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

thing that might be used as a weapon.

Jon-Tom began to sing. He had no plan in mind,

no brilliant ideas, and he was certain the magic

wouldn't happen without the duar's music, but he

had to try. If nothing else, it might concentrate the

thing's attention on him while the others fled into

Alan Dean Porter

272

the tunnel. The first notes trembled, but his voice

steadied as he sang on. He could hear his companions

rushing for the tunnel entrance,

An immense outline turned toward him -.. and

hesitated. Mudge called out to him.

"That's it, mate! Keep singin'. 'Tis workin!"

It couldn't be, Jon-Tom thought. There was no

magic without the duar, none, no way! It couldn't be

working.

Yet there was no question of it: the thing had

halted in its leisurely approach,

A thunderous whisper filled the chamber then.

"Jon-Tom."

"Blimey," muttered Splitch, "it knows 'im!"

"It knows the spellsinger," Opiode observed aloud.

"Spellsinger," the voice echoed in the darkness.

Jon-Tom squinted, trying to see in the poor light

as he took a reluctant step forward.

A blast of fire erupted over his head- Screams

came from the otters and the Quorum members as

they rushed in panic for the tunnel, running into

each other and stumbling over the bones on the

floor. But Jon-Tom didn't move. The fire had passed

over him. Nor had it been directed at any of his

companions. It had been aimed ceilmgward, to gen-

erate light and not destruction.

The instant of brilliant illumination hurt his eyes,

but not so badly that he couldn't recognize its source.

"Comrade Falameezar," he asked hesitantly, "is that

you?"

XVI

A great clawed hand descended and picked Jon-Tom

off the floor. He could feel the thick, leathery mem-

brane that ran between the fingers. The hand lifted

him until it paused in front of a mouth full of

curving teeth. A single puff could incinerate him in

a second, sizzle his bones and melt his flesh. There

was heat and the smell of brimstone, but no hint of

cremation.

"It is you, Falameezar! I'll be damned."

"We are all damned, comrade Jon-Tom," said the

dragon somberly. "What are you doing here?"

Jon-Tom sat down on the slick, scaly palm and

turned to his triends. "It's okay. He's a friend. This is

comrade Falameezar, a good proletarian."

"What is the man talking about?" Memaw asked

Mudge.

The otter strode boldly out into the chamber. "We

know this bloke, we do, 'E 'elped us once before, on

our way to Polastrindu. Though wot 'e's doin' 'ere I'll

be buggered if I know." He looked back into the

tunnel, which was filled with anxious faces. "Everyone,

'tis all right. You can come out. Only," he added

more quietly, "wotever you do, don't say anythin'

about makin' money." He fought to recall some of

273

Alan Dean Poster

274

the confusing but effective conversations Jon-Tom

had held with the river dragon as it had carried

them up the river Tailaroam toward far Polastrindu

not so very long ago. The dragon was. - - what had

Jon-Tom called it?... a Marked Met. No, something

more compact. Marxist, yeah, that was it. The drag-

on was a Marxist, whatever that was.

But he was certainly sensitive about it. Dedicated,

Jon-Tbm had called him. Mudge knew better. The

dragon was nuts.

He spoke to his friends as they hesitantly emerged

from hiding. "Just act collective," he told them.

"What does that mean?" Memaw asked him.

" 'Ow the 'ell do I know? Just make sure everybody

does it."

Jon-Tbm was patting the dragon on the snout.

"Comrade Falameezar, it appears we are to be com-

panions in misfortune."

"So it would seem." The dragon set him down

gently, then looked around and opened his mouth.

Another blast of flame spewed forth. The members

of the Quorum cowered against the nearest wall. but

Opiode and the otters edged forward.

Falameezar's well-aimed blast set a huge pile of

debris on fire. It burned fitfully at best but provided

enough light for everyone to see ctearly for the first

time since they'd fled from their cell. They gathered

around while the dragon lay down on his belly, crossed

his arms, and rested his head against them.

"How did you get here?" Jon-Tom asked him.

"I wasn't having much luck trying to raise the

consciousness of the masses who live on the shores of

the Tailaroam," the dragon explained, "so 1 deter-

mined to try to find a group of the oppressed who

were more receptive.

"I'd heard much of this land, where the lakes are

large and the fish plentiful. So I made my way here

TffB MOJttEiVT OF TaE MAOICIAS

275

and, surely enough, found the workers badly in need

of organizing." He sighed and a puff of smoke drifted

ceilingward. "But as so often seems to happen, the

people here were reluctant to listen to me"

"Can't imagine why," Quorly whispered.

"So I decideokthis time to try to convert the heads

of state instead of the people."

"Uh-oh," said Jon-Tom.

"Precisely, comrade. 1 allowed myself to be de-

ceived by the honeyed words of the local ruler, a

strange human very different from yourself."

"Markus the Ineluctable."

"Yes. I did not know at first that he had deposed

the rightful rulers of this place, nor that he was a

powerful magician as well as a disgusting fascist

whose only aim is the exploitation of the masses for

personal gain. But by the time I learned all this he

had rendered me sleepy. I vaguely remember being

brought to the large room above. The floor was

removed and I was dropped down here, and then

walled up.

"I've tried to break out but the stone is solid and

thick. It will not burn. So here I have remained,

trapped by this evil imperialist. He does feed me

well. though. The trumpet calls me when a meal is

ready." Falameezar moved his head and sniffed at the

body of Jestutia. "A banker this time. Markus is

clever. He has learned that I will only eat capitalists."

"I'm surprised at you." Jon-Tom said accusingly.

"Even a banker can be converted to the cause of the

people."

"Not if he's dead." The dragon sniffed again. "Yes,

a dead banker. I'm sure of it- I hate bankers, you

know. Filthy robber-barons."

Near the back wall Newmadeen was hurriedly

going through her pockets. Like the recently de-

ceased macaque, she was also in the business of

Alan Dean Poster

276

lending money. Until now she'd never had reason to

regret it. Fortunately, Falameezar was too involved in

conversation with his newfound friends to do any

serious sniffing, and she was able to unburden her-

self of money, notes, and assorted usurious I.O.U.'s.

"Besides," he was saying, "a dragon has to eat." He

extended his long neck and snapped up the unfortu-

nate Jestutia in a single bite, chewed noisily.

" *Ere now," murmured Sasswise, looking at New-

madeen, "this one's gone and fainted."

Falameezar noticed it, too, sniffed curiously as he

chewed. "What's wrong with your companion? If I

didn't know better I'd ..."

Jon-Tom hurried to distract the dragon. "It's the

air down here. These are the legitimate rulers of

Quasequa, by the way. They have no more love for

Markus than you. They constitute the legitimate, uh,

soviet that the magician has deposed."

"I did not realize that this government was so