neetha Napew - Son Of Spellsinger

“Snaugenhutt, Snaug! Get up, load! Quit treading air!” Beating atmosphere, the tickbird tried to rouse his companion. “Viz, look out!” Buncan yelled frantically. With a loud whump! immense jaws slammed shut as the pit bull-bull snapped downward. The monster bit only air as Viz darted neatly aside and continued to beseech his fallen friend.

“Come on, move it! You ain’t dead. Quit acting like it. We need you.”

Snaugenhutt was indeed still very much alive, but the fall had stunned him. He lay blinking and kicking. It would be necessary for him to recover his senses before he could recover his feet.

The interfering rhino disposed of, the pit bull-bull sought other prey. Advancing deliberately, it tried to trap Buncan in the nearest corner, perhaps realizing he would be easier to catch than the more nimble otters. Holding the duar out in front of him like a talisman, Buncan retreated, knowing that while he might be able to dodge the creature, he couldn’t possibly outrun it.

“Let’s go,” he called to the otters, who hovered nearby. His fingers cajoled harmless melodies from the dual sets of strings. “Words, I need words!”

“We’re bloomin’ tryin’, mate!” In an attempt to distract the creature, Squill darted across its line of vision. The otter’s presence barely registered on the brute’s senses. It was utterly focused now. The young human first, then ample time for the others.

Scampering dangerously close to sharp forehooves, Neena was likewise ignored. She and her brother exchanged harassed whispers, while Buncan grimly tried to decide which way he was going to have to jump.

On the other side of the pit the rest of the Dark Ones had begun to edge forward, encouraged by their leader’s apparent control over the Berserker. Hesitantly at first, then with increasing enthusiasm, they began to voice their support in the form of an ascending, unified chant.

Squill and Neena, too, had finally begun to sing.

“Push ‘em back, push ‘em back,

Wayyyyy . . . back!

Back in the ‘ole where he can’t be seen

Over the line, back through the wall

Back so for that the big becomes small

Stop him right ‘ere, if you know what we mean.

Gots to do a number an’ fix this scene.”

Even as he played wildly, Buncan was shouting at his friends.

“What kind of spellsong is that?”

Squill made a face as Neena agonized over a second verse. “Cor, mate, she’s the best we can do for now.”

Bits and pieces of shattered glass and twisted metal began to rise from the floor of the pit. Sprouting glowing wings, they soared upward and flung themselves recklessly against the advancing form of the pit bull-bull. Every one bounced harmlessly to the floor, some to flap futilely against the stone, others to be ground to dust beneath ponderous hooves.

Even the crumpled operating table lurched into the air. On leathery wings of lambent green it soared as high as the ceiling, only to fold its sails and dive straight at the pit bull-bull’s skull. A smaller creature would have been killed by the blow, and even Snaugenhutt stunned, but the monster simply twisted and caught the plunging chunk of enchanted furniture in its massive jaws. A single, powerful snap reduced it to kindling.

“Give up!” Droww was yelling from the far side of the pit. “The Berserker is immune to your simple tunes. An all-encompassing veil of ignorance protects it. It doesn’t understand sorcery, it doesn’t understand spellsinging, it does not comprehend even the rudiments of thaumaturgy, and therefore cannot be affected by mem. Its entire development has gone to muscle. Only the sound of my voice penetrates its thick mode of bone to reach the brain beneath.”

The otters changed their song. Evanescent effervescent dust rose in clouds from the floor with the aim of obscuring the creature’s vision, but they only made it sneeze as it lumbered on through, shaking its head irritably from side to side.

Buncan was running out of room almost as quickly as he was out of ideas. Spellsinging seemed ineffective against this ultimate invention of the Dark Ones, and he said as much to his companions.

“ Tis got to work.” Neena strove frantically to improvise still-fresher lyrics. “ ‘Tis always worked for Jon-Tom an’ Mudge, an’ it ‘as to work now.”

“I’m not Jon-Tom!” Buncan slid to his right. The pit bull-bull edged sideways to match his movement.

“Then by the Aardvark’s Spittle, think o’ somethin’ your sue would never think of!” Squill challenged him.

Easy to say, Buncan reflected tiredly. Hard to do. Exhaustion was creeping up his legs. His fingers were growing numb, and he knew that the otters’ throats had to be raw from rapping at the tops of their lungs. Nothing they tried had any effect on the relentless specter. One snap of those preposterous jaws, one diffident bite, and he and his friends would be reduced to soggy pulp. That was assuming they managed to dodge the twin sets of horns and . . .

He brightened as the lyrics flashed on him. It had worked once before. Though using the same or similar lyrics in a second spellsong was dangerous, they were about out of options. What did they have to lose? He made the suggestion.

Neena squinted hard, trying to watch him and the advancing mountain-with-teeth at the same time. “Pardon me presumption, Bookoos, but ain’t this an inappropriate time for baby babble? We need strength, we need power, we need . . .”

“Something different, like your brother said. The lyrics have power. We just need a different take on them.” The wall was very near now. He saw himself kicking and twitching, impaled on one of those formidable horns. “I’ll start it off, and you and Squill copy. Just listen to the words and . . .”

With a roar that shook dust from the rafters, the pit bull-bull lowered its head and charged.

“Scatter!” Buncan threw himself to his right as boms slammed into the stone wall and steel-trap jaws crushed the air where he’d been standing an instant earlier. The monster was much faster than anything its size ought to have been. It skittered sideways to block any further retreat, realizing it had its quarry trapped. This time it didn’t even bother to lower its horns.

Off in the distance he could hear Viz yelling at Snaugenhutt to pull himself together, but the rhino couldn’t help now. He’d taken his best shot at the creature and barely budged it. It was all up to the others and to Buncan. In a quavering voice he began to mouth the lyrics he remembered from childhood, the lyrics which had worked so well for him and his friends not so very long ago. Only. .different, mis time. Even to his ears it sounded like a lamentation.

Squill and Neena could be as quick with their wits as they were with then- feet. Having sung the song once before, it was easy for them to rework the simple refrain.

Indifferent to the music, the pit bull-bull glanced from otters to human, trying to decide which to annihilate first.

As he listened to the otters, Buncan had to admit they had managed to inject a truly anguished quality into their singing. This time around, the same lyrics were full of sorrow and pathos, of sadness and poignancy. His playing was slower, their vocalizing was slower, and together they generated an aura of ineffable sadness that pervaded the entire chamber. No luminous clouds coalesced within the room, but the duar pulsed a rich, dark blue, utterly reflective of the music Buncan skillfully coaxed from the dual sets of intersecting strings.

“ ‘Ow much is that doggie in the window, yo?

The one with the waggly tail, y’know?

‘Ow much is that doggie in the window, bro’?

It looks so sad, gotta be mad

Wrong head on its body, it’s gotta be bad