Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician

by Foster, Alan Dean;

world flock to my banner."

  "There aren't enough of you. You're just a few

  species among many."

  Gymaught looked smug. "We will enlist others to

  serve under us, and they will do the heavy dying.

  They will be proud to when they see what the new

  order is to be."

  "You haven't got a chance, any more than your

  human counterpart did."

  "He was a fool, and only a human. I am confident."

  That beak moved dose, but Jon-Tom stood his ground.

  There was no place to retreat to anyway. "And now

  we shall see if there is truth to your words. Sing, stir

  (he hearts of my followers, and you will live long."

  Jon-Tom did so, though it stung badly. He rational-

  ized his efforts by assuring himself he was only

  stalling for time. Stalling until Mudge arrived to

  THE MOMEJVT OF THE MAGICIAN 121

  spirit him out of this place. Then they'd figure out a

  means of stopping this disease that had crossed over

  from his own world before it could spread.

  He sang all the marches he could think of. The

  raptors were drawn to the music, dipping low to

  listen. There was a screech of approval at the conclu-

  sion of each martial melody.

  WhenJon-Tom's lungs Finally gave out, Gymaught

  put a friendly wing over him. Jon-Tom felt suddenly

  unclean.

  "You did well, musician! Put aside your otherworldly,

  primitive moral conceits and join me. I am not

  ungrateful to those who pledge their lives to me."

  Jon-Tom wanted to tell the eagle precisely what he

  thought of him and his totalitarian philosophy, but

  he had sense enough to shrug and say instead,

  "Maybe you've got something here. Maybe it could

  work in this world if not in the one we've left

  behind."

  "That's the spirit." Gymaught patted him on the

  back, nearly knocking Jon-Tom down. "The others

  moved too fast and became insane. But 1 am not

  insane, and I will not force my wing. Our advance

  and conquest will be patient, but inexorable. This

  time the cause will not fall." He looked around.

  "Over there is a small cave. A good place for you,

  unless you would prefer a higher perch."

  Jon-Tom let his gaze travel up the vertical walls of

  the shaft. "I'd never get up or down. I think I'll stay

  close to the ground."

  "A poor, earthbound creature. But you see, with

  me, you can fly! In truth, good singer, you will be

  able to lord it over your fellows. Think on that."

  Another crushing pat and Gymaught walked off

  to talk with his underlings.

  Smooth, Jon-Tom thought. He has the charisma

  down pat. The odor of the charnel house was power-

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  122

  ful in Jon-Tom's nostrils, an echo of similar, greater

  slaughterhouses from his own world's recent history.

  That could not be repeated here, must not be repeated.

  But he had to be careful. Gyrnaught was ,no fool.

  He would listen carefully to anything Jon-Tom might

  sing until he was more confident of his pet human's

  loyalty. So he had to be careful until he could do

  something.

  He just wasn't sure what.

  One thing struck him forcefully as the days passed

  within the shaft: the ease with which Gyrnaught had

  taken control of the minds and spirits of this world's

  raptors. They drilled efficiently on the ground and

  in the open air overhead, seemingly having readily

  abrogated their traditional independence in favor of

  Gyrnaught's rule. It just wasn't like them, according

  to those Jon-Tom had met in his travels.

  One day he asked an osprey about it. To his

  surprise, the bird informed him that when left to

  themselves, the hawks and falcons and other birds of

  prey often questioned the wisdom of Gyrnaught's

  philosophy. They weren't sure they really wanted to

  conquer the world- But in his presence they were

  helpless. The force of the eagle's personality and the

  strength of his arguments overwhelmed any hesitant

  opposition. Furthermore, anyone who questioned it was

  never seen again. So there was no organized opposi-

  tion to his plans.

  The osprey left Jon-Tom much encouraged. May-

  be they weren't confident enough to oppose him, but

  at least not all of the raptors had signed over their

  souls to Gyrnaught. That uncertainty could be

  exploited, but not gradually. Gyrnaught would sure-

  ly trace any such dissension to its source, and that

  would be the end of Jonathan Thomas Meriweather.

  No, it would have to be fast, a sudden collapse of

  will if not outright opposition. Trouble was, all the

  THE MOMENT or THE MAOICLW 123

  songs he knew were full of life and delight and fun.

  He didn't know any music darker than the martial

  bombast Gyrnaught himself favored. Nor could he

  think of anything potentially disruptive which would

  work fast enough. And he didn't think he had much

  time. His renditions of old marches were quickly

  •bang their edge as his own disenchantment manifested

  itself, and Gyrnaught was getting suspicious. One

  day soon the eagle might decide to go hunting for a

  new musician.

  He was sitting in his private alcove on the bed of

  straw that had been provided for his comfort, chat-

  ting with a small falcon named Hensor.

  "Tell me again," he asked the raptor, "why you all

  follow Gyrnaught so blindly and willingly. Because

  he's bigger than the rest of you?"

