Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  "I do not think your curiosity strong enough to

  cause you to linger this long," observed the 'Speaker

  cannily. "If you could leave freely, 1 believe you

  would already have done so. Indeed, were you capa-

  ble of such sorcery, I do not think you ever would

  have been captured." He paused, and Jon-Tom had

  the feeling the tall insect was eyeing him curiously.

  "There was known to be among the warmlanders

  during the battle for the Gate a great and strange

  spellsinger. To make magic, a spellsinger of any race

  must have an instrument with him." He gestured

  with a three-foot-long arm toward the storage chamber.

  "That instrument, perhaps."

  Jon-Tom didn't look toward his duar. "Perhaps. Or

  perhaps this small flute I always carry with me." He

  reached inside his shirt.

  The two stocky insects nearly broke their antennae

  diving for the exit, jamming tight for an instant

  before tumbling to safety in the water beyond. The

  giant water bug stirred uneasily, its massive front

  pincers flexing.

  The tall speaker flinched but did not retreat. He

  relaxed when Jon-Tom's hand stayed concealed in-

  side his shirt. "A small amusement. I understand."

  He turned his head to eye the dome's entrance. His

  two aides were peeking cautiously back into the

  air-filled chamber.

  Jon-Tom didn't understand the phrasing, but it

  certainly sounded like a curse that fell from the

  speaker's speaking tube. A contemptuous curse. The

  Tae MojitBarr or THB MAOICSAM 167

  aides sl^ly reentered the'^ome under the baleful

  gaze of <|(-eir superior. Jon^Ebm's interpretation of

  their expressions was not pleasant.

  As thodgh nothing had happened, the speaker

  turned back to him. "Tomorrow we will make a

  special conveyance for both of yoQ. It will contain a

  small air chamber like this one so chat we can travel

  safely to Cugluch underwater. There are many riv-

  ers and quiet^akes between here and the Greendowns,

  and we shouN not have to expose ourselves to the

  land-dwellers Very often. There will he no chance of

  rescue for you-You might as well enjoy the journey.

  You will be pandered."

  "Fatted calvesA Jon-Tom murmured. "How are

  you going to cross %aryt's Teeth?**

  "There are rivers that tunnel through the mountains.

  We know them. You shaHcome,to know them as well,

  though it is knowledge yau .frill never be able to

  share. Now I have a question^ man. What were you

  intending in this country, so-far south of your own

  land, from the region backing onto the Gate?"

  Mudge jerked a thumb in Jon-lbm's direction.

  "This one 'ere, guv'nor. "e's a bloody tourist, 'e is. He

  likes to get out and see (he wondersao' nature and all

  that crap." ^

  "And whai-^Lf you?"

  "Me? That^^asy. See, I'm^barkin' insah^ ain't I?

  I'd 'ave to be ^ I wouldn't be 'ere." Witlr^hat he

  sat down on th^eeds, a decidedly peeved l^o^on

  his face, and rerKfcd to answer any more quertQs.

  J!!»^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

  The worst they c

  "You must be at^

  wizai^y. corn mentecT";

  ney beo^een here ai

  ' ^, ^ r

  emoy maty adverting co

  "•" ^'^"'jpn-Tomtol

  iterestn^ perj^n, spellsinger

  .speaker. "Itt^a longjpur-

  Greendowns. We may

  rsation along the way."

  lim evenly. "I'm-not

  with'^asual killers "

  Alan Dean roster

  188

  "We are not casual. I am disappointed. I would

  have thought your reaction to your situation might

  have been more enlightened," It performed a ges-

  ture that might have stood for a shrug, or, might

  have meant something else entirely.

  "It will make no difference in the final judgment.

  You know your fate."

  With dignity, the speaker turned and vanished

  through the watery portal, flanked by his stocky aides.

  There was respect in the giant water bug's movements

  as it swam aside to let the trio pass. Jon-Tom watched

  the speaker swim slowly around the dome, heading

  back down toward the buildings below.

  There was a rush of water from the entrance. The

  giant water bug's head, with its massive mandibles,

  was even more impressive out of the water.

  "YOU STAY," it grunted in a crackling voice, then

  pulled clear to resume its motionless patrol. Water

  surged in after it, making their humid prison damp-

  er than ever.

  "Tomorrow, he said," Jon-Tom murmured, gazing

  toward the watery sky. Already it was growing dark

  inside the dome as the sun sank toward the horizon.

  "That doesn't give us much time."

  "It doesn't give us any time, mate. We're doomed."

  "Never use that word around me, Mudge. I refuse

  to acknowledge it."

  "Right you are, mate. We're stuck." The otter turned

  away, bemoaning his fate.

  In truth, there seemed no way out Even if they could

  somehow manage to slip past their monstrous guard,

  their movement through the water could be detected

  and recognized instantly by any of the vibration-

  sensitive inhabitants of the underwater community.

