Son Of Spellsinger

by Alan Dean Foster

  Well, they’d overcome whirlwinds and bandits and inside-out rivers and a pit bull-bull. “What’s this Guardian like?” “Not too big?” Gragelouth essayed a hopeful smile. “Willing, perhaps, to let us have a look?”

  “I wouldn’t think so.” The moa was unencouraging. “He’s very testy.”

  “Is he also one of the Recently Forgotten?” Buncan inquired.

  The moa nodded. “Personally, I’d like to see him become one of the Completely Forgotten. Him and all his tribe.” Feathers riffled as the bird gave a visible shudder. “He’s bad company. You don’t want to provoke him.”

  “If we were foolish enough to want to,” said Gragelouth slowly, “how might we go about it?”

  The moa let out a regretful whistle, like the lowest note of a pipe organ. Turning, it gestured with both beak and wing. “Continue on your present course. Before long you will come to a branching of this stream. Follow the branch. Though it appears to run straight into a sheer mountainside, track it upward. The Veritable is housed in a cave that is also home to the Guardian. You can confront him if you wish, but I wouldn’t try it. He’d probably eat me.”

  “Eat you!” Gragelouth gaped at the moa. “The Guardian is one of the cold-blooded?” “No, he’s as intelligent as you or I. But we of the Recently Forgotten retain ancient instincts and habits that have been largely abandoned by the rest of the world. Oh, he’ll think about it before he eats you. Maybe even have a moment of regret. But he’s not called the Guardian for nothing. He’s up there to keep the Veritable away from inquiring minds. Been doing so for as long as the Verita-ble’s been there, I imagine.”

  “ ‘Ow did this wonder get ‘ere?” Neena wanted to know. “In a shower o’ stars, or via some sorceral sublimation?”

  The moa shrugged. Feathers went everywhere. “I have no idea. I’m not into necromancy. Some say it arrived on a pillar of blue flame, others that is was delivered in the beak of the Maker herself. The story I personally give the most credence to says that it just fell out of a stormy sky one day and bounced a couple of times before coming to rest in a puddle of muddy water. When some Wise-Ones-Who-Shall-Go-Unnamed found out what it could do, they stuck it in the cave and assigned a Guardian to it. Successive Guardians have kept watch over it ever since.” A huge wing rose and fell.

  “Like I said, it doesn’t much interest me. When you’re on the verge of extinction, little things like Guardians don’t bother you. Obviously you feel otherwise. I wish you luck.”

  Buncan smiled sympathetically. “We wish you luck as well.”

  “And I,” Snaugenhutt rumbled. “I know what it is to be alone and abandoned.”

  “Not by Nature, you don’t.” The moa turned and strode OS downstream, singing softly to itself. They watched until it had disappeared.

  “Shame,” Neena murmured. “A handsome creature, if a bit oddly proportioned. Did you note the blue o’ its eyes, an’ ‘ow the sun reddened its plumage?”

  “Maybe he’ll find another moa,” Buncan suggested, “and they’ll have lots of little moas.”

  “ ‘Ow many moa does it take . . . ?” Squill began. In a somber mood, Buncan cut him off sharply.

  They followed the cheerful little tributary up into a dense thicket of low scrub, Snaugenhutt plowing easily through the tightly interwoven branches and trunks. Much of the vegetation they were now encountering was of a type unfamiliar even to the widely traveled Gragelouth.

  Truly this was a place of the Forgotten, Buncan reflected. He pondered what the Guardian would be like even as he wondered if he ought to be afraid, then decided he was too tired. Whatever it was they would deal with it, as they had dealt with every other obstacle which had crossed their path. The duar bounced lightly against his back.

  Topping yet another in a seemingly endless series of natural granite steps, they found themselves standing on a small flat plateau. Cliffs rose steeply to left and right. Ahead additional steps led onward and upward, but the stream did not tumble down them. Instead it curved leftward against a raised shoulder of rock and terminated at the base of a narrow waterfall. A small clear pool shimmered at the rocky intersection of stream and cascade. To the right lay a dark, yawning void in the cliff face, a black blot on the otherwise unmarred granite.

