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

that we know little about his Manifestation, he will not

assume ignorance on our part, and thus will urge the assem-

bled horde to march. They appeared ready in any case."

That stimulated a barrage of questions from the officers.

They wanted estimates of troop strength, of arboreals, weap-

ons and provisioning, of disposition and heavy troops and

bowmen and more.

Clothahump impatiently waved the questions off. "I can't

answer any of your queries in detail. I am not a soldier and

my observations are attuned to other matters. I can tell you

that this is by far the greatest army the Plated Folk have ever

sent against the warmlands."

"They will be met by more warmlanders than ever they

imagined!" snorted Wuckle Three-Stripe. "We will reduce

the populating of the Greendowns to nothing. The Troom Pass

shall be paved with chitin!" Cries of support and determina-

tion came from those behind him.

The badger's expression softened. "I must say we are

pleased, if utterly amazed, to find you once again safely

among your kind. The world owes you all a great debt."

"How great, mate?" asked Mudge.

Three-Stripe eyed the otter distastefully, "hi this time of

crisis, how can you think of mere material things?"

"Mate, I can always th—" Flor put a hand over the otter's

muzzle.

The mayor turned to a subordinate. "See that these people

have anything they want, and that they are provided with food

and the best of shelter." The weasel officer nodded.

"It will be done, sir." He moved forward, saluted crisply

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His gaze fell on the form lying limply across Jon-Tom's back.

"Shall the she be requiring medical care, sir?"

Red hair tickled Jon-Tom's ear. He jerked his head to one

side, replied almost imperceptibly.

"No. She's dead."

"I am sorry, sir."

Jon-Tom's'gaze traveled across the tent. Clothahump was

conversing intently with a cluster of officers including the

wolverine, Aveticus, and Wuckle Three-Stripe. He glanced

up for an instant and locked eyes with the spellsinger. The

instant passed.

The relief Jon-Tom had sought in the wizard's eyes was not

there, nor had there been hope.

Only truth.

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XV

The meeting did not take long. As they left the tent the

tension of the past weeks, of living constantly on the edge of

death and disappointment, began to let go of them all.

"Me for a 'ot bath!" said Mudge expectantly.

"And I for a cold one," countered Bnbbens.

"I think I'd prefer a shower, myself," said Flor.

"I'd enjoy that myself, I believe." Jon-Tom did not notice

the look that passed between Caz and Flor. He noticed

nothing except the wizard's retreating oval.

"Just a minute, sir. Where are you going now?"

Clothahump glanced back at him. "First to locate Pog.

Then to the Council of Wizards, Warlocks, and Witches so

that we may coordinate our magicking in preparation for the

coming attack. Only one may magic at a time, you know.

Contradiction destroys the effectiveness of spells."

"Wait. What about.. .you know. You promised."

Clothahump looked evasive. "She's dead, my boy. Like

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love, life is a transitory thing. Both linger as long as they're

able and fade quickly."

"I don't want any of your fucking wizardly platitudes!"

He towered over the turtle. "You said you could bring her

back."

"I said I might. You were despondent, You needed hope,

something to sustain you. I gave you that. By pretending I

might help the dead I helped the living to survive. I have no

regrets."

When Jon-Tom did not respond the wizard continued, "My

boy, your magic is of an unpredictable quality and consider-

able power. Many times that unpredictability could be a

drawback. But the magic we face is equally unpredictable.

You may be of great assistance... if you choose to.

"But I feel responsibility for you, if not for your present

hurt. If you elect to do nothing, no one will blame you for it

and I will not try to coerce you. I can only wish for your

assistance.

"I am trying to tell you, my boy, that there is no formula I

know for raising the dead. I said I would try, and I shall,

when the time is right and other matters press less urgently on

my knowledge. I must now try my best to preserve many. I

cannot turn away from that to experiment in hopes of saving

one." His voice was flat and unemotional.

"I wish it were otherwise, boy. Even magic has its limits,

however. Death is one of them."

Jon-Tom stood numbly, still balancing the dead weight on

his shoulders. "But you said, you told me..."

"What I told you I did in order to save you. Despondency

does not encourage quick thinking and survival. You have

survived. Talea, bless her mercurial, flinty little heart, would

be cursing your self-pity this very moment if she were able."

"You lying little hard-shelled—"

Clothahump took a cautious step backward. "Don't force

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me to stop you, Jon-Tom. Yes, I lied to you. It wasn't the

first time, as Mudge is so quick to point out. A lie in the

service of right is a kind of truth."

Jon-Tom let out an inarticulate yell and rushed forward,

blinded as much by the cold finality of his loss as by the

wizard's duplicity. No longer a personality or even a memory,

me body on his shoulders tumbled to the earth. He reached

blindly for the impassive sorcerer.

Clothahump had seen the rage building, had taken note of

the signs in Jon-Tom's face, in the way he stood, in the

tension of his skin. The wizard's hands moved rapidly and he

whispered to unseen things words like "fix" and "anesthesia."

Jon-Tom sent down as neatly as if clubbed by his own staff.

Several soldiers noted the activity and wandered over.

"Is he dead, sir?" one asked curiously.

"No. For the moment he wishes it were so." The wizard

pointed toward the limp form of Talea. "The first casualty of

the war."

"And this one?" The squirrel gestured down at Jon-Tom.

"Love is always the second casualty. He will be all right in

a while. He needs to rest and not remember. There is a tent

behind the headquarters. Take him and put him in there."

The noncom's tail switched the air. "Will he be dangerous

when he regains consciousness?"

Clothahump regarded the softly breathing body. "I do not

think so, not even to himself."

The squirrel saluted. "It will be done, sir."

There are few drugs, Clothahump mused, that can numb

born the heart and the mind. Among them grief is the most

powerful. He watched while the soldiers bore the lanky,

youthful Jon-Tom away, then forced himself to turn to more

serious matters. Talea was gone and Jon-Tom damaged. Well,

he was sorry as sorry could be for the boy, but they would do

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without his erratic talents if they had to. He could not cool

the boy's hate.

Let him hate me, then, if he wishes. It will focus his

thoughts away from his loss. He will be forever suspicious of

me hereafter, but in that he will have the company of most

creatures. People always fear what they cannot understand.

Makes it lonely though, old fellow. Very lonely. You knew

that when you took the vows and made the oaths. He sighed,

waddled oS to locate Aveticus. Now there was a rational

mind, he thought pleasantly. Unimaginative, but sound. He