neetha Napew - Son Of Spellsinger

“You’ve ‘it on it, guv.” Behind the garrulous Squill, Gragelouth rolled his eyes. Keeping a secret around the boisterous, boastful otters was like trying to conceal Snaugenhutt in a side pocket.

“What might this Grand Veritable be?” the thylacine inquired.

Squill smirked at him. Otters were professional smirkers. “That’s wot we aim to find out.”

The thylacine nodded and yawned, displaying an astonishing hundred-and-eighty-degree gape. “I don’t suppose you’d know that the monastery of Kilagurri also lies to the northwest?”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Buncan replied. “Is it something we should know about?”

The thylacine straightened, his tone darkening. “You expect us to believe that? Everyone knows Kilagurri.” He gestured with the pike. “Better get off your mountain. Now.” Next to him the wombat lowered his spear.

Squill and Neena promptly drew and notched their bows. They exhibited no particular haste. The notion of these two interfering with the progress of the heavily armored Snaugenhutt was laughable.

Buncan was more cautious. He’d learned from Jon-Tom that any obviously outnumbered and overmatched potential opponent who refused to yield ground was either a complete fool or knew something you didn’t. He wasn’t positive about the wombat, but he was pretty sure the thylacine was no fool.

Snaugenhutt glanced back at his riders. “Want me to turn ‘em into roadkill?”

“Not just yet.” Buncan leaned forward and whispered. “What do you think, Viz?”

The tickbird was leaning against the side of his armored howdah, his feet firmly clamped to his perch. “I think there’s more to these two happy hikers than meets the eye.” Instead of watching those confronting them, he’d been studying the surrounding forest.

The thylacine gestured with the point of the pike. “Let’s go, friends. Climb down.”

“We’re considering your request,”‘ said Buncan. “So far we don’t find you very persuasive.”

“We can fix that.” Putting two fingers to his extensive lips, the thylacine blew a short, shrill whistle.

Subsequent to a premonitory rustling the woods disgorged a host of armed creatures who immediately surrounded the travelers. Despite his concern, Buncan was amazed that so many had managed to remain hidden for so long. Many of the tribes represented were unknown to him except through his studies. All were armed to varying degrees, but while then’ number was impressive their appearance was decidedly motley.

This was no formal military force, he concluded. Even if they were bandits they weren’t putting up much of a show. But there were an awful lot of them, and there was no mistaking the determination in their faces.

He picked a couple of wombats and one other thylacine out of the mob. There were also koalas, several platypi (one of whom flaunted a gold ring through its leathery beak), a couple of raonjons who’d woven wicked-looking metal barbs into their tufted tails, a trio of spear-carrying emus, similarly equipped cassowaries, diminutive possums wearing dark shades to protect their sensitive eyes against the daylight, and at least one squadron composed entirely of dingoes. But the majority of the ragtag force was made up of wallabies and kangaroos representing more than a dozen subtribes. Buncan counted fifty individuals before giving up-One rarely encountered any representatives of these tribes in the Bellwoods, he reflected. Remembrance of those temperate, accommodating woods brought a sudden and quite unexpected tightness to his throat. He and his friends were very far from home: from the warm confines of the dimensionally expanded tree by the riverside, from his own room, from his other friends, and from his mother’s exotic and sometimes overspiced cooking.

Now was not the time to succumb to the foibles of resurgent adolescence, he reminded himself firmly. He was now an experienced adventurer and spellsinger, and he’d damn well better act like one.

By this time more than a hundred armed males and females surrounded Snaugenhutt and his companions. An equal number of arrows and spears and pikes and swords were pointed in their direction. While mere was no doubt that the rhino could break through the encirclement, it was equally certain that a shower of weaponry would fall on him and his passengers. With what kind of accuracy it was difficult to say, out many of the wallabies and roos looked agile and fast enough to bound right onto the rhino’s retreating back and if necessary engage Buncan and his comrades in hand-to-hand combat.

“She’s right, then!” declared a deep, booming voice. A huge russet-tinged roo as tall as Buncan hopped out of the foliage, leaped effortlessly aver the wombat and thylacine, and landed with a thud an arm’s length in front of Snaugenhutt. Wearing only light snakeskin armor, he stood gazing thoughtfully up at Buncan, apparently utterly indifferent to the fact that with a quick lunge Snaugenhutt could impale him on his born and Sing him into the nearest bush.

A spiked earring dangled from the roo’s right ear. A strip of leather bristling with steel spikes ran from his forehead, down between his ears, and all the way down his spine to his heavy tail, the tip of which had been fitted with a double-sided wooden club. This gave an occasional, ominous twitch.

In his right hand the roo held a double-sided war ax. Bom feet were shod in some kind of socklike material. Upward-pointing hooks flashed at the toes. Like the rest of his companions the speaker, Buncan reflected, was not dressed for casual conversation. Haphazard and disorganized, they were clearly not military, and they were overequipped for mere banditry. What was going on in these far-off, strangely vegetated mountains?

“I’m Wurragarr.” His war ax flashed in the sun as he strained to peer past Buncan. “You’re a curious lot. Not from around here, that much is clear.”

“We’re from a lot farther than you’ve ever been,” Neena informed nun.

“I won’t argue with that, shiela.” He returned his attention to Buncan. “Myself, I’m a simple blacksmith. Don’t get around much. But the good folk of Nooseloowoo have invested me with the responsibility of leadership, and I aim not to let them down.” He jerked a thumb in the thylacine’s direction. “Heard you tell Bedarra and Quibo you were heading northwest. Kilagurri lies to the northwest.”

Buncan fought to contain his exasperation. “Look, we don’t know what’s going on here, and we’ve never heard of this Kilagurri place. We’re on a quest of our own, and we’re just trying to stay out of everybody’s way.”

The roo was insistent. “What’s your business in the northwest?”

“Didn’t you hear that too? We’re looking for the Grand Veritable.”

“Never heard of it.”

“We told your friends. We don’t know what it is either. That’s what we’re trying to find out.” He hesitated. “It’s said to be the source of great power and great danger.”

The roo nodded contemplatively. “Can’t say about power, but we’ve plenty of danger here to go around.” He turned and pointed with the ax. “You continue on the way you’ve been goin’ and you’ll for sure find it.”

“That’s our business.” filter to keep up a bold front, he thought, than show any weakness. “We’ve been dealing with trouble ever since we left home.”

“Bloody right,” said Squill.

“So if you’ll be good enough to let us pass,” Buncan continued, “we won’t trouble you any further. I don’t know what your business is with this Kilagurri, but it has nothing to do with us.”

“Kilagurri has to do with everybody,” insisted an armored quokka from the edge of the mob. A mutter of agreement spread through the assembled.