neetha Napew - Son Of Spellsinger

“Don’t mind Viz.” The rhino snorted softly. “He’s my tickbird. Been on board for years. But he can’t hold his liquor. I’ve told him that booze and parasites don’t mix. All that chiton and green goo and . . .”

Squill made a dash for the lavatory facilities, not caring that they were designed for creatures much larger than he.

Buncan fought to maintain his own stability. The tickbird snored on. “We don’t expect charity. I’ve learned better than to ask for that. We’ll pay.”

“What we can,” Gragelouth put in hastily.

“And after we’ve saved Neena we’ll need your help in getting away from here.”

“A rescue, eh?” Snaugenhutt hiccoughed volcanically. “A noble cause. Been a long time since I did anything noble. What do you think, Viz?” The tickbird snored on, oblivious.

“Yeah, I’ll help you. When do we start?”

Buncan blinked. “Just like that? Don’t you want to know the details?”

“What details? Do I look like the subtle type, human?”

“Uh, no.”

“They won’t be expecting a frontal assault.” Snaugenhutt was murmuring to himself. “I’ve heard some of the stories about this Krasvin. Thinks he’s the greatest thing in fur. We’ll surprise him. Bust his tail.”

“Sure we will,” muttered Buncan. “We’ll sneak you inside in a suitcase, dump you out, and let you exhale in the faces of the Baron’s soldiers.” Louder he said, “You don’t drink like this all the time, do you?”

“Certainly not.” As the rhino swayed on pillarlike legs, a smile creased that slouching jaw. “Sometimes I drink seriously.”

Buncan turned to Gragelouth. “Maybe we ought to look elsewhere.”

“What elsewhere?” The sloth sniffed resignedly. “I took the best recommendation of the locals I encountered.”

“Another tavern.” Buncan persisted. “Maybe down by the waterfront.”

Blinking unsteadily, Snaugenhutt took a ponderous step toward them. “Something wrong? You don’t want my help? You don’t want the assistance of the greatest four-legged warrior on the High Plateau?” His head twisted over and back, gesturing at his flank as best he could with the tall horn.

“Take a look at these scars. See that one on the outside of my rear leg? Got that at the Battle of Muuloden. Scattered twenty big cats all by myself while carrying ten fully armed bipeds into combat. And that one all the way in back, just to the left of my tail? Caught a leg-sized catapult spear right in the butt at the height of the Gabber’s Glen Incident. Didn’t even slow me down. Had my side hang their battle flag from it.” He looked momentarily wistful. “Trampled plenty underhoof in that one, and gored half a dozen more.”

“We have no doubt of your fighting history.” Gragelouth made placating gestures. “If you do not mind my inquiring, how long ago did these exploits take place?”

“How long?” The heavy brow drooped lower still. “Don’t remember. Never was real good with dates.” He chuckled, and it ended in a rattling cough. As spittle drooled from his mouth, even the dead straw seemed to curl away from it.

Gragelouth gestured with a heavily clawed hand. “Though our current resources are . . . limited . . . we must have professional help. If you are willing to enter our service for what recompense we can presently offer, we may be able to arrange for some additional payment at a future date.”

Still swaying, Snaugenhutt straightened as much as he was able, staring at the sloth past the tall horn. “Count me in. Not because of the money, but because a lady’s virtue is at stake.”

“She’s no quadruped,” Buncan reminded him.

One eye considered him haughtily. “Where virtue is concerned, the tribe doesn’t matter. There’s honor to uphold and gallantry to preserve.”

With that he hiccoughed again, at least a 7.5 on the hiccough scale, and keeled over sideways. It was akin to watching a great ship slide slowly beneath the waves.

As the vast mass struck the ground with a dull whomp, the three travelers hastily backed clear. After satisfying their curiosity, the horses and sheep returned to their respective socializing. Snaugenhutt began to emit Promethean snores.

Having been unceremoniously dumped into the straw, the dazed tickbird picked itself up and fluttered unsteadily to the top of the comatose bulk. Landing atop the half-exposed belly, it curled up in its wings and lapsed back into its momentarily disturbed stupor.

Buncan was not pleased with the picture. “There they are. Our army. Neena’s saviors. Cheap at half the price.” He turned to the merchant. “Surely we can do better than this, even with as little as we have to offer?”

Gragelouth stared up at the tall human. “I am open to suggestions, my young friend.”

“Maybe if we could get the bloated sod sobered up.” Squill studied the insensible mass of gray flesh. “If ‘e got up to speed, ‘e’s big enough to do some damage. If ‘e “as any speed left in ‘im, that is.” He glanced at his friend. “At this point any ‘elp’s better than no ‘elp. We could load the unconscious bugger onto a wagon an’ roll it downhill. Might smash in this Krasvin’s front door, might not.”

“We don’t know if there’s a hill in front of the Baron’s mansion,” Buncan pointed out patiently. “I’m not pushing that load one stride uphill, and where would we get a wagon, anyway?”

“Steal it.” Squill smiled serenely.

“We can do nothing until he sobers up.” Gragelouth licked his forehead. “Or, at the very least, awakens.”

“What about his companion?” Buncan indicated the softly snoring tickbird.

“I could eat it,” Squill suggested.

Duncan eyed him sharply. “Eat another intelligent being?”

The otter sniffed. “Don’t look very intelligent to me, mate.”

“We’re here to get help, not dinner.”

“Most every member of Snaugenhutt’s tribe lives with a companion tickbird,” Gragelouth pointed out. “I do not think our potential ally would look kindly upon your eating his.

“Meanwhile, let me talk to the owner of this establishment. Perhaps he can suggest a potion to both awaken and sober these two.”

“You couldn’t sober that mass up if you dropped it off a high cliff,” Squill riposted.

CHAPTER 14

The remedy Gragelouth arranged for arrived in the form of a brim-full bucket prepared by not one but two mixologists. A good dousing with one of the high-pressure hoses used to keep the corral area clean roused the rhino long enough for Duncan and Squill to sluice half the bucket’s contents down his benumbed throat. The operation was repeated with the tickbird, on a much smaller scale. Though there was no evidence of overt sorcery involved, the liquid’s contents proved nothing short of magical. The hulking old warrior was on his feet, albeit unsteadily, far sooner than Duncan would have imagined possible.

As Snaugenhutt hadn’t the slightest recollection of their previous conversation, they were compelled to repeat both the tale of Neena’s abduction and their present dilemma. Viewed in the cooler light of minimal comprehension, the rhino’s earlier enthusiasm flagged.

“You don’t want my help,” he mumbled, turning away. Gragelouth had reluctantly paid for a clean, fresh stall.

Employees of the tavern were still in the process of disinfecting the other. Viz paced between the rhino’s ears, hunting for parasites while listening intently. He seemed to be in better shape than his friend. But then, his hangover would be proportionately smaller.

“At this point you are our only hope,” Duncan reluctantly admitted. “You’re about all we can afford. Time’s also important, and so far you’re the only one who’s indicated a willingness to help.”