neetha Napew - Son Of Spellsinger

“What do you call yourself?” He struggled to maintain a brave front, and incidentally give the otters more time to Improvise some lyrics. “Of what tribe are you? We’ve already spoke with one who calls this the Country of the Recently Forgotten.”

“That’s right, remind me.” The Guardian pawed at the gravel, his head weaving from side to side. “I haven’t mated in nearly a year, and that doesn’t make me any less Irritable.”

“I know how you feel,” mumbled Snaugenhutt even as he angled his hom.

“This Guardian is of the tribe of the sabertooths, since you’re unable to puzzle out that simple fact, and I warned you.” It raised one paw (at least it was capable of that much learned behavior, Buncan reflected) and pointed toward the cave. “In there lie the bones of those who came before you and lingered to disturb my rest. They are well gnawed. It will be good to have a fresh supply to crack.”

“Surely you cannot seriously be thinking of eating us,” Gragelouth protested. “That would be uncivilized in the extreme.”

“I lay no claim to civilization,” The lunatic canines gleamed in the mountain light. “Do I look like a vegetarian to you? I eat whatever comes my way, whether it’s capable of intelligible conversation or not. I don’t discriminate between idiots and geniuses. They all taste the same going down.”

Suddenly the Guardian winced, eyes squinting tight. Throwing back its head, it let out a deep wail. Squatting on its haunches, it ignored them as it proceeded to howl mournfully at the sky.

Some sort of pre-attack ritual chant, Buncan thought as he and the otters took the opportunity to retreat all the way to Snaugennutt’s side. At least now the sabertooth couldn’t single them out. At which point the utterly unexpected occurred.

Gragelouth started forward, hands extended.

A disbelieving Neena yelled to him. “ ‘Ave you gone mad, merchant? Get back ‘ere before you’re fish meal!”

“Cor, let the silly twit sacrifice ‘imself if ‘e wants.” Squill sniffed disdainfully. “Maybe ‘e’ll give the toothy blighter a bellyache.”

The sloth glanced over a shoulder. “I am not about to sacrifice myself, and I am quite frightened out of my wits. It is only that when you travel as widely as I do and see as much as I have you acquire all manner of odd information. While observing our assailant just now, I imagined I saw something specific.”

“Right,” agreed Neena. “Waitin’ death.”

“Something besides that.” As he continued to advance, the sabertooth ceased its dirge and lowered its gaze.

“A volunteer for the first course. That doesn’t happen very often.”

Gragelouth halted just out of immediate claw reach. “Your pardon, father-of-all-fangs, but prior to your consuming me might I have a closer look at something? A final favor, if you will.”

The sabertooth’s expression narrowed, which, given his already low sloping forehead, have him the look of a piqued executioner. “A look at what? I’ve already told you that you can’t see the Grand Veritable. I’m guarding it.”

“Not that; something more personal. Just now, when you had your head back singing, I thought I noticed something.”

The great carnivore eyed the sloth warily. With a single swipe of one great paw he could easily tear out the merchant’s throat. Therefore, there was no need to hurry.

“Just what is it you want to see?”

Gragelouth raised both hands over his head. “I am unarmed.”

The Guardian scrutinized the proffered limbs thoughtfully. “You will be shortly.”

“I mean that I have no weapons.” The soft-voiced merchant would not back down. “These others are here at my instigation.”

“I thank you in advance for supplying so large and diverse a meal.” In no great hurry now, the sabertooth lifted a paw and examined its claws.

“Having come this far in search of a dream, I cannot turn and run, I cannot back down without an answer. Do you understand?”

“I understand that you will tickle sliding down my gullet. Could you not have shaved first?” Glowing green eyes glistened in deep-set sockets.

“All I wish,” said the sloth as he warily lowered his hands, “is to have a look inside your mouth.”

The Guardian’s eye ridges rose. “You’ll see that soon enough.”

“You do not understand. It is one small portion that intrigues me.” He had moved closer, and Buncan saw that no matter how effective a spellsong he and the otters might mount, it would not be in time to save the merchant.

“A peculiar last request. Peculiar enough to be granted.” The sabertooth stretched its incredible jaws wide. “Indulge yourself. I’ll let you know before I bite.”

“Thank you.” Gragelouth stuck his head forward and down, twisting to one side to stare at the Guardian’s upper palate. Buncan and the others held their breath. “Ah, there. Just there.” His expression knotted sympathetically. “That must hurt something terrible. It is no wonder your disposition is so befouled.” He withdrew.

Instead of lunging forward, jaws agape, for the fatal bite, the sabertooth eyed the squat sloth uncertainly. “What can you know about it?”

“I can see it. Upper left canine. It goes right down into the socket. How long has that toodi been bothering you?”

“What makes you diink it bothers me?” The Guardian let out an anticipatory snarl.

Gragelouth spoke a little faster. “As I said, one acquires many odd bits of knowledge in one’s travels. It is bothering you, is it not? Did it not just cause you shooting, tiirobbing pain?”

“Don’t speak of it! You . . .” The Guardian suddenly winced. “Yes, it hurts. The pain is like a running fire in my brain.”

“For how long?”

“Soon after I ate a pair of exotic dancers who lost themselves in these mountains. A human and a cat, they were.” He looked downcast. “They tasted harmless at the time.”

“Ah.” Gragelouth nodded knowingly. “One must take care not to consume too many sugary tarts.”

“The pain comes and goes, but each time it returns it’s worse.”

“I thought as much.”

Unable to overhear the conversation clearly, Squill raised his own voice. “Oi, gray-bottom! Wot’s the bleedin’ story?”

“He has a cavity,” Grageloudi explained. “A hole in one front toodi.”

“No wonder ‘e’s in such a bad mood,” Neena declared.

‘Avin’ a chopper like that, you can only imagine the toothache it would give.”

“I’d radusr not,” said Squill.

“And I can’t,” Viz added.

Buncan moved to join Grageloudi, ignoring the otters’ warnings. “I’m sorry to hear about your problem. What if we could fix it for you?”

The Guardian growled at him. “You can’t ‘fix if for me. No one can fix it for me.” As Grageloutii took a well-considered step backward a huge paw reached out to land on his left foot, preventing him from retreating any farther. The murderous skull drew close and green eyes blazed into the merchant’s own. “Afo one.”

“Not wishing at this point in time to incite you any further, I must still point out tiiat my friends may be able to do sometiiing for you. Though young, they are purveyors of exquisite necromancy. Spellsingers.”

For just an instant, the sabertooth hesitated. “Spellsingers?” The restraining paw did not move, but the eyes rose to peer past the trapped sloth. They settled on Buncan. “Is what mis furry snack says true?”

“It’s true. How do you think we got this far if not with the help of powerful sorcery?”

“I don’t know. Blind stupidity?” He lifted his paw, releasing Grageloudi’s tingling foot. Knowing better diaa to try to run, the merchant implored the glowing Guardian.