Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician
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body talks about how rich they'd like to be. Fame you
can talk about, but not fortune. Tell him how much
you all despise the capitalist bosses."
"What are those?"
"Never mind. Just do it. It'll please him."
Memaw was still reluctant to let him leave. "What
are you going to do, work some strange magic on
our behalf?" He nodded. "But I thought you told us
you required your duar in order to work magic."
"There's magic, and then there's magic." He winked
at her, then bent and began gathering bones. As
many as he could carry. He directed Mudge and
Quorly to do likewise.
"Oi, it works better when you use the duar, mate.
There's less to carry." Staggering beneath his grue-
some burden, he followed Quorly and Jon-Tom into
the tunnel.
Making their way through the narrow tube had
been difficult enough with their hands free. With the
armfuls of bones it was twice as hard. But the otters
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never complained, and Jon-Tom was damned if he
was going to be the one to call for a rest.
Eventually they found themselves beneath the en-
trance to their cell. They dumped their loads. Mudge
went up Jon-Tom's back as lithely as he would have a
tree, and listened.
"Dead quiet, mate. They 'aven't checked on us
since we took our little walk. No need to, really.
Wasn't likely we'd be goin' anywhere, now, was it?"
"Move those stones and let's get up there."
"Right, mate, but you'd better know wot you're
about."
"You'll understand soon enough."
Sure enough, once their cargo had been arranged
according to his instructions, Mudge knew just what
his lanky, furless friend had in mind.
"What was that?" The javelina turnkey spoke to
the fennec seated across the table. The fennec's
oversized ears immediately cocked sideways.
"Beats me. 1 heard it too." He put aside his
handful of odd triangular cards and shouted toward
the stairway. "You prisoners be quiet or you won't get
your next ration of slop!"
The eerie moaning which had interrupted their
game grew louder.
"Don't sound like the otters," said the javelina,
cleaning a nail on one upthrust tusk. He then used
it to strip the bark from a piece of cane, stuck the
clean pulp in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
When the moaning continued he put down his cards,
careful not to reveal them to his companion, and
issued an irritated grunt-
"We'd better see what's going on down there."
"Maybe they're killing each other."
"They'd better not be. Thomrack himself ordered
me to make sure they stay healthy until the new
magician decides what's to be done with them."
THB MOMENT or THE MAGICIAN 279
He took a three-foot-long knife off the wall. The
fennec opted for a long spear. This was excellent for
poking at prisoners through bqrs.
Each grabbed a torch as they started down the
stairs. Soon they were on the lower level, staring
through the bars^of the big cell. Staring hard.
"By the curl in my grandmother's tail!" the stunned
javelina muttered. "What's happened to them?" His
initial irritation had turned to panic.
"Dead," moaned a quavering voice from the back
of the cell, "they're all deeeaddd."
"What do you mean, all dead?" the fennec stuttered
as he struggled to locate the speaker. The voice
responded with a moan.
"Open it up," he told the turnkey. The javelina
nodded, used his keys and then his hands to swing
the huge grate slightly ajar. Hefting the long knife,
he entered cautiously while the fennec waited by the
door in case any of the prisoners tried to make a
break for it-
No one did. There was no one in the cell.
Except... in the farthest corner he found the tall
man sitting with his back against the wall. His hands
half covered his face, and he was shaking in terror.
"What's the matter with you?" The turnkey's eyes
roamed the deserted darkness nervously. "Where are
the rest of them?"
"The wizard, it was the wizard who did it," Jon-
Tom moaned feebly. He gestured with a shaky hand.
"Pid it to all of them."
"Did what?" The javelina's blunt muzzle twitched
as he followed the pointing Fingers.
A substantial pile of white bones lay nearby, heaped
up in a jumble against the wall. Had the turnkey
taken the time to look closely he might have seen
that none of the skeletons belonged to otters, or a
salamander, or a pangolin, but to entirely different
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species. It might not have mattered anyway. His
knowledge of anatomy was pretty much restricted to
knowing where the best place to stick a knife was.
**By the Ovens of Suranis!" he whispered fearfully.
"What is it, where are all the prisoners?" The
fennec stuck his head into the cell, trying to see.
"Gone, all gone. Nothing left of them except their
bones." The javelina swung his torch to illuminate as
much of the cell as possible, "What manner of sor-
cery is this?"
"He did it. The salamander did it,"
"Old Opiode?"
"Yes, yes, the slimy one! He said he was tired of
this, tired of everyone and everything, and he did
this. Only I was s-s-spared."
"A spell was put on him to prevent him from
working magic. The new wizard did that himself. We
were told," the javelina insisted.