  As for the dome, if they cut a hole in it, water

  would pour in and prevent any exit. In any case, it

  would take at least a week to make an impression on

  THE MOMENT OF THE MAGICIAN

  189

  that hard, sticky material with Mudge's claws and his

  fingernails. It was as if they were imprisoned in a cell

  completely encased in alarm wires. All they had to

  do was move to trip one.

  That didn't keep him from thinking about escape,

  but by the time they'd finished the evening meal

  their captors thoughtfully provided, he was forced to

  admit that his usually fertile imagination could gener-

  ate nothing in the way of a plan. Not even a sugges-

  tion of a plan.

  Mudge was right this time. They were stuck. May-

  be they would have a better opportunity to escape

  during the long journey to Cugluch. In that case,

  he'd only hurt their chances by not sleeping.

  The mat was soft, but not reassuring.

  "Where's the other one?" said an excited, rasping

  voice.

  Jon-Tom opened his eyes. It was light inside the

  dome again, but barely. The sun was still rising. He

  shivered in the damp cold air.

  The dome was alive with activity. Sitting up on the

  reeds, he tried to force his eyes to adjust to the

  feeble light. Busy water beetles scurried around,

  inspecting the walls, sniffing at the floor, tearing the

  reed mat up around him. All of them carried six-

  inch-long knives.

  He counted at least a dozen of them. Two ran past,

  still shedding water from their recent entry. As his

  brain began to clear he saw that they were not

  merely active; they were downright agitat
ed.

  Standing close to the entrance was the speaker.

  His maroon aides huddled close to him. Their swords

  were drawn and they, too, were searching the interi-

  or of the dome anxiously.

  Then the speaker's words, filtered through his

  half-asleep thoughts, struck home.

  Aim Dean Footer

  100

  •'Mudge?" He got on all fours, feeling through the

  reeds where the otter had been sitting last night.

  "Mudge!" The otter's musk was still strong in the

  enclosed chamber. That, and the impression of his

  body in the reeds, was all that remained of him.

  When Jon-Tom rose, he was immediately sur-

  rounded by three of the sword-wielding water beetles.

  He put their edginess and Mudge's apparent absence

  together and reached an inescapable conclusion.

  The otter had split.

  As the rising sun shed more light on the search,

  his smile grew wider and wider. The Plated Folk

  were already repeating themselves. After all. there

  were only a limited number of possible hiding places

  within the dome. Somehow Mudge had made it to

  freedom without waking his companion or alarming

  their giant guard.

  He wasn't angry with the otter for not alerting

  him. Obviously, whatever avenue of escape he'd

  followed wasn't suitable for the gangly Jon-Tom, or

  Mudge would have gotten both of them out. Sure he

  would. Jon-Tom refused to believe otherwise-

  He wouldn't allow himself to believe otherwise.

  Besides, it was only justice. Only fair that having

  been unwillingly dragooned into this expedition,

  Mudge should be the one to escape with his life.

  Then there was no more time to bask in the

  success of the otter's chicanery because the speaker

  was towering over him.

  Bright compound eyes gazed down at the single

  remaining prisoner, and that raspy voice repeated

  the question it had asked of its minions only minutes

  earlier.

  "Where is the other one? The short furry slave?"

  "He's not a slave," Jon-Tom said defiandy. "As for

  your first question, why don't you go screw yourself

  and see if it brings forth enlightenment?" He de-

  THE MOMENT OF TOK MAQJCIAH

  191

  rived unexpected pleasure from the vehemence of

  his reply.

  It had absolutely no effect on the speaker. "Tell me

  or i will have your limbs removed."

  "What, and deprive the Empress of so much

  delight?" Jon-Tom grinned up at the speaker. "Not

  that it matters. I don't know where he is any more

  than you do. Your folks woke me out of a sound

  sleep. You were here and Mudge was gone. Where to

  I couldn't say, and I don't care as long as it's far away

  from here."

  "I do not think you are telling the truth, but as you

  say, it matters not. You are here and he is gone. You

  are the important one anyway. You are the one they

  will greet with joy in Cugluch. The flight of the

  other is irritating. That is all." He gestured with a

  long arm. The chitin Hashed in the light.

  Several short laborers were bringing something

  long and rectangular through the entrance. It looked

  uncomfortably like a coffin, for all that Jon-Tom

  knew it was designed to preserve his life, not his

  corpse.

  "The means by which you will be transported

  safely to Cugluch," the speaker explained unnecessarily.

  "The escort is ready- Now you will be made ready."

  Jon-Tom tried to take a step backward, only to

  find himself hemmed in on all sides. He was much

  taller than every one of the Plated Folk with the

  exception of the speaker, but they were stocky and

  strong.

  "What do you mean, 'ready* me?"

  The speaker elucidated. "One as clever and well

  versed in the arcane arts as you is always a threat,

  even without your magic-making instrument. I will

  take no chances on you working mischief during our

  journey, or on suiciding at the last moment."

