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

his sonar was still searching the surroundings as though it

were pitch dark. His heart beat almost as rapidly. Finish dis,

he told himself frantically. Finish it, and get out.

Several additional chambers branched from the back of the

one he was studying. He would begin with the one immedi-

ately on his right and work his way through them. Then

Clothahump couldn't say he'd made only a superficial inspec-

tion and order him to return.

It turned out to be a pantry-kitchen arrangement. It was

discouraging to find that whoever had lived in the cave was

omnivorous. In addition to instruments for preparing meat

and fruit there was also a surprising garbage pile of small

insect carcasses and empty nuts.

It was an eclectic and indiscriminate diet. Perhaps it also

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included bats. He shuddered, drew his wings tighter around

his small body. One more room, he told himself. One more,

and den if da boss wants more info he can damn well climb

up and look for himself.

He entered the next chamber, found more furniture and

little else. He was ready to leave when something tickled his

sonar. He turned.

A pair of huge, glowing yellow eyes stared down at him.

Their owner was at least seven feet tall and each of those

luminous orbs was as big around as a human face. Pog

stuttered but couldn't squeeze out word or shout.

"Hooooooo," said the voice beneath those fathomless eyes

in a long, querulous, and slightly irritated tone, "the hell are

yoooooo?"

Pog was backing toward the chamber exit. Something

sharp and unyielding pricked his back.

"Tolafay asked you a question, interloper! Better answer

him." The new voice was completely different from the first,

high and almost human.

Pog glanced over his shoulder, saw eyes not as large as the

first pair he'd encountered but larger still in proportion to the

body of their owner. Four yellow eyes, four malevolent little

angry suns, swam in a dizzying circle around his head. He

started to slump.

The sharp thing moved, poked him firmly in the side.

"And don't faint on us, interloper, or I'll see your body

leaves your gizzard behind...."

'^What the devil's keeping him?" Jon-Tom stared with

concern up at the cave where Pog had vanished.

"Maybe they go very deep into the mountainside," Talea

suggested hopefully. "It may take him a while to get all the

way in and all the way out again."

"Perhaps." Bribbens stared longingly at a small creek that

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flowed from the base of an icefall across the barren little

plateau. "How I long for a boat again." He lifted one of his

enormous, snowshoed feet.

"Walking's beginning to get to me. No fit occupation for a

riverman."

"If it's any consolation I'd rather be on a boat myself just

now," said Jon-Tom.

Then Mudge was gesturing excitedly upward. "Ease off it,

mates! 'Ere 'e comes!"

"And damned if he hasn't got company." Talea unsheathed

her sword, stood ready and waiting for whatever might drop

out of the sky.

Pog drifted down toward them, a black crepe-paper cutout

against the bright sky. He was paced by a similar silhouette

several times more massive, with a distinctly animate lump

attached to its back.

Dozens of other fliers poured from the perforated cloud-

cliff like water from a sieve. They did not descend but instead

blended together to create a massive, threatening spiral above

the plateau.

Talea reluctantly placed her sword back in its holder.

"Doesn't look like they've hurt Pog. We might as well

assume they're friendly, considering how badly we're

outnumbered."

"Characteristic understatement, flame-fur." Caz's monocle

waltzed with the sun as he craned his neck to inspect the

soaring whirlpool overhead. "I make out at least two hundred

of them. Size varies, but the shape is roughly the same. I

think they're all owls. I've never heard of such a concentrated

community of them as this, not even in Polastrindu, which

has a respectable population of noctural arboreals."

"It is odd," Clothahump agreed. "They are antisocial and

zealously guard their privacy, which fits with what the Weav-

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ers told us about the psychology of Ironcloud's inhabitants.

Yet they appear to have established a community here."

Pog touched down on the high boulder he'd so recently

tried to hide behind. The flier shadowing him braked ten-foot

wings. The force of the backed air nearly knocked Flor oft

her feet.

The creature took a couple of dainty steps, ruffled its

feathers, and stood staring at them. The high tufts atop She

head identified this particular individual as a Great Homed

Owl. Jon-Tom found himself more impressed with those great

eyes, like pools of speculative sulfur, than by the creature's

size.

The lump attached to its back, which even Caz had not

been able to identify, now detached itself from the light,

high-backed saddle it had been straddling. It slid decorative

earmuffs down to its neck, unsnapped its poncho, and leaned

against its companion's left wing.

Now the spiral high above started to break up. Most of she

fliers returned to their respective caves in the hematite. A few

assumed watchful positions.

Jon-Tom eyed the lemur standing close to the owl. It was

no longer a mystery who made use of the thin, knotted vines

fringing the cave mouths. With their diminutive bodies and

powerful prehensile fingers and toes, the lemurs could travel

up and down the cables as easily as Jon-Tom could circle an

oval track.

Pog glided down from the crest of his boulder and sauntered

over to rejoin his friends. "Dis guy's called Tolafay." He

gestured with a wingtip at the glowering owl. "His skymate's

named Malu."

The lemur stepped forward. He was barely three feet tall.

"Your friend explained much to us."

"Yes. Quite a story it was, tooooo." The owl smoothed the

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folds of its white, green, and black kilt. "I'm not sure how

much of it I believe," he added gruffly.

"We have managed to convince half a world," replied

Clothahump impatiently. "Time grows short. Civilization

teeters on the edge of the abyss. Surely I need not repeat our

whole tale again?"

"I don't think you have to," said Malu. He indicated the

watchful Ananthos. "The mere fact that a Weaver, citizen of

a notoriously xenophobic state, is traveling as ally with you is

proof enough that something truly extraordinary is going on."

"look who is calling another 'xenophobic,'" whispered

Ananthos surlily.

"It had better be extraordinary," the owl grumbled. He

used a flexible wing tip to wipe one saucer-sized eye. "You've

awakened all of Ironcloud from its daily rest. The populace

will require a reasonable explanation." He blinked, shielding

his face as the sun emerged from behind a stray cloud.

"How you can live with that horrid light burning your eyes

is something I'll never understand."

"Oh very well," said Clothahump with a sigh. "You will

convey details of our situation to your leader or mayor or—"

"We have no single leader," said the owl, mildly outraged.

"We have neither council nor congress. We coexist in peace,

without the burdens imposed by noisome government."

"Then how do you make communal decisions?" Jon-Tom

asked curiously.