"I know, I know, but the slimy one struck a bargain
with the creatures of the dark, and now he's going to
do that to all who oppose him." Jon-Tom pointed
toward the pile of bones- "1 saw, 1 saw him do it. He
made the flesh run like butter from their bones.
made it melt and drip..."
The fennec couldn't stand it anymore. His mind
told him there was only one live prisoner left in the
cell and his curiosity was killing him. He held his
spear in front of him as he entered.
"What's this garbage this fool's saying?" he asked
the turnkey.
"Look, they're all dead," stuttered the javelina. He
pointed at the bones. "The wizard Opiode killed
them. A great sorcery." There was fear in his voice
now.
"1 don't know about that," muttered the fennec,
"but we'd belter tell Thomrack." He started backing
toward the exit,
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281
As he did so, Mudge and Quorly dropped from
the crevices in the ceiling where they'd been hiding
and flailed away at the guards with the leg bones
they'd been holding in their teeth. The javelina
[, dropped his long knife, the man he'd been question-
ing underwent-a miraculous transformation, and in
seconds both guards lay dead on the floor of th
e cell.
Mudge netted the fennec's spear while Quoriy
helped herself to the knife from his belt. "Now, that,"
Mudge said with ghoulish satisfaction, "is wot I calls
magic!" He kicked the javeiina in the side.
"I'm sorry we had to kill them," Jon-Tom murmured.
"I don't like unnecessary slaughter."
"Oi, but this were necessary slaughter," Quoriy
observed. She glanced at Mudge. "Wot is 'e. squeam-
ish or somethin'?'*
"Or somethin*, luv, but don't 'old it against *un."
They crept out of the cell and started up the stairs.
No one challenged them when they entered the
deserted guard room, where they helped themselves
to handfuls of weapons. Thus equipped, they took
the place apart searching for Mudge's bow and Jon-
Tom's duar.
"No luck," grumbled Mudge as he finished exca-
vating the last cabinet. "Maybe further up. I thought
I saw a barred storeroom on our right when they
| were bringin' us down 'ere."
Jon-Tom nodded. They climbed to the next level.
Where they found the storeroom Mudge remem-
bered. They also saw a pudgy but alert hare standing
in front of the half-open door.
At the same time, the rabbit saw them and turned
to slam the door shut. Mudge threw his spear and
the swinging grate slammed against it. The guard
did manage a piercing scream before Quoriy could
cut his throat. Nothing can scream like a dying hare.
"Shit!" Quoriy snapped, her eyes going immediately
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to the stairwell leading upward. "That'll bring 'em
down on us in a minute. I'll watch while you and
Mudgey get your stuff."
Jon-Tom rushed into the storeroom. Tossed indif-
ferently on a pile of spears was his ramwood staff.
He grasped it like an old friend's proffered hand.
But where was the duar?
"Right, mate, let's go."
He turned. Mudge stood waiting nearby. His quiv-
er of arrows and longbow were slung against his
back. and he was staggering beneath a load of metal
and rock. Long links of gold coins were draped
across his chest like bandoliers while necklaces of
pearls and gems hung from his neck and wrists. His
arms were full of gem-encrusted plates and goblets.
Two tiaras rested askew on his crushed cap.
"Mudge, what the hell are you doing?"
The otter blinked, then looked embarrassed. He
dropped his heavy load. Coins and gems went rolling
across the floor.
"Sorry, mate. For a minim there 1 kind o' forgot
where we are." Reluctantly, he unburdened himself
of the rest of the treasure. "Couldn't we maybe take
just a wee bit with us?"
"No, we could not." Jon-Tom snapped angrily.
"Will you two kindly get your arses in gear?"
Quorly's shout reached them along with pounding
footsteps from the stairs. There was a startled squeal
and a four-foot-tall armored hedgehog went sprawling
into the room, bleeding from a stab wound in the
belly. "I can't hold this lot off forever."
Jon-Tom turned to search the room, but Mudge
spun him around. The otter's eyes were wide as he
pointed, not into the storeroom, but across the floor.
"There she is, mate!"
Jon-Tom fairly flew across the stones toward the
crackling fireplace. He ignored the heat and the
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283
cinders as he yanked the priceless duar from the top
of the fire. It was blackened in a couple of spots, but
the strings were intact and so was the body. He
tested it, was rewarded with a familiar mellow ring.
"That," he gulped, "was too close." He tried the
tremble and mass controls. Everything worked. A
slight shudder went through the paving stones as the
music filled the room. "Let's get out of herel"
Only the fact that the stairwell was so narrow had
enabled Quorly to hold off the guards. Mudge glee-
fully went to work with his longbow, and in a couple
of minutes the passage was blocked by the bodies of
the fallen. Those guards who hadn't been shafled
retreated.