  "Of course not," said Hensor. "We follow because

  he is smarter and knows what's best for the rest of

  us. He knows how to make us act as a single talon

  able to strike death into the hearts of any who

  oppose us."

  "Yeah, but nobody's opposing you."

  "All oppose us. All who do not bow down to the

  rule of the master race."

  "Well, suppose everyone else did bow down to

  you?"

  *They won't." Hensor spoke with confidence. "We'll

  have to knock it into their heads. Gyrnaught says so."

  "I'm sure he's right, but just suppose, just for a

  moment, that everyone did bow down to you. Then

  what?"

  "Then we would rule without bloodshed. Except

  for the inferior races, of course, who would have to

  be disposed of."

  Jon-Tom felt a chill but continued politely. "Who

  would rule?"

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  124

  "We would, the raptors would. Under Gyrnaught's

  enlightened leadership, of course."

  "I see."Jon"Tom shifted on the straw. "Suppose all

  this comes to pass, suppose you conquer the whole

  world under Gyrnaught's direction. Then what

  happens?"

  "Well..." Hensor hesitated. Evidently Gyrnaught's

  orations hadn't sought that far into the future. "We

  wouldn't have to work. Others would do our fishing

  and hunting and gathering for us."

  "Then what w
ill you do?"

  "Why, we will rule, naturally."

  "But you already have everything you require."

  "Then we'll get more."

  "More what? How much food can you eat? How

  much wood do you need for a house or traditional

  nest?"

  "I... I don't know." The falcon shook his head,

  rubbed at his eyes with the flexible tip of one red-

  feathered wing. "Your questions hurt my thoughts."

  "I know what you'll do, and I'll tell you."Jon-Tom

  peered quickly outside. Gyrnaught wasn't around.

  Probably off drilling troops somewhere. "You'll get

  bored, that's what you'll do. You'll sit around doing

  nothing until your feathers fall out and you can't fly

  anymore. You'll look like a bunch of chickens."

  "Take care," Hensor warned him. "Some of my

  best friends are chickens."

  "Well, you know what I mean. Laziness will result

  in flighdessness."

  Hensor's confidence returned. "No it won't. Gyr-

  naught's drills will keep us strong."

  "Strong so you can do what? No, once you've

  conquered everyone else, you'll get bored and soft

  because you won't have anything else to fight for.

  and defeated people will see to all your needs. Rap-

  THE MOMENT or THE MAGICIAN 125

  tors are born to hunt. Without any need to do that,

  you'll all get flabby and flightless."

  "You confuse me."

  "Oh, I don't mean to do that," Jon-Tom assured

  him immediately. "Heavens no. I'm just concerned,

  that's all. You're all such strong fliers now, I'd hate to

  see you waste away."

  "What do you suggest?"

  Jon-Tom moved close, spoke in a conspiratorial

  whisper. "There'll be one of you who'll never get fat

  and lazy because he'll be too busy making sure the

  rest of you stay in line. Those that don't, of course,

  are liable to end up on his dinner table."

  Hensor looked shocked. "No, that would never

  happen! Gyrnaught would never do that."

  Jon-Tom shrugged. "He'd only be following his

  own philosophy. The strong rule, the weak perish."

  He hoped he was having some impact on Hensor

  because the convoluted reasoning was beginning to

  make him a little dizzy himself. "There is a solution

  to the problem, though."

  "What?" asked Hensor eagerly.

  "It's simple. Everyone must be equal. None of the

  master race must be any less the master than his

  neighbor. That's only fair, isn't it? That way every-

  one will have to maintain himself in optimum condi-

  tion for lighting."

  Hensor's expression showed that this notion of all

  chiefs no Indians was new to him. "Gyrnaught wouldn't

  like it," he replied slowly.

  "Why not? If you're all members of the master

  race, shouldn't you all have an equal part in ruling

  the lesser races? He'd still be the prime leader, but

  you'd all be leaders together. Isn't that how it's

  always been among the raptors?"

  "Yes, that's true," Hensor agreed excitedly. "We

  could all be leaders. We are all leaders." He turned

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  126

  and spread his bright red wings. "I must tell the

  others!"

  Jon-Tom retreated to the depths of his alcove and

  went through the motions of rearranging his few

  belongings. Before too much time had passed his

  attention was drawn outside by a rising din. He

  smiled to himself as he turned to peek out of the

  cave.

  Something a mite stronger than an animated dis-

  cussion was taking place among the soldiers of the

  master race, high up in the air of the central shaft- It

  appeared to involve a majority of them, in fact. In

  the midst of the discussion was a large gray shape,

  dipping and swinging its wingtips in what looked

  very much like fury.

  Soon it was raining feathers. They were of many

  sizes and colors, and Jon-Tom amused himself by

  gathering a few and stuffing them into the lining of

  his cape. As the screeching and angry squawking

  continued, he casually picked up his duar and strolled

  toward the path leading to the tunnel. No one paid

  him the slightest attention, since everyone was fully

  involved in determining who was qualified to be a

  leader and who was not.

