neetha Napew - Son Of Spellsinger

“You really think Mudge would have ridden on by?” She squirmed uncomfortably. “Don’t you want to be better than that?”

“Don’t you want to bloody well live?” Squill asked nun.

Buncan glared at his friend. “We survived Hygria. We survived the Sprilashoone and Camrioca. We saved Neena from Krasvin and crossed the Tamas in spite of the Xi-Murogg. What does that tell you, Squill?”

“That we’re temptin’ bloomin’ fate, mate.”

“Are we spellsingers or not?”

“You sure got Jon-Tom’s talent.” The otter sighed. “Why’d you ‘ave to go an’ get ‘is bleedin’ sense of duty as well?”

“I’m not going to argue with you anymore.” Buncan turned away. “You don’t have to come.”

“Cor, wot are we supposed to do?” Neena put hands on waist. “Go on by ourselves, then? Without ‘im?” She pointed at the reluctant merchant. “ ‘E’s the only one who knows the way.

“We three needs to stick together, we do. We can’t make magic without you, and you can’t make it without us.”

“I can still use my sword,” Buncan reminded her.

“You? A swordsman?” She let out a series of long whistles.

He ignored the insult. “I don’t like the circumstances either, Neena, but part of the reason I’m here is to participate in worthy adventures like this.”

“Is it now?” said Squill. “Then why’d we ‘afta come all mis blinkin’ way? You coulda got yourself killed right back ‘ome. There’s plenty o’ them in Lynchbany would do the job for free.”

“As I told you, I’m a blacksmith by trade.” Wurragarr spoke quietly. “Not a soldier. None of us are.”

“Me ‘eart bleeds for you.” Squill spat to his right, unfortunately not quite missing his foot. A hundred pairs of eyes and more watched him silently. “Oh, right then,” he muttered. “Go on, bury me in guilt. Dump it copiously. I loves it, I’m a glutton for it.” He reached back to finger his quiver. “Blacksmith, you think you can make me some more arrows?”

A broad smile creased the roo’s face. “We’ve plenty with us. You can have your pick, so long as you promise to stick them where they’ll do the most good.”

“fi-iar Dunkum, or wotever the ‘ell you said,” Squill mumbled disconsolately.

Wurragarr, Bedarra, and Mowara let Snaugenhutt lead the column as it wound its way through the forest. The path led steadily upward. Unfamiliar evergreens began to appear more and more frequently as they ascended, their branches and needles so evenly spaced one would have thought them fashioned by hand instead of grown. Higher up they could make out the first bare rock faces, naked granite devoid of any vegetation.

“We’re not afraid of the monks,” Wurragarr explained. “Only the revolting creations that do their bidding. Some are more formidable than others. We have Mowara’s description of a numbat crossed with a thylacine. I wouldn’t care to meet something like that on a black night.”

“If you and your people can handle the fighting,” Buncan told him, “maybe my friends and I can come up with a spellsong to counteract their sorcery. Based on our experiences, I think the best thing to do would be to confront them directly. That means slipping us inside. We managed that feat under similar circumstances not long ago, but we were lucky. I don’t know if we could do it again.”

The roo looked thoughtful. “Mowara’s the only one of us who knows the monastery’s interior, but he’s a flier.” He rubbed his chin as he hopped along, easily keeping pace with Snaugenhutt, his tail flicking behind him. “What about it, Mowara?”

The galah timed his shrug to Wurragarr’s bounce. “Hard to get out. Might get in. Can you sneak?”

Buncan grinned. “I’m traveling with two otters.”

“Wait just a bloody minim, mate.” Squill had been listening closely. “You want us to go inside this den o’ sorcerers an’ their offspring an’ clean ‘em out?”

Buncan looked up at the otter. “Not clean them out. Just keep them from using their necromancy against Wurragarr and his people. Confuse them, tie them down, create a diversion.”

“I liked it better when we were throwin’ Snaugenhutt around.”

The rhino glanced back and up. “Easy for you to say, otter.”

“Right. So this time all of us are to act as a diversion. Wot ‘appens if the oversize rat ‘ere an’ ‘is mates don’t make it in? By my way o’ thinkin’ that leaves us ‘appy sappy diversions ‘igh an’ dry, singin’ our bleedin’ ‘earts out.”

“You get tucked into the Dark Ones and we’ll get in,” Wurragarr assured him.

“Well, then, there’s nothin’ to worry about, is there? Wot am I goin’ on about it for? Why, there’s one thing don’t concern me already.”

“What’s that?” Wurragarr asked politely.

The otter’s reply was bitter. “I don’t own enough worth makin’ out a will for.”

“What about aerial guards?” Buncan inquired.

“According to Mowara, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

The roo hopped easily over a large boulder that Duncan had to scramble around. “They can combine an eagle with a badger, but it still won’t fly.” “Planning to attack at night?”

“Yes. We’ll strike when the moon is at its highest. Maybe we’ll catch them groggy with sleep. Even monsters have to sleep, or so I’d imagine.” He didn’t sound like he believed it, Buncan mused.

Suddenly he recalled something the roo had mentioned earlier. “You said that the cliffs surrounding Kilagurri were steep and difficult to negotiate. How’s Snaugenhutt going to climb them?”

Wurragarr looked away. “Actually, I don’t see that your large friend can. We were hoping he would help us assault the gate. Surely you can see that he’s better suited to that than alpining?”

“I hear you,” said Snaugenhutt. “Besides,” the roo added, “I’d mink you’d find it hard to slip him inside unseen, even with Mowara’s help.”

“It isn’t up to me.” Buncan looked over at the tickbird. “Viz?”

“The roo’s right, Buncan. We’ll take this gate, however strong it is. If there’s climbing to be done, you’d be better off with an elephant than ol’ Snaug here.” The rhino did not object to the conclusion.

“I, too, should remain with our newfound friends,” Gragelouth declared. The merchant was contrite. “My tribe is not designed for speed. I would not want to delay you at a critical moment.”

“Marvelous,” said Squill from atop Snaugenhutt’s back. “Anything else we need to leave behind? Our clothes maybe? Our weapons? We’re already leavin’ our bloomin’ brains.”

“Wot brains?” Neena opined. Squill turned on his sister as they embarked on their favorite pastime of trading insults.

Buncan let his gaze sweep over the valley below. In the distance the lights of a small village were just visible. He returned his attention to the mountain path. “How much farther?”

Wurragarr indicated the lightly used trail they were following. “Another day’s march. Are you still ready and willing?”

“We’re willing, anyway.” Buncan smiled.

“You won’t surprise ‘em.” Snaugenhutt maintained his steady, unvarying pace. “They’re bound to see a troop this size coming.”

“We know. Our hope is that when we just encamp outside the wall and don’t attack they’ll think we’re settling in for an extended siege. Then we’ll get into ‘em when they’re in bed. You’ve obviously had experience in these matters. What’s your opinion?”

Snaugenhutt considered. “Good a strategy as any.”

“Don’t let’s drown in optimism, wot?” Neena made a face. “Don’t it trouble no one else that this whole enterprise depends on the wiles of a senile pink parrot?”