• "That ought to 'old the bastards," Mudge said with
satisfaction.
They plunged down the stairs, for the moment
pursued only by confused shouts and angry cries.
Jon-Tom had thoughtfully requisitioned the unfortu-
nate javelina's keys. Now he used them to lock the
cell from the inside. Arrows flashed past him. The
guards had finally managed to bring up archers of
their own.
Jon-Tom tossed the keys into the hole in the floor
and followed them down.
"Wot about puttin' the stones back in place?" Quorly
, asked as she fell on top of him and slid off to one
side.
"Take too much time," he told her. "They saw us
come in here. As soon as they get the door open, the
first thing they'll do is start checking the walls and
the floor." He started running down the tunnel,
cursing as he bumped against the unyielding ceiling
while trying to juggle his burden of staff, duar, and
extra weapons.
They weren't halfway back to the well chamber
when excited yells sounded behind them. Some of
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Jon-Tom's initial confidence evaporated and he tried
to run faster, but it was hard to speed up in the
confines of the tunnel.
"I didn't think they'd follow us down here," he
yelled to his companions.
"I imagine they figure they can follow anyplace we
can go, mate."
"You go on ahead. I'll catch up."
"Now wot kind o' cowards do you think we are?"
Mudge replied, outraged. "Do you think that after
all we've been through together, you and I, 'avin'
come all this ways, that I'd for a minute think o'
leavin' you behind to get your behind shot off? Wot
do you take me for?"
Jon-Tom was gasping for breath now but still couldn't
keep from replying. "There's also the fact that unless
I can manage to do something with this duar, we'll
all likely never get out of here."
"Well, yeah, that 'ad occurred to me, too," Mudge
confessed -
Jon-Tom grinned, though he knew the otter couldn't
see him. "Glad to hear it. For a second I thought the
dampness might've addled your brain."
"Now, mate, you do old Mudge an injustice." But
the otter didn't complain very strongly.
Meanwhile their pursuit continued to gain ground
on them. Occasionally a flicker of light from closing
torches would reach the refugees, spurring them to
run still faster. The tunnel seemed to have stretched
in their absence, lengthening like a rubber tube. The
only advantage they possessed was the assurance of
knowing their destination.
Even so, by the time the faint circle of light that
marke
d the entrance to the well chamber appeared
ahead, the guards were near enough for Jon-Tom to
pick out individual voices. The three of them stum-
bled into the room, tripping and spilling weapons in
THB MOMENT OF THS MAOICIAM 889
all directions. The otters grabbed them up and waited
tfor whatever might come.
Jon-Tom rolled over, discovered a pair of crossbow
bolts protruding from the back of his cape. Once
again he'd been saved by the thick leather. He plucked
them out as several guards emerged from the tunnel
mouth, only to find themselves confronted by not
three but more than a dozen armed opponents.
Thornrack struggled to catch his breath, held his
sword over his head. "All right, you've had your fun.
You've led us a hard chase, but that's over now." He
glared around until he located Jon-Tom- "We'll see
how well you run with your calf muscles cut."
At that point Falameezar lifted his head, closed
^one eye, and spat. A small globe of very intense
flame struck the jaguar's sword, which melted like
taffy. Eyes bulging at the immense outline which was
slowly rising behind the otters, Thornrack dropped
the glowing metal and bolted for the tunnel. He ran
into the guards who were clustered thickly behind
him.
Falameezar sighted and went poof with his lips.
Thornrack's tail burst into flame, and he redoubled
his efforts to push past his own troops. They could
hear 'him cursing and screaming halfway back through
the tunnel.
*T don't think we'll have any more trouble from
that direction," observed Jon-Tom dryly.
"No," agreed Opiode, dampening their euphoria,
"but he will report what has happened back to Markus,
and you can be certain the magician vail do something-
There are only two openings to this room: the tunnel
and the mouth of the old well above us. Both could
easily be plugged- We could be sealed in here to
starve or suffocate, and no magic would be required
to accomplish those ends. Somehow we must get out
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before Markus has time to react to our escape."
Those salamander-slick eyes turned to Jon-Tom.
"Clothahump must have had confidence in you to
send you by yourself in response to my request. If
you are any kind of spellsinger, you must free us
from this prison now. Even a wizard needs room to
maneuver, and we have none of that here."
*"E's right, mate. We got your bloomin' music box
back. Now show 'em wot you can do!"