Spellsinger 02 - The Hour of the Gate

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  attempt."

  Though he worked at it for the next several days, Jon-Tom

  was unable to think of a single appropriate tune. Insects were

  not a favorite subject for groups whose music he knew by

  heart, such as Zepplin or Tull, Queen or the Stones or even

  the Beatles, who, he felt sure, had written at least one song

  about everything. He searched his memory, went through the

  few classical pieces he knew, jumped from Furry Lewis to

  Periin Husky to Foreigner without success.

  The dearth of material was understandable, though. Love

  and sex and money and fame were far more attractive song

  subjects than bugs. The thinking helped to kill the time and

  made the march more tolerable.

  Never once did it occur to him that Clothahump might

  have invented the request simply in order to keep Jon-Tom's

  mind on harmless matters.

  Three more days passed before they reached the outskirts

  of the vast, festering lowlands that formed the Greendowns.

  They rested on a slope and munched nuts, berries, and lizard

  jerky while studying the fog and mist that enshrouded the

  lands of the Plated Folk.

  Conifers had surrendered the soil to hardwoods. These now

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  fought to assert their dominance over palms and baobabs,

  succulents and creepers. Occasionally a strange cry or whistle

  would rise from the mist.

  Jon-Tom finished his meal and stood, his leathern pants

  sticking to his legs from the humidity. To the west towered

  the snow-crowned crags of Zaryt's Teeth. It was difficult to

  believe that a pass broke that towering rampart. It lay some-

  where to the southwest of their present position. At its far end

  was the Jo-Troom Gate and beyond that, a section of Swordsward

  and bustling, friendly Polastrindu.

  His own home was somewhat more distant, a trillion miles

  away on the other side of time, turn right at the rip in the

  fabric of space and take the fourth-dimensional offramp.

  He turned. Clothahump was busy with wizard's business.

  Pog assisted him.

  "We'd better come up with something." Talea had moved

  to stand next to him, stood looking down into the mist. "We

  go down there looking like ourselves and we'll be somebody's

  supper before the day's out."

  "Aye, that's the truth, lass," agreed Mudge. " 'E'U 'ave t'

  make us look like a choice slice o' 'ell."

  "He already has, I think," was Caz's comment. "You'd

  better straighten your antenna. The left one is pointing back-

  ward instead of forward."

  "I'll do that." Mudge reached up and was in the middle of

  straightening the errant sensor when he suddenly realized

  what had happened. " 'Cor, but that was quick!"

  Clothahump rejoined them. Rather, they were joined by a

  squat, pudgy beetle that sounded something like Clothahump.

  Pale red compound eyes inspected them each in turn. Four

  arms crossed over the striated abdomen.

  "What do you think, my friends? Have I solved the

  problem and allayed your fears, or not?"

  When the initial shock finally wore off, they were able to

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  take more careful stock of themselves. The disguises seemed

  foolproof. Talea, Ror, Mudge, and the rest now resembled

  giant versions of things Jon-Tom usually smashed underfoot.

  The middle set of arms moved in tandem with their owners

  actual ones. Pog had turned into a giant flying beetle.

  "Is that really you in there, Jon-Tom?" The thing with

  Hor's voice ran a clawed hand over the pale blue chitin

  encasing him.

  "I think so." He looked down at himself, noted with

  astonishment the multijointed legs, the smooth undercurve of

  abdomen, the peculiar wave-shaped sword at his hip.

  "Not too uncomfortable, my boy?"

  Jon-Tom looked admiringly at the squat beetle. "It's a

  wonderful job, sir. I feel like I'm inside a suit of armor, yet

  I'm cooler than I was a few moments ago without it."

  "Part of the spell, my boy," said the wizard with pride.

  "Attention to detail makes all the difference."

  "Speakin' o' attention t' detail, Your Mastemess," Mudge

  said, " 'ow do I go about takin' a leak?"

  "There are detachable sections of chitin in the appropriate

  places, otter. You must take care to conceal bodily functions

  of any kind from those we will be among. I could not

  imagine Plated Folk jaws through which we might eat, for

  example. Hopefully we can finish our business in Cugluch

  and be out of it and these suits before very long."

  "You remembered the formula well," Jon-Tom told the

  wizard.

  "Well enough, my boy." They left their packs and started

  down the slope into the steaming lowlands. "One key phrase

  eluded me for a time.

  "Multioptics, eyes of glass,

  sextupal reach in fiberglass,

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  hot outside but cool within,

  suit of polymers I'll spin."

  He proceeded to detail the formula that had provided such

  perfectly fitted disguises.

  "So these are foolproof, then?" Talea asked hopefully

  from just ahead of them. It was difficult to think of the

  black-and-brown-spotted creature as the beautiful, feisty Talea,

  Jon-Tom mused.

  "My dear, no disguise is foolproof," Clothahump replied

  somberly.