  Dismounting from Snaugenhutt to give him maximum room to maneuver, they approached the cave with caution. A thick, musky smell emanated from within.

  “Let ‘im come.” The rhino pawed at the gravel. ‘Tin ready for anything.”

  “Sure you are.” Viz bobbed atop his iron perch. Like the rest of Snaugenhutt’s armor, it was slightly the worse for wear from the fall the rhino had taken inside the monastery of the Dark Ones. “Just don’t get carried away. We may be up against something more powerful here than the minions of the Baron, or even the crazed horrors of the monastery.”

  “You watch your butt and I’ll watch mine,” the rhino rumbled,

  Buncan peered hard but saw nothing. The depths of the cave were veiled in blackness. He took courage from the fact that the opening wasn’t very large, and that it was unlikely any inhabitant would be larger than its egress.

  After a querulous glance at Gragelouth, who could only shrug helplessly, he turned back to the black and called tentatively. “Hello in there? We’re travelers from a far land. We’ve come a long way to see if there really is such a thing as the Grand Veritable, and we were told you had charge of it.”

  Silence most profound greeted this declamation. After a pause, Buncan tried again.

  “Listen, all we want at this point is a look, to see if the damn thing’s real.” This time, an echo of silence.

  Emboldened, Squill sauntered right up to the entrance. “Me, I always said there never were any such contrivance. Tis all piffle, an’ so’s any bleedin’ Guardian.”

  “I am not piffle,” declared a voice from within. A very deep voice. A voice most carnivorous, of a timbre and resonance that inspired in the otter an urge to precipitous retreat.

  “Nice goin’,” muttered his sister as they huddled together against Snaugenhutt’s bulk.

  Buncan too had retreated, but not as far. He started to draw his sword, instead swung the duar around in front of him. “We must have a look. We’ve come too far and endured too much to just walk away now. At least grant us proof of the Veritable’s existence.” And maybe an explanation of what it is, he added silently.

  “Go away!” The Guardian’s speech was half snarl, half cough, all menace. “I’m in a truly foul mood today. Provoke me, and I’ll come out.”

  “ ‘Tis bluff.” Buncan looked sharply back at Neena. “I’ve ‘eard about these ‘orrible ‘guardian’ things all me life. Monsters that are supposed to watch over secrets an’ treasures an’ the like, wot? If they ain’t just gossip they’re always overstated. Why d’you think this one ain’t showed ‘isself? Because there ain’t much to ‘im, that’s bloomin’ why. They all rely on their reputations, they do.”

  “I dunno.” Buncan turned back to the cave. “Just a look, that’s all we want!”

  “Blood of my liver, you want to steal it!” came the sonorous reply. “Frankly, that’d be all right with me. I’m sick of this job. But my job it is, and I’m bound like all who preceded me to perform it to the best of my ability. So don’t make my day any more difficult, okay? Just leave.”

  For one entrusted to watch over the Source of All Knowledge and the Fount of Limitless Power, this Guardian sounded quite reasonable, Buncan thought. While he had not acceded to their request, he had already deigned to converse with them.

  “I’m sorry, but for the reasons I’ve already mentioned we can’t do that.”

  “Can you describe the Veritable ID us without coming out?” Gragelouth inquired.

  “Yeah, give us a ‘int,” barked Squill. “ “Us it animal, vegetable, or mineral?” He winked at his sister.

  A thunderous roar amplified by the natural bellows of the cave rattled the ground like a seismic tremor. Small rocks tumbled fr
om the cliff side.

  “SO BE IT UPON YOU! DON’T SAY YOU WEREN’T WARNED!”

  As Buncan stumbled frantically backward, blazing green eyes centered on something huge and tawny exploded toward him.

  CHAPTER 25

  It wasn’t as bad as the pit-bull, he thought as he threw himself to his left, nor as horrifying as some gramarye wraith, but it looked quite capable of butchering each and every one of mem without pausing to take a breath, including the massive Snaugenhutt.

  Its headlong charge carried it well past the diving Buncan. Gravel and dust flew from beneath its clawed feet as it landed and spun, gathering itself for a second, better-timed attack.

