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

tones little louder than the Breeze wafting across the ship.

Then faint, breathy puffs came from that arachnoid throat. It

was a laughter that sounded like the wind that gets lost in

thick trees and idles around until it blows itself out.

"ah, sarcasm, a trait of the soft-bodied, i believe, what do

you wish here on the scuttleteau?"

Jon-Tom felt himself drawn to the side by Caz while the

wizard and Weaver talked. The rabbit gestured toward the

sky.

The other five Weavers now hung directly above the boat

from short individual cables. It was obvious they could be on

the deck in seconds. They carried cleverly designed knives

and bolas that could be easily manipulated by the double

flexible claws tipping each limb.

"They've been quiet enough thus far," said Caz, "but

should our learned leader's conversation grow less than ac-

commodating, we should anticipate confronting more than

one of them." His hand slid suggestively over the knife slung

at his own hip, beneath the fine jacket.

Jon-Tom nodded acknowledgment. They separated and

casually apprised the others of the quintet dangling ominously

over their heads.

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THE HOUR OF THE GATE

When Clothahump had finished, the spider moved back

against the railing and regarded them intently. At least, that

was the impression Jon-Tom received. It was difficult to tell

not only how he was seeing them mentally, but physically as

well. With four eyes, two small ones and two much larger

ones mounted higher on his head, the Weaver would be hard

to surprise.

"you have come a long way without being sure of the

nature of your eventual reception, to what purpose? you have

talked much and said little, the mark of a diplomat but not

necessarily of a friend, why then are you here?"

Above, the Weaver's companions swayed gently in the

breeze and caressed their weapons.

"I'm sorry, but we can't tell you that," said Clothahump

boldly. Jon-Tom moved to make certain his back was against

the mast. "Our information is of such vital importance to the

Weavers that it can only be related to the highest local

authority."

"nothing a warmlander can say is of any importance to the

weavers." Again came that distant, whistling laugh, blowing

arrogantly across the deck.

"Nilontfwml" roared Clothahump in his most impressive

sorceral tone. Vibrations rattled the boat. Whitecaps snapped

on the crests of sudden waves, and there was a distant rumble

of thunder. The five watchers in the net overhead bounced

nervously on their organic tethers while the Weaver in the

boat stiffened against the rail.

Clothahump lowered his arms. One had to stare hard at the

inoffensive-appearing little turtle with the absurd spectacles to

believe that voice had truly issued from that hard-shelled

body.

"By my annointment as Sorcerer-Majestic of the Last

Circle, by the brow of EIrath-Vune now long dust, by all the

oaths that bind all the practitioners of True Magic back to the

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beginnings of divination, I swear to you that what I have to

say is vital to the survival of Weaver as well as warmlander,

and that it can be imparted only to the Grand Webmistress

herself!"

That pronouncement appeared to shake their visitor as

badly as had the totally unexpected demonstration of wizardly

power.

"most impressive in word and action," the spider husked.

"that you are truly a wizard cannot be denied." He recovered

some "octupul" poise and executed a short little bow, crossing

all four upper limbs across his chest.

"forgive my hesitation and suspicions and accept my

apologies should i have offended you. my name is ananthos."

"Are you in charge of the river guards, then?" Plor

indicated the five remaining armed Weavers still drifting in

the wind overhead.

The spider turned his head toward her, and she fought hard

not to shudder, "your meaning is obscure, female human, we

do not 'guard' the bridge, there are not any who would harm

it, and none until now come out of the hole into which the

river dies."

"Then why are you here at all? Why the bridge?" Jon-Tom

didn't try to conceal his puzzlement.

"this is," and the Weaver gestured with one limb at the

network of silken cables and its watchful inhabitants, "a

lifesaving grid. it was erected here to protect those young and

ignorant weavers who are fond of playing in the river lamayad

and who sometimes tend to drift too close to the hole which

kills the water, were they to vanish within they would be

forever lost.

"did you think then we were soldiers? there is no need for

soldiers on the scuttleteau. we have no enemies."

"Then a revelation is in store," muttered Clothahump so

low the Weaver did not hear him.

"the bridge is to help protect infants," ananthos finished.

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THE HOUR Or THE GATE

"Now don't that soothe a beatin' 'eart!" Mudge whispered

disbelievingly to Jon-Tom. "A fearsome lookin' lot like this

and 'e says they've no soldiers. Wot a fine pack o' allies

they'll make, eh?"

"They've got weapons," his companion argued, "and

they look like they know how to use them." He raised his

voice and addressed the Weaver. "If this is nothing more than

a station for rescuing wayward children, then why do you and

your companions carry weapons?"

Ananthos gestured at the surrounding forest, "to protect

ourselves, of course, even great fighters may be overwhelmed

by a single large and powerful foe. there are beasts on the

scuttleteau that would devour all on this craft and the craft

itself in a single gulp. because we do not maintain an army to

confront nonexistent enemies does not mean we are fleet-

limbed cowards who run instead of fight, or did you think we

were all eggsuckers?" He bared his respectable fangs.

"the confident and strong have no need of an army. each

weaver is an army unto itself."

"It is about armies and fighting that we come," said

Clothahump, "and about such matters that we must speak to

the Webmistress."

Ananthos appeared as upset as a spider could possibly be.

"to bring warmlanders into the capital is a great responsibili-

ty. by rights of history and legend i should turn you around

and send you back into the hole from whence you emerged.

and yet"—he struggled with the conflict between prescribed

duty and personal feelings and thoughts—"i cannot dismiss

the fact that you have made an impossible journey for reasons

i am not equipped to debate, if it is of the importance you

insist, i would fail did i not escort you to the capital, but to

see the grand webmistress herself..."

He turned away from them, whether from embarrassment

or indecision or both they could not tell.

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"Why don't you," said Caz helpfully, "take us int

protective custody, convey us to the capital under guard, an

turn us over to your superiors?"

Ananthos looked back at him, his head bobbing in that od_

side-to-side motion that was half nod and half shake. He

spoke in a whispery, grateful hush.

"you have some understanding of what it means to be

responsible to someone placed higher than oneself, warmlander

of the big ears."

"I've been in that uncomfortable situation before, yes,"

Caz admitted drolly, polishing his monocle.

"i bow to your excellent suggestion."

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