  "Dat's for damn sure." Pog fluttered awkwardly overhead

  on false beetle wings.

  "We are entering the Greendowns from me northern ranges,"

  the wizard reminded them. "The Plated Folk cannot imagine

  someone intentionally entering their lands. The only section

  of their territories which might be even lightly watched is that

  near the Pass. We should be able to mingle freely with

  whoever we chance to encounter."

  "That'll be the true test of these suits, won't it?" said Caz.

  "Not whether we look believable to each other, but whether

  we can fool them."

  "The formula was as all-encompassing as I could fashion

  it," said Clothahump confidently. "In any case, we shall

  know in a moment."

  They turned a bend in the animal path they'd been follow-

  ing and came face to face with a dozen workers of that

  benighted land. The Plated Folk were cutting hardwood and

  loading the logs on a lizard-drawn sled. Unable to retreat, the

  travelers marched doggedly ahead.

  They were nearly past when one of the cutters, a foreman

  perhaps, walked over on short spindly legs and gestured with

  two of his four limbs. Jon-Tom marked the gesture for future

  use.

  "Hail, citizens! Whence come you, and wither go?"

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  There was an uncomfortably long silence until Caz thought

  to say, "We've been out on patrol."

  "Patrol... in the mountains?" The foreman looked askance

  at the snows beyond the forest's edge. He made a clicking

  sound that might have passed for laughter. "What were
you

  patrolling for? Nothing comes from the north."

  "We do not," said Caz, thinking furiously, "have to

  provide such information to hewers of wood. However, there

  is no harm in your knowing." His disguise gave his voice a

  raspy tone.

  "In her wisdom the Empress has decreed that every possi-

  ble approach be inspected at least once in a while. Surely you

  do not question her wisdom?" Caz put his hand on his

  scimitar, and two limbs gripped the strange weapon.

  "No, no!" said the insect foreman hastily, "of course not.

  Now, of all times, the greatest secrecy must be preserved."

  He still sounded doubtful. "Even so, nothing has come out of

  these mountains in years and years."

  "Of course not," said Caz haughtily. "Does that not prove

  the effectiveness of these secret patrols?"

  "That is sensible, citizen," agreed the foreman, his confu-

  sion overcome thanks to Caz's inexorable logic.

  The others had continued past while the rabbit had been

  conversing with the foreman. That worthy snapped to atten-

  tion and offered an interesting salute with both arms on his

  left side. Caz mimicked it in return, his false middle arm

  functioning smoothly in tandem with the real one.

  "The Empress!" said the foreman with praiseworthy

  enthusiasm.

  "The Empress," Caz replied. "Now then, be on about

  your business, citizen. The Empire needs that wood." The

  foreman executed a sign of acknowledgment and returned to

  his work. Caz tried not to move too hastily down the slope

  after his companions.

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  The foreman returned to his cutters. One of the laborers

  glanced up and asked curiously, "What was that all about,

  citizen foreman?"

  "Nothing. A patrol."

  "A patrol, up here?"

  "I know it is odd to find one in the mountains."

  "More than odd, I should think." His antennae pointed

  downhill toward the retreating travelers. "That is a peculiar

  grouping for a patrol of any kind."

  "I thought so also." The foreman's tone stiffened. "But it

  is not our place to question the directives of the High

  Command."

  "Of course not, citizen foreman." The laborer returned

  quickly to his work.

  Wooded hillsides soon gave way to extensive cultivated

  fields cleared from bog and jungle. Most were planted with a

  tall, flexible growth about an inch in diameter that looked like

  jaundiced sugar cane. Swampy plantings alternated with herds

  of small six-legged reptiles who foraged noisily through the

  soft vegetation.

  They also encountered troops on maneuver, always marching

  in perfect time and stride. Once they were forced off the

  raised roadway by a column twelve abreast. It took an hour to

  pass, trudging from east to west.

  They passed unchallenged among dozens of Plated Folk.

  No one questioned their disguises. But Clothahump grew

  uneasy at their progress.

  "Too slow," he muttered. "Surely there is a better way

  than this, and one that will have the ex$a advantage of

  concealing us from close inspection."

  "What've you got in mind, guv'nor?" Mudge wanted to

  know.

  "A substitute for feet. Excuse me, citizen." The wizard

  stepped out into the road.

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  The wagon bearing down on him pulled to a halt. It was

  filled with transparent barrels of some aromatic green liquid.

  The driver, a rather bucolic beetle of medium height, leaned

  over the side impatiently as Clothahump approached.

  "Trouble, citizen? Be quick now, I've a schedule to keep."

  "Are you by chance heading for the capital?"

  "I am, and I've no time for riders. Sorry." He lifted his

  reins preparatory to chucking the wagon team into motion

  again.

