neetha Napew - Son Of Spellsinger

Buncan nudged the motionless guard with a foot as he strapped on his sword. The thick woven that soaked up most, but not all, of the meerkat’s blood. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”

She didn’t look up from her work. “From me dear oP mum. She always told us that academics should be grounded in a good practical education.”

As soon as he was free, Squill favored his sister with a threatening glare. But instead of assaulting her he limped over on tingling legs and kicked the dead guard square in the face. Blood spurted. Buncan frowned. “There’s no need for that.” The otter smiled thinly up at him. “Cor, I know that. I just did it for me own personal pleasure.” As he drew back his leg for a second kick, Buncan stepped in front of him. “C’mon. We’re a long ways from being out of here.” Squill hesitated, then nodded and hurried to salvage his own belongings from the pile.

Viz was stretching his wings, fluttering into the air and then landing to rest. “We can’t leave without Snaug.” The tickbird shook his head dolefully. “I can’t believe they got him drunk. He’d been doing so well.”

“Doubtless he thought he could handle it.” Gragelouth was philosophical. “A common misconception of those overly fond of the bottle. Do not be too hard on him.”

“Maybe rney didn’t get him drunk.” Buncan slipped the duar over his shoulders. “Maybe he was drugged.”

Viz brightened. “I hadn’t thought of that. I made the obvious assumption.”

“We all did.” Buncan stroked the duar in anticipation. “We’re not going to be able to just walk out of here, free Snaugenhutt, and ride out through the break in the rocks. Too many guards and chanters around. But right now surprise is ours. We’d better make good use of it.”

“Spellsinging, yes,” said Gragelouth enthusiastically. “But what form should it take?”

Squill stepped forward. “Leave it to Neena and me.” His eyes flashed.

Buncan’s fingers strummed the double set of strings. At the center, something fiery flared. The otters murmured one very angry sentence.

A globe of reflective flame leaped from the duar’s nexus, floated like a bubble across the interior of the tent, and burst against the far wall. Concentric ripples of silver fire expanded outward from the hole in the wall like ripples in a pond. Gragelouth looked delighted.

“My, but aren’t we incensed?”

Squill and Neena stood side by side, fingers entwined, bobbing in time to Duncan’s music. This time no grins were in evidence as they sang. Viz settled expectantly on the merchant’s shoulder as they followed the highly focused human and otters outside.

Not far away Snaugenhutt lay on his back, still clad in his armor. His feet thrust into the air, front and rear securely bound at the ankles. Heavier thongs crisscrossed his exposed belly, binding him to the earth.

Viz glided over to land on the ground next to his associate. The tickbird turned his head sideways as he examined his friend and companion.

“How you feeling?”

The rhino looked away. “They offered me a drink. Some kind of fermented lizard milk or somethin’. I was thirsty.”

“Maybe a bit too thirsty?”

Snaugenhutt’s voice was uncharacteristically muted. “Maybe. I don’t have that much. There must’ve been something in it.” Buncan had to admit as he continued to strum the duar that the rhino did not sound drunk.

The music and conversation alerted a startled guard who was sleepy but not asleep. Hie ground squirrel barked a challenge in Viz’s direction. Viz ignored him as he spoke to the merchant.

“Hey, Gragelouth! You can help here.” The sloth waddled over and began applying the blade of his larger knife to the rhino’s bindings.

By this time the agitated guard was yelling for help. Sleepy, half-clad figures came stumbling out of nearby tents. Buncan and the otters ignored them. A lambent, silvery mist now all but obscured his busy fingers.

Chi-churog emerged from a large tent opposite the recumbent Snaugenhutt. The First Rider of the Xi-Murogg reached back as someone within handed him a curved sword. He waved it over his head as he started toward the escapees.

“You have ruined the timing and dishonored the Ceremony! Now we will have to wait another day.”

Viz rose and darted at the meerkat, easily avoiding the sword stroke aimed in his direction. “Sorry, rat-face. We’re out of here.”

Chi-churog paused as armed males gathered around him. “Am I to be moved by your serenade? Your story did not impress me. I, Chi-churog of the Xi-Murogg, am not one to be frightened by the desperate warbling of inept troubadours.”

“Who’s inept?” Buncan shouted challengingly. The otters were no less irate.

“Stomp ‘em in the ground, cut ‘em to pieces

Kick ‘em in the ‘ead, make ‘em all dead

Grind ‘em into powder so their fields can be fed

With their own blood, hey

Turn it to a flood, say

Turn the ground to mud, yea

Let Snaugenhutt trample

Everyone who tries to flee ,

Start with that one as a bleedin’ example!”

But Snaugenhutt’s thongs didn’t fray and dissolve. No invisible, impenetrable wall materialized to protect them from the now fully awake and furious villagers. No enraged dragon or other powerful defender appeared to challenge their approaching captors.

As Chi-churog and his mob of heavily armed villagers lurched forward, long snouts twitching, eyes full of murder, Buncan began to feel concern. Playing faster did nothing to alter the status quo, nor did the most violent imprecations the otters could improvise.

“For this outrage,” Chi-churog declared, “the traditional butchering will proceed simultaneous with the collection of blood. This so that you may see for yourselves as you die with what skill our females wield the ceremonial knives. Consider it a special honor which . . .”

That’s when the ground began to shake.

Well, not to shake, really, but to tremble, as if the earth itself had been agitated by the otters’ lyrics. Buncan considered slowing the music, but he had to keep up with Squill and Neena, who were spinning insults and threats as fast as they could think of them. Maybe, he thought, he should have been paying more attention to the content of their rap than to the approaching Xi-Murogg. How dangerous a condition could they conjure? He wailed away grimly at the duar.

By now the surface was shaking sufficient to bring Chi-churog and his people to a halt. A poorly posted tent collapsed nearby, sending its dazed occupants stumbling out into the night. An apprehensive Gragelouth plied his knife as fast as he could. Snaugenhutt’s front legs were free, and he and Viz were working frantically on the back pair.

The tickbird kept glancing worriedly in all directions. “Hurry up, merchant. Something’s happening.”

“I am as aware as you.” Gragelouth sawed at a stubborn thong.

“This spellsinging?” Viz fluttered above bis friend. “They have it under control, don’t they? They know what they’re doing, don’t they?”

“More or less.”

“More or less?”

“It seems to be something of a hit-or-miss proposition. The sorcery always works. It is the results that are unpredictable.”

As if to punctuate the merchant’s observation, the earth promptiy gave a thunderous belch, tossing the sloth to the ground. Feet freed, adrenaline pumping, Snaugenhutt rolled forcefully to his left, ripping the pegs that held the thongs across his belly out of the dirt. He stood erect, shaking himself like a dog after a swim. His iron scutes clanged violently, sounding the bells of the Church of the Contumacious Rhinoceros.

More furious than frightened, Chi-churog made an effort to advance over the quivering ground. His people followed reluctantly, then- initial enthusiasm waning fast. They’d advanced several paces when they halted in then’ tracks.