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

of the vast, festering lowlands that formed the Greendowns.

They rested on a slope and munched nuts, berries, and lizard

jerky while studying the fog and mist that enshrouded the

lands of the Plated Folk.

Conifers had surrendered the soil to hardwoods. These now

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fought to assert their dominance over palms and baobabs,

succulents and creepers. Occasionally a strange cry or whistle

would rise from the mist.

Jon-Tom finished his meal and stood, his leathern pants

sticking to his legs from the humidity. To the west towered

the snow-crowned crags of Zaryt's Teeth. It was difficult to

believe that a pass broke that towering rampart. It lay some-

where to the southwest of their present position. At its far end

was the Jo-Troom Gate and beyond that, a section of Swordsward

and bustling, friendly Polastrindu.

His own home was somewhat more distant, a trillion miles

away on the other side of time, turn right at the rip in the

fabric of space and take the fourth-dimensional offramp.

He turned. Clothahump was busy with wizard's business.

Pog assisted him.

"We'd better come up with something." Talea had moved

to stand next to him, stood looking down into the mist. "We

go down there looking like ourselves and we'll be somebody's

supper before the day's out."

"Aye, that's the truth, lass," agreed Mudge. " 'E'U 'ave t'

make us look like a choice slice o' 'ell."

"He already has, I think," was Caz's comment. "You'd

better straighten your antenna. The left one is pointing back-

ward instead of forward."

"I'll do that." Mudge reached up and was in the middle of

straightening the errant sensor when he suddenly realized

what had happened. " 'Cor, but that was quick!"

Clothahump rejoined them. Rather, they were joined by a

squat, pudgy beetle that sounded something like Clothahump.

Pale red compound eyes inspected them each in turn. Four

arms crossed over the striated abdomen.

"What do you think, my friends? Have I solved the

problem and allayed your fears, or not?"

When the initial shock finally wore off, they were able to

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take more careful stock of themselves. The disguises seemed

foolproof. Talea, Ror, Mudge, and the rest now resembled

giant versions of things Jon-Tom usually smashed underfoot.

The middle set of arms moved in tandem with their owners

actual ones. Pog had turned into a giant flying beetle.

"Is that really you in there, Jon-Tom?" The thing with

Hor's voice ran a clawed hand over the pale blue chitin

encasing him.

"I think so." He looked down at himself, noted with

astonishment the multijointed legs, the smooth undercurve of

abdomen, the peculiar wave-shaped sword at his hip.

"Not too uncomfortable, my boy?"

Jon-Tom looked admiringly at the squat beetle. "It's a

wonderful job, sir. I feel like I'm inside a suit of armor, yet

I'm cooler than I was a few moments ago without it."

"Part of the spell, my boy," said the wizard with pride.

"Attention to detail makes all the difference."

"Speakin' o' attention t' detail, Your Mastemess," Mudge

said, " 'ow do I go about takin' a leak?"

"There are detachable sections of chitin in the appropriate

places, otter. You must take care to conceal bodily functions

of any kind from those we will be among. I could not

imagine Plated Folk jaws through which we might eat, for

example. Hopefully we can finish our business in Cugluch

and be out of it and these suits before very long."

"You remembered the formula well," Jon-Tom told the

wizard.

"Well enough, my boy." They left their packs and started

down the slope into the steaming lowlands. "One key phrase

eluded me for a time.

"Multioptics, eyes of glass,

sextupal reach in fiberglass,

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hot outside but cool within,

suit of polymers I'll spin."

He proceeded to detail the formula that had provided such

perfectly fitted disguises.

"So these are foolproof, then?" Talea asked hopefully

from just ahead of them. It was difficult to think of the

black-and-brown-spotted creature as the beautiful, feisty Talea,

Jon-Tom mused.

"My dear, no disguise is foolproof," Clothahump replied

somberly.

"Dat's for damn sure." Pog fluttered awkwardly overhead

on false beetle wings.

"We are entering the Greendowns from me northern ranges,"

the wizard reminded them. "The Plated Folk cannot imagine

someone intentionally entering their lands. The only section

of their territories which might be even lightly watched is that

near the Pass. We should be able to mingle freely with

whoever we chance to encounter."

"That'll be the true test of these suits, won't it?" said Caz.

"Not whether we look believable to each other, but whether

we can fool them."

"The formula was as all-encompassing as I could fashion

it," said Clothahump confidently. "In any case, we shall

know in a moment."

They turned a bend in the animal path they'd been follow-

ing and came face to face with a dozen workers of that

benighted land. The Plated Folk were cutting hardwood and

loading the logs on a lizard-drawn sled. Unable to retreat, the

travelers marched doggedly ahead.

They were nearly past when one of the cutters, a foreman

perhaps, walked over on short spindly legs and gestured with

two of his four limbs. Jon-Tom marked the gesture for future

use.

"Hail, citizens! Whence come you, and wither go?"

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There was an uncomfortably long silence until Caz thought

to say, "We've been out on patrol."

"Patrol... in the mountains?" The foreman looked askance

at the snows beyond the forest's edge. He made a clicking

sound that might have passed for laughter. "What were you

patrolling for? Nothing comes from the north."

"We do not," said Caz, thinking furiously, "have to

provide such information to hewers of wood. However, there

is no harm in your knowing." His disguise gave his voice a

raspy tone.

"In her wisdom the Empress has decreed that every possi-

ble approach be inspected at least once in a while. Surely you

do not question her wisdom?" Caz put his hand on his

scimitar, and two limbs gripped the strange weapon.

"No, no!" said the insect foreman hastily, "of course not.

Now, of all times, the greatest secrecy must be preserved."

He still sounded doubtful. "Even so, nothing has come out of

these mountains in years and years."

"Of course not," said Caz haughtily. "Does that not prove

the effectiveness of these secret patrols?"

"That is sensible, citizen," agreed the foreman, his confu-

sion overcome thanks to Caz's inexorable logic.

The others had continued past while the rabbit had been

conversing with the foreman. That worthy snapped to atten-

tion and offered an interesting salute with both arms on his

left side. Caz mimicked it in return, his false middle arm

functioning smoothly in tandem with the real one.

"The Empress!" said the foreman with praiseworthy

enthusiasm.

"The Empress," Caz replied. "Now then, be on about

your business, citizen. The Empire needs that wood." The

foreman executed a sign of acknowledgment and returned to

his work. Caz tried not to move too hastily down the slope

after his companions.

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The foreman returned to his cutters. One of the laborers