neetha Napew - Son Of Spellsinger

Frowning, Buncan raised a hand to block the otter’s blow. “Wait.”

“Wait?” Squill pushed his hat back on his forehead. “Wot the ‘ell d’you mean, ‘wait’? ‘E’ll give the bleedin’ alarm.”

The trapped creature gazed up out of limpid blue eyes. “Please, just kill me. I want die.” To everyone’s astonishment, the grotesque entity began to cry. Now even the notoriously unempathetic Squill found himself hesitating.

“Go on,” it sobbed. “What wait for? Finish.” The eyes closed.

Squill hadn’t lowered the sword. “The ugly blighter’s tryin’ some sort o’ bloomin’ trick, ‘e is.”

“I don’t think so.” Rising, Buncan eased Squill gentry but firmly aside. The otter backed off reluctantly.

Given the chance to rise and flee, the rooman didn’t move. It just lay there bawling softly like any abandoned kid. “Make quick. Fast, before Dark Ones see what happening.”

Buncan looked toward the busy pit, then back to their captive. “They can’t see over here. We won’t let mem hurt you.”

“Can’t prevent.” The rooman’s sobs faded to sniffles, and he squinted up at Buncan. “Who you people, anyway?” Twisting his malformed head, he met first Squill’s gaze, then Neena’s. “You not from around here.”

“No, we’re not.” Buncan retreated a step, giving the creature some room. “We come from a land far to the southeast, farmer than you can imagine.”

Gingerly, the rooman sat up. “Why? What you do here?” He gestured at Mowara as the galah landed on Buncan’s shoulder. “You kind I know. You from here.”

“Damn right I am, mate,” said the bird huskily. “What we ‘do here’ is gonna put an end to these monks and their monkeying once and for all.”

The rooman’s eyes widened. “Cannot do. Cannot challenge the Dark Ones. Will destroy you. They draw strengdi from other worlds. Too powerful now.” He looked around anxiously. “You go now, before they see. I not tell. Not!”

“We saw them at work.” Buncan spoke patiendy, soodiingly, trying to calm the panicky creature. “They’re powerful, but it’s only sorcery.”

“Only sorcery!” The rooman rose, and Squill immediately pressed the point of his sword against the poor creature’s ribs. It gazed at him sorrowfully.

“Not tell,” he reiterated.

The otter glanced at Buncan, who nodded slowly. Squill backed off, but not far. His sister hung close on the other side.

“We’re spellsingers,” Duncan explained. “We’ve come with Mowara here, the warrior Wurragarr, and many others to try and put a stop to what these Dark Ones have been doing.”

“Oi. We were just passin’ through with notnin’ else t’do.” Squill’s tone was caustic.

The rooman studied each of them in turn, still unwilling or unable to believe. “You sorcerers too? You fight Dark Ones?”

“That’s right,” Buncan told him.

“Must do this!” The creature spoke with such sudden violence that Buncan was taken aback. “Must stop them now, or they take over whole world. Everyplace and everyone and everything. Stop them now!”

“That’s what we aim to do, mate.” Mowara fluffed his feathers.

“Their style of sorcery is new to us,” Buncan noted, “but it is only sorcery. As the great wizard Clothahump has said, ‘Any magic which can be propounded can be countered.’ “ Neena gave him a sideways glance, and he looked slightly embarrassed.

The rooman’s human fingers worked nervously against one another while the thick tail switched back and forth. “Been here long time. Sometimes I listen, learn things. Not so dumb. Not! Droww first to make hateful breakthrough and learn words of corruption. First makes plan, then recruits others. Starts small, with bugs. Puts wings of one on body of other. Fish next.

“I remember when both my turn. Originally two me. Now one you see. Other. .throw away.” His voice was momentarily choked. “Not sure which me, me. Not sure which throw away. Me lucky. Many times both throw away. Sometimes make things hard even for Dark Ones to look at. Much screaming.” He was silent for a long moment.

“Me ‘success.’“ The word was uttered with enough sarcasm to cut oak. “Must serve Dark Ones, all monks. Only life. Rather be dead. Not so easy to be dead. Forget things.”

“What’s your name?” Buncan asked as gently as possible.

Tortured blue eyes gazed back into bis. “Name dead too.”

“Well, then, what do they call you?”

“Cilm. Maybe original name of one of two that I was. Maybe not. Matters not.” It turned hopeful. “Kill me now?”

“We’re not going to kill you,” Buncan declared firmly. “I can’t do it.”

Squill lowered his sword. “Bloody ‘ell, I can’t do it neither. That’s a first.”

“You’re not responsible for . . . what you are,” Buncan continued. “We don’t want to hurt you or any of your friends.”

“Have no friends.” Cilm managed a feeble shrug of his half-human, half-roo shoulders. “None here friend to another. Each our own private horrors.”

Buncan nodded as if he understood. “Then help us. I’m asking you to be our friend. Help us to make an end to this.”

The rooman looked doubtful. “Dark Ones have so much power.”

“You ain’t ‘eard our power, guv. Wait ‘til you ‘ear wot we can do.”

“Will you help us?” Buncan tried to be insistent without being overbearing.

Clearly resistance was not a concept with which the rooman was conversant. “I not sure. Not . . . know. You not see what Dark Ones do to any who dare fight back.” He quivered all over. “Not want to see.”

“We can take care of ourselves,” Neena assured him with a confidence she didn’t entirely feel.

Still the creature hesitated. Then roo ears flicked forward, suddenly alert. “Cilm help. But only if you promise one thing.”

“What’s that?” Buncan asked curiously.

“If we losing, you will kill me.”

Buncan swallowed hard. This was very different from Neena’s gallant rescue. There was no glory to be had; only something that needed to be done. He felt no exhilaration, no feeling of anticipation. Only a grim sense of determination.

“All right,” he heard himself mutter. It sounded like someone else.

Cilm nodded understandingly. “Must be strong. I beautiful compared to what you will see. Must destroy devices, potions, powders, everything. No more experiments. No more sorcery. No more me’s.”

Duncan peered down into the pit. “We have friends outside. A small army. They’re going to attack Kilagurri just before daybreak. When they hit the wall, that’s when we should make our move.”

“Too right,” Squill murmured by way of agreement.

“Is there a place we can hide ‘til then?” Neena inquired.

The rooman considered, then beckoned for them to follow. “Storage place near here. Little used. Window high up. You come.”

CHAPTER 23

Despite his determination to stay awake, Buncan found himself dozing on and off. His intermittent sleep was filled with fractured dreams populated by broken bodies. As soon as one would come together properly it would fall, tumbling over and over, to shatter like glass against the red rocks of the Tamas. Each tune he would awaken, only to drift off again.

Finally he awoke to an enclosure that was perceptibly brighter. And no longer silent. A distant clamor could be heard through the single high window. He shook Mowara awake, then Squill. Neena was already alert, conversing softly with Cilm. Following his lead, they moved back out into the corridor.

A hooded monjon was hopping just ahead of them. They trailed a safe distance behind, halting at the overlook as the small marsupial continued down into the busy pit. The Dark Ones were conversing anxiously with one another, their voices louder and considerably more agitated man they’d been earlier. As the travelers watched in silence they left in groups of two or three through the main doorway, until the chamber was deserted save for those who were unable to flee.