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

glanced up and asked curiously, "What was that all about,

citizen foreman?"

"Nothing. A patrol."

"A patrol, up here?"

"I know it is odd to find one in the mountains."

"More than odd, I should think." His antennae pointed

downhill toward the retreating travelers. "That is a peculiar

grouping for a patrol of any kind."

"I thought so also." The foreman's tone stiffened. "But it

is not our place to question the directives of the High

Command."

"Of course not, citizen foreman." The laborer returned

quickly to his work.

Wooded hillsides soon gave way to extensive cultivated

fields cleared from bog and jungle. Most were planted with a

tall, flexible growth about an inch in diameter that looked like

jaundiced sugar cane. Swampy plantings alternated with herds

of small six-legged reptiles who foraged noisily through the

soft vegetation.

They also encountered troops on maneuver, always marching

in perfect time and stride. Once they were forced off the

raised roadway by a column twelve abreast. It took an hour to

pass, trudging from east to west.

They passed unchallenged among dozens of Plated Folk.

No one questioned their disguises. But Clothahump grew

uneasy at their progress.

"Too slow," he muttered. "Surely there is a better way

than this, and one that will have the ex$a advantage of

concealing us from close inspection."

"What've you got in mind, guv'nor?" Mudge wanted to

know.

"A substitute for feet. Excuse me, citizen." The wizard

stepped out into the road.

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The wagon bearing down on him pulled to a halt. It was

filled with transparent barrels of some aromatic green liquid.

The driver, a rather bucolic beetle of medium height, leaned

over the side impatiently as Clothahump approached.

"Trouble, citizen? Be quick now, I've a schedule to keep."

"Are you by chance heading for the capital?"

"I am, and I've no time for riders. Sorry." He lifted his

reins preparatory to chucking the wagon team into motion

again.

"It is not that we wish a ride, citizen," said Clothahump,

staring hard at the driver, "but only that we wish a ride."

"Oh. I misunderstood. Naturally. Make space for your-

selves in the back, please."

As they climbed into the wagon, Jon-Tom passed close by

the driver. He was sitting stiffly in his seat, eyes staring

straight ahead yet seeing very little. Seeing only what

Clothahump wanted them to see, in fact.

Under the wizard's urging, the rustic whipped the team

forward. The mesmerization had taken only a moment, and

no one else had observed it.

"Damnsight better than walking." Talea reached awkwardly

down to draw one foot toward her, wishing she could massage

the aching sole but not daring to remove even that small

section of the disguise.

"Sure is," agreed Jon-Tom. He balanced himself in the

swaying, rocking wagon as he made his way forward.

Clothahump sat next to the driver. The insect ignored his

arrival.

"A great deal happening these days," Jon-Tom said by way

of opening conversation.

The driver's gaze did not stray from the road. His voice

was oddly stilted, as though a second mind were choosing the

words to answer with.

"Yes, a great deal."

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THE HOUR Of THE GATS

"When is it to begin, do you think, the invasion of the

wannlands?" Jon-Tom made the question sound as casual as

he could.

A movement signifying ignorance from the driver. "Who

is to know? They do not permit wagon masters to know the

inner workings of the High Military. But it will be a great day

when it comes. I myself have four nestmates in the invasion

force. I wish I could be among them, but my district logisti-

cian insists that food supplies will be as important as fighting

to the success of the invasion.

"So I remain where I am, though it is against my desires.

It will be a memorable time. There will be a magnificent

slaughter."

"So they claim," Jon-Tom murmured, "but can we be so

certain of success?"

For a moment, the shocked disbelief the driver felt nearly

overcame the mental haze into which he'd been immersed.

"How can anyone doubt it? Never in thousands of years has

the Empire assembled so massive a force. Never before have

we been as well prepared as now.

"Also," he added conspiratorially, "there is rumor abun-

dant that the Great Wizard Eejakrat, Advisor to the Empress

herself, has brought forth from the realms of darkness an

invincible magic which will sweep all opposition before it."

He adjusted the reins running to the third lizard in right line.

"No, citizens, of course we cannot lose."

"My feelings are the same, citizen." Jon-Tom returned to

the rear of the wagon. Clothahump joined him a moment

later, as he was chatting softly to the others.

"If confidence is any indication of battleworthiness.'we're

liable to be in for a bad time."

"You see?" said Clothahump knowingly as he leaned up

against a pair of green-filled barrels, "that is why we must

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find and destroy this dead mind that Eejakrat somehow draws

knowledge from, or die in the attempt."

"Speak for yourself, guv'," said Mudge. " 'E wot fights

an' runs away lives t' fight another day."

"Unfortunately," Clothahump reminded the otter quietly,

"if we fail, like as not there will not be another day."

216

XIII

Several days passed. Farms and livestock pastures began to

give way to the outskirts of a vast metropolis. Fronted with

stone or black cement, tunnels led down into the earth. On

the surface row upon row of identical gray buildings filled the

horizon, a vast stone curve that formed the outer wheel of the

capital city of Cugluch.

As they entered me first gate of many, they encountered

larger structures and greater variety. Faint pulses of light from

within cast ambivalent shadows on the travelers while the

echoes of hammerings resounded above the babble of the

chitinesque crowd. Once they passed a wagon emerging from

a large, cubical building. It was piled high with long spears

and pikes and halberds bound together like sheaves of grain.

The weapon-laden vehicle moved westward. Westward like

the troops they'd passed. Westward toward the Jo-Troom

Gate.

It had rained gently every day, but was far warmer than in

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the so-called warmlands. Pat, limpid drops slid off their

hard-shelled disguises, only occasionally penetrating the well-

fashioned false chitin. Cooled by spell, those inside the insect

suits remained comfortable in spite of the humidity, dothahump.

as a good wizard should, had foreseen everything except the

need to scratch the occasional itch.

Only an isolated clump of struggling trees here and then

brought color to the monotonous construction of the city. It

was an immense warren, much of it out of sight beneath the

surface of the earth.

They pushed their way through heavier and heavier traffic,

increasingly military in nature. Clothahump guided the drive,

smoothly, directing them deeper into the city.

Wagonloads of troops, ant- and beetle-shapes predominant,

shoved civilian traffic aside as they made their way westward,

Enormous beetles eight and nine feet long displayed sharpened'

horns to the travelers. Three or four armed soldiers rode or

the backs of these armored behemoths.