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

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the springs forever. If any of us survived, we'd never

see the Mulmun again. At least, not for another

month."

"You only fight on the first of the month? Nobody

ever tries a sneak attack on the other side in the

middle of an off week?"

The general looked indignant. "Certainly not! What

do you think we are, uncivilized barbarians? What an

outrageous notion. Ah, we're home."

Ahead lay a hole in the side of a hill. The large,

ornately carved wooden gate had been flung wide to

reveal the well-lit tunnel beyond. A line of sentries

stood drawn up in review on either side of the

pathway. Other, much less spectacularly decorated

entrances were visible off to the left.

The general led Mudge and Jon-Tom inside. As

usual, Jon-Tom was forced'to bend in order to clear

a local ceiling. Once out of the sun, the gophers and

moles in the group were able to remove their protec-

tive sunshades.

Before long they began to encounter noncombatants,

citizens engaged in daily chores. Greetings were ex-

changed between civilians and soldiers. Cubs tagged

alongside, jabbering at one another and occasionally

pausing to engage in mock battles. Tunnels appeared

that branched off in all directions.

Eventually they turned right and entered a room

with a ceiling high enough to permit Jon-Tom to

straighten. He pressed a hand gratefully against his

complaining lower back. There were half a dozen

long tables in the room, each decorated with neat,

miniature place settings. Pennants Tiung from the

rock overhead, while spears and more exotic weap-

ons were attached to the walls. Fires burned in

several fireplaces whose chimneys had to reach all

the way to the surface above. Kettles and pots simmered

over the flames.

Aim Dean Foster

90

"Officers' mess," General Pocknet informed them.

He directed them to the head table. Jon-Tom found

a cushion and tried to balance on it. The low table

made the thought of trying a chair out of the question.

Females brought out hors d'oeuvres, platters heaped

high with fruit and nuts. The general cracked one

between his front teeth, tossed the shell into a com-

munal basket in the center of the long table, and

gnawed on the nutmeat Soon the room was filled

with sharp cracking noises and Hying shells. Jon-

Tom felt like a kernel in a popcorn popper.

Mudge was trying to make conversation with one

of the waitresses, so it was left to Jon-Tom to engage

the general.

"This war of yours, it's been going on like this,

month after month, for a long time?"

"As far as history tells," Pocknet assured him.

"We're quite comfortable with the arrangement, and

so are the Wittens. Gives our lives continuity. All

disputes between us are settled by control of the

Mulmun."

"Exactly what is this 'Mulmung'?"

" 'Mulmun,'" the general corrected him smoothly.

He pointed toward one of the fireplaces as he cracked

another nut.

Resting on the mantel was a garishly colored,

three-foot-high blob of regurgitated ceramics, mostly

maroon, pink, purple and glazed with pearlescent

white. It was possibly the ugliest piece of sculpture, if

it could be dignified by such a description, that

Jon-Tom had ever seen.

"That," said the general proudly, "is the Mulmun.

Whoever wins the battle on the first of each month

retains it. It is the symbol of the springs. While we

hold it, the Wittens may not come near or make use

of the warm waters. We've held it for six months

now, at great expense, but it's been worth it."

THB MOMENT OF TVS MAGICIAW

91

Jon-Tom considered as he chewed on the contents

of a long, thin nut. The meat was delightfully sweet,

which was good, because it had taken him at least

four minutes to break the tough shell.

"I think I understand. If you didn't possess the

Mulmun, then you'd have to relinquish your absolute

control of the hot springs."

The general nodded. "We carry it with us into

battle each month. Should the Wittens win, they

would take it back to Witten with them and dominate

the springs for a month." He chuckled, obviously

relishing his opponents' discomforts. "They must be

very filthy by now."

"I didn't see it during the fight."

"Do you think we'd risk putting it in danger?" the

general asked him, aghast. "The possessors display it

in its special container, well out of the way of the

combatants' arms but up where all can see it for

inspiration. It is quite irreplaceable, quite."

"Ghastly piece o' puke, ain't it?" Mudge whispered

to his friend. The otter had found something alcohol-

ic to imbibe and was draining his mug as fast as the

dainty prairie lass nearby could refill it for him.

"Christ, watch your mouth!" Jon-Tom warned him

anxiously. He smiled at the general. "Being a strang-

er here, it's not for me to criticize your customs."

"Then don't," Pocknet advised him blandly. "Enjoy

your meal and be on your way- Now, tell me about

your plans." He looked eagerly at his tall guest.

Jon-Tom regaled their hosts with tales of his many

adventures, and the underground citizens listened

politely, for all that they thought he was the biggest

Bar to come among them in many a moon. None,

however, denied the amusement value ofJon-Tom's

rambling prevarications, and they applauded politely

at the conclusion of each anecdote.

The dinner also featured some live entertainment.

Alan Dean Foster

92

Several captive Wittens were dumped in the center

of the room, hauled erect, and tied to stakes so that

the ladies, when not serving the tables, could pull the

unfortunate prisoners to pieces. Jon-Tom found that

this diminished his appetite considerably. His hosts

seemed to find it uproariously amusing.

Several times Mudge had to lean over and warn

his friend to keep his opinions to himself. You don't

insult true believers in the middle of their own

church. Besides, hadn't they seen worse outrages in ^

their travels? Tomorrow they could leave, none the ^

worse for the experience. ^

So Jon-Tom smiled thinly and made a show of ^'

enjoying himself. There wasn't a damn thing he ^

could do about it anyway. The "entertainment" over. ^

everyone repaired to their respective bedchambers. ^

Their hosts even managed to rig a bed of sufficient

length for Jon-Tom to stretch out upon.

Comfortable though it was, it didn't lull him to

sleep. Instead, he lay wide-awake, thinking hard

about all he'd seen and heard during the day.

The situation existing between Witten and Fault,

two communities of similar size and population, was | \,

intolerable to a civilized human being. It was worse

than intolerable: it was sickening, disgusting, a sin

against common sense! It ought not to exist. It must

not be allowed to continue.

Since no one else seemed to give a damn, Jon-Tom

resolved quietly to do something about it himself.

VI

It was pitch-black inside the burrow when he de-

cided it was safe to move. A good five hours had

passed since they'd retired, and, Jon-Tom reasoned,

most of the underground community should be rest-

ing soundly.

He fumbled along the wall until he encountered

one of the ubiquitous oil-soaked torches each hall

and room was equipped with, struggled with his flint

until it sprang to life.