  Apparently Gyrnaught was having some difficulty

  sorting out this business of multiple leadership, and

  the offer to make him prime leader wasn't sufficient

  to satisfy his ego. There was only one leader here,

  one master! His heretofore obedient soldiery was

  vigorously disputing this position.

  Jon-Tom reached the lip of the tunnel, spared a

  last backward glance for the argument which had

  freed him, and then hurried into the passageway. He

  was almost to the exit when a very large hawk

  swooped down from a hidden perch near the ceiling

  to challenge him.

  Jon-Tom hadn't expected a guard. This one had

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  127

  an eight-foot wingspan and gripped a long we

  tipped with four sharp points in both flexible wingdps.

  Jon-Tom was more fearful of its natural weapons.

  Beak and talons could tear him apart.

  "Where are you going, musician?"

  i "Just getting a little air," Jon-Tom told the guard,

  smiling thinly. He glanced over his shoulder, eyed

  the hawk significantly. "Aren't you going to join the

  discussion and put your application in?"

  "What discussion?" The hawk's bright eyes never

  left him.

  "The one where everybody's going to determine

  who's a proper member of the master race and who

  isn't."

  "I am the sentry," the hawk told him. "That is

  enough for me to be."

  "But everyone else is—" The hawk cut him off by

  taking a step forward and jamming the sharp spikes

  against Jon-Tom's belly. Jon-Tom retreated. The hawk

  followed, prodding him backward.

  "Haven't you heard about the discussion?" Jon-

  Tom asked lamely-

  "I'll find out later."

  "But everyone's a master now, everyone's a leader."

  "I'm only a sentry. I think maybe we'd better talk

  to Gyrnaught about this. I don't think you're allowed

  out to 'get a little air.' There's plenty of air in the

  lair." Again the spikes pricked Jon-Tom's gut, forcing

  him back another couple of steps.

  He was on the verge of panic. Unarmed, there

  wasn't a chance he could overpower this determined

  guard. In a little while Gyrnaught might whip his

  fracturing reich back into shape. When he did, Jon-

  Tom had a hunch the eagle would do some interrogat-

  ing. Then he'd come looking for his pet musician,

  whose clever songs wouldn't save his skin from being

  slowly peeled from his clever body.

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  128

  "Can't we talk this over?" he pleaded.

  "Nonsense. I can't discuss things with a member of

 
; an inferior race because it would—" The hawk stopped

  in mid-sentence. He pivoted slowly, and as he did so,

  Jon-Tom saw something like a quill protruding from

  the back of his skull. It wasn't a quill and it had

  feathers of its own. An arrow.

  The guard fell on his face, a heap of dead feathers,

  "Are you goin' to stand there gawkin' all day,"

  snapped Mudge as he notched another arrow into

  his longbow and tried to see down the tunnel, "or do

  you think it'd be too much of me to ask that you

  move your bloody aggravatin' arse?"

  VIII

  t "Mudgel"

  ^ "Oi, I know me name and you know yours." The

  ^Otter was starting to back toward the exit. "Now, if

  ^your legs are still connected to your feeble brain, I'd

  ^appreciate it if you'd get the latter t' movin' the

  ^'former."

  ^ Mudge led him outside, then down the tree-choked

  i^ope to the water's edge, where their raft was beached.

  Jon-Tom had been disappointed when he'd called it

  ; Up, but now it was as beautiful as a forty-foot motor

  | yacht. They pushed off and began rowing furiously

  |^fith the paddles.

  ^ From time to time Jon-Tbm could see several shapes

  "rise from the hollow interior of the island only to

  dive back inside.

  "Beginnin' to think I'd never run you down, mate,"

  ' Mudge was saying.

  "Why'd you bother, after what you were saying the

  last time we talked? There were plenty of good

  reasons for you to forget about me, and none for

  coming after me."

  "Well, let's call it curiosity and leave it at that,

  mate. If I think on it much I'm liable to get sick.

  Maybe I was just interested in seein' if you'd ended

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  130

  up as bird food or wotever. Or maybe I'm crazier

  than a neon worm."

  "1 don't care why you did it, I'm just glad that you

  did"

  Mudge jerked his head in the direction of the

  rapidly shrinking island. "Wot 'appened in there,

  anyways? Never 'eard a screekin' and yowtin' like that

  in me life. You put a spellsong on 'em?"

  "Not exactly. I just sort of convinced them to

  engage in a dialogue aimed at preventing the spread

  of injustice while maintaining equality among them-

  selves."

  "Cor, no wonder they was 'avin' a bloody mess of

  it! The poor flap-faces. Think they'll come after us

  after they get things sorted out among themselves?"

  "Not right away, if then. If their leader survives

  this little debate, he's going to be too busy trying to