Foster, Dean - Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician

ain't smoke from no fire. 'Tis steam."

"That it is/'Jon-Tbm agreed, "but what's the source?"

They found out when they crested the next rise.

Stretched out before them was a most wonderful

panorama. Hot pools of varying depth and hue

bubbled and growled in the cool of morning. Steplike

terraces of calcium carbonate climbed the rocks,

each one like the entrance to a sultan's palace. Steaming

water cascaded down them from hot springs above,

constantly adding to and altering an already spectac-

ular sight. Brown-and-yeUow bands of travertine en-

closed emerald-green basins. Everywhere could be

seen the blue, green, and yellow of heat-loving algae.

"Just like Yellowstone," Jon-Tom murmured. "1

feel privileged to see this."

"And I feel like a moron," muttered Mudge. ** 'Earth

on fire' indeed!"

THE; MOMENT or THE MAQICSAM

81

"Don't feel bad. It could look that way from a

distance." Jon-Tom removed his backpack, then his

shirt, and started on his belt,

Mudge eyed him curiously. "Now wot are you up

to?"

"I haven't had a hot bath since we left Clothahump's

tree."

"A hot bath. Now there's a novel idea."

"Find yourself a cool pool tf you want to join me,*'

Jon-Tom told him, slipping his pants down his legs.

"I enjoy hot water, Mudge. Keep in mind that I

haven't got your insulating layers of fur and fat."

"Wot fat?" snapped the indignant otter. "I ain't

fat"

"It's a subcutaneous layer and it's there to keep

you warm when you're under water."

"Sounds bloody disgustin*." Mudge lifted a flap of

skin from his left arm, eyed it as though seeing it for

the first time. But he was damned if he was going to

sit and watch while Jen-Torn enjoyed himself. The

water in the pool the human had chosen was much

too warm for his taste, but another nearby was

pleasant enough. Stripping quickly, he dove into the

natural basin, found he had to float. The sand at the

bottom was too hot to touch.

"A hot bath. You 'umans are burstin* with weird

notions"

Jen-Torn didn't reply. He was too comfortable,

drifting on his back in the warm water, listening to it

bubble and tumble down the hillsides surrounding

them. There were no geysers in evidence, suggesting

that this was a relatively calm thermal area-

"Back where I come from," he told Mudge lazily,

"there's a tribe of humans called the Maori who live

in a place just like this. It's called Rotorua and it

steams all year round."

Mudge sniffed, paddling across the surface of his

Alan Dean Foster

82

own pool. "It ain't for me, mate. Give me a nice

ice-cold mountain stream to go swimmin' in any day.

Though this stuff does," he admitted, "clear out your

sinuses." He dove in a single flowing motion, a grace-

ful curve that belied the presence of a stiff backbone.

As he did, something struck the water just behind

him.

Jon-Tom stood, the heat of the bottom sand tick-

ting his feet, and tried to see what had entered the

water aft of the otter's submerging backside. As he

stared, something went spang against the boulder

behind him and flew to pieces. Some of the pieces

floated. He picked them up and identified them

instantly.

When Mudge broke the surface again, it was to see

his companion huddled in a narrow cove formed by

overhanging rocks. He paddled toward the adjoining

pool. "Wot*s up, mate?"

"Didn't you see?"

"See wot?" Mudge frowned, pivoted in the luke-

warm water.

"It went right over when you dove."

"Wot went right over me when 1 dove?" Something

whizzed past his right ear and he jerked around

sharply in the water, his eyes wide. "Cor, somebody's

shootin' at us!" He ducked just in time, and a second

arrow struck the water directly behind him.

He emerged as if shot from some subterranean

gun, leaping completely over the stone barrier sepa-

rating the two pools, and swam over to huddle next

to Jon-Tom. Their weapons and clothes lay on a nice,

dry slope on the opposite side of the water, in a

sunny spot completely devoid of cover.

"We'll 'ave to make a run for it, mate." Mudge spat

out warm water. "We can't just squat 'ere and let 'em

pick us off." He took a deep breath and started to

submerge.

THB MOMENT OF THK MUMClAW

83

^

i >.

Jon-Tom grabbed him by the fur on top of his

head and pulled him up again. "Hold on a minute."

A half dozen arrows whizzed past, far overhead.

"Listen"

High-pitched squeaks sounded from the far ridge.

More arrows went past. None landed near the ner-

vous bathers.

"Maybe they're not shooting at us." He paddled

out just far enough to see around the rocks beneath

which they were hiding, trying to follow the flight of

the arrows.

Sure enough, moments later other cries and shouts

came from that direction, and several small spears

arced past overhead, retracing the path of the mis-

siles which had initially panicked the two travelers.

The shouts and screams grew steadily louder, and

soon both groups of combatants revealed themselves.

The opposing war parties clashed in the middle of a

single natural causeway which wound its way across

the hot springs. Spears, stones, and arrows filled the

air, flying through the steam- Mudge and Jon-Tom

strove to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible.

There were a few gophers and moles among the

fighters, but the large majority on both sides were

prairie dogs ranging between four and five feet in

height. They slashed and stabbed with quick, short

movements, their high-pitched battle squeaks rising

above the hiss and rumble of the springs. They

fought with a determination and ruthlessness that

Jon-Tom found appalling in such, well, cute creatures.

There was nothing comical about the carnage they

wreaked on one another, though. Body after body

tumbled into the steaming water, limbs flew through

the air as swords made contact, and the perfect

clarity of the springs was soon stained dark by the

blood of the fallen.

This went on for the better part of an hour before

Alan Dean Foster

84

the war party on the left began to retreat. Their

opponents redoubled their efforts and in minutes

had gained complete control of the causeway. They

fanned out over the opposite hillside, dispatching

those of the opposition too weak or badly wounded

to join their comrades in flight. They did so with a

matter-of-fact bloodthirstiness that chilled Jon-Tom

despite the surrounding hot water.

Something pricked his shoulder and a voice sounded

from behind them.

"You two there. Out of the water!"

Jon-Tom turned. Four of the victors stood looking

down at them. The one holding the spear on him

wore a helmet fashioned from the skull of an

opponent. It was bright with beads of many colors,

trade trinkets, and dangling feathers. An elegant

barbarism, Jon-Tom mused. It was a perfect frame

for the expression beneath it.

"Hiya, guv'nor," said Mudge cheerfully. He spread

his paws in a gesture of innocence. "See, we didn't

know there was goin' to be a punch-up 'ere, we

didn't. We were just 'aving a spot o' bath, and we—"

The one with the skull headdress shifted the point

of his spear so that the tip hung in the air an inch

from Mudge's nose.

"Right you are, mate! We're comin', we're comin'."