  Because of its color and general shape, Buncan at first thought it a lion. But there was no mane, the skull was longer and decidedly flattened, the ears were positioned differently, and the forelegs were more muscular at the shoulder. More startling still, it walked on four legs instead of two and wore no clothing or decoration of any kind, both hallmarks of the civilized. Certainly a throwback, yet one capable of speech and rational thought.

  It was hard to contemplate what all this might mean, because he found himself mesmerized by the pair of incredible, backward-curved canines which protruded downward from the roof of the Guardian’s mouth. Each was fully half the length of the otters’ short swords and looked just as sharp. When the Guardian yawned, its gaping upper and lower jaws formed a nearly straight line. Among all the other creatures Buncan knew of or had ever encountered, only the thylacine Bedarra could duplicate the feat, and his admittedly impressive teeth were no match for the ivory scimitars of this brute.

  It glared at them. “On your own heads be this. Who’ll be the first to die?”

  “Actually none of us are in any particular hurry,” squeaked Gragelouth from his position behind Snaugenhutt’s protective rump. The rhino shook himself, rattling his armor, and lowered his head. If this creature could place a bite between the iron plates, Buncan knew, those great incisors could sever the rhino’s spinal cord. Or his jugular.

  As for himself or Gragelouth or the otters, those powerful jaws could snip their heads clean off. Only Viz was comparatively safe.

  His fingers were tense on the duar, and he could see that Neena and Squill were ready to rap. But could they sing fast enough to save themselves? The creature’s initial charge had taken only seconds, and it was clearly infinitely more agile than the pit bull-bull. He’d been lucky to dodge it once. He doubted he could do it again.

  “What do you call yourself?” He struggled to maintain a brave front, and incidentally give the otters more time to Improvise some lyrics. “Of what tribe are you? We’ve already spoke with one who calls this the Country of the Recently Forgotten.”

  “That’s right, remind me.” The Guardian pawed at the gravel, his head weaving from side to side. “I haven’t mated in nearly a year, and that doesn’t make me any less Irritable.”

  “I know how you feel,” mumbled Snaugenhutt even as he angled his hom.

  “This Guardian is of the tribe of the sabertooths, since you’re unable to puzzle out that simple fact, and I warned you.” It raised one paw (at least it was capable of that much learned behavior, Buncan reflected) and pointed toward the cave. “In there lie the bones of those who came before you and lingered to disturb my rest. They are well gnawed. It will be good to have a fresh supply to crack.”

  “Surely you cannot seriously be thinking of eating us,” Gragelouth protested. “That would be uncivilized in the extreme.”

  “I lay no claim to civilization,” The lunatic canines gleamed in the mountain light. “Do I look like a vegetarian to you? I eat whatever comes my way, whether it’s capable of intelligible conversation or not. I don’t discriminate between idiots and geniuses. They all taste the same going down.”

  Suddenly the Guardian winced, eyes squinting tight. Throwing back its head, it let out a deep wail. Squatting on its haunches, it ignored them as it proceeded to howl mournfully at the sky.

  Some sort of pre-attack ritual chant, Buncan thought as he and the otters took the opportunity to retreat all the way to Snaugennutt’s side. At least now the sabertooth couldn’t single them out. At which point the utterly unexpected occurred.

  Gragelouth started forward, hands extended.

  A disbelieving Neena yelled to him. “ ‘Ave you gone mad, merchant? Get back ‘ere before you’re fish meal!”

  “Cor, let the silly twit sacrifice ‘imself if ‘e wants.” Squill sniffed disdainfully. “Maybe ‘e’ll give the toothy blighter a bellyache.”

  The sloth glanced over a shoulder. “I am not about to sacrifice myself, and I am quite frightened out of my wits. It is only that when you travel as widely as I do and see as much as I have you acquire all manner of odd information. While observing our assailant just now, I imagined I saw something specific.”

  “Right,” agreed Neena. “Waitin’ death.”

  “Something besides that.” As he continued to advance, the sabertooth ceased its dirge and lowered its gaze.

  “A volunteer for the first course. That doesn’t happen very often.”

  Gragelouth halted just out of immediate claw reach. “Your pardon, father-of-all-fangs, but prior to your consuming me might I have a closer look at something? A final favor, if you will.”

