neetha Napew - The Paths Of The Perambulator

“I remember,” Jon-Tom said softly.

“Fate has a way of balancing the scales, however, and in your case, it has more than done so. Events have worked out better, 1 daresay, than either of us could have anticipated. Yet I fear I have been something less than a gracious host.” He raised a hand to forestall Jon-Tom’s protest. “No, let me finish. I am unused to personal expressions of humility, and if I do not finish now, I may never do so.

“You must try to understand that wizardry is a solitary profession. We who practice it have little time to develop social graces or refine interpersonal relationships. As the world’s greatest wizard, I have had to endure the weight of reputation for more than a century. As a result I sometimes tend to forget that I am dealing with mortals less versed in life as well as in the intricacies of my art. I fear my impatience sometimes carries over into rudeness.

“What I am trying to say, and I fear doing a poor job of it, is that you have acquitted yourself admirably mis past year. You have tolerated my personal peccadilloes gracefully, complained no more than could have been expected, and in general done everything that has been asked of you.

“I just wanted to tell you this so that you would know my true thoughts. I would not want either of us to pass on to a higher plane ignorant of these feelings. You give me hope for the youth of this world and have been a comfort to me in my old age.”

Before Jon-Tom could think of anything to say, the wizard had moved off to join Dormas in bringing up the rear. It didn’t matter. Time did not provide him with a suitable reply. There was nothing to say. The turtle’s speech was the nearest thing to an expression of genuine friendship he’d ever made. No, that wasn’t right. It was more than an expression of friendship. It bordered on a confession of affection. No matter how long he lived, he doubted he’d hear the like again.

Replying in kind would only have embarrassed Clothahump. Jon-Tom had come to know the wizard well enough to know that much. So he kept his response to himself and let the warm glow the wizard’s words had produced spread through his whole being.

Besides, there was no time to waste on sentiment. He had more important things to think about. There were useful songs to review in his mind, lyrics to recall. If Colin was half right, they would find themselves confronting something dangerous and unexpected anytime now, something only he was going to be able to deal with.

But he would never forget what the wizard had just told him, any more than he would let Clothahump forget those words the next time he flew into one of his rages and started bawling his young charge out for some imagined transgression.

They didn’t have long to wait for the koala’s predictions to begin to come true. The first attack came as they were leaving the scrub woods and beginning the long climb up the winding, dilapidated path to the structure clinging to the slope above. A cold wind sprang up, swirling around them, touching their faces and hands with all the forceful delicacy of a blind man. Such a wind was not to be unexpected at these altitudes, but the abruptness of it put all of them on their guard. This was not the time or place to take chances, even with a stray breeze. They huddled together and searched the land and sky surrounding them.

Colin had his sword out, clutched it tightly in his right hand. The muscles bulged in his short but powerful arms. “Dormas, you have most of our supplies. You stay behind us. You’re better built for fighting a rear-guard action, anyway. You, sir,” he said to Clothahump, “stay in the middle where we can protect you. And you—”

“Just a minim, mate. Who are you to be givin’ out orders? Maybe you forgot that we were the ones who ‘ad to rescue you?”

“Defending folks is my other profession, otter. I’m taking care of defensive tactics because I’m the one best qualified to do so.”

“Do tell.” Mudge moved over until he was standing chest-to-chest with the koala. “As it ‘appens, I’ve done a bit o’ soldierin’ in me time, too, and if there’re any orders that ‘ave to be ‘anded out ‘ere for defensive purposes, maybe we ought to—”

“Both of you shut up and concentrate on guarding your respective behinds.” Clothahump’s tone indicated that he wasn’t in the mood to listen to a debate on the nature of childish macho prerogatives. “It does not matter how we approach this asylum or what flimsy weapons we brandish. We are likely to be confronted by something that steel cannot turn.”

“You said that right, asshole.”

Colin and Mudge turned from one another to confront this new threat. There were four of them. They stood side by side, blocking the pathway leading to the fortress above. In stature they resembled Colin, being no more than four feet in height and broad in proportion. Each was colored bright red. Looking at them, Jon-Tom didn’t think they’d acquired their skin color from spending a lot of time vacationing in a sunny land, though from a southerly region they’d surely come.

Each boasted a pair of short, inward-curving black horns. Mouths seemed to stretch from ear to ear and were filled with short, pointed teeth. Their pupils were bright red on black irises. They were pointed like those of a lizard.

“He who brought us here sought far for us,” the first imp declared. “He says you shall go no farther. You worry him by your presence, and he has no time for worry. He bids you depart from this place now or suffer the consequences.”

“Sorry,” Jon-Tom replied calmly. “We won’t be just a minute. All we have to do is release his unwilling guest and then we’ll be on our way.” He took a step forward.

The second imp held up both clawed hands. “You shall not pass. Away with you!”

“You may be right, Old One,” Colin murmured to Clothahump. “Steel may not be the right weapon to use here. But you’ll forgive me if I find out for myself.” So saying he lunged forward and brought his long saber down smack against the forehead of the imp with the raised hands.

The blade passed completely through the red-skinned ho-munculus to strike sparks from the ground. A shaken Colin backed cautiously away from the grinning creature.

“You don’t listen so good,” it told him.

“No,” agreed the imp on his left. “Maybe a demonstration’s in order.”

Each imp reached behind itself. Mudge reacted to this threatening gesture by drawing his own sword while Clothahump hunkered down inside his shell and started retreating.

But it wasn’t bows and arrows or swords and scimitars or pikes or knives or any other kind of traditional weapon that the imps produced. Instead each one brought forth a different kind of musical instrument. One held a bizarre flute that twisted and curved in on itself loosely in one hand. The second in line was clutching a flat wooden container with strings running over its top and bottom in a crazy-quilt pattern. The third displayed something akin to Jon-Tom’s duar, save that it had only a single set of strings, and the last imp in line had swung a string of small drums around to rest on the upper curve of his belly. Or were they a part of the body itself? They might as easily have been a line of bulging, flat-topped tumors.

For that matter, all the instruments appeared to be growing out of the compact red bodies.

Mudge edged over close to Jon-Tom. “Spellsingers from ‘ell, mate. That’s wot they be.” The otter threw Colin a quick glance. “Me apologies to you, fuzzball, for decryin’ your rune-castin’. This much o’ that prophecy seems to ‘ave come true, though I wish it were otherwise.”

“So do I.” Despite its demonstrated ineffectiveness, the koala continued to hold his sword out in front of him, aware that it was no more a useful talisman than a weapon against this quartet.