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

sounded very tired. "It is a mind. A wonderfully wise mind.

An intelligence of a reach and depth I have never before

encountered, filled with knowledge I cannot fathom. It con-

tains mysteries I do not pretend to understand, but that it is

dangerous and powerful is self-evident."

"That seems clear enough," said Jon-Tom. "What kind of

creature is it? Whose head is it inside?"

"Ah, that is the part I do not know." There was worry and

amazement in Clothahump's voice. "I've never run across a

mind like it. One thing I was able to tell, I think." He

glanced up at the tall human. "It's dead."

Pog hesitated, then said, "But if it's dead, how can it help

da Plated Folk?"

"I know, I know," Clothahump grumbled sullenly, "it

makes no sense. Am I expected to be instantly conversant

with all the mysteries of the Universe!"

"Sorry," said Jon-Tom. "Pog and I only hoped that—"

"Forget it, my boy." The wizard leaned back against the

black wall and waved a weary hand at him. "I learned no

more than I'd hoped to, and hope remains where knowledge

is scarce." He shook his head sadly.

"A mind of such power and ability, yet nonetheless as dead

as the rock of this chamber. Of that I am certain. And yet

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Eejakrat of the Plated Polk has found a means by which he

can make use of that power."

"A zombie," muttered Jon-Tom.

"I do not know the term," said Clothahump, "but I accept

it. I will accept anything that explains this awful contradic-

tion. Sometimes, my boy, knowledge can be more confusing

than mere ignorance. Surely the universe holds still greater

though no more dangerous contradictions than this inventive,

cold mind." He reached a decision.

"Now that I am sensitized to this mind, I am confident we

can locate it. We must find out whose it is and destroy him or

her, for I had no sense of whether the possessor is male or

female."

"But we can't do dat, Master," Pog argued, "because as

you say dis brain is under da control of da great sorcerer

Eejakrat, and Eejakrat stays in Cugluch."

"Capital city of the Plated Folk," Clothahump reminded

Jon-Tom.

"Dat's right enough. So it's obvious dat we can't.. .we

can't..." The words came to a halt as Pog's eyes grew wide

as a lemur's. "No, Master!" he muttered, his voice filled

with dread. "We can't. We can't possibly!"

"On the contrary, famulus, it is quite possible that we can.

Of course, I shall first discuss it with the rest of our

companions."

"Discuss what?" Jon-Tom was afraid he already knew the

answer.

"Why, traveling into Cugluch to find this evil and obliter-

ate it, my boy. What else could a civilized being do?"

"What else indeed." Jon-Tom had resigned himself to

going. Could this Cugluch be worse than the Earth's Throat?

Pog seemed to think so, but then Pog was terrified of his own

shadow.

Clothahump's strength had returned. He slid off the bed,

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started for the doorway. "We must consult the rest of our

party."

"They may not all be in a condition to understand,"

Jon-Tom warned him. "We have generous hosts, you know."

"A night of harmless pleasure is good for the soul now and

then, my boy. Though it should never descend to unconscious-

ness. I am pleased to see that you have retained control of

yourself."

"So far," said Jon-Tom fervently, "but after what you've

just proposed, I may change my mind."

"It will not be so bad," said the wizard, clapping him on

the waist as they swung aside the concealing curtain and

moved out into the tunnel. "There will be some danger, but

we have survived that several times over."

"Yeah, but it's not like an innoculation," Jon-Tom muttered.

"We haven't become immune. We keep taking risks and

sooner or later they've got to catch up with us." He ducked to

avoid a low section of iron ceiling.

"We shall do our best, my boy, to see that it is later."

Pog remained behind, hanging quietly from the oil lamp in

the now empty room. He considered remaining behind

permanently. The Ironclouders would shelter him, he was

sure.

That would mean no transformation, of course. All that

he'd suffered at the wizard's hands, and mouth, would

have been for naught. Also, as the only arboreal of the

group, he knew how they depended on him for reconnaisance

and such.

Besides, better death than life cursed by unrequited love.

He let free of the lamp, dipped in the air, and soared oin

into the tunnel after the two wizards.

There was the anticipated debate and argument the nexl

morning. One by one, as before, the various members of the

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little group were won over by Clothahump's assurances,

obstinacy, and veiled threats.

Their course decided, it was time to ascertain the position

taken during the night by the inhabitants of Ironcloud. Five of

the great owls faced Ihe travelers on the plateau below the

cave city. Two were homed, two pale bam, and one a tiny

hoot, who was smaller than Pog but equal in dignity to his

massive feathered brothers. With them were five lemurs. The

sun was not yet up.

"We do not doubt your seriousness nor the truth you tell,"

Tolafay was saying, "nor the worth of your mission, but still

we doubted whether it was worth breaking a rule of hundreds

of years of noninvolvement in the arguments of others." He

gestured at Ananthos.

"Yet we share such feelings with the inhabitants of the

Scuttleteau and they have nonetheless agreed to help you. So

we will help, too." Murmurs of agreement came from his

companions.

"That's settled, then," said a satisfied Clothahump. "You

will be valuable allies in the coming war and—"

"A moment, please." One of the lemurs stepped forward.

He had a high, stiff collar and light vest above billowing

pantaloons of bright yellow. "We did not say that we'd be

your allies. We said we'd help.

"You asked us to give the Weavers permission to travel

through our country and to provide a route southward through

the mountains so they can reach the Swordsward and then

make their way to the Jo-Troom Gate you speak of. That's

what we'll do. We'll also try and find you a way to the

Greendowns. But we won't fight."

"But I thought—" Jon-Tom began.

"No!" snapped one of the other owls. "Absolutely no. We

simply can't do any more for yooooo. Don't ask it of us."

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"But surely—" A restraining hand touched Talea and she

quieted.

"It is more than we'd hoped for, friends. It will suffice."

Clothahump turned to face Ananthos. "We have the allies we

came to find."

"so you do," said the spider at last, "provided the army

can be assembled in time to make the march."

"I can only hope that it does," the wizard told him

solemnly, "because the fate of several worlds may depend on

it."

"Not Ironctoud," said another of the owls smugly. "Ironcloud

is impregnable to assault by land or air."

"So it is," agreed Caz casually, "but not by magic."

"We'll take our chances," said Tolafay firmly.

"Then there's nothing more to be said." Clothahump

nodded.

Wordlessly the Ironclouders departed, owl and primate

soaring to join their brethren high in the night sky. Great

wings and glowing eyes shone as the night hunters returned in

twos and threes to their black home. They filled the air