  The sabertooth’s expression narrowed, which, given his already low sloping forehead, have him the look of a piqued executioner. “A look at what? I’ve already told you that you can’t see the Grand Veritable. I’m guarding it.”

  “Not that; something more personal. Just now, when you had your head back singing, I thought I noticed something.”

  The great carnivore eyed the sloth warily. With a single swipe of one great paw he could easily tear out the merchant’s throat. Therefore, there was no need to hurry.

  “Just what is it you want to see?”

  Gragelouth raised both hands over his head. “I am unarmed.”

  The Guardian scrutinized the proffered limbs thoughtfully. “You will be shortly.”

  “I mean that I have no weapons.” The soft-voiced merchant would not back down. “These others are here at my instigation.”

  “I thank you in advance for supplying so large and diverse a meal.” In no great hurry now, the sabertooth lifted a paw and examined its claws.

  “Having come this far in search of a dream, I cannot turn and run, I cannot back down without an answer. Do you understand?”

  “I understand that you will tickle sliding down my gullet. Could you not have shaved first?” Glowing green eyes glistened in deep-set sockets.

  “All I wish,” said the sloth as he warily lowered his hands, “is to have a look inside your mouth.”

  The Guardian’s eye ridges rose. “You’ll see that soon enough.”

  “You do not understand. It is one small portion that intrigues me.” He had moved closer, and Buncan saw that no matter how effective a spellsong he and the otters might mount, it would not be in time to save the merchant.

  “A peculiar last request. Peculiar enough to be granted.” The sabertooth stretched its incredible jaws wide. “Indulge yourself. I’ll let you know before I bite.”

  “Thank you.” Gragelouth stuck his head forward and down, twisting to one side to stare at the Guardian’s upper palate. Buncan and the others held their breath. “Ah, there. Just there.” His expression knotted sympathetically. “That must hurt something terrible. It is no wonder your disposition is so befouled.” He withdrew.

  Instead of lunging forward, jaws agape, for the fatal bite, the sabertooth eyed the squat sloth uncertainly. “What can you know about it?”

  “I can see it. Upper left canine. It goes right down into the socket. How long has that toodi been bothering you?”

  “What makes you diink it bothers me?” The Guardian let out an anticipatory snarl.

  Gragelouth spoke a little faster. “As I said, one acquires many odd bits of knowledge in one’s travels. It is bothering you, is it not
? Did it not just cause you shooting, tiirobbing pain?”

  “Don’t speak of it! You . . .” The Guardian suddenly winced. “Yes, it hurts. The pain is like a running fire in my brain.”

  “For how long?”

  “Soon after I ate a pair of exotic dancers who lost themselves in these mountains. A human and a cat, they were.” He looked downcast. “They tasted harmless at the time.”

  “Ah.” Gragelouth nodded knowingly. “One must take care not to consume too many sugary tarts.”

  “The pain comes and goes, but each time it returns it’s worse.”

  “I thought as much.”

  Unable to overhear the conversation clearly, Squill raised his own voice. “Oi, gray-bottom! Wot’s the bleedin’ story?”

  “He has a cavity,” Grageloudi explained. “A hole in one front toodi.”

  “No wonder ‘e’s in such a bad mood,” Neena declared.

  ‘Avin’ a chopper like that, you can only imagine the toothache it would give.”

  “I’d radusr not,” said Squill.

  “And I can’t,” Viz added.

  Buncan moved to join Grageloudi, ignoring the otters’ warnings. “I’m sorry to hear about your problem. What if we could fix it for you?”

  The Guardian growled at him. “You can’t ‘fix if for me. No one can fix it for me.” As Grageloutii took a well-considered step backward a huge paw reached out to land on his left foot, preventing him from retreating any farther. The murderous skull drew close and green eyes blazed into the merchant’s own. “Afo one.”

  “Not wishing at this point in time to incite you any further, I must still point out tiiat my friends may be able to do sometiiing for you. Though young, they are purveyors of exquisite necromancy. Spellsingers.”

  For just an instant, the sabertooth hesitated. “Spellsingers?” The restraining paw did not move, but the eyes rose to peer past the trapped sloth. They settled on Buncan. “Is what mis furry snack says true?”