attention?"
The huge servant forced his gaze away from the
window where the demons had taken their leave and
back to his master. Markus was speaking as though
die conjuration had never taken place. It was all so
matter-of-fact, so ordinary to him, this calling up of
otherworldly powers.
Truly Prugg was fortunate to have him for a master.
It was a lovely warm day, the air thick with humidi-
ty but not oppressively so. Below Pandro the trees
had closed in, shuttin
g off sight of the ground. He
was already well north not only of Quasequa but of
its outlying villages and satellite communities as well.
Rising thermals allowed him to glide effortlessly
over the dense tropical forest. Since departing
Quasequa he'd stopped only once, and that briefly,
the previous night to catch a bit of sleep. Then up
before dawn for a fast breakfast of fruit, nuts, and
dried fish and on to the north.
In his mind he reviewed the landmarks he would
pass on his way to the distant Bellwoods, a forested
region that was little more than rumor in Quasequa.
Opiode assured him such a place existed, just as he
assured him the great wizard he was to deliver his
message to existed.
If he was real, Pandro would find him. He'd never
28 Alan Dean Foster
failed to make a detivery yet, and this morning he
was feeling particularly confident. He felt so good he
skipped his usual midday snack, preferring to cover
as much territory as possible. Thus far the journey
had proved anything but dangerous. He'd assured
his mate before leaving that it would be more in the
nature of an extended vacation than a difficult
assignment. So far it had developed exacdy as he'd
told her.
Then he heard the noise.
It was behind and slightly above him and growing
steadily louder as he listened. At first he couldn't
place it. More than anything, it sounded like the
droning he imagined the fliers of the Plated Folk
might make. But those historic enemies were likewise
little more than rumor in Quasequa. Pandro had
only seen drawings of them, the fevered sketches of
far-ranging artists with more imagination than fact
at their disposal.
Hard-shelled, gray-eyed relatives of the common
bugs and crawly things that inhabited the woods and
lakes, they were. None had penetrated as far south
as Quasequa. He certainly never expected to see
them in person. Yet when at last he was able to look
back and make out the shapes pursuing him, he was
startled, for they certainly looked like the representa-
tions he'd seen of the Plated Folk.
The reality as they drew nearer still was worse.
They were not minions of the Plated Folk but some-
thing far more sinister. Similarities in shape and
appearance there were, but even the Plated Folk had
faces. The demons overtaking him had none. They
were hard-shelled but utterly different from any-
thing he'd ever seen before- Nor were they fliers like
Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician Page 3