neetha Napew - Son Of Spellsinger

“At least let them try. If they fail, you can still run us down one by one.”

“Spellsinging . . . I don’t know,” me sabertoodi brooded. “What if they make it worse?”

Buncan took another couple of steps forward. “Is that possible?”

Grageloudi was once more bending to peer into the Guardian’s gaping moudi. “It appears to be eating into the root. If you do not have it taken care of very soon, you will lose the entire saber. I suspect you will not grow another.”

“You’ll look bleedin’ ‘umorous witii only one o’ those stickers ‘angin’ out o’ your trap,” Squill commented.

The Guardian threw the taunting otter a murderous glare, then winced as fresh pain shot through his upper jaw. When he finally spoke again he was much subdued.

“Can you really help me?”

“We can’t make any promises.” Buncan spoke slowly, cautiously. “Sometimes the magic doesn’t work, and often it takes paths we didn’t envision. Furthermore, most of our spellsinging has been defensive in nature. We’ve never attempted anything quite so . . . constructive. We’ve only tried to do what was right, without hurting anyone or anything.” “Yeah,” added Squill energetically. “Moral shit like that, wot?”

The Guardian nodded his understanding. “I will let you try. No tricks now, I warn you! I am nearly as quick of mind as feet, and I won’t hesitate to shred the first one I suspect of something sly. But if you can mute the pain even a little, if you can help me, I would . . . I would be grateful.”

Fighting to restrain his excitement, Gragelouth inquired delicately, “If we can fix the problem permanently, will you let us see the Grand Veritable?”

The sabertooth’s green gaze shifted back to the merchant. “If you can fix this so it doesn’t hurt anymore, ever, I’ll give you the damn thing!”

The merchant’s face broke out into a wholly uncharacteristic wide smile.

“Right,” muttered Buncan. “Let’s do it.” He huddled with the otters while the others, including the tormented sabertooth, waited expectantly. Torn between a natural desire to rend and tear, which he was obligated to do, and a desperate need to alleviate the worsening pain in his jaw, the Guardian sat silent as a house pet and waited. Before long the human confronted him again. “We’re ready.” When the Guardian didn’t respond he nodded to his companions.

The rhythm was gentler than any they’d employed previously, coaxing rather than challenging, soothing instead of belligerent. No problem with that. Rap was adaptable. They’d just never had the occasion to speak softly before.

“Ain’t no gain without no pain

But the pain, in the main

She’s a tiresome refrain, the bane

Of existence

Do we make sense?

Got to chuck it out

Shouldn’t have to shout

That it’s plain that the pain

Is on the wane an’ on its way out.”

As they played and sang, a small silvery cloud, a miniature of those which formed so often when they spellsang, drifted from the duar’s nexus to the Guardian’s mouth. It swirled gently about the infected tooth, taking on multiple forms and shapes: now a small pointed instrument, now one through which glistening white liquid flowed.

An expression wondrous to behold slipped over the sabertooth’s face like a cleansing wrap, an expression not mere seen since it had been a cub. Though only the corners of his mouth curved upward, there was no mistaking the contortion for what it was: a smile.

As the silver radiance faded, the heavy paw which had temporarily pinned Gragelouth rose to feel gingerly of the area around the left saber. The merchant dared to inspect the sensitive region yet again.

“The dark gap appears to be gone.”

“It is gone!” Emitting a roar of pure delight, the Guardian leaped into the air, turned a complete somersault, and landed effortlessly on all fours. The light in his eyes burned as brightly as before: Only the motivation had changed.

Neena considered the sabertooth thoughtfully. “Mate, you really ought to learn to walk on your ‘hid legs, proper like.”

The Guardian nodded. “I know that’s how it’s done these days, but I’m one of the Forgotten, or soon-to-be. Many of the old ways are still mine. I’m comfortable with them.” He rubbed his jaw. “More comfortable than I’ve been in some time.”

“Let him be,” Snaugenhutt advised her. “Some of us just ain’t inclined to walk vertical.”

“I keep my word.” The sabertooth pointed toward his cave. “It’s just inside. Don’t want to trip over it in the dark.”

Duncan turned to gaze at the cave. After all they had been through, it seemed impossible they’d actually achieved their goal. More important, if the Guardian was not lying, it seemed that there was actually a goal to achieve. The Grand Veritable was real. Real what remained to be seen.

“You’ve done so much for me,” the sabertooth was saying. “Wait here and I’ll bring it out to you.” Springing from the rock on which he’d been sitting, he loped into the cave.

Buncan waited; they all waited. Even Gragelouth, who had to restrain himself from following the Guardian into his lair.

“Can’t be very big,” Neena observed. “Not if the cat can drag it out all by ‘imself.”

“Maybe ‘tis a pink diamond the size o’ ‘is “cad,” Squill commented hopefully.

“Or a wand.” Now that they were actually about to encounter the mysterious source of legends, Buncan recalled the odd mixture of disdain and apprehension with which Clothahump had treated the subject. “No matter how innocent or harmless it looks, we need to be careful with it.”

“ ‘Ell, you worry too much, mate.” Squill twisted completely around to groom his tail. A human attempting the same move would have to dislocate his spine. “Wotever it is, it ain’t ‘art this ‘ere kitty-cat none. I’d say ‘e’s ‘ad plenty o’ time to play with it, and if it couldn’t cure ‘is bloomin’ toothache, then I says there can’t be much power in it.”

“Perhaps it is possessed of a different sort of power.” Gragelouth’s gaze was fixated on the cave mourn.

All speculation aside, there wasn’t one among them who wasn’t surprised when the sabertooth finally reemerged with the object held firmly but respectfully in his mouth.

“Well, I’ll be orificed.” Neena sat down right where she’d been standing. A puzzled Snaugenhutt simply smiled and shook his great head, while Viz let out a series of bemused whistles.

“What’s that!” A wary Buncan bent for a better look as the Guardian carefully placed the object on a smooth-surfaced boulder.

“The Grand Veritable,” the sabertooth replied. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? What you traveled all mis way to find?”

“Righty-ho,” said Squill, frowning at the subject under discussion, “but wot is it? Wot do it do?”

“Do?” The Guardian was openly bemused. “Why, it doesn’t ‘do’ anything. It just is. Truth, that is. The Grand Veritable is truth, just as its name implies. That’s what the Ancient Ones who set my kind to watch over it said.”

Gragelouth sat down heavily, moaning. “Solipsisms. All mis way come, all this distance traversed, great dangers and perils overcome, for that.”

The rejuvenated sabertooth growled. “Don’t underestimate it. Truth is the most valuable of all commodities . . . and the most dangerous.”

Squill gave the object a tentative kick. It did not react. “Don’t look so dangerous to me.”

The Guardian grinned. “You can’t hurt the truth that way.”

Gragelouth put one hand to his forehead. “What good is truth to me? I’m a merchant, a trader. You can’t sell truth.”