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

virtue all true wizards share.

"now, you may answer," she said more softly to Jon-Tom.

History, he told himself, trying not to stare at those fangs

so near. Try to see in this massive, deadly form the same

grace and courtesy you've observed in the other arachnids

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you've met. To answer the question, remember your history.

Because if you don't...

"It's quite easily explained. Are not you and the Plated

Folk ancient enemies?"

"we bear no love for the inhabitants of me greendowns,

nor they for us," was the ready reply.

"Isrft it clear, then? If they are successful in conquering all

of the warmlands, what's to prevent mem from coming for

you next?"

There was dark humor lacing the reply, "if they do there

will be such a mass feasting as gossameringue has never

seen!"

Jon-Tom thought back to something Clothahump had told

him. "Oil, in thousands of years and many, many attempts

the Plated Folk have failed even to get past the Jo-Troom

Gate, which blocks the Pass leading from the Greendowns to

me warmlands."

"that is a name and place i have heard of, though no

weaver hasever been there."

"Despite this, Clothahump, who is the greatest of wizards

and whose opinion I believe in all such things, insists this

new magic me Plated Folk have obtained control of may

enable them to finally overthrow the peoples of the warmlands.

After hundreds of previous failures.

"If they can do that after thousands of years of failure,

why should they not do so to you as well? A thousand swords

can't fight a single magic."

"we have our own wizards to defend us," Oil replied, but

she was clearly troubled by Jon-Tom's words. She looked

past him. "how do i know you are all the wizard this fellow

says you are?"

Clothahump looked distressed. "Oh ye gods of blindness

that cloud the vision of disbelieving mortals, not another

demonstration!"

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"it will be painless." She turned and called to the shad-

ows. "ogalugh!"

A frail longlegs came tottering out from behind a high pile

of cushions. Jon-Tom wondered if he'd been listening back

there all along or if he'd just recently arrived. He barely had

the strength to carry the thin silks that enveloped his upper

body and ran in spirals down his legs.

He looked at Clothahump. "what is the highest level of the

plenum?"

"Thought."

"by what force may one fly through the airs atop a

broom?"

"Antigravity."

"what is the way of turning common base metals into

gold?"

Clothahump's contemptuous and slightly bored expression

suddenly paled.

"Well, uh, that is of course no easy matter. You require the

entire formula, of course, and not merely the descriptive term

applied to the methodology."

"of course," agreed the swaying inquisitor.

"Base metal Into gold, my... it has been a while since

I've had occasion to think on that."

Quit stalling, Jon-Tom urged the wizard silently. Give them

an answer, any answer. Then the truth will come out in the

arguing. But say something.

"You need four lengths of sea grass, a pentagram with the

number six carefully set in each point, the words for shifting

electron valences, and... and..."

The Grand Webmistress, the sorcerer Ogalugh, and the

other inhabitants of the chamber waited anxiously.

"And you need... you need," and the wizard looked up so

assuredly it seemed impossible he'd forgotten something so

basic for even a moment, "a pinch of pitchblende."

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Ogalugh turned to face the expectant Oil, spoke while

bobbing and weaving his head. "our visitor is in truth, a

wizard webmistress. how great i cannot say from three

questions, but he is of at least the third order." Clothahump

harrumphed but confined his protest to that.

"none but the most experienced and knowledgeable among

the weavers of magic would know the last formula." He

tottered over to rest a feathery leg on the turtle's shoulder.

"i welcome you to gossameringue as a colleague."

"Thank you." Clothahump nodded importantly, began to

look pleased with himself.

The longlegs addressed Oil. "it may be that these visitors

are all that they claim, webmistress. the fact that they have

made so perilous a journey without assurance of finding at its

end so much as a friendly welcome is proof alone of high

purpose, i fear therefore that the words of my fellow wizard

are truth."

"a troublesome thing if true," said the webmistress, "a

most troublesome thing if true." She eyed Jon-Tom. "there

has been hatred and enmity between the plated folk and the

people of the scuttleteau for generations untold, if they can

conquer the inhabitants of the warmlands then it may be, as

you say, that they can also threaten us." She paused in

thought, then climbed lithely to her feet.

"it will be as it must be, though heretofore it has never

been." She stood close by Jon-Tom, the hump of her abdo-

men nearly reaching his shoulder, "the weavers will join the

people of the warmlands. we will do so not to help you but to

help ourselves, better the children of the scuttleteau have

company in dying." She turned to face Clothahump.

"bearer of bad truths, how much time do we have?"

"Very little, I would suspect."

"then i will order the calling put out everywhere on the

Scuttleteau this very day. it will take time to assemble the best

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fighters from the far reaches, yet that is not the foremost of

our problems, it is one perhaps you might best solve, since

the proof of your abilities as travelers is not to be denied."

She studied the little group of visitors.

"how in the name of the eternal weave are we to get to the

jo-troom gate? we know only that it lies south to southwest of

the scuttleteau. we cannot go back through the earth's throat,

the way you've come to us. even if so large a group could

cross helldrink, my people will not chance the chanters."

"Offspring of the Massawrath," Caz murmured to Mudge.

"Can't say as I blame them. I'm still not sure it wasn't blind

luck that got us through there, not sensible actions."

"I don't want to go back myself," said Talea.

"Nor me, Master," said Pog, hanging from a strand of dry

silk overhead.

"Then it follows that if we cannot return by our first route

we must make a new one southward."

"through the mountains?" Ogalugh did not sound enthusiastic.

"Are they so impassable then?" Clothahump asked him.

"no one knows, we are familiar with the mountains of the

scuttleteau and to some small extent those surrounding us, but

we are not fond of sharp peaks and unmelting snows, many

would perish on such a journey, unless a good route exists, if

one does, we do not know of it."

"so it will be up to you, experienced travelers, to seek out

such a path," stated the queen.

"your pardon, webmistress," said the spindly sorcerer,

"but there are a people who might know such a way, though

they would have no need or use of it themselves."

"why must wizards always talk in riddles? whom do you

speak of, ogalugh?"

"the people of the iron cloud."

Rich, whispery laughter filled the chamber, "the people of

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the iron cloud indeed! they will have nothing to do with

anyone."

"that is so, webmistress, but our visitors are experienced