Foster, Dean - Spellsinger 02 - The Hour of the Gate

change.

"Can it be another structure like the Heart-of-the-Wbrld

building of the little folk?" Flor licked her lower lip and

stared anxiously forward.

"No, no. The color is all wrong, supple shadow, and there

is no sign of separation; levels, floors, or windows." Caz

faced the wizard. "What is your opinion of it, sir?"

"Just a moment, will you?" Clothahump sounded irritable.

"I'm not fully awake yet. Do you children think I have your

physical resiliency simply because my brain is so much more

active? Now then, this surely cannot be dangerous." He

called back to Bribbens. "Steady ahead, my good boatman."

"Don't have much choice." The frog snapped off his reply

as he tightened his grip on the steering sweep. "Tunnel's

become too narrow for us to turn 'round in. Some of the

rocks hereabouts look sharp. I don't want to chance 'em, so

it's steady ahead unless it turns desperate."

The boatman was forced to raise his voice to a near shout

to make himself understood. The rush of air in the pipe of a

cave argued noisily with the increased force of me current.

They watched silently while mat cold flame came nearer.

Then there was another, dimmer light haloing it, and the

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orange-silver no longer blocked their progress. The new light

came from tiny shining points that flickered unevenly, but not

like gneechees. These were both visible and motionless.

"Well, shit." Mudge put hands on hips and sounded

thoroughly disgusted with himself. " 'Tis a prize pack o'

idiots we be, mates."

Jon-Tom didn't understand immediately, but it didn't take

long until he knew the reason for the otter's embarrassment.

When he did so he felt equally ashamed of his own fear.

The orange-silvery color was familiar enough. Then they

emerged from the cavern. The great rising orb of moon no

longer shone directly down into the Earth's Throat.

"We made it." He hugged a startled Talea. "Damned if

we didn't!"

The character of the land they had emerged into was very

different from that of the Swordsward and the river country of

Bribbens' home. It was evident they had climbed a consider-

able distance.

Behind them towering crags reached for the stars. Clouds

capped them, though they were not as thick as those on the

eastern flanks of the range. No open plains or low scrub

bordered the river here. There was no fragrant coniferous

forest or high desert.

Mountains rose all around the little river valley in which

they found themselves. Despite the altitude the country dis-

played the aspect of more tropical climes. It was warm but

not hot, nor was it particularly humid. Jon-Tom thought of a

temperate-zone climax forest.

Vines and creepers leaped from tree to tree. A thick

undergrowth prevented them from seeing more than a few

yards inland on either shore.

It was with relief that Jon-Tom inhaled the fresh air,

fragrant with the aroma of flowers and green things. Though

hardly tropical, the climate was more pleasant despite the

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altitude than any place he'd yet been. Compared to the

bone-rattling winds of the Swordsward it was positively

Edenic.

"Fine country," he said enthusiastically. "I'm surprised

none of the warmlanders have tried to migrate here."

"Even if they knew this land existed they could not get

over the mountains," Clothahump reminded him. "Only a

very few in memory have ever made that journey. Even if

would-be settlers could survive the trip, kindly keep in mind

that this land is already occupied. Legend says the Weavers

dislike any strangers. Consider what their opinion would be

of potential colonists."

"And these are the people we're trying to make allies of?"

Flor wondered.

"They are not overt enemies," Clothahump told her,

shaking his head slowly. "Legend says they are content

enough here in their land. Yet I admit legend also insists they

hold no love for any but their own kind. It is said they like

most to keep to themselves and maintain their privacy.

"As near as I know we are the first folk to journey past the

mountain barrier in hundreds of years. Perhaps the legends no

longer hold true. It may be that in all that time the inhabitants

of the Scuttleteau have mellowed."

"They sure sound charming," said Flor apprehensively. "I

can't wait to meet them." Her voice rose in tone, and she

mimed a sardonic greeting. "Buenos dias, Sefior Weaver.

Como esta usted, and please don't eat me, I'm only a

tourist." She sighed and grimaced at me wizard. "I wish I

were as confident of success as you are."

"I'm 'ardly an optimist, meself," Mudge commented,

surveying the near shore and considering a warm swim.

"Oh well. Surely they will see the need," said Caz

hopefully, "to stand together against a common threat."

"That is to be hoped," the wizard agreed. "But we cannot

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be certain. We can only pray for a friendly welcome. Should

we actually achieve anything more than that, it would exceed

my wildest hopes."

There were some shocked looks in response to that. Jon-

Tom spoke for all of them. "You mean... you're not sure

you can persuade them?"

"My dear boy, I never made any such claim."

"But you gave me the impression..."

Clothahump held up a hand. "I made no promises. I

merely stated that there was little we could do if we remained

in Polastrindu and that we might have some chance of

securing another strong ally were we to successfully complete

this journey. I never said that reaching the Scuttleteau was a

guarantee we could do that. Nor did I ever display any

optimism about striking such an alliance. I simply declared

that I thought it would be a good idea to try."

"You stiff-backed, bone-brained old fart, you led us on!"

Talea was nearly too furious for words. "You cajoled us

through all that," and she pointed back toward the mouth of

the tunnel they'd recently emerged from, "through every-

thing we've suffered since leaving Polastrindu, without think-

ing we had any chance to succeed?"

"I did not say we did not have a chance." Clothahump

patiently corrected her. "I said our chances were slim. That is

different from nonexistent. When I say achieving such an

alliance would exceed my wildest hopes, I am merely being

realistic, not fatalistic. The chance is there."

"Why the fuck couldn't you have been 'realistic' back in

Polastrindu?" she growled softly. "Couldn't you have told us

how slight you thought our chances of success were?"

"I could have, but no one thought to ask me. As to the

first, if I had been more, shall we say, explicit in my

opinions, none of you would have come with me. Those who

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might have would not have done so with as much confidence

and determination as you have all displayed thus far."

Since this logic was irrefutable, no one chose to argue.

There was some spirited name-calling, however. The wizard

ignored it as one would have the excited chatter of children.

Pog found the situation unbearably amusing.

"Now ya see what I have ta deal wid, don'tcha?" He

giggled in gravely bat-barks as he swung gleefully from the

spreader. "Maybe now ya all'll sympathize wid poor Pog a

little bit more!"

"Shut your ugly face." Talea heaved a hunk of torchwood

at him. He dodged it nimbly.