  Long arms pushed. Jon-Tom felt himself shoved to.

  Alan Dean Foster

  192

  one side. Looking past the speaker he could see

  something like a five-foot-long cockroach waiting

  patiently near the portal. An air-Filled ovo^d was

  strapped to its back. Within, he could see his ramwood

  staff, duar, and the rest of the supplies that had been

  salvaged from their raft. The laborers were strap-

  ping the air-filled bier onto the back of another.

  Then the speaker stepped aside, revealing the

  ugliest speciman of Plated Folk Jon-Tom had ever

  seen. It walked on alt sixes instead of fours like the

  speaker and water beetles. Its body was long and

  thin and flattened from head to thorax, while the

  abdomen swelled into a grotesque globe- In color it

  was mucklededun except for the comparatively small

  eyes, which were bright red.

  As it moved toward him, it raised its two front

  arms. Tiny vestigial wings began to vibrate excitedly

  against the thorax, which was very narrow. It was

  also the smallest of the Plated Folk in the chamber,

  barely three feet long. So was the tightly curled

  ovipositor-like tube which protruded from the base

  of the bulbous abdomen. It curved up over the

  insect's back and head. The hypodermic tip quivered

  in the air a foot in front of the creature's head.

  Jon-Tom found he was breathing fast as he searched

  for a place to hide. There was no place to hide.

  "Listen, you don't have do to this," he told the

  speaker, his eyes following that wavering point. "I'm

  not going to give you any trouble. I can't, without my

  duar."

  "This is a reasonable precaution, particularly in

  light of the disappearance of your companion," said

  the speaker. "I do not want you to vanish one night

  when we are almost to Cugluch."

  "I couldn't do that, I couldn't.'* He wasn't ashamed

  of the hysteria rising in his voice. He was genuinely

  THE MOMBNT OF THK MAOSCIAM

  193

  terrified by the approach of what in essence was a

  three-foot-long needle.

  **There is no need to struggle," the speaker as-

  sured him. "You can only hurt yourself. The Ruze's

  venom has been used on the warmblooded before. It

  knows exactly how large a dose to administer to

  render you immobile for the duration of our journey."

  "I don't give a damn if it's been to medical school.

  You're not sticking that thing in me!" He jumped to

  his right, hoping to clear the surprised guards and

  make a run for the water, not caring anymore wheth-

  er they used their swords on him or not.

  They did not have the chance to react. As soon as

  Jon-Tom moved, the Ruze struck. The stinger lashed

  down like a striking cobra. Jon-Tom felt a terrific

  burning pain between his waist and thighs as the

  stinger went right through his pants to catch him />
  square in the left gluteus. He was surprised at the

  ( intensity of his scream. It was as if someone had

  given him an injection of acid.

  The Ruze backed away, its work completed, and

  studied the human with interest. Beetle guards spread

  out. Jon-Tom staggered a couple of steps toward the

  entryway before collapsing. One hand went to his

  left buttock, where the fire still burned, while he

  tried to pull himself forward with his other hand.

  The coldness started in his legs. It traveled rapidly

  up his thighs, then spread through the rest of his

  body- It wasn't uncomfortable. Only frightening. When

  it reached his shoulders, he collapsed on his stomach.

  Somehow he managed to roll over onto his back. His

  elbows locked up in front of his eyes, then his wrists

  and fingers.

  The long, thin, bug-eyed face of the speaker came

  within range of his vision and gazed down at him

  from a great height. Jon-Tom fought to make his

  vocal cords function.

  Alan Dean Foster

  194

  "You... Hed... to... me."

  "I did not lie to you." the speaker replied calmly.

  "You will not die. You will only be made incapable of

  resisting."

  "Not that." It. took a tremendous effort for him to

  speak. His words were weak and breathy. '*You said

  it... wouldn't... hurt."

  The speaker did not reply, continued to regard

  him as it would something moving feebly beneath a

  microscope.

  Jon-Tom wondered how long the effects of the

  injection would last. How many times between here

  and Cugluch would he be subjected to the Ruze's fiery

  attentions? Once a week? Every morning? Better that

  he find some way of killing himself quickly. He couldn't

  even do that now. His paralysis was their security.

  It was difficult to tell if the speaker was pleased,

  apologetic, or indifferent. As for the Ruze, it was

  only doing a job. The dose it had injected had been

  delivered with a surgeon's skill.

  Satisfied, it nodded its absurdly small head and

  indicated that the task of immobilizing the prisoner

  had been completed. The speaker turned to a group

  of unarmed water beetles waiting patiently nearby.

  Jon-Tom felt stiff, uncaring hands turning him. He

  wanted to resist, to strike out against his tormentors,

  but the only things he could move were his eyes.

  Then they were placing him in the oversized glass

  coffin and preparing to load it onto the back of the

  waiting cockroach-thing. Inside the water-tight con-