  "It is not that we wish a ride, citizen," said Clothahump,

  staring hard at the driver, "but only that we wish a ride."

  "Oh. I misunderstood. Naturally. Make space for your-

  selves in the back, please."

  As they climbed into the wagon, Jon-Tom passed close by

  the driver. He was sitting stiffly in his seat, eyes staring

  straight ahead yet seeing very little. Seeing only what

  Clothahump wanted them to see, in fact.

  Under the wizard's urging, the rustic whipped the team

  forward. The mesmerization had taken only a moment, and

  no one else had observed it.

  "Damnsight better than walking." Talea reached awkwardly

  down to draw one foot toward her, wishing she could massage

  the aching sole but not daring to remove even that small

  section of the disguise.

  "Sure is," agreed Jon-Tom. He balanced himself in the

  swaying, rocking wagon as he made his way forward.

  Clothahump sat next to the driver. The insect ignored his

  arrival.

  "A great deal happening these days," Jon-Tom said by way

  of opening conversation.

  The driver's gaze did not stray from the road. His voice

  was oddly stilted, as though a second mind were choosing the

  words to answer with.

  "Yes, a great deal."

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  "When is it to begin, do you think, the invasion of the

  wannlands?" Jon-Tom made the question sound as casual as

  he could.

  A movement signifying ignorance from the driver. "Who

  is to know? They do not permit wagon masters to know the

  inner workings of the High Military. But it will be a great day

  when it comes. I myself have four nestmates in the invasion

  force. I wish I could be among them, but my district logisti-

  cian insists that food supplies will be as important as fighting

  to the success of the invasion.

  "So I remain where I am, though it is against my desires.

  It will be a memorable time. There will be a magnificent

  slaughter."

  "So they claim," Jon-Tom murmured, "but can we be so

  certain of success?"

  For a moment, the shocked disbelief the driver felt nearly

  overcame the mental haze into which he'd been immersed.

  "How can anyone doubt it? Never in thousands of years has

  the Empire assembled so massive a force. Never before have

  we been as well prepared as now.

  "Also," he added conspiratorially, "there is rumor abun-

  dant that the Great Wizard Eejakrat, Advisor to the Empress

  herself, has brought forth from the realms of darkness an

  invincible magic which will sweep all opposition before it."

  He adjusted the reins running to the third lizard in right line.

  "No, citizens, of course we cannot lose."

  "My feelings are the same, citizen." Jon-Tom returned to

  the rear of the wagon. Clothahump joined him a moment

  later, as he was chatting softly to the others.

  "If confidence is any indication of battleworthiness.'we're

  liable to be in for a bad time."

  "You see?" said Clothahump knowingly as he leaned up

  against a pair of green-filled barrels, "that is why we must

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  find and destroy this dead mind that Eejakrat somehow draws

  knowledge from, or die in the attempt."

  "Speak for yourself, guv'," said Mudge. " 'E wot fights

  an' runs away lives t' fight another day."

  "Unfortunately," Clothahump reminded the otter quietly,

  "if we fail, like as not there will not be another day."

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  XIII

  Several days passed. Farms and livestock pastures began to

  give way to the outskirts of a vast metropolis. Fronted with

  stone or black cement, tunnels led down into the earth. On

  the surface row upon row of identical gray buildings filled the

  horizon, a vast stone curve that formed the outer wheel of the

  capital city of Cugluch.

  As they entered me first gate of many, they encountered

  larger structures and greater variety. Faint pulses of light from

  within cast ambivalent shadows on the travelers while the

  echoes of hammerings resounded above the babble of the

  chitinesque crowd. Once they passed a wagon emerging from

  a large, cubical building. It was piled high with long spears

  and pikes and halberds bound together like sheaves of grain.

  The weapon-laden vehicle moved westward. Westward like

  the troops they'd passed. Westward toward the Jo-Troom

  Gate.

  It had rained gently every day, but was far warmer than in

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  the so-called warmlands. Pat, limpid drops slid off their

  hard-shelled disguises, only occasionally penetrating the well-

  fashioned false chitin. Cooled by spell, those inside the insect

  suits remained comfortable in spite of the humidity, dothahump.

  as a good wizard should, had foreseen everything except the

  need to scratch the occasional itch.

  Only an isolated clump of struggling trees here and then

  brought color to the monotonous construction of the city. It

  was an immense warren, much of it out of sight beneath the

  surface of the earth.

  They pushed their way through heavier and heavier traffic,

  increasingly military in nature. Clothahump guided the drive,

  smoothly, directing them deeper into the city.

  Wagonloads of troops, ant- and beetle-shapes predominant,

  shoved civilian traffic aside as they made their way westward,

  Enormous beetles eight and nine feet long displayed sharpened'

  horns to the travelers. Three or four armed soldiers rode or

  the backs of these armored behemoths.

  Once a dull thump sounded from behind a large ova: