neetha Napew - Son Of Spellsinger

“Oi,” said Squill, “wot were all that rot about preservin’ a lady’s virtue, an’ gallantry, an’ ‘onor?”

“Did I speak to that?” Snaugenhutt looked thoroughly miserable. He stood with one foreleg crossed over the other, his prehensile upper lip nearly touching the ground.

The tickbird glanced up. “If they say you did, Snaug, I guess you did. I don’t remember the discussion myself.” He pecked energetically at a particular spot.

Gragelouth sought to energize the quadruped. “Why wouldn’t we want your assistance? You are large, powerful, and experienced; clearly no stranger to battle.”

The rhino twitched his huge skull. Reflex caused the tickbird to flutter clear and set down without comment as soon as his perch had steadied. “All that was a long time ago,” he muttered unhappily. “A very long time ago. Haven’t done any fighting . . .” He paused to swallow. “Haven’t done much of anything in longer than I can remember.”

Duncan picked up on Gragelouth’s riff. “You look like you’re still in pretty good shape,” he lied.

The rhino’s head came up a little. “I do the best I can. Frankly, the last few months—the last few years—I’ve kind of lost direction. Deen lapping at the drinking trough now and again, and my reflexes aren’t what they used to be. Oh, the underlying muscle tone’s still there.” He inhaled and seemed to double in size. The effect lasted about five seconds before scarred and wrinkled skin collapsed in on the massive skeleton.

“Dut that’s not enough. I’m out of shape, out of condition. Wouldn’t know how to get going. No equipment, anyway.” His eyes grew misty. “Used to have full armor and combat equippage. Gilt steel. When I went into battle, the sun rode with me.”

“Where’s your gear now?” Buncan asked thoughtlessly.

Snaugenhutt squinted at him. “Pawned it. Long time ago. Everything was a long time ago, human.” At which point, to everyone’s astonishment, the great beast began to cry.

“Ere now, guv.” Squill moved forward. “‘E didn’t mean nothin’ personal.”

It did no good. Tears spilled from both eyes as gargantuan sobs wracked the huge form. His perch now shuddering steadily, the tickbird fluttered down to land on Buncan’s shoulder. From head to tail he was slightly less than the length of Buncan’s forearm. One flexible wingtip adjusted the scarf around his neck.

“It’s no use trying to talk to him when he gets like this. You just have to wait for it to pass.” Unlike Snaugenhutt, the tickbird seemed fully recovered.

“Listen, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.”

“You two been together for a while?”

“Like Snaug says, a long time,” the bird chirped.

Buncan nodded slowly. “How much of that stuff he told us about all the battles he’s been in is true?”

A wingtip pressed against the side of his head. “Probably all of it, though I don’t recall the details. Snaug was a professional long before I hooked up with him. I can vouch for the authenticity of his most recent scars.”

“So you’ve been in battle with him?”

Viz nodded, his beak bobbing. “Lots, though not in some time.” He examined his bawling companion, whose sobs were finally beginning to lessen. “Snaug, he was the real thing, he was.” There was tangible pride in the bird’s voice. “Wasn’t anything or anybody that could stand against him . . . in his prime.” Feathered shoulders rippled.

“What happened?”

“Isn’t it obvious? The liquor trough got him. Sucked him right in. Ate up his money and his life. Not even sure how it got started. I did all I could, but I can’t exactly hold my ground in front of him. There was a female . . . You haven’t dealt with life, human, until you’ve tried to reason with a lovesick rhino in the last throes of unrequited passion.”

“I can imagine,” said Buncan, not experienced enough to imagine it at all.

“That’s when it started to get bad. Snaug could always drink. Have you any idea of the alcoholic capacity of a healthy rhinoceros?”

“Not really.” Buncan indicated Squill. “I’ve seen my friend’s father put a lot away, but he’s only an otter.”

“Try to envision a thirsty abyss. I’ve guided him through some tough spots, but he’s just gotten worse and worse. When he had to hock his armor to pay a bar bill in Hascaparbi, it was the last straw. After that he just gave up. You should have seen his armor: the best steel, some of it inlaid in gold.”

“He might as well have hocked his soul. His self-esteem just crashed. We’ve been doing the occasional odd towing job ever since, just to make ends meet. Sometimes we beg.” He winced. “The great warrior Snaugenhutt, reduced to pulling hay carts for feed. One time we even contracted to do plowing.”

Buncan tried to picture the great rhino dragging a plow, furrow after endless furrow, while some ill-tempered fanner trailing behind berated him with orders and curses in equal measure. It wasn’t an attractive image.

“Couldn’t even hold that job,” Viz was muttering. “Got plastered one night, had someone hitch him up, went and plowed obscenities into the field. The farmer couldn’t see them, but an owl in his employ snitched on us.”

“On ‘us’?”

Viz shrugged. “Snaug’s strong, but he can’t spell worth a damn. When things got real bad I started taking to the sauce a little myself. It helps you forget.”

Buncan scrutinized the rhino, who had finally stopped sobbing. “And there’s nothing that can bring him out of this?”

“Sure. Give him back his self-respect.”

“How?”

“How indeed? I’ve been trying for years. He doesn’t listen to me anymore. Of course, the ranker he gets the better I eat, but there are higher principles at stake here.” He hesitated. “There’s one thing that might do it.”

“What’s that?”

Viz leaned forward, his beak a thumb’s length from Buncan’s right eye. “Get him his armor back.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Gragelouth already told you we have hardly any money.”

The tickbird straightened. “Well, you asked. You know, if he was rambling on about honor and virtue and gallantry, he meant every word of it. He’s serious about that stuff, and there isn’t a duplicitous bone in that whole enormous body. When he’s sober there isn’t a nobler creature on earth.”

Buncan studied the immense mass that was Snaugenhutt and tried to imagine what it would cost to provide armor for so much sheer bulk. It would be like trying to armor a ship. Which was rather what the rhino was: a landship on four legs.

“No way,” he told Viz. “Gragelouth doesn’t have anywhere near enough funds.”

“Too bad. There’s no guarantee it would work, anyway.” The tickbird looked wistful. “Though I would like to have seen it tried.” He leaned forward again. “My hearing’s pretty sharp. Did I hear you say something about being a spellsinger?”

Buncan nodded. “My otterish companions and I. We work together.”

“Then why don’t you just spellsing him his armor back?”

“Don’t you think that occurred to me?” He shook his head regretfully. “We only function as a trio. I play the duar and they rap.” At the tickbird’s puzzled expression he added, “It’s a type of singing.”

“Have you tried it as a duo?”

“Well, not really. It’s just been working so well as a trio, I’m a little nervous about trying anything different. Even if it’s only a little off, spellsinging can produce some weird effects.”

“Try,” Viz urged him. “If something goes wrong, we’ll absolve you of any responsibility.” The bird lifted both wings slightly. “It’s not like either of us have anything to lose.”